"where the hell did all these uniforms come from?" me asks.
"probably all rode here in that new patrol car. i hear they're really roomy," i reply.
blood covers the walls, and the bodies are stacked haphazardly in front of the TV. a quick count tells me everything i need to know.
"there's only eight bodies," i say to the nearest patrolman, "which Brady snapped and killed their family? or was it Alice?" two Bozos with badges on their crotches drag a teenage girl from a back room. her face and hair are sticky with blood, but her clothes look immaculate. her eyes are wild, and she smells distinctly of crazy.
"marcia, marcia, marcia . . . after everything this family has done for you, how could you murder them all? how could you destroy the Brady Bunch?"
"fuck you, copper, i ain't saying nothing 'til i see the judge, you got nothing . . . there is no Brady Bunch!!" Ray Liotta's voice coming out of that young girls mouth is almost, but not quite, completely unexpected. most of my murder suspects sound like Al Pacino.
"she may be right, sir," says Krusty from across the room. he is examining the bodies, taking photographs with a digital camera, then getting online and selling them to tabloids. "not one of these bodies has a Brady Bone. of course, i'm still trying to figure out which body this little tiny leg goes to."