Unraveling the Gingervator's scheme

As is usually the case when we're chasing down bad guys, we caught up to Bernard "The Gingervator" Bigyott on the roof of one of the office buildings downtown (Aside: Why do bad guys always run into buildings, charge up flight after flight of stairs until they reach the the roof, where they suddenly realize there's nowhere to go? What did they expect?). And, as is also usually the case, he was only too eager to spill his guts (seriously, we didn't even have to ask).

B"G"B: Yeah, I teamed up with Carrot Top. Of course I did! Don't you see the inherent genius in my plan? People loathe that guy. He's a prop comic! Next to him, I couldn't help but look good enough to generate enough good will to re-launch my modelling career.
Me: I have to admit, there's a certain logic there.
Jeff: Yeah, there's nobody in entertainment hated more than prop comics.
Michael: That's true. Well, except maybe mimes.
B"G"B: Mimes?
Me: Ooh yeah, people really hate mimes.
Jeff: And clowns.
Michael: Ugh. Don't get me started on clowns.
B"G"B: Wait...
Me: And of course, ventriloquists.
Jeff: Yuck!
Michael: The worst!
B"G"B: Hey...
Me: So creepy!
Jeff: Jugglers.
Michael: Stilt walkers.
B"G"B: Come on!
Me: Girls with ukuleles.
Jeff: Magicians.
Michael: Puppeteers.
B"G"B: ...
Me: Nuns.
Jeff: Yeah! Wait...what?
Michael: Nuns aren't entertainers.
B"G"B: Nuns?
Me: They're street performers!
Jeff: Welllll....
Michael: Yeah, I can kinda see that. I'll allow it.
B"G"B: Um, hello? What about me?
Me: Huh? Oh yeah, of course everybody hates you.
Jeff: Yeah, just look at you. You're downright offensive on every possible aesthetic level.
Michael: You're truly hideous and you inspire a deep, seething hatred and unrelenting sadness upon the mere sight of your visage.
B"G"B: Yeah, yeah, yeah. So am I under arrest here or what?
Me: Arrest? No, we kick ass. We don't arrest people.
Jeff: We just wanted to tell you to stop sending us mail.
Michael: And leave Carrot Top alone. He hired us to let you know that you creep him out.
B"G"B: (under his breath) Wait 'til you all meet my sister!

A Rather Disturbing Discovery

As Jeff mentioned last post:

"... the communiques came in the form of threats, either via phone or on notes hand-delivered to our mailbox. We never really took them seriously, believing them to merely be the diseased ramblings of a messed-up mind. That is, until he started to get serious, personal and dangerous."

Well ... sort of. 

The phone calls? We blew them off as pranks. Because that's what they were ... poor ones, too. They weren't the least bit serious. (And, if memory serves, Jeff even used one as a headquarters answering machine message once.)

But the notes were a different matter all together.

They began arriving more frequently at the Unbelieva-base ... and annoyingly so. It came to the point of our Unbelieva-base mail boy Kip alerting us to their voluminousness:

"Hey guys? We got 34 letters and postcards from Bernie this week. The Stiletto Flats post office is starting to complain they're working too hard and want us to nip this in the bud ..."

Things were unusually quiet on the ne'er-do-well front so we decided to do some digging on Bernie.

Most of what we discovered on the guy was fluff. Stuff and nonsense. The blather of a disgruntled, whiny, self-absorbed little peon who thinks he hadn't gotten his due in life. 

But ... there was one thing we found that got us to sit up straight in our chairs.

An association.

A disturbing association.

A disturbing association with a known deviant.

Scott Thompson.

Better known as ...

... Carrot Top.

Clark will fill you in ...