The Killing Jokearoo
Copyright © 2016 by Lena Jill Lorenzen
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews – without written permission from its publisher.
Lena Jill Lorenzen
“So, what all happened?” I curiously asked Bridgette as she and I strolled coolly out of the theater section of the local AMC down in the mall area with my adoptive mom, Jenni tagging along like a hyenadae linebacker or more like nose guard closely along our sides as we strolled on over into the arcade area for a quick chill break before making the shove off for home in time for one of Emma and Donna’s good old Chicago style macaroni and deep dish that they had been ever so used to whipping up for supper. Apparently, the wolf and cheetah actually used to run their own culinary business along with their parents over on the Gary, Indiana side of their town. But, after the many slews of no justice, no peace riots, rise in criminal gang activity, and of course the murders; along with a few strange occurrences popping up afterwards here and there, they said they just had to get the fuck out of dodge. I don’t even know or remember if I ever did ask either one of my aunts what all went down at their old apartment complex above the floor of an old abandoned grooming parlor near the Cabreenie Greens district; nor did I even want to know. But, I definitely do know for a fact, Emma herself simply placed her paws firmly on my shoulder and said, “It was for damn sure something that cannot be unseen, and plagues my memory forever and all eternity.” I had been talking serenely amongst Jenni and Bridgette about a supposed takeover that was planned to occur soon down at her railroad company by the ever famous Genesee and Wyoming Corporation, when all of a sudden my mother froze mid speech in reply and right then and there I swear I could see just about all the color and spots drain completely from her face and fur. “Why is Dick Tracy standing there in full getup right behind us?” “What?” I asked, confused. “Mom, please. I know you and Miss Karmen have always been the full on mistresses of jests and tomfoolery, but come on.” “Sweetie,” She said, as her expression soon changed somewhere in the midst between stoic and suspicious. “I’m dead serious.” I whipped around nervously at her last confession and nearly all three of our hearts stopped right dead in their tracks and our blood ran arctic cold. There, amongst the damn near crowd of regular animals still present at the theater during that current time that night, was a strange and rather familiar looking doe white tail deer who looked as if she had literally just walked straight out of the town’s Shepherd Pratt loony bin in Ellicott City. She wore all 1970s style getup gear in the form of plaid slacks, loafer dress shoes, and a long worn out trench coat; complete with an odd Michael Jackson style fedora with so many holes in the brim and dome of it, it could just as easily be mistaken for a pasta strainer. Underneath it all, she was wearing the most sick and twisted grin that made the acids in my digestive chamber churn and looked as if she was somehow the real life incarnation of Harley fucking Quinn. “Um, may I help you dear ma’am?” Bridgette asked, slowly to my left; desperately fighting to regain control of her own heartbeat and adrenaline coursing through her veins. Jenni secretly had her hand near the shoulder holster on her bra top and disturbingly, the doe had her right hand visibly on something of her own in the pocket of her trench coat. “What figure do you represent?” She inquired softly; in a voice and tone that would give a cabbage patch joey nightmares. All of us were highly put off by the question. “What?” Bridgette discerned, cocking her head slightly to the side in confusion. “What FIGURE do you REPRESENT?” The doe repeated rather harsh tone. Suddenly, the thought instantly clicked in my brain. “Atheist!” I blurted out. “We’re all atheist and we worship no high god except those of polytheism.” The deer’s creepy expression suddenly went stoic and my heart was pounding thunderously in my ears as she steadily turned and uttered, “You lucked out.” When she was at least halfway gone, I sighed and assumed just about all the worst was over when I suddenly heard some random male wolf in the crowd of patrons yell, “Fuck! Gun!” The room was suddenly a deadly fiesta of small explosions and screams.