Johnny Incest: P.I. (Part 2 of 2)

CHAPTER FOUR

                Johnny crashed the Corollamobile through the side wall of a Wendy’s across the street from Herman’s salon. He wasn’t sure if this was simply another case of his inattention to the road, or his ever-present subconscious hatred of walls. Nevertheless, the car had crushed to death an entire Korean family as well as two employees. Johnny hoped to remember where he parked.

                Johnny and Quibbles nonchalantly exited the ooze dispensary and walked towards the entrance of Herman’s salon. “I have a good feeling about this, Quibbles,” said Johnny. “Me and my brother – our relationship isn’t just skin deep. It’s… heart deep. Or something. Even so, get your gun.”

                Herman was trimming the fingernails of a preppy short-shorts wearing white girl with surprisingly terrible breasts while Ronaldo was mopping up the semen of the salon’s foot fetishizing pedicurist. Herman looked up from the girl’s overly moisturized mitt and saw a familiar face approaching the door. “Oh, fuck,” he mouthed as the blood drained from his face.

                The door incongruously chimed happily as Johnny and Quibbles entered. The girl and Ronaldo cowered in fear at the sight of Quibbles’ drawn firearm, while Herman stood up and slowly approached his brother. “Johnny… Why are you –“

                “Herman, my dearest sibling, I have some questions for you about the murder of Maury Andross. Namely, did you kill Maury Andross?”

                “Johnny… why the fuck aren’t you at St. Mary’s?”

                “You’re ducking the question, Herman. Terrible debate tactic. Did you or did you not –“

                “JOHNNY. WHY ARE YOU NOT AT ST. MARY’S MENTAL HOSPITAL.”

                Johnny sighed. “The nurses were pissing me off. They’ve all got those weird 80’s tits where they’re all triangular and, like, pointy and shit, you know? Twenty years down the line, I decided, fuck it. I’ve had it up to here with that shit. Every time I’d look at ‘em a Bon Jovi song would start playing in my head and it’d be stuck there for the rest of the fuckin’ day. So I got the fuck out of there. Happy? Now, back to the question –“

                “So you escaped. How the fuck –“

                “Ever heard of windows, asshole? They can be broken, by virtue of being glass. Quibbles here was the most readily available projectile at the time, so I decided he could come along with me. I think he was in there for… oh man, it was either child murder or… stupidity. You remember, Quibbles?”

                “Both sound tasty to me, Johnny boy!” said Quibbles, a childlike smile frozen on his face despite his possession of a loaded firearm.

                “Right,” continued Johnny. “So after that, I couldn’t really find a job, so I started my own detective agency. I plucked some cancerous hooker off the street named Ofelia to be my secretary, Quibbles here helps out with the day-to-day operations, and I’ve been making hundreds of dollars ever since. But that money’s mostly from my wooden condom business.”

                “Okay. Alright. I’m calling the fucking police,” said Herman.

                “Hey-oh. Let’s not get unorthodox here, bro-ham –“

                “’Unorthodox?!?’ For starters, that fat fuck of yours is pointing a gun at me. Also, YOU FUCKING RAPED ME! I WAS FOUR! DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT DID TO ME? THE SHIT I’VE HAD TO LIVE THROUGH? THE SHIT YOU PUT MOM AND DAD THROUGH? FUCK YOU! YOU’RE A RAPIST! A FUCKING PSYCHO RAPIST ASSHOLE!”

                “Herman, that wasn’t rape. It was HBO.”

                “FUCK YOU! RONALDO, LLAMA LA –“

                A bullet pierced Herman’s skull. As his lifeless corpse fell to the floor, Ronaldo and the girl screamed in terror. Both quickly hid themselves behind barber chairs. Johnny gave Quibbles a mildly disapproving glance.

                “Whoopsies! Guess ya can call me Butterfingers, huh?” mused Quibbles.

                “Oh, don’t worry about it. Shit happens, ya know? Plus, we can still maybe get some info off that Rizzotto guy.”

                Johnny and Quibbles stepped over Herman’s body and walked towards the quivering Ronaldo, who remained cowering behind a barber chair near the fire exit. Quibbles cocked his gun.

                “So, Ricotta. You know anything about Maury Andross? His possible murderers? Anything?”

                “P-Perdonáme, señor. No p-puedo hablar ing –“

                “God dammit, Fritata. I don’t fuckin’ speak terrorist. You’re in America, buddy. Freedomville. So if you don’t start speakin’ Freedomian, we’re gonna have a big fuckin’ problem.”

                “P-Pero señor, no puedo –“

                Quibbles fired a shot, exploding Ronaldo’s head. His body collapsed into the newly formed puddle of blood, brain matter and skull fragments.

                The girl screamed once again. Johnny looked her in the eyes, clearly agitated. “Jesus, will you shut the fuck up? He was a janitor mopping up cum. We didn’t exactly kill Jonas Salk.”

“Are… Are you gonna k-kill me too?” she managed.

                Johnny paused for a moment, contemplating. “Nah,” he said. “You can’t kill women. That’s illegal.”

                Johnny and Quibbles exited the salon, skipping merrily to the Corollamobile. Wendy’s makes for a surprisingly efficient parking garage,thought Johnny.

Back in the salon, the girl pulled out her phone. She selected “Ofelia” in her contact list and began texting.

“I got what we need. I’m coming over.”

CHAPTER FIVE

                “That girl in there had pretty weird ta-tas, didn’t she, Johnny?” said Quibbles as Johnny sped back to the office.

                “Pretty weird indeed, Quibbles,” replied Johnny as he flattened a homeless man. “Didn’t really fit with the whole slut-vibe she was trying to put out. Shoulda used grapefruits or something.”

                “Reminds me ‘a my grandma’s ta-tas. Like Ziploc bags that had just been emptied, ya know?”

Johnny slammed on the brakes. He had a look on his face like he had just seen God. Tits like Ziploc bags that had just been emptied. Johnny repeated the phrase to himself. He knew it had significance. He remembered hearing it, or perhaps thinking it, at some point.

The blood-spattered car sat dormant in the middle of an intersection as countless drivers beeped incessantly. But Johnny was unfazed. He knew who murdered Maury Andross.

“Shitting vulvas out of Gandhi’s severed urethra, Quibbles!” Johnny sped out of the intersection, ramming into oncoming traffic. Despite turning left, he didn’t use his turn signal.

“What’s the scoop, Johnny boy?”

“That girl in the salon. She had tits like recently emptied Ziploc bags. Just like Ms. Andross. She came to talk to me about Maury, didn’t explain how she heard about me. Which has got me thinking – how the fuck did she hear about us, Quibbles? We operate out of the top floor of an abandoned sweatshop in a cramped office behind a door with a swastika and something Russian written on it. I hate to admit this, Quibbles, but we’re not exactly marketing geniuses.”

“That hurt, Johnny.”

“So where the fuck did she hear about us? Well, who’s the one other person in our office? Ofelia. She’s always had sort of a grudge against me ever since I kidnapped her off the street, chained her to a radiator and forced her to eat nothing but rancid pizza crusts for twenty years while she tells me if anyone comes in, which no one ever does. So my feeling’s this – she hears me talk about my brother all the time. How I raped him, how attractive he is, how I’ve been spying on him and jacking off to his salon’s security footage, blah blah blah. Eventually, she gets access to a phone somehow, and she realizes she can use that brother shit to her advantage. So she calls a friend of hers, probably some other street-slut, and tells her to go to the salon and kill someone Herman’s working on there. That very same street slut, i.e. the girl with the Ziploc tits, would then come to my office in a shitload of makeup and tell me to investigate the murder. That’s right - Ziploc Tits is Ms. Andross. Ofelia knew that once I’d seen the body I’d make the connection to Herman, so she planted Ziploc tits in the salon to record me fessing up to rape while I confronted Herman. She could then threaten to give the tape to the police unless I let Ofelia go. If you ignore all the gaping plot holes, the plan’s fucking brilliant.”

“Geez, I don’t know, Johnny.” Quibbles was now skeptical about something for the first time in his entire life. “That’s a lotta big leaps right there. Also, aren’t you ‘sposed to be a bad detective?”

Johnny sighed. “Look, Quibbles, call it intuition, call it big leaps, call it shitty writing, I don’t give a fuck. The point is that it’s true. Also, come to think of it, I didn’t just fess up to rape on that recording. We also killed two people. And I’m not saying that that was by any means a bad decision. Herman and Ratatouille deserved to die, what with their, like, talking and breathing and stuff. However, their deaths do put us in way deeper shit.”

“Cheesy Petes, Johnny! Looks like we’re in a sticky situation.”

Johnny broke violently in front of the sweatshop. The decrepit building loomed over them, blocking out the sun and bathing them in pure, unforgiving darkness. They walked a slow funeral march up the building’s 40 flights of dusty, termite infested stairs.

Ziploc Tits followed them.

CHAPTER SIX

                “You malnourished CUM DUMPSTER!” Johnny kicked Ofelia several more times in the ribs as she wheezed with each increasingly aggressive blow.

                She managed, “What the f –“

                “DON’T FUCKING TALK UNLESS I TELL YOU TO TALK, BITCH! JESUS CHRIST, I FORGOT ABOUT YOUR FUCKING VOICE! LIKE A STOMA IN A FUCKING WOODCHIPPER! QUIBBLES, GET YOUR GUN.”

                Quibbles did as he was told and pointed the gun at Ofelia. As she stared down the pistol’s terrifying barrel, her confidence could be seen draining from her eyes as she realized that Johnny truly did have the upper hand.

                “Look, I know your plan. I know about your little blackmail idea, I know about your phone, and I know your oddly-titted acquaintance killed Maury Andross. Now, you’re gonna tell me the name of said oddly-titted acquaintance right here, right now, and if you don’t, Quibbles here’ll shoot you in the face, most likely with his gun. Do I make myself clear?”

                Ofelia began tearing up. She said with extreme reluctance, “Arden. Her name’s Arden…” Footsteps could be heard outside the door. “And here she is now, motherfuckers.”

                Arden kicked the door down and entered the office toting a double barreled shotgun. Johnny and Quibbles backed up as Quibbles pointed his gun at the new target. She pulled a tape recorder out of the barely existent back pocket of her jean shorts.

                “Remember me? I got all that incest and murder shit on tape, bitches. And it’s goin’ to the fuckin’ police unless –“

                “Unless you let me the fuck go, you assholes!” interjected Ofelia. “So, Johnny, how ‘bout you get these fuckin’ chains off me, maybe get me some fuckin’ –“

                Arden pointed her gun downwards and shot Ofelia in the face. She slumped over in front of radiator, now virtually headless. Blood streamed out of her neck like a waterfall.

                Johnny laughed. “Ha! I’ve noticed a flaw in your plan, street whore! How can Ofelia be released from slavery if she’s dead?”

                “Ofelia’s outta the equation now. I changed my mind. I’m thinkin’ maybe you gimme some money, or maybe some drugs or something. Then I’ll make sure this stays away from the cops.”

                Johnny sighed, defeated. Quibbles suggested, “Want me to give her to ol’ one-two, Johnny?”

                “No, Quibbles,” replied Johnny. “You know my policy on Femicide. Plus, I got enough drugs that I can probably part with a few kilos. Bath salts okay, Arden?”

                “Ooh, sounds delish!” Arden licked her lips as Johnny went to his office and searched for the hidden drug compartment under his desk. As he opened it, he heard a gunshot from the other room.

                Johnny sprinted to the scene. He found Arden lying there, blood streaming out of a hole in her forehead. He was not amused.

                “Quibbles, WHAT THE FUCK?!? WHY? WHY DID YOU DO THAT?”

                In a voice of childlike glee, Quibbles replied, “I have severe schizophrenia!” He then raised his gun and shot Johnny in the eyeball. His body fell to the floor, and Quibbles began salivating.

                Quibbles pulled down Johnny’s pants and grinned at the sight of his asscheeks. He chomped into Johnny’s nonliving anus and ripped off a huge chunk of meat like a wolf tearing into a deer carcass. He chewed violently as blood streamed out of his mouth. He laughed maniacally as he swallowed the first piece whole. He then sharted.

THE END.