Warning: Adult situations and language.
John Gage walked into the locker area to tell his partner that supper was ready. "Mmm . . . spearmint."
Roy Desoto pulled the shirt back over his shoulder and started to re-button it.
"Is something wrong?" Johnny asked.
"No, nothing is wrong."
"Then why do I smell liniment? Did you strain something on that last run?"
"Nothing is strained. Just minor aches."
"Yeah? What happened?"
Desoto sighed. "Chris is thinking about trying out for a youth league football team. So we tossed the ball around yesterday afternoon."
"Ah, and the old man couldn't keep up. I understand."
Roy opened his mouth to retort, but the tones interrupted.
'Rescue 51. Unknown-type rescue. 24741 1/2 Elm Street. Two four seven four one and one-half Elm Street. Cross street States Boulevard. Caller requests non-code R response. Time out 18:33.'
Captain Hank Stanley hung the mike up and ripped the response address off the call pad. He handed the slip to Roy Desoto through the driver's window of the squad. Roy glanced at the address and passed the slip over to John Gage.
"24741 and a half Elm? That's about a block away from that little diner Vince told us about, but I don't remember what else is on that street."
"I think there's a drug store on the opposite corner and a bookstore somewhere in the area, but one half? Upstairs?"
Desoto turned the squad onto Elm Street and the paramedics began looking for the address.
"Hey, Vince is at the diner," Johnny pointed at the black and white parked near the corner of the block. "If we don't respond to the hospital maybe we could stop for a cup of coffee?"
"You want to join Vince for coffee? Because it doesn't look like the rookie we met this afternoon is eating." Desoto indicated the young lady sitting in the passenger seat of the squad car studying the papers they could see her flipping. She glanced up as they passed and waved. "She looked a little green around the gills at that accident at noon."
Desoto found the address 24741 and pulled the squad to the curb.
Johnny looked to the roof of the building. "No second floor."
"Alley." Roy pointed to the narrow opening between the buildings.
"Can I help you carry something?" The rookie policewoman appeared from behind the squad.
"Where's Vince?"
"Paying for his dinner."
"Great. This one isn't too heavy . . . Maggie? Right?" John Gage handed one of the cases to the police officer as she nodded.
"How are you feeling?" Roy asked as he got the equipment out of his side of the squad.
"Better. But the idea of food still turns me off." She glanced back at the diner and shuddered.
As they walked single file down the narrow alley, they refreshed the girl's memory as to their names. They paused at the door, an open sign placed between the pulled shade and discreetly lettered glass, which spelled out "FantaS-E-Xchange." The rookie was concentrating on getting the paramedic's equipment through the door; she stopped short at the sight that greeted her upon entry. "Oh, dear," she understated, blushing furiously.
The clerk was dressed in a skimpy French maid's costume. "We didn't call the cops. He insisted on no cops."
"Um, I was at the diner down the street."
"We thought calling the cops would have been better, anyway. He's in the dressing room in the back."
The two paramedics led the way through the shop's display cases to the curtain that led to the back room. The rookie followed, keeping her eyes on the floor and off the display cases. Through the curtain she lifted her eyes to the man that the paramedics had been called for. The paramedics were still staring in shocked silence. She lasted five seconds, before she turned around and walked back into the shop proper. Ten seconds later, the bell on the front door jingled.
Vince Howard felt bad for the young lady in his charge that day since her training officer had the flu. The traffic accident they had covered at noon had been particularly messy. He had to give her credit; she hadn't lost her breakfast. But neither had she eaten since. He couldn't find fault in that, he hadn't wanted lunch either. He had hoped the excellent food that this little diner offered would entice the girl, but she'd walked into the diner, breathed in the aroma of today's offerings, and volunteered to work on the reports in the car.
He had almost finished his sandwich when Squad 51 pulled up across the street. The rookie looked a question at him through the diner's window and he waved her to follow the paramedics and indicated he would follow after he paid his check.
He walked into the narrow alley and saw the rookie bent over some trash cans near a door at the back of the building. He hurried down the alley thinking that he'd let her walk into another mess and that she could not hold back the nausea this time until he realized that she was bent over in laughter.
"In the dressing room," was all that she was able to say between the chortles. He walked into the discreet little . . . sex? shop and made his way to the dressing room.
"I said no cops! Who called the cops?"
"She was in the neighborhood!" the clerk yelled back.
The man glared around the room, stopping at the two paramedics. "Are you just gonna stare, or are you gonna get me outta here?"
He stood in the doorway of one of the two changing rooms, his wrists fastened with pink fur-lined handcuffs to the curtain bar traversing the front of the structure. Pink fur was a horrible choice for the cuffs; they clashed terribly with his costume which consisted of a black studded dog collar, black leather vest with fringe, and black leather chaps. The scrap which barely covered his privates was also black leather.
"Um, Mr. . . ." Roy began.
"Smith. Mr. John Smith."
"Really?" The man just glared at Johnny.
"Okay, Mr. . . . Smith. Did you lose the key?"
"No, I didn't lose the key! The fucking key broke off in the lock! I been stuck here for," Mr. Smith struggled to see his watch, "twenty minutes! Get me the hell outta here!"
Roy looked around the stock room that housed the dressing rooms, finding a stock-man's step stool. He used the stool so that he could examine the handcuffs more closely, drawing his arm up to hold the agitated man still. A loud POP echoed through the room. Desoto moved his arm in a circle to check the damage.
"My shoulder feels better." Roy looked rather amazed.
"Well, Whoop-de-fucking-do," Mr. Smith replied sarcastically. "What about me?"
"Looks like we're gonna have to cut the cuffs off."
"Like hell you are! Do you know how much I paid for these?"
John Gage was getting exasperated. "Mr. Smith, how do you propose we get the cuffs off, then?"
"It's your job to figure that out!"
"Let's ask, um, Maggie for a key. One key fits all, huh?"
"Finally, we're getting somewhere. She's probably out in the alley laughing her ass off."
No one had noticed the front door jingle over Mr. Smith's ranting, and they were surprised when Vince Howard stepped through the curtain separating the sales area from the small stockroom. Vince's eyes rounded a bit at the sight before him, but he recovered quickly.
"Is there a problem back here?"
"Glad you're here. We were going to ask Maggie, but can we use your handcuff key to let Mr. Smith loose? He won't let us cut them."
"Maggie is getting information for our report from the clerk." Vince said as he stepped over and looked at the handcuffs, then put the key in the bracelet that was undamaged and freed the trapped man. The paramedics started gathering the equipment that they had not needed and led the way into the main shop. Mr. Smith held up the wrist with the pink fuzzy cuffs hanging off and shouted, "Hey, what about these?"
"Mr. Smith, that is now your problem. I suggest you find a locksmith."
The man took a breath to shout some more. Vince used his most intimidating voice, "Mr. Smith, I suggest that you get dressed."
The rookie had recovered her composure enough to try to look professional about taking notes for the report. She flipped her notebook shut as the three men came out of the back of the shop. They could see the streaks from the tears her laughter had drawn out, and she was trying to bite back the fits of giggles that threatened to return every time she glanced back at the stockroom.
"Um, Officer Howard, does that diner offer take-out? I'm starving."
Vince Howard allowed a small smile at her returned appetite. She was first out the shop's door and held it open for the men carrying their equipment.
The shop girl followed them to the door and said to the departing gentlemen, "Come again soon, Johnny, Roy. And Vince, I know we'll see you again." She winked slyly at the big policeman.
The shop girl and the rookie policewoman were able to hold their faces straight for three beats. Then they submitted to the laughter. "Their faces fell. It was classic," the shop girl said between giggles.
"You did great. You fit all their names in."
John Gage and Roy Desoto closed the equipment bays and opened the cab doors. They watched as Vince Howard steered his rookie charge by the scruff of the neck to the waiting squad car. "I'm serious about being hungry, sir. And I wouldn't mind a chance to use the facilities, if you know what I mean."
"You still want that coffee?"
"Nah." Johnny looked out the passenger window and down the alley as they passed. He started snickering. "It was funny."
Desoto shook his head. "Black leather and pink handcuffs. What was he thinking?"
"Yeah, what was he thinking?" Johnny's eyes glazed over as he became lost in thought.
"What are you thinking?" Roy asked, knowing he was going to regret the question.
"Chet. . . ."
Return to Logbook | Return
to Follies