Sing to Me

The singing armadillo and the rat child were nowhere to be found, and Bernie was in a rage. How could two of the most profitable freaks in his side show just walk away, especially since he locked them in their cages at night? No, it wasn't humane, but Bernie was anything but humane. He was a foul feeble man with no heart and an appetite for fried chick peas. And now, as he drove around the streets of Hobbs, New Mexico in his beat up old pickup cradling a sawed-off shotgun in his lap, he was nursing a mean streak bent on violence and vengeance. After all, it was he who had saved the rat child from the orphanage in Tijuana (well, maybe abducted was more appropriate) but still, the strange little being would never have been adopted and likely had lived a horrible life until a premature death caused by the advancing symptoms of its disease. And that damned armadillo. No, it didn't actually sing, but the noise it emitted when a faint electrical current passed through its body was somewhat melodious and people would pay to hear it, as stupid as that might seem. Up ahead, Bernie saw the flashing lights of a police car, and using his criminal instincts to their fullest, slipped his shotgun under the seat of the pickup. As he rolled by the scene, he saw the rat child's body crumpled in an insignificant heap and the armadillo crouched on top, it's teeth bared to prevent anyone, including the patrolman with the drawn pistol, from bringing further harm to his dear and loyal friend. Bernie started to roll down the window to offer his help when the sound of the patrolman's pistol rang out. With no hope of recovering any of his investment, Bernie swore and pressed the accelerator down, heading back to his Traveling Circus of Curiosities and Monstrosities, Featuring the Remarkable Rat Child.

Of course, the sign would need to be revised.