Written by Jesus Budda

Saturday, 28 November 2009

image for O' Halloran - Murder with a Capital Punishment - Part 4

Previous Chapters: Part 1|Part 2|Part 3


Part 4


Apartment 105. A smelly little dive located in an apartment block that's wedged firmly between "Titty McPenises" strip club and the local sperm bank. Anyone who lives 'round here is either down-on-their-luck plain broke or else just some sleazy fucking creeps.

"Who is it?". Asks the voice on the other side of the peephole.

"A friend sent me. Open up", shouts O' Halloran.

The door unlocks - in fact it unlocks several times, this place has more security than Fort Knox.
The door peels open and a scrawny young guy in a string vest peeks up beneath a mop of scraggly hair and ushers O' Halloran inside hurriedly.

"Are you Mr. Big?", asks an incredulous O' Halloran.

"Whatsamatter? Never encountered a guy with an inappropriately titled name before?"

"Sure I have. I've met a Mr. White who turned out to be black guy. I've known a Mr. Cheese who was made of butter and a woman named Annette who never lay down in the middle of a tennis court in her life".

"What did you expect?"

"Well I presumed you'd at least be tall...or have a large penis"

"Maybe I do have a large penis. But I'm not showing you...yet"

"Touche", winks O' Halloran (that's 'WINKS', by the way. He doesn't wank all the time. Just most of the time)


The room is filled with boxes and boxes of juicy ripe oranges.

"What do you want?", asks Mr. Big, shifting uncomfortably.
Obviously his underpants were ill-fitting. Don't ya just hate that? You put on a nice clean pair of undies and expect to have a nice, enjoyable experiences when all of a sudden they start to chafe and cut into your balls. You'd probably have been better off wearing the netting that onion's are sold in. At least then you could feel the cool morning breeze against your testicles. But that's not important right now...
"Some hobo friends of mine went missing. I'm looking for them", O' Halloran lies.

"So you like gay sex, eh?", Mr. Big leers.

"I said HOBO not HOMO, you dick. And yes, I do enjoy the pleasures of the male flesh, thank you very much. Now, about my missing friends..."

"I know nothing", Mr. Big smirks.

Playing dumb, eh? O' Halloran has seen it all before. Fawlty Towers. That episode where Manuel says 'I know nothing' over and over again, thinking he's doing Mr. Fawlty a favour when instead he's getting his boss into all kinds of uncomfortable trouble. It was vaguely funny back in the late 70's but nowadays that kind of cheap verbal humour is so dated it's practically prehistoric.

O' Halloran grabs the little shit by the collar. He then realises his mistake, wipes that chihuahua dog excrement from his hands and instead grips Mr. Big and pushes him up against the wall.
"Now listen to me, you! I want to find my friends and you better help me or, so help me God, I'll beat your head to a pulp", he snarls.

"Hey, cool it, Daddio. Maybe I can help", pleads the trembling Mr. Big, "your friends are all part of some crazy-ass experiment. Let me down, man, please!!!"

An Experiment? O' Halloran wasn't expecting that. Neither were the readers, I guess.

"What kind of experiment? Spill it, bozo!"

"Time travel. Something to do with the 18th century in France".

Now this is getting interesting. And weird.
O' Halloran drops the guy.

"Who's behind it? I don't buy this at all"

"It's true, man. There's some crazy midget going around transporting people back to the past. He's using the sewers as some kind of really cheap and random plot device wormhole in the time/space continuum"

"Well, fuck me...", O' Halloran says scratching his head and trying to make sense of it all.

"Hey, man, I aint no...homosexual".

"I meant 'fuck me' as an expletive, not an invitation for intercourse, you dumb fuck. How do I recognise this insane time traveling midget?".

"He speaks with a very distinct French accent and wears old fashioned clothing. And he has a superfluous third nipple"

"A third nipple? How'd you know that?", O' Halloran inquires.

"I'm very observant", Mr. Big says none too convincingly.


O' Halloran moves towards the door satisfied that he's got the info he needed from the creep, then suddenly stops.
"I got another question for ya: what's with all the oranges?"

Mr. Big fixes his hair and regains his composure.
"They were put there by the author"

"What for?"

"I don't know. I presume he intended to use them as a sight gag but then forgot about it....forgetful fuck!"


O' Halloran picks up an orange, tosses it into the air and catches it, then walks out of the room, disgusted that the author couldn't bother remembering the funny visual gag that he should have inserted here. Maybe it was something to do with squeezing the info out of the Mr. Big character? Maybe not. No, that sounds way too shitty even for this inept writer. Makes you wonder where he really intended to go with this.....


Robo female cop waits for him outside in the pink car. She sits there wondering what fucking purpose she serves in this story. In the previous one (PsychoTown) she played her part: screwing O' Halloran, crime solving, that kind of shit. But in this story? Fuck knows what she's doing. So far she hasn't done nothing worth mentioning. Maybe it's time she was deleted….[ author strokes chin]

Just as O' Halloran is about to cross the street to where his partner is parked there is a loud explosion and fireball which sends the vehicle soaring into the air, landing head over heels in a crumpled heap of burning metal and rubber.
O' Halloran is flung fifty feet in the opposite direction, his fall broken by landing on a giant piece of sponge. How the fuck did that get there? Who cares! His partner's been killed.

O' Halloran picks himself up and runs dramatically towards the torn shred of car which is burning.
A fluttering piece of singed cloth gently falls downwards from the sky. O' Halloran picks it up. It's the bra strap from Robo female cop's bra. 36 DD.

"Noooooooooooo!", he cries as he melodramatically waves his hands into the air.

It's too late she's as dead as any dead person can possibly be....


Continue to Part 5

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

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