A/N: Okay, this is my first non-oneshot, so keep that in mind. Also keep in mind that this is only chapter one, and I would appreciate feedback. Which direction you'd like the story to go in, etc. Anyway, without further ado, here's the story!
Disclaimer: I don't own Happy Days or any related characters.
It was a cold autumn night in Milwaukee. Ralph Malph walked back to the apartment he shared with Potsie, carrying a brand new microwave oven under his right arm. His left hand was fiddling around in his pocket in search oh his keys.
Ralph sang the first line of his favourite song, "Blueberry Hill", in preparation for a joke. "I found my three-ull," he sang, intentionally going flat a note at the end. "Oh, guess I'm out of key," he said to himself, chuckling at himself while still searching for his keys. "Hehe, even alone at midnight I still got it!"
By the time Ralph made it to the apartment building, he had given up on finding his keys. He was getting impatient. He really wanted to show Potsie what he'd bought! Microwaves had been around for a little while, and still weren't very popular. They were cutting-edge technology, and they cost a fortune. Ralph had been saving his paycheck for months to buy one. He wanted it to be a surprise.
As Ralph approached the door to his apartment, he hoped that Potsie was inside; he had no desire to remain outside until his roommate returned. "Hey, Pots! It's Ralph! Let me in!" Ralph called, pounding on the door. "Must be in the can. . ." he muttered to himself, and went off in search of Chachi. He had access to the keys to every apartment, since his mother was the landlady.
Stepping into the stairwell, Ralph noticed a middle-aged looking man passed out in the corner, bottle in his hand and alcohol on his breath.
"Honestly, some people. . ." Ralph continued muttering, but then felt a cold shiver run down his spine as he realized what he had seen. He took a good look at the man this time. The stubble on his face was at least three days old. His hat was pulled down over his eyes and nose, to hide the lifelessness of them. The bottle was held near his chest, and Ralph now noticed why. There was a deep gash in this man's abdomen. He had been killed.
"Can you just calm down and tell us what you saw?" Luitenant Kensington asked Ralph impatiently. He had shown up at the apartment building when Ralph called in the incident.
"I told you all I know! I just walked up to the guy on the stairs and called it in," Ralph answered frantically, wrapped in a blanket provided by one of the junior officers on the force.
"Alright, son. We'll let you go for now. But don't leave town or nothin'. We may have further questions."
"Yes, thank you officer," Ralph said, and went back to his apartment accompanied by Potsie, who had heard about the incident and came as soon as he had.
"Well, from what the kid told us, we can assume this was a suicide," Kensington told his superior, Commissioner Hunt. "The victim was alone, with no signs of struggle, and the murder weapon in his hand. We'll have Dr. Benson do an autopsy to confirm the murder weapon, of course, but I think it's pretty obvious."
"Yeah, I think it's safe to call this a suicide," Hunt replied.
Suddenly, a thump was heard on the wall in the hallway wall, and the locked door came open to reveal none other than Arthur Fonzarelli, leather jacket and all. "This was no suicide," the Fonz called out for all to hear. "This, was a murder."