The date is four-four-two-two (April 4th of Anno Domini 2022), and I’m driving my police cruiser around my regular route that goes thru Chanhassen, Eden Prairie, Victoria, Shakopee, and Chaska. Suddenly it begins to snow. Visibility becomes bad. I turn to my partner, Officer Robert, and remark:
“I feel that we should be enjoying the first hints of springtime, not driving thru a blizzard.”
Officer Robert rolls down his passenger-side window and holds his hand out to collect a few flakes. Then he sez: “It’s about four inches that have fallen, so far. I’m sure our police precinct is buried. And this stuff has nearly four tenths of an inch of liquid in it, giving it a four-to-one ratio: that’s some of the wettest snow possible.”
“Is that why it sounds almost like hail hitting our roof?” I reply.
“Yes, it is,” nods Officer Robert.
We then receive a distress call from a husband and wife who have been married for forty years and are still in love.
“It’s nice to hear from such sweet, neighborly folks,” sez Officer Robert. “Too many of our distress calls revolve around domestic disturbances; so it’s refreshing to be reminded that there are couples out there who can live together harmoniously. I’m a fan of peaceful coexistence.”
“Thanks,” sez the happily married pair.
“Now, what seems to be the problem?” asks Officer Robert.
“Well, we hate to have to report this,” sez the wife, “but someone has parked a large white marshmallow-shaped pickup truck on the road in front of our house. We know that, in and of itself, this act is not illegal; but, since it just started precipitating so strangely, and the snow is all thick and messy, my husband and I are afraid that the plows will come thru and need to veer around this vehicle, thus leaving a huge semicircle of slush around the perimeter of the pickup. And, shortly thereafter, the truck’s owner will probably come and drive it away. This will leave us with an ugly-looking road, right in front of our bay window, which is where we like to sit when we read the newspaper every morning.”
“Ma’am, Officer Bryan Ray and I have just arrived at your residence,” sez Officer Robert; “we see the vehicle in question, and we’re going to get right to work solving your dilemma.”
“Oh, thank you so much!” sez the woman. Her husband is on the call as well (they have a landline, so, while his wife is using the handset of the white phone mounted on the wall in the kitchen, he is able to listen in and respond via the black rotary in the adjacent room), so he adds: “Yes, thanks!”
Officer Robert and I climb out the windows of our patrol vehicle. We both look at the marshmallow-shaped pickup that is parked in front of the house. Then we turn our heads and look at a tall tree that’s located in the neighbors’ yard. I point at this tree and say to my partner:
“We should cut this tree down, so that it falls on the large white pickup. That would please our married couple.”
Officer Robert claps his hands one time and replies: “I’ll go get the chainsaw.”
So he opens up the trunk of our cop car and rummages thru all the shotguns and pistols that we keep in there, until he finds the chainsaw. Since our trunk is overflowing with weapons, some of the guns fall onto the street while he does this. Then Officer Robert searches again until he locates the jerrycan (a steel container that holds several gallons of gasoline); and he pours fuel into the chainsaw; then starts it up by pulling its cord fourteen times.
“Gimme,” I say, holding my hands out and repeatedly moving my fingers in a way that means “pass the desired object hitherward”. Officer Robert hands me the chainsaw, and I use it to make a notch in the lower part of the trunk of the tree. This is the direction in which I desire the tree to fall when I make the final cut. Then I go around to the other side of the trunk and begin the final cut. When this cut that started at the opposite side arrives at the initial notch that I made, the tree falls directly upon the marshmallow-shaped pickup truck. There is a minor explosion and the truck bursts into flame.
“Timber!” I say; and Officer Robert smiles and laughs.
We both look over at the bay window of the house in front of which the pickup was parked, and we notice that the loving married couple has been watching us from their kitchen. We wave, and they wave back. Then the husband makes the “thumbs up” sign.
I wave again and tip my cop cap at the couple; then Officer Robert and I climb back into our patrol cruiser. As we pull away from the scene, my partner remarks:
“Another job well done.”
“Yes,” I say. “You looked good out there, my friend.” And I pat him on his shoulder.
Then we drive down the wet, slushy, snowy road for a few moments in contented silence.
“Well, time keeps on ticking into the future,” I say. “What’s next on the agenda?”
Officer Robert looks at his laminated menu: “Looks like we got an office call next.”
“An office call?” I groan. “Ugh, I hate offices.”
“Yeah, so do I,” sez my partner, Officer Robert.
“Well, let’s get this over with,” I say. “Where is the place?”
Officer Robert points at a glass skyscraper in the cityscape: “Right there,” he sez.
So we take the elevator up to the four hundredth floor and ring the buzzer, and they scan our irises and read our palms and study our fingerprints until the goons in upper management are satisfied that we’re actually who we claim to be.
“Welcome, policemen,” say the corporation’s representatives. “Please, enter. But remove your shoes beforehand.”
I exchange a look of annoyance with Officer Robert, as we slip off our cop boots and enter the boardroom. We take our chairs at the long table, and I address the executives who are seated there:
“So, what’s the problem? Is your copy machine jammed again? Or perhaps you would like us Officers of the Law to waste our time moving your flatscreen television from one wall to the other? Come on, spit it out. My partner and I don’t fancy mollycoddling you white-collar types. I’m already feeling a bit cooped-up, sitting here in your stifling financial atmosphere.”
And, adding a clever quip to this harangue, my partner Robert sez: “You want a stock-market tip? Invest in COPS.”
The meeting-room simmers with nervous laughter.
“Look, guys,” sez the bigwig who requested our presence, “I just need two officers of the law that I can trust; and you came highly recommended.”
“Well, what if we don’t want to work for you?” I say. “Hmm? Did you ever think of that?”
“Yes, I thought of that, quite a lot,” sez the bigwig at the head of the boardroom table. “I’ve lost a lot of sleep about this. I knew that I was overstepping my boundaries by even asking you into this building, since I understand that you police officers abhor stuffed shirts and empty suits.”
“You got that right,” I say, lighting a cigarette and kicking my feet up on the boardroom’s table. Then I turn to my partner, Officer Robert, and say: “Care to join me?” And I hold out the pack with one of its cigarettes protruding so that it’s easy to grasp.
Officer Robert takes the proffered cig and sez: “Don’t mind if I do.”
“OK, we’re waiving the no-smoking rule, just for you,” continues the bigwig at the head of the table, “but I want you to listen to my complaint. It’s really important…”
“Does this place have room service?” I say.
“What’s that?” sez the bigwig, now blatantly sweating.
I point to one of the suited individuals nearby, saying: “Pass me that phone unit.” And I make an impatient gesture with my fingers.
The young businessman dutifully walks the telephone over to me, making sure that the cord doesn’t catch on any of the chairs or table legs. He bows as he sets the unit down and then returns to his seat.
I press the button labeled “STAFF” and wait until the line stops ringing and a voice sez:
“Waitstaff.”
“Yes,” I reply, “My partner Robert and I would like two orders of turtle soup. We’re in the boardroom with all the top executives, somewhere on the four-hundredth floor. We’re both cops, in case you didn’t know. Can you make this happen?”
There is a crackly silence, and then the voice answers: “We have MOCK turtle soup? Would that be OK?”
I furrow my brow and think deeply for a moment. Then I say: “Is that any good?”
“Well, I think it is,” sez the waitstaff rep. “I eat it on my lunch breaks, sometimes.”
“Alright,” I say; then I take a long drag on my cigarette. “Bring two bowls of that upstairs for me and my partner. And bring two Russian vodkas. Not just glasses: I mean BOTTLES.”
“Excellent choice, sir,” sez the voice on the line, “I’ll have my colleagues bring two servings of mock turtle soup, plus two large bottles of Russian vodka. Would you like anything else?”
I look around at all the cowardly faces of the businessmen in the boardroom and reply into the transmitter: “Nope, that’ll be all. How much do I owe ya?”
“No charge for you, officer,” sez the voice. “We simply appreciate your presence here and wish to reward you for visiting us. You are financed by our tax dollars.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” I say. Then, before hanging up, I ask the voice on the other end of the line: “Hey, do you mind telling me what the ‘mock’ aspect of turtle soup consists of? I’ve never been able to figure it out, because I don’t have the Internet.”
“Imitation turtle soup is made from lamb-head,” sez the voice.
Upon hearing this, I raise my brows and say: “Ah! alrighty then. I’ll see you in two shakes.”
The waitstaff rep thanks me sincerely and hangs up. In no less than fifteen minutes, they arrive in the boardroom with our order.
“This is good,” sez Officer Robert, taking his first sips of the soup.
“You’re not joking,” I reply. “This might be the best turtle soup I’ve ever tasted.”
“Please, gentlemen, try the spirits,” sez the waiter, “for we were charged to remain in your presence until you approve of all our offerings.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I quickly dab my lips with the ornate cloth napkin that the waitstaff has supplied; then I uncork the bottle and take a swig. Officer Robert does the same. After coming up for breath, we both exclaim:
“This is very high-quality Russian vodka.”
So the waitstaff bows low and walks out of the boardroom, while my partner and I finish our meals at our leisure.
After dining, we take a short nap on the boardroom table: For pillows, we use the stacks of paper that have graphs printed on them. We sleep like babies, due to our clear consciences. Then, upon waking, we take the elevator back down to ground level, climb into our squad car, and drive home to our families.
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