Scared No Silly - part 2

Part 2 of Scared no Silly



Chapter Four “A breath of fresh air”

With their stomachs and heads aching the three made their way toward their cars and took another look back at the wickedly fun house. The house of six gables and one conspicioius cupola seemed to smile back at them. The two big picture windows had their shades pulled half down and when the wind blew one flapped in and out and seemed to wink. Their funny bones began to rattle again. Each looked at other; they slapped their hand to the sides of their faces, screamed Aahhhhh and ran. None of them wanted to be left at this home alone. So, like Keystone cops, they scurried off to the shinny new car and the dusty old one. The Chief and the Deputy were in the shinny one and the Detective in the dodgy one. With a double take of surprise they jumped out, ran around twice, and scooted into the right ones. Then they slammed their doors, locked them, slid down in their seats, started up their engines, and popped the cars into gear.
“Let’s get the heck out of here,” the Chief said to the Deputy, as they started to drive off.

In their rear view mirror they saw the swing set swinging happily with no one on it. A long wind swept tree branch moved up and down and seemed to wave a good-bye. Next to it was a full-bodied weeping willow tree swaying in the balmy sea breeze, It looked like it was doing a hula dance that said Aloha!
“Faster” said the Chief. “Faster”
The Deputy gave it the gas and noticed he now had pink bubble gum stuck on his shoe. Their car sputtered and with a loud backfire made a smoky stage left exit. Both cars shot down the hill and picked up speed. The Chief and Deputy’s car hit a rut in the sandy road, and bounced up. When the patrol car slammed down, the Chief let out a distinctive noise.
“Was that you?” The Deputy asked
“He who smelt it dealt it”, the Chief said and laughed at the potty humor filling the patrol car. The Deputy laughed so hard he began to loose control and tried to slow down but his sticky shoe accidentally gave it the gas and they nearly drove off the road and almost left them up the creek, with his hit the wrong pedal. He swerved the squeaking vehicle out of the troubled waters and back onto the long and winding road.
“Will you control yourself man, you’re on duty!” the Chief said sternly.
“Sorry about that Chief,” the Deputy apologized in a Maxwell Smart-assed tone of voice then snorted out a little giggle and added “but farts are funny Chief”.

The Chief looked at him seriously then got the Get Smart “Sorry about that Chief” reference and started to laugh too, “They are funny aren’t they,” he said and let out another one. They both tried to hold back their silliness, but couldn’t. The Deputy realized he was about to lose control again and pulled over. They got out.

It was a good idea to clear the air they thought. The Detective, safe in his supped air conditioning cop car, pulled up next to them rolled down his window and got a whiff of the stinky humor. He joined in the fun. Eventually, they gathered what they could of their dignity and drove off to the station.



Once inside the station, without the intoxicating euphoria of the house, they tried to discuss the case seriously.
“We have to keep our funny looking stiff and that fishy scene under wraps until we get some lab work done. We better get the Coroner out there fast.” The Detective said in a controlled cold-blooded way, as he wrapped a piece of taffy.
“Yup” said the Chief and looked at the Detective seriously and queried,
“Can we move the body?”
“Of course, you can move the body– silly. It’s not going to move itself,” the Detective said with a big smile.
The Chief slapped his hand to his head and said nothing. Then popped a piece of the irresistible taffy in his mouth. The Deputy started to make some wise cracks but the Chief butted in with a commanding voice.
“Get on the Coroner” the Chief mumbled to the Deputy as he chewed some banana taffy.
“Get in the Corner?” wondered the Deputy with a whimper “What did I do?”
“No, no, NO, the Coroner! Call the Coroner!” The Chief said in frustration as he slobbered back some taffy juice.
“OH, yeah OK, sorry about that Chief,” the Deputy blurted out.
They looked at each other but realized the Get Smart line was not that smart or funny in the confines of a Police station and they maintained their metal and tough copper control. It was now time to do their serious routine Police work.

“Brother that’s one nutty fruit cake of a house,” the Deputy said conversationally.
“Yup, that old painted lady is one twisted sister alright,” the Chief, responded
“Want some more taffy?” the Detective asked and held out his bag.


Chapter Five, “Dead pan humor”


Case 10,01 was a twisted case. Twisted like a whole wild pack of squeaky balloon animals and sticky too, just like the taffy they all thoroughly enjoyed. They chewed over stinky sticky mystery while the Coroner made his haunted house call.

The County Coroner, a deadly serious post mortem MD, went to the house of ill humor to get the corpse. But, he and his medical assistant had a tough time of it as the Coroner acted like a silent film mime with exaggerated deadpan humor. He and his fall guy assistant kept dropping the body as they slipped on the gefilte fish, the fake vomit. The biggest problem they had was the game of Twister, which they found nearby, which they could not resist playing.

In a twisted moment of silly judgment they decided to use the Twister board as the body bag. As they rolled up the old guy, they were completely overwhelmed by this houses’ unique and unfamiliar strain of morbid unhealthy humor. The Coroner and his corps-carrying compatriot were hastily ushered out of the house with the same near death urgency as the three yucked-up coppers before them. The after-life medical professionals dragged the stinking body across the playground all rolled up in the Twister game. Their makeshift body bag looked like a large poke-a-dotted cocoon or a giant Zippy the Pin Head reefer, and smelled like a week old blintz. They tossed the corpse into the Country Coroners van with an unorthodox heave-ho and speed off in a flash with a twister behind them.

Once the puckered up skin and bones stiff was back at the morgue and thoroughly examined, the seal on the tight-lipped gag order loosened. Through dental records they determined the deceased was Stanley Adam Ribinowitz a popular vaudeville comedian who had disappeared mysteriously years ago. He was well known in old vaudeville circuit for his notorious ribbing and insulting humor. Adam Rib was his stage name.

The amusing rib splitting autopsy found it was asphyxiation as well as food poisoning that got the old geezer.
“You mean the fish killed him?” asked the Chief.
“Apparently”, said the Coroner, “The cap on the jar of Gefilte fish must have leaked and contaminated the kosher white fish patties, but the actual cause of death was a crab apple sized matzo ball caught in Adams throat.
“So a crummy matzo ball in the old geezers Adams apple knocked off the old stiff, eh Doc?” the Detective surmised as he chomped on some peppermint-flavored taffy.
“Yes,” the Coroner acknowledged as he uneasily chewed on a seductively scrumptious piece of plain vanilla taffy, careful that it did not have its way with his filling.
“But, it also appears he had a bad piece of fish.”

The Deputy stopped chewing his peppermint taffy and with an insightful expression chimed in
“Ah, the old fish gag” and wiggled his index finger in the air.
The Chief, Detective and the Coroner just gave the imaginative Deputy a look and silently shook their heads side to side. But the Deputy was still curious and asked.
“Say Chief, what about the finger the old guy gave us and the note?” the Deputy wondered out loud.
The all wondered was it only an accidental hand gesture and not a clue? Or, was it the old vaudevillians way to say good-bye to this world, and point the way to the next, perhaps. They quietly speculated.
“It doesn’t matter,” said the Chief.
As far as the Chief was concerned Mr. Adam Rib’s death was solved. It was not murder. There was no smoking gun just a pickled fish.
“After all we can’t book a Gefilte fish.” The Chief stated the obvious.
“Or could we?” the Detective thought for a fleeting humorous moment.

The lid was lifted off the stinky Gefilte fish mystery murder. It was dropped from a homicide to a case of negligent suicide.
Case 10,01 was closed, or was it?

Chapter Six - The lager continues

A few days after Case 10,01 was nailed shut, the Detective came into the station shaking a report in his hands and said
“Say, get a load of this. It turns out our Mr. Stanley Adam Ribinowitz was a pretty colorful and wily old coyote. He had a mighty checker past with some sly and shady moves”
Upon further investigation of Mr. Ribinowitz choppers, the Detective found that just after Vaudeville died Adam Rib paid cold cash for the old mansion. He bought it for a song from an old soft shoe performer called “Shufflin Shorty” who did not fare so well in the stock market crash.

“So no one knew Adam Rib owned this old House.” The Chief asked.
Nope, and get this, they kept it in Shortys’ name. Shorty went off the Buffalo where Ribinowitz had a winter home. He got that in Adams Ribs will!
Will said the Chief.
Yup said the Detective and held up a copy of an old newspaper. “This headline here says Adam Rib died with a bunch of friends and relatives in a boating accident off the coast of Mexico near Xstopa in 1930. They never found them or the boat. They were never heard from again.”
Apparently he concocted a plan to run away from his troubles. So with no records to trace it he could live without answering to the law.
“You mean he was dead,” said the Deputy as he tried to keep up with details.
“No, no, no!” said the Chief “ His death wasn’t a mystery, obviously he was very much alive after 1930.
“Oh I get ya - …”
“Say pip down and I’ll tell you more,” the Detective said cutting off the Deputy and the Chief. The Deputy put his hand to his mouth and mumbled, “Sorry about that Chief”
The Detective held up the report again and continued. “It looks like our good friend ran away from the grease paint, the limelight and his mounting debits and took his accountants wife Mildred with him. And he must have planned it mighty well cause a few relative who were also in trouble with the newly formed IRS mysteriously drowned too.

“Wow quite a schemer,” said the Chief.
“Get this” the Detective went on with hesitation. “Mildred was an Atlantic City bathing beauty. A pretty foxy momma they say. Says he in her obit she owned a nudist colony in the Catskills. And, later it was mysteriously stripped clean of its money and left with no exposed assets.
“Gee maybe they all became nudists out there, the Deputy blurted out, “we did find him buck naked ya know”
“Interesting” said the Chief with a nod.
“Odd we found only one body?” The Detective observed further.
The Chief repeated in low voice, “Interesting, very interesting.”
The Detective said with surprise, “Yah, that is very interesting”
The Deputy started to say “Interesting but Schtwo.…”
“Don’t you dare!” barked the Chief as he pointed to his Deputy.
The Deputy slapped his hand over his mouth and muttered “Interesting but SCH-TWO-PID” to himself.
The Detective picked up the pace and raised his voice
“He was a scheming bastards! It seems after the funeral when Rabinowitzs estate was being settled his accountant was thrown in jail for aiding and abating a tax evader.

“The IRS was real strict back then” the Chief said calmly and continued
“Must have been the pressure of prohibition since they couldn’t even throw back a tall one to calm their nerves.”
“Say I could use a tall one right about now - how about you,” the Detective said to the Chief
“No thanks I’m on duty,” replied the Chief as he popped another taffy in his mouth.
“How about you champ” the Detective said to the Deputy.
The Deputy who was also on duty looked at the Chief and asked like a uniformed puppy dog that was just barely legal
“Can I go Chief, can I”
“Sure” Said the Chief with a shrug of his apathetic shoulders.

They continued to talk for a minute or two more about the nerve of the old codger and the naked truth about his less than kosher past. However, even though there was clearly foul play there was still no crime and none of the other evidence pointed anywhere so the Homicide Detective’s said.
“Well Chief my jobs’ done here. I suppose it’s good it wasn’t a real murder, they’re no fun”
“No fun for you,” said the Chief who enjoyed all the recent high drama Police action.
“Oh well. Sorry about the Chief” the Detective said in consolation. The Deputy made a snicker, then grabbed his mouth, and apologetically shrugged his shoulder and looked at the Chief as if to say “Sorry about that Chief”.
The Detective and the Deputy both smiled and walked off to retrieve a golden lager.
After the Deputy and the Detective left the Chief sat at his desk looking out toward the house of hideous humor. He knew his little seaside hamlet still had a real mystery on its hands. It didn’t smell rotten anymore, but what was it about that old six gabled, one cupola house that brought out the silly side in everyone? None of the peculiar evidence pointed anywhere but the mysteriously twisted house still squeaked out to him. The Chief felt like a bloodhound furiously chomping on a chew toy while it relentlessly sniffed around for clues. The taffy kept him chomping the house kept him wondering.

Chapter Six, “A stiff reminder”

Even after the stiff was removed and put on ice, it seemed the house had something funny up its eves and the laugh establishment seemed determined to give all who entered the business – the monkey business. When the authorities tried to button up the fun house they found they couldn’t. One worker even had to be hospitalized with sidesplitting pain and a busted gut from laughter. He was laid up long enough to need “comic” relief pay. No one could go near the place. Even bad kids, who broke into the fun house, came out doubled up like they had eaten a grocery bag full of Halloween candy. No living thing wanted to walk those infectious halls of foul humor. The haunted house of hilarity had a gag bag that seemed bottomless. To enter was the pits.

Even the County’s top real estate agent, who gushed and bubbled up with girlish giggles every time she saw the charming place, saw no market for a house that was the laughing stock of the neighborhood. Everyone that came near the place was stricken sick with laughter. No one would buy it, no matter how adorably cute it was. The hauntingly funny house with six sagging gables and one carbuncled cupola was more than a fixer upper; it was a real estate downer. Although the peeling layers gave it a warm and fuzzy look, it seemed to develop a sad sallow tint and it seemed to show its age in faded yellow paint years.

The vaudevillians home was deemed unsafe and tagged for demolition. It would have had its last curtain call if it were not for the relentless investigation by the Chief and the Deputy, who refused to let the house have the last laugh. One partially sunny day the dubious duo stumbled upon something very amusing in the upstairs playroom. Behind a thick blue velvet curtain they found a jumbo Jack in-the Box. It loomed large. The Deputy knew he would need to do any dirty work that needed to be done so, with a little pent up resentment, he walked closer and looked at the hairpin trigger Jack in-the Box and the bent metal hand crank. He took a deep breath; looked back at the Chief, giggled a little and said “Oh well”, then grabbed the handle and turned it.
“Da dump - Da dump - Da dot De da dump --POP!
Out came a weasel, not a real one, but real enough. They jumped straight up. But when they landed their stomachs wiggled around just like the spring-loaded surprise. Nervously they tittered out a halfhearted TEE- HE-HE-HE. They were so pensive that if a fine-line existed between funny and scary, they crisscrossed and swerved over the fine line and careened into the borders of composure several times as they tried not to laugh from fear.

Inside the Jack in-the Box, protected by the bouncing big weasel, they found pictures, lots, and lots of pictures, family pictures, pictures of his old Vaudeville days and pictures of what was likely Adam Ribs’ extended Borscht belt family. There were enough pictures to fill a rogue’s gallery of slapstick humorist. Most of the pictures were faded and frayed. However, there was another batch of pictures that were newer much newer. These smiling faces were certainly not family members. They were black and white and Chinese and Latino. The peculiar pictures were in strips like they were taken in a photo booth. Everyone in every picture had a very big smile. The Chief had a funny feeling. He felt these might be the missing persons.
“They all look like drifters.” He said to the Deputy.
“Yeah, but if these are the drifters and were killed here, they must have died laughing”, replied the Deputy.
They collected the humorously hazardous graphic evidence. Then they high tailed it out of the place before their daring exposure to the house had a chance to fully develop.

Once back at the station, away from the contact high they got from the funny photos, they began to show the head shots around.
“Do you know this mug?” The Chief asked several of the old timers who had reportedly seen drifter go down that way years ago. Some old fogies tried to answer but drifted in and out of their own fog and couldn’t remember their own names. But, just as the Chief suspected, those that could remember said the mugs in the photos looked familiar. Also, several of the descriptions in the police logs, dating all the way back to case # 99 in 1931, corroborated their stories. Each of these glossy photo strips told a story, a stark black and white, thousand-word story. These were definitely, without a doubt, the missing drifters. But where were they now?


Chapter Seven, “Ah Ha”

Since the photos pointed to multiple missing persons cases the Homicide Detective was called back in. Case 10,01 was no longer neatly bundled up like yesterdays news. It was today’s front-page headlines, and the funny papers on this unfinished episode of slapstick injustice were reopened.

The Detective sporting a new sear sucker suit and white buck with pink soles walked into the Chiefs office and said
“Well it looks like our Mr. Adam Rib was not only a rotten bastard he might also be a serial killer,” the Detective said to the Chief who was looking at a stack of photo strips.
“Looks like it” the Chief said with an added nod of agreement,
“WOW -I knew there was something fishy about that old guy when he gave us the finger,” the Deputy said and curiously asked. “What do we do now Chief”
“Well, one thing is for sure, someone needs to go back in there.” The Chief stated as matter of fact. At the mere thought of going back into that that mysterious house, that house of hideous humor the Detectives temples began to throb and his forehead began to sweat. His hands trembled, his stomach tightened up; butterflies flew around it, smashing at the walls of his gut, looking for an egress. With all that happening inside him he blurted out with uncontrolled anticipation,
“Can I go can I go? Please can I go?”

For some unfathomable reason, perhaps endorphins, the thought of going back into the house that nearly scared all the pent up waste out of him and resonated his funny bone to the point of near fracture, got him overwhelmingly excited. The big gorilla of a cop started to jump up and down and clap his hands like one of the monkey toys in hilarious house, but he quickly regained his cold homicide detective composure. He cleared his throat, straightened his tie and after another voice-clearing cough said in a serious tone,
“It appears this will require a Homicide Detectives attention once again, I’ll go”

“We’ll all go,” the Chief said in a disgusted and commanding, no monkey business tone.
The Chief then mumbled loud enough for his Deputy to hear,
“Can I go - can I go? Boy, oh, boy, God help us.” The Deputy snickered.
The Detective straightened his tie overhearing the slight.
Then his eyes lit up. He said,
“I DID it” - Get it! “I DID IT!” The self-savvy Detective proudly surmised.
“What?” the Chief said.
“The Note, The NOTE, the NOTE. The note that the stiff pointed to - you know - “ ”I” - did it,” get it.” The Detective said again as if he was a rocket scientist for getting it, and they were as dumb as lab rats for not getting it. The Chief and the Deputy looked dumb founded like Laurel and Hardy. The Deputy scratched his head and the Chief’s head popped up. They looked at each other scratching their heads and shrugged their shoulders trying to get it.
Then the Deputy said, “Oh, yeah, I get it, don’t you see Chief” the Deputy said in a Stanley Laurel manner and gave the Chief a single firm nod as he took on a Stanley Laurel persona.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the Chief acting out his Hardy role.
“Who in their right mind would write a confession note that said, “I did it””.
Then the Chief thought for a second, tightened his lips, bobbed his head around, and timidly backed down saying to the two other crime professionals.
“Well maybe? This case has been a wacky, twisted ride so far. Let’s see where this roller coaster takes us.”

They stood there and began to shake all over at the thought of returning to the rollicking roller coaster of a house. They knew that the six gabled one cupola structure sat perched right on the edge of laughter as if the palisades amusement was deliberately parked there ready and waiting to tickle the next guffaw out of any guy or doll who happened by. They knew from experience once inside the house of unbridled humor they would become powerless and easily controlled by some force that could pull their strings and make them dance and giggle like dummies or push their funny buttons and make them howl and moan from laughter.

They knew this was a serious job and they would need a special comedy swat team, so a troop of gag busters was assembled and briefed. They all knew they were storming a crime scene, not a slapstick movie set. The Detective and the Chief concocted an ingenious plan devised to help them remain in control as they were having their chains pulled. Their plan was simple, from the moment anyone felt the effect of the powerhouse of laughter they were to think of the most depressing thoughts they could conjure up. There was no guarantee it would work, but it was worth a try.


Chapter Eight, “A cavalry rescue”

The Detectives didn’t want to take his shinny new car up the dusty road, which he soon regretted, as he rode along with the flatulent Chiefs in the rickety old patrol car as it backfired inside and out. The old Dodge was sandwiched between two camouflaged Hummers. The comedy cavalry barreled up the steep cliffs blaring a Wagner dirge intent on solving this capricious capper. All were thinking depressing thoughts. It was a sad sack of a platoon.

At the speed of molasses they poured through the knurly gates. Like a spoonful sugar mixing with caster oil chaser they merrily popped in to the mirthfully possessed property. They were prepared to see how their tough love brand of medicine went down. The comedy fighting commandos jumped out of their stinking vehicles and ran into the house with their minds filled with enough preplanned downer thoughts to ruin even an Animal House frat party. As they rushed through the French doors several admired the knockers, but they were given strict instruction not to fondle anything. So they curbed their enthusiasm and went in. Room by room they searched. Each straight man and women was intently concentrating on their unique depressing memories. It was grueling.

Some thought about when they had to put down their favorite pet, or when they weren’t allowed to get a puppy. They thought about their worst teachers and SAT tests, or the day they crashed the family car, or how they braced themselves for the dentist, painless or otherwise. They relived over and over their worse dates, or conjured up bad food experiences, so awful it made them gag, a real gag. They visualized eating spinach, and lima beans. They thought about visiting boring relatives or worse a weekend with the in-laws. Whatever it took, they did it. They were professionals.

But this mission was different since they were trained to look at the heinous dark side of life not the hilarious sunny side. It was a testament to their professionalism that they kept their pratfall and high jinx mayhem to a minimum. They managed to control their slapstick antics as they carefully stepped around and over whoopee cushions. They tiptoed through the tulip line halls that were salt and peppered with fake vomit, rubber chickens, paper skeletons and hand buzzer, all around them like land mimes. Some of the chuckle-less commando were getting numb from the cold calculated comedy, some were feeling dizzy from holding back the yucks, some felt nauseous from the rich bad humor, but they all made it through the house without one comic crack up or a single one-liner casualty. The scoured the house and were now all assembled ready to tackle the last frolicking frontier - the basement.

The Detective, in the lead standing ready at the basement door, was very proud of his super troopers, who were taking up the rear. He slowly reached for the cob webbed basement doorknob shaped like a smiling skull. When he grabbed it, something ran across his hand and he instinctually pulled his arm back hitting the Chief right in the stomach - hard.
“Owwooo - What did you do that for?” the Chief said in a strained voice as he tried to catch the wind that was knocked out of him by the unexpected blow to his solar plexus. The Detective said
“Sorry about that Chief”
The Deputy’s ears perked up and he started to giggle and was about to lose it when everyone yelled out – “Spinach… Lima beans… April 15th”! It worked. The Deputy regained his solemn composure and said “Thanks gang,” and he went back to worrying about his depressing tax situation, and his girl friends “news”!

The Detective grabbed the doorknob again, and with an enforcing grip tried to turn the stiff old knob. It was stuck.
“Maybe we need a skeleton key,” the Deputy said, but realized he wasn’t helping and figured he better shut up. The Detective turned harder and harder, and finally with a rust crunching pop the sticky cold sheet metal door opened. A musty smell rushed out from the sealed crypt like basement and raced into their collective clue sniffing nostrils.

They all tried to maintain their composure, but this musty smell could not be ignored. It was something to sneeze at and they did. Each time a copper sneezed they thought they heard a voice came out nowhere it said “Zay Gezundt!” They managed to ignore the gracious sneezing blessing and focused on the mission at hand and kept their sad thoughts squarely in mind.

The Detective led the pack of clue hounds down each squeaky step. One step, then another, and another until they were all bottomed out and could see the whole dreary, low-lit basement. Cluttered with piles of things covered by sheets, it sprawled out in front of them like a lumpy rug hiding something.
“What the heck is that over yonder!” The Chief said with a surprised western accent that snuck from south of his strictly guarded humor border.

Across the dripping dank expanse was a big box with bight colorful lights racing around it. Whatever it was it had a sinister, yet inviting, exterior they thought.
“Why it’s a Photo Booth!” the calculating Detective deducted.
They all walked toward it. The portrait-taking cockpit curtain was closed and when the pack of depressed thinkers were a skittish yard sticks away, suddenly, a loud laughing voice boomed out of nowhere and said,
“COME IN. Come on in Yes you. Oh, come on in. I won’t hurt you. Let me take your photo”
That was it. The Detective, who found his deduction left him at a deficit which was more than he could take, had managed to shoot half way up the stairs in a couple of gazelle-like strides. The voice spooked all but the Chief, who said,
“Stop Stop get back here! It’s a just a tape triggered by a motion sensor right here. See.”
He proved the machine was set to go off as someone approached, just like an electronic barker, pulling the crowd closer.
“It’s an old Carney trick, nothing to worry about.” He said
Still, they approached the portrait portal with fear and trepidation, and a little nervous tittering here and there. Inside, they found a full-length mirror and a set of overlay sheets, each with a different mask stenciled on it. One had a cowboy hat; another had a clown face. Some had animals and some were so novel they could not be easily described. All looked funny. All looked inviting. They were irresistible.

Everyone wanted to give it a try. The Chief was the first in. He closed the curtain, sat down, and felt a little silly, as he put up a mask. When he looked into the mirror, he saw his face reflected with the mask of a bulldog surrounding his face. A nice choice he thought. He smiled a big smile and was just about to laugh at how silly he looked when a bright flash of light shot off and stunned him. He jumped up, pushed away the curtains, and ran out of the booth in a stumbling hurry, his heart racing.
“The machine just took my picture!” he said
The Detective said, “Oh, don’t be such a big baby, it’s only a photo booth, let me go in.”
He closed the curtain behind him and put up a can-can girls head piece on the mirror and the camera flashed him twice. As he safely got out of the seemingly humor sensitive portrait booth, the Chiefs’ first photo strip were extruding a new development into the shot box.

The Chief grabbed the photo strip; he wanted to see them first. He turned away and looked. There he was, but no bulldog outfit like the one he saw in the mirror but he looked great, he thought. He had a smile from one side of his face to beyond the other side. The photo had captured the biggest smile he ever had. It was a very happy photo. He was so pleased he wanted duplicates.

The Detective’s photos were excellent as well, but there was a revolting development. He wanted to see himself in the can-can hair-do and insisted on going back in so he could hold the headpiece in front of his face. But he had his turn and as he tried to cut in line the others said
“Its not your turn”
“Oh, come on, it would be funny, come on, come on, please, please let me go again.”
He beseeched them but was declined. Everyone kept their place in line and got their picture taken. All the photos were great. The Detectives went in again and got his Can-Can girl outfit on film, which made several of the other wonder. But none of this photo unrealism led them anywhere. There were no skeletons in this photo closet; nothing had developed here. They knew they needed to reluctantly move on.


Chapter Nine, “Birthing the truth”

The gag busters moved away from the photo booth all holding their perky portraits. Suddenly, across the way, as though a show was about to begin, a deep blue spotlight popped on to the sound of a short drum roll with a cymbalic finish. An intense blue light shined squarely on a large Jack in-the Box just like the one that gave them the drifter mug shot evidence and made the Chef and the Deputy less clueless.

The merry prangsters all stopped dead in their tracks and gave each other an expectant look. There was a pregnant pause long enough for several off spring jokes to be formed, but they were too fearful to breech the silence. So, the one-liners were aborted and not a single one was verbally birthed. No one moved but they started to say,
“You go”
“No, you go”
“No, you go”
“No, I said it first”
The Deputy knew, being the lowest one on this trembling totem pole, he would need to turn the crank once again.
“I’ll go,” he said in resigned acceptance. But he couldn’t seem to move and stood there just trying not to crack up from laughter. The others pushed him from behind, as they said
“Go on, go on scaredy cat, get over there,” the Deputy, dug in his feet and said,
“Chief, will you go with me?”
The Chief, knowing he was on the spot, said in another Hardy tone.
“Oh, all right - let’s go,” and grabbed the Deputy by the hand and walked toward the blue light special surprise.
They both grabbed the crank, looked back at everyone, smiled, and began to turn the handle of the spring loaded Jack in-the Box, slowly, slowly they turned.
As they turned the crank, the box plunked out its familiar tune, note by note.
Da Dump Da Dump Da Dump Pa De Dump
- POP!!!!!!

This time what looked like a Jackass jumped out of the box and was bucking and kicking, and scared the willies out of them, and put the jeepers and creepers into them. The Jackass looked more like it was half man half donkey. It had the “_ _ _ Dora” on its side and below it in funny looking letters was “Get it!”
They all looked puzzled and didn’t say Jack. Then the Detective said
“Oh I get it”
It’s a Pan named Dora it’s Pan Dora and now it’s out of the box. Get it!
Everybody nodded that seemed logical!

Now that Pan Dora was out of the box wiggling and bouncing around on his or her uncoiled spring perch they noticed it was holding a note. The Deputy darted up and grabbed the note and rushed back and read it aloud
“I’m in here Coppers. Come and get me!”

A note that bold made all of them regret that Pan Dora was out of the box and no one wanted to go into this scary black hole. The bravest one in the squad of scared silly ninnies happened to be a female sergeant with some mid-wife experience. She volunteered to retrieve whatever it was. When she reached inside she found only a cassette tape. Written on it in gold metallic ink was, “My Last Will and Testament”, which she said aloud as the others gasped.
Next to the Jack in the Box, at the edge of the spotlight, was a tape deck. She pushed the tape in. The spotlight immediately moved and centered on the tape deck. She jumped away without pushing the play button down. They all stood there for a moment almost not wanting to hear what was on it.

The Chief, who noticed a smiley face painted around the PLAY button, made another bold move. He tiptoed over and quickly pushed down the smiley-faced play button with his shaky pointer finger, then scurried away. There was the cracking sound, then the a loud voice boomed out,
“BOO!”
Everyone jumped. The taped voice laughed and said,
“Only kidding, don’t wet your pants. If you are hearing this then, I am dead. By the way, I am fine, the temperature could be a little cooler, but hey, who’s complaining. So, how are you?”
There was a pause.
“Louder, I don’t hear so good. I’m an old man yah know, and I’m dead. Ah never mind. Well here I go ready or not”
Adam Rib went on and did his entire vaudeville shtick one last time. They all laughed and applauded. He was a funny guy. Then he explained that his wife Mildred, his two brothers Sol and Bernard, his cousin Louie and Louie’s wife Selma were all buried out back by the dogwood tree. He assured them his relations died of natural causes and were happy to be dead. He added,
“Trust me, trust me, they died happy all ready, and I can now tell you that - Officially! Oh - they all say HI!”

He paused for the rim shot “par-ump-bump” from a drummer before he continued. His timing was impeccable.
“As you may have figured out unless you are a dumb a stumps, this is my last Will and Testament. So here we go with the legal-smegal mumbo jumbo part of this thing. I want everything to be Kosher. Being of sound mind, - well as sound as I got - and of crummy body - I should have worked out more, Mildred told me - Oh well. This is my last will and testament, so do what I tell you. I have no relatives left, at least none that I am givin’ anything to, so I’m not leavin nothing to nobody and giving everything to everybody. So if anyone tries to contests my Will, tell them to get, – blanked, and I mean that from the bottom of some part of the body that I used to have.”
He paused a second then continued.
“Well, you’ll know what to do with them.”

“Oh yeah, another thing, I want to stay here. So if you took me away, bring me back. I want my happy resting place to be under the dogwood tree next to Mildred, but not to close to Louie, he snores.”
“Oh yeah, I got a favor to ask too. My Schnauzer dog Rollfree, and my wife’s cat, Scardy are stuffed and in the closet, could you make sure they get a good spot in a nice rest home, we no longer accept pets.” He cleared his throat in comic relief.

“Hey, how about this house, pretty incredible huh. It’s a wild and crazy place don’t ya think? Pretty creepy too – do you want to know what went on here and why it was so wild, crazy and creepy?”
“Sure!” they thought to themselves, biting on the line he let out. They wanted to hear why the house was hilariously haunted, but they really wanted to hear the gruesome tale about where the drifters were buried.
“Well” Adam took a deep breath. They waited on that breath, baited. He spoke up,
“Well, I don’t want to tell you right now. I don’t know you well enough, come back later, we’ll talk and maybe I’ll tell you then,” He paused again.

The Detective, who had been hooked on every line of this stinker, was furious. He had ways to make a tough-guy sing like a canary. However, this bird was already dead. The old stiff was more Carney than canary, the Detective realized. The joke was on him so the Detective just smiled at the gag and listened as the tape went on.
“Since this place is so funny already, I want it to be turned into an real official fun house and a vaudeville museum to be enjoyed by all those that need to laugh more, which in my opinion is everyone. But who’s asking me?

The crime professionals laughed patiently but only wanted him to spill the beans. They wanted this kettle of fish to boil over. They wanted him to pour out his guts and tell them where he buried the drifters.
He spoke up “OK, now on to the important stuff – I’ll bet you want to know where I stashed all the”
He coughed
“ …wait a minute I got something in my throat, hold on”
Adam Rib started hacking and cleared his throat of old age flam. His crime fighting audience stood ready to hear the gruesome full confession when he spoke again.
“All right, what was I saying - oh yeah, where I stashed… my money? I’ll bet you want to know where I stashed all my money. Well, all my money, and there is a lot of it. You know I invested well, bought low sold high and I always cut out coupons and never paid retail. A penny here a penny there, it adds up. I got all cash now. Its king you know. I got a lumpy mattress full of it in the attic, next to the big fat laughing lady. She looks a lot like my 3rd grade teacher Ms Hemline, scary lady brrrr scary lady. Well, all my cash is in there.”

Mouths dropped, eyes popped - money in a mattress?
He spoke up loud and said. “Don’t you dare try to take any, I am watching, especially you Chief!”
The Chief’s jaw dropped open one more astounded notch wider.
“How did he…?” the Chief started to say but the tape quickly cleared up the mystery.
“I assume under these unusual circumstances there must be a bunch of high ranking cops listening to this.”

The Police Chief, the Detective, the Deputy, and the swat team looked at each other and smiled. However, they still wanted to hear more about the missing persons, and what he might have done with them. His voice picked up.
“Well, that’s it. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble finding me, well the tape of me anyway. OK so that’s it - the end - shows over – good-bye - have a nice life. I did, now go home”
The tape went silent. They stood there dumbfounded for a moment when the tape clicked in again and he said, “Go away already, I got to get my rest” Then the tape went ominously silent.

They waited and waited and waited for more. There was no more. That was it, no confession, and no mention of the drifters. Somehow they felt cheated. They were all baited, ready to solve an old mystery but they didn’t catch a thing, except maybe a cold from the clammy and moldy basement. Some sneezed and could swear they heard “gazun-tike” come out of nowhere again as they left the scene of the crime. But, was this a crime scene? Was there a crime?

Interesting, very interesting.


Chapter Ten, “Tied up in loose ends”

As the congested swat team got into their Hummers and drove off, the Deputy stood outside of the old Dodge and had the kosher Old Testament version of an epiphany and shouted out to the Detective who was gorging himself with taffy.
“Holy Bopka! Fatman, I got it.”
“What? What?” the Chief said as the Detective tried to chew down his taffy so he could say “What”.
The note - “I did it”- I’ll bet the old codger meant he had a good life, you know “I did IT”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Chief said in a hardy tone”
“Well maybe” said the Detective.
The Chief did a double take, “Well, yeah maybe” He conceded


The taffy happy Detective opened the creaky car door and with a gob of taffy still rolling in his mouth said, “Well -I sure would like to know where those drifters went.”
He flopped into the back seat of the dirty patrol car and obliviously sat on a taffy wrapper and added, “I could rest easy knowing where those drifters are now. That would clean up this kooky mess for me. ”
The Chief said, “Yup, that’s still a stinky mystery, interesting, very interesting,” The Deputy just smiled said “Stew Pid under his breathe and put his foot on the gas.
The car lunged forward and Detective slide backward and felt the sticky taffy wrapper as he spun around on the vinyl seat and said, “Darn”. They drove off wondering about the drifters as the Detective was picking off taffy.

Chapter 11 - The last rights

The missing persons mystery was quickly solved in a funny way. It turned out when Adam Rib was finished with each of the drifters that dared to wander down his way he took them for a long walk off his short pier. The old coot took them out to sea, on a long one-way boat ride, passed those loose cliffs that could sink ships. Then he dropped them off at an abandoned pier way down the coast and gave them some money and wished them well.
One drifter, who had become quite wealthy as a comedy club owner came back to pay his respects when he read the news about the fall of Adam Rib and his stinking death. He corroborated that Adam Rib was good-humored Samaritan. He showed off black and white photos of him and the Ribbers’. In the photos Adam and his family were all smiles. They were naked too. They looked very lively and quite healthy, especially Selma, if you like well endowed red heads. He remarked how much younger he looked back then and reminisced about their wild parties and how much fun he had when he stayed with the buck-naked Ribbers. He also said it was because of them that he remained young at heart and told the coppers a story,

“When the old guy dropped me off he yelled out -
“Hey, yah know they say if you die laughing I hear you get a hand buzzer at the Pearly front gate or the dark backstage door, depending on how your audition goes. Well I hope you laugh a lot here and maybe we can laugh a little more there.” - Then he just smiled and sailed away”

The now well to do comedy club drifter smiled a tear and concluded
“You know, the old guy gave me just what I needed - a good laugh and a new start. The old guy was like my Jewish guardian angel.” I’ll bet he’s looking at us form somewhere now – and laughing.
Although they never actually met Adam Rib, the Coppers felt like he was now looking out for them too.
It turned out once they humored the old house; it really wasn’t a scary house it was just a funny place. They learn the simple lesson that sometime you just have to laugh at life, or it can be mighty scary.
So, case - 10,01- was now closed, but what made the house so funny remains a mystery. A funny mystery a vaudeville comedian named Adam Rib took to his happy resting place out back under the dogwood tree. And, according to Adam Rib’s wishes, the old house with six stern gables and one cute little cupola was turned into a bright mellow yellow funhouse, and a vaudeville museum. A funny new rumor started. The rumor said if you visited the old fun house when Adam Rib rolled over in his grave and told Mildred and the others a good dill pickle joke, he would tickle your funny bone too, and might even whisper the houses real secret to you. Maybe. But one thing was for sure, everyone that took the time to laugh at life and visit Adam Ribs’ Land of Laughter lived happily every after, and they all got taffy.

The end.
Now go home and laugh more.