Officer Robinson and I were on a stakeout, sitting in our police car in front of an orange-brown building. On the dashboard were two cups of coffee, which we would occasionally sip to keep ourselves awake.
Suddenly a man emerged from the building’s doorway and began walking southeast.
“That’s our guy,” said Officer Robinson, tapping my arm; “wake up, let’s go!”
We climbed out of our squad car’s windows and walked at a brisk pace until we overtook the man. We then held out our badges while apologizing for the intrusion and said: “We’re officers of the law.”
The man looked startled. “Yes?” he said. “Is there a problem?”
“We’ve been surveilling you for the past twenty-four hours,” I explained. “You probably noticed our police vehicle parked outside your window?”
“Ah, yes, I did,” said the man.
“So we know everything you’ve been doing,” I continued; “and we’ve seen all the shifty characters who have entered and left your building, at odd intervals.”
The man looked quite concerned now; and he replied: “But it’s a public apartment complex. How do you know those visitors came to see me, specifically? I mean, they could’ve been calling on any of the other lodgers — the place holds multitudes.”
“You’re right,” Officer Robinson admitted; “we’re not here to harass you — we understand that there’s no way to PROVE that you’ve been doing anything nefarious. But we wanted you to know that we’ve got our eye on you. So don’t make any false moves.”
“This time,” I added, “we’ll let you off with a warning. But don’t press your luck.”
The man exhaled in relief. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll be good.”
I patted the man on his back and said, “Hey, if you’re willing to do the right thing, then you’ll have no trouble from us. On behalf of the entire Police Department, let me assure you: All we desire is to protect the innocent and uphold the law.”
“Thanks again,” the man said. Now he seemed to want to get on with his day.
“One last thing: What’s your name?” said Officer Robinson. “You don’t need to give your surname, just your Christian name.”
“Um… Fred?” said the man.
“Hey,” I added, “I also have one last question. Do you remember that beautiful woman who entered the complex around six o’clock last evening? Well I was wondering: is she your wife or your mistress? Or does she just live here?”
“I’m honestly not sure who you’re talking about,” said this man, Fred. “There are so many beautiful women in the world.”
“Oh, you can say THAT again!” I laughed.
“OK, Mister Fred,” said my partner Officer Robinson, “we’ll let you go now. You have a nice day.”
“Thank you,” said Fred, bowing and starting to walk away. “You, too. Thank you so much.”
As soon as Fred was out of sight, Officer Robinson turned to me and said, “Well, Bry, what do you think?”
“He seems like a decent fellow,” I said. Then, while we walked back to our police cruiser and climbed inside, I added: “That name ‘Fred’ is a nice, strong name. Reminds me of Fred MacMurray, who played Walter Neff in DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944). — And I like what he said about beautiful women.”
“Yeah, the guy at least seemed like he had his head screwed on,” remarked Officer Robinson. “Should we say: ‘Case closed’?”
I nodded while saying: “Where to, next?”
My partner Robinson looked at his detective’s pad. “Hmm… Do you feel more like doing a drug bust or reforming a courtesan?”
I answered quickly: “Oh, certainly the courtesan.”
Officer Robinson laughed, “OK: the courtesan it is!” and he made an underline in his notepad, after scribbling out something else.
§
So we pulled up our patrol cruiser alongside the curb of a street in the heart of the city. — The sidewalk was lined with gorgeous women posing in elegant evening gowns, and their hairstyles were breathtakingly attractive.
We spent the night explaining to courtesan after courtesan how to escape this precarious nightlife and start a career in alternate fields that offer economic security.
“Wow,” I remarked to my partner, Officer Robinson, when the night was done, as the sun came up, “I thought we’d only find one or two women who needed our help, but we ended up reforming that whole city block!”
“Yes, job well done,” smiled Officer Robinson. Then, upon overhearing himself, he remarked: “We deserve a hearty meal.”
I smiled brightly when Officer Robinson said this, because I was hungry after all our hard work.
“Do you mind if I make reservations for us at my favorite steakhouse?” asked my partner Robinson.
“Do I mind?” I said, laughing. “That’s like asking a bear: ‘Do you mind if I give you this pot of golden honey?’ Jeez, of course I don’t mind — the place you’re talking about is MY favorite steakhouse as well!”
So my longtime cop-partner Robinson and I drove to a restaurant that is located deep within the rural part of our home state, and we both ordered lamb chops.
Just as we finished dining, as we were each dabbing the corners of our mouth with ornate cloth napkins and preparing to smoke a cigarette, Officer Robinson’s pager started beeping.
“I wonder who this might be,” he said, while unclipping the device from his thick black police belt. Now, squinting at the pager’s display screen, he exclaimed:
“Yikes, someone just sent me what appears to be an emergency message. I better call this number back immediately.”
Then Officer Robinson rose from his chair and made a beeline for the payphone. He inserted some coins and waited a great while. Then he engaged in an extensive conversation.
Once my partner Robinson finally hung up the phone and returned to our table, I asked him: “What was THAT about? Who paged your beeper? What did they say?”
Officer Robinson took a seat, lifted his arm to get the waiter’s attention; then requested another bottle of wine and two orders of lobster tail (which, according to the steakhouse’s menu, is “served sizzling with drawn butter”). Then he reported to me in a very earnest tone:
“That was the Commissioner of the entire Global Police Force. He sent a message to my beeper because he was worried — he said that corruption on the geopolitical stage has more than QUADRUPLED in recent years.”
“Uh huh?” I said, expecting my partner to continue to leak more crucial info.
“And he’s counting on us — that means you and me, Bry — to help him address this unsolvable dilemma,” concluded Officer Robinson, as the waiter appeared with the wine and lobster tails.
“Why do you use the word ‘unsolvable’?” I asked, beginning to use my fork and knife to eat.
“Because that’s the term that the Commissioner himself employed,” answered Officer Robinson. “I’m reporting our conversation to you verbatim.” And he took a sip of wine while raising his eyebrows evocatively.
So what happened is that my partner and I left the steakhouse, climbed into our police cruiser, and traveled abroad. We got to visit almost all of western Europe. And we ended up proving to our most honorable Commissioner that NO CRIME IS UNSOLVABLE. — Moreover, we did this without even having to falsify evidence.
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