Author's Note: I was gonna stop doing these but I just wanted to say... Jiminy Cricket, I promise not to take a year for chapter three. I pretty much completed this because of a little last-minute Christmas magic.
South Park:
"You Won't Believe How It Ends"
(the rewrite)
Chapter Two
by John
(Dec. 25th, 2013 - Dec. 24th, 2014)
"So, what are we doing now? How about you, Wendy? You usually have good ideas." Stephen Stotch asked.
"I'm afraid I've got nothing. I'm really not all that smart..." she sighed a bit, "I mean, reading a bunch on feminism, marine biology and politics doesn't exactly give you a lot of ideas on dealing with random kidnappings, that's all."
"Well look, we're all supposed to be here because we don't appreciate our lives, right?" Sharon asked, "Maybe we should just go over whatever's supposed to be wrong with us."
"I don't really know what I'm here for, I mean, I was having some emotional issues a couple of weeks ago, but I'm fine now." Wendy shrugged, "I'm over my whole breakup with Stan thing. I mean, I can't cry about it the rest of my life."
"You two broke up? I hadn't noticed." Sharon said, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, yeah, me and Stan didn't exactly spend a lot of time together." Wendy pointed out, "We were never really that close."
"You're handling this very maturely for a nine-year-old girl, Wendy. Are you sure you're not just repressing how you really feel and putting on a happy face?"
"No way, how melodramatic do you think I am? What am I going to do, give up on life over a little crush?" Wendy shook her head, "Please, that'd be incredibly stupid. It's like something out of a bad fanfic, honestly."
"When did that saying get so popular around here? It seems like every time something happens, someone has to make some comment about fanfiction. Does anyone in this town even read or write any of that garbage?" Stephen Stotch piped in.
"Look, that's not important, the point is I love life and I don't want to die. Why are you guys here?" Wendy asked.
"Well, the McCormick kid's probably here because he gets into serious accidents every other week." Stephen pointed out, "Why, if I recall, he was just attacked the other week by a pack of wolves while auditioning for Jeopardy."
"Hey, fuck you!" Kenny cried out.
"I'm here because I'm unhappy with my marriage and hate my husband but don't want to abandon my kids and have to start dating again." Sharon shrugged honestly, intercepting the discussion before it got too bad, "Look Stephen, why are you here?"
"I, uh... " Stephen Stotch looked down with shame, but Sharon put a hand on his shoulder,
"Look Stephen, we all know about the Studcat Theater. It's not exactly a secret in this town." Sharon told him, "I mean, South Park has the largest gay population in most of the western United States, besides California. You really think nobody would recognize you? You were a news anchor once for Christ's sake." Big Gay Al and Mr. Slave were essentially the leaders of South Park's gay community - and also, close friends of the Marsh family to this day.
"Godammit, can we stop rehashing so much old stuff?" Wendy rolled her eyes. "It's just such a lazy way to make an argument."
"Hey, if you want to be in law or politics, missy, you better get used to it. Those entire jobs are just about dragging out old shit nobody cares about." Stephen rolled his eyes, before turning back to Sharon, "So what are you trying to imply? That I've been unfaithful to my wife?" he glared.
"I'm not implying anything, Stephen, I'm accusing you to your face. You've performed oral sex on, and anal sex with, hundreds of sweaty, greasy men in a bath house. You've masturbated in a gay movie theater."
"...oh, all right." Stephen shrugged, "So, we know why we're all here, but that's all a bunch of old stuff. Why are we here now? What kind of person would just sit there and rehash a bunch of old story arcs for their twisted games?"
"Probably someone with a lot of regrets." Wendy rolled her eyes, "Look, we need to stay optimistic. We can make it out of here."
"Face it kid, we're doomed." Stephen Stotch interjected angrily, "There's just no sweet-talking you can do to make us think we'll survive this hell-hole."
"Shut the fuck up." Kenny piped in, "Don't say shit like that. You have a comfy life and get whatever the fuck you want and treat your son like fucking shit and just give up? People like you are why people like these weird fucking killer exist - because you have a ton of shit and you just want to give the fuck up.."
"Could anyone understand a word he said? I can't get anything through that goddamn parka." Stephen Stotch shook his head.
xXx
"This is the Channel Nine Morning News with Tom and Tammy Thompson - Colorado's Top-Rated Brother-Sister News Team." The two anchors stood arms crossed, back-to-back, an attractive woman with blonde hair and a purple suit and an older man with brown hair, a moustache and his own suit.
"Hello, I'm Tom Thompson." the man stated.
"And I'm Tammy Thompson." the blonde explained, "South Park Mayor Maria McDaniels is up for re-election this November in her controversial bid for a third term in office, and despite an edge in early polls, she is now trailing her opponents. McDaniels' handling of crime has been harshly criticized, and former President George W. Bush has declined an offer to do a campaign appearance for her. She is now trailing rival candidate and Tea Party favorite Randy Marsh."
"In other news, Channel Nine now marks just six months since the tragic death of our former Evening News anchor, Tom Pusslicker, in an unfortunate segway accident. We are deeply saddened to be reminded of his courageous acts of heroism, covering the action news here and on Channel Four for years. At eleven, Mrs. Pusslicker will join us for an in-depth interview with reporter Jim Brown-ish about her late husband's dedication to typing up needless loopholes, in and out of the news station." Tom Thompson explained.
"But first, has there been a break in the Jigsaw Killer case? Here's a Woman with a Very Suspicious Bulge in Her Pants, live outside Park County Police Department..."
An attractive woman with feathery brown hair, a deep voice, blue eyes, a short skirt, and a pink suit, and indeed a suspicious bulge, stood in front of the camera with a microphone, "Tammy, I'm standing here outside the Park County Police Department, where the largest gathering of law enforcement agents in Colorado since Jon-Benet Ramsey's disappearance is now taking place. A special investigative unit has been called forth by Mayor McDaniels to investigate this killer and the recent disappearances on Monday, including the Sergeant of the Park County Police and the South Park Chief-of-Police."
They broke into a split-screen, with the Thompsons on one side and the reporter on the other, "Right, but has there been any activity?"
"Well, local centaurian and seniors' rights activist Marvin Marsh, local Elementary shop class teacher Richard Adler, and Sarah Valmer, wife of Fire Department Chief Ryan Valmer, the latter of whom were previously victims of the Jigsaw Killer, were taken in for questioning a few hours ago in hopes of finding evidence of the whereabouts of the disappeared people." she explained,
"Fascinating stuff, Laurie." Tom nodded as the camera opened back up to show the reporter with the suspicious bulge, Laurie, in her full glory.
"Thanks, Tom." the camera panned again, revealing Kenny's mother next to her, with tears in her eyes and a handkerchief that looked stained, "I'm here with the mother of one of the hostages, local Kindergarten teacher Carol McCormick. Mrs. McCormick, this must be a very difficult time for you."
"Oh, it is, our hearts've been broken by little Kinny's disappearance... why, mah husband couldn't be here cause he's at home cryin' his eyes out..." She wiped a tear, "We're tryin' to soften the blow by selling T-shirts to, y'know, raise awareness..." she pepped up quickly, "They're about $24.95, plus shipping and handling, at . They also come with a certificate of authenticity drawn by Kenny's own sister... the littler one."
Laurie nodded, "Right, and uh, Mrs. McCormick, how do you respond to allegations that you're gaining substantial financial gain from your son's disappearance?"
"Substantial, pfft..." she laughed, "Look, when live off breakfas' samples, y'learn to appreciate an oppurtunity to make an honest buck, lady. Besides, Jesus knows we'd trade any money from these T-shirts to have our boy back."
The camera panned out to expose Jesus Christ himself, "Yeah, she was just telling me that."
"Well, I think that's enough damage for one day. Up next, a-" There was suddenly a loud, repetitive beeping, "Oh, sorry, hold on." she reached into her pants and pulled out her cell phone, the bulge disappearing, "Honey, I'm on the- I know- let me- okay, right, bye." she hung up, putting the phone back in her pants, the bulge reappearing, "Uh... up next, a midget in a bikini interviews local scientist Dr. Alfonz Mephesto, who has discovered a stunning scientific breakthrough linking news reporting and needless, lazy exposition. This is Laurie Jenkins signing off. Back to you in the studio, Tom."
xXx
Officer George Barbrady stood next to Detective Kyle Broflovski entered the darkest of the Park County Police Station's interrogation room, "Hello Mrs. Valmer, we'd like to ask you a few questions." Kyle said simply.
Sarah Valmer's lips curled into an innocent smile, "Call me Sarah."
Kyle sat across from her, "Look, we know a few months ago you were found in an abandoned building in a previous Jigsaw test and the cops let you go without questioning because the cops here are retarded."
"Who? Where?" Barbrady asked.
"We just want you to tell us about that evening in as much detail as possible." Kyle explained.
"Do you think I'm pretty little boy?" she asked suddenly, raising an eyebrow.
"I-I don't see what that has to do with this." Kyle raised an eyebrow of his own.
"Come on, detective, it's okay if you're a little turned on, I know I'm very attractive." Sarah smirked.
"Uh, could you excuse us for just a second?" Barbrady asked, turning around with Kyle, "Look, you have to understand something before she ropes you in. She's had a lowt of plastic surgery, including liposuction, a rhinoplasty, cowllagen..."
"Oh God, are her boobs fake, too?" Kyle asked with disgust, never a fan of plastic surgery himself.
"Oh no, don't be crazy, those are real. Look, we might not get much out of her, she's playing hawdball." Barbrady looked back, "We can't keep her for too lowng, she's not rich or black, so people will ask questions."
"Well, sure, she's middle-class, good point, but she's also a woman, so the media'll put us under extra scrutiny, unless we say she had an affair, then they'll just blame her, I mean just look at Kristen Stewart!" Kyle pointed out, "Okay, that's not important, I'm going to try something, different." he turned around, ""Mrs.-
"You know, it's funny how you think turning around means I can't hear you." Sarah pointed out.
"Look, just tell us what happened, please. There's a lot of lives at stake her. Three kids ,a mother of two and a father of one were all kidnapped."
"...all right, fine, you want to know my involvement?" her voice grew low, "Sit down and listen to it from my white, middle-class, pouty female lips... "
"With pleasure." Barbrady nodded, taking off his hat respectfully. Kyle gave her pouty lips his full attention as well.
Sarah breathed in, "I woke up in a dark room, strapped to a chair. I couldn't move my limbs and I could feel the metal against my face. I was gagged and all I could see was a small black-and-white television. I was able to use my toes to turn on a remote, and the TV showed a ventriloquist's dummy like from Saw, but it was really badly painted, like somebody's kid did it with marker... anyway, he told me the device on my jaw would rip my mouth open like a reverse bear trap if I didn't find the key, which was in my cellmate's intestines. She was Tammy Bretts from Tom's Rhinoplasty. I took out my nailfile - it'd never be useful they said, it was a stupid idea, they said! Nobody'd ever kidnap you they said! You talk too much they said! You aren't pretty enough, they said! Your lips aren't full enough, they said! YOUR NOSE IS UGLY THEY SAID!"
"Uh, the story?" Kyle asked.
"Right... so, I was able to break the bonds with my nailfile, which was surprisingly easy, but I couldn't get the trap off, so I was basically forced to... I mean, uh, Tammy was already dead, so I had to fish through her organs. Once I found the key and my hands were covered in blood, I had to find the keyhole, which ate up a lot of time - guess I'm no better than my husband - and finally got the damn thing off. The door opened, light washed over my face, and another tape played, congragulating me and telling me that I was lucky and so many people were ungrateful to be alive. And that's all I have to say about that." she crossed her arms.
"Well, there you go, we have our motive." Kyle grinned, shaking her hand, "Thank you ma'am."
"Thank you, ma'am!" Barbrady echoed, tipping his hat to her.
"Wait, don't you think I'm pretty?" she asked quickly.
"Sure. Totally hot." Kyle lied, not even looking back. He wasn't even into girls like that yet. (Or guys, don't jump to conclusions.)
"Right, beautiful." Barbrady chuckled, as they exited the door back to the lobby.
"There you are, did you guys get anything?" Cartman asked, perking up as he sat with Stan, Butters, and Detective Murphey, who sat in chairs near the main desks.
"Could you guys keep it down? Full House is almost over." Detective Harris Yates called over from the area in which he and Lt. Dawson were drinking cocoa and watching family programming on a large purple couch that Kyle would've swore he hadn't seen before.
"My grandpa didn't really remember anything, he's nearly forgotten the whole incident thanks to his Alzheimer's disease." Stan shrugged as he explained, "What we did get out of him fit the usual M. O. just like all the other stories."
"We didn't get much either, the stupid shop teacher couldn't even give us a motive." Cartman shook his head. Before Inspector Butters could speak, he glared, "Shut up Butters."
"Well, we talked to Mrs. Valmer and she was pretty clear actually - whoever this killer is, he has some kind of sick obsession with making people feel grateful for their lives, or something." Kyle shrugged, "It's kinda cryptic. I guess maybe this guy doesn't think people are very appreciative or something."
"Hey, yeah, I think Mr. Adler said something like that." Butters said quickly, Cartman glaring at him, "...what'd I do, Eric?"
"You know what Butters? How about you stop being an asshole and try to jew me out of credit and let me talk, okay?" Cartman insisted.
"Well, what do you have to say?" Butters asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, nothing NOW." Cartman crossed his arms.
"Aw, come on!" Butters pleaded.
"Hey, maybe you're on to something there" Murphey pointed out, "We've been looking for a motive for this guy and that explains everything."
"Yeah, it's like he sets up these traps so people can escape them if they want to live, and to remind them to be grateful.. or you know, they're suicidal so they die." Stan said, "Something along those basic lines, anyway."
"Hey, how come the police didn't get all this information the first time around?" Kyle asked, "Is it possible there's some kind of elaborate cover-up in the city government?"
"No, that's just Barbrady falling asleep writing the reports again." The red-haired detective rolled his eyes at South Park's typical police officer, who munched on a donut,
"Who? Where!?" Barbrady exclaimed.
Cartman looked to Stan, Kyle and Butters, "Gentleman, what we have here before us in no easy task, but we have few options left. There's only thing left to do. I think this is a job... for Kewn and Friends." he said, a dramatic note playing in the background.
"No, no, no, we're not doing that, dude." Stan crossed his arms, "We're not doing Coon and Friends again, it's overplayed."
"Yeah, I hate those goody two-shoes superheroes!" Inspector Butters shook his fists with rage, "I mean, uh... right, Inspector Butters is on the case... who are we after again, fellas?"
"What the hell's a Kewn?" Detective Harris asked, piping in, "Is that some kind of teenager slang?" He should ask his son about it...
"I come here every day and give you guys Coon T-shirts, Commissioner Harris!" Cartman yelled.
"First off, I'm a Detective, not a 'Commissoner' or a 'Chief' or a 'Prostiute' or anything else! Well, I guess I am a Sergeant, too, but, the point stands, and second off, you can call me Detective Yates, kid." He hated kids using his first name, shortened or otherwise - that was only for colleagues and the occasional magic show.
"Look guys, we need to take this seriously - people could die. I mean, Stan's mom, Butters' dad, hell, Kenny's in there. We can't just sit here and let Kenny die, you guys." Kyle said, "We need to work together like real, responsible adults."
"The emotional arcs here all feel kind of forced and artificial." Stan pointed out, "Nobody's undergoing any emotional turmoil or a real journey here."
"That doesn't matter, dude." Kyle explained, "Look, this isn't going as well as we intended but we have to get this investigation over with or else our adventures will never move on again."
"Yeah, I agree, it already feels like we've been here for years." Cartman remarked.
"All right, sorry, now that that's over with, let's get back to this investigation." Harris replied, "Short version - what have you kids got for us?"
Kyle looked up "Well, it seems the Jigsaw Killer targets victims who are depressed or suicidal, puts them in difficult traps with escape routes to see if they really want to live or put them out of their misery, I guess." he shrugged, "That's about the size of it."
"My God..." Harris said, voice rising, "It's slightly better than what we feared. All right, let's kick it into high gear! Line up!" The additional cops all showed and lined up for him along with the boys. "Okay, here's the plan. Me and Murphey are going to go over possible hostage locations again. Barkley, Peterson, re-examine the crime scene descriptions to gather evidence for the new motive. Dawson, Hopkins, call up the local psychiatric association and figure out if any of our kidnapees had a history of depression or illness. Detective Marsh, let all the witnesses go and see to it they get home safe. Wunderkind Cartman, you go to the evidence room and see if there's anything we can work with, maybe you can trigger a psychic vision or something." he motioned around his head with his hands, Inspector Butters, little Jewish boy, you two go through our files and personality profiles collected from the internet of all of the townspeople and look for clues. Foley, you're on jail guard duty again. Adams, other Murphy, go order us some Taco Bell, we're hungry."
"Little Jewish boy? Aw, come on!" Kyle protested.
"Come on, Kyle, I'm sure it'll be lots of f-fun." Butters smiled at him, patting his buddy on the back, "L-let's just go look through some of those files, okay?"
"See you later, dude." Stan shrugged, waving off his friend as he sighed and went by the Witness Rooms. Cartman went up a staircase, mumbling something about how chilly it was inside the station, while Lt. Murphy stopped at the foot of the stairs for a smoke break before he got to work. Harris leaned back at his desk, reading through God knows what. Dawson got behind a desk and began typing for some reason. Butters and Kyle wandered across the hall, somewhat isolated, and opened the largest file.
"So, what's in those files, Butters?" Kyle asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, you know, just, uh, everyne's personal history and wh-what-not... see, uh, look at these..." he handed Kyle a large thick folder labeled 'B' with several smaller folders inside it...
Bands, Brian F.
Bands, Dana K.
Bands, Sally D.
Barbrady, George W.
Barkley, Gordon F.
Bart, Patrick C.
Baxter, Karen L.
Bell, Jason A.
Berger, Doris E.
Berger, Lisa H.
Biber, Ronald
Biggle, Bradley B.
Biggle, David V.
Biggle, Henrietta P.
Biggle, Hortense K.
Bikini, Midget-in-a
Billings, Christopher
Black, Linda A.
Black, Stephen P.
Black, Token W.
Bregman, Ezra O.
Broflovski, Gerald I.
Broflovski, Isaac M.
Broflovski, Kyle M.
Broflovski, Sheila H.
Bronski, Lois D.
Brown, Aaron
Brown, Dennis
Brown-ish, Jim
Burch, Helen F.
Burch, Richard T.
Burch, Timothy A.
"Some of these are pretty neat. Did you know Timmy's Dad is sixty? Golly that's old. My dad's only like, fifty-eight... but my Dad wasn't a stinky ol' h-hippie like Timmy's Dad." Butters nodded.
"Dude, Butters, you need to stop listening to Cartman, hippies aren't stinky... well okay, I mean, they are stinky, but you don't call them that out loud." Kyle shrugged, looking into his folder, "No clues in here. My file's exactly what I expected. No surprises or conspiracy theories or anything." These files are pretty lightweight, too, it's almost like someone cut out huge chunks of information." he looked, "So how are things going on your end now?"
"Real fun, Kyle. Hey, did you know Mrs. B-B-Biggle's first name is Hortense? She used to be married to this rich ol' burger chain mogul... ooh, and you know that mean guy at the movie theatre, the one who harasses Mexicans all the time and makes fun of us? Well, everybody calls him Schlomo but his real name is Ezra O. Bregman. Boy, is that a mouthful!"
"Yeah, thar guy's a dick. He's like twenty-five and he acts like he doesn't even remember being our age." Kyle rolled his eyes, flipping through, "All right, sorry, we should get back to looking for actual clues instead of gossipping."
"Right!" Butters said, going back to reading, "Do you think Mr. Brown the geologist and Mr. Brown the reporter are related?"
"Butters, come on..." Kyle facepalmed.
xXx
The four remaining hostages in the Trap House explored the place nervously - it was cold, dark, damp and there were a lot of cobwebs. The location was too big to be a basement - it was closer to the size of a house or bigger. They'd reasonably determined it was abandoned, besides by the Jigsaw Killer, and that it either smelled like horse shit or dog vomit, although deciding between these two candidates came to an utter standstill.
"So basically, this guy locked us all up in here because he thinks we're suicidal and he wants to either kill ourselves or escape?" Stephen asked again.
"Yes, Mr. Stotch, okay?" Sharon rolled her eyes, "Stop rehasing the exposition. We all get what's going on here, we may not like it, but we get it."
"Hey... hey, wait a minute, I think I see a door." Wendy stopped, "Up there!" In the darkness and fog, there was indeed the vaguest of outlines of a door, with 'LOOK OUT!' painted in red across it. "'Look Out' huh? Jigsaw must've put some kind of lame trap in there."
"What if it's a way out and he's hiding it from us? I don't want to play mind games but I don't want to die here!" Stephen Stotch cried out as he ran and opened the door to find nothing but two cups resting on a wooden desk, "What the hell is this?"
"How should I know?" Wendy shrugged, "Do you see a video tape anywhere?"
"Here's one!" Kenny said, opening a drawer and pulling it out quickly, handing it to Wendy, who quickly shoved it into the tape recorder, "Well, what's it say?"
"Uh, hold on, he forgot to rewind it..." There was a long, awkward pause as they rewound the table, "Okay, here we go..."
The voice of Jigsaw came out, "Hello there. I want to play a game. In front of you are two cups. One is water, and one is bleach. Drink one, and you might just live longer. Drink the other, and you'll surely die. Live or die, make your choice... okay, is it off yet? No? Well, how am I supposed to masturbate then? Well. Okay. Whatever. Here. Like this? Okay. There we go."
"What a sad, strange little man." Stephen Stotch shook his head.
"So, what are we supposed to do?" Sharon asked, raising an eyebrow, "Do they really expect us to just play Russian Roluette with these drinks here? I think I'd rather play Russian Roulette with whether or not there's actually poisonous gas or not."
"This is a waste of time." Stephen shook his head, "We're probably more likely to die with these weird contraptions than from being here in itself." he sighed, "I was just trying to enjoy some rice-a-roni before this all happened!"
"Then what?" Kenny asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.
Stephen rubbed the back of his neck, "Well, my son, once again, mixed up the rice-a-roni and the ravioli in our pantry, which he's SUPPOSED to organize. I went up to correct the mistake and ended up tripping on a skateboard and falling unconcious. I guess maybe it was planted here.
"I was cooking dinner and went to get a rag and it had chloroform in it." Sharon admitted with a shrug, "I passed right out and ended up here."
Wendy raised an eyebrow, "You know, it's funny, there were no semantics here. In the middle of the night some guy in a pig's mask showed up in the door and kidnapped me. I would've handled it but I'd been up playing Candy Crush so long I didn't have the strength to fight."
"I don't remember a thing. I was asleep." Kenny admitted bluntly, "Curfew rules are strict. It's a bitch..." suddenly, Kenny snapped his fingers, "That's it. The Rules." His blue eyes lit up as he finally made some sense of the situation.
"What rules?" Wendy asked, raising an eyebtow.
"Come on, don't any of you watch crappy horror movies? Look, there's a list of rules you have to obey if you don't want to go down early." Kenny rubbed his forehead as he tried to remember the so-called rules, "Okay, look, we have nothing better to do so here... the first rule is if you want to survive in a horror movie, no sex."
All eyes soon settled on Wendy Testaburger, who crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, "...what's everyone looking at me for, I haven't- oh right, exactly."
"The second rule is no drugs at all, period." Kenny looked up, "Well, I'm out."
Sharon looked away for a moment, then sighed as her shoulders fell, "...Godammit, okay, I'm down, too."
"I can't believe you two would behave so barbaric and childishly." Stephen Stotch insisted, crossing his own arms.
"Um, last of the three cardinal rules is not' ever say 'Who's there?', 'I'll be right back" or anything of that sort. Asking for trouble... then we have the additional rules." he smirked.
"Oh no, there's more?" Stephen exclaimed.
"Yes... never be alone." Kenny pointed out, "Never assume the killer is dead. And the killer's always behind you... and that's about it unless we go into, you know, remake rules."
"...so, basically, everybody dies?" Wendy asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Pretty much, yeah, we're doomed." Kenny shrugged.
"Well, that was a big waste of time." Sharon rolled her eyes, "So what should we do now? Explore the area whilst talk about our problems amongst each other like rational adults with added dramatic flair?"
"That's fucking stupid. We're better off waiting for the cops to get us. We've got time."
xXx
"Cartman? Hey Cartman?" Stan approached the door to the evidence room at the Park County Police Department, knocking, "Come on fatass, answer the door!"
"Uh, Stan, I'm kind of busy right now, I'm... uh, masturbating. Yeah! I'm, uh, pumping on a hard one, Stan!" Cartman cried out as Stan began banging on the door, "Do you fucking mind?"
"What's going on?" Lt. Dawson approached with Det. Hopkins, looking at the end of his rope, "Is something wrong with the Evidence Room?"
"Is everything okay?" Hopkins asked, the friendly brown-haired man raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, he just doesn't want to come out." Stan crossed his arms with annoyance.
"Oh, I've been there. My brother won't come out either." Dawson nodded, finishing off a cigarette, "I keep telling him, Bob, no one's gonna judge you, but he just won't do it." he shook his head.
"Hey, did you try telling him the Taco Bell's here?" Hopkins asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Ohh, right, right, hold on." Stan nodded, turning back to the door, "Oh, uh, Cartman-
"That's WUNDERKIND Cartman to you, Detective Darsh." Cartman said bitterly through the door.
"...Wunderkind Cartman, uh, Murphy the crazy one and Adams just got back with Taco Bell. They have enchoritos and everything. Did you want any?" Stan asked carefully. The door burst open and Cartman rushed out, tossing off what looked like surgical gloves,
"Taco Bell? Why the hell didn't you say something before, Stan you pussy?" Cartman grinned, leaving them behind.
"Hey, what the hell happened to the evidence room?" Hopkins pointed past Stan - there were a variety of liquids pooling, shards of glass from broken bottles throughout, a human liver in the middle of the floor with a cooler full of human remains knocked over on the ground, a few disembodied left hands lying about in the mess, a suitcase full of cocaine wide open, several bags of human semen from old prostitution sings thrown against a wall, cans of empty chili strewn about, entire bags of newspaper clippings on fire.. some showing an old Japanese man while others with Cartman himself, and plenty more.
"My God." Dawson said in disbelief, "I had no idea we had that many semen samples."
"Oh Golly, Sargeant Harris is gonna be mad when he finds out." Det. Hopkins said, "Henry, we need to-"
"Does anyone at this Department understood professionalism? You call me Lieutenant Dawson, got it? Not Henry, not Mr. Dawson, not HenDaw, Lieutenant Dawson! Got it, Freddy?"
"I-it's Frederick..." Hopkins replied sheepishly.
"I don't care!" Dawson shouted, "All right, hold on..." he took out his walkie-talkie, "Is this the black one?" Dawson asked,
"This is Officer Knowles, sir."
"Right, whatever. I need you to the Evidence Room, pronto! Apparently our little Wunderkind has destroyed most of it." Dawson replied.
"Well, what am I supposed to do about it?" Knowles, the token African-American officer, replied.
"Clean it up, what do you think I want you to do with it? Grab a taco first if you need to but then I want it spotless! Throw out any contaminated evidence while you're at it."
"Right, Lieutenant. Thank you. Over."
"Um, Lieutenant Dawson, why are you making Curtis take care of it?" Det. Hopkins asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Who the hell's Curtis?" Dawson asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Lieutenant, you just talked to him. Officer Curtis Knowles. He's been on the force since we opened a location here in South Park. He worked with Det. Harris on the City Sushi case, remember?"
"Hey, hold on, I think I found something." Detective Marsh nodded, "While you guys were arguing, I just found a clue... it says Jigsaw Killer case, #35, and it looks like it's a box with a crudely-made, destroyed trap. Maybe we can look for fingerprints or something?"
"He's right, Fred." Dawson replied, "We should go get some tacoes and then get back to the case."
"Um, okay, I'll just take this box with us to look at later. What about, fatass?" Stan asked.
"We'll tell Sergeant Harris about it, he'll make a final decision." Hopkins replied, "He does seem kind of biased with that fat kid though."
xXx
"You swear to God, you're not making any of this up, Foley?" Sgt. Harris Yates asked, munching on a taco.
The younger cop just casually waved his hand at his superior, "No way! I completely shot all three of them!" Foley replied, "I booked them when they got out of the hospital, too."
"That's some damn good policework, Dan." replied Cpt. Barkley, "Damn good."
"Thanks, Gordon." Foley replied to Barkley, "So that and guarding the jail was my morning. How'd things go with you, Captain?"
"Me and Peterson went over the crime scene descriptions again looking for clues." Barkley explained, "We noticed that they were usually by the docks and in warehouses or large, abandoned buildings." he pointed out.
"Ir's nor much but it helped us narrow the search area." Peterson said, "That's going to make everything a lot easier going on. We're not going to be looking in the backwoods anymore like we might've before."
"That's some damn fine detective work, men." Sgt. Harris replied, "Between your work with the descriptions and me and Murphey looking over potential locations, we've narrowed it down more today than in the last six months. It's a good thing you guys were able to get over here from Middle Park, Henry."
"It was no problem, Harris, you know how boring it is up in Middle Park. You guys deal with all the fun stuff here." Dawson smoked his cigar with a grin, "I guess it could be worse though - imagine working in Greeley. There's not even any black people there."
"Hey, come to think of it, Dawson, Hopkins, how'd your side of things go?" Peterson piped back in, "Find anything interesting?"
"Oh, well Hank, we called them up just like Harris said, and the first guy we talked to offered for us to take off our shirts and kiss,
"Then we talked to a nice Dr. Janus, and then an Asian man, and then a pizza delivery guy... and finally we got through to that, uh, Dr. Marshall, was it?" Dawson asked Hopkins,
"Yeah, anyway, he had no records for any therapy within the last two years by a Sharon Marsh, a Wendy Testaburger, a Stephen Stotch, or a Kenny McCormick, although apparently Mr. Alex Samuels did have some counselling." Hopkins nodded.
"Yeah, my mom keeps trying to work out some counseling thing with my dad but every time they talk about it he writes gay little song on his guitar and they have sex in my bed and everything goes back to normal." Stan said, eating his own taco.
"Sharon Marsh is your mother?" Murphey said with disbelief, "Wow."
"Didn't I mention that like, way earlier?" Stan told them,
Cartman finally broke from his entire box of tacoes - yes a whole box just for him - "Yeah, and Wendy his ex-girlfriend." he returned to eating.
"Aw, come on, don't tell them that!" Stan piped in,
"Wow, Detective Marsh's Dad is nailing Sharon Marsh..." Harris grinned, "Niiice."
"Niiice!" Foley added.
"Oh God, not this again." Stan pinched the bridge of his nose as he shrank in his seat.
"Niiiice." Murphey nodded.
"Wait, didn't Sharon Marsh come in here once with Lorde?" Officer Stevens, normally quiet, piped in, "Oh God, I uh, I'll... be right back." he quickly ran off towards the bathroom.
"Wonder what his problem is." Barkley shrugged.
"Hey, sorry, we're late, we just finished looking through the first file cabinet of South Park residents." Kyle said, "No real leads."
"We did learn a lot of cool stuff though! Like, did you know that Red's Dad actually owns that bar downtown?"
"Everyone already knows that Butters. Oh, hey, anyone have any cinamon twists or enchoritos?" Kyle asked looking around, "...or any tacoes left... at all?"
"Uh, no, I don't think we have any Jewish tacoes." Cartman looked around,
"Oh, come on fatass, we are not playing this game!" Kyle screeched,
"Shut up Kahl, you're just jealous 'cause I'm still a Wunderkind and you're just some kind of butt-licking wannabe cop pussy." Cartman stuck his tongue out,
Butters piped in, hoping to settle the tension, "Uh, you know, uh, the barkeep over there, Rick Jones, he's, uh, a cousin of-"
"Shut up, Butters, no one cares." Cartman insisted, "Listen Keehl, there's no tacoes left, okay? Just get over it."
"Yeah, Detective Broflovski, you better behave around Wunderkind Cartman." Harris replied, "Wunderkinds out rank all other detectives."
"Can we stop pretending he's psychic?" Kyle headbanged into the table, feeling angry and borderline humiliated. He was going to explode.
Stan pushed one of his tacoes towards Kyle, "Dude, relax, I have an idea that'll totally get them to believe you, I promise."
"You know Kyle, I'm going out there, looking for evidence, you know, trying to makr the world a better and safer place for, uh, our children's children, using my powers and authoritah to the full extent of law, and you go and accuse me of lying? For shame, Kyle, for shame!"
"Uhhh, Timmy actually has cerebral palsy and possibly some form of T-Tourette's, he's not, uh, retarded or anything-" Butters tried to calm everyone.
"Actually, um, thank you for reminding us..." Hopkins began, "Listen, Detective Harris, um... I don't want to tell him, Dawson, you tell 'im."
Dawson rolled his eyes and took the cigar out of his mouth, "Your little wunderkind here fucked up the whole evidence room, Lou. Tons of stuff was destroyed, misplaced, damages up the wazoo. If the Mayor finds out, she'll fry your ass, but we can probably pretend Knowles did it." he pointed out, "The point is-"
"You guys, I'm not sure framing Curtis is such a-" Barbrady finally tried to pipe in, having been eating in peace,
"THE POINT IS," Dawson spoke over Barbrady, "He has destroyed thousands of dollars in evidence here and is treading on thin ice. If this was my station, he'd be gone!"
"Oh, oh, it's my fault that when I went in, all the evidence was totally fine, and when I left, it was all destroyed? That's my fault?" Cartman asked, "You're judging me for it? Christ, why are you guys so obsessed with exacting your own twisted form of justice on people?"
"Well, we're cops, exacting justice is kind of our jobs." Harris sipped some coffee, "Murphey, more cinamon twists."
"Yes, sir." Murphey passed him a small bag.
"Yeah, plus you ate all the goddamn Mexican food." Adams piped in.
"Okay, that one wasn't MY fault!" Cartman said angrily.
"It is your fault!" Kyle said, "Who else could've done it?"
Cartman sighed and suddenly two big black eyes and pink lips came up from under the table, brown hair down the new arrival's sides, "'allo! My name is Hennifer Lopez and I like tacoes and burritos!"
"Ms. Lopez? Is that you?"" Harris said with disbelief.
"I thought Ms. Lopez turned out to be a con man named Mitch Connor." Hopkins whispered to Foley, who quietly put his finger to his lips,
"Shhhh."
"Don't talk with your stupid hand, Cartman!" Kyle said angrily,
"Uhh..." Butters rubbed his neck, "Everyone thinks Henrietta's Dad's an alcoholic but he's been sober for years. That time Henrietta thought he was drunk he'd only had a pint over the limit and that was the only time he drank in the last... was it five or ten years? Aw, heck, I don't remember."
"Here, look, Ms. Lopez isn't even real!" Kyle went over and ripped the hair off the poor woman, her, hand, "Behold! Here is your false prophet!"
"You know what? Screw you guys, I'm going home! This whole investigtion thing is dumb, you know that? Fuck you, Kyle, fuck you, Stan, fuck you Butters, fuck you Officer Barbrady, fuck you Sergeant whatever the hell your name is, and fuck you Lt. Dawson! This wunderkind is taking his services elsewheyeah!" he went to the door, "Oh, and by the way, I'm expecting my bill for two hundred dollars in the mail within the week!" he said, slamming the door behind him.
"Well, I guess, there goes our lead." Det. Harris sighed, turning back to the table.
"No it doesn't. I have a theory-" Kyle began.
"Don't you get it, kid?" Harris sighed, "We need a psychic. Someone who can see the future. Someone who, you know, gets stuff. Good old fashioned police work just can't get the job done by itself." he shook his head.
"But-" Stan shushed him and passed him a small stack of books: HOW TO BE A PSYCHIC, COLD READING: THE TRICK OF THE PSYCHIC, MAKE WOMEN BELIEVE YOU'RE PSYCHIC! - THEN HAVE SEX WITH THEM! and finally, HOW TO SIXTY NINE WITH YOURSELF!
"...I think I see what you're getting at." Kyle whispered.
"All right, men, let's get back to work saving those white people!" Det. Harris grinned.
xXx
Cartman scowled as he reached the front door of his house at last after a long, hard day of work. He rang the doorbell and waited. Nothing? The fuck? He tried again, a few times actually. What a crock of shit. "Mam, get the door! Where the hell are you?" He felt a droplet hit his head. Oh no, he was not waiting for her out in the rain. "Christ, I have to do everything myself around here..." he hugged, opening the door and letting himself in. What an ungrateful bitch. "MAM! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU!?"
Liane quickly came halfway down the stairs in a pink robe that was partially opened up, "Eric, I wasn't expecting you home so early, poopsiekins, is everything all right?" she quickly tied it up to hide the lingerie she was wearing.
"Yeah, except apparently some people aren't here can't handle a fucking door." Cartman rolled his eyes.
"Here, sweetie, you put on the TV and put on a nice cartoon and I'll go, uh, fix my room and make you some powdered donut pancake surprise? How's that sound?" she offered sweetly. Her son looked at her with contempt, "And I'll throw in a box of cheesy poofs!" she added.
"W-well... I guess maybe I can look past it this ONE tahm." Cartman said, sitting on the couch and turning on the television, with Family Guy on, "Mom, why the hell is Family Guy on here? What did I tell you about watching that putrid garbage?"
"Oh, well, if I remember... you told me Seth MacFarlane is a talentless Simpsons ripping off hack who cobbles together eighties pop culture references and fart jokes into cutaways with no context and the show lacks realistic three-dimensional characterization and emotion in favor of dispensing more jokes, and that it was part of the liberal propaganda machine and didn't align with your beliefs. Oh, and I think you mentioned that you thought showing the prophet Muhammad was very offensive to Muslims but that censoring it was anti-free speech." Liane explained,
"That sounds about right." Cartman crossed his arms.
"Isn't it possible, poopsiekins, just possible, that maybe you just don't like the show's sense of humor and you're just making up all these other reasons to justify your natural dislike of it so you can feel justified?" Liane pointed out,
"You should listen to the woman, she's got a good point!" came Jimbo's voice from upstairs.
"Mmm yes the show's undergone many changes over the years." came Ned's voice box.
"You two stay out of this, shh!" Liane called up the stairs, "Eric, let me go CLEAN UP MY ROOM and then we'll continue our discussion, okay, poopsie?"
"Oh, okay, uh, later." Cartman rolled his eyes and changed the channel.
"My God, Terrance, you mean your daughter will never be able to do this?" Phillip farted loudly on Terrance.
"I'm afraid not, Phillip." Terrance shook his head.
Cartman rolled his eyes, "God, I hate when silly comedy TV shows try to be all serious and dramatic. I'm here because I want to sit back and laugh after a hard day at work, not to get some soapbox-y dramatic bullshit." The doorbell rang, "Oh come on, who the hell's that?" he wandered over and opened the door.
"Hello Eric. Remember me?" came a slightly nasaly sort of voice, sort of like Stan's Uncle or Cartman's brother, but a lot deeper. The man standing in the rain looked to be in his early fifties, wearing a dark green military imitation outfit under a dark brown jacket with nicely-combed brown hair and five o'clock shadow.
"Uh, no. Who the hell are you, asshole?" Cartman sneered.
"I'm the man who's identity you stole." the man spat at him, "The name's Mitch. Mitch Connor."
To Be Continued...
