III: Byline

As they slowed and passed the scene they saw the police frantically trying to keep the bystanders back, while other officers approached the squad car, which had flames shooting out of the backseat. Two flaming individuals, their clothes and hair rapidly turning to ash, were being pulled out of the car and restrained as they tried to struggle their way out of the ruckus while the fire engine set up to put out the blaze before the fire reached the gas tank.
Sweaty turned to Chichay and sighed. They were too late.

The shifty and eccentric Johnny Go and his beautiful and psychotic sidekick Dixie Doublestacks were seated in the back of a battered prison van, which was headed toward a correctional facility deep in the heart of Northern Utah. They were both shackled hand and foot, and further to metal rings on the floor of the van. Dixie also wore a pair of mittens that resembled oven mitts, since she had twice managed to set fire to things during her trial, and on three separate occasions attempted to poke out the eyes of her guards.
The two had been charged with jaywalking and resisting arrest, among other things, and stood trial briefly. They’d attempted to represent themselves and lost in a spectacular manner. The judge, sick of hearing them belittle, insult, and threaten himself and his court staff, had expedited their sentencing, and now, little more than a week later, they were on their way to prison.
“So you gonna get a prison wife?” Dixie asked Johnny as they bounced along the highway. The mountains of Utah flashed gloriously through the windows, and were visible even through the thick metal grating that covered the sides of the van. Neither of them paid any attention.
“Absolutely,” Johnny said. “You?”
“You know it. Having someone do everything for me is prolly gonna be the only good thing about this place.”
“Yeah, I plan on channeling all my usual urges into bossing my wife around.”
“We gotta make sure they don’t get released at the same time as us, though,” Dixie said.
“Eh, we can take care of it if that happens,” Johnny replied. Across from them, a guard turned and gave them a suspicious look.
“Through divorce proceedings,” Dixie sneered at the man. “God, what do you think we are, monsters?”

***

Dear Dixie,
I hope this letter finds you well - or at least as well as you can be, given the circumstances. I wanted to let you know that Sweaty and I have finished up the work you and Johnny started here in Utah, so we’re going to be moving on to our next project (I’ll give you all the details once you get out). Clover and Doris have agreed to stay on and handle some logistics for us. We haven’t seen Rex in quite a while, but assume he’s ok. I’m going to include our new address here, in case you want to write back.
Nothing else noteworthy, so I’ll sign off for now. We put some funds in the commissary accounts for you and Johnny.
Sincerely,
Chichay

***

Chichay,
It’s so fucking boring here I can’t stand it. I’ve been making Sea Biscuit dance for me, and it’s nice not having to do anything for myself, but without booze, shit is just unbearably dull. Like the spark is gone. Plus they make us do bible study everyday, and fucking sing alongs on Tuesdays. Sing alongs, Chichay!!!
Can you send me a hula skirt and a shell bra? I want Sea Biscuit to learn to hula and there’s just no point if she doesn’t look the part.
Anyway,
Dixie

***

Dear Dixie,
It sounds like you’re doing ok, at least, and I’m glad about that. We’re on the move again, so please use the address below for your next letter. I don’t want to jinx it, but I think this is going to be a really prosperous year for us.
I was able to find the grass skirt in a discount Halloween store (enclosed), but no luck on the shell bra - you might have to improvise.
Stay safe,
Chichay

PS. Who is Sea Biscuit?

***

Chich - thanks. Sea Biscuit looks like a dope in the skirt, but then you can’t polish a turd, you know? Sea Biscuit is my prison wife. I call her Sea Biscuit on accounta she’s little and kinda horsey, but boy does she have heart. Also, I ride her around whenever I need to go anywhere. Haven’t walked on the actual floor in a while. Me and Johnny have a parole hearing next month. I’ve been pretty good, but I did shiv a guard so they might hold that against me. -Dix

***

“There’s no god damn justice!” Grace O’Reilly screamed, throwing the newspaper across her cluttered office. Her assistant, a young man named Dirk, stared nervously at her from across the desk. His boss was hard to manage when she got worked up like this. Her rage could be terrifying.
“Ma’am?” he asked, quietly. “What happened?”
“What happened?” she spat, her eyes blazing. “What happened is that the two most contemptible creatures ever to have entered our society; two disgusting, vile organisms who represent a literal and constant threat to all life on Earth; beings whose very presence indicates a black hole of morality; the raging filth mongers who I thought we were finally free of, are getting less than one year of prison time!” She took a deep breath, although it wasn’t clear whether she was trying to calm herself down, or getting herself wound up for round two. Dirk waited.
“My enemies, Dirk,” Grace said. Her frosted hair was large and immovable, and her expensive suit perfectly tailored with razor sharp lapels. Only her eyes gave away the look of crazed desperation. “Dixie and Johnny. They didn’t even get a year.” Dirk nodded and silently picked the newspaper up from the floor. He scanned the article she’d been reading.
“Looks like they went away for jaywalking and resisting arrest,” he said. “That’s probably the max sentence for those in Utah.”
“They should be getting the death penalty,” Grace muttered. “Even half of the shit they’ve done justifies it.”
“Well yeah, but you can’t sentence them for stuff they haven’t been convicted of,” Dirk said. Then he looked up, realizing he’d gone too far.
“I know how the law works, you turgid piece of shit! I’ve been trying to take them down for years. They’re slippery. They’re elusive. Everytime you think you have them, they wriggle out of your grasp.” She slapped her hands on her desk, then stood up and went to the window, where she stood for a moment, arms crossed, gazing out over the city. “But I’ve got a little surprise in store for our flagitious foes. Something I’ve had in the works for years now. It’s time to finally release it out into the world.”
Dirk just nodded. He hoped that this time it wouldn’t involve anything that required him to take his clothes off.

***

Chich-You know that TV lady who’s always screaming that people should get the death penalty? The one with the eyes and the hair? She tried to visit me the other day. I was taking a nap so Sea Biscuit told her to get lost, but I think it’s weird. She swore revenge on me and Johnny a while back after we abducted her nephew, and before that because we interrupted a news segment she was filming outside a courthouse in Florida, and because of this time after that when we dumped a bunch of Jello packets in her pool, and I think probably some other stuff that I don’t really remember. But the point is, we didn’t mean anything by it, and we’ve left her alone for, like, at least a year. She’s just such a humorless asshole and I think she’s up to something. Anyway, this fucking foozler bitch named Kimmy knocked our TV over and it broke, so can you watch that show and write me and tell me if she talks about me and Johnny? Grace O’Reilly. I think it comes on at eight. Thanks, girl. Pip pip. -Dix

***

Chichay Milano and Sweaty Mulligan were relaxing in the opulent solarium of the presidential palace in La Paz. They were dressed in a cross between fatigues and tropical loungewear, and both looked suntanned and healthy. The room was full of lush plants, flowers, and birds, which chirped and sang happily in their gilded cages. Outside in the distance, the sounds of explosions and gunfire could be heard, but the two knew that the fighting was under control, and that their strategically placed combatants had the upper hand. They would let the battle go on just long enough to bring the opposition to its knees, then allow them to broker a surrender.
Chichay leaned back on the rattan lounge with her feet tossed lazily across Sweaty’s lap, reading through various pieces of correspondence she had received. Sweaty held a yellow legal pad in his hand and periodically made notations on the pages with a red pen, carefully reviewing the final draft of the new constitution that they had drawn up. Once he was satisfied, he would give it to Doris to type out, and hoped to have it on the new president’s desk by tomorrow night. It would be signed at the same time as the surrender agreement.
“Dixie’s starting to sound a little paranoid,” Chichay said as she finished reading Dixie’s erratic handwriting.
“More than usual?” Sweaty asked, without looking up.
“Well, no, but she’s sober at the moment.”
“Hm,” Sweaty said, still doing his own reading. He crossed out a sentence and added a new one in the margin. “She always said mental illness ran in her family.”
“Yeah,” Chichay said absently. “Maybe that’s what this is. She thinks that lady from the court channel on TV is out to get her.” Sweaty looked up.
“Grace O’Reilly?”
“Uh huh. Says she showed up at the prison and tried to see her. But Dixie was asleep, so her “prison wife” told this woman to get lost.”
“Heh,” Sweaty chuckled, “Prison wife.”
“I mean, Dixie listed out all this stuff they supposedly did to this lady, I have no idea if any of it’s true, but it certainly didn’t sound bad enough for someone to, like, want to get revenge.”
“It’s probably true, and it’s probably worse than she said,” Sweaty said, turning back to his work. “That lady always struck me as a vengeful crone, so I’m sure something’s going on. I mean, think about it. This is the first time in who knows how long where Dixie and Johnny are in one place with no ability to just disappear into the night and avoid accountability like they usually do. Unfortunately, I think people are gonna start coming for them. Grace O’Reilly is just the first.” Chichay didn’t say anything for a while, then finally stood up.
“Do you mind if I put the TV on?” she asked. “Dixie wanted me to watch O’Reilly’s show and tell her what she said.”
“Go ‘head,” Sweaty said. “It’s American TV, though, so you’re gonna have to hook up the satellite.”
A short while later, Chichay sat on the floor on the far side of the solarium in front of a large TV, which was much nicer than what was available to the average citizen. It was one of the perks of helping to overthrow the government. She flipped disinterestedly through hundreds of channels before finally finding the one she wanted. She had a half hour before O’Reilly’s show started, so she headed to the kitchen for a snack. Something she didn’t like about staying at presidential palaces was that the kitchen was always tightly and passionately controlled by a staff with more discipline than the military. She asked the cook for some chipilo de yuca and a soda, then went back to the TV. A serving girl appeared soon after with a silver tray set with white linens, a shallow bowl piled high with crisp, perfectly fried and salted yucca, and a crystal glass of cola. They’d even added ice.
Ok, Chichay admitted to herself, maybe not being allowed to cook for yourself isn’t always a bad thing. She thanked the woman and settled back to watch the show.
When the host came on screen, Chichay wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it wasn’t that. She had bottle blonde hair, huge and stiff with spray. Her makeup was dramatic, and Chichay guessed this was not just because she was on TV. Her eyes were huge, and she looked profoundly angry.
“Tonight we have a very important update on a story we’ve been following closely here at the Grace O’Reilly Justice Hour. Viewers will remember the shocking, horrific string of murders of sweet, innocent little dogs that rocked the East coast and Midwest of the United States last summer. The murders were clearly the work of a Satanic cult, as the dogs were found posed in positions obviously meant to call forth a dark lord from the depths of hell. Despite working overtime on this, investigators have turned up nothing. But tonight, I’m happy to announce that there’s been a significant break in this case.
“Now, I obviously can’t give you too much information about this active investigation, but these killers, that’s right folks, I said killers plural, have been on the radar of the authorities for years. My sources have promised to keep me updated on the progress they’ve made, and as soon as we can share more, we will. We certainly look forward to this Demonic Duo finally being brought to justice.” She lifted a sheet of paper off of the top of a stack sitting on the table in front of her and turned it over, took a deep breath, and began her next segment, which was about a mother who may or may not have murdered her child.
Chichay looked up and was surprised to see Sweaty sitting beside her.
“You ever watch this?” Chichay asked him.
“I don’t think so,” Sweaty replied. He helped himself to some of the chipilo de yuca. “I mean, I know about her, but I’ve never bothered to actually sit down and watch.”
“She does this thing where she turns her face down, but looks up at the camera with just her eyes. It looks evil.”
“Oh yeah, and those bug eyes,” Sweaty added, nodding. “So, she say anything about them?”
“Well, she was talking about a serial killer of dogs. Apparently this has been a huge story over the past year. I’ve never heard about it.”
“Yeah, me neither. But then I don’t usually pay attention to the news since half the time I already know what happened, and the other half of the time I’m probably gonna time jump and change the outcome anyway.”
“Aw, my little newsmaker,” Chichay said, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze. “I guess this dog killer thing was a big deal, though, and she just announced that she has inside information that the police finally have a suspect. Only she made a point to say that it was killers. Plural. You don’t think…”
“Nah,” Sweaty said, dismissively. “I don’t think there’s any way those two would care enough about a dog to kill it.”
“You’re probably right. She also said that the dead dogs had all been posed like a Satanic ritual, which we know they wouldn’t bother to do. So maybe she wasn’t referring to them.”
“Unless Dixie’s right and she’s trying to set ‘em up for something,” Sweaty said.
“You think?”
“I’unno. Can never rule it out with them,” Sweaty said, getting to his feet. “C’mon, we gotta go. We have a briefing with the Generals in a few minutes.”

***

Dixie Doublestacks sat slumped on the shoulders of her prison wife, Sea Biscuit, as they made their way slowly along the cell block. They had just left Dixie’s parole hearing, and her early release had, predictably, been denied.
“Sea Biscuit, go to the phones,” Dixie told the woman, tapping her on the head to make sure she was paying attention. The woman turned down the corridor that led to a common area of the prison and stopped in front of a bank of phones. Dixie climbed down. “Go away,” she told Sea Biscuit. “I need to call Johnny and I don’t want you listening in. Come back in an hour.”
Dixie picked up the phone and dialed a number that she and Johnny had set up years ago for just such situations. After two rings, the phone connected with a type of interface that prompted Dixie to enter the number for the men’s wing of the prison. She inputted that number and was soon connected. The entire transaction was billed to the credit card of a guy named Ted that she’d seduced at a bar in Halifax. A gruff voice answered.
“Inmate Johnny Go, please,” Dixie said politely. The sound of the receiver swinging gently against the cinderblock wall could be heard next, along with ambient prison sounds. Finally, Johnny came on the line.
“Go for Go,” he said.
“JG, it’s me.”
“What’s up, skankroissant!” he exclaimed. “How’s the stone pony treating you?”
“Unrelenting tedium and so much forced cheerfulness that I think I’m gonna puke. Howsit on your side?”
“Wholesome fucking bullshit.”
“You have your parole hearing?”
“Uh huh. Got denied on accounta this thing I instigated in the showers. I’ll spare you the details, but suffice to say that Mormon prison guards are a bunch of killjoys.”
“God, I know. You should see how these bitches are about wearing clothing all the time.”
“Wasn’t your parole hearing today?”
“Uh huh. I didn’t get it cause I didn’t show any remorse for the thing at the diner. Also I shived a guard. But they didn’t add any time, so we’re still on track for March.”
“Good.”
“So listen,” Dixie said, “that fucking scabrag lawyer from TV was here the other day trying to get me to talk to her.”
“Yo!” Johnny said, “She came here, too!”
“Shit. You talk to her?”
“Hell no. I mean, I was in the hole at the time, but I wouldn’t have talked to her anyway. I take it you didn’t talk to her, either?”
“No, I was asleep. But what the fuck.”
“She’s up to something.”
“I know. I wrote Chichay and asked her to watch the show for me. Find out what she’s saying about us. Haven’t heard back yet.”
“Good call. How come you guys don’t have TV over there?” Johnny asked.
“It’s a long story,” Dixie sighed. “So let’s not talk to her then until we know more.”
“Agreed. I gotta go. There’s some fucking mandatory square dancing thing happening,” Johnny said.
“Cruel and unusual,” Dixie replied.
“You said it.” With that, he hung up.

***

Dixie-
I watched the show for the past few nights. That woman is a lot. And for being a show called the Justice Hour, she really seems to hate any form of actual justice. And the Constitution. And most humans. Anyway, each time I’ve watched, she’s mentioned this, like, Satanic serial killer of dogs? And she keeps teasing that she knows who the killers are; that there are two, and that she’s suspected them for a long time. And she really despises them. Is this what you’re worried about?
Please don’t take this the wrong way because you know I have to ask: You and Johnny didn’t actually kill these dogs, did you? It seems like it’s not really your style, especially with the Satanic ritual aspect of it, but I don’t understand why she would be implying that it was you two.
Anyway, I’ll do some more digging and see if I can figure out what’s going on. In the meantime, I think you should avoid talking to her. And if you can’t avoid it, make sure you get a lawyer in there with you. Below is the contact info for a lawyer named Sandra Shoemaker. We’ve paid a retainer for her to represent you and Johnny on anything related to this. If Grace O’Reilly, the cops, or really anyone else, come to talk to you about this, call Sandra first and don’t say a word until she gets there, ok?
-Chichay

***

C- That filthy salmon nozzle came back again. Only this time I sent Sea Biscuit out to tell her to get fucked, and she didn’t come back for a long time. And when she did, she was acting all squirrly. Chich, I think that minibitch narced on me!
Anyway, to answer your question, no, of course me and Johnny didn’t serial kill a bunch of dogs. I mean, for one thing, who cares? For another, beastiality is more Rex’s thing. I’m telling you, Bug Eye O’Reilly has had it out for us for a long time and she’s fixing it so we take the fall for her. It’s just like her to set us up.
I’m already sick of prison, so you gotta help us take her down. I don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to. Also do you think I should kill Sea Biscuit? -D

***

Dixie,
READ THIS WHOLE LETTER BEFORE YOU DO ANYTHING.
Last night on Grace O’Reilly’s show, she played an interview that she did with a woman who I assume is Sea Biscuit at the prison last week. DON’T FREAK OUT. It’s really important that you know that Sea Biscuit said nothing bad about you. She defended you completely. In fact, she seems kinda smitten with you. You might want to be careful. It’s going to break her heart when you’re finally released.
Now I guess my first question to you is how Sea Biscuit could have narced on you if you didn’t actually do anything? And second, what do you mean when you say that Grace O’Reilly is trying to get you to take the fall for her? What is it that you aren’t telling me?
I talked to Sandra Shoemaker earlier today, and she says that the police are going to be coming to the prison to talk to you and Johnny. She’ll be there to represent you both. I still don’t think this is super serious, but at this point, you really need to tell her, or me, anything you know that could help, ok? And it’s really important that you stay calm at that meeting. Do what Sandy says and don’t threaten the cops or set anything on fire. And DO NOT kill Sea Biscuit. She’s a nice girl.
-Chichay

***

Dixie Doublestacks rode toward the prison interview room, Sea Biscuit plodding along behind a disinterested guard. When they reached the door, Dixie was about to dismount when she saw Johnny Go approaching from the opposite direction, sitting atop the shoulders of a man who was a virtual giant, so much so that Johnny had to duck his head under the lights on the ceiling. Johnny spotted Dixie and gave a delighted wave, reining his mount to a stop.
“You went horse, too?!” they shouted in unison, then “Jinx!” They both climbed down and were about to high five when the guards stepped in to separate them. Dixie rolled her eyes.
“Sea Biscuit, wait here while we do this bullshit,” she said, pointing toward a plastic chair in the hallway.
“Percival,” Johnny said, addressing the giant, “Go fetch me a Sprite, then wait for me to get done.” The guards unlocked the interview room and showed Dixie and Johnny inside just as three detectives in rumpled suits and ten dollar haircuts arrived. The men looked apprehensively at the pair, then one of them went out into the hallway to speak to the guards. A moment later, the guards returned to the interview room and shackled Dixie and Johnny’s hands to the scarred interview table. Neither reacted.
The detectives took the seats across the table and the guards retreated, closing the door behind them. The lead detective took out a small notepad and a chewed up ball-point pen, then cleared his throat.
“Mr. Go, Ms. Doublestacks,” he began. Johnny cut him off.
“Nope.”
“Nope?”
“Yeah, nope,” Dixie said.
“We aren’t saying nothin’ without our lawyer,” Johnny told the man.
“She’s on her way.” The cops groaned. The lead detective pressed on, knowing full well that these weren’t his average perps, but deciding to take a shot anyway.
“Listen, no charges have been filed. This is just a friendly chat to see if you two know anything that could help us out.” Johnny looked up at the ceiling, dramatically bored. Dixie looked the detective straight in the eye and licked her lips, the action somewhere between seduction and a threat.
“Lawyer me up, stanko, and then we can do some damage,” she said. The lead detective looked confused. The other two maybe a little turned on, but who can tell with those guys.
“We’re looking into a string of dog killings,” he said, “And we wanted to see what you knew about it.”
“Our lawyer’ll tell you when she gets here,” Johnny said.
“We don’t talk about any animals without our lawyer.”
“Except lions,” Johnny added.
“Hey, do you think Tommy got us those lion costumes yet?” Dixie asked Johnny. But before he could answer, the door to the interview room burst open and Sandra Shoemaker entered in a swirl of youthful good taste, fantastic hair, an intimidating amount of confidence (far more than belongs to a woman of her age, according to some men in her field, an opinion that served only to boost that confidence, rather than shake it), and absolutely no tolerance for bullshit. She took in the scene, then, eyes flashing, turned on the detectives.
“Detective Holms and company,” She said, setting her briefcase down and pulling out a chair. “Up to your old tricks again, I see.” The Detective called Holms sighed.
“Pleasure to see you, as always, Ms. Shoemaker.”
“Cut the shit, Holms. Did these two agree to talk to you without me?”
“No.”
“And yet here you are, in the room with them. Door closed, no recording devices. Talking to my clients.” She shook her head, then turned to her clients. “Did he try to ask you anything?”
“Yeah,” Johnny said. “Asked us all kinda stuff about some dead dogs or something. Said he thinks we did it.”
“I didn’t-”
“And he said if we didn’t confess, he’d get us thrown in the hole,” Dixie said.
“No-”
“Even said he’d go after our families,” Johnny put in, a look of mock fear on his face.
“Now you listen-”
“And,” Dixie said, also doing her best to look upset, “He said if I didn’t show him my boobs, he’d make me pay!”
“Oh come on!” Detective Holms shouted, standing up. “You don’t believe that, do you?!”
Shoemaker smirked. “I’m inclined to believe my clients, Holms, obviously. But in the interest of time, why don’t we get down to the real reason for your visit. And in the future, maybe this incident can serve as a reminder that when you’re going against the wishes of the people you’re interrogating, you should at least document what you’ve talked about.” She looked at one of the other detectives, who looked worried. “You, go get a recorder before we say anything else.”
The man obediently left the room and returned a few minutes later with a recorder, which he set up on the table. After testing it and confirming that it worked, he nodded to Holms and Shoemaker.
“Ok, I want to establish some ground rules,” Shoemaker said. “My clients aren’t currently charged with anything, and are cooperating with you in good faith. They are free to not answer any questions they aren’t comfortable answering, and will be honest if they have no information.”
“Fine.”
“Then by all means, gentlemen, please proceed.” Holms looked at his colleagues, then at Dixie and Johnny. He took a deep breath before proceeding.
“Mr. Go and Ms. Doublestacks, recently we received a tip that someone witnessed the two of you killing several dogs and holding a devil worshipping ceremony.”
“Is it that bitch from tv?” Dixie demanded. She turned to Johnny. “I fucking knew that skank was up to something.”
“Dixie,” Sandra said softly, “Settle down.”
“We can’t divulge who gave us the tip,” Holms told her.
“Bullshit, it was her! I’ll tear that cunt apart!”
“Detective, can I have a word with my clients?” Sandra asked. One of the detectives reached out and stopped the recorder, then the three left the interview room. Sandra turned to Dixie and Johnny.
“I know we’re meeting for the first time, but your friend Chichay brought me up to speed on everything going on, and you can trust me. I’m on your side. And not just because you’re my clients. I fucking hate that sour sea scum skank, too.” Dixie and Johnny smiled at this.
“I think we’re gonna like working with you, Sand,” Johnny told her.
“Good, now both of you, take it easy, ok? Don’t react to their questions, just answer them. And only answer what they’re asking you. Don’t volunteer any info. If there’s something you want to tell them, look over at me. I’ll send them out of the room again and we’ll discuss. Got it?”
Dixie nodded. As Sandra got up to let the detectives back into the room, Dixie commented, “You know, Johnny, I bet we wouldn’t even be here if we’d had Sand at our trial.”
“I don’t know,” Johnny said, “I thought we did ok defending ourselves. It’s just that the system is so stacked against people like us.”
“Ok, let’s try this again,” Holms said once he and the other detectives had taken their seats. “I understand that you have denied any knowledge of, or participation in, these dog murders. In light of that, I want to know your whereabouts on the dates and times that these crimes took place.” Before he could say anything else, Sandra Shoemaker interrupted.
“I’d like to just stipulate here that the events you’re going to ask about have taken place more than a year ago. My clients will do their best, but they may not be able to recall their exact locations.”
“Understood,” Holms said, then addressed Dixie and Johnny, “Where were you both on the night of May sixth?” Dixie and Johnny looked at one another and shrugged.
“I’unno,” Dixie said, “makin’ out with hotties, probably.” She and Johnny tried to high five, but were shackled to the table.
“Ms. Shoemaker, please remind your clients that this is a serious investigation.”
“They know that, Detective Holms.”
“Yeah, we really might have been making out with hotties,” Johnny said.
“We make out with a lot of hotties, so who can really remember which specific time?” Dixie added.
“Ok, but on May sixth, do you recall where you might have been making out with hotties?”
“May, you said it was?” Dixie asked. The detective nodded. “Well, that might’ve been the time we went to DC to see the cherry blossoms.”
“Was that the time we went to the zoo?” Johnny asked.
“Oh, with the pandas?” They both started to laugh. The detectives looked bewildered.
“So you were in Washington DC?”
“Uh huh. At the zoo.”
“Were you there the whole day?”
“And night,” Johnny said. “Allllll night.” They tried to high five again.
“Ok, moving on,” Holms said after jotting something down on his notepad, most likely a reminder to check the surveillance videos from the zoo. “How about June twelve.” Dixie and Johnny looked at one another, then looked at Sandra Shoemaker. She leaned in and they whispered for a few moments before Sandra addressed the detectives again.
“I want some assurances that anything my clients mention here unrelated to your current investigation will not be investigated outside of the process you undertake to verify that their statements are true.”
“Yeah, fine.”
“Go on,” she told the two. Johnny spoke.
“We were liberating the King of Jeans.”
“What?”
“You know, the King of Jeans?” Dixie asked. “In South Philly?”
“Uh, ok…”
“We were in there setting the jeans free.”
“So you were robbing a clothing store?”
“Allegedly!” Dixie shouted.
“And it was a little more noble than that,” Johnny scoffed, as if that was a reasonable excuse. “I don’t even wear jeans.”
“Ok, we’ll circle back to that,” the detective said.
“No you won’t,” interjected Shoemaker.
“Yeah!” Dixie and Johnny added.
“Ok, how about August twenty?” he asked.
“Oh, easy,” Dixie said. “We were at an orgy in a pet store.” This got the detective’s attention.
“A pet store? So there were dogs there?”
“You don’t have to answer that,” Shoemaker cautioned.
“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, Dick,” Johnny said, ignoring her, “But it’s not like that. It was a humans only orgy.”
“The animals just watch,” Dixie said. “Allegedly.”
“We don’t really do non-human orgies unless we’re in space,” Johnny added.
It went on like this for the next hour, with the detectives asking where Dixie and Johnny were on the days that the dog killings had taken place, and Dixie and Johnny offering up alibis that were sometimes more illegal than the dog murders. Finally, with all dates verified, Sandra Shoemaker put a stop to the questioning.
“Ok, gentlemen, that’s enough.”
“We just have a few more questions,” Holms said.
“Holms, I think my clients have been more than cooperative. If you ever get enough evidence for a charge, we’ll talk again. Until then, I trust you’ll leave the harassment to a minimum.”

***

“Law enforcement fails us again!” Grace O’Reilly shouted into the camera the next night on her show. “Police questioned the prime suspects in the disturbing dog murders and, somewhere out there the devil’s dancin’ because they decided not to charge the Demonic Duo with these disgusting crimes!” She tilted her head down, with her chin tucked toward her chest, then raised only her eyes. “Well I’ve had it with this kind of incompetence. If the investigators won’t act - and let’s face it, we know they won’t because these two probably have some scumbag defense lawyer running interference for them anyway - then we the people will have to take matters into our own hands.
“Folks, I’m just going to go ahead and tell you who the culprits are of these disturbing crimes and let you all take action any way that you see fit. The Demonic Due is none other than the infamous Johnny Go and Dixie Doublestacks!” Here she paused for effect, even though her show was not filmed in front of a live audience. She trusted that everyone out there in TV land would need a moment or two to recover from the shock.
“These two disgusting excuses for human beings are, in fact, currently incarcerated for,” here she let out a sarcastic laugh, “jaywalking and resisting arrest! But we all know they’ll get out early because there is no justice in this American system. And that’s why we need to make sure that we don’t ever allow them to breathe the air of freedom ever again. And if they do get out, we put them RIGHT BACK IN!” She finished with a flourish, and her producers immediately cut to a commercial.
In the presidential palace, Chichay and Sweaty looked at one another in shock.
“Can she do that?” Chichay asked. “Just call up a vigilante mob like that?”
“Technically, no,” Sweaty said, “I mean, I’m pretty sure that’s out of line both legally and journalistically. But it also kinda seems like she’s totally lost the plot, so I don’t think she cares anymore.”

A week later…

Chichay hung up the phone in her office in the Parliament House, where she was assisting with the transition to the new government. She walked out to the office of El Presidente and poked her head in. The Generalissimo, newly installed in the office, had his head down on the desk, side by side with Sweaty, intently studying some documents. Chichay tapped on the doorframe and both looked up.
“Can I talk to you for a sec?” she asked Sweaty. He nodded to her, then to the President, then followed Chichay out into the hallway.
“I just got off the phone with Sandra Shoemaker,” Chichay told Sweaty. “Apparently, this Grace O’Reilly thing has exploded. She’s got a bunch of these rabid followers who have been mounting assaults on the prison. They found one of them trying to break in through the laundry room. Who breaks into a prison? And the police and FBI are so inundated with bogus claims of “evidence” that Dixie and Johnny are these dog killers that they can’t keep up with regular crime. Bank robberies have tripled just since that show broadcast.”
“Man,” Sweaty said, shaking his head, “Only Dixie and Johnny could cause a massive societal disruption from behind bars.”
“I know.”
“So is there anything we can actually do about it?”
“Well, Sandra had a few ideas. She said they could go on TV and refute the claims. I’m worried that they’d somehow make it worse, though, and she agrees with me.”
“Yeah, they’re too unpredictable, even sober.”
“So that leaves trying to find something more tangible to clear them.”
“How are we gonna find that?”
“I don’t know, but I figure I have to try. You ok to hold it down here for a bit while I do some sleuthing?”
“No problem,” he said, planting a kiss gently on Chichay’s forehead. “Be careful, though. This lady seems like she’ll stop at nothing, and I know you’re highly trained in dealing with people who’ll stop at nothing.” Chichay smiled.

***

Dixie, 
I tried to call you, but the switchboard operator told me that the whole prison is on lockdown because of the protestors outside. I hope you’re staying safe. 
Look, I think this thing is going to get worse if we don’t find a way to shut it down. I’m taking a few days off from my project to try to help you. If either you or Johnny know anything that might get these lunatics and conspiracy theorists off your case, you gotta let me know. I’ll try to give you a call soon. 
-Chichay. 

***

“Dixie?” Chichay called loudly into the phone. She couldn’t tell if it was a bad connection or noise from the disturbances that had been plaguing the prison since Grace O’Reilly’s outing of Dixie and Johnny as her number one suspects. She was just glad that she’d finally gotten through.
“Chich?” Dixie asked. “You aren’t even gonna believe this. The guards said that, on accounta the bullshit happening outside, they had to escort me to the phones by myself. I wasn’t allowed to ride Sea Biscuit or anything. Walking sucks!”
“Well, I’m glad I finally got you on the phone. I’ve been trying for days.”
“Yeah, we still aren’t allowed out of our cells. You should hear these shandy bitches crying about missing the bible study and group hugs.”
“I don’t know if you got my letter, but I know you know what’s going on outside with these fans of Grace O’Reilly,” Chichay said.
“Yeah, who does that woman think she is, commanding this army of weirdos? Also, why don’t me and Johnny have that kind of power?”
“I don’t think that’s-”
“I’m gonna make a note to myself to work on that when we get out. If anyone has a bunch of flat-foots and asswaggles at their beck and call, it oughta be me and JG.”
“Ok, well we can certainly work on that. In the meantime, you’ve gotta try to think of something to prove you weren’t involved in any of this shit with the dogs.”
“But we already told that douche floozie detective,” Dixie said.
“I know. And they checked it out, and I guess were satisfied enough not to press charges. But now there’s all this uproar, so I think you need to actually prove to everyone that you didn’t do it.”
“Chich, you know how hard it is to prove a negative?”
“I- what?”
“I’m just saying, it’s hard to come up with evidence that you didn’t do something.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that,” Chichay said. “I also checked out all the stuff you told the detectives. Sandra shared the notes with me, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Meh.”
“Anyway, for people who cause as much destruction as you and Johnny, it’s really surprising that you don’t leave more of a footprint.”
“It’s one of our superpowers,” Dixie said dismissively. “Like this one time we saw this weird dog drowning jerkoff party in the woods outside of Belleville, Illinois? But, you know, me and Johnny were dressed in black, and we had a black car, so even when those horny bastards noticed us, they didn’t really notice us, you know? We took so much shit from that Seven-Eleven, too, and no one said a thing.”
“Dixie.”
“Huh?”
“What did you just say?”
“That we took a lot of shit from the Sev?”
“No, before that. A dog drowning…?”
“Oh, dog drowning jerkoff party. Well, that’s what it looked like to us, anyway.”
“Uh huh. So what happened?”
“Me and Johnny had just bought all this ditch weed, which we were planning on smoking on a playground, but we got kicked out, which was probably for the best because we didn’t have any snacks. So we went to this Seven-Eleven, but Johnny was like, let’s just smoke a little before we go in, it’ll make us more efficient shoppers.”
“Naturally.”
“So we blaze the pipe and head into the store. That’s when we take as much shit as we can carry. But we do it all calm like, you know? And the guy behind the counter, it’s like he doesn’t even see us. Actually, for a minute I thought maybe we were really dead. But the automatic doors opened, and I’m pretty sure they don’t open for you if you’re dead. I saw that on TV once.”
“Right,” Chichay said. She was starting to worry that this wasn’t the smoking gun she’d hoped it would be. “So what happened?”
“What happened with that?”
“Dix! You said you saw some kind of dog thing happening!”
“Oh yeah. Well, we had all these snacks, and like, a ton of weed, and it seemed like no one cared what we were doing, so we just climbed up on the hood of the car and smoked the rest right there in the parking lot. Johnny went back into Sev like three more times for more food and didn’t pay for any of it.”
“What does this have to do with the dogs?”
“Well, there’s, like, a little clearing behind the Sev. You know how those ones in the Midwest are? They’re just like, here’s a spot, let’s build a Sev even though nothing else is around, and-”
“Dixie.”
“Right. So there’s a little clearing behind the Sev and in the middle of it is this group of people in robes or some shit, I don’t know. At first I thought they were judges, because of the robes.”
“Why would they have been judges?”
“Because they have court outside sometimes.”
“No they don’t.”
“Well, anyway, they weren’t judges. They were just some rubes. But the thing is that they were all standing around, like, a big pot. And they had this dog, like one of those ones with the stubby legs and bat ears? I forget what they’re called. But they were drowning it in this pot thing, and while the one lady held it down, the other people in the robes all lifted up the robes and jerked off while the dog drowned.”
“Dixie, this whole thing sounds like bullshit.”
“I know, doesn’t it?” she replied. “Me and Johnny hardly believed it. We thought maybe we had gotten the weed mixed up with the peyote. Especially when we realized who the lady was, we were like, whaaaaaat?”
“Who was the lady?” Chichay asked.
“That fucking bugle-eyed bitch from TV!”
“Wait a minute. Are you telling me that you and Johnny saw Grace O’Reilly killing a dog and performing a Satanic ritual?” Chichay couldn’t hide her disbelief.
“Yeah,” Dixie said, simply.
“Dixie, listen very carefully. Have you been taking any meds?”
“Nope. They wouldn’t let me have ‘em.”
“What about other drugs? Anything you’re trying to make yourself?”
“No. Sea Biscuit is kind of a square that way. I think she’s straight edge.”
“So no alcohol? You aren’t trying to distill something behind your toilet or whatever it is people do in prison?”
“Uh uh.”
“Ok, so then my next question is why are you just telling me this now?!”
“I’unno. I forgot, I guess.”
“You forgot…” Chichay said. She was trying hard not to be furious, but also wasn’t really sure what she was even furious about.
“I mean, there’s prolly footage from the camera at the Sev,” Dixie added helpfully.

***

“Hello, I’m calling to speak to Donahue Tucker,” Sandra Shoemaker said, tapping her fingers on her desk impatiently. “No, he’s not expecting my call. No, I don’t want to speak to a producer. Listen, just tell him that I’m the attorney representing the Demonic Duo, and I have a scoop for him.”

***

“Tonight on Byline...” the opening graphics to Donahue Tucker’s highly watched evening news magazine flashed and swirled, the music throbbed and churned, names of producers appeared and disappeared before the audience had time to read them because who cares about those guys anyway. Finally, the host was revealed, a nice looking older man with carefully trimmed, strategically graying hair, glasses, and an understanding smile, cultivated over his long career to lull interviewees into a false sense of safety and comfort before he pounced.
“Hello and welcome to Byline, I’m Donahue Tucker,” the man began. “Tonight we bring you exclusive breaking news on a story that we’ve been following for weeks.” The camera shifted, allowing room for both Tucker’s head and a video player to be visible in the frame at the same time. A graphic appeared in the box, reading “Satanic Dog Killings” in a red, vaguely threatening font.
“Over the last year, a string of brutal murders of innocent pets, mostly corgis, has shocked the nation. Not only were the animals killed, the killer appeared to be involved in a cult, as investigators reported that the bodies had been left in ritualistic positions. The case seemed to have gone cold when, a few weeks ago, authorities announced that they had identified a pair of suspects.
“The nation held its breath, hoping that these sick individuals would be brought to justice. Unfortunately, the suspects were cleared. Citizens were, understandably, upset, and some, prompted by irresponsible members of the media, attempted to take justice into their own hands.” Here the small box beside Tucker’s head showed footage of a mob descending on the prison in Utah. Guards frantically raced to secure the perimeter, the strength of which had never before been tested from the outside.
“Tonight, though, we’re bringing you this exclusive: An arrest has been made in the case, and the suspect is a surprise to all of us.” The footage changed to a frenzied scene outside of a courthouse. A woman was ushered along, her head bowed, the hood from her coat pulled up in an attempt to shield her face from the cameras. It didn’t work. The world could tell that it was Grace O’Reilly. “Former prosecutor, journalist, and television host Grace O’Reilly was formally charged today on ten counts of cruelty to animals and ten counts of animal murder for her role in the dog killings. Authorities declined to say whether additional charges could be added, but those close to the case say that prosecutors haven’t ruled it out.”
The box beside Tucker’s head changed again, this time flashing the mug shots of Dixie and Johnny from their jaywalking arrest. They both looked filthy and hungover, and their hair and eyelashes were singed.
“The previous suspects, Johnny Go and Dixie Doublestacks, currently serving time in a Utah penitentiary on unrelated minor charges, have not only been cleared of any wrongdoing, but are said to have played a role in the resolution of this case. We have them standing by now.” The screen changed again, and was reconfigured to show three separate video boxes, one each for Tucker, Dixie, and Johnny. Dixie and Johnny were clearly in the same place, but not sitting together. “Ms. Doublestacks, Mr. Go, welcome to Byline,” Tucker began.
Dixie looked around as if confused by what was happening. “Johnny’s here? Johnny! Can you hear me?!” she shouted. Johnny Go waved.
“Dix! I had an idea for what we can do with those lion costumes,” he said.
“Me too! But we’re gonna need a lot of circus peanuts.”
“Excuse me, Ms. Doublestacks, Mr. Go,” Tucker interrupted. “We’d like to talk about your role in this extraordinary case.”
“Yeah, but me and Johnny never get to talk anymore since we’re locked up,” Dixie complained. From off camera, something caught her attention and she sighed. “Fine. Our lawyer says we should just answer your questions.”
Tucker looked bewildered. “Thank you. So I’ll start with you, Ms. Doublestacks. Initially, Ms. O’Reilly was blaming you and Mr. Go for these crimes. When was it that you realized, not only that you could prove that you hadn’t done it, but that you could prove who did?”
“I didn’t remember. I was just talking to my friend Chichay and telling her this story about the time me and Johnny got real high and ate all the snacks at Seven-Eleven, and then saw this dog drowning jerkoff party happening behind the store.”

[Let the record show that the television network bleeped out “jerkoff”.]

“I see, so this was a coincidence?” Tucker asked.
“Call it what you will, Tuck,” Dixie said. “My girl Chichay put it together.”
“And this is your colleague who then went on to locate the surveillance footage?”
“Yep,” Dixie replied. She was already looking bored of this whole endeavor. From off screen, Sandra Shoemaker attempted to silently keep her focused. Fortunately, the camera cut away to the grainy security tape just before Dixie attempted to unzip her jumpsuit to scratch her armpit.
“Now we can see in this footage that the camera is pointed to the side and rear of the parking lot. Mr. Go, can you walk us through what happens?”
“Well, me and Dix are sitting on this Trans Am, which we picked up from a guy we know outside-a Carbondale. All that shit on the hood is snacks and stuff. And I’m about to take a massive hit off this gourd. You ever smoked outta a gourd, Tuck?”
“Uh, no, Mr. Go. Why don’t you tell us what’s happening in the background? I think our viewers at home can see the circle of robed figures. Can you describe what they were doing?”
“One of ‘em is drownin’ the dog in that big cauldron-lookin’ thing. The rest of ‘em are jerking off.”

[Johnny is also bleeped.]

“And what did you do when you realized what was happening?” Tucker asked. He didn’t specify who he was asking, so at first, neither said anything. “Mr. Go? Ms. Doublestacks?”
“Well, Tuck,” Dixie said, “I think it’s pretty clear from the video that we’re laughing our asses off.”
“Did either of you consider helping this poor dog?”
“Who helps a dog?” Johnny asked, surprised.
“Dogs are self sufficient, Tuck,” Dixie said. “Everyone knows that.”
“And so you also didn’t think to report this to the police?” Tucker asked.
Dixie was about to open her mouth to say something else, when Sandra Shoemaker wisely pulled the plug to the camera and microphone setup. In the next instant, a producer at Byline did the same, and the show was abruptly plunged into a commercial break.

***

Dixie and Johnny stood in front of a judge at their clemency hearing. Sandra Shoemaker stood between them, knowing full well how the judge was going to rule. Honestly, the request for early release and credit for time served had been a longshot, and the behavior of her clients in the courtroom that afternoon hadn’t helped. She liked a challenge, though, and was intrigued that the retainer fees had been wired from a presidential account in South America, so she agreed to continue representing them. She had to admit that they’d given her a lot of great publicity so far.
“Mr. Go, and Ms. Doublestacks,” the judge began, looking weary. “While the court certainly understands that you did a great service to society by helping arrest and convict the actual perpetrator of the dog murders, your inaction while witnessing the event cannot be overlooked. You two stood idly by while a dog was murdered. You did nothing to help, and you didn’t report the incident until it was beneficial to you to do so.”
“Allegedly!” Dixie shouted. Sandra elbowed her.
“This court is willing to overlook the additional crimes that you have blatantly committed on the surveillance video, but between the two of you sitting around and watching a dog die, your records in the short time you’ve been incarcerated, and the fact that you’ve now tried twice to set fire to my courtroom-”
“Allegedly!”
“I have no choice but to return you to your respective prisons to serve out the remainder of your original sentences.”
With that, the judge banged the gavel and two bailiffs came to take Dixie and Johnny back to their cells.