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November 21, 2002 murder most foul It wasn't pretty, but then, murder never is.  I stopped just beyond the yellow crime scene tape and watched for a moment as the uniformed officers, medical examiners, and forensic team went about their grisly business.  As I ducked under the tape, a rookie cop wheeled around to stop me, but I beat him to the punch.  Literally.  There had been a party here and I immediately sipped from a half-full Dixie cup of Hawaiian Punch.  Wiping the red mustache from my mouth, I pushed back my fedora and flashed both a badge and a grin.  "Relax, son.  Detective Sal Vermin.  Rodenticide." As his outline was chalked on the kitchen floor, I studied the dead rat and made mental notes.  There was a trace of peanut butter on his fuzzy chin and a cold steel bar across his broken neck.  Blood pooled and thickened on the floor around his head.  Some had splashed on the pantry wall. "Whadaya think, Sal?"  It was Sargeant O'Malley, a second generation Irish mouse the guys called "Mickey." "Hey, Mick.  I don't know.  Hole in the wall.  Peanut butter.  Mousetrap bar across his neck.  Looks like murder." "You're probably right, Sal.  Murder.  Fuckin' murder most foul."

©  2002 by the beastmaster