Smoking Gun

"Sheriff, I demand to know why you haven't arrested Black Bart for murdering my husband!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bupkiss, but there's no smoking gun."

"What are you talking about?" fumed Mrs. Bupkiss. "Half the town of Possum's Backside witnessed the murder!"

"Well, ahem," fumbled the sheriff, "that may be, but a smoking gun is a legal requirement. My hands are tied."

"Just look at these!" Mrs. Bupkiss dropped a fistful of flyers on the sheriff's desk. "Black Bart posted these all over town. They say, and I quote, "'Ah'm a-gonna shoot that wuthless <expletive deleted> tomorry at high noon in fronta the feed store.'"

"Can't stop someone from passing out flyers."

"Maybe not," said Mrs. Bupkiss, "but then Black Bart did shoot that wuthless <expletive deleted> at high noon in front of the feed store, just as he said he would."

"Well, I would say that was Mr. Bupkiss's fault for showing up there at that time."

"Not exactly," corrected Mrs. Bupkiss. "Black Bart's goons hog-tied my husband and dragged him there!"

"So, where are the witnesses?" asked the sheriff.

"You know damn well where they are!" snapped Mrs. Bupkiss. "Black Bart's goons gunned down about half of them, and the rest are too scared to speak up!"

The sheriff shrugged. "Not much I can do about that. But you'll be glad to know I've made an arrest in that ... unpleasantness."

"An arrest? And who would that be?"

"Black Bart's third in command's shoeshine boy. He was just being a bit overzealous, I'm sure, but I feel confident we'll get a conviction. The kid'll get ... a really stiff suspended sentence."

"I demand that you do a ballistics test on the bullet that killed my husband! That's bound to prove that Black Bart did it!"

"Oh," said the sheriff, "Black Bart has appointed a committee to study the matter. It will take at least six months, the report will be 1000 pages long, and the results will be inconclusive."

"That's crazy!" protested Mrs. Bupkiss. "Black Bart is the murderer! How come he gets to do the investigation?"

"Appoint a committee," corrected the sheriff. "He's not a suspect. No smoking gun, remember? And of course, he gets to appoint the committee - he's the most powerful guy around. Who else would do it?"

"I see," said Mrs. Bupkiss. "So, let's try this. Look over there, across the street. There's Black Bart. His six-gun is smoking up a storm. How's that for a smoking gun?"

"Shocking!" exclaimed the sheriff.

"Ah," said Mrs. Bupkiss. "So, you'll take action, then?"

"You bet I will!" vowed the sheriff. "I'm going to send off a strongly worded letter to the Colt company immediately! Excessive pistol smoking! That's a hardware quality issue!"

Mrs. Bupkiss shook her head. "Ok, I have one more source to tap. Would you step outside with me for a minute?"

The sheriff did so. Mrs. Bupkiss looked skyward and said, "Ok, he's listening."

The sky opened, a golden arm stretched out, pointing at Black Bart, and a booming voice spoke: "Hello, this is God. Black Bart murdered Mr. Bupkiss. Guilty, guilty, guilty!" Then the golden arm receded, and the sky closed again.

"Well?" said Mrs. Bupkiss.

"Well what?" asked the sheriff.

"Are you going to arrest him now?"

"Can't do that," said the sheriff. "Didn't I tell you? No smoking gun."