place: Hanover
the crime:
murder victims: Thomas Jefferson, the mayor and vice mayor of the town
the accused: the crowd screaming
Inspector: Muddy Waters
time resolution of the case: 52 seconds flat
The night was dripping blood from every fucking hole shining. There were children who called those holes star, but Maddy Waters were only bullet holes fired against God in the city, pale, smoky city, there was one man who attended church. The parraco s' was hanged in the attic of the sacristy ten years ago and no one had bothered to remove the body. Muddy
arrived there at night. He noticed immediately the absence of prostitutes, would have been a case he thought long and hard to solve reflex. The wind
uluava his name
"Waaaaaaaaaaateeeeeeeeeeeersssssssss" Young
debauched, alcohol flooded with a mouth full of chewing tobacco and phlegm, under the awning of the bar of the square completed the moans of the wind with statements like this:
"as Marat die soon drowned in the bathtub "or
" whose guts they will spread on the pavement as Nutella on white bread rye "
And it was the rye that he settle the case to the proper inspector in record time.
But some details had to be satisfied before shooting style bullshit Inspector Derrick. He was not the sort of inspectors who went around with the gray raincoat and a cigar in his mouth. He was one of those really tough, which boasted of vici inspectors cases resolved, but felt his ass before you even shake his hand. He was one of those who suck the lollipop, he played guitar, and played so well that God's call and told him: "Hey Muddy see why to stop here in Paradise is still the first commandment." But he was not interested in heaven, he wanted to have news from hell. From his friends who were sitting down between the forks of devils and prostitutes in New Orleans died of syphilis before the Second World War.
First he went to the cemetery to analyze the body of the mayor. A young undertaker toothless and with strangely erect penis pointed to a crypt that the town was used as a temporary morgue.
There, seven feet below the ground, the body of Mayor Thomas Jefferson without even a rag to the shame celargli deflated by death.
The man was bearded like few others, a sort of hermit. A bullet of shit. Belly pale and swollen tattooed swearing never said it was a song by Johnny Cash, unpublished americanai's ears and in memory of good old country boy I will not reveal if the site www.jhonnybegood.com.
The head was taken off the net. The head was lying in a corner of the crypt. Raved coem a badly tuned radio.
Muddy came up to her face scarred by death. His eyes were closed but his lips quivered clearly A message looping. Without respect for anyone
him back:
"The crowd snarling me tortured and killed. I'm not complaining, I had stolen a lot in recent decades as mayor and I deserved it. I believed in the theories of Lombroso, I was an ardent student of phrenology and my life had been devoted to further study of Dr. Menghele. to remedy the uomoni that arose with the head diameter of less than 38 cm. Now I lie dead and in Hell, I see horrible things that I can not reveal to you. In a strange miracle I was allowed to remain here on the border between the living and the dead, but not for long time. Can you give me just one question before I finally sganici from the sphere of those who live like you. "
Muddy did not miss the opportunity.
"Who is there with you?"
"Robert Johnson"
"What song is the son of a bitch go to hell?"
"Just one question son I said" The mouth is closed, the secretary went down the mayor's post mortem.
Leaving the cemetery, he saw the corner of the young undertaker who fucked from behind a widow of 78 years bent over the fountain in the cemetery, Muddy found himself in a field of ergot mixed with endless acres of corn and wheat. The bread was the only product that produced the community of Hanover for its squalid sostenatamento gerontophiles community.
bread contaminated with psychotropic Corn visionary presence so loved by Anthropologists of the planet. Bread
as LSD.
Not to mention the rice plantations engaged on frog legs, aniamle that people like Allen Ginsberg and indigini ChubaRana approach not only for simple ecological interest surrounding the sides of low hills.
Inspector Waters was forced to give a passage from the cart pulled by the servants of Dr. Phaust dumb Mormons, the physician of the psychedelic community, whom he met in the center of the field of rye while performing his bodily functions.
The doctor spoke of a strange divintà that the people worshiped in the disco Rene Guenon, unique meeting place of the small community, abar over the streets. The divintà not cataloged by any world church, was autoctana. This god was the god of all gods generator of the world's religions, both monotheistic than both of those policies, which explains why it was called the Great Father. His feature was the number of rods that can be found hung on the body. Just as some have dozens of female deities breasts that had clubs everywhere: under the arms, around the nipples on the soles of piety, his fingers were thin glass penises. Muddy ascolater astonished at this story. Phaust confessed his desire to export the worship outside the city limits. The inspector then proposed to Phaust to take him to visit the mysteries Disco Rene Guenon, posing as sheep to be converted. He was ready to scrub him and all his dirty fellow citizens, including young gravedigger chubavecchiette and toothless.
Phaust immediately showed himself willing to redeem the spirit of Muddy, save your ass revealing to him the true faith and true god. He told him, however, tie it with meanette and blindfolded. To not do so suspicious Muddy acconsetì the request. Of course the doctor took the inspector in a field of opium poppies where stuck up your ass the double barrel of a shotgun.
"You have something to say before we sit your ass in the throat?"
"I'll tell you the truth, my desire was to die and go to hell. From the outset I realized that your mayor has been killed by a blunder. I realized that the abundance of drugs that's in the air here leads to frightening hallucinations, but this was not enough to unleash the fury of the people screaming. The murder of the mayor Jefferson came after lunch, lunch of rye bread. The flour used for bread was contaminated with large doses of ergot, which brought the whole community to come together in a death squad and to tear apart the poor mayor, which had the only crime that of being a fascist and corrupt patriarch bio- .
"Then why do not you have stopped all at once?"
"You see I finally nice to know where is Robert Johnson. I then decided that for me, for my spiritual growth I mean, for my fucking heart, it was more important to get him solve this case. You are free, and now I'll die. Given that it will ensure a community of visionaries and psicpagani ugly killers to justice will go to hell. And that's where Robert and I will meet with him I can play some real blues. "
Muddy guitar clutched to his chest. Phaust pulled the trigger. The inspector died. Minor.
