Officer Vincent and I were in hot pursuit of a criminal. We had been chasing this guy for more than 100 miles, over land, sea, and air. When we first discovered him, he (the criminal) was in the act of attempting to rape and kill a group of innocent citizens while stealing their wristwatches.
“Do you think he’ll get away?” I turned and asked Officer Vincent breathlessly while sprinting at top speed.
“We’ll catch him,” said Officer Vincent, my police partner of twenty years; “I’m sure of it.”
Then, after racing over cobblestones and lily pads, we finally were able to gain a purchase on the man’s overcoat. Officer Vincent grabbed the shoulder of this garment and yanked it backward, and the criminal fell to the ground.
Vincent and I stood panting, trying to catch our breath, while staring down at the man, who was lying on his back. “You shouldn’t have worn such loose, baggy outerwear to a crime spree,” said Officer Vincent. “That was your mistake, which allowed Officer Bryan and I to apprehend you.”
The criminal scowled and murmured: “I wish that I had gotten away.”
“Well, you didn’t. That wasn’t your fate,” Officer Vincent explained, while handcuffing the man. “Now you’ll most likely get convicted by a judge and jury, who will (I hope) send you to jail for attempting to commit larceny, murder, and sexual assault.”
We then radioed for a police helicopter to come fetch and deliver us all to the station; so the Air Traffic Control Tower operators had to find out and relay our global location to the pilot. (It turned out that we had chased our malefactor all the way to northern Italy’s Veneto region!) We wheeled the criminal into the chopper on a gurney, and they flew us back to America.
Although the wheels of justice turn very slowly, this man whom we had chased and caught was indeed eventually charged by the U.S. penal system and sent to maximum security prison.
I turned to Officer Vincent and asked: “What’s next? Shall we take another caller?”
“Let us first go home and eat dinner with our families,” said Officer Vincent; “for I am starving, after that lengthy chase.”
“Ah, good idea,” I nodded.
So we both returned to our respective families and enjoyed a hearty meal. Officer Vincent and his wife & kids ate spaghetti & meatballs, while I Bryan Ray and my wife & kids had steak & potatoes.
§
After the commercial break, Officer Vincent and I appeared driving in our patrol cruiser.
“Five oh three slash eff in progress on Bad Street. Repeat: five oh three slash eff in progress on Bad Street,” said a nasal voice on the police radio.
Officer Vincent pressed the “Reply” button: “We’ve heard your call and we’re on the way, right now.”
The police radio crackled and said: “And who’s this?”
“Officer Vincent and Officer Bryan Ray, reporting for duty, Sir or Madam,” I replied, pressing the button.
“OK. Over and out,” said the radio voice. Then, after a moment of silence, it added: “I wish you guys the best of luck.”
We pulled up and screeched the police car to a halt on the south end of Bad Street. Officer Vincent and I climbed thru our windows to exit the vehicle, with our handguns drawn.
“Vince! Look over there,” I whispered, tilting my head in the direction of the crime-in-progress:
There was a nine-year-old girl named Beatrice being attacked by a swarm of angry hornets. The nest was hanging from a tree branch over her head.
“Have no fear: we’re here,” Officer Vincent announced.
“I’m scared,” said Beatrice, “but I have not yet been stung.”
“That’s good,” I yelled. Then I turned and asked my partner Vincent: “What should we do?”
“Let’s move in and blast them all away,” he said. “Shock and awe.”
So I nodded firmly a single time, and we both lowered our pistols at the swarm of hornets and began to fire repeatedly. We ended up killing every single last one of those insects.
This near-tragedy concluded with a close-up shot of Bad Street’s asphalt, where thousands of hornet corpses were lying utterly motionless with bullets in their abdomens.
The mother of Beatrice now comes running out of the front door of their apartment: “Thank you, thank you!” she cries, while giving hugs to both of us police officers.
“No need to thank us,” I said with a smile; “we’re officers of the law: it’s our job to keep you safe: our salaries are paid for by your tax dollars; so you’re the boss, and we’re your servants. But it’s nice to receive your gratitude, nevertheless. We like to help. And, now that we’ve saved your daughter’s life, I hope that she grows up to be an important individual — perhaps she’ll even inspire one of these young boys who lives hereabouts on Bad Street to compose a Masterpiece of World Literature: who knows! Anyway, you have a nice day now.” And I tipped my police cap; then we walked off into the sunset.
“Whew! That was a close call,” Officer Vincent said, when we got back in our patrol cruiser.
“Literally,” I quipped; “for Bad Street is very near the police station.”
We both shared a laugh, but our mirth was interrupted by a call from the cop hotline. (The cop hotline is different from the police radio: the latter is what the dispatchers at the station utilize to communicate with us, whereas the former is a rotary telephone installed between the front seats of our vehicle which permits regular citizens to request our help directly.)
“Please come quick,” said the caller’s distressed voice; “there’s a rumor that something suspicious is happening at a nearby mansion.”
Officer Vincent searched around the interior of our vehicle for a few moments, and then I waved my hand to get his attention while mouthing the words “What are you looking for?”
He mouthed back: “I’m trying to find my mini-notepad and pencil.”
So I pointed to the breast-pocket of his blue uniform, on the opposite side of his gold cop-badge, and he retrieved the long-sought-for items and mouthed to me: “Thank you!” Then Officer Vincent addressed the caller:
“Tell me your address.”
So we ended up speeding to the next situation immediately after solving the previous one. We were denied a significant span of leisure time, between these calls, during which we might have rejoiced about having completed a difficult mission.
While pulling up in the driveway and stopping our patrol cruiser in front of the grand entryway of the mansion, Officer Vincent muttered to me “Do you see that man approaching our vehicle?”
“Yes,” I said, “that’s one of those new robo-butlers. He must be coming to offer valet-parking services.”
So we climbed out the windows and were welcomed into the mansion, as the butler parked our squad car.
“Greetings. Welcome to the orgy,” said the doorman.
“Orgy!?” my partner Vincent was aghast at this word.
“Do you need a password or a mask?” said the doorman, holding up examples of each.
Officer Vincent turned to me with a nonplussed expression.
I put my hand on Vincent’s shoulder and patted him gently and said: “Let me handle this.”
My partner stepped aside as I greeted the doorman warmly: “Yes, thank you very much, we both need passwords and masks.”
Then, as the doorman was motioning for one of his assistants to hand us the articles requested, Officer Vincent re-captured the fellow’s attention and asked:
“Aren’t you the same man who parked our squad car?”
“No. All of us Devlins appear identical,” the doorman explained; “although our respective souls are unique; or so they tell us.”
Seeing my partner growing progressively more distraught, I cupped my hand and whispered in his ear: “Don’t worry, Vince; these manservants are robots — their souls are mortal.”
Officer Vincent seemed appeased by this bit of info.
At that moment, our prerequisites arrived: “Here you go,” the doorman and his assistant held out the masks and passwords.
We thanked them and walked into the main room, where the orgy was rumored to be taking place.
Officer Vincent was concerned about the party favors that he had just been offered: “Mine looks like an ox! And my slip of paper says . . .”
“Vince,” I interjected, “these things are immaterial. Keep your eyes on the prize.” And I waved my hand at all the fornication that was taking place around us. “The masks are just for those who are too shy to show their TRUE face — I mean the one that they possessed before they were born. You can toss these ephemera into the dustbin,” and, here, since we had reached a trash receptacle, I disposed of the items I had been given.
“Whoa, yours was a grizzly bear?” said Officer Vincent, eyeing the discards with keen interest. “But, hey, you didn’t even open your fortune cookie.”
“The password is NOT your permanent name in Heaven — it’s only a heteronym: one of your earthly titles,” I explained, rubbing my hands and ogling the environs.
My partner Vincent, looking downcast, let his slip of paper fall in the trash can, while donning his ox mask. Then we walked into the center of the large room and Vincent yelled to address the whole party:
“Everybody, listen up! We’re the Eagan Police. This is a raid. My partner and I came here to break up this orgy and issue all of you tickets.”
“Tickets?” said one of the female nudes while continuing to fornicate. “Do you mean something like parking tickets, insinuating that we’re not moving fast enough? Or are you talking about speeding tickets, implying that we’re gyrating a little too fast?”
My poor partner looked confused. He unholstered his firearm and aimed it at the woman who had just spoken (who never did stop enjoying herself, during this exchange); then Officer Vincent replied: “I’m talking about giving you all citations for engaging in an ORGY.”
Many of the ladies present laughed. Then another woman (also continuing to participate in the festivities as she spoke) said: “But we’re all adults here. Orgies are not illegal.”
Officer Vincent froze for a moment; then he turned to me and said, “Bry, you wanna help me out on this one?”
“Vince,” I said in the kindest voice I could manage, “the damsel is right. Love is not yet against the law. FIRST we must pass legislation that will ban all acts that result in mutual pleasure. Only THEN will we be able to make arrests.”
My partner Vincent had been holding his handgun out stiffly, all this time; but now he let his arm droop to his side. Then he holstered the weapon. He seemed to be deep in thought.
“Vince, c’mon,” I tried to lift the mood; “why don’t we join the party; have some fun. Then, later this week we’ll stop by the House of Representatives in addition to the Senate, and we’ll get this type of thing outlawed. We can then carry out the same plan elsewhere, visiting all the Parliaments in Europe.”
Officer Vincent began to warm up to my idea. “Aw, alright,” he murmured, starting slightly to smile.
So I laughed loudly and slapped him on the back; then some of the girls at the orgy, who had hereto been reclining on sofas alone and simply pleasuring themselves, walked over and grabbed Officer Vincent by each arm and began to usher him toward bliss. I myself then paced over and joined a group of about four women at the far side of the room, who I’d had my eyes on since we arrived.
Thus we had a really good time at the orgy.
Then, later that week, as promised, I accompanied Officer Vincent to the U.S. Congress, and we lobbied to get ALL orgies officially prohibited. And we also did the same throughout Europe and the rest of the developed world.
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