How To Waste An Officer’s Time.
My discussion with Gentlelady Weasel Thief turned up nothing but quiet housewifely politeness. She’s very good.
Other investigations proved more fruitful. The bit of glass–emerald, big as your larynx, and with the kind of history they like to put in books with shirtless bodybuilders in puffy shirts gazing deep into the eyes of milkmaids–seems to have been pinched from an old contact who goes by the name Brassy, mean right hook, gullible as hell, chip on his shoulder. I was hoping to have drop in for chat with him.
Hope is a vain thing.
The whole thing started because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The wrong place being the Chief’s office, the wrong time being when a rampaging judge happened to storm in.
Who is the lowlife who is supposed to be in my court right now?! Bellows the featherduster.
The Chief’s idea of a witty response is apparently Uh…
Can you tell me why he isn’t?!
Uh, he maybe forgot?
Oh REALLY?! He grinds his, well, not teeth, beak. So, commisioner, who are you going to send to go remind him? Who?! Who?!!
Sly, we gonna arrest dis dude?
“Huh? Oh, oh yeah, sure.”
Ungh… yew can’ ‘rrest me…
“I think you’ll find we can.”
But dis… ain’t my fawlt… da powah went owt!
“Oh Shady. Really.”
He pouts. Ok, whut?
“You know what’s the most depressing about this? It’s not that you drank yourself into a stupor. It’s not that you’re going to be wrestling back your hungover vomit while an owl screeches at you. It’s not that you picked such a lame excuse.”
He blinks at me.
“It’s that even if I believed your pathetic lie, it wouldn’t stop me from arresting your butt.”
Max and I watch them drag him off. I hopes fer ‘is sake ‘e aint too stewed. Judge Hooty aint sumfin I’d wanna face after a bender.
“How many lick’s it take to get to the center of a shrew?” I wonder out loud. “Not that I want to.”
Whut’s the charge, anyways?
“Picking up a wallet.”