Business was churning as smooth as butter in Stayache Tataland. The Heard, were now silent partners with Vin Weasel in the doggie cookie business. The success of the Oreo cookie marketing campaign had become a cash cow for Lupo and his gang. Plus, they still had their hooves in an extortion ring that controlled production from Stayache Tataland to Moo York and parts of Filly. These days it was all about C.R.E.A.M, hundred dollar bills y’all.
As the head of an organized crime family, Lupo was extremely business savvy and read The Wall Street Journal. He never kept all his cheese in one basket. He had Filly cream cheese, American cheese, stinky Tellagio cheese in France, and his favorite – Swiss cheese. He called his investment banker, Hannikah the Shrew and told her to transfer a million bullsheets from his Jersey Shore account to Switzerland. Swiss bankers like the Oyster Rockerfellas, were as tight lipped as clams and never questioned how their clients made their money. They were accustomed to dealing with gangsters and other members of the criminal underworld. Lupo was tired, it had been a busy day and after checking his various accounts on his Apple IPad , he decided to go home early.
Even gangsters need a break and Lupo felt it was time, to take a well deserved vacation. Lupo had been thinking about flying to Europe to visit his cousin, Benicio del Toro. His cousin was a famous Spanish actor. Each time they spoke, he would tell Lupo that the grass tasted better in Europe. His cousin had a point, Stayache Tataland was going through a weed epidemic, maybe it was time to take Benicio up on his offer. Tomorrow he would call his travel agent and begin planning his European vacation. Ahhh, “living la vida loca,” Lupo started to daydream about the sexy “vacas” and “mamacitas,” he would meet in Spain.
While Lupo was frolicking with “Conchita” in his daydreams, the girls were making plans of their own. The Jersey Heard swishes, Mercedes, Lexus, Sapphire, Paradise, Champagne, and Swantina were having a cow’s night out. It was Swantina’s birthday and the girls had spent the day in Moo York on a wild spending spree. These Jersey heifers were gangsta fashionistas with a taste for Jimmy Choos, Prada and Coco Chanel. Tonight the girls were ready to party like rockstars at the bling bling Golden Corral; the hottest club in Stayache Tataland. Every Saturday night, Dj Hot Doggie would blaze the latest hip hop tracks to a hype crowd of partygoers.
Lupo was happy; he had the pasture all to himself. He had just bought a Sony 52” flat screen T.V. with digital surround sound and was planning to chill on his bed of hay and watch the Chicago Bears getting roasted by the Miami Dolphins on the Animal Sports Network . Forget Flipper, the Dolphins were a bunch of ex-navy seals, meaner than piranhas fighting over a chicken bone. This would be no easy fishing trip for the Bears, who were a bunch of cowardly Yogi’s. Things were looking grizzly for the Chicago team, especially with their star quarterback Smokey sidelined with a swollen face. The Barnyard Tabloid was abuzz; yesterday’s headline ran “Smokey’s Weakness for Sweetness.” Rumor was, Smokey had a thing for the honeys. This time, he had been caught with his snout in another bears’ honey pot, poor Smokey had to jump through a window followed by a swarm of angry killer bees. The Barnyard Tabloid had turned Smokey’s exploits into a circus event and the news hounds were making a fortune from tickets sales.
The game had turned into a real fish fry. It was the third quarter and the Dolphins had swallowed the bait Bears – hook, line and sinker. Suddenly his Blackberry phone started vibrating. It was a text message from Vin Weasel, it read, “Lupo one of your skunks is a rat. He’s been singing like a canary to the Holstein police Watch your back.” Lupo was fuming; he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. A member of his crew was a skunk of a snitch. He was in a pickle, which made him even madder, because he hated swimming in brine. He knew what he had to do. His swishes were out partying, so he would take care of this problem himself.
Ratfink was living on borrowed time. He was holed up under a bushel of corn on the outskirts of Stayache Tataland. This corn hole was a safe house for witnesses waiting to testify in court. It was guarded around the clock by the Holstein police and a team of corn dogs. Informants never survived for long in Stayache Tataland, but ratfink had no choice. He had a terrible secret and the police had him between a rat and a hard place. This was the only way he could make amends, for all the bad things he had done in the past. He was eating a bowl of cocoa puffs when suddenly his chest convulsed and he fell to the floor shaking and kicking – he was having a rat attack. His guards told Oscar Meyer Weiner to get an ambulance while they stayed and tried to resuscitate the fink.
Minutes later, an ambulance rounded the corner sirens blaring and lights flashing. The guards hustled Ratfink in the back and the ambulance dashed off into the night. The ambulance never made it to the hospital. It was found the next morning on a deserted back road, upside down in a ditch. The police were in trouble, they had a dead snitch in the morgue and no idea who killed him. The autopsy report said that he had been poisoned with a lethal dose of D-con. Once again the case against Lupo had run into a brick wall. Sources informed them, that Lupo apparently had an airtight alibi – at the time of the murder he was on a plane crossing the Atlantic to Spain. They could cross the Jersey swishes off the list too; they had been spotted at club Golden Corral, partying all night. The big question on everyone’s lips was – “who else would have wanted Ratfink dead and why”?
While Lupo was at the airport, he made two phone calls. He called Swantina and told her his plans. She would be in charge while he was out of the country. Five minutes before boarding he made another call to an unlisted number in Moo York. He spoke a few words into the phone, and then boarded the Stayache Tata Airlines bound for Spain.
Hours before Ratfinks wild wild ride in the ambulance, he was in the bathroom shedding crocodile tears. He had been writing a letter to Hannikah the Shrew, explaining his current predicament and begging for her forgiveness. It was a closely guarded secret, Ratfink was a shrewish rat. This meant that he was half rat and half shrew. Hannikah had fallen in love with a handsome army rat and they had a hot and steamy rodent affair. A month later Ratfink was born. He never knew his parents. He had grown up as an orphan, living a life of crime, in the mean streets of Moo York city. Hannikah always regretted what she had done, and after years of searching had found her baby. Now she was a rich old shrew and wanted to make amends with her son before she kicked the bucket. She had changed her will, and Ratfink was now listed as the beneficiary of her estate along with her other two children- Aaah Shrew and Feng Shrew.
Ratfinks’ letter never made it to Hannikah. She had died quietly in her sleep the night before. With Hannikah and Ratfink sleeping with the fishes, the children looked set to inherit all those millions. No one suspected fowl play until the autopsy showed traces of D-con in her body. Slowly a rumor began to spread throughout Stayache Tataland. It started as a whisper, in bars and on street corners and spread like wildfire from wing to hoof to paw. No one knew what to make of it. The police were clueless, murder was walking the streets and everyone was scared. Trix the Silly Rabbit was in her bar telling customers that a cereal killer was on the loose. Everyone was pointing fingers in the dark, but only one person knew the whole truth and how to end this story; and my friend that would be you.