flash fiction

12 ~ Gillis Claims He Could Breed If He Wanted to Breed

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12

Gillis said, “Fess up, Sampson! Who’s this London character? I’ll give you ten to one odds, he’s an ex con with a penchant for violence. Is he using Jack London as an alias? What’s his real name? Is he the boss of bosses? Are you afraid to talk because you think London or one of his boys or women as the case may be, will crush you like they’ll crush a bug enjoying a margarita on the sidewalk. They’ll delete you faster than Windows 10 can crash. They’ll make you beg for bullet the same way a homeless man begs for a buck on a street corner. You cooperate with us and I’ll put in a good word with the district attorney about giving you immunity and a new identity.”

“What’s the good word?” asked Pickle.

Gillis thought about it for a minute. He should have used words instead of words, maybe sentences or paragraphs. He understood Pickle’s confusion. Instead of adding to Pickle’s confusion, he said, “I don’t want to say it out loud because if Sampson doesn’t think it’s good enough he won’t cooperate. Then if he thinks it’s good enough, he won’t say it is good enough and he’ll try to negotiate for even more good words.”

“You got a mind better than Einstein. As for you Sampson, you could use a new identity because your current identity is about to expire,” chimed in Pickle. 

“Good one, Dill,” said Gillis immediately regretting he gave Pickle any encouragement.

Pickle liked Gillis’s attention, so he continued, “Give us a description of this London. Does he know the Queen? Does he have a condo in the House of Commons. He must be English because of his name. We’ll put his face on Crime Stoppers, America’s Most Wanted. I’m listening to what Gills was reading and he wrote out a confession. Gills, think we should confiscate the entire library as evidence against London, Phlegm, and Sampson? I’m thinking we uncovered a large criminal enterprise and you, Sampson, are the boss of bosses and using London as your cover.”

 “What are you talking about? I am not the boss of bosses of any criminal organization. Neither one of you heard of Jack London the famous author. It only provides clear evidence of your lack of breeding.”

Gillis jumped in, “Stop right there. I could breed if I wanted too. Me, I use condoms. Pickle got a vasectomy. There’s no need to insult us because we are both being responsible about breeding. I could say you were dumb because you didn’t know how to use no double negative. But I won’t. Pickle and me don’t care if Jack London was on the best seller list or not. Killers come in all shapes and sizes. I figure he wants to take over the operation and you’re next on his hit list.”

“You don’t make sense. You can’t confiscate my entire library. I want my first edition and the page you ripped out of it back,” Sampson hollered.

“Don’t go raising your voice at my partner. He’s part of the solution. You are becoming part of the problem. If you’re not the bosses of bosses, who is the boss of bosses,” demanded Pickle.

Sampson pointed his finger gun like at Pickle, “And you, you with the vocabulary of a third grader are a bully, sir.”

“You got an attitude problem. Are you angry with me because I’m Asian, Mexican, Native American, African American and white? If you are, I am going to sue you for attempting to filet my career,” said Pickle.

“What are you talking about? You can’t filet a career,” shouted Sampson.The mayor is a friend of mine. I’ll get to the bottom of this and someone is going to pay.”

Pickle made a threatening gesture toward Sampson with his right arm. Sampson pushed away from his desk, slid off it and ducked under his desk. 

Gillis said, “I can handle this, Dill.” He walked over and stood behind the desk near where Sampson was hiding from Pickle. He bent over a bit and peered under the desk at Sampson. He said, “Sampson get out from under your desk. We don’t have time to play hide and seek. Be a big boy and climb back into your chair and stop acting like a child. We still got a few questions to ask you. The quicker you answer them, the quicker we’re out of here and on the trail of the killer.”

“Not so fast Gills,” said Pickle. Pickle lifted his right arm and smelled his armpit, “it’s not me that smells. Is it you, Gills?”

Gillis raised his left arm, smelled his armpit, then put his arm down. He said, “Not me. I showered this morning. It’s got to be you, Sampson. You know how that makes my partner and me feel. You are disrespecting us by coming to the interview reeking of B.O.”

Sampson crawled out from under the desk, stood up, and straightened out his shirt. He said, “I do not have body odor. I use a very expensive body lotion I imported from Paris,” said Sampson.

“It smells like armadillo crap. If you never smelled armadillo crap, it smells like you. How’d you know Till was dead?” badgered Pickle 

“I reported it to the police, duh! What would you think if Till’s head was sitting next to his feet? I want you two to leave,” said Sampson

“Did you forget something, Sampson,” said Pickle.

“No, I was very explicit. Get out of my house,” demanded Sampson.

 “You forgot to say please. Please is a common courtesy word people who are not murderers use. You can see why we suspect you. I am going to read you your rights,” said Gillis jumping in ahead of Pickle.

Sampson rose to his feet, and turned to face the window.

Pickle said, “My turn, Gills.”

Gillis walked around the desk and stood next to Sampson. He said, “Listen up, dirtbag. I can leave and turn you over to Pickle, there’s no telling what he’ll do. There’s rumors, that’s all I can tell you, there’s rumors.”

“What, what kind of rumors?” asked Sampson. Terror filled his eyes.

“I’m talking the worse kind of rumors,” said Gillis.

“Yah,” chimed in Pickle.

“How did you know Till? You related to the monkey?” asked Gillis playing the good Cop.

“If you know anything about evolution you know we all come from monkeys. I suppose in a distant way we’re related,” said a hopeless Sampson.

Pickle jumped in, “If you was having sex with Till, we’re going arrest you for incest.”

“Hold off on the charge, Dill. We’ll treat it like Vegas. What goes on in Sampson’s house stays in Sampson’s house as long as the murder didn’t happen in the house. I got a new theory on the crime. I don’t think London was the killer. He wasn’t bright enough to write this book. He plagiarized it. We’ll nail him for stealing words. What I’m speculating, Sampson, is the killer was a hit man and you was his target. He mistakenly confused the monkey for you,” said Gillis.

Sampson’s mind couldn’t keep up with nonsensical ramblings of Gillis and Pickle asked, “Why, why would anyone want to kill me?”

© Ray Calabrese 2018

11 ~ A 1st Edition Gives Gillis a Clue to the Killer’s Identity

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11

Gillis walked to the book case and arbitrarily pulled out a book. He blew the dust off the book and opened it. He looked over his shoulder toward Pickle and said, “Say’s this is a first edition. This could be a clue.” Gillis raised the book up and gestured at Sampson, “I’m a expert on first editions, Sampson. Is this the weapon you used to knock the monkey out before you removed his eyes and gutted him? If you answer yes, you are one sorry son of a bitch. If you answer no, you are one lying son of a bitch. Either way, you’re a son of a bitch.”

Before Sampson could answer, Gillis opened the book the middle and bent the covers back so they pressed against each other. He said, “Dill, Sampson’s got more books than the public library. Guys like him got too much time on their hands. They read books, play tennis and golf, keep a mistress, and play with themselves.”

Sampson screamed, “Don’t bend the book like that, you’ll ruin it. Those are rare books. Please don’t touch them. You are disgusting. I do not play with myself. I hate tennis and golf, and I don’t have a mistress.”

“You have all the signs of being in stage one, denial. Looks like you could use a mistress. You got a lot of pimples. You know what they say causes pimples on males? Till’s not the only monkey you play with,” said Pickle.

The six foot one-inch Pickle bent over stared at the top of Sampson’s head. “You use hair plugs, Sams? If you do, you need to file a lawsuit. I’m looking at some significant erosion over here, if you know what I mean,” said Pickle touching three different spots on Sampson’s skull.

Sampson jerked up, his eyes fixed across the room on the shattered remains of his blown glass monkey strewn across the marble floor. He took a deep breath, and glared at Pickle, “The city is going to hear from my lawyer. I don’t have time to suffer fools.”

“I hope you are not talking about me or my partner. You must be talking about somebody and I don’t see anybody but the three of us. If you are calling my partner or me a fool I want to see evidence to prove we are fools. You can’t count the broken blown glass thing because that happened before you made your accusation,” said Pickle. 

Gillis waved off Pickle from continuing. It was making him drowsy. Gillis said, “The way I figure it you threw your monkey at me. I ducked. It splattered. What I can do for you is sell you the tube of super glue I keep in my glove compartment for just such purposes. It cost me four ninety-five. I’ll discount it fifty percent for you because it’s used. Putting the monkey back together will be a good hobby, like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. Old people like to do jigsaw puzzles. You’ll fit right in.”

Sampson’s head looked like it was going to explode when Fleming came into the room, ignored Gillis and Pickle, walked around the desk to Sampson and whispered into Sampson’s ear. 

Sampson’s eyes widened as big as moon pies. He said, “What? What? My Starry Night? A pickup truck on my perfectly manicured lawn? Fleming, what kind of hell did these two idiots bring to the Casa del Mono?”

Fleming pointed at Gillis, “It’s his truck. And the other one, he threw his shoe at the Van Gogh.” Fleming turned and walked out of the room.

Gillis pointed a finger toward his chest, “I don’t care for snitches. Narcs. Stool pigeons. Canaries. Finks. The only conclusion I can come to is that Phlegm is covering up for somebody. Is it you, Sampson? What was he whispering in your ear? One of you is the killer and the other is a co-conspirator. All I need is proof. As for Pickle, he did not throw his shoe at the painting. He threw it at Phlegm. Can he help it if Phlegm purposely and willfully ducked. If there is any blame here about the damage to the painting look no further than your overpriced assistant with the bad Botox job.”

“His name is Fleming not Phlegm. We did not kill Till,” snapped Sampson.

Gillis ignored Sampson. He held up the first edition. He said, “My granny told me you decide what you had to do by closing your eyes and opening the Bible and running your finger down the page. Where you stopped your finger, there was the message direct from God. That’s what I’m going to do with this first edition.”

Gillis closed his eyes, arbitrarily opened the first edition near the middle, ran a finger down the left hand page and stopped. Gillis opened his eyes, read the lines his finger touched. He glanced up at Sampson and said, “It appears you had an accomplice helping you to kill the monkey and going to give you proof.” Gillis read the excerpt, “He was a killer, a thing that preyed, living on the things that lived, unaided, alone, by virtue of his own strength and prowess, surviving triumphantly in a hostile environment where only the strong survive.” 

Gillis ripped the page out of the book, folded it and stuck it in his pants pocket. 

“You ruined my first edition of Jack London’s Call of the Wild. It’s worthless. It’s no good to anyone,” howled Sampson.

10 ~ Pickle Takes A Stand Against Vaping

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10

The door to the oversized, architectural fiasco mansion opened. A silver haired, six foot two inch man wearing a tux with red cummerbund stretching over a forty-four inch waist said, “I assume you are the detectives?”

“When you go through puberty, your voice is going to change. No offense intended, are you going through a sex change?” asked Pickles.

 “I’m Mr. Sampson’s administrative assistant, Fleming. Please leave your firearms in your beat up truck. Mr. Sampson doesn’t allow firearms or curse words in his home,” said Fleming clearing his throat attempting to bring it down into the soprano range.

Gillis ignored Fleming. He tapped Pickle on the arm, “Ask him if he has more than one name. I think he’s taking steroids. Steroid takers can react violently, I’m giving you a head’s up. Another thing, you take too many steroids they shrink your package, know what I mean, Dill?”

Pickles stared at Fleming, then looked at Gillis, “Hold on, Gills. I’m supposed to be the bad cop. I won the coin toss.”

“I had a mind burp, Dill. Excuse me. I’m the good cop, you’re the bad cop,” said a contrite Gillis.

Pickle nodded and fist bumped Gillis. He said, “He’s not doing steroids. If he was he’d have pimples. One thing I’ll say for Phlegm, he has good skin but the comb over leaves a lot to be desired. Hey, Phlegm, you do Botox? Do you have another name to go with Phlegm?”

Fleming turned a shade of yellow and green, and said, “I have one name, like Madonna. The name is Fleming. Mr. Sampson is very generous and I’m covered for free Botox injections whenever I need them.”

Pickles turned his back to Fleming, closed his eyes and concentrated on his bad cop role. When he was emotionally ready, he screwed up his face, twisted his lips into a snarl, turned back toward Fleming and barked, “Guns or cussing not allowed? Is that so? How about I shove my gun up your tight ass? That is, unless you’re Folsom Sampson, which you already admitted you’re not. If you’re lying, and you are Sampson, I’m going to bust you for exploding an investigation. You want to cop a plea deal and rat out your boss, maybe I’ll put in a good word for you with the B.O.”

Fleming’s color was changing so rapidly, Gillis couldn’t get a good read on it. He took note of Pickle’s use of the word exploding instead of impeding. For a brief moment Gillis felt overwhelmed. He had so much work to do to get Pickle ready for the detective first grade exam and only two years to do it.

Fleming jabbed a finger at Pickle and said, “You. You are an …”

“Don’t say something you’re going to regret, Phlegm. Why were you called Phlegm? That brings up disgusting images in my mind. If anybody named me Phlegm I’d a changed it faster than a whore turns a trick,” said Gillis.

“I’m going to report the both of you to whoever takes reports. You’ve not heard the end of this,” squeaked Fleming.

Pickles said, “I didn’t hear anything bad, did you Gills?”

Gillis still wasn’t sure what Pickle meant by B. O. It couldn’t have been body odor. He decided to let it slide. He said, “Not me.”

“The only thing I heard was Phlegm insulting my mixed racial identity. You hear that, Gills?” asked Pickles.

Gillis slipping into his good cop role, said, “It embarrassed me the way he was talking about your ancestors. What if your four or five fathers showed up? How would they feel? I don’t think Phlegm knew about your four or five fathers. Let’s cut him a bit of slack and hold off on reporting the pervert, Dill. The man’s only doing his job. Besides, you don’t want to get your gun dirty by sticking it up his ass. We’re not carrying pistol condoms.” 

Gillis turned to face Fleming. He said, “We’ll hold on to our guns, Phlegm. If you’re not Folsom Sampson, we don’t care who you are. You might be Liza Filtz for all I know. We’re here to see Dipthong”

“You mean Mr. Sampson?” said Fleming reassuming a snooty attitude.

“Gills, I think I heard you say Ping Pong. Maybe we should arrest this guy for making fun of the way you talk. We’ll shove him the same cell with Benny Melendez, the street mariachi player.  You want some of that, huh, Phlegm? You want to hear mariachi music twenty-four seven. It’s enough to drive someone from here to Saskatchewan. You’ll need a passport if you want to take that trip. If you try to sneak over the border, it’s okay, it’s a problem for the Canadian security. My guess is you don’t have a passport on you. You know what I’m talking about?” said Pickles.

Fleming, who majored in logic at the university, couldn’t follow the conversation. He was trying to wrap his head around an enigma and found it more difficult than solving a Rubric’s Cube. His tongue wouldn’t move. He gestured, it didn’t help. He turned and walked inside the mansion, Gillis and Pickle followed. 

Fleming stopped five feet into the entrance way. He was back on familiar turf. He took a deep breath and turned to face Gillis and Pickle, “I’ll ask you to remove those, those, rubber soled, lower blue collar, black work shoes.”

Fleming, unwittingly played into the bad cop character that Pickle won honorable mention with at the Police Christmas party. Pickle stopped. He untied his right shoe. He glanced at the smirking Fleming who held blue disposable booties for both Pickle and Gillis. Later, Pickle would tell Gillis it was the smirk that brought out the award nominating performance for his bad cop routine.

Pickles scaled his shoe at Fleming’s head. Fleming easily stepped aside and watched the black, steel toed, blue collar worker shoe sail past him and smash into Van Gogh’s Starry Night on loan to Folsom Sampson for safe keeping while the Museum of Modern Art updated its security systems. Pickle’s black shoe put a three inch tear into the canvas and a distinct black smudge making the starry night darker. 

Pickles walked over to the painting, gave it ten seconds of his attention, picked up his shoe and asked, “This one of the paint by numbers paintings? Whose Vin Goff?”

Gillis thought Pickles was overplaying the bad cop role.

Fleming, who fainted, opened his eyes staring up into the ceiling and not a starry night, gurgled, “It’s Van Gogh, not Vin Goff, dolt. Do you know what you did?”

“I can answer that question with a question,” said Pickle. “Where can we find Sampson?”

Fleming wiped the tears out of his eyes, and pointed, “He’s…He’s in his office over there.”

Gillis and Pickle stepped over the prone Fleming and walked to Sampson’s office. They didn’t bother knocking. Gillis twisted the nob and flung the door open letting the door nob whack the wall leaving a small indentation. The two detectives walked into Sampson’s office. Sampson sat on an executive chair behind a large polished cherry desk. A golden, life sized sculpture of the deceased sat on the floor on next to the desk. A smaller golden replica sat on the corner of Sampson’s desk. Four commissioned paintings of the deceased hung on walls. 

“What was that racquet in the hall? Where is Fleming? Why didn’t you knock? I hope you didn’t damage the wall. All my walls were painted by the obscure but rising Latino artist Don Won. Do you know who I am?” said Sampson.

Gillis flashed his shield and Pickle chucked Sampson the bird. Gillis said, “I’m Gillis, the good cop. This here is my partner, Pickle, the bad cop. We’re here to talk to you about the murder of a monkey. We don’t want any monkey business from you neither.” 

“Do you know you used a double negative?” said the Ivy educated Sampson.

“Let’s get something straight, I’m an optimist. I don’t allow no negative thinking into my mind, so quit the crap about double negatives,” said Gillis.

“Nice one, Gills,” said Pickle.

Sampson gave a disgusted look, opened a drawer and said, “Mind if I vape?”

Pickle was standing in front of the desk, said, “You vape and I will twist the two mushrooms that kinda look like ears on the sides of your head until they fall off your head. I’m okay with this, if you agree.”

Sampson closed the desk drawer. Then he glared at Pickle now sitting on the edge of his desk holding a one of a kind commissioned blown glass work by Lo Ming of the deceased monkey. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

Pickle looked at Gillis and tossed him the blown glass monkey. Sampson gasped, “No. No. It’s a rare commissioned piece. It’s one of kind. It’s a replica of my beloved Till.”

Gillis didn’t track the blown glass. He was preoccupied clipping his nails. Till floated happily toward Gillis. On Till’s descent, he performed a half twist, and made a perfect head first dive onto the Italian marble floor shattering into a thousand pieces.”

“Ye gads. That was priceless. “Where is justice?” bellowed Sampson

Before Sampson could say another word, Gillis smiled, playing good cop, and said, “Sam Justice is working vice. He’s on the night shift. Being priceless is a good thing. It means whatever this thing is supposed to be, it’s not worth anything. If you go eBay, you probably can find an upgrade for about five fifty.”

  Sampson began crying. He laid his head down on his desk and beat the desk with both fists sobbing loudly.

“When you’re finished with your tantrum, we’ll get on with our interview,” said Gillis.

“Yah. We can do it the hard way or we can do it the Pickle way, which makes the hard way look like the easy way. The third way is to write out your confession and tell us how you had your cook prepare the monkey’s guts.”

© Ray Calabrese 2018

9 ~ Gillis Claims He’s Not Biased Because He’s Biased

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9

“Sonrisa is where all the snobs live, Dill. They got their noses stuck so high in the air, if they stepped on dog crap they wouldn’t smell it. If I had a nickel for every minute they checked the stock market, I’d be as rich as them,” opined Gillis.

“No offense intended, Gills, but I think you’re going into this with a personal bias against snooty, think they’re better than everybody else, snobs,” said Pickle as he tossed empty soda container on the sidewalk.

“I can see you got an unbiased mind about these rich bitches. No offense taken, Dill. I admit my bias. Because I admit my bias it means I’m not biased. Let me ask you a question. You know the names of the super rich, the computer geeks, the politicians, the major sports figures, right?”

“I know the names of lots of them, what’s your point, Gills? I don’t have to spell their names do I? Are you prepping me for the detective first grade examination?” asked Pickle his voice squeaking with anxiety.

“You’re not eligible for the exam, Dill. Two more years and you will be eligible to take it early if you pay attention to my mentoring. Here’s my follow up question. Have any of these snooty, rich fools ever sent you a birthday card? Has any of them ever texted you and told you to have a great day?”

“That’s two follow up questions, Gills. They never even sent me an e-card on my birthday. They did send me mail asking for political contributions to fund campaigns who will write laws to keep them rich. Man, it took me a minute or three, Gills. I get your point. They are mean son of bitches and self absorbed. If they’re so self absorbed, their souls have to be blacker than ice.”

“You’re talking about black ice, the super slippery kind, right?” asked Gillis.

“Un huh. Would you move in here next to Sampson if you had a chance, Gills?”

“Imagine me living here, popping a can of beer, playing country music, having wild orgies with Wendy.”

“I can imagine it. Can I come to your wild orgies if you move in here?” asked Pickle. “Seriously, I hope you never get rich, Gills. I wouldn’t want you to quit the force. I couldn’t stand working with anyone else but you. You’re my North star. You’re my bridge over troubled waters.”

“You ought to write a song with that title, Dill. It could be a hit. Nothing like it has ever been written. As far me becoming rich, not much to worry about. That is unless I hit the Powerball. It’s up to two hundred sixty million this week. I always wait until it gets to one billion dollars before I’ll buy a ticket. I have a better chance of winning because all the losing number have been played the weeks before.”

“You know how to play the angles. It’s why you’re such a good pool player,” said Pickle.

“Playing the angles is one of the secrets of life I’m letting you in on at an early stage in your career. When you play the angles right, you know which way the ball is going to ricochet. You how high the ball will bounce. You can figure what’s the down side to every upside before there is an upside,” said Gillis.

Pickle expression turned from enlightenment to confusion. “This is graduate school stuff. It’s too much to quick for me. I don’t want to hurt your feeling, Gills, but I got to change the subject matter. You know what I heard about where the rich live?”

“What did you hear?” asked Gills wishing he’d remember not to ask Pickle to elaborate on anything he says.

“You get into the rich neighborhoods they got lots of stuff people like you and me never see. I hear they got people to wipe their asses and flush the toilets. They have escorts instead of whores. They even got a park inside where teenagers drive their cars and have car sex. If they forgot a condom, they text and someone shows up in two minutes with an assortment to choose from. Me? I prefer ribbed condoms and the kind that glows in dark,” said Pickle

“Choosing the right condom is like picking the right movie. A lot of thought has to go into it. Personally, I like the rough riders. I’ll probably buy a couple dozen when Wendy and me spend the night together. Two dozen might not be enough, if you hear what I’m saying. Remember when we was kids we’d take our girls to the lake or outside of the city on a country road. You could always tell good places to get laid because there was lots of condoms on the road,” said Gillis as looked up at sign at the entrance to long driveway. “Sampson calls his mansion Casa del Mono. Very interesting, Dill. Very interesting.”

“What’s it mean, Gills? Does Sampson have mono. That’s the stuff college kids get from having too much sex is what I read in What Real Men Need to Know.

 “It means House of the Monkey. Now I’m thinking the deceased owned the house and Sampson killed him after he got the monkey to sign a prenup.”

“How do you know this stuff, Gills?” asked Pickle.

“You got to think the way the rich thinks if we’re going nail this guy, Dill. I watch the reality TV show Rich Men and Their Mistresses to learn how the rich live in case we got to deal with them. I wish the department would give me some kind of professional development credit for the time I spend watching it.”

“How do the rich think, Gills?” asked Pickle seriously interested.

“They think they snap their fingers and sun comes out. They think if they urinate in the wind it won’t blow back on them. They think they should walk around without pants on because everybody is going to kiss their ass. I’m fired up. Let’s nail this killer,” said an enraged Gillis.

“As soon as I see his face, if he’s not wearing pants and wants me to kiss his ass I’m going to Taser him and see how he likes 50,000 volts flying up his colon,” said Pickle.

Gillis pulled out a quarter. “Heads I’m the good cop, tails you’re the good cop.”

“I flip,” said Pickle.

“Okay, but I catch,” said Gillis.

“If you catch, drop it in my hands,” said Pickle.

“If I drop it in your hands, flip it over and place it on the back of my hand,” said Gillis.

“Too bad the whole world can’t work through the tough stuff like we do, Gills,” said Pickle pleased with his deep insight into human behavior.

A long two minutes later Gillis pulled his Ford pickup down the quarter-mile driveway leading up to a eight thousand square foot house. The house, three stories high, was a blend of an architectural design by Willie Lloyd Right who was serving ten to life for structural flaws he put in the blueprints for a highway bridge and then overcharged the state. The bridge collapsed as the governor and her entourage drove over the river. Fortunately, everyone was rescued. Prior to his conviction, Willie advertised himself as the son and heir of the famous architect Frank Lloyd Wright’s. Sampson didn’t notice the slight difference in the spelling of the last names. 

 Gillis pulled up near the front door, turned a bit toward Pickle and said, “Dill get out here. I’m going to park on the lawn. The water sprinklers are going full blast and I can save ten bucks by letting the sprinklers clean my truck.”

“Gills, this is why you are the senior detective and my mentor. You are like four or five or sometimes eight steps ahead of everybody else,” said Pickle getting out and spitting out a large ward of chewing gum at a statue of a mythical creature sitting in the middle of a Feng shui pool, water pouring out of his mouth into the pool at his feet. Pickles’ gum bounced off the statue and fell into the water among giant rare oriental goldfish.

Gillis got out of his pickup, carried an empty Dr. Pepper soda can to the edge of the large Feng shui pool and tossed it into the pool. He pulled out his gun and fired three quick shots at the can. All three missed the can. One of the shots took out one of the rare oriental goldfish. 

“I never liked fish, Gills. They smell funny and they look all wrong, like they was invented by Frankenstein,” said Pickles.

“How so, Dill?” asked Gillis again regretting asking.

“Fish don’t have toes. You ever notice that? You know what else don’t have toes?”

Gillis didn’t want to ask, but felt he had to, “What’s that, Dill?”

“Snakes. Snakes don’t have toes. That tells me fish got a good chance of being poisonous. If we find the killer, my money is on someone without toes, that’s where this case is leading,” said Pickles proud of the connection he was making between fish, snakes, and the killer. 

Gillis Takes Target Practice in a Goldfish Pond

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Don’t miss the next installment on Monday of our bumbling detectives, Gillis and Pickle, as Gillis Accidently Takes Out a Rare Goldfish

Gillis & Pickle Enter the Casa del Mono

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Don’t miss the next installment on Monday of our bumbling detectives, Gillis and Pickle, as they enter the Casa del Mono.

8 ~ Gillis Teaches Senior Citizens About Road Rage

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8

Five minutes later Gillis and Pickle were traveling down El Paso Ave in Gillis’s red pickup truck. Gillis always enjoyed being fashionably late. His personal motto was if you start showing up on time, people will expect you to show up on time. He kept a list of personal mottos in a file on his smart phone to keep him grounded. Following his motto of not showing up on time, Gillis Gillis took a left and turned into an adult only community. He pulled up to the guard house and flashed his badge. The guard waved them through.

“Why we going through the adult only community, Gills. You think the killer is one of these old timers? It’s a good theory. Maybe the monkey crapped on their lawn and Sampson didn’t pick it up. It’d be enough to drive them over the edge,” said Pickle.

“Good theory, Dill. There’s one problem with it.”

“What’s that, Gills? I can’t see any holes in my theory,” said Dill. 

“By the time, they get up from their perch on the window, grab hold of their walker, find their gun, and make it to the door, they forgot what they were angry about until they step in the crap,” said Gillis.

“You’re the man. You see things other detectives will never see, Gills. Thanks for being my mentor,” said an appreciative Pickle.

Gillis slowed the red pickup to the posted speed limit of 15 miles an hour. He lowered the windows, and turned on the radio to a country western station maximizing the volume.

Pickles hollered over a country western singer complaining about his girl leaving him and his wide trailer for a rodeo star, “Why are you blasting music, Gills?”

“Number one, Dills, it’s common knowledge anyone over 55 is deaf. So the only way they can hear music is if you turn the volume up to maximum. Number two, when you live in one of these adult communities, you don’t got anything to do except look out the window for people violating their HOA rules or see who the ambulance carts out. Most of them will turn us in the HOA. Not a problem, they’ll think we’re an ice cream truck. It will give them something to talk about when they eat dinner at 3:30,” said Gillis.

“Three-thirty is kind of early for dinner, isn’t it, Gills?” asked Pickle.

“Not if you’re a senior. They go for the early bird special. What’s today? Tuesday. It’s half price for the ladies. Since most seniors are women because there husbands die off early, the few men capable of sex will have their pick. It’s a known fact, the biggest black market drug in the senior communities is viagra for men and estrogen replacement for women.”

“How do you know all this stuff, Gills? I think you’re the smartest man alive,” said Pickle.

“That may be true about me being the smartest man alive. I don’t like to brag about it. But I will for a quick moment. At an early age my first teachers said things like, “You think you’re smart.” Or, “Don’t be a smart aleck.” Or, “There he goes again, Mr. Smarty pants.”

Gillis stopped bragging about his intelligence when his mind registered three senior men riding in a golf cart ahead of him and traveling at six miles an hour. He began riding the golf cart bumper. The old guy on the rear seat in golf cart picked up a two iron and waved it at Gillis. Gillis respond by pulling out his gun, putting it in his left hand and sticking it menacingly out the window toward the old man. Gillis laid on his horn with his right hand and bumped the rear end of the golf cart causing it to career off the road onto Gillian Bridges lawn. Gillis stopped to make sure the golf cart wasn’t damaged. The driver, the man next to the driver, and the guy in the back seat got out of the golf cart, got out, pulled drivers out of their golf bags and took a step toward Gillis and Pickle. Gillis fired a warning shot over their heads not thinking about where the bullet might eventually land. One guy grabbed his heart and collapsed to the ground. Another tried to remember if he took his cell phone and if did what pocket he put it in. The third man looked at his watch and said, “If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss our tee time.”

Gillis waved at the two standing men and Pickle tossed them a salute as they pulled away from the edge of the road.

“Why’d you fire your gun, Gills?” asked Pickle.

“I like the high quality of your questions, Dill. It shows me you got a lot of potential. And, I mean Potential spelled with a capital P. To answer your question, these seniors probably never had experience with road rage. Normally, being taught about road rage is going to cost you around a hundred bucks. I just gave them a free lesson. More Importantly, I gave them something to talk about.”

“That’s what I like about you, Gills. You always thinking of the other person. Maybe I’ll write this up and give it to Cap. He’ll get you a citation and an award for community service.”

Gillis shook his head, “Thanks, but no thanks, Dill. If I get the award it will cause too much envy from the rest of the department. I prefer to keep my community service low key. On a whole high note, Wendy wants me to think she’s playing hard to get. I like that in my women.”

“What are you going to do, Gills? She’s laying the marriage trap for you. You need your freedom, man,” replied Pickle. 

Gillis and Pickles fist bumped. They cleared the senior settlement. Gillis turned off the radio. 

Pickles said, “Got any ideas where we start looking for the killer, Gills?”

“The only place we can start, Dill. We start with the last person to see the deceased alive.”

“Who’s that Gills?”

“I figure it’s the monkey’s owner. We was on his property when we examined the crime scene. If he’s messing with the crime scene, he’s messing with me. If he’s messing with me, he’s messing with the wrong dude. Captain Courageous told Sampson we’d be by to interview him a 10 a.m. That’s where we’re headed.

Pickle looked at his smart phone, “It’s 11:15, Gills. We’re over an hour late.”

“There’s where you are wrong, Dill. We’re right on time. I want him to squirm. I want him to fidget. I want him to know we’re on to him and we’re going to stick his head up his rectum and roll him like a ball.”

“You figure he’s the killer? How so?” asked Pickle. 

“It’s his name that tipped the scales, Dill. Folsom Sampson the Third. I call him Folsom Sampson the turd. We might wrap this case up in the half hour. Think about it. Can you imagine a better suspect than someone who owned the monkey and who reported the murder? Don’t answer. I already know what you are going to say. Here’s another thing. I listened to the recording of the 911 call and the monkey’s name is Till. This is a name nobody wants. I think the monkey went to court and was trying to get his name changed. Sampson found out about it and demanded the monkey stop. Till refused, and Sampson killed him. I got the motive down. Now all I got to figure out if Sampson owns a cleaving knife and when he had the opportunity to do the deed.”

“Everything you say makes perfect sense, Gills. I’ll pile on to your theory. I don’t trust no one with two last names. You remember Crater Doolittle, the serial killer? How about, Jones Smith, head of the symphony mafia? You ever hear of a person named Folsom being an upright, honest, God fearing man?”

“You made your point, Dills,” said Gillis beginning to get drowsy listening to Pickle. He didn’t want to nod off, especially while he was driving. He still had sixteen months of payments left on his truck. 

Pickle looks out the window, deep in thought. After a long three seconds, he turned back to Gillis, “I gave it a lot of thought, Gills. You’re bulls eye perfect about Folsom Sampson. When we interview the son of bitch, you want to be the good cop or the bad cop?”

“Let’s flip for it when we get there, Dill.”

Gillis pulled his Ford pickup up to the curb, next to fire hydrant, across from the Sonrisa guarded, gated community. 

“You know you pulled up into a no parking zone, right Gills?” asked Pickle.

Gillis twisted a bit in his seat and faced Pickle, “I’ve been on the force ten years longer than you, Dill. I’m going to let you in on a secret that only a few senior detectives know. If you’re a cop, you can park anywhere you want. You can park your car on the sidewalk. You can double park it. You can triple park it. You can park in on top of a slow walking pedestrian who is using a walker. I got a pet peeve about walkers. I seen senior citizens use them as weapons. I think they should be banned.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone the secret, Gills. I can’t wait to park my car on the sidewalk in front of my apartment. It’ll be safer that way.”

Gillis and Pickle, The Bumbling Detectives, Return on Monday 

© Ray Calabrese 2018

7 ~ Gillis Suggests Two Nicknames To Wendy

by

7

Pickle opened the ME’s door and stood aside and said, “Please rise, the man who desire more than any other is about to enter.” Pickle paused for a poignant moment and spoke as if he was announcing a late night TV talk show host, here’s Detective Gills.”  Pickle made a sweeping gesture with his right arm  and Gillis soon followed. 

Gillis paused at the door, waved to the twenty-three people in the room as if he were the Queen of England or the Pope. Unfortunately not counting Pickle and himself, and only one was alive. The other twenty-two were deceased and waiting to be autopsied. The living human being, Doctor Wendy Flox, dressed in blue scrubs and matching latex free gloves stood over the Monkey holding a scalpel in her left hand. She had her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, the ponytail stuck out from behind her skull cap. Wendy glanced up from the deceased toward Gillis and Pickle.

She pulled the mask off her face, lifted it over her forehead and let it rest on the blue skull cap. She grumbled, “I’m busy. What do you two fools want?”

Gillis walked confidently toward Wendy. He said, “Is that anyway to greet the president and vice president of your fan club?” He fist bumped Pickle and then did a pirouette ending with his right arm extending toward Wendy. 

“If you’re looking for applause, it’s not going to happen, tomorrow, or any other time you are within five miles of me. Make it quick. I’ve got two more stiffs to examine.”

Gillis smiled and said, “If I was you, I’d find a different outfit for work. You know one that’s a lot sexier than scrubs. I can help you pick out something more comfortable at Victoria Secrets. Am I right?”

“You’re a jackass. Tell me what you want before I lose whatever is left of my composure,” grumbled Flox.

Gillis mistook Flox’s comment about him being a Jackass as her way of flirting with him, said, “First things first, how are you and your husband getting along? I hear rumors a split is inevitable. The breakup will be tough, but I’m here for you. Let’s have drinks after work and you can tell me what a louse he is. I’ll be understanding and agree to whatever you have to tell me about him. I won’t even make a comment when you tell me you’re faking it with him. After drinks, we can go to my place do our love dance.”

Wendy Flox jammed the scalpel into the deceased’s armpit and placed her latex free gloved hands on her hips. She glared at Gillis, “My personal life is none of your business. For the record, Richard and I are happily married.”

“Stage one, denial. Please make a mental note of my empathy. Are those latex free gloves?” asked Gillis.

“Yes, why?”

“I’ll make sure we stop and pick up latex free condoms on the way to my apartment,” said Gillis feeling proud of his sensitivity in picking up the latex free cue from Flox.

Flox pulled the scalpel out of the monkey and made a threatening gesture toward Gillis.

Pickle came riding in on cue rescuing his partner, “Hey, Wendy. Lighten up. Gills is being friendly. No need for an attitude. Gills is concerned about your marital stress and wants to take you out for drinks when you finish carving up the monkey. Don’t worry, we won’t tell animal rights groups what you’re doing. We’re both here for you when the crap hits the fan. Besides, Gills is worried about your biological clock running out. It’d be a shame if you didn’t have his babies since Richard is apparently infertil.”

Wendy looked at the scalpel in her hand. The possibilities it offered were endless. She was satisfied the scalpel was sharp enough to slit Gillis from his throat to his pelvis. She could do the same job on Gillis the killer did on the monkey. She glanced at the tool tray and eyeballed another scalpel that would easily take off both of Pickle’s ears. Flox had only one decision. She had was to decide if she could kill the two detectives that no one likes, and get away with murder. She could claim justifiable homicide. Not a jury in the world would convict her. Flox decided against it. She’d have to do two more autopsies. 

Flox said, “You got two minutes, Gillis.”

“Before we start the clock, I got an easy one, not related to the deceased or us having sex tonight.”

Wendy rolled her eyes, “Okay, what is it and it better not be stupid.”

Gillis flashed what he thought was a smile that melted a frigid woman’s heart. He said, “Everyone on the force has a nickname but you. This creates problems because everyone but Pickle and me thinks you’re stuck up. Since I always have your best interests in mind, I came up with two choices that will catch on like the common cold in January.”

Wendy took her hands off her hips and folded them across her chest. She looked like a diamondback rattlesnake coiled to strike. She snarled, “What?”

Gillis said, “I put together all of your excellent qualities, brains, looks, sex appeal, temper, ran it through my brain, which is faster than IBM’s Watson and came up with the two perfect nicknames. You choose, me and Pickle will accept either one and make sure it gets around.”

“What?”

“The first nickname comes from the fact that I believe your biological clock is about to run out. What do you think of Hot Flashes?” asked Gillis.

“I like the second one, Gills. You know the one that describes a young cat,” said Pickle.

“You say it and I will march right up to Courageous’s office and put you both on report for sexual harrassment. Your two minutes starts now.”

“Let me time this.” Gillis pulled out his iPhone. He popped in his passcode. “I’m not one to give out my passcode. I set it to the first name of hottest woman in the department. Oh hell, I just gave it it away.”

Pickle said, “Tonya? You were just saying you’d like to spend a night with her.”

Gillis didn’t blink, “You’re mistaken, Dill. That was Cap. I told Cap he better watch it, he could be brought up on sexual harassment charges.”

“Gotcha. Yah, we got to keep an eye on Cap.”

“Fool. You’ve used thirty seconds,” said Wendy, bending over the Monkey. 

“I’ll make it quick, what was the cause of death”

Wendy stared at the scalpel. Instead of killing Gillis and Pickle, she could stab herself in the heart or slice her aorta. She’d die a quick death and except for the initial incision, there wouldn’t be a lot of pain. She shook the thought out of her head and said, “Loss of blood.”

“You are busting my balls, Wendy. Give me a break. Pickle and me got a job to do. We head up the Bizarre Crimes Unit. What caused the loss of blood?” said Gillis.

Wendy straightened up, “You look as stupid as you talk. Anybody ever tell you that? Did you know you have mustard in the dishrag you try to pass off as a hair piece? I’ve seen better hair on roadkill. Here’s your answer, it was decapitation or the gutting of his sternum that caused the loss of blood.”

Gillis worked with his piece trying to adjust it. He said, “I wanted to see if you’d notice. Only a woman who is sexually attracted to me, would notice and tell me. Will you marry me?”

Flox started coming around the slab after Gillis when Pickles said, “How do you figure decapitation was the cause of death?”

Flox regained control and returned to her original position keeping the dead monkey between her and Gillis and Pickle. She said, “The head was three feet away from the body. Anyone with a half brain could see that. And, he was opened up as if he were a zipper.”

Gillis put his iPhone in his pant’s pocket, “A couple more questions, that’s all. Then we can talk about where we will dine and drink tonight. Did the monkey suffer?”

Flox wondered if she got caught in a reality TV show. Or, if she was in one of those reoccurring nightmares. She said, “Gillis, how would you feel if someone cut your guts out?”

Pickle butted in, “Is that anyway to talk to man who is going to father your babies?”

Flox swished the scalpel at Pickle. Pickle jumped back even though he wasn’t close enough to get hurt. “Ha, you missed,” he said.

“It was practice. I’m getting the range,” snapped Flox.

Gillis said, “Any fingerprints on the guts?”

Flox responded, “Where did you get these questions? “The killers took the guts.”

Gillis raised his hands, “Hold on. Your bias is coming out. These questions were compiled by the greatest minds in criminology. We’re the messengers. We got to ask what we got to ask.”

Flox reached for a second scalpel, “Leave before I lose it.”

Thanks for the cooperation, Wendy. I know a nice place, Bennie’s Ice House. We can have a few brewski’s, a burger, and play a game of pool to determine where we spend the night.”

Wendy flipped the middle finger of her right hand to Gillis.

Gillis raised his eyebrows, “Thanks for letting me know you didn’t like pool. How about going straight to my place we’ll have take out Chinese, and play strip poker. Pickle will call your husband and tell him you’re on a special assignment.”

“I’m available for a candlelight dinner, if your schedule is too crowded for Gillis,” said Pickle.

Wendy grabbed the other scalpel and started around the slab. Gillis and Pickle headed for the door. Pickle stood aside and let Gillis escape first, then he followed Gillis, slamming the door behind him. A thump was heard on the door.

Gillis turned around and stared at the door, “We’ve got to be a bit more careful. Wendy’s becoming more accurate throwing the scalpel. That’s what attracts me to her. Imagine all that passion focused on me for a night. I tell yah, Pickle, Wendy knows she’s in love with me and this is her way of showing how much she loves me.”

“Want me to talk to Richard and tell him it’s time to move on and tell him Wendy is in love with you?” asked Pickle.

“I want to be more subtle, Dill. When we finish the case, I’ll invite her to go to Vegas with me to get married.”

Pickle pushed the button for the elevator. He said, “You’re always thinking of the other person, Gills. One day, I want to be just like you.

© Ray Calabrese 2018

6 ~ Pickle Believes Gillis Understands Women Better Than Women Do

by

6

Courageous twisted his head slightly toward the window. He was reconsidering his decision not to throw himself in a full body slam at the window. If he was sure he’d break the glass and soar into space, he’d do it. Hell couldn’t be worse than what he was experiencing with Gillis and Pickle. Sigmund Freud couldn’t figure these two out if he had three lifetimes, thought Courageous. Then he remembered his good friend, Pete Thissel, who headed the Unsolved Crimes Unit. Six months ago, Pete Thissel, tried leaping through the window from the 45th floor after working with Gillis and Pickle for two weeks. Pete ended up with a fractured skull. He was never the same after that, he’s in an assistant care facility. Gillis and Pickle got a citation for solving the case.

Courageous closed his eyes visualizing how much longer until retirement. Eighteen months, that’s all I have to make before I can retire on a full pension. That’s less than two years. I can do it. I can do it, he repeated to himself. A brief moment later, he opened his eyes and smiled like someone who’d taken one two many anxiety pills. It was a smile of someone who was thinking of dinner at Flipetti’s Trattoria instead of the two lunatics in front of him. He’d have to eat alone, his wife called and said she’d be late, she had a late meeting with the mayor this afternoon she couldn’t break. 

Courageous took a deep breath and said “Listen up Gillis and Pickle, the press is going to be all over this case once they hear about it. I’m keeping a lid on it. No leaks. Keep it quiet. I want it solved by the end of the week.”

“Too late for that, Cap,” said Gillis.

“What!” screamed Courageous, his calm demeanor left him faster than a rocket leaving Cape Kennedy for outer space.

Gillis said, “Thought you’d be happy. I took the liberty of calling Elaine Hazel at the Daily News. I owed her one for the great sex we had after I leaked the story about the unsolved case that is no longer unsolved. Don’t tell anyone, I not one to kiss and tell if you know what I mean.

Courageous’s heart momentarily flatlined, then went into Afib before backing off into A flutter turning his face redder than a ripe tomato and his balding head into a Vegas neon sign.

Pickle, ever helpful, offered Courageous his take, “I saw an ad on cable for high blood pressure, Cap. It’s from one of the endangered species that will be extinct in six months. That’s why the company is hunting all of them before hunting them is banned. Question for you, Cap. Is it banned or band? The two words can be easily confused. The ad said you can get your first order free if you subscribe to receive a supplementary order every week for two years. If you order now, they’ll send a bonus gift card good for …” 

“Please leave before I throw the two of you at the window.”

“Caio,” said Gillis as he stood and turned toward the door.

Pickle followed Gillis and said, “I think you meant, chow, the two words are easy mistaken and misused.

Gillis and Pickle left Courageous’s office and entered the elevator. Pickle pushed the B button and the elevator began its slow descent toward the basement. He stepped back, “You’d think they’d put the morgue up here with the Cap since he’s in charge of the hormone unit.”

“You mean homicide unit, right?” asked Gillis, then realized his error. He quickly added, “Don’t say it, the two words are easily confused.”

“You are the best, Gills. You can read my mind before the thought hits my lips. How do you do that?” asked Pickle.

“Just a gift I was born with, Dill. You ought to put your idea about moving the morgue in the suggestion box. You might win the weekly prize.” 

“Thanks for encouraging me, Gills. I’ve always been creative. I remember when I was in fourth grade, I turned my math test upside down and did the test.”

Gillis turned his toward Pickle, “How’d that work out for you?”

“See, that’s the problem with schools, Gills. They penalize creative kids. They reward the ass kissers who play by the rules. That’s why we’re such a good team. Following the law and the rules are for the other cops. We make it up as we go along.”

“Good point, Dill,” Gills said. Then he added, “Cap’s pretty emotional about this case. I got a feeling he and the deceased were close friends.”

“I noticed that. You see the vein in his right temple doing the Paso Doble? I thought Cap was going to have an anus and it was going to pop any second.”

Gillis wasn’t quite sure where to begin. He couldn’t let it pass. He said, “You mean aneurysm, right? Only helping out in case you ever have to interview a dietician, Dill,” said Gillis.

The elevator sped past the second floor on its descent. Pickles said, “Two easily confused words, Gills. They had this PBS special on television about confusing words. I watched it while Karen and I were having sex.”

“You watched a TV show about confusing words while you were having sex?” Gillis said as the elevator came to a stop at the basement level.

“I call it word porn. It’s a turn on for me.”

“What about Karen?”

“She left me in the morning. I can’t figure out why. I’m sure she liked it, she didn’t say a word during or after sex. I always take that as a good sign.”

“Women are hard to figure, Dill. Speaking of such, back me up with Wendy. No question she’s got the hots for me. I’ve been playing hard to get and it’s driving her nuts. I’m going to torment her until her libido explodes and she can’t control her sexual aggression for me.”

“You understand the female species better than women understand their own species. That’s where you have the edge, Gills. I wish I had your gift for the ladies. Me? Right now I’m on the new dating site, desperate dot com.” 

Gillis and Pickle walked down the dimly lit bowels of police headquarters. Steam pipes, covered with dust and cobwebs lined the ceiling, the light barely strong enough to keep them from tripping on a rat scurrying across the floor.

“This place gives me the creeps. You think the city would send an inspector and shut it down. No self respecting corpse wants to be found dead here, said Gillis.

“Rumor has it the Chief has pull with the mayor’s office. He’s pulling strings to keep the food inspectors away,” said Pickle. 

Gillis wasn’t sure where to take the food inspector comment. He let it slide and pointed ahead, “There’s the morgue. Wendy was experiencing PMS earlier. It proved one thing to me.”

“What’s that, Gills?” asked Pickle.

“Wendy’s still capable of having my babies. Maybe I need to talk to her about her biological clock.”

“You is always one step ahead of the ladies, Gills. My aunt Louise would say you got chick dust sprinkled on you when you was born. The ladies cannot resist you.”

“I thought that was dandruff,” laughed Gills. “Heads up, Dill. Like Cap always says, we got to show our sensitive side.”

Dill fist bumped Gills and said, “Like my Grams always said, ‘You catch more frogs with bacon.’”

“Got to remember that one. Okay if I use it now and then?” said Gillis.

 

© Ray Calabrese 2018

5 – Pickle Utters a Double Entendre

by

5

Courageous was fighting hand to hand combat with his demons who were encouraging him to heave himself through the window and plunge to his death at an accelerating speed of 9.8 meters per second, per second. Life isn’t fair, his demons argued, Gillis and Pickle are decorated veterans of the homicide department. Yet, they are the two most incompetent, bumbling detectives on planet Earth. Why is it, everything always turns out right for them? And, all I get is angina pain, a hiatus hernia, and hemorrhoids. 

 “You’re deep in thought, Cap. Thinking about how to turn the Mrs on? I hear sardines are an aphrodisiac. What you do is to place a sardine between your lips and feed it to your wife,” said Gillis.

Courageous tripped over his feet in an attempt to stick a complicated pirouette and fell backward into his chair. He swirled it around. “My sex life is none of your business. Just solve the damn murder.”

“Don’t take it personal, Cap. Me and Pickles are here to help. I’m no Dr. Phil, but I have my way with the ladies. The way I see it, you may be suffering from erectile dysfunction. It’s nothing to be ashamed about. Lots of overweight men in high stress jobs, suffer a similar fate. Fortunately, there’s help…”

“I don’t need help. I don’t want help. I only want you two to leave,” Courageous pleaded. 

Pickles chimed in, “Listen up, Cap. Gills is right on at ED. You want to be ready when the moment arrives. Know what I mean? Me and Gills are going to relieve your stress. We’re over this killing like sprinkles on ice cream, like barbecue sauce on your breakfast cereal. We’re on it like genital warts on a porn star. We’ll get the killer before the killer gets the next Monkey,” said Pickle.

Courageous mumbled a string of curse words seldom heard anyplace but in the depths of hell. The muscles in his forearms bulged pushing as hard as he could against his temples in a desperate attempt to crush his brain.

Gillis said, “Didn’t quite catch that, Cap. Did you say the killer is a son of a bitch? No need to use that language. There’s no evidence the killer was a son of a bitch. I personally checked the lead out. I’m sure the killer was not a dog and I’ll tell you why. See, a dog wouldn’t be able to neatly cut off a head and place it by the Monkey’s feet. Moreover, I never heard of the dog community and the monkey community being at odds with each other. Now, I’ve heard of friction between the dog and feline community. What they got going on makes the Israeli and Palestinian stuff look like kids play, know what I mean? What do you think, Dill?”

Pickle responded, “All in all Monkeys are a good natured lot. Every once in a while you get a bad monkey. Lot’s of folks might tell you to slap the …”

Gillis interrupted, “Don’t go there, Dill. What you’re getting into is a double, maybe triple or quadruple entendre.  Now, pit bulls, that’s a whole different matter. This makes me think the killer was a pit bull owner.”

“I, I, didn’t say the killer was a son of bitch. I, I think you misunderstood me,” said Courageous pushing his left index finger against the pulsating vein in his left temple.

Gillis said, “Your cussing, Cap. See, you said son of a bitch. Now, when I say it, it’s not cussing because I’m helping you out. And, the way I say son of a bitch is that I am talking about a male dog who is the offspring of a female dog. Now, if the male dog is not the offspring of a female dog, this presents a whole new line of investigation where we have to bring in forensics, dermatologists, and the Mayo Clinic. If you want to cuss or curse or swear, it’s okay by me. I know some choice words you might want to use. I’ll give you a couple of hints, one starts with mother, two more are four letter words so they’ll be easy to remember.”

Gillis stopped talking when Courageous got up from his seat, and pulled his chair back with such force it ricochet off the bullet proof window and rolled back to the desk. Courageous steadied himself with his two hands placed firmly on the desk, leaned forward bit. He would have leaned forward a bit more but his belly was resting on the desk top.

“Excuse me, Cap,” said Pickle. “I’m only thinking of you. One of my ex girlfriends works for a trusted weight loss program that lets you eat all you want to eat, whenever you want to eat, for as long as you want eat, and you’re guaranteed to lose weight. The program is covered by most medical insurances. You’ll need to check with your plan’s provider to make sure you’re covered. If you don’t mind me saying so, you got a spar tire that probably gets in the way when you’re trying to do the dance with Mrs. Courageous. That is, if she isn’t frigid.” 

Courageous’s left eye started twitching. He lifted his right hand and placed a forefinger on on his eyebrow and thumb below his eye in a futile attempt to stop the twitch. 

“Botox will take care of the twitch, Cap,” said Gillis. “It’s okay to have an eye twitch. Some women find it very attractive like Clara your secretary, if you know what I mean.”

“Not another word. Not another word,” shouted Courageous.

Gillis stared at Courageous’ left earlobe, a trick he learned in communication class in community college. Pickle steepled his fingers and placed both thumbs on his lips against his teeth. He used the tops of his fingers as a gunsight trained along the part in Courageous’ white hair.

A long two minutes later, Courageous plopped into his chair and drew himself as close to his desk as his belly allowed. He said “I now remember why I created the Bizarre Crimes Unit and assigned this case to you two. Listen up. The dead monkey was a beloved friend of Folsom Sampson. Folsom Sampson has the mayor’s ear.”

“And, something else I might add,” said Gillis winking at Courageous.

Courageous placed two angina pills under his tongue. He closed his eyes and appeared to mumbling an incantation or prayer, we’ll never know. He opened his eyes, and said, “The mayor said solve the crime, solve it fast or he’ll recommend departmental cuts. Now, leave and don’t come back until you have something to report.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” said Gillis. 

“Excuse Gills, Cap. He should have said, void of conference. The expressions are almost interchangeable.”

Gillis ignored Dill. He smiled at Courageous, and said, “We’re on this, Cap like peanut on butter, like grill on cheese, like dog urine on a fire hydrant. As soon as Wendy finishes with the corpse and she and I spend the night together, Dill and me will get right on it. You know if she is still living with her husband? With your permission, if she isn’t, I’d like to hit on her. I don’t want to commit adulatory unless you authorize it.”

Courageous attempted to process the rapid flow of information coupled with a racing heart rate, and bile rushing up his esophagus at the speed of light, said, “You know what sexual harassment is Gillis?”

“Don’t worry, Cap. She can harass me all she wants. I won’t make an issue of it,” said Gillis.

“Gills is right, Cap. I’ll close my eyes too. If I don’t see it, I can’t report it. We got your back. You got nothing to worry about,” said Pickle.

 

© Ray Calabrese 2018

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