Chapter 3: CONFRONTATION

Ok, so now it's two in the morning, my head is killing me and I'm standing around with cops and EMTs and a crowd of gawkers and lights are flashing and spinning and everybody's chitter chatter chitter chatter like a bunch of beavers high on coke.

Head cop walks up to me. He's an older guy with gray hair and a big ole black handlebar mustache with about six pounds of wax on the thing. He reminds me a little of Black Jack Mulligan, but not nearly as big. Gotta be the mustache. "So what happened fella?"

How surprisingly fresh to hear that word without its typical accompanying adjective.

"I was sitting over there." I point to the curb. "I was drinking beer."

"You do know public intoxication is against the law, don't you?"

Look me in the face, slug monkey.

"I was drinking beer and I'd finished up the six pack when -"

"Six-pack? Hm..."

"You want my statement or not?" Butt munch. Any and all resemblance to Black Jack is gone. He now reminds me of Snidely Whiplash, only with less brains.

"Please. Continue."

"I stood up and heard a noise in this alley. Against my better judgment, I went to investigate. When I got to this point," I go stand where I stood. "I see two people. One is this poor guy, on his hands and knees. Another guy was standing over him with a pipe. He swung the pipe in a downward arc, cracking this poor guy in the back of the head and neck. I heard bones break. I yelled out HEY. The guy with the pipe drops it and runs off down the alley."

"Did you attempt to follow this individual?"

"Yeah, but after I checked to see if this guy was ok. He wasn't, he was already dead. I jogged a little up to this point," I go stand where I stood. "I knew I had no chance in hell of catching the sumbitch. So I went back to the body. The guy from the convenience store was standing there looking at us like a deer in headlights. I tell him to call 911. Here you are."

Another cop walks up to us. He's younger than head cop, by about a millennium or so. Kid doesn't look old enough to be out of diapers. He sees me and his eyes get huge. Leans over to head cop and whispers in his ear. Head cop eyes me like I'm some sort of new insect, a piece of dog turd on his shoe, an elegant expensive car covered in poisonous reptiles.

"What did you say your name was?"

"Name's Max Carnalli. People know me better as Max Carnage."

"Max Carnage? Nickname?"

"Stage name."

"Actor?"

"Sort of. Pro wrestler."

"Um-hm. Isn't that stuff fake?"

You wanna find out how fake it is? I'm not as tall as the announcers claim I am, but I'm taller than you want to think. And I'm a hell of a lot bigger than this gray haired piggy.

"Are you threatening me, fella?" Piggy unstraps his sidearm, letting me know he's not scared of me so long as he has his weapon.

"Are you threatening ME? I'm unarmed here. You're the one with the gun. Do I scare you?"

"Let me remind you," says head cop trying to keep his voice from shaking, "you are the only witness to a murder. Circumstances could place you as the killer here."

I laugh. I have to laugh. If I don't laugh, I'm likely to powerbomb this blue suited asshole into next Tuesday.

"Did I say something funny?"

"If I killed this guy, do you honestly think I'd be standing here talking to you?"

"Doesn't matter what I think. You are the only one who claims to have seen the murder. We do have a witness who saw you standing over the body of the victim. This does not look good for you, fella. So I suggest you shut up before you say something that will get you arrested."

Why you punk ass cheap fuck whoremonger slit drip shit eating chud muncher

"Tim, would you please take Mr. Carnalli here down to the station for questioning?"

"Oh you have GOT to be joking! I've gotta be on a plane at 6 in the morning! I've gotta get to Frisco!"

"You are not going anywhere, fella. You are a key witness, and possible suspect, in a murder case here. I suggest you call your lawyer."

Cop Jr. puts his hand on the back of my elbow. It takes a lot of will power, but I keep from crushing his skull.

"This is BULLSHIT! Its BULLSHIT and you FUCKING KNOW IT!"

"Tim, get this clown outta my crime scene."

Cop Jr. leads me to a squad car. The crowd is three quarters drunk. Just like me. I see one of the kids who got an autograph from me a couple hours ago. He spits at me.

"I thought you were a face, Carnage. You ain't nothin'! You a punk!"

That hurt.

I climb into the patrol car without a word. People are starting to yell things. Bad things. I wanna sleep. I wanna sleep on a plane bound for San Francisco. I wanna put my hands around an old cop's neck and give him a first hand demonstration of what breaking bones sound like. I close my eyes and the red and blue flashes still get in under and through my eyelids.

This really sucks.

I close my eyes and I try to put a face on the punk that had been holding the pipe. He's all shadows and blackness. He's death and evil. And I'm being taken downtown for questioning. Merry fucking Christmas.

I want a beer.