(Crime Noir voiceover) When I woke, it was simply a normal Sunday. A peaceful spring day, one of those deep blue sky with bright sunshine and perfect breeze days. This illusion was shattered as I was informed of the sins committed under the cover of night.
A candle had fallen to its death. Messy. It had splattered glass all over the place. Estimated time of death: sometime in the early morning hours. No witnesses came forth.
Most speculate that this is a suicide, but I know better. This was murder. Someone pushed this poor short-wicked bastard to its death. I have two prime suspects, but no proof, only circumstantial evidence. Meanwhile the broken body has already been picked up and disposed of. A dissatisfying cold case.
On top of that, there was gang activity reported. All people needed to do was follow the innards of the next poor bastard. This crime, at least, had a clear culprit, a dog named Finnegan, who wears guilt like a coat and can't lie to save his life.
See, we'd released Finny early the night before. The jail was crowded and his usual parole officer was away. If he'd stayed in the cellblock, though, he'd have to share space with the Red-headed Chainsaw, aka Newt, a trigger happy mutt behind baby gate bars for assault and battery. She's a right mean one when it comes to her food. So yeah, we let the sap out with a less strict parole. We had no way of knowing the young punk would get caught up in gang activity again so quick.
The Felines are notorious for extortion, fraud, theft, burglary... pushing innocents off edges. They're a sneaky, power hungry lot and walk like they own everything around them. Which, of course in this town, they do. Usually they don't get along with the Canines, though a few of their boys get together now and then. Mr. Finn was probably just a convenient sucker, or, more likely, under that cute freckled babyface is a soul of mayhem, and he just needed an excuse to do what he done.
Mr. Couch had ran into issues with the Felines many times. Could never pay enough protection money, see. They were constantly roughing him up, shredding him whenever they pleased, but he could handle the Felines well enough. Last night, Finnegan brutalized him, leaving Mr. Couch a mess this morning, his entrails turned extrails. The victim lives, but his arms will never be the same. We picked up Mr. Finn immediately after, and he gave a full confession.
I still suspect the Felines pawed him into it somehow. But as usual, they are slippery and always get away with murder. One of these days, though, they'll mess up. And I'll be ready with my loaded water pistol when they do.
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