It was just after midnight and the silhouette of Detective Mike Schultz shone through the small peephole of the front door. It had just started to snow and cold air spilled into the house as three men filed into my living room.
“We received a report that a crime occurred here,” Schultz said as he stepped into the open door.
What sort of crime?
“Murder!” he said. “And I intend to get to the bottom of it.”
Well, there’s been no murder here.
“Well, it was reported, so we’re going to take a look,” Schultz said, as his investigative sidekicks Detective Brad Wilson and Capt. Stuart Adams started rummaging through drawers and digging under couch cushions.
But there’s no body, no weapon, no blood. Nobody missing. No proof. Nothing!
“Then what’s the harm in having us look around?” Wilson said as he tipped over the trash can.
Aren’t there better things you guys could be doing? Like literally anything else?
“Some of these books look pretty smutty,” Adams said as he rummaged through a bookshelf. “We’d better take ‘em to the station to see if they need to be banned.”
“I found this,” Wilson pinching an N95 mask between his gloved fingers.
“A covid mask?! We solved that one already back in May. Right before we solved the disappearance of the Great Salt Lake,” Schultz said, turning over a couch but finding nothing.
A small cluster of neighbors in robes and slippers gathered outside, perplexed by what they were watching but helpless to stop it.
Wait, who exactly reported there was a murder here?
“Let’s see. Looks like it was reported by a few guys. One was from Mike Lindell,” Schultz said flipping through his notes, “and then we got a call from a Phil Lyman and a Steve Christiansen.”
Those are the guys who are spreading all those crazy conspiracy theories about election fraud and election integrity.
“Integrity, huh?” Wilson snorted.
“First I’ve heard of it,” Adams said.
“Look, if you didn’t murder anyone, this investigation should put it to bed,” Schultz said. “It won’t be cheap. But you can afford it.”
Pans clattered in the kitchen as Wilson burrowed through the cabinets.
Look, you have no proof. There’s no evidence. These guys have been making these crazy accusations all over the country and every time it comes up empty.
“That sounds like someone who has something to hide,” Schultz said and coughed a little. “Adams, you have any of those pills left?”
“The hydroxychloroquine?” Adams asked.
“No, the Ivermectin. They help me think and have cleared up most of the parasites,” Schultz said.
Just as Wilson was upending a dresser, Democracy came shuffling down the stairs.
“We were told you were dead,” Wilson said, stopping mid-tip.
“Dead? Oh, no,” Democracy said. “I haven’t been doing very well. Had a pretty rough go of it since, oh, I’d say around Jan. 6. That was a real scare. But I’m not dead. In fact I’ve been feeling a little better lately.”
“We’ll see about that,” Schultz said, as Wilson and Adams each grabbed an arm and marched Democracy into the front yard. There were two cracks from Schultz’s pistol and the neighbors gasped as Democracy slumped forward in the snow.
”Like I was saying,” Schultz said, “there was a murder here. And I intend to find out who was responsible.”
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