“The body of detective Karen McNulty was found this morning, floating in the bay near a pier piled with iguana droppings.” the newscaster announced, flouncing her long, blonde hair.
Noticing the similarities and curious inversions from the previous night’s dream, Karl and Max both lean forward and squint intently at the TV, trying to see if there was a note in the dead detective’s skull.
The fact that the detective had been strangled to death (as reported by the blonde newscaster) laid that false premonition to rest.
“Damn.”
At that moment, the phone rang, and Karl rushed to answer the call.
“Meet me at the gasthaus on Engallstrasse in 15 minutes…and leave the damn iguana at home this time,” said a voice.
“Hello?” Karl said after he fumbled with the handset and finally got it up to his ear.
“Get your butt outta bed, Karl…” said the voice, “I’m tired of all this nonsense; I’ll be there to pick you up in FIVE MINUTES!”
Karl took the Luger from his desk drawer, moved the toggle to see the gleam of brass in the chamber and sighed.
“Can I just have one night that doesn’t involve the death of good looking neighbors by strangulation?” Karl erupted in impotent frustration at his lizard. “Well, can I?”
There was a knock at the door.
Max watched Karl lock the door, and then check his Luger again, before unlocking the door and opening it.
An outstretched hand reached toward him as Karl bent down to kiss the ring of Pope Benedict XVI who was inexplicably standing in his doorway.
“Cocaine is a hell of a drug, isn’t it,” smirked Bennie as he shimmered and then melted like wax on a hot stove only to reform into a miniature Joseph Gordon Levitt dressed as Tinkerbell.
It was Stashinsky with that God damned air gun again; Karl thrust the Luger forward until he felt a body and fired twice.
As Stashinsky crumpled to the ground ina crumpled heap, Karl noticed what must be a rubber mask on his would be assailant’s face; he stooped down to pull it off and saw the face of Richard Nixon beneath!
“Ah Ha, the old ‘double disguise’ trick!” ; tugging the Nixon mask free, Karl had discovered Bohdan Stashynsky.
Max wondered if today was the right day to quit licking his fellow Toads in the cage.
As Karl started to laugh at Bohdan Stashynsky’s corpse, he felt a cold, wet handkerchief perfumed with ether slip across his mouth and nose.
“Wait… did I lick that toad?” ruminated the tiny witness.