The Moderately High Seas.
Ya know, Sly, I been thinkin.
“That’s rarely a good sign.”
Why is it dat we end up doin’ all da police work dere is in dis city? I mean, we wind up on motorcycle patrol, he get sent to chase down random thugs, we get called in to find art forgers… Look at dis! Aint dere a coast guard or nuffin?
“What’s your point?”
Dunno. Jus makin’ conversation.
Word came in a couple hours ago that someone was pulling illegal salvage just outside the harbor. I failed to look busy enough, so here I am, bemoaning the fact that I can’t drive a boat and so had to let Max do it.
I know when you hear ‘illegal salvage’ you think a charismatic band of down on their luck pirates who struggle to get by against an omnipresent and oppressive government.
Ok, maybe that’s just me, but anyway. The point is that if you were to think that you’ be wrong. Especially about the charismatic part.
Ye scurvy cur! Take ye filthy hands off’n me treasarrrr!
Tis ye treasarrr when the very seas themselves rise up’n dance the hornpipe, ye warthless barnacle!
Mayhaps ye’ll get a close view o’ that, matey, once I keelhaul ye!
“Um, excuse me? You’re both under arrest, so-”
Aye, but to do that, ye’ll have to be taking yer filthy paws off’n me treasarrr first!
Taint nevar been yer treasarrr, ye flyblown carcass!
“I’m a policeman, so-”
Ye be a double-crossin’ son of a salty pox-ridden doxy!
And ye be a gormless dog with rum fer blood and bilge fer brains!
I’d be guttin ye where ye standif ’tweren’t that ye’d scarper with me treasarrr if I took one paw off it, ye dishonest coward!
Call it yer treasarrr one more time, and I’ll get ye without takin’ a paw off it!
Why donchu jes do this? Max chimes in, Da stupid lookin one splits up da treasure inta two piles, and then da stinky one picks who gets which pile.
They both stare at him. This is what they call an opportunity, and I like to take those. “That’s an excellent idea, Max! But I have an even better one! You guys shut up and come with me!”
An why in the name o’ Davy Jones would we be-
Oh, how I want to smack him in the face. Instead I present him with several profound arguments. “Because I’m a policeman, I have a gun, I have a badge, and I have a faster boat, and you’ve really ticked me off.”
On the docks afterward, Max looks thoughtful. What’re they charged wit, anyway?
“Illegal salvage. And hopefully annoying speech mannerisms.”
It don’t seem ta me dat dey was doin much wrong.
“We’re police, not priests. Doesn’t matter if it’s wrong, as long as it’s illegal.”
Oh. Sly, did you really think that was a good idea?
“For you? It was brilliant.”