The man said it again as he walked past 17 pair of feet, seated, hands in plastic twist ties. Then he looked at the small electric car he'd been sent over in and scratched his head.
The young Detective called out, "I think you, or someone, should see this."
And then, the report read, Someone, not the ascared mule, grabbed some sort of whip found in a drug raid, and aimed, wrangle-style at the accused murderer. The someone said, "WHAT'D YOU DO TO MY ARMADILLO?" and dropped him like a log by getting the whip around his legs. "There's five more people," the man said aloud at the pile tied together with an extension cord.
"Why is my husband so-called under arrest?" A lady asked.
At first no one said anything. Though some were still groaning in pain. Then a different man got out of the electric car and said equally as loud, "Mr. S, I'd like you to meet KamKam." The woman's jaw dropped and she drew in a breath, and a sort of snort of shock. And she said, "That's not my name."
Patched through, the man who could not sit or stand and so had been put on a ladder sighed heavy as his wife said, glad you're alive. You silly fool, Westerns are supposed to be filmed in the West.
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