Strix
Two NYPD plainclothes detectives stood next to a New York hot dog stand. The female detective wiped mustard from her lips and took a sip of coffee. "Call the LT," she told the man who was still half-way through his polish with kraut. "Slow down, Goddard. You'll give yourself indigestion." She rolled her eyes and set down the coffee. "Please," she said simultaneously with signing the word.
The male detective put his dog on top of a nearby pay phone and called the station. "It's Detective Dunlop. Goddard and I are heading on foot to Henry's Tavern.... No, we came up blank at Conley's apartment, his girlfriend's apartment, and his work. They haven't seen him; hasn't come in since last week... Yeah, OK. Thanks." He hung up the receiver and grabbed his lunch. Returning to his partner, he said, "The Lieutenant told us he'd send over some blues to help us canvas the neighborhood if we come up empty."
But she ignored him, staring across the busy intersection and down the street to the bar where they were heading. Det. Dunlop grunted in frustration and tapped her on the shoulder so she would turn around. Once he got her attention, he repeated what he just said and she nodded. "He's there," she said.
"How do you know? Did you see him?"
"Because the Mets are playing." She signed as she spoke.
"Yeah, so?"
She read his lips and sighed. "Trust me." She didn't have the time to explain it and if he'd only learn sign language, their discussions would go much more smoothly.
They finished their lunch, crossed the street, and walked to the bar. A television mounted over the bar showed the game in progress. Though there were a few lunchtime people there, there was no sign of Mr. Conley.
"Looks like you were wrong, Martha," Det. Dunlop told his partner, who was already approaching the bartender. She pulled out a paper from her jacket, unfolded it, and placed it on the counter. It was the sketch of a white male with thin beard that they had identified as Mr. Conley. "You seen this man?" she asked.
The bartender glanced at the paper without actually studying it and shook his head. "Nope. Never seen him." Det. Goddard narrowed her eyes. She couldn't hear his words, but she did hear something completely different. He's in the men's room. Taking the paper back, she said, "Thank you."
She turned to her partner and pointed to the restroom. She walked down the narrow hallway and past the restroom door. Confused, but trusting his hot shot partner, Det. Dunlop shrugged and stood on the near side of the door, blocking access to the rest of the bar. When the door opened and the spindly Mr. Conley stepped out and turned the corner, he had to get past Det. Dunlop. "'scuse me, man," he said.
"No, excuse me," Det. Dunlop replied as he revealed his badge. He smiled and tried to take Mr. Conley by the arm, but the latter was too quick and took off running back. Det. Goddard put out her arms and tried to tackle him, but she was bowled over. Mr. Conley slammed open the back door took off down the alleyway. Det. Goddard scrambled to her feet and out the door just in time to see her suspect run around the corner.
She stopped her partner from giving chase--the middle-aged detective would never catch up. "Back to the car," she said.
In the car, she was very focused with a faraway look in her eyes and ignored her partner when he spoke. "I guess we'll go stake out his girlfriend's place. Doubt he'd head home." He was in the middle of a radio call back to the station when she grabbed his arm and pointed. "Turn left! Here!" She jerked his hand and the steering wheel lurched.
He dropped the radio and managed the turn. Three blocks later, she had him stop in front of a convenience store. She got out, pulled her service piece, and waited for her partner to do the same. "Well, I'll be..." he mumbled as they walked through the front door and saw their Mr. Conley shopping for beer and beef jerky. "Freeze!" she yelled with her gun leveled. "Don't even think of running," Det. Dunlop added. "Down on the floor." Knowing they'd shoot this time, Mr. Conley went down on the floor and put his hands on the back of his head, as if he'd gone through this before.
The male detective put his dog on top of a nearby pay phone and called the station. "It's Detective Dunlop. Goddard and I are heading on foot to Henry's Tavern.... No, we came up blank at Conley's apartment, his girlfriend's apartment, and his work. They haven't seen him; hasn't come in since last week... Yeah, OK. Thanks." He hung up the receiver and grabbed his lunch. Returning to his partner, he said, "The Lieutenant told us he'd send over some blues to help us canvas the neighborhood if we come up empty."
But she ignored him, staring across the busy intersection and down the street to the bar where they were heading. Det. Dunlop grunted in frustration and tapped her on the shoulder so she would turn around. Once he got her attention, he repeated what he just said and she nodded. "He's there," she said.
"How do you know? Did you see him?"
"Because the Mets are playing." She signed as she spoke.
"Yeah, so?"
She read his lips and sighed. "Trust me." She didn't have the time to explain it and if he'd only learn sign language, their discussions would go much more smoothly.
They finished their lunch, crossed the street, and walked to the bar. A television mounted over the bar showed the game in progress. Though there were a few lunchtime people there, there was no sign of Mr. Conley.
"Looks like you were wrong, Martha," Det. Dunlop told his partner, who was already approaching the bartender. She pulled out a paper from her jacket, unfolded it, and placed it on the counter. It was the sketch of a white male with thin beard that they had identified as Mr. Conley. "You seen this man?" she asked.
The bartender glanced at the paper without actually studying it and shook his head. "Nope. Never seen him." Det. Goddard narrowed her eyes. She couldn't hear his words, but she did hear something completely different. He's in the men's room. Taking the paper back, she said, "Thank you."
She turned to her partner and pointed to the restroom. She walked down the narrow hallway and past the restroom door. Confused, but trusting his hot shot partner, Det. Dunlop shrugged and stood on the near side of the door, blocking access to the rest of the bar. When the door opened and the spindly Mr. Conley stepped out and turned the corner, he had to get past Det. Dunlop. "'scuse me, man," he said.
"No, excuse me," Det. Dunlop replied as he revealed his badge. He smiled and tried to take Mr. Conley by the arm, but the latter was too quick and took off running back. Det. Goddard put out her arms and tried to tackle him, but she was bowled over. Mr. Conley slammed open the back door took off down the alleyway. Det. Goddard scrambled to her feet and out the door just in time to see her suspect run around the corner.
She stopped her partner from giving chase--the middle-aged detective would never catch up. "Back to the car," she said.
In the car, she was very focused with a faraway look in her eyes and ignored her partner when he spoke. "I guess we'll go stake out his girlfriend's place. Doubt he'd head home." He was in the middle of a radio call back to the station when she grabbed his arm and pointed. "Turn left! Here!" She jerked his hand and the steering wheel lurched.
He dropped the radio and managed the turn. Three blocks later, she had him stop in front of a convenience store. She got out, pulled her service piece, and waited for her partner to do the same. "Well, I'll be..." he mumbled as they walked through the front door and saw their Mr. Conley shopping for beer and beef jerky. "Freeze!" she yelled with her gun leveled. "Don't even think of running," Det. Dunlop added. "Down on the floor." Knowing they'd shoot this time, Mr. Conley went down on the floor and put his hands on the back of his head, as if he'd gone through this before.
Labels: Character
posted by Patrick at 9:28 AM
<< Home