I Can’t Think Of An Appropriate “Lost” Reference.

When I close cases, they stay closed. That’s because when I’ve solved something, it’s solved. Completely.

So I don’t appreciate the Chief reopening that missing persons case I completed.

Yeah, he can fly a plane. Foxes have natural aptitude for combat piloting.

Even now, I’m replaying the conversation in my head, because it makes a good narrating device.

The Chief’s office is dark. What light there is is coming in through the window from the streetlights. He doesn’t realize I’m standing in the doorway, he just sits leaning back in his chair, muttering into the phone. That’s the first clue that something’s up. The Chief barks, shouts, exhorts, threatens, or shrieks, but he’s never spoken that quietly since he was three years old.

“Working late, huh?” I say from the shadows in the doorway.

He looks up, startled, and hastily hangs up with a Yeah I’ll see you tomorrow, k?

“Good to know that when us brave boys in blue are out there putting our lives on the line, you’ve got our backs.”

What do you want, Fox?

“You reopened my case.”

The guy’s not back yet.

“It’s not my job to bring him back, It’s my job to find him. I found him.”

Awright, then where is he?

“Bumming around Fiji somewhere. If somebody doesn’t like it, that’s not my problem.”

Is if I say it is.

A squad car pulls up outside, and the room goes alternating red and blue. The Chief’s backlit, so I can’t see his face, but I can tell he’s more than just grumpy, he sounds angry. As if he was scared of something. Guess he forgot I’m a detective.

“So who’s been making it your problem? And what’d they use to do it: money, threats, or both?”

Detective, you are on VERY thin ice.

“Are you sure? I’d say I’m about to strike oil.” A picture flutters out of the darkness onto his desk. “Who’s the hairless dame, Chief? And why’s her snapshot in your locker?”

There’s a long silence. Fox, I don’t want to have to-

“Who is she?”

He sighs. His sister. She wants him back. Doesn’t care how.

“Or what she has to do to get him back.” Disgusting.

Please, Fox. Just do the job. Let me put an end to the whole thing quietly. I’m a married man.

“He’s not gonna like getting traced and dragged back.” No reply. The flashing lights are long gone. “Fine. But you owe me.”

So that’s why I’m playing bomber pilot with a sack of supplies and a concealed GPS locater. That’s why I’m about to drag a man away from the place he’s happy. Because the Chief wanted to stay where he was happy. And because the sooner he gets back, the sooner I go back to where I’m–if not happy–not mad either.

The Final Word.

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