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Lou and JC
Life on the Streets
LOU AND JC : LIFE ON THE STREET
bayou - 04:04pm Dec 21, 1998 MST

Here is a little story I did about Lou Smit and his *partner* Jesus Christ interrogating a hapless suspect. Next time, JC wants to play bad cop. The saga continues...

Scene: a grim police interrogation room. Cinder-block walls painted gray. A light bulb dangling from a thread. A stained card table and a tattered chair.

Santa sits in the chair. All decked out in red. Black suspenders. Black boots. His beard glistening in the glare of the light. Sweat poring from his kindly brow.

Santa peers over his eyeglasses at the two men who are now playing good cop, bad cop.

Jesus is good cop. Folding his hands in a prayer position, he approaches Santa. His sandals clack on the concrete floor. His flowing robe stirs up dust.

"Santa," he says in his soft voice, "I like a man with long hair. Such men are normally kind and gentle and love little children."

"Thanks," sniffles Santa, dabbing at his eyes with a hankie.

BANG!!! Lou Smit raps the card table with a leather glove. "IS THIS WHAT YOU WORE WHEN YOU STRANGLED THAT BABY GIRL!" shouts an enraged and red-faced Lou.

"N-n-n-no," whimpers Santa. "I love children. I would never hurt a fly."

"OH YEAH," bellows the out-of-control Lou. "THAT'S WHAT NORMAN BATES, THE MOM-KILLER SAID!"

Laying his hand on Lou's shoulder, Jesus speaks. "Lou, let me talk to Santa for a moment. Go get a cup of coffee and calm down."

Lou grins wickedly at Jesus. "Sure, partner," he says with an evil chuckle. "YOU handle him now. Call me if the old fart gives ya any trouble."

"Santa," says Jesus. "Are you hungry?"

"A little," says Santa. "But there doesn't seem to be anything to eat in here?"

"Do you like fish?" asks Jesus, eyeing a goldfish in a bowl. "I assure you there is enough fish here for you and me and Lou and a multitude of others."

"DID YOU GET IT OUT OF HIM YET?" wailed Lou, bursting through the door?

"Lou, please," says Jesus, "I need more time." Turning to Santa, "Confession is good for the soul, old elf. Think about it."

Lou, slipping on brass knuckles, "Better fess up, Santa, or the sledding could get mighty rough this Christmas."

Suddenly Jesus whips out from under his robe a garrote. "Ever seen this," he asks?

"YES!" screams Lou.

"Not you, Lou, I was talking to Santa," says Jesus.

"W-w-what is it," Santa asks, bewildered.

"IT'S A GARROTTE, YA BIG DUMMY," yells Lou, completely undone.

"This is the very garrote used to kill JonBenet," says Jesus, dangling the garrote in front of Santa.

"Pardon me," says Santa, "but as a Professor, I must correct your pronunciation. It is garrote, with the accent on the second syllable. It's a French word."

"ARE YA GONNA LET HIM TALK TO YOU LIKE THAT?" bellows Lou, doubling up his fist just inches from Santa's cherry-like nose.

Jesus leans over and whispers in Santa's cauliflower-like ear, "I cannot keep Lou at bay much longer. He is an animal. You must confess now or bear the consequences."

"B-bu-but I didn't do it," stammers Santa.

Lou puffs on a cigar. The smoke encircles Santa's head like a wreath. "IF YOU DON'T CONFESS BY THE TIME I FINISH THIS CIGAR, I AM GONNA GIVE YOU A WHUPPIN YOU WON'T FORGIT, OLD MAN!" screams Lou.

Jesus produces a copy of the ransom note. "We noticed that when you form the small letter I, you put a dot over it." he informs Santa.

Santa gulps.

"And there was green tinsel in the basement room. Doesn't your wife dress as an elf in a green suit from time to time?" Jesus continued.

Santa gulps again.

"IF THAT ISN'T ENOUGH TO SAVE PATSY'S NECK, I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS." yelled Lou, coughing up a lung in the process.

Twelve hours later, the sleepless Santa signs a confession.

Jesus ascends to his throne on high. Lou calls Patsy. Animals talk. Lou walks into the misty night air and is heard to mumble aimlessly, "shoes, shoes, sick puppy's shoes...I found some feet for sick puppy's shoes..."

THE FOLLOWING DAY
bayou - 04:22pm Dec 21, 1998 MST (#2 of 3)

Jesus Christ (otherwise known as JC) is informed by his superiors (here on Earth only) that the Santa confession won't stick. A number of witnesses testify that no sleigh was spotted on the street that night. It is JC's unhappy duty to inform the volcanic Lou that his *fall guy* has been eliminated as a suspect.

JC: (knocking on door)

Lou: (bellowing) WHO THE HELL IS IT?

JC: It is I, your Lord and Savior and partner in crime-solving.

Lou: Sorry, come in, Jesus. I am a bit overwrought these days.

JC: I understand, my son. However, I have some bad news.

Lou: Nothing can get me down today, now that we that patsy for Patsy. Getting that fat old man to sign the confession made my day.

JC: That's the bad news, Lou. Santa has recanted and the head honchos believe him.

Lou: WHAT?

JC: I am afraid it is true, Lou. The evidence is quite conclusive. His handwriting is nothing like Patsy's...I mean, like the writing on the ransom note. And no long gray hairs were found anywhere. Finally no sleigh on the street.

Lou: DAMN! THOSE NITPICKERS DOWNTOWN HAVE RUINED ANOTHER CONFESSION!

JC: Don't give up. You know people think we can walk on water.

Lou: Where do we go from here? How about his old lady, the broad who wrote that pervert play?

JC: Her handwriting doesn't match either. And there were no elf shoe prints. Most unlikely.

Lou: DAMN! I was hoping we could nail one of them...no offense intended.

JC: None taken. Guess we could try for the wimp and his decrepit old mom.

Lou: You mean, Miles? Nah. He likes boys. And his mom can barely hold a pen much less write a note.

JC: Fleet White?

Lou: That would be great. But he has more money than the Ramseys and he is honest. He could hire Dershowitz.

JC: I am afraid things are looking pretty bleak. Maybe you could pistol whip some homeless guy and get him to confess.

Lou: That might be suspicious. Homeless guys have confessed in my last six cases. It would be pushing my luck.

JC: *sigh* Let's go to Krispy Kreme and think it over.

Lou: I thought you were the guy with the miracles. Let's face it, Jesus. It is going to take a miracle to get these two off.

JC: Next time, I'll be bad cop. You tend to over-emote, Lou.

Lou: Okay. I can easily be good cop. Have you seen my web site? It's full of clouds. Has the perfect Holier-Than-Thou atmosphere.

JC: Did you say Holier-Than-Thou?

Lou: I was speaking figuratively.

Clerk: Hey, Lou, that Ramsey chick is on the line again!

Lou: Which one? Patsy or Pam?

Clerk: Not sure, ya heard one, ya heard em all.

Lou: Tell her I am busy working on the case, interrogating a suspect. That should hold her til I get back from Krispy Kreme.

ON THE WAY TO KRISPY KREME:

Lou, grabbing JC's arm: LOOK! THAT MAN OVER THERE!

JC: You mean the one in the expensive coat?

Lou: YES! HE LOOKS SUSPICOUS!

JC: My *sources* inform me he is not a local. Do you think he might be that well-dressed man who roamed the streets Christmas before last?

Lou: Definitely. Let's follow him.

JC: But I wanted a donut.

Lou: We can eat later. This may be just the guy we need.

JC: What's he doing?

Lou: He appears to be looking in a store window. Highly suspicious this time of year. Probably a thief as well as a child-killer.

JC: Judge not, lest ye be judged, Lou.

Lou: Look, I have been a detective all my life. Right from the womb. I caught the maid stealing a can of peaches from my poor old mother when I was just three years old.

JC: So what are your vibes about this guy?

Lou: Shady. Not trustworthy. A phony. A hypocrite. A liar.

JC: You can tell all that just by looking?

Lou: Elementary, my dear partner. Look at those Italian-made loafers. I probably lifted them from some rich guy he killed. And consider that spotless topcoat. Plenty of pockets for hiding duct tape. How about those gloves? Just like OJ wore. Perfect for strangling a young miss and no fingerprints. And what about that hideous, lacquered pompadour? It would not drop a hair with all that spray holding it in place. Hell, he could walk through a hurricane and not drop a hair.

JC: I think we have our man.

Lou: UP AGAINST THE WALL, BUDDY. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!

Stranger: What? Let go of me. I warn you. I used to be a boxer.

Lou: SHUT UP, YOU CHILD KILLER. KNEE HIM IN THE GROIN, JESUS.

JC: Sure, Lou.

The stranger crumples to the ground writhing in pain.

Lou: FRISK HIM AND GET HIS ID!

JC: It's done. Some guy named Gerardo Riviera.

Stranger: (gasp) Can't you read, you hippie! That's Geraldo Rivera, tv star.

Lou: BOOK HIM, JC!


FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE INTREPID DETECTIVES
bayou - 09:06am Dec 22, 1998 MST (#5 of 7)

Scene: the grim and grimy streets of Boulder.

JC: Thank God Jerry Rivers dropped his lawsuit, otherwise we would be toast.

Lou: Yeah, but there is a downside. Rivera is now demanding that we find a culprit and give him the scoop. The pressure is making me double up on my Depends.

JC: We can always hope for a miracle.

Lou: Wait a minute? Look at that clown over at the Boulder cam.

JC: You mean the one in the hooded jacket?

Lou: Yep. The Unabomber wore a hooded jacket. And notice that sign on his back.

JC: Pretty suspicious if you ask me. Most people turn their faces to the Boulder cam. What has that guy got to hide?

Lou: Probably wanted in several states.

JC: Let's get him. But this time *I* play bad cop.

Lou: Are you sure you have it in you, JC?

JC: Sure. I ran the moneychangers out of the temple, didn't I?

(Hours later in the interrogation room)

JC: (bellowing at the hooded figure) WHAT MAKES YOU SO AFRAID TO SHOW YOUR FACE, PAL? YOU MUST BE A REAL SICK PUPPY. AND WHAT IS THAT DUMB SIGN ON YOUR BACK ALL ABOUT?

SP: (defiantly) I was sending a secret message to some friends.

JC: SECRET MESSAGES, HUH? A GUY LIKE YOU HAS FRIENDS? SINCE WHEN?

SP: I know my rights you long-haired Nazi!!!

JC: RIGHTS? WELL, LET ME READ YOU YOUR RIGHTS! YOU GOTTA RIGHT TO BE PISTOL-WHIPPED BY A SAINT! YOU GOTTA RIGHT TO BE STETCHED ON A RACK TIL YOUR EYES POP OUT! YOU GOTTA RIGHT TO BE NAILED TO A...

Lou: Calm down, JC. Take a little break. Let me talk to this fellow.

JC: ALL RIGHT, BUT I'LL BE BACK!!! (storming out)

Lou: Mister, are you a Christian? I am a Christian and I have compassion for all souls, no matter how weird, sick and perverted they may be.

SP: Of course, I am a Christian.

Lou: Then we can strike a deal if you will just open up and pour your heart out to old Lou.

SP: Well, Lou, I do have a story to tell.

Lou: Don't tell it, buddy. Write it. I want to see your handwriting. I mean, I want to observe your literacy level. By the way, are those high-tech shoes you are wearing?

SP: Sure, Lou. They are great for the mountains and the snow.

JC: (observing through a two-way mirror) mumbles That is one sick puppy.

Lou: BTW, do you have any knowledge of garroting?

SP: Yes, I have recently become an expert on knots and garrotes.

JC: (crashing through two-way mirror and grabbing SP by the throat)

Lou: JC, wait, wait, the gentleman is about to confess.

JC: I just want to see the face of this MURDERER!

Lou: Ohmigod, that ain't no gentleman!

SP bolts into the darkness while a stunned JC reels on the floor and a snakebitten Lou seethes with anger.

(Okay, okay...this is the last installment. I just couldn't resist one more.)

"I KNOW, YOU KNOW, WE KNOW"
bayou - 03:10pm Jan 1, 1999 MST (#12 of 14)

ping* *You've got mail*

JC: Must be Sick Puppy again. She averages e-mailing us ten times a day now.

Lou: Read that one out, JC. It can't be any dumber than the last one.

JC: Surprise. It is from Pam Paugh, requesting a secret meeting.

Lou: THE Pam Paugh, tv star?

JC: One and the same, Lou.

Lou: Set up an appointment, JC. She could be the killer.

JC: But I thought she was in Georgia the night of the murder.

Lou: That is what she claims. But a good detective suspects everybody but the obvious killer. You know that, JC.

JC: Seems she is in town and can be here in ten minutes.

Lou: Great! We will be able to interrogate her for hours without her even knowing it.

JC: Who'll be good cop this time, Lou?

Lou: You will, JC. You fit the part. But we both have to take it easy with her. The Ramsey's have money, ya know.

JC: They do, but she doesn't. That makes her fair game.

Lou: Exactly, and I have begun to wonder if she *envied* her sister just a bit too much.

(Pam is escorted into the interrogation room.)

Lou: Would you like a croissant, mademoiselle?

Pam: Oooooh, Lou. You are so debonair. No wonder people call you a detective extraordinaire. (gobbles croissant)

JC: Please, sit here, my dear. No, wait! Maybe you should sit here. No! that chair is not too sturdy. How about here, on the radiator. It isn't used, now that we have central heat.

Pam: Why, thank you, young man. Are you married, by any chance?

JC: No, ma'am. Not me. I am a confirmed bachelor.

Pam: (batting eyelashes) Better men have uttered those words.

Lou: Let's get down to business...if it is all right with you, young lady. I am going to be blunt. Did you hate your sister?

Pam: Which one?

Lou: Patsy.

Pam: Why, no. I wasn't too fond of Polly. But I was okay with Patsy. In fact, I idolized her.

Lou: How shall I put this...delicately? Hmmmm Patsy did not appear to have as much of a certain problem as you and Polly have.

Pam: What problem is that? (scarfing another croissant)

Lou: Let me see if I can rephrase the question. As some women grow older, but not too much older, they develop a tendency to, shall we say, add a few pounds here and there.

Pam: Oh, you noticed. I suppose that is what makes you a good detective. Yes, Polly has put on some weight, and it is most unbecoming, but we cannot do a thing with her. She is always stuffing her face. (swallowing a spoonful of jam and licking her lips)

Lou: Well, it isn't just Polly, is it, dear?

Pam: No. Patsy has gotten rather porky, too. It may be due to medication, though. She was always such a perfectionist. I doubt she would pig out too often. (tossing a handful of peanuts into the air and catching them all in her mouth)

Lou: DAMN IT! I AM TALKING ABOUT YOU, YOU BLIMP!

Pam: WHAT! How dare you! How dare you imply that I might be slightly overweight. You crude and vulgar bald-headed impotent and incontinent old coot!!

JC: Now, now. Let's be friends. We are on a mission. The Lord wants us to find the killer of JonBenet. And you, Pam, have claimed to know who did it.

Pam: I *do* know who did it. I know exactly who did it.

Lou: What a coincidence, I know who did it too. I know exactly who did it. I just cannot prove it yet.

JC: Now, wouldn't it be lovely if you both knew the exact same person was the killer?

Pam: I will not address the identity of my suspect at this time.

Lou: Nor will I. It is my little secret for now.

JC: Maybe we could play a little game. For instance, Pam, does your killer's last name start with a W?

Pam: No.

JC: Lou, is your perp male, female or a little of both?

(This continues late into the night).

NOTE: The satire, "Lou and JC - Life on the Streets" is the property of the poster known as "Bayou" and is only used on the ACandyRose Internet Subculture site as part of the history archive files following this case.

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