Chapter 2

Breaking and Entering

"Well, here we are at 777 Purgatorio Lane," Sam narrated, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. "According to the Commissioner, there's been far more than the daily recommended amount of unsolved murders and mysterious disappearances around here..." The 6-foot, suit-wearing canine tipped his hat back a little and sized up the miserable, decrepit little shack of a house he was standing before and took particular notice of the two signs stating "Keep off the loose soil!" and "Don't tread on the dead!" on the bare dirt front lawn. "Heh heh..." he chuckled, "But darned if it isn't the cutest little 'casa de los muertos' I've ever seen! Now stop terrifying that bug-eyed little kid in the window and get your little fluffy white butt over here, Cottonhead!"

"Awww, okay," Max whined, sullenly trudging to his buddy's side. Suddenly, the little lagomorph's ears pricked up and he pointed wildly at Sam, grinning like a lunatic (which is how he grins all the time anyway). "Hey Sam!" he laughed, "Can'tcha read? You're not 'keepin' off the loose soil'!"

"I know," Sam answered, nodding, "And it appears that you're 'treading on the dead,' if this sign informs correctly."

Max nodded gravely. "I know, Sam..." he whispered in awe. Leaping gleefully from foot-to-foot, he squealed "But I like it, I like iiiiit!"

Grabbing his best buddy and business partner by the floppy ears, hoisting him up, then tucking him under his arm like a moldy sack of potatoes, Sam headed to the door. "Alright, enough of this tomfoolery, Max!" (Max was heard babbling "Who's Tom? And who's he foolin' around with? BETTER NOT BE MY MOMMA!") "We've got us a sociopathic wacko to toss into the clink!"

"What's a 'clink'?" Max asked, still grinning manically.

Sam knocked at the roughly-hewn front door, calling "Hello? HellooOOoOoOoOOO? Mister psychopathic lunatic? It's the Freelance Police! We're here to arrest you for your crimes against humanityyyy..."

"We have bagels!" Max chimed in.

After a few moments of silence, Sam rubbed his chin thoughtfully with his free hand. "Hrmmm..." he muttered, "Either our culprit isn't home right now or he's just sitting in his secret 'I don't like lawmen' room, playing the ollllld waiting game in hopes that we'll give up and go home! In which case, of course, we'd be forced to take drastic measures!"

"OOH! OOH! DRASTIC MEASURES!" Max cried, flailing around as best he could under Sam's arm, "DRASTIC MEASURES! DRASTIC MEASURRRRRRRRRRRRES!" He drooled unpleasantly, then took a deep breath and said "Wow, your pits stink, Sam. Have you been rolling in filth again?"

"Yes, actually, but that's neither here nor there," Sam answered, "As for the situation at hand, I think one of us should bust in through that boarded-up window there and then unlock the door from inside... Ready, Max?"

"Ready and willing, Max! I mean Sam!" the lagomorph replied, now wearing a World War II army helmet on his colossal head.

Without another word, Sam grabbed his buddy Max, wound up, and heaved the crude little beast through the boarded-up window. Sending splinters and chunks of broken wood flying about everywhere, Max bellowed "BOOGA BOOGA BOOGA!" at the top of his lungs, then landed face-down on the bare wooden floor with an audible thud.

Hands tucked back into his pockets, Sam waited patiently for Max to unlock the front door. A few seconds passed. Sam coughed slightly. A few minutes passed. Nothing. With a frustrated growl, the canine shamus hauled off and kicked the front door down, bringing it crashing down upon Max who squeaked like a squeeze-doll.

"Whoops!" Sam chuckled, "Sorry, little buddy! I figured your gnat-like attention span had caused you to forget what we were doing and that you were just wandering around the house like an idiot!"

Popping his head up from under the door (and STILL smiling!), Max said "I WAS, Sam! But then I suddenly remembered what we were here for and I was just about to unlock the door for you!"

"Heh, well don't that just beat all? Hey, look, Max! There's another one of your bunny rabbit brethren over there on the wall!"

"I'm a lagomorph, Sam. Look it up." Max wriggled out from under the door anyway and walked up to the wall upon which was nailed (through the stomach) a dead baby bunny. Max gasped and clasped his hands over his fuzzy head. "SAM! This is HORRIBLE! What kind of sick, depraved lunatic would do that to a helpless creature?"

"Normally, I'd say you would," Sam answered calmly.

"Yeah, but I mean ASIDE from me? What would drive a human being to--HEY!" Max squealed happily and leaped onto a very filthy old couch at the back of the room. "CHECK OUT THE NASTY FURNITURE, SAM! Wanna' play 'Name That Stain'?"

Without missing a beat, Sam replied "I would, Max, but it seems that couch has suffered far too many rounds for any of its stains to be recognizable as a single element!"

"I'm sitting in gravy right now!" Max announced proudly.

"HEY!"

Both detectives' ears perked up at the sound of a cold, inhuman voice shrieking at them. They whirled around to see what appeared to be two styrofoam Pillsbury Doughboy models, painted with ghastly demonic faces, waddling toward them.

"Whaddayaknow," Sam chuckled, "Looks like a pair of demonically possessed little street urchins come to drain us of all our bodily fluids!"

Max sighed and clasped his hands together as his ears drooped. "Aren't they cute, Sam?"

"SSSILENCSSE!" wheezed Mr. Eff, shaking his fist (with lots of squeaky styrofoam sounds) at the anthropomorphic crime-fighters, "Jussst what the #$ do you think you're doing here?"

Psycho Doughboy narrowed his eyes and growled "This is OUR home, you #$in' plushies! Nny's already got enough #$ing possessed dolls in this #$ house..." he pointed at a Bob's Big Boy doll who grinned and said "$# off, D-boy!" Doughboy just glared back at Sam & Max and continued "...so get the $# out of here! Go torment that $# Casil kid!"

"Good lord, Sam!" Max gasped, "They're speaking in tongues!"

Producing his (correspondence-course) police badge from the folds of his coat, Sam explained "Take it easy, Stumpy! We're not stuffed animals, we're Sam & Max: Freelance Police!"

"Though I'm sure you can find bootleg dolls of us on e-Bay!" added Max.

Psycho Doughboy snarled. "I don't care who the $# you are! Get out of here... NOW!"

"Afraid we can't do that, Popp'n'Fresh," Sam continued, "We've been assigned by the Commissioner of whatever state this is to track down the homicidal maniac who lives here and bring him to justice!"

"YOU FOOL!" Mr. Eff cackled, throwing his little nubby hands to the sky, "He can never be captured! NEVER! GWAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAA! EVIL ROX!"

Max narrowed his eyes evilly. "Take a hike, Squeaky, or I'll have to exercise my right to brutalize you in a comical fashion..."

"A dog and a rabbit," Doughboy retorted dryly, "I'm terrified."

Sam smiled and turned his head to his friend. "Max, the cuddly little dolls don't seem to think we're scary..."

An indescribable snarl full of inhuman fury welled up within the fuzzy little white bunny-creature while the Doughboys simply watched him with a bored sort of malevolence.