Just as the Beaker heard the voice on the other end of the line, a loud banging resonated through his apartment. Had the cops finally tracked him down? He could have sworn the ventilation system had swept all the fumes away and they’d never have guessed where the meth was being cooked.

He grabbed his sawed off shotgun, clutching the phone to his chest, peered through the peephole in the door. “Merp!” he swore.

A big red nose and bloodshot eyes stare back at him through the fisheye view. Animal. Not what he needed right now. Not with her on the phone. There was only one reason she called. And right now, he wanted nothing more than to have her come over. Screw the frog. Screw them all. For now anyway.

He raised the phone to his ear again and whispered, “Mee, mep, mii, meip..”

Bang, BANG . BANG ! A yowl and a, “ME IN NOW , LET!”

Next came the strangest sound the pig ever heard, even with all the romps with the Beak. A mixture of a screech and growl.

Shotgun blast. Click. Dial tone.