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in my office, and
leaning up against the side of my house. I wasn’t sure whether Ed and Fred were
killing all of these people or just digging them up somewhere, but it didn’t
really matter, from my point of view. Either way, it made me look bad.
    “What’s all this
then?” a policeman would say, gazing at all the corpses on my roof.
    “This isn’t what
it looks like, officer,” I would say.
    “It better not
be.”
    “It’s just a
gag.”
    “Gag, eh?”
    “Yes.”
    “It needs some
work.”
    “I realize that
officer.”
    “It’s not funny,
for one thing.”
    “No, I suppose
not. And yet…”
    “And it doesn’t
seem to be about anything.”
    “It needs work
all right.”
    “Got any more
gags like this?”
    “Not at this
time, officer.”
    “Good.”
    I had a hard time
moving all the corpses off of my property, because most of the time I couldn’t
find my car. It was usually roaming around Central City by itself, with the
words “Frank Burly Special” painted on the side, causing wrecks, knocking over
pedestrians, and double parking in front of the police station and leaning on
its horn. It was racking up over 400 traffic violations a day for me. The cops
ran out of ticket books at one point. They had to order some more.
    I probably should
have been arrested right away for all of these crimes I seemed to be
committing, but I wasn’t.
    Fortunately for
me, our new police chief was a very methodical man. He was tired of losing
cases in court because a piece of evidence was thrown out for being bullshit.
He insisted that his men collect every possible shred of evidence before an
arrest was made. This backfired in my case, because I was giving the police
more evidence against me every day. Better evidence, too. No policeman in his
right mind would want to go to trial without all this great new evidence I was
giving him. So if I didn’t stop, or at least slow down, they’d never catch up.
    They did ask me
to come downtown frequently to discuss all the crimes that were being committed
in Central City, and my possible starring role in them. In fact, I was at the
police station so often they gave me a reserved parking place next to the entrance.
It was a better spot than the chief had. But they weren’t ready to arrest me
yet. Just a little more evidence. They had to make sure. They knew if they blew
this one they would be laughed out of the law business.
    Another reason
the police hadn’t arrested me yet was that they were being kept very busy
looking into all of the hallucinations that had been occurring around town;
landmarks would disappear and then reappear again, sometimes looking slightly
different; streets would suddenly be pointing in different directions and be
named for people no one had ever heard of, like “William Howard Taft”; statues
in city parks would suddenly be of different guys, or of the same guy riding a
different horse, or the same horse with an entirely different name; and nuclear
bomb clouds sprang up everywhere, then faded away, leaving no damage that
anyone could see.
    Nobody seemed to
know what to make of all these hallucinations, but since they didn’t appear to
be dangerous, no one was too concerned. But the police had to investigate them
all, which left them with less time than they would have liked to investigate
what appeared to be the only really dangerous thing in Central City right then
- me.
    I was hiding the
evidence of my crimes as fast as I discovered them, but it seemed like a losing
battle. My garage was full, I’d dug as many holes in my yard as I dared – my
gardener was threatening to learn English and quit - and I was renting storage
areas all over the city and packing them full of corpses, stolen money, kidnap
victims, drug paraphernalia, and bogus tax returns.
    Then one day I
went too far. That was the day the cops found Amelia Earhart in the trunk of my
car. And that’s when all hell broke loose.
    Even though it
was a little the worse for wear, it