Free Lunatics by Dave Barry and Alan Zweibel

said, “He asks who are you working for.”
    â€œI’m not working for anybody,” I said. “I’m self-employed. I’m a forensic plumber.”
    Fook smacked me across the face. It didn’t really hurt, because he had these big soft paws. But I wasn’t expecting it.
    â€œHey!” I said.
    â€œBuhuiniodod!” said Fook.
    The bartender said, “He wants to know, do you think he is idiot.”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œHenheemoinooinfh,” said Fook.
    â€œThen why do you telling him lies?” said the bartender.
    â€œI’m not lying!”
    â€œGighihnggmghfiioongh? Mhhoongnhhon?”
    â€œIf you are plumber, why are you blowing up bridge? Do you think bridge is broken toilet that you are fixing?”
    â€œOkay, first, I don’t fix toilets. I’m a
forensic
plumber. I know a lot
about
toilets, from an engineering standpoint, but my work is . . .”
    â€œGiinoommaagh!” said Fook, raising his paw again. I admit I flinched.
    â€œHe says you are wasting time,” said the bartender.
    Fook said something to one of the lieutenant swarthies, who left the room. I was getting a bad feeling about this.
    â€œListen,” I said. “If you give me a minute here, I can explain this whole thing.”
    â€œThis explanation,” the bartender said. “Is it the one you tell me before, about the monkey?”
    â€œIt’s a lemur.”
    A snorting sound came from inside the Chuck E. Cheese head.
    â€œI would not tell this explanation to Fook,” said the bartender.
    â€œBut I swear, the . . .”
    I was interrupted by the door opening. The lieutenant came in holding two things. One was a foot-long stick of pepperoni.
    The other was a pizza slicer. It was one of those wheel things, with a wood handle. The blade looked sharp.
    The lieutenant handed the pepperoni and the slicer to Fook. He took them in his paws and set the pepperoni on the desk next to me. He held the slicer in front of my face.
    â€œMagnnhhnnn,” he said.
    â€œHe says look,” said the bartender.
    Fook put the edge of the slicer blade on the desk and ran it across the middle of the pepperoni. It sliced it clean in two.
    I thought, Oh shit, he’s going to cut off my dick.
    â€œFghnnnghghgm,” said Fook.
    â€œTell him who you are working for,” said the bartender.
    â€œI don’t work for anybody!” I said. “I had nothing to do with any of this! I swear to God!”
    Fook said something, and the two lieutenant swarthies grabbed me, pinned my right arm on the desktop and pressed my hand flat, fingers out. So the good news was, he wasn’t going to cut off my dick.
    Fook put the blade on the desk, right next to my hand. He rolled it right up to my pinkie, so I could feel the edge. That’s when I pissed my pants. If you think you wouldn’t, you’re a fucking liar.
    â€œPlease,” I said.
    â€œGhmminnggh,” said Fook.
    â€œTell him who you are working for,” said the bartender.
    Before you judge me for what I did next, put yourself in my shoes, which at the moment were filling up with urine.
    I pointed to the TV screen. It was showing a close-up of Horkman, the prick who got me into all of this in the first place.
    â€œHim,” I said. “I work for him.”
    Fook pointed his rodent snout at the screen for a few seconds, then turned back to me.
    â€œGhammeagghnr,” he said.
    I looked at the bartender.
    â€œFook says you will take us to this man,” he said. “Now.”

CHAPTER 15
    Philip
    I eventually walked through the emergency room and had one foot out the sliding doors when I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a commanding voice say, “Gnoofnggh!” I spun around and saw that the hand was actually a big furry paw worn by a person dressed in a costume with the head of a grinning, big-eared character that was the spitting image, I’m sorry to