sorry we’ve run into this misunderstanding, but it’s just not going to happen. Now why don’t you get in your car, go back to the station, and forget you ever ran into us this evening.” Greg tried his best mojo on her with equally disappointing results. I’d never ran into anyone who could get past both of us before, but this chick evidently had a will of cast iron.
She reached around to her belt and grabbed a radio, clicking it on as she brought it to her lips. “This is Detective Law, I need a wagon at Lucky Strikes for two passengers.” She put the radio back on her belt and looked at us. “You two are going to spend the night in a holding cell while I figure out exactly what I’m going to charge you with. Unless you have a really good story and start sharing it with me right now.”
Greg and I looked at each other helplessly. This was so far outside the norm as to be really confusing. We’d been bespelling humans for fun and foodstuffs for the better part of two decades and nothing like this had ever happened before. We shared a look that said “you wanna hit her or you want me to?” and I had just decided to deck the pretty detective in front of about seventy witnesses when her radio crackled to life.
“Law.” She answered. She listened to the voice on the other end, which of course Greg and I could hear as well thanks to our super-duper hearing, so we had the benefit of both sides of the conversation.
The disembodied voice said “Detective, we have another abduction. Marjorie Ryan was last seen leaving a school dance with three of her friends forty-five minutes ago. Her friends all arrived home, but Marjorie did not. We’ve established a perimeter between the school and the home, and we have a chopper in the air. What’s your twenty?”
“Lucky Strikes bowling alley. I was just about to question a potential suspect. Obviously he’s not our guy, I’m on my way, should be there in fifteen.”
“Do you need a hand?” I asked.
“No. As a matter of fact, you two are still under arrest. No way do I need you mucking around my crime scene and getting in my way. So gimme your right hands.” She reached behind her and grabbed a pair of handcuffs. Greg and I looked at each other and I shook my head.
“No way, Detective. You don’t have enough to charge us with anything, and you’re not going to handcuff us and leave us here.” I thought if mojo wasn’t working then maybe I could appeal to her sense of reason. “Look, my partner and I have a lot of experience in unusual cases. We could probably be helpful if you’d just let us.”
“Okay, maybe you would be useful.” She seemed to relent, and reached out to shake my hand. Without thinking, I took her hand, and just like in a thousand bad cop movies, she slapped a cuff on it. The she reached over to the swivel chair mounted to the scoring station and locked the other cuff around it. “Now stay put. You, give me your keys.” She said to Greg. He reached in his pocket and handed her the keys to the Pontiac.
“I’m gonna get those back, right?” He asked, looking like a whipped puppy.
“Sure. You can pick them up at the station downtown tomorrow morning. I’ll be sure to have them there by nine.” With that, she turned and headed for the door. I sat down with my arm twisted uncomfortably behind me and looked over at Greg, who took the other seat.
“This would be a very good time to tell my you have a spare set of car keys.” I said, glaring at him.
“Under the back bumper, bro. No worries.”
“Okay, then I won’t have to strangle you in your sleep.”
“I don’t breathe, it wouldn’t do you any good.”
“It would make me feel better.”
“Yeah, I can see where you might be a little disgusted with yourself for falling for the old handshake/handcuff switcheroo.” He looked unbearably smug sitting there. I hate it when he’s got the right answers for things, it messes with the natural order of the
She reached around to her belt and grabbed a radio, clicking it on as she brought it to her lips. “This is Detective Law, I need a wagon at Lucky Strikes for two passengers.” She put the radio back on her belt and looked at us. “You two are going to spend the night in a holding cell while I figure out exactly what I’m going to charge you with. Unless you have a really good story and start sharing it with me right now.”
Greg and I looked at each other helplessly. This was so far outside the norm as to be really confusing. We’d been bespelling humans for fun and foodstuffs for the better part of two decades and nothing like this had ever happened before. We shared a look that said “you wanna hit her or you want me to?” and I had just decided to deck the pretty detective in front of about seventy witnesses when her radio crackled to life.
“Law.” She answered. She listened to the voice on the other end, which of course Greg and I could hear as well thanks to our super-duper hearing, so we had the benefit of both sides of the conversation.
The disembodied voice said “Detective, we have another abduction. Marjorie Ryan was last seen leaving a school dance with three of her friends forty-five minutes ago. Her friends all arrived home, but Marjorie did not. We’ve established a perimeter between the school and the home, and we have a chopper in the air. What’s your twenty?”
“Lucky Strikes bowling alley. I was just about to question a potential suspect. Obviously he’s not our guy, I’m on my way, should be there in fifteen.”
“Do you need a hand?” I asked.
“No. As a matter of fact, you two are still under arrest. No way do I need you mucking around my crime scene and getting in my way. So gimme your right hands.” She reached behind her and grabbed a pair of handcuffs. Greg and I looked at each other and I shook my head.
“No way, Detective. You don’t have enough to charge us with anything, and you’re not going to handcuff us and leave us here.” I thought if mojo wasn’t working then maybe I could appeal to her sense of reason. “Look, my partner and I have a lot of experience in unusual cases. We could probably be helpful if you’d just let us.”
“Okay, maybe you would be useful.” She seemed to relent, and reached out to shake my hand. Without thinking, I took her hand, and just like in a thousand bad cop movies, she slapped a cuff on it. The she reached over to the swivel chair mounted to the scoring station and locked the other cuff around it. “Now stay put. You, give me your keys.” She said to Greg. He reached in his pocket and handed her the keys to the Pontiac.
“I’m gonna get those back, right?” He asked, looking like a whipped puppy.
“Sure. You can pick them up at the station downtown tomorrow morning. I’ll be sure to have them there by nine.” With that, she turned and headed for the door. I sat down with my arm twisted uncomfortably behind me and looked over at Greg, who took the other seat.
“This would be a very good time to tell my you have a spare set of car keys.” I said, glaring at him.
“Under the back bumper, bro. No worries.”
“Okay, then I won’t have to strangle you in your sleep.”
“I don’t breathe, it wouldn’t do you any good.”
“It would make me feel better.”
“Yeah, I can see where you might be a little disgusted with yourself for falling for the old handshake/handcuff switcheroo.” He looked unbearably smug sitting there. I hate it when he’s got the right answers for things, it messes with the natural order of the
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