Not By The Hair Of Their Chinny Chin Chins.

I’ve heard them say that there’s two kinds of cops; the quick, and the dead.

Maybe make that the quick and the fired.

But that’s not the whole story. It’s not about being quick as much as it’s about being able to know which assumptions you can make, and which ones you can’t. They say when you assume, you make an ass out of you and me. But I happen to know a couple donkeys, in forensics, and judging by the work they do, assumptions aren’t always such a bad thing.

Take this case.

George Orwel’s “Apartment 3-G.”

Not like I want it or anything.

I didn’t have anything better to do–Tiff was still out of town–when a shoplifting call came in. I assumed it’d be a simple matter of walking into a room, pointing, shouting ‘You Did It!’ and going back to the station for a smoke. Turns out there were a few more steps to it than that.

“So I hear that you little piggies went to market.”

The interview, as it were, started off normally enough with the suspects lying.

We never went to the store, and that’s the truth, says the one in the middle.

“What store didn’t you go to?”

Uh, all of them? offers the one on the end.

“So you’ve never been to a store?”

Well, we sure didn’t go to the one that was robbed! growls the one on the other end, sulkily.

“And how do you know you didn’t go there, since I haven’t gotten around to mentioning which one that is?”

The two blondes give eachother this sidelong look, and I know they’re down. Easier than knocking over a couple of brushpiles. But the brunette narrows her eyes, and somewhere behind there I can see a brick wall. It’s gonna take more than breath to knock her over.

“If you don’t feel like answering that one, there’s another one. If the couch cushion is under the end table, then what’s your sister sitting on? Cause either she’s really a lifelike blow-up doll, or your sofa is stuffed with cinderblocks.”

When theirfaces fall, I made an assumption. I assumed this was over. Hoo boy.

Well, I guess you have… the advantage over of us, officer. I don’t really understand what the black-haired one is doing, she suddenly looks like she’s having trouble staying awake, and she’s talking through her, well, snout. And in between the syllables she’s making noises like a kazoo. The other two look just as confused. I suppose you’re going to have to restrain us.

Oh! Yes, and what would happen to three helpless women like us, then! says one of the other two, as if they’d just caught on to something.

The third little pig and I share a glance. The kind that you might have with the only other person on the desert island who hasn’t eaten the spotted mushrooms yet.

And then there’s prison, the brunette remarks, getting up and leaning over for some reason, who knows what would happen to us in there!

Why, almost anything would be better than that.

Oh, don’t tell me.

A girl’d do almost anything, officer, to get out of having to go to prison. She flutters her eyelashes at me. I could have gone my whole life without seeing that.

Well, I’d do almost anything more than she’d do almost anything!

Shut up! This was my idea!

But I saw him first!

Did not!

I’m torn between the urge to be sick and the urge to laugh. “Uh, ahem, ladies, while I’m sure you’re more than willing to… consider alternative methods of repaying your debt to society, I think it’d be best for all concerned if you just came along quietly.”

Ugh! the blond snarls, If you hadn’t butted in, I could had him all to-

Shut up! The brunette is obviously the leader. Officer, when you say it’s best for all concerned-

“‘All concerned’ pretty much means me, yeah. Sorry, girls.”

They only barely fit in the back of the car. The last one in, the blonde who hadn’t caught on to the plan, is still looking confused. What was all that about?

See, yer sistas wuz trying to put da make on Sly ter get outa doing time.

She looks more confused. What?

“Let’s just say they made an assumption about me.”

Bet yer gay, mutters the back seat.

“Because obviously that’s the only possible reason I didn’t jump right into your arms. Right, Margo Magee.”

Well, ladies, if Sly here ain’t interested in cutting a deal-

“Shut up, Max.”

The Final Word.


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