Scene IV: The City Morgue
[Our two bumbling detectives are seen starring at a dead body in the London City Morgue. As a white sheet covers his remains, not all of this chap which once was is still left. The body seems to be missing a few parts. All of the limbs are gone as the coroner inspects this gruesome cadaver.]
Hlms: [Starring at Hervey's photo I.D. and his corpse] So this is Hervey LaPuke. Poor bugger didn't seem to have a chance from the looks of him.
Twtsn: Crikey! If ya put bail slats on him ya could use him as a wicket! [Shirlock thinks about what Twatson just said as if it might of been feasible, but shakes it off]
Hlms: Jack the Bloody Ripper was more sensitive to his victim's. What kind of deranged psychopath could have done such a dasterdly deed? [To Twatson] Was there any luck in finding the chef who stole that cop car?
Twtsn: No, but there is a new turn in this case. The manager of the kitchen told me this mourning that this corpse did not come to work the other day alone. Even though he was the only one who punched his time card in that mourning, another chef was seen entering the kitchen with him the day he came to work. The other chef either didn't punch in, took his time card home when he left or just happened to be there the day this poor chap vanished!
Hlms: Where did they say the body was found?
[The coroner reads the toe tag. Since the victim was found armless and legless, the tag is hanging from the groin region, which makes the coroner very apprehensive about touching the tag to read it.]
Crnr: [Trying to read the tag, while at the same time keeping as far as possible from the victims groin area.] According to this tag, he was found lying somewhere on the left-bank. Some sick bastard wrote with a cake decorator on his stomach, "Viva La France!", and below that they wrote, "Trader!".
Hlms: This is obviously no accident. This chap most definitly had a problem with someone somewhere! Who ever did this might as well of signed his name on this guys arse!
[The coroner is about to flip the corpse over to check on what Holmes just said, but Holmes stares the coroner down and shakes his head, suggesting not to bother.]
Twtsn: [Trying to make sense out of all of this and attempting to put two-and-two together] Do you think it was someone the victim KNEW or even worked with, like another chef?
Hlms [As sarcastic as possible] Blimey! Really now, do ya think? Now what on Earth would give you THAT idea?
Twtsn: Well, the words on his stomach WERE drawn with a pastry funnel, weren't they? [At this point, Holmes slaps Twatson's face as hard as possible]
HLMS: [Rubbing his now sore hand on his own thigh] You just stick to the girly bits of this mission and let ME do the thinking around here, COMPRENDE AMIGO?
Twtsn: [Nearly in tears, Rubbing his sore cheek and with a furiously angry "Ready to Kill" look on his face] COMPRENDE THIS, El BASTARDO!
[Twatson pushes the wheeled cart with the corpse on it into the direction of Holmes. The cart pushes Holmes and flips him opposite face-down on top of the murder victim. The cart continues to roll out the morgue door, down a busy intersection of a street and heading straight for the entrance to a corner store. Holmes is seen lying upon the corpse with the victims knacker tag flying an inch away from his chin. Holmes is now blowing on the tag so this horrid thing does not touch him. Cars and lorries are seen swerving out of his way, thus attempting to stay clear of this ridicules spectacle. The corpse cart hits a curb, tosses Holmes about twenty yards into an department store and lands him right on top of a nude female manaquin. Holmes is now seen with his eyes crossed, birds and stars spinning about his head along with the toe, or KNACKER tag hanging out of his mouth. He stares down at his own mouth, sees the tag, and with a look horror begins to spit profusly for the next ten seconds and wipes anything nasty away that may have entered his mouth. The store manager is seen approaching the detective]
Mngr: Unless you are going to buy anything, I would suggest you vacate the premises immediatly!
Hlms: [Brushing himself off, panting] My appologies kind sir. Just doing a bit of browsing, thats all. [As Holmes gets back on his feet, he exits the store and finds Twatson out side holding a video cam-corder aiming at him]
Twtsn: Wait till Wildest Police Videos gets a load of this! [Laughing hysterically] So, how was your trip, SHIRLOCK?
Hlms: [To Twtsn] I've had worse. While we're on the subject, could you validate my parking ticket?
[Holmes takes the knacker tag and stuffs it down Twatsons throat with such a force that a gulping and swallowing sound is heard from Twatsons. Twatson is failing to hack up the swallowed ticket. As he grips his throat, his face turns deep blue. He finaly succeeds at slapping himself on his own back and retreiveing the soggy note. He is now holding the tag which is dripping with saliva. He tosses it into the street.]
Twtsn: Here's your reciept!
[He points to the ticket in the street and kicks Holmes in the balls as hard as he can. A fisticuf is now seen between these children. A group of cop cars surround them. The police get out of their cars, cuff them and haul them away. They are now seen behind bars in there own precinct.
The chief inspector constable is now pointing at our duo with the video tape of Holmes's ride in his hand and reprimanding these two mentally ill men or he'll be forced to discharge them, thus handing this case over to a new unit. The duo are forced to promise not to get in trouble again, OR ELSE! The chief opens their cell and lets them free. They go back to their office to follow up on where they left off.]
Twtsn: See what your big mouth got us into? I hope I can get my job back working at the chemist's if I loose this one BECAUSE OF YOU!
Hlms: Ya might as well go back there. After ya see next weeks salary, you'd be better off!
Twtsn: The only reason I won't reply to that is for the sake of keeping this lousy job and finishing this case. After that, we are history!
Hlms: [Sighing with relief] Ya promise? No sick jokes now, ya really mean it this time don't ya?
[The Chief of Detectives enters their office]
Chf: I think we got some more bad news. Remember that ceremony you guys nearly ruined for your selves?
Both: I thought we COMPLETELY ruined it?
Chf: Well I'm sure you tried your best, but someone has out-done the both of ya this time. It seems that over half of the people who attended that fiasco came down with a deadly case of food poisoning. Several of them are on the critical list. Some of the victims where found lying in their own vomit and diarhea on the lavy floor of the reception hall where you arrested that other chef you guys let loose for some strange reason which I'm still trying to figure out. The only time things like this happen is during a epidemical plague or when some one feels they need to take vengance.
Hlms: Then why doesn't someone just get the name of the chef who worked that day? How hard is it to get one simple task completed around here without involving me? What the hell is the matter with everyone one around here? WHAT THE FUCK DO I LOOK LIKE, THE BLOODY BILL?
Twtsn: Well, technically we are, ya know!
Hlms: [With a look of mental confusion brought on by stress and substance abuse] Yes, your right, arent you? I forget sometimes, don't I?
Twtsn: [with a "Mother know's best" tone] That's why you keep me around then, Isn't it?
Hlms: All right, all right, you've made your point. Now let's get cracking and find out who cooked the day of the ceremony. [To Twatson] Call up the hall management and find out who worked that day.
[Twatson dials the manager and asks him who worked the day of the ill fated ceremony. Twatson writes one name down on a piece of note paper. Reading it aloud...]
Twtsn: K. Charlemagne.
Hlms: That's strange. I've been dining there for years and I've never heard of that one. Must be a new cook, unless.... [He starts to think to himself] Let's get the names of all the people who worked in that kitchen for the past three months. I want every time card punched in and out of that kitchen sent to the hand writing analyst so their signatures can be sorted out professionally by an expert. Something tells me that Mr Charlemagne is not QUITE the chap he appears to be after all!
[Three days after their request for hand writing analyzation is issued, they finally recieve a answer in the post. Holmes opens the letter and reads it.]
Hlms: [Very excited] Quick! Twtason, you must come here! Listen to this. [Twtsn comes to his call as Holmes reads the letter] "Dear Mr Holmes, Your request for analyzation has produced the following outcome. A near perfect match in scripture between the names 'Charlemagne' and 'Von Vomit' were made today by two of our signature experts. You should IMMEDIATELY apprehend this man AT ONCE!"
Twtsn: So there it is then, isn't it?
Hlms: Not so fast, Twtsn. This guy is very dangerous. If he's the one who butchered that poor fella' in the morgue, you could IMAGINE what he's still capable of. We must approach this beast with EXTREME caution. I'm goimg to put an ABP out on him. Think ya can put the kettle on? I have a fealing it's gonna' be a long night.
Twtsn: I hear that, matey skip!
Scene V: The Sting!
[The detective duo are now seen disguised in utility uniforms as delivery men while sitting in a van in the parking lot of the House of Commons kitchen. Holmes is wearing a mustache and glasses with lenses so thick that light is having difficulty passing throught them. Twatson is smoking a huge cigar and has a beard that is dangling too loosley off his chin, like a Fidel Castro masqurade. They're both reading news papers and spying over the top of the pages occasionaly to keep their guard up. Finally, they think they see their man. Pulling up in the parking lot in a jet-black Renault is no other than J.C. Von Vomit, alias K. Charlemane. The two pull their news papers futher up over their faces as he parks his car. The duo now wait until Jean Claude enters the kitchen before they make their plan.
Holmes and Twatson are now seen creeping along outside of the kitchen wall beneath a window attempting to hear any thing odd or wrong possibly going on. The window is so high that Holmes lifts Twtsn up by his boot with his hand to see through the half open pane.]
Hlms: Whaddya' see, Twatson ole boy?
Twtsn: Not much, there isn't even anybody in here!
Voice from behind: It would be easier if ya went through the rear entrance door. It's unlock!
[Both OF the detectives turn around, tumble to the ground and to their surprise see Jean Claude and two freind's standing with butchers knive's a hair away from the their throat's. They are forced by knife-point to get into the walk-in ice box and stay there until these fiends figure out what they want to do with them. Holmes looks out the small window on the icebox door and sees a book lying on prep-table which reads "How to Cook for your Family", but the word "For" is exed out making it read "How to COOK your Family". Holmes makes a deep "gulping" sound of fear as he reads the cook book title. He turns his head to a different area of the kitchen and see's one Chef chopping up a human arm and another one carving a human leg. He faints [passes out] and falls backward with Twatson catching him before he hits the floor. Twatson looks for himself and see's what Holmes just saw. He cell-phones for back up and proceeds to find an object strong enough to ram the ice box. Twatson sees a frozen rack of lamb and grabs it. He attempts several times to ram the door open, but cannot budge it. On his forth attempt, he runs toward the door. As soon as he would of rammed it, the door opens and allows Twatson to become nearly airborne through several feet of the kitchen. Still holding the side of lamb, he stands on guard while holding his ground.]
Twtsn: [Holding the rack of lamb defensively in front of himself] J.C. Von Vomit! I knew it was you all the long while.
J.C.: If you did, then what took you so long to find me?
Twtsn: [Scratches his head, thinking] I don't know, actually. But one thing is for certain and that's the fact that your going away for a very long time, buster!. Hows life in ole Battersea sound to ya there, skipper?
J.C.: Are you crazy? [laughing] There are three strong huge men here against puney little you. Your chances of nicking just ONE of us is slimmer than your already minimum wage that four-eyed git gives every fortnight, and that's mighty skin there matey boy. So just relax and let me and me mates make some afternoon stew out of ya!.
[J.C. laughs a deep, evil laugh and starts to sharpen his knives together while closing in on Twatson. The other two men follow behind J.C.]
Twtsn: You aren't getting away with this, not if I can help it!
J.C.: That's what you think, Anglo-slob!
[Just as they prepare to finish off Twatson, several thud sounds can be heard simutaniously as the three cooks fall unconscious to the floor. As they drop, a view of Holmes is seen holding the other side of the lamb that Twatson ran out the door with earlier. He obviously wacked all three culprits with the meat.]
Twtsn: Thank God!
Hlms: 'Lamb of God' is more like it!
Twtsn: [Reaching out to shake Holmes's hand] Put er' there, ole pal!
Hlms: [Pulling Twatson off the floor] Okey-dokey skipper!
[They put the lamb racks together just to see how it originally looked before it got butchered. The back-up police finally arrive. The chief inspector is seen nearing the two detectives and eating a bowl of stew at the same time. There are other police behind him eating also. A few of the police are seen cuffing the suspects.]
Chf: [Eating and talking at the same time] My appologies to you gentlemen. I will never doubt your crime fighting skills again!
Police man: We woulda' arrived sooner, but they had a special on the stew in the banquet hall. Two pound-fifty all ya can eat!
[As the police man stirs his stew, a human finger can be seen spinning about in the bowl. All of the men see it and vomit on one another, freeze-frame, the end]
Novenber 3, 2000