GOTHIC DREAM

by Em
Gloved fingers reach for winter's gloom,
Outstretched arms beckoning the tomb;
Gothic love enchants
  no matter where nor whom,
Cemeteries cry out,
  "Come meet your doom!"

Love, Robot Style

by Em

Gary hated chores.  In fact, he hated them so much that his fellow droids thought he was bonkers.  His boss was none-too-thrilled about the situation.  Gary was routinely rebuked and threats to send him to the junkyard were bandied about quite frequently.  Nothing phased Gary.  Not when he was dancing.

Ellerbe wanted nothing more than to wash curtains.  She couldn't get enough of doing laundry, dusting, and vacuuming for the Hotel Roboto.  She was a five-star employee and constantly won bonuses every year.  Ellerbe was a superior droid and felt as comfortable in her nuts and bolts as a tire felt on the road.  She eschewed dilly-dallying and preferred working alone on quiet nights at the hotel.

One late night while working alone, Ellerbe stumbled over a pair of shiny black shoes lying aimlessly in the hallway.  She rolled closer to see what she had run over.  Ellerbe frowned and lifted one of the shoes by the laces to examine it closer.  Just as she got a good look at her reflection in the shoe, she heard a high-pitched *BEEP! HONK! SQUIRP!* from behind!

"What are you doing?"

Ellerbe turned to see a highly alarmed bot stomping toward her.

"Put that down!"  The large angry bot slapped her hand and she dropped the shoe.

"Hey, that was rude," she barked.

"I think not, Ladybot," Gary quipped.  "Those are my dancing shoes."

Ellerbe's eyes lit up a bright red and Gary took a step back.

"Ladybot?  How dare you, you old clunker!  I work hard to keep this place spotless and you junk it up with those useless clodhoppers!" 

She rolled over the shoes, but now she rolled over them on purpose.

"That is entirely uncalled for, Ladybot!"

Ellerbe rolled her robotic eyes.  "Who ever heard of a dancing robot?"  She grabbed her broom and was preparing to roll away when she heard loud techno music.  She turned to see Gary doing some break-dancing moves and noticed he was knocking over potted plants at the same time! 

"Now stop that!  Turn off that carnal music and clean this place up!" 

Gary turned off the music and stared at the overturned foliage before him.  He sighed loudly and turned away.   "Haven't you ever wanted to have fun?  To fall in love?  What better way to fall in love than to dance?"

"What do you mean?"  Ellerbe felt her bolts loosen a bit as she noticed Gary gazing at her from across the room.  As he reached for her, she dropped her duster and she drifted into his robotic arms.  He took the lead and they swayed smoothly through the room as Gary sang gently to her.  Ellerbe felt her robotic cares melt away and she rested her head on Gary's shoulder for just a fraction of a second.

Suddenly, the dance ended and Ellerbe found herself being gently released from Gary's embrace.  She stood for a moment with mouth agape.  Gary deftly picked up Ellerbe's duster and returned it to her.  She found herself smiling and feeling not quite like her old self.

 "Now, the next time you feel like doing that again, don't hesitate to let me know," Gary grinned.  As he hummed a happy tune, he helped Ellerbe clean up the plants that were still strewn about the hotel hallway.

"Say," she started, "do you mind helping me clean up the laundry room?" 

Gary just turned and said, "For you darling, anything."

Zombies Ain't The Best Roommates

by Em

Out, out, damn Zombie! I shrieked as the monster who used to be Joel trundled toward me.  His forehead oozed green goo.  I wondered from whence in the human body that verdant slime originated.  The face that formerly held both of Joel’s eyes stared at me blankly.

“Joel, we talked about this.  If we’re going to share this apartment, I need to have some space without you intruding all the time.”  As my zombie roommate trod off to our small living room to watch “Shaun of the Dead” (no doubt to pick up some pointers), I realized how hard this living arrangement would be. 

After all, ever since Joel had become a zombie, the pus from his body and dead skin were creating a mess around the apartment.  He had stopped showering and he was beginning to annoy me with his late night moaning and attempts to break into my room and eat my brain.   How many times had I changed the locks lately?

While walking to the bus stop together one morning, Joel was lagging behind.  His had a slow drag to his step these days and we had missed the bus a few times because of his staggering behind.  This morning we left early to be sure we arrived at the bus stop in time. 

When I turned to look behind me, Joel and five other zombie-types had gathered at a nearby stoop and appeared to be ogling me.  I suddenly felt vulnerable.  In fact, I kept a police baton in my bag (don’t ask!) for moments like these.  I remembered from my Zombie Defense Class that zombies are often more frightened of us than we are of them.  They usually only become interested in you if you’re moving away from them.

With that, I walked toward the group in an attempt to convince Joel to follow me to the bus stop.  Boy was that the wrong move!  The moment I tugged on Joel’s tattered brown jacket, chaos ensued.  All eyes were on me and suddenly all hands were coming toward me.  Even Joel sensed the excitement as his remaining brown eye stared into me and focused on my skull. 

As I turned to run, one of the possibly male zombies grabbed my arm.   His teeth came towards my flesh but  missed me as I kicked him in his non-existent groin.  Two possibly female zombies knocked me over and grabbed me by the hair.  I managed to push them away somehow.  As I stood again to run, Joel reached out for me, his mouth watering.  He had me in his clutches when, at that moment, the 7:10 bus to downtown Greensboro plowed right into him.  I’ve never heard a sound with more crunching noises and moaning!  As the bus passed and kept on going (thanks a lot!), I looked across the street to see the remains of Joel splattered all over the pavement.  Even his Doctor Who scarf had been crushed, though his eye was nowhere to be found. 

When the other zombies saw this, they each scuffled off in search of other brains to devour.  Maybe they each needed some comfort for awhile, or perhaps an easier target for dinner.  Whatever the reason, I never forgot Joel. I still get nostalgic when I see the 7:10 bus to downtown Greensboro run over other zombies that have recently taken to chasing me at the bus stop.  Even now, as I try to outrun yet another zombie, I get that warm fuzzy feeling inside.  I jump quickly to the other side of the road when I hear behind me---THUD!   Ah, memories.

spontaneous group napkin poem

(geeksboro coffeehouse cinema, jan. 2013)

1.

Liar panties

thankless

monster

son-of-a-gun

congregation

farted.

2.

silly

indubitably

slanderous

schvitz

gargantuan

hands

handing off

a cheeseball

to Beelzebub.

Trundling quickly

Nearby

Nuthin’, baby.

3.

once a

pawn

shoppe opened

whilst closing.

grandiosely

Ian bein’ pee-in

under

premise of promise.

gravid pregnant pause …

4.

The lady bearded

scatological truths.

Don’t say, stay.

Demonstrably

Monstrous.

Forget remembering,

remember nothing

or die. Why?

{by  jaymie, em, ian, & jonah}

Johann and the Mannequin

by Jonah and Em

 

the story writes itself.

she, nor i, have anything really to do or say about the matter.

unfolding, like fresh laundry, we are but(t) gamblers, knowing not when to do this, nor that, nor the other, over yonder.

 

and as the banjo music swells, one sweet plucking note following another, camera #3 pans in close to a swanky little shoppe in a sweaty little corner of a sleepy little town in our collective nightmarish zeitgeist of love and some lust, babeeedoll yeah :

this was, by no means, the first time he had flirted w/ a mannequin.

indeed, such an outing and an urge had become rather frequent for one mister johann q. sidesnatch.

(no one knows what the "q" stands for; no one had ever dared to ask ...)

looking into her vinyl, deluxe, enticing eyes, johann slowly reached out a somewhat timid yet wholly entranced hand.

this was by no means one's ordinary mannequin.

this mannequin reeked of solid, subtle, sensual potential.

 

this mannequin slowly reached out, too, her hand, meeting his, all taking place in very slow-motion &

in a sort of quiet, reflective, quasi-hallucinative and super-duper erotic meeting of

man and

clothing-store-display-object.

 

without realizing it, johann knocked over the entire garish display of insanity and pervishness.

everything came crashing to a halt with no knowledge of where it began

and where it would end.

 

johann was never good at these kinds of introductions and when everyone turned to stare,

he felt the need to cough uncomfortably and tug at his brown dickey that he really shouldn't have worn.

 

mannequins don't like dickeys! he told himself, only to wear one anyway for comfort and style.

when he turned away from her, the amazonian salesgirl stomped towards him and looked at the display,

lying carelessly on the cheap fluorescent green carpet.

 

johann could not name a more unpleasant time within the last year. his courtship of mannequins always

went off so smoothly, without a hitch. why had he ever come to this outlandish place filled with neon and chaos?

 

he felt sweat beads forming around his neck and alarmingly long beard that would not go away. the salesgirl had begun to pick up the mess and try to restore order in the store,

but johann q. sidesnatch was barreling towards insanity!

he had to regain his composure, as to not look a fool in front of the mannequin, who really looked like her name would be "dolly."

he had always liked the name and this mannequin was a blonde, as were all dollys, so this made perfect sense.

 

johann merely grinned at her and tried not to focus on the salesgirl whose hazel-green eyes were  glaring at him.

 

when all was restored to order, johann asked dolly if she would mind if he lifted her skirt, just a tiny bit,

just to see that she was all right.

she seemed to nod her head and johann lifted the lavender skirt when he thought he heard

the salesgirl calling security.

 

who among us really knows what precisely is going on, in this curiously peculiar and quite unpleasant episode within the confining walls of this hopskotch kistch & schtick place, where sweat rains down in river currents, and a hankey would come in really handy right about now, not only for

 

the purpose of wiping away such incriminatingly pheromonic evidence, but alas, also

to capture - on one fell swoop - all the snot&poop which had been barelling outta sidesnatch's bonker of a hornpipe of a nose, for (at least)

the past 4 1/2 minutes, since first making such seemingly ill-fated connection with dolly.

 

and what are we, mere readers of this pierceingly platonic, grade f & sardonic, piece of piecemeal shit of an excuse of a schtory?

no glory, i tell you. no glory (hole) to be found when johann q. is around.

 

and this is the part of the tale in which things turn a little bit creepy. no sleep, no sleepy. sit up and listen and learn. cause next tis your turn.

 

is it possible - now keep an open mind - anyway yes possible, that the story thus far, and all the sillly-strange goings-on, are but(t) a dream?

dreamt up by the mannequin, herself?

 

perhaps a flashback scene is in order. something tasty & tangible, to provide a real sense of the state of affairs between johann, ms. dolly, ms. hazel-green salesgirl, and security-man, who presently can be seen out of one's peripheral vision, just now coming down the escalator to attend to the mishap in question.

 

why is it, boys&girls, that he is tumbling down, on the going-up escalator? silly little security-man.

doesn't he know to just go with the flow ... and that that would involve the down-one?

 

things are getting really harry here @ the strip mall, and all, and johann suddenly is struck - like a piece of pure lightning sent straight from the gods - against the area between where his scrotum meets the arsehole. by dolly, he's got it!

why, oh good lord why, had he not thought of this earlier?

 

for this is by no means a well-told endeavor. not too clever, be we. nor too fond of any existence without, at least,

a hint

of

mannequin.

 

oh indeed we will have to wait for the flashback scene for that security guard is getting far too close for comfort.  johann worried that he would seem rude, but to garner that precious, priority of time alone with dolly, he would have to snatch her away from this crazy, bizarre place!

 

one minute he was watching that snarling, insecure security guard pounding the pavement beneath those upward-moving steps, and the next, johann had his arm around dolly, pushing his way through the dangerous, deliciously-docile crowd standing just mere feet outside the store!

 

johann had tried his best not to be rude. he sincerely hoped that dolly would not be afraid, nor that she would worry he had kidnapped her.  surely she wouldn’t think he had intentionally mussed her lovely blonde hair, but he must turn these corners quickly or pedro, the perturbed security sleaze would have him in hand!

 

johann had realized that his only real escape was to take the bus, brimming with droopy-eyed darlings and befuddled elderlies, for today was his first date with a doll, that dolly who made him feel all jolly and bewildered. 

 

before he realized it, sidesnatch had dolly leaning up against him on the burly bus, bustling towards someplace unfamiliar, and he told her his still-life story of schticky time lost without her by his side.

 

now may it be noted, if it pleases the court, that by any measure, this little story, this narrative - if it can be called that without sending throngs of the reading public into fits of hysteria, running through the busystreets in the fashion that a barnyard of headless chicken might do - this most daring & bold & completely naked-in-the-snow composition is udderly self-referential. that is to say, it appears to actually refer to itself. yes, dear reader(s), hard to believe, but(t) very goddamn true.

and this is something to be celebrated! a craving that has affected all in this little bare-back barrack of a town.

johann is happy with it (at least thus far).

nor has dolly yet seemed to nod her gorgeous, plastic, welcoming head into any fashion of a "no" position.

fumbling security guard, ditto. tho' he falls. and falls and falls.

ditto as well, our troubled little salesgirl/callgirl. no, make that just salesgirl. equally hazel and green. and mean.

and thus, that being stated - being entered into the official congressional record - be it also recognized, recommends the state, that thissy here is by no means a "story" which is afraid to use the expression "by no means," and etc. etc. et. al. misc. ever-after. dig? cool that.

this just in: johann can currently be seen, if one focuses in on the outbound skeeballville bus # 42 (a rather nice and well-executed transit system - comparable to that of other world-class major cosmopolitian capital cities and ports of entry; a phenomenon rather strange, to say the least, for our dear homey little skeeballville. but(t) alas(s), that's another story altogether. we've got business - kinky, strugling business, at hand, me lads!)

yes, here we spot the governor, johann snatchy-snatch.

and here, dolly, propped so nonchalantly and in deep, inpenetrable melancholia, against our hero's torso and neck. that darn sweaty neck. that folly of a golly of a beard which knows no end (nor beginning). entire poems, whole biographies, sunsetting mountainranges of libraries, have been born and raised within the various 50+ shades of grey of such beard as is his beard. all went on to successful livlihoods, suffice it so say.

 

"dolly," he whispers into her ear. "i'm thinking if we can just, umm, just make it to our stop ... and get off this darn bus, then maybe, just maybe, uhh, you see, maybe you and i could have some quality alone time."

 

and dolly seems to agree, with the slightest of a positive movement in her eyes. those damn gorgeous eyes. 2 of them, in fact. a golden brown, not entirely unlike the shade of johann's bowel movement earlier this very morning.

 

"then," he ponders, a bit outloud, forgetting momentarily that he must not been seen "communicating" with said mannequin, right? he's simply taking it somewhere. on business. official. "them, ahem," he clears the throat. "then, you and i can discuss our wondrous future, umm, together. how we'll make that happen. yeah, how we'll live out our lives in unison and bliss and shit, despite this cruel and never-understanding world in which we find ourselves. ourselves so smitten, yes, dolly?"

 

"we shall grow old together. starting right here, right now, my love. my lady. my pretty little dollbaby who just happens to never have a lot to say. nor many movements to make. alas, sweet dolly: that's among the schmorgasboard of delights that first attracted me to you ... yes, growing old together: ultimate intimate romance. well, well, my sweets, i'll grow old over the years, but i suppose you won't change a bit, will you now?"

 

johann - in a most clandestine manner - laughs a smidgen to himself after uddering that last line.

classic mannequin humour.

 

**

Upon their arrival at his historical, hysterical home, johann of the jive beard grins and in they go, to embark upon some precious but precarious time together.  johann cannot wait to see what awaits him with this plastic, placid gal.

 

johann takes off his touk and settles into the soft sofa with his pink, pretty baby doll wearing only a short lavender dress and gorgeous blonde tresses.  despite the messes lying around his house, dolly seems pleased and just as johann brings his leathery lecherous lips to hers, a knock at the door sends his hopes dashing!

 

“darn!” he cries as he slaps his forehead and regretfully regrets removing dolly from his own sister’s boutique earlier this evening. he cannot seem to stop bringing those dolls back to his place and his silly sibling is sick of it!  she even sends the usual coppery copper, hector, who is standing on his porch currently.  It is embarrassing to have hector catching him in this same predictable predicament once again.

 

“johann!’ hector, the crazy cop calls to him.  johann’s mind races as this racy scene changes from daring to desperate!  he quickly moves dolly to the one place hector never looks and the beardly romeo of the hour opens the overly-large oaken door to a familiar beige face with a mustachioed muscular look. 

 

in typical police fashion, the burly man in black with a badge conducts his convoluted search only to discover diddly.  “sorry hep cat,” he heaves and high-fives our hero.  “got another call aboutcha and hadda-have-a look.” 

 

johann closes the overly-large oaken door and rescues his rather miffed maiden.  as he holds her close in his elegant embrace, our dubious don juan wins her over.  dolly is his, he just knows it…as(s) do we, through whom this terrifyingly terrific tale has been told, with questionable reportage from the small and quite silly township of skeeballville, u.s.a. (nobody knows what the "u" stands for; nodolly dares to ashk).

 

 



Two Left Feet

by Em

The manner in which the victim had been hung from her neck was pretty standard.  However, the location in which her body had been positioned was unusual, to say the least.  In all his years on the police force, Detective Ian Atkins had never seen a body hanging from a flagpole in front of a government building.  The fact that the building where the victim was hanging was the police station didn’t make it any better.

He had no idea how someone had hoisted the young nude female up there & it certainly wasn’t lost on the media.  They were filming from the minute he’d arrived on the scene.  His fellow cops had cordoned off the scene, but until they got photos and evidence, they couldn’t take her down.  Officer Emma Chadwick was taking photos of the crowd in case a suspect was later discovered.  She was being as subtle as possible, but Atkins noticed her anyway.  Of course he noticed Officer Chadwick.  She had curves in all the right places---

YOWCH! WHAT THE FUCK WAZZAT BRIGHT LIGHT?!  Atkins felt sure someone in the crowd had just taken a photo of the crime scene. He strained to see behind the crowd that had formed over the last two hours.

Atkins lurched towards the crowd and noted it shifted when he approached.  He wondered if someone ran off or moved before he could find the picture taker.  The detective realized he wouldn’t be able to find out what had occurred, so he returned to the scene.

CSI Tad Jackson poked him on the shoulder and Atkins jumped.

“Jesus Tad!  Don’t do that!”  Atkins had jumped about a foot and held his hand over his heart.

“Why so skittish, Ian?”  Tad laughed.  Though they had been friends for a long time, Atkins was not amused.  Tad quickly turned serious.  “I found two shoe prints over here, E.  I already got pictures and now I’m taking an imprint.  You’re never gonna believe this.  The two shoe prints are both for left shoes.”

Atkins stared blankly into Tad’s deep brown eyes.  He wasn’t sure he heard correctly.

“Um, sorry,” he stammered.  “Are you saying you found two left shoe prints?

“Yes.”

“Could they have been from two people?”

“Well, at first glance, yes.  However, looking at the treads in the shoe prints, they appear to have the same markings and wear marks.  Also, the treads are from the same size shoe.”

The middle-aged detective closed his eyes and pinched the top of his nose in frustration.  “Tad, are you suggesting our perp literally has two left feet?”

“Well I’m not saying he doesn’t.” 

Atkins rolled his eyes and walked over to the body that was finally being taken down from the flag pole.  It was going to be a long day.

**

The no-nonsense detective felt his heart drop as he reviewed the coroner’s report on this morning’s murder.  He stroked his moustache and Sonia Lopez, the county’s medical examiner, raised her hand in protest.  “Now Ian, don’t give me that look.  I know the report tells you everything you already know, but when we get the blood tests back from the lab, we should know more.”

Atkins frowned and glared at the small-framed elder woman sitting calmly before him behind her desk.  Her chestnut eyes reminded him of his mother’s eyes.  He realized that’s why he was always more patient with Dr. Lopez than with most of his coworkers.

“I know Sonia, but you know there’s a lot of pressure to solve this high profile case.”  He sighed.  “At least you’ve given me the victim’s name.  Looks like her name is Irma Keystone and she’s 45 years old from down on Ellington Street.  That’s the nicer part of town.”

“Yes, true,” Sonia’s Guatemalan accent had softened over the year, but Ian still enjoyed its sing-song tone.  “I forgot to mention, Miss Keystone was manually strangled before being strung up.  I found bruising on her neck and, as you know, the dead don’t bruise.”

Atkins’ mind began to race.  Now that he knew Irma was strangled by hand, what could that possibly mean?  It was time to piece together this fantastic mystery and Atkins looked forward to closing in on this killer fast.

**

Officer Li Ng had been on the police force for a year and finally felt he was getting his bearings.  He was finally off 3^rd shift, a fact that relieved his heavily pregnant wife.  The criminals at night tended to be more violent, but Ng loved his job and loved working the streets at night.  Still, being awake when Lucy was awake was nice.  Ng was finally finishing up his interviews of Ms. Keystone’s family and friends and was eager to report back to his boss.

When he walked into Detective Atkins’ office, he was met with a scowl.  “Bring me anything I can use?” the detective growled.

Ng nervously scratched his full head of hair.  It had finally grown back after police academy training was over.  “Well detective, I talked with the victim’s family and friends and the only thing that stood out was that most of them disliked her, even her sister, Beth.  I’m on my way to type up my report and I’ll have that to you later this afternoon.”

"No officer, you will give me your notes now.”  Atkins thrust his hand expectantly across his desk expectantly.

Ng wasn’t sure what he should do.  This definitely went against protocol.

“I’m waiting,” Atkins sighed.

Ng handed over his notes and stood awkwardly across from the detective.  Atkins looked up and shook his head.

“You can go now, kid.”

“But Detective Atkins, I can’t break the chain of command.  I need to write my report and log my notes.”

“Look Junior, you have no idea the kind of pressure I’m under.  Now I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.  GET. OUT.”

Ng turned with some reluctance and walked in a daze to his steel gray metal desk. He was reaching for his bottle of vodka in his bottom desk drawer when the police chief ran frantically into the room.  Chief Shana Martin was a tall black woman in her late 40’s.  She was all business and seldom had time for pleasantries.  It was strange to see her in such a fluster.  Chief Martin saw Ng and waved for him to follow her.  She also waved for Officer Chadwick and Detective Atkins to join her in her office.  This was going to be huge.

**

Officer Emma Chadwick had never seen the chief in this kind of tizzy before.  She had just finished her diagram of the crime scene and was preparing to follow up on some other business when the chief signaled her into her office.  The only times she was ever in Chief Martin’s office was for performance reviews and to update the chief on crime scene statuses from time to time. 

The 4 individuals sat together in Chief Martin’s office waiting for the chief to speak.  While they were waiting, Chadwick noticed Detective Atkins trying to look down her shirt again.  As if that creep would ever have a chance with her!

Chief Martin drank a big gulp of what may or may not have been coffee.  She finally broke the silence.  “This afternoon, the media received a photo of this morning’s crime scene from an anonymous photographer.  It depicts…well, see for yourselves.

The chief shoved a large black and white photo at the three of them.  Everyone leaned across her desk to get a good look.  It was a picture showing 3 things: (1) Detective Atkins’ face with his eyes closed and his hand up in front of his face; (2) the victim dangling from the pole behind him in the distance; (3) a shadowy figure bending over near the body on the pole.  The figure was not wearing any type of official uniform and appeared to be reaching for something and was clearly inside of the cordoned off area.  How had no one noticed him?

Atkins flushed and said, “The person whose flash almost blinded me this morning took this picture!  I remember when that happened!”

The chief looked at him with a mixture of hope and exasperation.  “You remember the time that this happened today?”

“Oh, well not exactly what time, no.” He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and looked away.

Chief Martin shook her head and began, “Ian, you are the lead detective on this case.  How did someone not in uniform get behind the crime scene tape?”

“Look Chief, there’s no way I let some civilian into the crime scene.  There has to be a mistake.  Officer Ng was in charge of allowing people into the scene.”  Atkins pointed towards Officer Ng accusingly.

Ng just looked confused.  For a police officer, he always seemed to be off in his own little world.  Some of the other officers thought he might be bringing something more than just coffee in his lunch thermos. 

“Now Ian, leave him out of this,” Chief Martin stated sternly.  “He’s still a rookie and you’re a 15 year veteran of the force.  I expect more of you.”

The chief turned to Emma.  “Young lady, did you get the pictures of the crowd developed yet?”

Emma was caught off guard, but nonetheless, responded quickly.  “I was just getting ready to call the photo lab—“

“Then what the hell are you waiting for?  Go call!”

With that, the meeting was over and Emma had never been so happy to call the lab before.  Lucky for her, the photos were ready and she quickly went downstairs to pick them up.  As soon as she saw the photos, she knew the chief was going to scream at her some more.  Oh well, better get it over with.

**

Chief Shana Martin was awfully glad that she found some vodka in Officer Ng’s desk earlier for a day like today.  She’d known about Ng’s alcohol problem for awhile and had meant to address it, but today she didn’t care.  It had turned out to be a shitty day.  The divorced mother of three had not had it easy raising her children on a cop’s salary, but two of the kids were out of the house and she just had one in high school now.  Chief Martin had a lot of which to be proud.

She truly had a lot going on lately and the Keystone Case was her #1 priority.  She wondered why Office Chadwick was taking so long with those photos.  She took another swig of her modified coffee and called to check on the status of the video that showed the front of the police station.  She hoped Office Ng had found something incriminating.

“Ng, tell me somethin’ good.”

Ng was quiet for a few seconds then nervously started, “Oh, uh, Chief.  I was just about to call you about the video.  I reviewed it and uh…well…”

“Spit it out, young man!”

“Well, the flagpole was out of the line of sight of the camera.  The crime wasn’t recorded on our camera.”

The dull ache that had been at the back of Chief Martin’s head started throbbing and she felt her whole body tensing up.  ”Are you telling me that that camera didn’t record the crime?!”

Office Ng stammered, “N-no, I mean, uh, yes.  I mean, there is no video of the crime.  I mean, I can see if the buildings nearby were pointed towards the flagpole and, uh, and—“

“Do what you have to do, kid.”  Chief Martin let the phone drop into its cradle as she closed her eyes in disbelief.

At that moment, Officer Chadwick wandered sheepishly into the room with a stack of photographs.  Judging by the look on her face, this wasn’t going to be good news either.

“Okay young lady, hand them over,” she put out her hand and Officer Chadwick placed them into her hand and cringed.

**

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