Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a curious download of ill-begotten porn—
While I nodded, nearly stecking, suddenly there came a pecking,
As of someone gently peck, peck, pecking at my entry door.
"'Tis a tree branch," I muttered, "pecking at my entry door—
Only this and nothing more."

But I wondered what had caused it, in the dreadful heat of August,
My air conditioner gently puffing smoke into the air.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my porn an ease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Skekko—
For the rare and radiant alien whom the angels named Skekko—
Soft bird-like one Skekko.

And the stinking, sad, uncertain, rustling of each dust-filled curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now to the sad beating, of my heart I kept repeating
"'Tis some Jehovah Witness wanting entrance at my door—
Some Landshark wanting to come in there at my entry door;
Only this and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or deadly fish, your listening is what I wish;
I fear I was web-surfing, and so gently you came lurching,
And so faintly you came pecking, pecking at my entry door,
That I wasn't sure I heard you"—here I flung wide the door—
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Fearing what had killed my love might now kill me as well;
As a detective I kept asking, why she had been taken from me,
But the only word I could know, was the whispered word, "Skekko?"
This I whispered and an echo murmured back the word, "Skekko!"—
Merely this and nothing mo.

Back into the bedroom turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a pecking even louder than before.
"Surely something more than nil, has landed on my window sill;
Let me see, then, is there more and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
'Tis the wind and nothing more.

Then I went and flung the window, and he shot through it like an arrow,
A bird of pitch black feath-feath-feathers from an ancient shore.
Without so much as howdy do; into my bedroom now he flew
And with a haughty look of flair, he perched upon my bedroom chair—
Perched upon a wing-back chair inside my bedroom door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then the bird beguiling, set my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Tell me now – I know you know Who did off my dear Skekko?
Who did oft my feathered thrill?
Leaving behind just claw and bill?"
He said "They hailed from Louisville."

Much was I shocked at this ungainly fowl to hear him speak so plainly,
He thought his answer held great meaning—great relevancy bore;
But I had just awoke from snoozing and its answer was confusing,
So I asked it as it sat there, the black bird upon my chair —
"Why toy with a man so glum?"
It told me, "The brand name was Yum."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that furniture spoke only
In riddles as if its soul could not outpour
Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered "I'm afraid I still don't see.
Please tell me now and more clearly."
Quote the raven, "KFC."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Taught by some hungry master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one message bore—
Tell me plain I wish you would!"
"She was finger-lickin' good."

Trying hard to catch his meaning, I did not just stand there leaning,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and chair and beak;
Then, into the velvet mucketh, I did take my thumb and sucketh,
As he drew from his wings a bucket.
"Riddle me no more or you'll regret it."
Quote the Raven, "Just forget it!"

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Tell me whence came her sad demise, she of soft down and angel eyes,
Who suffered from a weak-willed heart, and sold the drugs, and ripped the farts,
But left my sad heart torn apart,
The alien named Skekko,
My wayward love, Skekko."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the wing-back chair that's sitting just inside my bedroom door;
From the bucket he does eat enjoying all of that fowl meat,
Occasionally throwing small bones onto the floor;
And my eyes can't help but staring at the bird that has no caring,
At the dreaded, stedded, credded, macarating omnivore.
It's seems that I've run out of words—
Save this one: Nevermore.

Cayetano, the greying detective, looked at Skekko's dead body on the ground.

'Alas, poor Skekko! I knew her well…' the man thought…'A person of infinite jest…' Well, she was a delinquent, too, and he had arrested her many times, but she had never been convicted…or better yet, she had never been sentenced. Any time Cayetano came to arrest her, she told him some jokes like: "Do you know how many cops are needed to arrest a birdlike delinquent? None - because cops never arrest any birdlike aliens once they have tasted their feathers, if you know what I mean!"

At that point, the detective usually smiled and replied, 'You have the right to remain in silence, but you don't have the ability to…'

"Who did this?" his younger colleague asked the old detective nearby.

"I'm thinking. Why the coating in breadcrumbs? Was she fried after being killed or was that the cause of death? And why did the assassin leave her here?"

"I don't know…maybe she was too heavy to carry, the killer was seen by someone or maybe his attention was attracted by something tastier, like a cake. Maybe he was afraid that all those breadcrumbs would upset his stomach." The colleague sneered.

Cayetano didn't reply to such a bad jest. "It's just difficult to think of her as gone, after arresting her so many times. Perhaps I should concentrate on the many convictions against her…"

"Attempted convictions," he stated. "You were never able to have her sentenced."

"That was because of her powerful connections! At least I tried!"

"Maybe you should have tried some deep-fat-frying. That seems to have worked!"

Then the detective looked at him, shaking his head. The colleague laughed, turning to the other side, seemingly busy collecting data over there.

Back at his office, Cayetano kept thinking of the conditions of the dead body and the evidence that was found. Who killed Skekko? And why?

The first answer came when the medical bureau said that frying the birdlike alien was the cause of death. The second, more important answer was whose fingerprints were found on the breadcrumbs: the ones of a policeman, according to their database!

There had been a very fierce space war between some colonies of Earth and that birdlike species twenty years ago. Perhaps that fact might be of some importance…Further research proved interesting. It seemed that every year a bird-like alien suddenly disappeared in that area…so it wasn't just a coincidence!

Besides, was this a planned job, or did it happen without any premeditation? The detective asked himself: when I want some meat fried, do I have it by chance or on purpose? Such actions might be a sort of procedure needed for…a ritual? That could be the right answer. The question was: what ritual?

When another birdlike alien was reported missing the same night, the detective knew he had to move quickly.

It didn't take Cayetano long to discover that the suspected policeman's tabletphone indicated he was now next to some caves of at the Bluespring Caverns Park.

When he got to the site, the detective entered the caves, advancing slowly along the stony stairs and found some lights dangling from the walls: there was a wide ceremonial chamber ahead of him, with another fried corpse in the center. Two dozen people stood in a circle inside, all hooded, with red robes on.

The detective reached for his pistol, took aim and cried out, "I'm a policeman from the Interplanetary Relationships Bureau. Show your faces and then don't make another move or I'll open fire!"

They all stopped and turned to him, slowly pulling back the hoods from their heads, everyone showing their faces. Cayetano was really caught by great surprise.

The first one was Earth Prime Minister himself, the second the First General of Earth Army, the third was the policeman he had been looking for. How was it possible? What the…?

As he remained still, the Prime Minister spoke. "Calm down, officer. This thing is bigger than you can imagine. So, just leave this place, we need to complete our ritual."

"What kind of ritual, Prime Minister? Why do you put the corpse of a birdlike alien here?"

"It's a ritual of purification. We do the same thing each year. It's because of the last war: many Earthmen died over the course of the bloody battles fought in space between our species and theirs, and many prisoners were never returned. We were forced by the peace treaty to let such creatures freely roam Earth to stop the bloodshed. That was fine, but we couldn't allow the aliens responsible go free to run the streets. We can't sentence them because of their powerful allies, but we can have some of them killed, the same way they killed our prisoners."

"What? Did the aliens eat our soldiers?"

"Yes, a few of them," the First General confirmed. "Even though this is a restricted info the average citizen never knew for obvious reasons… We can't let some turmoils start on Earth because of the bloody war crimes of some individuals."

"Why was Skekko's fried body left on the ground?"

"Because one of our younger hired hands, that policeman, was discovered while travelling and thought it better to leave the corpse there, searching for another delinquent. This is a case bigger than you can imagine, let it go!"

The detective thought about it. There were some very important people in the chamber, how could he ever think he would be able to put an end to that conspiracy of great proportions? If you just can't beat them…

"Just one thing…I've always wondered…what does such an alien taste like?"

"Then, just partake in our ritual diner…" the General said, offering him a part of the fried body.

The coating in breadcrumbs looked inviting, certainly.

The bare bones of Skekko, the bird-creature rested on a plate of China, looking more like a morgue slab, a few inches less the six foot length of the table. "The stuffing was gone as were all the fixings. The body had been cooked and wrapped in thick aluminum foil to keep the juices in," one cop said.

"Something is wrong here. They just killed, cooked, ate, and flew the coop," said the detective as he stuck a fork into the apple pie. "This is too good to let go to waste," he said to no one in particular. One pie had been completely eaten. He ran his fingers in the empty plate, licking them to taste what he had missed. "Pumpkin," he muttered. "Good too."

Someone threw up just behind him. He turned around and laughed, bits of pie flying from his stuffed mouth. "A newbie. He'll get used to it. We all do." Murder and blood had no affect on his appetite. He's seen so many, and besides, this was an off-worlder, so who really cared? Maybe family, but if family cared that much they wouldn't have let their good daughter, sister or whatever they called their kin, come to this forsaken planet at the edge of the galaxy.

What a waste of time and money spent to appease the politicos, thought the detective. And I'm stuck here investigating, on a holiday no less. I was supposed to be off, but no, Jackson got ptomaine from eating sushi. He grabbed another chunk of pie. "MMMM that is good," he said and crammed more pie into his mouth.

Now what did you do to deserve this little bird, he wondered? What was the motive? He walked around the dinner table a few times, then sat on a chair away from the scene and just stared. "What's missing?" he questioned aloud.

"What's missing?" screamed his sergeant "What's missing is the evidence you just ate. You're an idiot, you know that?"

"No I don't know that, and no, I'm not an idiot," he said with a small hurt voice. "I solve all your cases and I will solve this one too. So let me do as I do. Want a slice of pie?" He offered it up to the sergeant who knocked it out of his hands in disgust. It hit the floor with a crash, the fine china breaking into fragments like an exploding hand grenade.

"No, Damn it I don't."

"Hey what was this party for anyway? The detective asked.

"It was a wedding or that's what we think based upon the gifts and the rice," answered the cop.

"A wedding, hey get me the protocol for this planets weddings. And get me a piece of that pudding if you don't mind. That really looks good."

The officer choked back a gag. "Get it yourself." Barf

"This was supposed to be Skekko's wedding party right? The detective asked.

"Yeah why? Asked his sergeant.

"Well she's already married and", he stopped talking and took a bite of the pudding, "not bad but not quite the best," he said tasting it. Then he looked up and said, "Something else was going on here. It only appears to be a wedding party."

"What are you talking about? It was in all the society papers. What else could it be? So, Mister Smart guy, Who-dun-it?" asked the sergeant.

"Sarge, it was a planned murder from the get go. Has anyone seen her in the last week? NOPE! Skekko was never cooked, well not before she died. Here's my guess. She was forced to eat dry rice. And as we all know dry rice make pigeons, and she was a stool pigeon for the force, explode."

"This was planned to the last piece of pie. They made it look like a human party. They didn't know I'd be here. They assumed we wouldn't notice the uncooked rice in the pudding. In fact they probably didn't even know some of the raw rice was in the pudding. That was their mistake. Had this bowl not had the few pieces of raw rice in it, and I am assuming with a good bit of knowledge that it was no mistake, I never would have figured it out."

"Who ever ordered and cooked the food is the killer. Get his or her name and cook, I mean book them."

IN THE STATION HOUSE

The cook to the Ambassador of Skekko's the planet, not having immunity, was picked up on the street that evening. He sat feathers drooping, cuffed to the chair.

The Detective said, "look Chef, I know you're a perfectionist and this is not your style of pudding. Who put you up to this?"

The cook just shook his feathery head. He refused to even squawk.

"Look you're going to get deep fried if you don't confess. It all points to you and I know better. I've eaten your rice pudding. And this just doesn't compare. You were hoping I'd be on the case. You knew I would know just by the taste this was not your doing. It was your way of signaling me."

The cook shocked by the detective's acumen, and relieved at the same time broke down. "The Ambassador forced me. He found out Skekko was informing on the songbird seed drug trade. He killed her right then and there AND HE HAD ME COOK HER, like one of your planet's holiday specials. He had one of his birdie guards force it down her gullet. He had her wrapped in foils so she wouldn't make a mess when she exploded. The he made me cook her. He said he would do the same to me if I so much as chirped! Where can I go? Where can I hide?" He was sobbing.

"Thanks to you, the Ambassador will get his just desserts" said the detective. "We have wildlife refuge protection forest for you. You will be safe and treated well."

"I don't know why the Nuthatchian government sent someone to shadow my investigation." The stone-faced, inspector remained silent as he dragged himself across her apartment, the silhouette of his vulture-like features loomed across the adjoining wall, moving in sync with his ominous frame.

"Says here your name is Capt. Richard Krotch, a human detective from Earth. Is that correct?" the inspector inquired.

"Most people call me Dick for short; some would say, even shorter than most." The inspector was not amused.

Skekko was a strange bird. Her overt sexuality ruffled a few feathers on her shuttle trips to Earth. I liked her style…maybe too much.

The inspector continued in a gravelly tone, "Although no body was found, her apartment seems to indicate a struggle had taken place," he paused, "…followed by a cover up. Were you here often?"

I responded with some trepidation. "Every now and then."

As the inspector shuffled about the apartment, I began remembering the last time I saw Skekko. She lured me into her apartment for a night of salacious debauchery. Naked, we took our conversation onto the terrace for a cup of java, made from the finest blend of coffee and birdseed.

"So, are you gettin' any from your wife these days?" she asked.

"If I were, wouldn't I be plowing her about now, instead of rolling around here in some love nest with the target of my investigation?

"I thought sex in marriage was like…an all you can eat salad bar. You can go back as many times as you want and they can't refuse you." She poured me another cup of joe.

"I didn't hear you complain when you squawked up a storm an hour ago."

"Well, I got a gesture for you now, but my hand is busy at the moment!" She handed me the coffee.

"Am I easier to seduce than the flock of other guys you have flying in and out of here?"

"Pretty much the same, Dick. Compliment a guy's genitals and he can live off it for weeks."

There was something about her mystique that could mesmerize a man. It was like she was flippin' everyone the bird, but only with her eyes. Ironic, wasn't it?

I ventured the question that had been weighing on my mind. "You told me last time that your cargo would be inside the law. Did you lie to me?"

I followed her eyes as they glanced downward below my waist. "My sweet little pecker, don't you know, I'd never lie to you." She paused in thought. "Okay…well, that was a lie…"

I interrupted. "I can't cover for you anymore Skekko. I have to turn you in. I'm sorry." I stared away.

Her feathers began ruffling.

"As sorry as you will be when your wife views a secretly recorded video of our sexual romps. Do you think she'll take the kids this time?"

She believed she had me.

"How about your boss, think he'll understand?" She glanced down once more. "Ah, your little man has totally disappeared." She cocked her head to one side, "Never give a woman an ultimatum when you're naked. Too revealing."

Seething, I reached for my tie from the chair I had draped my clothes upon, stretching it tightly in my hands as I lunged toward her. She grabbed a handful of seed picks from her kitchenette countertop and threw them at me, the first several sticking out of my arms and chest. I turned away to pull them out. As I did, one lodged into my butt.

"You didn't think killing me was going to be this easy, did you?

"You know…" I said while pulling out the picks, "…for a moment there…yeah, I kinda did."

I reached back toward the chair and into my pants pocket; I pulled out a small pistol.

"You can't kill me!" She laughed as I began walking toward her. "You're a cop!"

She mocked me with a presumptuous air of overconfidence. "You know, I'd always thought your gun would be bigger."

After a momentary pause, a gunshot pierced the uncomfortable silence.

I capped her in the back of the head, blowing the left front part of her face clean off.

"It's not the size that matters, bitch! It's how you use it." I watched her as she slithered to the floor, clawing hunks of flesh from my chest as she went down.

"Captain Krotch?" I was disoriented for a moment. "Detective, are you listening?" The investigator shook my shoulder trying to get my attention. "Yeah, I'm alright."

"You killed her, didn't you?" He stared at me as vultures do. "You don't have to answer, but when we connect you to our brain wave monitoring device, we'll have the hard evidence we need."

"Have you reported your findings to the Nuthatchian government?" I stared at him, trying to guess his intent.

"Just seconds away. But tell me," the investigator inquired, "What did you do with the body? I suspect that you ate her."

"More than once," I replied.

His facial expression changed to disgust. "I'm not even going to ask what that means. What did you do with her bones and beak?"

"Boiled them for dog food."

"And the feathers?"

"Fluffy pillow."

The inspector began dialing his cell phone, placing it to his ear. "For the life of me detective Krotch, how could you possibly think you could get away with this?"

I responded, "Cause I'm goooood!"

Immediately, a loud shot rang out as I capped the inspector in the back of the head. I caught his phone in mid air as it began to drop. Pressing the exit button to end his call, I quickly dialed a call of my own using my texting thumb.

"Hello, Is this Kalaxy Fried Chicken? I'd like to place a large order please. This is Captain Krotch…fine, I'm doin' fine. No thanks, just sides again!

Nathan Bastille, debonair bachelor and best selling crime writer, caught sight of Detective Stana Kalashnikova as he entered the squadroom. She had the phone jammed against her ear as she scribbled furiously in her notepad. Nathan smiled as he took in the delicate curve of her neck, the strong line of her jaw and her full, red lips. She was his muse, the woman he loved, but she was damaged, driven and could never return his feelings until she'd brought her father's killer to justice.

"Bastille, what are you grinning at?" Stana slammed the phone down and grabbed her jacket before striding towards Bastille. "We've caught a murder at a warehouse down on Sesame Street. Let's go."

They found Janie, the pathologist, already at the scene in the cluttered back office room of the grimy Sesame Street warehouse. Loose papers and yellow feathers covered every surface. Janie stood over the corpse of a six foot bird.

"That canary ain't gonna sing no more," said Nathan.

"Why did you have to bring Bastille with you?"

"Now play nice, Janie," replied Stana. "You know the deal, he gets to follow me around doing research for his books and in return his poker buddy, the chief of police, stays off our backs. What have we got?"

"Vic's an extraterrestrial, name of Skekko, ran an import export business out of here. She's been strangled. Time of death is between ten and two last night."

"So, who choked the chicken?" Said Bastille with a grin.

"Skekko was dirty bird," said Detective Rodriguez, Stana's partner, as he walked in. "Got a rap sheet as long as my arm; smuggling, drugs, fraud."

"So, plenty of enemies," said Stana. "What do you think, Bastille?"

"Ah yes, a case of murder most-"

"I have a gun," cut in Stana, "Don't make me use it."

"She's been strangled," continued Bastille soberly. "That's personal, a crime of passion no doubt."

"We've got her business partners downstairs," said Rodriguez. "See if they knew anyone who had a grudge."

"Wow, a couple of Mupponians!" Bastille stared at the short, orange humanoids that had been Skekko's business partners as Stana and he came down the stairs into the shadowy warehouse. "They look so adorable, can we keep them?"

"They're suspects," growled Stana, "not pets."

She turned to the to the Mupponians, her face stern, "So, which one of you is Earnest and which is Bertrum."

"I'm Earnest," said the shorter. "He's Bertrum. I can't believe the big bird is dead. It's just so sad."

"She had it coming," said the taller one, "She didn't make many friends. "

"Can think of anyone who had a problem with the deceased?" Asked Stana.

"Only everyone that ever met her."

"Now, that's just mean, Bertrum. She had a big heart under that soft, downy exterior," said Earnest.

"Have either of you got an alibi between ten and two last night?" Asked Stana.

"We were at home together, all night," said Bertrum. "Earnest took a bath and I was reading, we went to bed about midnight."

"Where's your other business partner?" asked Rodriguez, coming down from the office, a stack of papers in his hands. He turned to Stana and Nathan, "I've been looking at the paperwork, there's a fourth business partner, name of Aloyoshenka."

"Bah!" said Bertrum. "The mythical sleeping partner. Skekko made him up so she could take more share of the profits. We've never laid eyes on him."

"It's true, we've never met him, but the big bird always spoke very highly of him," said Earnest. "She said he was a Chameleoprobos, from her home planet."

"A Chameleoprobus!" exclaimed Bastille.

"What is it, Bastille? What's a Chameleoprobus?" asked Stana.

"This is so great," said Bastille. "Detective, I think we may have a witness to our murder most-"

"Bastille!" Cut in Stana, "I won't warn you again."

"Okay, Bastille," said Stana with scowl on her face. "What are we all doing back in the office?" The room was crowded with Bastille, both detectives, the pathologist, the Mupponians and the body of Skekko.

"We've all been avoiding the elephant in the room," said Bastille. "Janie, give me your UV light and goggles?"

With an puzzled expression, Janie handed over the equipment. Bastille shone the UV light around the room, squinting through the goggles.

"Voila!" shouted Bastille, and handed the goggles to Stana, "There is your witness!"

"Well, I'll be!" said Stana with awe, "There really is an elephant in the room."

"Bravo, Mr Bastille," the deep voice came as what appeared to be a wall and row of filing cabinets resolved themselves into a seven foot tall pachyderm, its luxuriant fur changing color and texture so it no longer blended with its environment. "May I just say, I am a huge fan of your books. And this must be Detective Kalashnikova, on whom your character Kate Frost is based. A pleasure to meet you too."

"Can it, Jumbo," said Stana. "What did you see?"

"Skekko and I were working late last night when Bertrum burst into the office. He accused her of having an affair with Earnest. My species are pathological cowards, I'm afraid, evolved to avoid attention and conflict. I could do nothing to intervene. When Skekko denied the affair, Bertrum went crazy and strangled her."

"It's true," confessed Bertrum. "Even as I choked the life out of her, she denied she was trying to steal my dear, sweet Earnest from me. Earnest, say you'll wait for me?"

"Of course, my love. But Bertrum, there was no affair!"

"I heard you, Earnest, through the bathroom door that night , saying how you loved the yellow bird. I came here immediately, in a jealous rage."

"I was talking about my little rubber duckie, bath time just wouldn't be so much fun without it."

"Rodriguez, cuff him," said Stana. "Okay, Bastille, you can say it now."

Bastille smiled with delight. "Ah yes, a case of murder most fowl."