"That'll be eight twenty-six, bud," the cabdriver told Sam as he pulled up to the curb in the detective's home neighborhood.

"Keep the change," Sam climbed out of the cab—and was nearly run over by a speeding vehicle. "Hey, watch it you lousy road hog!" he yelled at the driver.

"Why don't you watch it!" the driver, an actual hog, yelled back. Sam shook his head. "Stupid Muppets," he grumbled.

He walked toward the large multi-leveled restaurant with a blinking neon sign over the door flashing CLUB 40S nearby. As part of one of the mayor's urban revitalization efforts a few years ago, entire sections of the city had been rebuilt with a theme—in the instance of Sam's neighborhood, that of an inner city from the 1940s. It had once been teeming with Muppets, but most of them had been relegated to Muppetville after the death of Jim Henson after numerous complaints by city residents about their general mayhem. Sam had agreed with this policy for a long time.

The restaurant was full of the usual early evening crowds Sam typically saw there as he walked in. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke filled the air. The detective sat down at the counter. He wasn't hungry at the moment; he was just waiting for someone he knew.

"Sam Klubb. It's been a long time since I've seen you," came a very familiar voice from the piano nearby. Sam spun around. "Rowlf?" he asked, amazed to see the dog, "When did you start here?"

"About an hour ago," Rowlf told him, "Connie hired me. Guess she felt sorry that I've been out of work for so long."

He pounded out a raw classical tune on the piano. "Yeah, you can tell you've been," Sam grimaced, covering his ears, "In ten years you couldn't find a decent job?"

"I guess I could ask you the same question, Sam," added another voice. An attractive waitress stepped across the counter toward him. "Have you got that money you owe me?" she demanded.

"Uh, sort of," Sam told her, "You got that video recorder?"

"Why?"

"Want to exchange it for the dough?"

"How much?" Connie pressed.

"How does half sound?" Sam held out the money Golderman had given him earlier. Connie examined them with an edge of suspicion. "This is half, where's the rest?" she inquired.

"I'll get the rest later," Sam said as patiently as he could, "Once I do the job I've been required to do tonight at the…" he paused uncomfortably before continuing, "…the Muppet Theater, I'll get you the rest."

"Well, someone's going to the Muppet theater?" an unsavory looking man leaned over Sam's shoulder, "Well, what's the scoop, Klubb? Uncle Deadly live up to his name? Or did the Swedish Chef actually kill himself?"

"Here's the recorder," Connie handed it to Sam, "I want it back in one piece."

"At the Muppet Theater, forget it," the intruder chuckled.

"Ocknay itway offway, Illbay," Connie warned him, noticing the dark look spreading over Sam's face.

"Oh, actually let me guess, the Gorgs hired you," Bill persisted pestering Sam, "They finally realized they've lost all their radishes, and they…"

He got no further, for Sam abruptly grabbed him by the back of his collar and tossed him the floor. Everyone in the restaurant stopped—including Rowlf in the middle of his latest song—and stared at the fight in the making. Sam planted a foot on Bill's chest. "Read my lips, you jerk face!" the detective roared, "I…DO…NOT…WORK…FOR…MUPPETS!"

He picked up the cup of coffee next to him on the counter and poured it into Bill's groin. Bill howled in pain as Sam stepped over him and stormed toward the exit. "He's got a serious anger management problem," he griped.

"I guess you would too if a Muppet killed your family," Rowlf said with a rare air of grimness.

"Who what?"

"'Fraid so," Connie stared with sadness after the detective as he left, "Dropped a boulder on them all."

"Oh well, life goes on," Rowlf resumed playing the piano.

The show had already begun at the Muppet Theater when Sam arrived there about an hour later. He knocked on the closed door to the theater itself. "Got a ticket?" came a gruff voice from within.

"Yeah, let me in," Sam said. The door slowly opened, and out lumbered Sweetums wearing an usher suit. "Take whatever's available," the monster said, taking Sam's ticket, "Want me to check your coat?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam started to take it off. He needn't have bothered, for Sweetums at that moment pulled out a marker and drew a checkmark on Sam's coat. "Checked," he said.

Sam glared at him and walked into the theater. A raucous crowd was already whipped into a frenzy as the Electric Mayhem performed on stage. The detective took a seat on the end of one of the middle rows. "She caught the Katy, and left me a mule to ride," Dr. Teeth was crooning on stage, "My baby caught the Katy, left me a mule to ride, the train pulled out, I walked on behind, crazy about that hard-headed woman of mine."

"Faster!" Animal roared, banging harder on his drums.

"Shecaughtthekatyandleftmeamuletoride," Dr. Teeth started singing the next verse incredibly fast, accompanied by frantic playing of instruments by the rest of the Electric Mayhem, "Shecaughthekatyandleftmeamuletoride. MybabycaughtthekatyleftmeamuletoridethetrainpulledoutIwalkedonbehind. Crazyaboutthathardheadedwomanofmine."

"FASTER!" Animal ordered again. This time the lyrics were sung too fast for anyone to really make them out. By the time he finished, he and the rest of the band collapsed from exhaustion; Floyd Pepper in particular looked incredibly winded. "FASTER!" Animal was still enjoying it, and thus was dismayed when large hooks came in from the wings and pulled them all off stage to thunderous applause. Sam could have cared less. "Pathetic," he grumbled, taking another swig of soda.

"I don't think so, Sam," came a familiar voice from the row behind him. "Ernie?" Sam turned in surprise.

"That's me," Ernie grinned from ear to ear, "Old buddy Bert and me got the night off. With luck we'll be called on down for the game show sketch they're planning later; our lucky numbers are 333 and 334."

"Ernie, the numbers are secret!" Bert reprimanded him from the seat next to him, "That means you don't tell anyone!" Looking at Sam, he said, "I lost the coin flip. It was either this or the pigeon convention across town. What brings you here?"

"I'm waiting for either Miss Piggy or Rachel Bitterman," Sam said, "You seen either of them?"

"Bitterman's in the fourth row," Bert pointed, "I don't know what she's doing here after everything that's happened before. Miss Piggy should be on stage after this next act goes through."

"Shhhhh, Bert, the next act's starting," Ernie pointed at the stage. Gonzo was striding out on stage wearing a devil suit. "Ladies and gentlemen," the purple creature announced to his audience, "Tonight for your viewing pleasure, I will attempt a daring feat that has been attempted a million times before, usually unsuccessfully. I will swallow a multitude of explosive substances, and then blow myself up. "First, some gasoline."

He hefted a can and drank every drop of gas. "Then some nitro glycerin," he continued, drinking it, "And finally this stick of dynamite. Now brace yourself, because this is the big one."

He light a match and through it down his throat. Immediately he exploded violently into the rafters. Loud applause swept the theater. "Boring," Sam groaned.

"I think he got a bang out of that," came a familiar voice from the box just above him.

"You know it, Statler," Waldorf agreed, "It's too bad he's got an explosive personality, or the act might have worked."

The two senior citizens laughed out loud. On stage, Gonzo landed back on the floor with a thud, heavily charred. Two chickens rushed on stage and dragged him off. Sam took the opportunity to scoop out Bitterman. She was indeed in the seat Bert had pointed out, and was the only person apart from the detective himself not applauding. Indeed, she had quite the devious look on her face, Sam thought

"Byiereen Meestera Klubb, bork himmer mick popcornen?" came a voice with a notable Swedish accent to Sam's right. The Swedish Chef was holding out a bag of popcorn toward him. "No!" Sam yelled at him, jerking his thumb toward the back of the theater. The Chef shrugged and trotted off. Sam watched as he offered the bag to Telly Monster in the tenth row. Telly accepted it—only to spill it all over the place when he sat down in his seat. "They still haven't fixed that chair," Sam shook his head.

"Nope," Ernie was chuckling at Telly's predicament, "All these years and he still hasn't learned."

"And now ladies and gentlemen, for your listening and viewing pleasure, here's out very own Miss Piggy to perform, 'I'm Every Woman,'" came Scooter's voice over the loudspeaker. When the curtain rose up on a glitzy set, however, it was Fozzie Bear who came out on stage. "Thank you, thank you!" the bear address a booing audience, "I just flew in from Portland, and boy, my arms are tired."

"Hey, fuzzy!" came a familiar porcine voice from, the wings, "Does your name sound like Miss Piggy?"

"Hmm, Fozzzz-eeeeeeee-Beeeaaaaaarrrr," Fozzie pronounced his own name slowly, "No, it doesn't."

"THEN GET OFF THE STAGE!" the real Miss Piggy roared, "Unless you want a fist in your face!"

"Right away," Fozzie meekly scurried off. Miss Piggy flew onto stage suspended from the roof on a wire and wearing an angel suit. "OOh, I'm every woman, it's all in me," she crooned, "Anything you want done baby, I do it naturallEEEEEEE!"

The wire unexpectedly broke, sending her crashing to the stage. She stormed off as the audience broke into laughter. It was at this moment that Sam noticed Bitterman rising from her seat and walking toward a door labeled BACKSTAGE. He rose up and walked after her at a safe distance.

Pushing the door open, he had to force his way through a crowd of Muppets in costume for future acts. "Move it, you lazy cows!" he yelled at them.

"Hey, no shots below the belt, buddy!" shouted a cow in the group. Sam paid no attention. He caught sight of Bitterman knocking on a door with Miss Piggy's name on it in very large letters. "Miss Piggy, I need to talk to you about what we talked about last night," he could make out her lips saying. He waited until she walked into the dressing room before scurrying over to the door. "What are YOU doing here?" he could hear Piggy say inside.

"I thought after what just happened you might be a bit more receptive to what I have to say," Bitterman replied. Sam clicked on the recorder and held it up to the keyhole as the businesswoman continued, "Now Pig, I know you've spent so long working for the frog, but what has he gotten out of it for you? You're certainly no further along toward stardom than you were when you first met him."

There was a low sigh from within the dressing room. "I know," Miss Piggy said glumly, "And I just had a feeling working for Jim would bring it for me."

"Yes, Mr. Henson made a lot of promises to you, didn't he?" Bitterman inquired, "Certainly you'd like a better opportunity for success than what the frog offers for you here, wouldn't you?"

Sam didn't here the answer to this, for it was at this moment that a large furry hand grabbed his shoulder. What are you doing, buster!" Sweetums demanded.

"Mind your own business, you big hairball!" Sam retorted. He soon regretted this, for Sweetums picked him up and hurled him through the wall into the back alley. "And stay out!" the monster growled.

Sam picked himself up and dusted himself off. He could still hear Bitterman talking through an open window nearby. He crept over to it and put the recorder to his eye. Inside, Bitterman was pulling a paper out of her pocket. "I have a manifesto here," she was telling a dismal-looking Piggy, "This will give you star status for Golderman Pictures. I'll instruct Fred Golderman to make you your own picture series, complete with anything you want. All you have to do is renounce Kermit and sign this. You'll be freeing everyone else from his outdated contract here at this theater too. What do you say?"

"Hmm," Miss Piggy's brow furled, "I don't know if Jim would really approve us selling the theater and all. One of the last things he said before he died was that we should trust Kermie with…"

"Forget about Henson!" Bitterman shouted, "He's gone, he's dead, he's out of the picture! What do you say, Pig? This is your last chance for stardom."

For the longest time, Miss Piggy stared at the document. Then she took the pen and signed it. Sam smiled as he recorded the event. He was going to get the rest of the ten grand sooner than he'd thought. This had been so easy.