Hell Baby Page #4

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- That's not us.

That's the ghost

hunters. We don't do that.

But is this the work of the devil?

This? Off the record?

Between you, me and the

crucified guy on the wall...

I'd say that this is

the work of the devil.

Or one of his very top guys.

People, they think that

the devil is made-up,

like Santa Claus.

But I assure you, the devil is real.

And he's a dick.

Well, all due respect,

padres, we still gotta check

and see if there's a human

involved in this clambake.

But we're open to the devil thing too.

Could be the devil. Could

be an ex-girlfriend on PCP.

- No problem.

- You do your thing, we do ours.

Not trying to step on your toes.

We'll call the coroner, get him

taken to the morgue, call it a day.

"Hey, you guys new in town?

- Si.

Ever have a Domilise's po' boy?

- Oh, po' boy.

- It's good.

- Mm!

- Mm!

- Mmm!

- Mmm!

- Yeah. Yeah.

- Oh! Ow.

Ooh, yeah. Yeah.

I can't eat anymore.

How did you two guys

become priests anyway?

Yeah, you guys don't

really even seem that gay.

My path to the priesthood

was, you know, the usual.

I was up-and-coming

bullfighter in Madrid.

- Wow.

- Sh*t.

- That's awesome.

- What happened?

What happened...

...is that the bull does

not lose every bullfight.

This bull was like the

Michael Jordan of bulls.

He was amazing.

He poked me through like

I was a custard flan.

And he was... And he was a...

A bull. Exactly like that.

The bad thing is,

I could hear the parade

they threw for the bull.

'Cause this bull was very popular then.

He's still popular now,

for almost killing such

a promising young matador.

So, what about you? Were

you a bullfighter too?

I was one of those living statue guys.

Oh, yeah! Those weirdos that

paint themselves all white?

You make a lot of tips. Ladies love it.

What happened?

Bad luck.

I got caught in the crossfire

of a local Mafia feud.

They were trying to shoot a couple

who was testifying against the family,

and I don't know if they no see me

or they just think I'm a

statue, but I got shot 19 times.

19 times seems excessive.

They say it's still a record

in that part of Italy, huh?

- Not bad.

- For Italy, that is something.

Put that on your Facebook page.

They take me back to a local hospital.

And there, the good

sisters save my life.

They suck the 19 bullets out of my body

with their mouths.

I guess the doctor

was not there that day.

It was a good day.

Describe that memory

for just another second.

It was on that day I decided

to give my life to God.

You're probably wondering

how we became partners.

Let's tell the story.

- I was new to the force.

- And I'm a bit of a renegade.

- I think we get it.

- We get it.

- You no get along...

- Then you do get along.

Could I just tell a little bit more?

- It's OK. I get it.

- We get it.

We listened to your whole back story.

- I'm sure it's fascinating.

- I know. You're cops.

You don't get along,

then you do. We get it.

It's actually much more

complicated than that.

That's OK.

- Hey!

Have you guys ever

been to Bourbon Street?

Hey.

Ahhh!

There you are, Sleeping Beauty.

I'm going back to bed, sweetie.

You've been asleep for

36 hours. You feelin' OK?

- How many valium did you take?

- Not that many.

These little devils

are kicking me so hard.

And scratching like a motherf***er.

Scratching?

I don't think that's right.

I think we should call Dr Marsden.

I'm fine!

Oh. Don't forget.

Marjorie wants to do the smudge

ceremony for the house, OK?

OK.

Hah. Mm. Rrr!

Come on!

Oh, dammit!

Come on!

- Jackie boy!

- Oh, my God!

- Oh!

- Oh!

Whoo!

- Whoo!

- Ohhh.

- Wow.

- Hell.

My apologies. I must have

really given you a fright.

Just lurkin' down here

in your crawl space

like some terrifyin' man-sized opossum.

I'm sorry. Holy mackerel, man.

I'll tell you. They're

spooky, marsupials.

- Yeah.

- Oh, boy. Oh, boy.

Now's a good time

to set some ground rules

about coming and going.

Oh, you know what? That reminds me.

Has somebody removed a

box of vintage pornography?

I had been looking after it, you see.

And then I just came in, it

just wasn't there no more.

It had moved in some way, shape or form.

- No.

- You have not seen it?

- No, sorry.

- No? OK. Alright. OK.

Well, if you happen to come

by it, I do consider it mine.

- Alright.

- Before you get upset...

I know what you're thinking.

I don't want Fresnel pleasurin' himself

"in my crawl space to

vintage pornography. "

I get it.

I hadn't yet formulated

that thought into words,

but now you say it, that's

exactly what I was thinking.

Know what, Jack? Let

me tell you something.

It's just like our boy Shakespeare says.

"If we lovers have offended,

"think but this and all is mended. "

I hate 'Midsummer... '

I wanted to ask you about Mrs Nussbaum

and how she was all

covered up in that dirt,

and then asking after you,

and then the police

comin' and questionin' you.

I mean...

What was that all about?

That was just a stupid misunderstanding.

- Oh! OK, OK.

- Yeah.

So it wasn't like you

thought you had murdered her

and you were actually buryin' her alive?

What? No.

No? OK.

- No.

- What?!

No, I-I-I... I...

Well, I... F...

J... J...

No, may I ask what gave you

that very specific and

detailed impression?

Oh, well, you know...

You know, Jack...

Sometimes I see things.

I see lots of detailed things.

We have a friendly relationship, right?

Of course, F'resnel.

So let's not worry about

my comings and goings

and worry about our friendship.

Like when one of us sees the

other friend murder a person

and dispose of the body,

then we just let it slide.

Even if it's a half-murder,

like with you and Mrs Nussbaum.

What do you say?

Huh?

What do you think about that?

Of course.

- Hey, let me ask you

something. - Mm-hm.

Have you seen a big,

scary dog around here?

OK, now, Jack,

I'm sorry, that dog is as exactly alive

as Mrs Nussbaum is dead.

Dog is a...

- I'm sorry, I can't do the math.

- It's a ghost dog.

That's a straight-up ghost dog.

Yeah. People been seein'

the dog and whatnot.

And I don't believe in it.

When you see a big-ass

dog runnin' around,

there's something else that you see

- you know that is?

- No, what?

- Dog poop.

- Dog...?

- Dog poop!

When you got a dog runnin' around,

there'll be big old piles

of dog poop everywhere.

And I have been here for 15 years,

I ain't never, never seen no one pile.

- 15 years, no...

- No poop.

Not a single bit. That's

just a phantom dog, OK?

He's probably a spectre

from the beyond, OK?

He's probably some

kind of devil's minion

who has taken a form that

he knows will scare us.

This is food for thought

for you right now.

Ghosts don't kill people.

People kill people.

And occasionally, you'll have a person

who's under the evil power of

a ghost who will kill somebody.

But I've gotta tell

you somethin' right now.

This house, I think it's got

its best days ahead of it.

- Thanks, F'resnel.

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