10 Warning Label

In this episode, the Sick Man returns with part two of the shocking, explosive, new Fake Cop Trilogy. 

Will Fast Bobby return with information about the Toucan Man? No idea. Will Fake Cop finally confront his role in the death of his son? He doesn’t really know how to, so probably not. Will the Bonanza survive the night? Unlikely. Most importantly, will any of this actually lead somewhere … for once? Maybe. Depends on your definition of “somewhere”. 

This … is Warning Label.

Transcript

SPEAKER_06 0:00

Since April of two thousand twenty-four, Red Carter has been hosting a video called Sick Man Talking. During that time, he has released a wide range of episodes displaying confessional, cultural, and historical commentary, creative storytelling, and experimental narratives, including a series called Fake Copy. These episodes are presented as part of the Sick Man Talking Archive. What follows is one of those episodes.

SPEAKER_00 0:28

Hey everybody, how you doing? It's Brad here. Thank you for joining me. Okay, what's up for episode 76 of the Sick Man Talking Show? Well, today, today I have the explosive second installment of the latest Fake Cop trilogy. It's explosive and shocking. Shocking and explosive. You will be shocked and exploded anyway. We last left Faye Cop using an informant named Fast Bobby or Fast Bobby Fruit Lupeau. The man has like seven names, guys like him usually do. He was being used by Fake Cop as bait to get information on the Toucan man, whose name I will try not to laugh at during this episode. Then we had Faye Cop traveling to the Kingston Prison for Women, the P4W, to break the news to Angel Dubois that her son had died. Oh, and she was real pissed too. It's not like I wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know, come on. But of course she blamed it all on me like I need that shit. She really does have a problem with blame externalization. She's got a lot of problems, actually, uh, serious ones. Anyway, will Bobby find information on the Toucan man? Probably not. He's pretty soft and pretty stupid too. Uh will I finally confront my role in the death of Johnny Kelly Jr.? Probably not. Definitely not. And most importantly, will I finally get rid of the body of an Uber driver named Cornelius who I had to kill? He gave me a fucking shitty rating. Come on. Same answer to the previous questions. This is warning label. Mr. Wilsman. Fucking engage, man.

SPEAKER_07 2:16

Sake man talking. We got a sick man talking here. Sick man talking.

SPEAKER_00 2:49

Kingston back to Newmarkets. I had a lot of thinking to do. Or maybe I didn't. I don't know. It can be hard to tell sometimes. It all seemed pretty simple. Angel Duval was locked up in the P-4W doing a life stretch for the murders of Johnny Kelly, Mickey Two Shots, and Blackjack Blackadar. Three bodies I helped orchestrate with my gun and my plan. Which sounds messy, but really isn't when you think about it for exactly you know two seconds or so. The idea at the time was to take over the black market for loose operation and new markets. Angel would take the fall. Well, now to be fair, she didn't know she was gonna take the fall. That was really my plan more than hers, but uh anyway, she would take the fall. I'd stay out here, everyone would understand their roles, except for Angel, and that would be that. The only detail that I hadn't accounted for, and it was a pretty big one too, was that she was pregnant, which I didn't find out until one year later, when she gave birth to Johnny Kelly Jr. No relation, of course, to Johnny Kelly. Now that has been established, the man who she murdered. Now the unusual part was that when I finally met the kid, he was 20 years old, even though he'd only been born uh a year earlier or so. It was kind of fucked up, uh hard to explain, but it worked out for the best. It was the kind of thing you learn to accept uh in order to stay sane, you know. Johnny Kelly Jr. wasn't exactly a scholar either, but I got used to him. And the two of us had begun putting together a father and son startup business called Mobile Muscle. Or mobile muscle, I wasn't sure yet, anyway. Concept was pretty straightforward. I was already moonlighting as an Uber driver using Cornelius' 2002 Pontiac Sunfire. Uh, Cornelius, we all know Cornelius by now, don't we? The Uber driver, who used to pick me up, gave me a terrible rating, even though I did everything perfectly, which dropped my already shitty rating from a 1.2 to a 1.1, which obviously forced me to kill the fucker, put him in the trunk, and take over his accounts. And he's been back there for a few episodes now, I don't know how many exactly. February has been kind enough to keep the smell in check. Otherwise, this would have been a disaster earlier, but my rating was still a disaster. So I've been slowly, gradually, working real hard to try to build it back up. Mobile or mobile muscle. Well, that was gonna fix all that. We pick clients up, Uber them to our personal training studio, give them a good hard workout, and then drive them back home again. Rod sharing and fitness together at last. It was fucking genius, I know. Johnny Kelly Jr. and I were actually getting excited about it. He was anyway. And then he died, fetching all lace fruit loops. I found him on the floor with several boxes of draft fruit loops shoved up his ass. A new delivery called the Rainbow Roots or Rainbow Ramming. Apparently, it's much harder and faster once you build a tolerance to the regular way of just eating them with your mouth, and that ended the mobile or mobile muscle project pretty abruptly, and left me with a different plan. Revenge. Word on the streets was the new operation was run by someone called the Toucan Man. Normally I laugh when I say that name, but I'll try not to now. So I leaned in my street connection fast, Bobby, aka Bobby Fruit Lupo. It's got like seven fucking names, it's real confusing. And I told him to arrange a meeting upstream. Last time I saw Bobby tried playing games with me, so I sent him off as bait to flush out the twocan man. I sent him upstream. I pulled off Highway 404, cruised along Davis Drive for about three kilometers, then I saw the flashing red and whites of Ricky's sports bar. I was meeting Bobby here again, not to get a new ship and a fruit loops. Although I wasn't gonna say no if a box fell out of the trunk, if you know what I mean. The main reason for this rendezvous was information. I'd sent Bobby upstream as bait to lure the toucan man. Bobby was a fucking worm anyway, and birds love worms. Yeah, the plan was simple. You drop a worm in the water long enough, and eventually something ugly comes up to eat it. Sometimes it's a trout, which are pretty ugly to me. Sometimes it's a snapping turtle. And sometimes, if you're fishing in the wrong swamp, it's a six foot three-inch tropical bird with a cereal problem. Either way, Bobby was on the hook now. All I had to do was sit on the bank and see what kind of beak broke the surface. I rolled into the parking lot at Ricky's and killed the engine. The sign buzzed like a dying mosquito. I sat there for a minute. Fucking Bobby was late again. He always does that. Thinks if he keeps me waiting long enough, I'll get nervous. I don't know why he fucking thinks I never get nervous. But I do get real pissed off sometimes. I scan a lot. Empty cars, empty pavement, a shopping car tipped over on its side like it lost the wheel to live sometime around 1996. That's when I noticed a leg hanging out of a garbage can about ten feet to my left. Yeah, I know now uh now normally that might seem suspicious, uh, normally. But this was the parking lot of Ricky Sports Bar, which itself sits in the parking lot of the old New Market Plaza, so you know. Seeing a leg sticking out of a garbage can around here wasn't exactly breaking news. Still, I figured I'd check it out. Mostly because the shoe looked familiar. It was a white runner, cheap kind. Bobby liked those. Said they were good for running away from people he owed money to. I guess he finally stood his ground. I nudged the can with my foot and looked inside. Looks like fast Bobby wasn't quite fast enough. He was folded in there like yesterday's newspaper. I mean, really folded up, he was fucked up bad. His head was turned around backwards, and so were his arms. Oh, look at that, and his fucking legs. Jesus Christ, I mean I was impressed. Whoever did this must have been pretty salty. And to be honest, Bobby definitely had it comin'. I mean, if anybody had it coming, it was definitely that little fucking weasel. Hey, little fucking weasel. Eyes open, no complaints left, no smart ass comments, little fucker. I stood there for a second, shook my head. Turns out the worm didn't catch the bird. The bird caught the worm. Wonder how far I could take this analogy, probably a little further. And whatever kind of beak did this, it had already flown the nest. Now I'm mixing analogies or metaphors that don't fucking know the difference. Anyway, I leaned on the garbage can and sighed. I don't sigh very much, it's weakness, but anyway, this was the problem with using worms as bait. Sometimes the fish eats the whole damn thing. Now my worm was dead, which meant my information was dead. I pulled the garbage lid down and gave it a small shove with my foot. Sorry, Bubby. I guess you should have brought a bigger hook. I stood there another second, hoping maybe an idea would land on me. Nothing did. No bird, no lead, no serial trail, just a dead informant, and the smell of old friar grease drifting across the parking lot. I climbed back into the car, started the engine, pulled out on a Davis Drive. Sometimes when the fishing goes bad, you pack up the gear and you go home and try to figure out where the hell the river went wrong. It was time to head back to the basement apartment. I made it back to the basement apartment in one piece. Which was more than I could say for Bobby. Well, he was in one piece, technically. Just one fucked up, twisted up piece. His head was turned around backwards, arms and legs, too. It was actually pretty cool, don't know how they pulled that off, but anyway, the beanbag chair swallowed me whole. I reached over to the bowl of dried food loops next to me, munching mindlessly, planning my next move, but nothing came. Ideas floated past my skull like commercials I wasn't watching. My brain had apparently checked out with Bobby, so I did the only thing left I could do. I pushed myself up and paced the room. The closet stared at me, silent, judgmental, like it knew more than it should. Maybe if I poked around, something would whisper back. You know, the strange thing was, I already cleaned it out. Last episode, maybe you heard. It's a pretty fucking weird moment. More of those to come, probably. All of Johnny Kelly Jr.'s shit was gone, I got rid of it. My old junk from when I was a kid. Most of that had been dragged out too. Some of it was fucking hilarious. And some of it was pretty fucking weird, yeah, I'll give you that. Especially that stolen burner from a stove from a neighbor's when I was a kid. I still can't rightly explain that shit. Don't really care either, anyway. So there was really no reason to go back in there. But something had pulled me to the door anyway. I reached for the handle. Which was still fucking busted from yesterday. I really gotta take care of that. But probably won't. Anyway. There we go. The closet looked empty, but then a piece of paper fell to the ground. I bent over to pick it up. I bent over to pick it up again. It was an autopsy report. Johnny Kelly Jr.'s autopsy report. What the fuck? I've never seen this before. I'm gonna call a priest. Anyway. Alright, Johnny. Let's see what happened to you. Alright, let's see what we got here. Memorandum. Memorandum two. Case file two three four eight seven six. Jonathan Kelly Jr. From medical examiner. Ari, Ari R. Ari R. Whatever the fuck. About. Yeah, about postmortem examination and toxicology report. Case number two three dash five fuck all that was a good shit. Oh yeah, here we go. Examination and toxicology findings. The decident the the decadent the decedent. The the decedent, right, the decedent. Okay, the decedent presented with no outward signs of struggle save for a faint sugary rainbow hue in the para perinaro. Perenal perennial the perinanal the perinal the perin the perinario region. Right, the taint. It means the fucking taint. I wish you'd just say that, the taint. Right between the balls and the ass. That makes sense. Anyway, our internal examination revealed a compacted mass of brightly colored ring-shaped cereal consistent with the breakfast product. Food loops occupying the rectal vault. Uh the the rectal vault. The rect that's a good one, Doc. The rectal vault, I gotta remember that one. Rectal vault. Anyway, uh volume approximated at 2.5 kilograms. Oh my god. Johnny Kelly Jr., thank God you're dead. Else you would had a hell of a hemorrhoid problem. Jesus fuck. Alright, let's see what else we got here. Uh toxicology return levels of fentanyl. Sufficient to tranquilize a saltwater crocodile. Holy fuck. Yeah, I mean, that kind of puts it into perspective, especially for a guy like me. I work with crocodiles a lot, kind of a side gig for me. Along with the Uber and the uh the personal training and the uh the fake cop stuff. Anyway, it's super tough sneaking up behind a salty and putting a chloroform cloth around his mouth, you know what I mean? It's kinda risky even for me. Usually got hit him with a lot of fentanyl first, a lot of it. So let me see here. Analysis of the recovered serial matrix. Matrix. Neo matrix. Confirmed it as a delivery vehicle with fentanyl concentration highest in the red and orange loops. Hoop in the loops. My boy was a loop hooper. God damn it, Johnny Kelly Jr. Alright, let's keep plowing through. Routine toxic Routine Routine toxicology screening. Return to market uh market uh market la market la marketly a lot of fucking fentanyl in the blood is what he means there. Uh subsequent subsequ yeah, subsequent yeah, so if I got that fucking right, subsequent confirmatory analysis, yeah. Uh specifically of the recovered cereal material revealed the cereal pieces were contaminated with a high concentration of fentanyl powder. Yeah. Tell me something, I don't fucking know. Document over there. Alright, um the uh the physiological, the uh the physio, the uh the physiological the uh the physiological why don't they fucking speak English on this shit anyway? Presentation. Uh rapid onset of respiratory depression leading to arrest is consistent with acute fentanyl toxicity. And no man, you keep saying that shit. Uh the location and nature of the contaminated contaminated substance suggests absorption occurred via the highly vascular rectal mucosa. What the fuck is that? Rect vascular the rectal mucosa, that's another new one. Gotta use that chip. Alright, uh uh apparently this would facilitate uh a rapid uh systemic uh delivery. Okay, almost done here, thank god. Um evidence collected for material, serial mass retained. Have they fucking kept it? That's fucking gross. Why they keep that for sample submitted to forensic chemistry for confirmatory now, how many times have they got a confirmatory analysis of this shit? I mean, the boy shoved foot loops covered in fentanyl up his ass. I mean that's the cause of death here. Conclusion. Alright, here we go. Conclusion. Cause of death, acute fentanyl, toxicity, no shit, that's just what you've been saying for like ten minutes now. A manner of death, accident, accident, yeah, that's a fucking charitable way to put it. Accident. Got a final note here. The uh the sequence of events is most consistent with the accidental, non-oral use of a drug, fentanyl, yeah, that's established. Uh adulterant, adult adulterant, adult fucking present in an unusual carrier medium. Yeah, no shit. Um, there is no evidence to suggest intent or self-harm. Yeah, okay, uh reading your mail here, Doc. Uh maybe not intentional, but when you're that fucking stupid, I mean everything is potentially harmful. And the doctor, his name is uh Vega, Dr. Vega MD. Hang on, that's my fucking urologist. Guy must get around. Assistant medical examiner. I flipped the page. The next document wasn't Johnny Kelly Jr.'s. And if my voice sounds different now, please ignore that. I had to take a couple of days off of recording. Anyway, what the fuck was I saying here? Oh yeah. The next document wasn't Johnny Kelly Jr.'s wrong kid, I guess, because it was my name at the top. It wasn't an autopsy report, thank god. But it was in the ballpark. It was a uh well how about that? A psychological evaluation. Let me see the date on it here. Says May 12th, 1983. Holy shit, that was my tenth birthday. Some kids get a cake. I got a psychovow. Now let me see here, whatever could it say. I'm sure it's totally fucking normal. And it begins a clinical psychological evaluation, childhood. Subject, male, age 10, Bradley. What didn't have the common courtesy to put my last name anyway? Reason for evaluation. Um, observed concerning behaviors in school and at home, reports of Frequent defiance, manipulative tendencies, yeah. And lack of emotional responsiveness. Eh, so far so good. Observations, let me see, social behavior exhibits limited empathy towards peers. Well, I didn't have any peers to be honest, I was better than all of them, fuck. Frequently disregards feelings of others in pursuit of personal goals. Yeah, that's squares. Engages in deceptive behaviors without apparent remorse. Egg E G Egg or EG. Egg the fuck does E. E. Egg? What the f what does that fucking mean? Why don't they just say something easy like, for example, anyway, for example, fabricating stories to avoid punishment or to manipulate situation in his favor. Yeah, well duh. Fuck. Uh demonstrate superficial charm when interacting with adults. Using politeness or flattery to gain advantage. Yeah, especially if they're cops. I still got that talent. Episode 28, episode 45, episode 49 to 52, uh, a lot more. I'm really good at manipulating cops anyway. Emotional responsiveness displays shallow emotional reactions, laughter or tears, often incongruent, incongruent with the situation. Yeah, that's square. Sometimes I just don't know how to act, so I just fucking guess. Um rarely shows genuine guilt or regret when rules are broken. No, still don't, uh instead, appears intrigued by outcomes of misbehavior. Well now who the fuck wouldn't be intrigued? Come on now. Why they writing all this shit down like I got some kind of problem? Reacts to distress in others with curiosity or mild amusement rather than empathy. Yeah, again, okay. What's the fucking problem here? A kid falls down right in his face, breaks something, you're gonna laugh, it's instinct, come on. Oh at the very least, you're gonna go up and take a closer look or something, I don't know. Fucking idiots Behavioral Patterns Displays Impulsiva Displays Displays Impulsa Impulsivida Impulsivity Displays Impulsa Impulsiva Impulsivity Impulsiva Impulsa I take a lot of fucking risks. I think that's what it's trying to say here. Uh beyond typical developmental norms, uh EG Egg, there's that fucking EG thing. E da egg. Fuck it. For example, climbing unsafe structures to quote unquote test limits. Yeah. Yeah, that's true. I love a good thrill. Check out episode 50. I took a tractor trailer for a ride, destroyed half a new market. Alright, what else we got here? Uh frequently violates rules at school and home. Sometimes in calculated ways to gauge, gadge, you g to gua to fucking see an adult reaction is what that means, I think. Oh come on, a little boundary testing. Never hurt anybody. Except for that kid that one time. Um engages in cruelty or teasing towards animals or peers seeming seemingly to explore power dynamics rather than out of anger or frustration. No comment there. Um, cognitive profile and problem solving. Very low IQ. You know, I should be pissed at that, but it's true. They got me dead to rights there. Uh especially poor at math, but extremely cunning. Oh yeah, that's that's true. Uh uses cunning and observation to plan manipulative or mischievous acts. Okay, here that's some inspiration, all you kids out there. Don't ever let being shitty at math stop you from accomplishing your dreams. Even if it's being a fucking psychopath, according to this thing. Um enjoys devising elaborate sheems or schemes, sheems, schemes, what the fuck? Is it shul or school? You know what I mean here? Uh uh, whether for personal gain or for amusement. I don't know what the fuck they're complaining about, they scheme or sheems they want a war. Episode 32, check it out. It's totally badass. Examples of behaviors noted. Orchestrated minor deceptions with classmates to shift blame while observing their reactions, yeah. Squares. Uh took a personal item of a parent. Egg e fuck, example, media or materials without permission, later revealed through laughter rather than guilt. Uh you got me, I confess. Seriously, though, I stole a lot of shit from my dad. Yeah, like that camera I still got over my shoulder here. Should sell that. Uh showed indifference to minor injuries of peers during play. Like I said, those were funny and I had no peers. Um, instead analyzing events like an experiment. Yeah, true story. Once again, still got that problem. Uh clinical impression. Oh, I'm on pins and needles here, like I fucking give a shit what they say about me. Displays traits suggestive of callous, hang out here. Displays traits suggestive of callous, unemotional presentation, uh, shallow affect, lack of remorse, manipulativeness, and uh behavioral patterns aligned with early indicators of severe conduct problems, possibly within the spectrum of what would be later associated with psychopathy in adults. That's cool. Emotional detachment and manipulative tendencies indicate high-risk personality development through no, not through though, not through though, though definitive diagnosis of psychopathy is not clinically applicable at this age. It should be because I was a total fucking psychopath even then, but whatever. Fucking woke bullshit, afraid to call a child a psychopath when he clearly was one. Still is. Oh recommendations, I bet those worked. Uh recommend uh continued monitoring. Yeah, that happened. Uh structured interventions focusing on social emotional development. It that happened, but it didn't really happen because it didn't work. Uh caregiver guidance to establish boundaries and encourage empathy. Oh, I got stories. Um okay, uh okay, and um signing off here it says Child Clinical Psychologist Glen Cedar Public School Dr. Vega. The fuck? Hang on. What the fuck, Vega? That's the guy who did the autopsy report on Johnny Kelly Jr. He's also my urologist, and he was my clinical psychologist when I was 10 fucking years anyway. Well, 41 years later, Doc, mission accomplished, I'd say, fucking idiots. I dropped the report back in the pile. And then something smaller slid out from underneath. Some kind of notes. Yeah, it was definitely a note. And it was written in Johnny Kelly Jr.'s Idiot Child Scribe. Fuck, I can barely end it. What does it say? Uh I owe Richie from the Bonanza $2. Can I pay in Fruit Loops? The fuck? I owe Richie from the Bonanza $20. Can I pay in Fruit Loops? What the fuck? Richie from the Bonanza. Who the fuck was Richie? And why did Johnny Kelly Jr. owe him 20 bucks? I stared at the paper, my brain trying to make sense of it. What was this, some kind of idiot moron debt? But a fucking snack barter gone wrong? What was Richie running out cardboard forts for 20 bucks a pop? Did Richie even exist? You never really knew with Johnny Kelly Jr., Richie could have been a fucking imaginary friend or something. But still, fast Bobby Fulupo was gone, whatever his fucking name was. That only left one thread to follow if I wanted to catch the Toucan man. Toucan man, fuck. Sorry, I promised it wouldn't laugh. The bastard who killed my son. I had to go upstream. And Richie. Well, Richie was the only line I had. The Bonanza, Richie, the Toucan Man. I didn't laugh this time. It's time to reel him in. Or whatever the fuck you do with a bird. I think it was time for a night ride. The 2002 Podiax Sunfire sat the driveway like a cat with a busted leg. Dense breathing, stubborn, ugly, but willing to move if I asked. I slip behind the wheel. The engine rattled like a new secret it wasn't supposed to tell. And the keys rattled in my hand like dice. A head, a fresh ruby glowed in the lights. Fuck it. I blasted right through. Yeah, kinda disordered. Maybe totally. Dead body in the trunk. The real cops could pull me over any second and find Cornelius frozen stiff back there. But I didn't fucking care. Cornelius is frozen solid. No indication he's back there. Not tonight. But next month. I don't know. Next month, that's what? Uh March. Yeah, I'm probably fine. April. Yeah, we get pretty chilly, but probably not enough to keep us stiff stiff. May, eh? Uh no, that's pushing it. And then by June, I'm totally fucked. Yeah, I think anyway. You know, I gotta find out exactly just what's going on with this fucking process over here. Let me think. April. May. June. Ah, fuck this, man. Fuck it. I'm going to the Googler. Alright, I'm over at the old Googler here. Tells me everything I wanna know. And what do I wanna know right now? Oh yeah, Ryan. Let me see here. What do I uh what do I type into the old Googler here? Um uh key, uh. You gotta do it a right way to get the right answer, you know. Uh, apparently anyway, so uh let me see.

unknown 33:56

If Cornelius is oh no, hang on, fuck.

SPEAKER_00 34:02

I probably shouldn't use any real names there, so uh back that up. Alright. As long as I don't mention names, I'm fine. They can't track it using this Googler stuff anyway, I've heard that. Uh so if you have a body in the back of your car, trunk, whatever the fuck, uh one that you are totally not responsible for, just in case they can track me, and you never know these days, you know, things might have changed since the 80s, all this fucking techno stuff. Anyway, uh, if you have a body in the back of your trunk that you were definitely totally, absolutely not responsible for, and it is frozen stiff because it is February. How long do I oh hang on here, whoa, whoa, whoa.

unknown 35:10

How long does one have before they have to get rid of said body before a gross thing starts to happen that attracts attention from the cops? Alright, that should do it.

SPEAKER_00 35:30

I'll go to the old rat here and see what happened. The rat, the mouse idols don't know what it's fucking called. And uh what do we got here? Oh, what the fuck again with these websites? What the fuck is that? I'm into some weird shit, but that uh I don't want to see that ever again. What the fuck was that? Alright. I hear it is okay. I got a query, a query, a timeline. A body decomposition after freezing. Alright, that's what I want. So uh let me see here. Zero to twenty four hours after thawing, the body transitions from frozen rigidity to natural flexibility, the muscles relax. Well, that's good, Cornelius. Get a chance to relax now, the joints regain movement. What the fuck? The joints regain movement after they die. Hang on, you know. I recently thought they grew fingernails and hair after they died. I was wrong about that. This thing's telling me that joints regain what the hang on. Skin remains pale, minimal odor. Doesn't sound too bad, so that's only twenty-four hours. One to two days after thawing, initial decomposition begins. Fluids, oh that word, not many people like that word. Uh fluids re redistra red red redistribistribute they go around internally inside and a slight discoloration may appear. Okay, it's starting to get a little gross now. Uh alright, so early microbial microbu microbial uh fuck it. Activity. Early activity starts. How about that? That's probably what they mean. Odor remains minimal but detectable under close inspection. Okay, just can't have anybody get too close to him, that's all. Two to four days after the fuck, he's been in there for two to four weeks already. Two to four days after thawing the oh, here we go. Fuck, the soft tissue begins to break down. Swelling may occur due to gas formation. Give me a fuck. Jesus. The skin may darken or develop modeled patterns. Modeled, what the fuck is modeled? Probably not a good thing. Odor becomes noticeable. Yeah, that's what I was waiting for. Uh what insects, what the fuck? Insects may be attracted if exposed to open air. Insects. Alright, I can't have that. That's gonna be a problem. I gotta raise my Uber rating, and I can't have insects crawl around the back of an Uber car now, can I? I'm a professional, goddammit. Alright, then we got here five to seven days after thawing decomposition advances fluids. Oh, there's that fucking word again. May seep from orifices. I know that one. Yeah. Learned that when I was a kid. Uh skin and soft tissue continue to break down. Uh odor increases significantly. Yeah, just my luck. Uh oh fuck, here's that fucking thing again. Microbial, microbial, microbial the micro and insect activity intensifies. That's not cool. Uh environmental factors including temperature, humidity, and exposure affect rate of decomposition, cold environments, slow decay. Yeah. Got that going for me. Heat accelerates. That's no good. Don't got that going for me. Freezing preserves tissue and delays the microactivity until thaw, so okay. February. Frozen, I'm fine. March maybe still mostly solid. Maybe uh April, thawing, uh May. May is a big problem. And then June. Oh fuck, total catastrophe. Insects, odor, the whole thing. Alright, I can play around that plenty of time, though. It won't sneak up on me at all. Time just doesn't do that. It has no way to sneak up on a man at all, no way. Anyway, uh fuck this shit. Back to my night ride. Uh Derek, yo, you're uh supposed to bring the music back in, buddy. Alright, good. The same streets, the same signs, the same stores swipe past me. Ashton, Alexander, the T and B convenience store. I'd be back later, maybe, for a Coconut Joe Louie. But not tonight. Tonight, it was just me, the road, and thoughts that belong to no one. South Lake Regional Hospital. I'd be back there at some point too for another kidney stone, but uh not tonight. Or possibly tonight, you know. You never can tell what these fuckers are like sleeper cells. Patterson, Prospect, every street approps, a memory, my mind drifted through the dead. Mendoza, Mendoza Jr., Mendoza Jr. Jr. I don't know his fucking name, never did. Spadino, Johnny Kelly, Ramirez, and finally, my son, Johnny Kelly Jr. Dead, gone, the Fruit Loops, the Fentanyl, or Fentanil, I do not know. The Toucan Man. Oh shit. I almost laughed. I said I wouldn't do that. I thought about Johnny Kelly Jr.'s autopsy reports. Clinical and totally fucked all at once. Red, orange, purple, and yellow loops packed into him like some grotesque gift. A serial grave with fentanyl frosting. Yeah, maybe it was accidental, but stupid enough to die from it. Oh, absolutely. Was it my fault? Not uh not sure yet. I don't find fault easy. Not in myself, anyway. For other people, it's uh pretty easy actually. And that fucked up closet kept giving gifts, like my own 10-year-old self staring back at me from a psychological evaluation. Manipulative, callous, risk-taking, low IQ, high cunning. A psychopath in training, apparently. Forty-two years later, mission accomplished, I'd say. Then I thought about the other thing I found in Johnny's fucked up closet. The note to Richie. I owe Richie from the Bonanza $20. Can I pay in Fruit Loops? Richie, the Bonanza. Now who the fuck was Richie anyway? What an imaginary friend? A snack debtor? Or a cardboard fort landlord? I didn't know. It didn't matter. Fast Bobby Fruit Lupo was gone. Dead. In a garbage can, with his arms and legs on backwards. Which I still think is totally cool. I still want to know how the hell they did that. Gonna have to find out. Anyway, that left only one thread to follow. If I wanted to catch the twocan man, and Richie, Richie was the only line I had. I was approaching the lights. I took an L bender, Main Street ahead, a fresh Ruby, fuck it, the gray goats, the lucky devil tattoo, the local funeral home. Hang on, fuck. I should probably leave Cornelius back there anyway, fuck it. Hang on, seriously though, I could probably dump Cornelius. I made a mental note of that place, and then it appeared. Neon red, dark glass, infamous, notorious, dangerous. The bonanza, the claws and teeth of Newmarket, waiting for me, and I had to go in. I had to find Richie. Because if I wanted the twocan man, I had to go through Richie first. Actually, the first guy I had to find was Vinny, the owner of the Bonanza, or the manager, I don't really know. Oh, Vinny, Petadomand, how you doing?

SPEAKER_01 44:03

Hey, Officer Big Shock, come to bust my balls, huh? Hey, everybody, this series of fake detective. Hey, what, serial now?

SPEAKER_00 44:12

Well, I'm trying to be a personal trainer, actually. But building a decent client list is really tough in this economy. So now I got a side gig driving for Uber. And yeah, I'm a cop, I'm a fake cop. And I've got one question to ask. I turned my attention to a fat guy at the bar. Hey, Tony Tuloops, how are you, buddy? You wouldn't be here selling black market fruit loops, would you?

SPEAKER_01 44:37

Selling black market fruit loops is illegal activity, Brad.

SPEAKER_00 44:41

You also wouldn't know there's a guy named Richie who likes to sell dirty fruit loops because he's a fucking puke and he likes to pervert kids and stuff. Or at least 20-year-olds. Loops? Nobody sells loops around here. Yeah? You don't know nothing, do you? Maggie buttanto, huh? Anyone see Richie?

SPEAKER_01 45:02

Who the fuck is Richie?

SPEAKER_00 45:04

Anyone know the Bobby Fruit Lupo?

SPEAKER_02 45:07

Who the fuck is he talking about? Big man with a badge and a gun. You know what? Cool breeze. Yeah, what's that? One of these days, your wise mouth is gonna get the rest of your body in a whole lot of trouble.

SPEAKER_00 45:18

What? You sound like a fucking idiot. What'd you steal that line from a Stephen Sagal movie or something? Look, who the fuck talks like that? You got a lot of tattoos. Uh, where you're from, uh, Sharpie.

SPEAKER_02 45:30

Kingston Pen.

SPEAKER_00 45:32

Oh, yeah, I know that place. Yeah, it's the overflow wing for the Kingston Prison for Women. The P4W. Angel Du Bois doing time there. Yeah, you look like you could be one of her paint sweepers or whatever they're fucking called. Look, wherever you're from, you can't be from Newmarket because nobody talks like that around here.

SPEAKER_01 45:53

Hey, Shoppy, believe me, it's nothing without that fake badge and gun.

SPEAKER_00 45:56

Vinny said, Now I thought I'd go behind the bar.

SPEAKER_01 46:00

You can't come back here. Get the fuck out of here.

SPEAKER_00 46:05

I shove him real hard, both hands, right in the chest. What do we got here, huh? What is this shit, huh? The bartender stood back up. Big mistake. You know, I noticed a lot of boxing memorabilia. We got some gloves over here, pictures everywhere. Who's a boxer? You're the boxer.

SPEAKER_01 46:25

Yeah.

SPEAKER_00 46:25

You're a tough guy. Yeah, tough enough. Really? What could you do? To you?

SPEAKER_01 46:30

Yeah.

SPEAKER_00 46:33

Vinny came back at me again. The only balls he has that fake badge and gun, I'm telling you. Now I turn to him and put my gun in his face. Is that right? Let me show you something. I then popped a clip out onto the floor. Which was totally fine, because I'd already grabbed a cue ball for the table and a towel from the bar. Plus, there were multiple pool sticks within my reach. I'd nothing to worry about.

SPEAKER_05 46:57

Huh?

SPEAKER_00 46:58

Here's my gun. Here's my gun. Fair game now, okay? And here's my fake badge. It's your trophy, okay? Come and get it.

SPEAKER_01 47:07

Hey man, I'm just trying to leave, man. I just want to go home, you know.

SPEAKER_00 47:10

I moved over to the door and locked it. Now you can't leave.

SPEAKER_01 47:16

Hey man, the back door's open. I offer $15 for that fake badge right now. 15!

SPEAKER_00 47:22

And that's when they came. But one at a time, of course. You know, they never come all at once. If it was all at once, I'd be fucked. I would have been killed years ago. Anyone see Richie? Who the fuck is Richie? Anybody know the Bobby Fruit Lupo? Then Vinny opened his mouth again.

SPEAKER_01 47:41

Hey, boom, come on.

SPEAKER_00 47:43

That's when the janitors stood up. He'd been sweeping in the corner the whole time. But he was the first dude I had flagged the moment I walked in. He came toward me twirling his broomstick like he was a fucking majorette or something. That's when I even the odds and grabbed one of those pool sticks I was talking about earlier. Anybody see Richie? Huh? I'm gonna keep coming back until somebody remember seeing Richie.

SPEAKER_01 48:54

Uh I uh did I do something wrong? That's Richie?

SPEAKER_00 49:00

I turned around, and there he is. A skinny kid, hoodie too big, standing there like he's waiting for the bus. Holding I don't even know, something crumpled in his hand. It looked like half a bag of Skittles. This was Richie? What the fuck? He looked like he'd get carted by an energy drink. He looked like a kid that had a bedtime, like someone safe enough to watch your bag. He looked like he still believed people when they told him things. And his voice, yeah, that uh that tracks, that uh that definitely tracks. Richie was Johnny Kelly Jr.'s friend, which I did not know he had one of or any of, for that matter. And he was just standing there, not scared, not tough, just confused, holding a crumpled bag of candy, like that was the most important thing in his life five seconds ago. You're Richie. He nodded slowly, nervously.

SPEAKER_01 50:01

Did I, uh did I do something wrong?

SPEAKER_00 50:04

I just work at my uncle's convenience store. Johnny Kelly Jr. He owed you 20 bucks. For what? Richie blinked.

SPEAKER_01 50:14

Oh, Johnny! Yeah, he bought $20 one night. Said he wanted to invest it in some kind of business with his dad or something. Said he'd give me back next time he saw me. Is he okay? I haven't seen him in a wit a while, and I'm worried. Johnny's really nice to me.

SPEAKER_00 50:31

And there it was. I tore apart a bar and multiple human beings looking for a monster who killed my son. Instead, I found a fucking stable boy with Skittles who looked like he missed a bus. He wasn't the last threat in some criminal web that had swallowed my son. He was just a skinny kid in a hoodie two sizes too big. Standing there with his hands halfway up, like a kid who'd been caught doing something he didn't understand. That was it. No secrets, no answers, no upstream, no toucan man, just nothing. And that's the problem, because something happened to Johnny, and nothing doesn't do that. I looked around the bonanza, the smashed chairs, the broken glass, the broken men slowly trying to get off the floor. I looked back at Richie. Johnny borrowed 20 bucks off you. I sighed, then reached into my pocket and pulled out two bunched up tens and shoved them into his little hand. You and Johnny are square now. If you're my son, you pay your debts, even if you died. Hey, mister, is is Johnny okay? No, he's not okay. He's fucking dead. I just said that. What the fuck? Dead, just like my trail. What? Johnny's I didn't wait for his reaction because I didn't really care. I just turned around, walked to the door, unlocked it, and stepped back out into the cold February Newmarket night. Not fast, not slow, just moving. Because that's all you can do when the story stops making sense. You keep moving, and hope it starts again. Because standing there wasn't doing me any good. Cops were probably coming anyway. Who am I kidding? They weren't coming. Somewhere out there, there's still an answer. And next time, I'm not spending 20 bucks just to be wrong. Not in this economy. Someone else is gonna pay and a lot more than 20 bucks. Seriously, I I couldn't afford that.

SPEAKER_03 52:51

Where are you driving to clear your mind? Rebuking the street signs. What nighttime piece will you find go? Sometimes it's more than you can take of holding the love though your foes and windows are both One Become. One day, plus I guess you can see that.