The Chicken Police

When Wadsworth and Kimbo’s squad car was sabotaged by toothpicks broken off in the locks, they mosbyed over to the impound yard to borrow a car for the day. That’s when Wadsworth T. Shingletown spotted ‘The Chicken Wagon’.

‘Hey Kimbo. Check this ride out. This is the old relic from the Swap Meet Pickers Fair they had out there on Highway 99 last year. There was a shootout over a big bundled deal gone bad. The guy who drove this, was the last man standing. See the bullet holes? He almost made it to Eugene, but, having bled out, he crashed through the fence onto the driving range at Fidel’s Green, where he was unmercifully pelted with golf balls, until they realized the driver was dead. I tell you, there are some mean golfers in the Emerald Valley! Two of them threw their golf clubs away, for good, and got into therapy.”

KIMBO “Yep! That’s what I heard. I can’t stay away from a good swap meet. They don’t make glass like they used to. What’s the name on the panel? Pinus Chicken Ranch – Fresh Eggs Today’.”

WADSWORTH “No, that’s pronounced Pinus, not Penis!”

KIMBO “Whatever. Let’s get in and see if it runs.”

ONE YEAR LATER

After failing to coax Kimbo and Wade to get the brakes fixed on the Chicken Wagon, the chief ordered them to do so – pronto!

“That wreck gets on everyone’s nerves. When you pull into the parking lot, its like fingernails on a chalkboard. We can’t think. Everyone stops what they are doing until you come to a complete, agonizing, stop. We lose our place, forget where we were in our investigations.”

KIMBO “Hey! Wait a minute Chief. Why do you think we crack so many cases. Our suspects have the same reaction. We call them up and tell them we will be right over. We delay our arrival an hour. By then, they are fit to be tied. They had gotten all prepared, ready to be smooth and in control. Then, we pull into their driveway. Right off they think we are Mexican gardeners who have lost their way, or, are using their drive way to turn around. They come at us – screaming! Some are waving the golf club they keep by the front door. When we flash them our badge – WE GOT EM! They are all softened up. Their boundaries are shattered. They’ll rat on their own grandmother just to get rid of us.”

CHIEF “Hmm! You got a point. Perhaps we can do a modification, install another set of breaks?

ONE MONTH LATER

Kimbo and Wade are driving down Franklin Street, when this dude in a plastic Jelly Beanmobile, who had been riding Wade’s ass for three blocks, passed the CW in a huff, then slowed down. This was common. Young punks who can barely make their car payment, hate the idea of being stuck behind an old beater.  When the JB was caught by a red light, Wade gave the order.

WADE “Give em an A!”

KIMBO “You got it!”

Kimbo hit the old switch on the panel of plywood that had four switches on it. And, the loud sound of a truck with real bad brakes came screeching out of the speaker under the grill.

WADE “Now, smoke em!”

Kimdo hit switch B, and acrid smoke came out of the tire wells.

They had stopped busting their britches with laughter a week ago, because, they were just taking care of business, now. Yeah! There was some police harassment.

The Chicken Police nonchalantly watched another young punk frantically pull his JB to the curb, believing he was going to get rear-ended – big time!

When Wade pulled alongside, Kimbo rolled down the window.

KIMBO “Sorry about that. As soon as we sell enough eggs, we’re going to get our brakes fixed. You go on a head. We’ll make sure we stay well enough behind. No, you go! O.K. Have it your way!

NEXT

THE MORRIS SYDNEY CASE

Jon Presco

Copyright 2017