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Monday, 9 November 2009

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Psycho Town Recap: Part 1

5.04am
Rain washes down as the front headlights of a pink Cadillac comes into view reflecting off the deserted city streets. The car screeches to a halt outside a rundown brownstone building. O' Halloran steps out, scratching his balls as he makes his way inside the city morgue.

"What's the cause of death, Doc?", he calls out as he tosses his well-worn trench coat across a mortuary trolley, landing across the face of a bearded dead man.

The medical examiner looks up over his thin-framed spectacles as he works on another corpse.
"Suicide", he growls, his coarse sandpapery voice the result of 40 years of smoking like a Chinese train - Chinese trains being renowned for their smoking, gambling and womanising.


"Suicide?", O' Halloran bellows, bemused.

He moves closer and pulls back the sheet covering the corpse in front of the mortician.
"That's not my vic'. That's a cow!"

"Sorry. My eyes aint what they used to be", Doc apologises as he wheels the trolley aside and checks his notes, "Yep. This one aint yours. My boo-boo. Cow suicide. A terrible thing indeed. The farmer was inconsolable."


"How the fuck did you ever get hired?", O' Halloran asks.

"My father was the coroner, and his father before him, and his father before him and before that my great-great aunt Tess sucked the cock of the Mayor".

"I don't want your family history. Just give me the facts on my headless, handless, footless vic', will ya?", O' Halloran shoots back.

Doc drags in the trolley containing the remains from the murder case. The clothes have been cut away and the victim lies there naked.

"As you can see he's dead", Doc begins.

"Got anything else to add?", O' Halloran adds dryly.

"White adult male. Mid-twenties to late-seventies. Head, hands, feet removed by some implement. Could be a knife of some sort, maybe a machete? Or a very sharp spoon."

O' Halloran shakes his head in frustration.

"What about cause of death?"

"Examining the wound pattern I'd say the victim died from having his head, hands and feet chopped off. Massive blood loss. And hiccups.".

"Jesus, Doc. You are useless. Time of death?"

"Oh, I'd say he's been dead maybe one-and-a-half to two hours. Rigor mortis not set in fully".

"Listen Doc, have you ever seen anything like this before?"

"In all my years of service I've only come across one other case of murder by having the head, hands and feet removed. It was back in '87. Fella by the name of Jimmy Saville. Weird guy. White hair. Wore tracksuits. Smoked cigars. Promised to make kid's dreams come true. Bit of a kiddy-fiddler type character"

"Oh yeah. I remember that case. Hey, isn't that the same Jimmy Saville from the television?"

"Oh no. That would be libellous. No, this was a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT Jimmy Saville with no connection whatsoever to the one you've just mentioned", the Doc winks and nudges.

"Sure, sure", O' Halloran winks and nudges back.

"Well, that Jimmy Saville was convicted of killing a bookmaker by the name of Smith".

"Ya mean from Smith's Bookmakers?

"Yeah" That's the one. Cut off the head, feet and hands, body was discovered down by the old disused factory buildings. Saville was arrested and sentenced to life. Only got out a few years back. Haven't heard nuthin' about him since"

O' Halloran takes this down in his notebook: "Saville, Jimmy. Kiddy-fiddler. Sentenced to murder. Currant location unknown. Remember to change underwear tomorrow. Feed donkey. Buy a bag of onions"


Doc takes out a flask of whiskey and swigs from it.
"A little birdy told me there was a witness at the crime scene"

"Yeah. A broad. A real woman, know what I mean? Perfect breasts. The kind you could eat with some fluffy rice and some spices", says O' Halloran.

The doc turns back towards the corpse and points out an interesting detail he's noticed.
"You see here?", he says as he points towards the victims groin area.

"What am I looking at, Doc? I can't see nuthin'", O' Halloran says as he leans in and squints.

"Exactly! No penis"

"Hey, you're right! Where's his jolly Rodger?"

"He aint got none. I thought it was weird too. At first I thought the killer removed it -ya know, as a keepsake to wear around their neck and for special occasions - but then I realised that he had none at all. This guy has no genitalia."

"That's pretty freaky. Maybe that means something. I really don't know, seeing as I'm a pretty shitty detective."

"I also heard about this Carla Bruni message. Sick bastard is toying with you, O' Halloran"

"Nobody toys with me. Except that male hooker who lives in the thrash behind my apartment. He toys with me. Sometimes he even shoves stuff up my back passage. But no damn murderer is gonna toy with me. Not now. Not ever".

Doc takes another swig.
"You've got balls, O' Halloran".

"Of course I do. I'm a man."

"I know. I meant that you've got big balls. Big like firm ripe coconuts. The kind a lover could rest their head upon at night. The kind you could use to weigh down an airship. The kind you could…"

"Yeah, yeah , yeah. I get the picture, Doc. Big balls. I know. I can feel them dangling in my pants"

"I'm sorry. It's just I get lonely down here on my own. I kinda get a little carried away sometimes….".

"I understand, Doc. Fill out your report and I'll check back with you later. I gotta get back to the station."

O' Halloran grabs his jacket and skulks out of the room as Doc continues thinking about how big the detective's balls really are.

Continue to part 3

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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