"I'm sure the others will thank you later for making this choice, Piggy," Bitterman continued the conversation with the pig on the TV screen inside Golderman's office. On the desk, Kermit watched the scene Sam had shot roughly an hour ago with complete shock and horror.

"Yeah, I know deep down they will," Miss Piggy agreed with a nod, "They've gotten tired of things around here lately too, if I may say so. Actually, the other day I heard Rizzo tell Beauregard that he felt Kermit's too over the hill, that…"

Golderman turned off the VCR. "Get the picture, Kermit?" the studio magnate told the frog, "You have no support anymore."

"How could this happen?" Kermit was close to breaking up, "And from Piggy! I thought…I thought she actually did have feelings for me! How could she do this? I can't believe it!"

"Believe it Kermit, that's the way it happened," Sam took a swig of soda, "Mr. Golderman, I do believe you owe me some more cash."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, a deal's a deal," Golderman reached into his desk and gave Sam the remaining five thousand dollars, "Don't drown yourself in caffeine with it."

"How could they sell out the theater!" Kermit continued lamenting, "And to Rachel Bitterman of all people! That theater was the only thing we had left from Jim! It was the only connection to what we used to be!"

"Yeah, used to be being the key word," Golderman walked over to his star, "Look, Kermit, you had a great act while it lasted, but times have changed. Nobody likes your old shtick anymore. People want more action, more sex, that sort of thing. And you either change with the times and accept that others have ot make a living too, or you can die on the vine. Your so-called friends know that, that's why they all signed on to start their own films, Miss Piggy included. Now are you willing ot return to the Frogbo set without causing anymore problems?"

"I guess so," Kermit nodded weakly, "I thought they cared for me, and they all would turn on the drop of a hat! Even Piggy! I can't believe they all signed that manifesto!"

"Welcome to the real world, Kermit. Loyalty means nothing anymore these days," Sam told the frog, "You have to make it on your own and expect people to stab you in the back."

"And you used to support us too," Kermit muttered under his breath at the detective, "You told Jim you'd do anything for us."

"Hey, Kermit, look at the bright side, with your long experience in show biz, you'll be bound to get a talk show of your own," Sam suggested.

Without warning, Kermit snapped. "TALK SHOW!" the frog yelled, jumping on top of Sam and shaking him, "I DON'T WANT A TALK SHOW! I WANT TO KEEP THE MUPPET PERFORMERS TOGETHER, AND WE'RE GOING TO STAY TOGETHER NO MATTER WHAT IT TAKES, DO YOU HEAR ME, NO MATTER WHAT IT TAKES!"

And with that, he barreled through the wall and out up the street. "I'd say it he took it well," Golderman commented, staring at the hole in the wall, "Well, I guess it's goodbye then, Detective Klubb."

"Sure," Sam shook his hand, "Good luck with that action film, Golderman."

It was a half hour later when Sam arrived back at his apartment. As with the overall theme of his neighborhood, it was decked out much like an apartment in the 1940s would have been. Which was fine enough with Sam; as a child he'd always enjoyed watching noir pictures. They'd in part fueled his interest in becoming a detective. Not to mention the fact that his family had been detectives for several generations.

Now he was the last of the line. As he slouched behind his office chair, a bleak reminder of this fact greeted him on the desk in front of him; a picture of himself over ten years younger on a street corner smiling happily. As were the three people around him: a tall, thin bespectacled young man, a long-haired young woman, and a large, fat mustached older man. His family. The only people who'd made his life happy. And now they were gone. All because some dirty Muppet had decided not to give up without a fight.

"Hope you had a good night," he told the photo glumly, toasting his latest soda can to it, "'Cause I just sold out one of our last big supporters. Nice way to kill the old business, huh?"

He glanced around at the dusty room somberly. The three empty desks, with the fading nameplates still trumpeting their former occupants (ROY C. KLUBB, JAMES D. KLUBB, and KATHERINE A. KLUBB respectively), spoke back to him of the times gone by. Times when they had all enjoyed working in Muppetville. Now those days were gone, likely for good. Memoirs of the former Muppet lover Sam had once been lay across his desk in front of him: newspapers proclaimed headlines such as AMAZING MUMFORD CLEARED IN CASE OF VANISHING VALUABLES and KLUBB FAMILY DETECTIVE AGENCY EARNS RED FRAGGLE FREDDOM FROM COUTNERFEITING CHARGES. He sighed deeply. One day he'd have to throw them out. But right now, he needed more to drink.

Across town, a broken Kermit slid down a back alley. He didn't even notice when he accidentally knocked over a trash can and sent the cat inside running. He slumped against a dumpster and pulled out an old photo. A photo of a bearded man sitting against a window, holding Kermit up in his hand.

"I'm sorry Jim," the frog told the picture tearfully, "I failed you. I've tried to follow your vision of making the world just a little better. It's just so much harder these days. If only there was some way I could keep your dream alive in everyone. If only there was some way."

For no particular reason, rain began falling at that exact moment. Kermit didn't notice at all. He slumped his head forward, trying ot think of some way to keep the troupe he'd considered his friends for so long from selling out to Bitterman…

A loud knocking on Sam's door roused him from his sleep. "Hey Klubb, open up!" shouted a rough Irish voice, "I've got to talk to you!"

Sam rose up from his desk. "Okay, okay, give me a minunte!" he grumbled, not yet fully awake. He lurched toward the door and threw it open. "Good morning Lieuitenant O'Shaughnessy, what brings you here today?" he asked the policeman before him.

"Tsk tsk, Sam, what a career you've made for yourself," O'Shaughnessy shook his head, "You used to be the best, now look at you."

"Would you get to the point, Lieutenant?" Sam grumbled.

"Certainly. Word has it you were snooping the Muppet theater recording a business deal last night," O'Shaughnessy told him.

"Yeah, that's not a crime," Sam retorted.

"No, but it led to one," O'Shaughnessy said, "Your friend Kermit the frog offed Rachel Bitterman afterwards."

"What?" Sam's jaw dropped. Kermit, a murderer? It didn't seem possible…or was it?