FADE IN:
INT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE – NIGHT
A SINGLE LIGHTBULB swings ominously. Shadows stretch like they're auditioning for a horror movie.
DETECTIVE STONE (40s, chiseled jaw, perpetual scowl) crouches over THE CORPSE—a man in a chicken suit, one rubbery wing outstretched as if waving hello.
DETECTIVE STONE
(dead serious)
Time of death: somewhere between 'what the hell' and 'are you kidding me.'
His PARTNER, RICKY (late 20s, over-caffeinated, wearing a tie with tiny donuts on it), snaps on latex gloves with unnecessary flair.
RICKY
(squinting)
Sir, I think this is... symbolic.
DETECTIVE STONE
Of what?
RICKY
(faux-profound)
The death of joy.
A BEAT. Stone stares.
DETECTIVE STONE
Or maybe someone just hated chickens.
The CORONER (ancient, chewing gum like it owes him money) rolls up in a motorized scooter.
CORONER
(without looking up)
Cause of death? Probably boredom.
Stone flips open the victim's beak—revealing a SINGLE SCRABBLE TILE (Letter 'Z', 10 points).
RICKY
(gasping)
It's a message!
DETECTIVE STONE
Or someone lost a really weird game.
Suddenly—A MYSTERIOUS FIGURE ducks behind a pallet of suspiciously labeled "Not Drugs" boxes.
RICKY
(whisper-yelling)
Sir! Shadows at 2 o'clock!
DETECTIVE STONE
That’s a stack of empty crates.
RICKY
(squints harder)
...Or a mastermind.
CUT TO:
EXT. WAREHOUSE – CONTINUOUS
A CHIHUAHUA in a tiny detective trench coat trots past, sniffing the ground. Stops. Pees on a tire.
RICKY
(emotional)
That dog’s got instincts.
DETECTIVE STONE
That dog’s got a bladder infection.
FADE TO BLACK.
TO BE CONTINUED... (because Act 2 needs more chicken suits).
FADE IN:
INT. POLICE PRECINCT – SQUAD ROOM – DAY
A BULLETIN BOARD displays crime scene photos—mostly fast-food wrappers circled in red. Detective Stone SLAMS a file labeled "Case Closed: Nope" onto his desk. It knocks over a FIVE-YEAR-OLD COFFEE CUP that somehow still has liquid in it.
DETECTIVE STONE
(to no one)
I miss when crime made sense.
CAPTAIN BRICK (60s, built like a refrigerator, voice like a chainsaw) hurls a STRESS BALL at Stone’s head. It bounces off with a hollow thunk.
CAPTAIN BRICK
Your last ‘solved’ case was a Roomba that stole a pension check.
RICKY bursts in holding a EVIDENCE BAG with the Scrabble tile—now glowing faintly green.
RICKY
(panting)
Sir! The tile—it’s—
DETECTIVE STONE
—radioactive?
RICKY
(waves a Geiger counter)
Worse. Artisanal.
A beat. The Geiger counter CLICKS faster.
CUT TO:
EXT. FARMERS MARKET – DAY
HIPSTERS sample organic kale as Stone and Ricky approach a booth labeled "SCRABBLE: HEIRLOOM EDITION." The VENDOR (tweed vest, handlebar mustache) polishes a tile labeled "Œ."
DETECTIVE STONE
(shows badge)
We’re here about the murder.
VENDOR
(smirks)
Of grammar?
Ricky SNEEZES violently—the Scrabble tile FLIES from his hand, landing in a JAR OF KOMBUCHA. The liquid BUBBLES angrily.
RICKY
(whispers)
It’s a culture war.
DETECTIVE STONE
(gritted teeth)
Or someone really hates vowels.
Suddenly—A GUNSHOT. The kombucha jar SHATTERS. They spin to see—
THE CHIHUAHUA from earlier, now wearing a BANDANA, holding a TINY SMOKING REVOLVER in its mouth.
DETECTIVE STONE
(deadpan)
...I’ll allow it.
FADE TO BLACK.
TO BE CONTINUED (because the dog’s obviously the mastermind).
FADE IN:
INT. POLICE PRECINCT – INTERROGATION ROOM – NIGHT
The CHIHUAHUA sits regally on the table, revolver now confiscated (replaced with a squeaky toy shaped like a subpoena). Stone and Ricky stare at it. The dog stares back. A tense Mexican standoff—except one participant weighs four pounds.
DETECTIVE STONE
(squints)
You work for the chickens, don’t you?
The dog YAWNS.
RICKY
(gasps)
A confession!
CAPTAIN BRICK’s VOICE (O.S.)
(booming)
Stone! My office. Now.
CUT TO:
INT. CAPTAIN BRICK’S OFFICE – CONTINUOUS
Brick’s desk is covered in stress balls—all cracked from excessive squeezing. He tosses Stone a FILE labeled "OPERATION: FREE RANGE."
CAPTAIN BRICK
Ever hear of the Poultry Preservation Society?
DETECTIVE STONE
(flat)
That’s not a real thing.
CAPTAIN BRICK
(slams fist; coffee jumps)
They stole my wife’s prize hen!
A beat. Stone blinks.
DETECTIVE STONE
...This is about eggs?
CAPTAIN BRICK
(vein throbbing)
Deviled eggs.
CUT TO:
EXT. BACK ALLEY – NIGHT
Stone and Ricky crouch behind a DUMPSTER overflowing with suspiciously feathery trash. A SECRET DOOR disguised as a "GLUTEN-FREE BAKERY" sign creaks open. Out steps—
THE VENDOR from the farmers market, now wearing a CHICKEN MASK. He drops a BAG marked "EGGS" into a waiting van. The license plate: "CLUK CLUK."
RICKY
(whispers)
Should we call backup?
DETECTIVE STONE
(pulls out walkie-talkie)
Animal Control.
A SPLAT. They turn. The CHIHUAHUA has JUMPED onto the van’s roof—squeaky toy in mouth. It growls (adorably).
The VENDOR freezes. The dog BARK-SNEEZES. The toy squeaks.
VENDOR
(screams)
IT’S THE COPS!
Chaos. Chickens EXPLODE from the van in a feathery maelstrom. Stone GRABS the Vendor’s mask—it comes off, revealing...
CAPTAIN BRICK’S WIFE (MARGARET, 60s, floral apron).
DETECTIVE STONE
(staggered)
Margaret?!
MARGARET
(smirks)
The real prize hen was the friends we exploited along the way.
Behind her—THE CHIHUAHUA howls triumphantly. Credits roll over a MONTAGE of the dog receiving a medal, Stone drinking from his cursed coffee cup, and Ricky crying over a Scrabble dictionary.
FADE TO BLACK.
THE END. (Or is it? The chicken suit’s still missing...)
FADE IN:
INT. CITY MORGUE – FREEZER VAULT – NIGHT
The CHICKEN SUIT (now vacant, one wing still frozen mid-wave) hangs in an evidence locker. The coroner’s SCOOTER BUZZES past it—then STOPS. The coroner squints at the suit’s chest pocket. Something GLINTS.
CORONER
(grumbles)
Well ain’t that peck-ish.
He pokes the pocket with a PEN. A SINGLE GOLDEN EGG rolls out, engraved with: "Property of Benedict Arnold Poultry, Est. 1776."
CUT TO:
EXT. STONE’S APARTMENT – BALCONY – DAWN
Stone smokes a cigarette, staring at the egg. It REFLECTS the sunrise—and also his UNIMPRESSED FACE.
DETECTIVE STONE
(to egg)
You’re yoking.
HIS PHONE RINGS. Ricky’s CALLER ID flashes:
Hi, Daniel Goudreau. I’m a Stage 32 Lounge Moderator. I wanted to let you know that I moved your post from the Screenwriting Lounge to the Your Stage Lounge. If you make a post that starts a conversation that’s helpful or educational to the community (like giving screenwriting advice or asking a question) or you're asking for feedback on something, it can go in the Screenwriting Lounge. Let me know if you have any questions.