------Sorry I don't have much to say------
------This time. But you like that,------
------Don't ya? You meanie!--------------

Well, this is a fanfic idea I had some time ago that
I felt it would be a good idea to go ahead and get completed.
In hopes of making it easier to write, I did something unusual
and made it a story about the cops, Muldoon and Kirby, with only
minimal (if any) involvement from the Rangers.

Oh, and for those who think the title sounds a lot like
"Pawser Riot" well, "Risot" is pronounced "Ree-sot" So there! :)

------Now to begin this silly story-------

Muldoon and Kirby's shifts had ended an hour ago, so to pass
the time, they decided to rest in Central Park. Meandering through
the place, Kirby happened to notice a little girl sitting next to
a tree, all alone.
"Hey little girl," Kirby asked, "Why aren't you with your
parents?"
The little girl looked up, and smiled. "I am. I'm just waiting
for my brother and sister. When they find me, then we can get home."
"And where would home be?"
The girl hesitated on an "Ummmm," but then spoke up and said
"Would you believe I live with two chipmunks, two mice, a fly, and
my brother and sister in this here tree?"
The two cops looked at the tree. It was an otherwise normal
oak except that it had a door with a strange symbol above it, which
looked like the letters "RR" with a lighting bolt down the middle.
Muldoon finally answered "Well, we've seen weirder things."
"Oh, like what?" The girl's interest had been piqued.
"Well, like all the times that Professor Nimnul has been stopped
by small rodents. No one believed him at first, but after the incident
with the Rubber Rodent--"
"Rubber Bando."
"--Ah." was all he could say.
"But," Kirby added, "That isn't the strangest."
"Then what is?" The little girl asked.
The cops looked at each other, then back at her, and sat down.
"Well," Kirby began, "There was one really odd one back in the day.
We had just joined the police force..."

I remember it as if it were only yesterday, though it musta been
more than ten or twenty years ago. As I said, we were new recruits
then, and had just had two cases, both simple ones. One was a theft,
the other a carjacking. We nabbed both those crooks, but those aren't
what this story is about.
Now, on this day, we were out patrolling in the squad car as
usual, when over the radio we heard the old man--That's what we call
the old guy who mans the recievers down at the station--barking out
"Car number two, possible homicide in progress, request backup!"
And he gave us the address, a run-down hotel building near the hills.
Well, we drove there, and the place was a mess! The other
officers had the building covered, and we were overlooking the place,
keeping records of everything, taking photographs... anyway, the place
was a disaster, it looked like a tornado had went through it.
Now, one of the four upstairs bedrooms (as I said, *really* low
quality place) was extra-messy. It was there we saw the dead body.
We could tell from the expensive suit that it was some important rich
guy, but why would he be hiding out in a place like this? we asked
ourselves. The place was a mess. The window was broken with all the
glass inside, and that included both the top *and* bottom halves.
one of the matresses from the bed was laying on the floor, a mirror
was cracked and looked like it had been torn off it's hinges. The
closet door was opened, but the closet was empty (even the ventilation
duct's cover was gone). One of the pillows was extremely wet, and we
found some popped balloons. And there were bullet holes in a wall
right across from the window. But the body looked like the head had
been smashed up with a blunt object.
This was all back when Detective Donald Drake was on the force,
ya understand, and he was workin' this case. He wasn't paying any
attention to us, however, he had another problem on his hands.
"Look at this!" he raved, pointing to the wall, upon which
was written in blo--err, red paint--

--No way, man, it was lipstick!

--I'm tellin' ya, it was paint!

--(But lipstick is a more convincing cover story)

--(Oh). You're right, it was lipstick.
In any case, written in lipstick on the wall was the words
"Porker" and "Risot."
So Muldoon here asked "Porker Risot? What kinda name is that?"
"A name?" Drake said, hearing us. Then he clapped his hands,
"Yes, it must be a name! Great gazoo, man, you're a genious. What's
your name?"
So Muldoon answered, and he introduced me.
"Wonderful, nice to meet ya!" the man said. "And again, great
work. And here I was thinking this was some sort of secret code."

The young girl giggled. "That sounds like Dale."
"Who?"
"Oh, one of my... uncles. Anyway, so what happened next?"

Oh. Well anyway, as I was saying, Drake was congradulating us
etcetera etcetera and decided that all we needed to do was see if
there was anyone on the streets who was using the name "Porker Risot."
So he asked us to ride with him and check out some seedy joints and
other lowlife hangouts (We had to wear disguises 'cuz he didn't want
anyone to know we were cops). Anyway we went to all these places,
at each one we looked for anyone suspicious (Which turned out to be
nearly everyone) while he kept asking the bartenders if they had ever
heard of anyone going by that name.
We got mixed reactions. A lot of people winded up joking about
it, others simply laughed. Very few people took us seriously. One
person outright told us "Look, man, real cutthroats go under names
like 'Slicer' or 'Mad Chopper', not something silly like 'Porker
Risot'."
We were beginning to feel we were on the wrong track altogether,
but then, three days later, a man came into the station, and he right
out said "Arrest me, for I am Porker Risot!"
So we booked 'em.

"So that's it?" The girl asked, "What's so strange about that?"
To which Muldoon answered "You haven't heard the weird part yet.
Let me get to that..."

Okay, this sucker came into the station, confessed, and all that,
and we booked 'em, and were about to start asking questions.
*But*, not more than three minutes later, *Another* guy comes
in, and he too, says "I am Porker Risot!"
"But waitaminute!" Sargeant Spinelli argues, "Someone has already
confessed to the crime!"
"Then he's lying!" This other guy says, "Cuz I'm Porker Risot!"
So Spinelli says "Drake, take this sucker into the back room and
get his statement."
"Right, sir!" Drake says, "Muldoon, Kirby, come with me."
So we go on into the back room, and he hands me the paper and
tells me to write down everything. Then he turns to Porker Risot the
Second and asks him "What is your real name?"
And the guy answers "John Parker." From there, through the
routine, we had pieced together an interesting story, saying that he
had murdered that businessguy, who he said was a man named Leon Shets,
a lawyer who owed him money (our investigation hadn't, at the time,
identified the man).
Well, it was an interesting story, and it made sense, and the
mode of death--a blunt weapon--was consistent with the detective work.
So then Drake had him go back to the waiting room, and wanted
to question the first guy. We did so.
Now, this guy (named Tom Winters) had a totally different story
entirely. In his version of events, he didn't know who the guy was,
he was just looking for some quick cash, so he broke into the window
(Which was consistent with how we found the broken glass--Inside the
building as opposed to on the street). Problem is, he claimed he
shot the guy, and we know that couldn't be right. And he also didn't
account for why *both* halves of the window were broken.
Well, Drake was fuming. He really wanted to arrest someone,
but couldn't. So he basically said they were both free to go. Then
that was the damndest--

Muldoon quickly covered his mouth. "Sorry," he said.
"It's okay," the little girl forgave. "I've heard bad words
before."
"Oh. Well then..."
"Let me pick up," Kirby continued...

--So, what happened next was that both the alleged Porker Risots
crossed their arms and said "We're not going."
Now this surprised all of us. We had no reason to believe either
of them were guilty, much less both of them, and heck, have you ever
heard of criminals who want to be arrested whether they've actually
done something or not? I hadn't, not until that point in my career.
Well, Spinelli was able to grant their request by having them
held for disturbing the peace. He couldn't hold 'em for long that
way, though, and we told them as much, and they said that they'd do
everything possible to stay in jail.
"What a bunch of freakin' weirdos" was the only thing I could
think of to say.
The next day it got even weirder, and yet another person came
in, claiming to be Porker Risot, with yet another story for why he
killed that guy, who that guy was, and all that.
For the whole week, we got like one guy a day (sometimes two)
who came in, claimed to be Porker Risot, and claimed this dead guy
was so-and-so who they killed for this or that. It got so bad, I
was expecting someone to up and say "It was Mr. Green, in the Study,
with the Knife."
Who were the guys we had amassed by the end of the week, Muldoon?

"Well, Kirb, If my memory is right, it went like this: There was
John Parker, Tom Winters, and...
The third guy was Peter Novall. He claimed to've smothered the
guy, who was an editor who rejected one of his novels.
Fourth was Wayne David. Claimed the stiff was a mob boss who had
a hit out on his daughter. His weapon was the springs in the mattress.
Next we had a clown named Ditkus, who said the stiff shut down
his circus. He said *he* drowned the guy in water balloons.
Then we had a man name Sam Hollows. Claimed the dead guy was a
former cultist who was killed (using a sacrificial dagger) out of
retribution.

We nabbed that cult.

Yea.
Name there was a girl named Percy Juspurssy. Former husband,
strangulation.
And last, we had kid in his mid-teens named Snoop Libbows.
Attempted robbery got foiled. He claimed the guy fell and broke his
neck.
Finally, Drake exclaimed "I can't take it anymore! If anyone
else claims to be Porker Risot, send them away on the spot!" Fortunately
for us, no one else did.
In a private conversation later, Drake was fuming mad with
frustration. We could understand his irritation, as you know they
all provided stories that both explained some odd mishap in the scene
but that also totally contradicted something else, so it was impossible
to make a definate arrest.
But then Drake had an idea. "I heard this one in the newspapers
once" he explained. What he did was summon all the suspects into one
room (None of them had, reportedly, ever seen each other before, by
the way) and then pulled out a gun, saying "Okay, I'm tired of this
Porker Risot nonsense, so I'm just gonna shoot you all. One of you
has to be guilty, anyway."
Despite his bluff, they all stayed calm, except Snoop, who
instantly got on his knees and began begging for his life.

"Oh, Please don't!" Snoop had said, "I confess, I--"
One of the others kicked him to the ground. We didn't see who,
but Drake did. "Winters," he accused, "Have something you don't want
known?"
Winters just crossed his arms and said "I've already told you,
I'm Porker Risot, I bumped off the guy, now why aren't you arresting
me?"
"I'm not at liberty to give that information. You, however,
are under obligation--"
"I've already told you everything there is!"
"You and seven other people."
Tom Winters didn't talk no more after that. Unfortunately, the
kid had kept to himself whatever he was gonna say.

"So then what did you do?" the little girl asked. Kirby picked
up the story.

So, we met with Drake later on, but he had considerably cheered
up. So I asked him "What's up?"
And he said "Well boys, I think we can solve this case!"
And Muldoon was askin' "How?"
And Drake was explainin' "Simple, by process of elimination! We
know that boy isn't Risot, so we can eliminate him from our list of
suspects. But I want to question him some more."
"But sir!" I said, "They all have inconsistencies in their
stories!"
"Yea, I know. But one thing we know already: all eight of them
are lying, and I smell a rat. Anyway, we've gotta crack 'em open like
walnuts if we wanna solve this case."
Well, we couldn't argue with that.

So the next morning, we had the boy released into Drake's custody.
In the car, Drake pressured Snoop into completing what he was gonna say.
His story was astounding.
"I woke up," he said, "And my mom told me there was a message for
me. I read it, and inside it was a check for ten thousand dollars. It
was easy money, but it was only half the payment. To get the other half,
I had to go and confess to this crime (my story was provided in the
letter). It also said not to worry and that if I was convicted, he'd
hire a good lawyer and the coppers wouldn't have anything on me."
Drake had listened, fascinated by this entire story. So he asked
the kid "Do you still have the check?"
Unfortunately, the kid had cashed it and had given much of the
money to his parents. He still had the letter, however. So we got
the location of his home out of him, and drove up there. Then we got
out, and brought the kid in. His mom was pleasantly surprised to see
him.
They exchanged pleasantries, and then the kid asked "Did the
second check come in yet?"
"Yes, dear, it did. It's wonderful! Now we can move to one of
the clean neighborhoods!"
Then detective Drake asked "Hey, can we see the letter that came
with the check?"
Now, the lady took offense at this, and accusingly said "Are you
trying to take our money?"
"No, ma'am. You can keep the check, I just want the letter.
And don't worry, your son is not being charged with anything. He may
have information, however, that can help us apprehend a real killer."
She looked at us for a moment, and then went off, presumeably to
get the letter. She came back with it, but it didn't help much, it
just said "Thanks for the Help" and didn't even have a signature.
Also, it was typed, not handwritten. So he handed it back to the
lady and said "Thanks."
We had our goodbyes, then left.
So Drake asked "So boys, what did we learn?"
Me and Muldoon racked our brains, and concluded "The boy was
innocent."
"Besides that."
"Ummm... I dunno."
"I'll tell ya what ya learned!" Drake exclaimed, "Whoever is
behind this has a lot of money."
We both awed with realization when we saw what he was getting
at. You see, if this kid was payed off, it wouldn't be unreasonable
to assume the same is true of all the other people as well. Now,
that's eight people who were getting Twenty thou for confessing to
a crime they didn't commit. That's $160,000 altogether. Back in
the 1960s, that was a lot of money.
"Ohhh... So," I suggested, "Are we gonna run a check on all
the rich people in the neighborhood?"
"Close, Muldoon," he answered, "What I actually had in mind
was running a background check on all these people, any records we
can get. Criminal Records, Employment Records, anything. I have
this nagging feeling that these eight people weren't chosen at
random."

So at the station, we began doing checks on all these people,
and Spinelli put in calls to other police stations. Finding this
sort of information wasn't easy, there was no internet back then.
But we managed to find information on six of them at least (Nothing
could be found on Ditkus or Percy).
Well, me and Muldoon weren't noticing much... until we started
mumbling to ourselves.
"John Parker, chef for a Glutko diner."
"Wayne David. Photographer. Occasionally hired by Glutko for
commercials..."
We noticed that word, "Glutko." And we looked through the
records again. Peter Novall, it turned out, was a former employee
at Glutko before he retired to pursue writing. Sam Hallows used to
do slaughterhouse work for them before he became religious. And
then there was Snoop--his father was the guy who took Sam's place!
So we pointed this all out to Spinelli, and he phoned through
to a judge. After some discussion, we attained a search warrant.
Then we drove up to Glutko's New York office (Glutko, in case you've
been wondering, was a food company that not only processed it, but
also owned a chain of restaurants).
Well, we went up to their building, and went straight to the
top floor, where we confronted the vice president.
So Drake informed him "We want to check your records. We have
a warrant."
Now the guy, he ran, and we followed after him down a hallway,
until finally he ducked into a room and closed the door, and locked
it. We beat on the door for a minute, demanding he open it up. When
he wouldn't, we shot the lock open, and entered the room. Then he
backed up on a closet.
"Okay bub," I asked, "What's in the closet?"
"No!" He yelled, "I won't let ya have him!"
But then a voice from the closet yelled "Oh, give it up, pops!"
Reluctantly the old geezer stepped away, and out of the closet came--
and you won't believe this...

Kirby began laughing really hard at the memory of this particular
even in his life. Unfortunately, so did Muldoon. Finally, the little
girl asked "So, who was in the closet?"
Muldoon finally managed to say "A pig!"
"A pig?"
"Yea, Most guys have skeletons, this guy has a pig. Well, okay,
it wasn't really a pig. It was actually a short feller--not a kid, a
midget--in a costume, who thought he was a pig."

So Drake scratched his head and asked "What's going on here?"
"I confess," the pig said, "I did it. I murdered the man!"
"Oh no." Drake rolled his eyes with a sigh. "So what's *your*
story?"
So the pig answered "My real name is Steve Glutko. This is my
father. When he learned what I had done, his instincts took over and
he did everything he could to defend me. Everyone we sent money to
was a former employee of ours who we knew we could trust, and though
I thought it was a waste, he thought it was worth it. I was gonna
confess anyway."
"So," Kirby asked, "Who was that guy you killed, and why did
ya do it?"
"Because I'm a pig!" He cried out, "And that guy was Sargeant
Chops, owner of the line of restaurants known as Tenessee Basted Pork!"
We all looked at each other, and soon enough began laughing our
guts out.

"So that was it?" The little girl asked.
"Yea. We booked the guy and called it a day. Then we went home.
To this day we still get laughs thinking about the case."
"I can see why. That was a funny story."
"You're too kind. What's your name, little girl?"
She stopped giggling, and answered "My name is Mademanna."
"Well, nice meetin' ya, Mademanna. But I think I hear the radio
goin' off in our car, so we have to go."
And the two cops stood up. "See ya around, little girl."
"Bye!" she waved at them as they walked away.
Almost the minute they pulled away, Mademanna heard someone greet
her. She turned and saw Frog and Pennywinkel.
"What's so funny?" Pennywinkel asked.
"I just heard this funny story..."
"Oh. I see."
Then Pennywinkel pulled out a coin. They all put their fingers
to it, and she yelled "Resize!" Turning them into people who were as
small as rodents.

Inside the Headquarters they greeted their friends and current
guardians, the Rescue Rangers.
Chip sighed, "Hey kids. You won't believe our day..."
"And you won't believe mine," Mademanna mumbled to herself.

THE END

------Disclaimer------

Anything and anyone that appeared in the show "Chip N' Dale's
Rescue Rangers" is copyright Disney. Anything that didn't, however,
was probably made up by me. I think that's sufficient.