"I tell you, it was the kind of day you wanted to blow your nose until it bled. You know what I mean." Carl laughed.

I hated fuckers like Carl. Dirt-hungry PI's who thought they knew the "shit" on the streets. Getting in our fucking way, holding back us cops when we're trying to do our goddamn job. They should have herded them up and clubbed them like the rabbits they are.

The reason I had to listen to him and his shit was because of that... that... fucking FAMILY. Upstairs told us peons to listen to assholes like Carl; "...because we believe that this so-called "Family" may become a menace to society." Fuck shit. Five boneheads and a broad. Gimme a break.

"You assholes know I ain't goin' to say shit." Carl grinned. "I got privileges."

"What fucking privileges," I said and grabbed the table. You had to show these assholes who had the power. Take their balls. They crumbled.

"Y'know. That's Plaintiff-Client confidentials."

What a fucking moron.

"Carl, you know there ain't no such shit," I said. "Just give us the info we want."

Carl looked sick.

"No fuckin' way," he screamed. "I tell you... they'll whack me!"

"Five boneheads and a broad?"

"Shit, man. They'll whack me." Carl fell to the floor of the holding cell.

What a sack of wet mice. Pathetic. Not pathetic enough, so I kicked him a few times in the side, but not enough to have made me smile. Carl had given us what we had wanted anyway, and the shit didn't even know it!

Apparently, this "Family" was supposed to meet on the east side of town, at one of the main "bonehead's" place. Like I said, Upstairs wanted us to keep an eye on this "Family," and who was I to bitch. They signed the checks.

Sitting in a patrol car on a wet Saturday night didn't make me hard. That shit is shit. The house we'd been watching had been dark all night. My partner had a cold and kept trying to keep his snot from falling all over his chest. Snorting like an old cocaine user.

"Looks like no one's here," he said.

"Good eye kid."

We'd been there three hours. Nothing had changed in those three hours. Nothing. Where did shitheads like that come from?

"Do we have the right address?" he asked.

"Are you asking a twenty-year veteran?"

"Uh, no sir," he said.

Take their balls.

"Wonder why they haven't shown up?" he asked.

"What am I? A psychic?"

"I didn't mean that..."

"Why don't you shut the fuck up!"

Goddamn kids. They're like boneheads, but without the Hunter Thompson influence. Didn't know when to shut up, didn't know when do die. I was going to tell this asshole what I thought of him, but the radio screeched like my wife.

"Car 54, where the fuck are you!"

"Yeah," I said. "What do you want?"

"Donovan," the voice shouted, "what the hell are you doing!"

"My job."

"Your job was to watch the Family."

"I am!"

"WALNUT, WALNUT!"

Walnut.

"Wanton?" I said. Shit!

"No! Walnut!!"

Shit, shit, shit.

"Donovan! Are you on Wanton Street?"

"Uh..."

"Donovan!"

Uh.

"You fucking BONEHEAD!"

-bonehead-

I write this, because I want the world to know why I killed myself. My own people called me... me... bonehead. Bonehead.

Goodbye.

Fuck! I missed! I am a bonehead!