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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Detective · #716486
A thief is loose in police headquarters
         I'd taken the day off to go house-hunting. Frack and I need a place of our own. Her nosy neighbors raise their blinds a notch to check out every visitor their detective neighbor has, while my apartment on the 20th floor means Janie has to face her greatest fear, elevators. She confessed that weakness to me when we had to testify in a Federal courtroom that was on the eleventh floor. She has one other weakness, but since I also fear being tickled to death, it’s not something either of us can hold on the other.

         I had just gotten off the phone with the real estate agent when it rang again. "Frick, you are not going to believe what one of these buns of sitches down here at the stationhouse did." She was angry; she rarely curses, but she was spitting bullets.

         "I brought those lovely cherries you bought me for lunch. I went to the refrigerator to get them and I found some thieving bustard had been into the bag and taken almost half. I’m really peeved. I sent everyone an email. I knew if I started asking around I might say the wrong thing."

         Frack on a rampage is something no grown man wants to encounter. Running from the bulls in Spain is less dangerous. She read me what she sent.

         "One of you light fingered detectives has purloined several handfuls of red cherries from the bag I left in the refrigerator. If you had asked me, I would have gladly given you some, but no, one of you had to make like a thief in the night. And here I thought all the crooks were outside the station walls."

         I couldn't help but chuckle. I asked if the email produced results.

         "Not one person has come forward. Wilcox offered to let me have half of his ham hoagie, but it's just loaded with mayo AND oil. How am I supposed to lose weight eating stuff like that?"

         "Maybe it was him," I offered.

         "No, he was out all morning. I give him credit. His heart’s in the right place. He doesn't know how hard I am trying to diet."

         "I think I better come down there. Old Sherlock will find out who did it in minutes."

         "Frick, you're supposed to be looking at houses today."

         "I'll tell the realtor an emergency came up. We really ought to go together anyway. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

         I left word for the agent and sped to the station. Our office is on the second floor. I didn't think a uniform would dare break into our fridge, so I began in our squad room, which holds a collection of desks pushed together and facing each other. Besides Wilcox and my partner, only Thorne and Riley were there. Both had been in all morning. Each of their partners was out on the street, as was the duo of Washington and Horowitz.

         I tried to play innocent. It was hard with Janie sitting there fuming; I won't swear but I think I saw smoke coming out of her ears. I walked over to Riley's desk.

         "What's happening, Riles?"

         "Not much, quiet day. Fromm is out checking ballistics on that Swanson murder. I'm catching up on paperwork. Did get an interesting email a little while back. Your Pods thinks one of us busted her cherries. I'd reply but it is beneath me. She knows I'm allergic to fresh fruit. If I eat it, I break out in hives. I'm a little teed off that she could even think I did it."

         I gave my head a sympathetic shake, but mentioned that his story could be a blind. It was his turn to shake his head. His voice rose. "Frick! May lightning strike me dead if I took one of those precious cherries!"

         "Look out, Frick. You don't want to get singed!" From ten feet away, Thorne offered this mot. I smiled but then noticed that his finger tips were red. I don't know how Frack missed this, but that's why I am our case solver; she just provides the muscle in our partnership.

         I sidled over to his desk. It looked like Thorne was Prime Suspect Number One. It was not only the physical evidence, but he fit the psychological makeup also. The best word to describe Thorne is wide. When Frack suggested we walk around a nearby track to keep our weight down, I countered that we might make a circumnavigation of Thorne. The drawers of the man's desk are storehouses against famine, just full of potato chips, pretzels, crackers, Slim Jims. You name it, Thorne stocked it.

         "Somehow, Thorny, I can't see Riley as a cherry thief. No physical evidence, unlike those red fingers you sport. A fresh cherry might leave such a stain."

         "Better be careful, Frick. You'll get another case wrong. You're famous for that around here, you know? The rest of the boys reckon that when you name a murderer, we should look 180 degrees in the opposite direction to find the killer. If it weren't for Frack, you wouldn't even have a desk. She's the brains, you're the lummox."

         "Don't go calling my partner a lummox, you ball of blubber." Frack must have overheard us. She was standing opposite, at his partner's desk, glaring at him.

         "Watch what you're saying there, Miss America. You're not exactly Olive Oil."

         It was getting a little out of hand. I tried to get matters back on the subject. "Well, Thorny, how did your fingers acquire that patina of red?"

         He smiled and reached into his drawer, pulling out a handful of something. Pleasantly he offered, "Have a pistachio? That's how my hands got red, from the dye on them. And Mr. Smart Guy, as your partner will tell you, cherries have a pit. Do you see any pits in my waste basket?"

         I started to sputter a reply, but Frack beat me to it. "Frick, Thorne might be the pits of the detective squad, but as much as I hate to admit it, he's right."

         "Well, if it wasn't Thorne or Riley, who ate them? Must have been one of the guys from downstairs?” I'd no sooner gotten the words out of my mouth when I heard the dulcet tone of Captain Thea leDuc, calling from her office.

         "Oh, Frickie, oh Frackie, come in here, will you?"

         I whispered to Janie, asking if she sent the email to the Captain. She shook her head and gave me a "do you think I am crazy?" look. I led the way into the Captain's office. She did not get up but motioned us to take seats. Frack began to sit, but stopped and stared at her desk. I followed her gaze downward to the ashtray. In it was a fine collection of cherry pits. Then I saw that both the captain's hands and lips showed the coloring of someone who had feasted on an unexpected treat.

         "Sit down, Frack, and take the load off. I have some delicate work for the two of you. Internal Affairs has a problem."

         Frack started to stammer something that sounded like "YOOOOOOO,” but the Captain continued without noticing, "Herbie Weiner, the owner of Nunzio's Fruit and Vegetable Stand, has been complaining that some of our uniforms have been helping themselves to his freshly picked fruit. He says that some days they're like a plague of locusts. I want you to do some sleuthing and see which men are feeding at the trough too royally. The way Herbie tells it, it's like they are having orgies with his grapes. Herbie is a big supporter of the Police; he donated vests last year, so we should help him. Report back to me, not Captain Blalock downstairs."

         Frack's hands were gripping the arms of her chair tightly. Her face was red. I knew that if she opened her mouth, there could only be trouble. I nodded at the Captain, stood and nudged Frack to her feet. I could hear her muttering, "I wanna kill her, Frick" under her breath. "Later," I whispered. I opened the door and let Frack go first. As I stepped into the doorway, the Captain had a few final words of wisdom.

         "And Frick, you too Frack, don’t go sampling Herbie's merchandise either." We both looked back. The Captain's lips were parted, and she was delicately inserting the loveliest cherry I’d ever seen. I heard a muffled chortle coming from my partner. As we walked away, her laughing grew more intense. We walked through the squad room and out the door. Grinning, Janie turned to me and said, “She doesn’t know I didn’t wash the cherries. Let me go steal the Immodium in the Ladies room before we hit Nunzio’s.”

Valatie July 7, 2003






© Copyright 2003 David J IS Death & Taxes (dlsheepdog at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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