Precinct 46 1/2 Archives
May 14, 2005
They just took Dorfman out in a body bag. Which is good, because he was beginning to smell, and I have to get this report done by five.
The cops interrupt me with questions. No, nobody liked Dorfman, he was weird and he smelled like onions all the time. People would walk across the room just to avoid the stench coming from his cubicle.
Not that he smelled any better dead.
No, I don't know who might have wanted him dead. Someone who was trying to get their report done, maybe? Ha ha.
Twenty minutes to five. Back to work.
October 6, 2005
Stacy: Personal Worst
"911, what's your emergency?"
"Yeah, I'm having these real bad stomach pains..."
"Sir, are you shot?"
"Naw, man, it's just my stomach, I think it's something I've eaten..."
"Sir, this is an emergency line..."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I gotta emergency...oh god, the pain!"
"Sir, what did you eat?"
"Sir, where did you get blue eggs?"
"Dunno, they came out of the can that way."
"The can...you ate eggs from a can??"
"Yeah, the mini-mart was having this sale, $.99 cents..."
"Sir, stay calm, the ambulance is on it's way... But I’d be prayin’ if I were you."
October 13, 2005
Detective Hawkins leaned back on his heels, gasping for breath.
His partner, Smith, peered at him over the body, noisily working on a piece of chewing gum, apparently unaffected by the stench of blood and other bodily effluvia.
Hawkins hated his partner, had since day one. After 8 years on the force, Smith was easily the thing he’d hated most. Hawkins fists clenched as watched Smith idly wind the victim’s intestines around his pencil.
Later, as they led Hawkins away, the beat cops stood over the remains of his partner, shaking their heads. Interesting use for a fire hydrant, that.
October 25, 2006
Stacy: Caught In The Act
“Ok, recording…now. Ma’am, tell us your name.”
“I’m the Eyeball Fairy!”
“Can you tell us exactly what that means?”
“Means? It means swing by and pick up the eyeballs.”
“The eyeballs little kids tend to rub out of their heads at night.”
“I don’t understand… we’ve never had any incident reports…”
“Well, I am new. Somewhere a Daddy told his little boy that if he didn’t stop rubbing his eye so hard it’d fall out, and then the Eyeball Fairy would be coming by to pick it up. Words have power, you know, so here I am!”
November 1, 2006
You wanna know about them bones, eh? Well, they been pilin’ up back there for a hunnert years, so my granda used to say. Before hisself went into the pile.
What’s that? No, he ain’t been kilt, leastaways not how you mean. It was his time, so he went. ’S what we do. Gotta repay the debt, y’know.
No, I cain’t be telling you that. Blood debt, my family done owed it since before this land had people. Well, white people ennyways.
No, you cain’t be takin’ me! I owe! If I don’t pay it’ll come! Come for alla us…
November 30, 2006
The detective cautiously eased open the door of the apartment, gun at the ready. The air inside was leaden. The landlady hovered outside nervously.
“I don’t know what he do. He a quiet boy,…”
The detective stepped forward. The smell was stronger in the back, near the bedroom. The closer he got, the sweeter it smelled, like cherries. He pushed open the door, and stopped.
Sprawled out on the bed was a brick house of a blonde, straddled by the allegedly missing tenant, who was recklessly weilding a bottle of Strawberry Luv Lotion.
“Dude!" he yelled. "Shut the goddamned door!”
December 1, 2006
Stacy: AV is Your Friend
SUBJ: You oppen this mial!!
Like hell, I will…
What the… Why won’t this fucking thing delete??
NO, wait, I didn’t double click that. DAMMIT!
“Jenkins, how’s it going?”
“Well, Detective, this one’s impressive. We’ve got a body here, skinniest thing I’ve ever seen. He’s got a crank longer than my arm… pity he’s too dead to enjoy it. And downtown says his bank account is overflowing, large deposits from stock trading houses, and several million from Nigeria.”
The detective sighed. “Great, another victim of the ALL.SPAM virus. Be sure to tag those fake Rolexes, Jenkins.”
December 14, 2006
Stacy: So Detect
“In my bathtub?”
“Yes, ma’am, in your bathtub. Dead.”
“My bathtub is dead? How can a bathtub be dead?”
“Not your bathtub, ma’am. The fat man is dead.”
“Oh, well that happens, doesn’t it.”
“Usually in your bathtub?”
“Usually in my bathtub what?”
“Do fat men usually expire in your bathtub?”
“Expire? They have expiration dates? How odd.”
“No, ma’am, die. Expire also means ‘to die.’”
“Someone was dyeing their clothes in my bathtub? Oh, my beautiful porcelain, that color will never come out!”
“Ma’am, why is there a dead fat man in your bathtub?”
“Well, really. You’re the detective!”
March 2, 2007
Stacy: You Asked
“And he just looked at me, like I was speaking another language or something.”
“And then he says, ‘What do I look like, honey, Bank of America?’ Can you believe the nerve, talking to me like that?”
“Ma’am, if I could just…”
“I mean, come on, don’t I look respectable? I took a shower, colored my hair, SHAVED MY LEGS!! I even wore panties!”
“Ma’am, please, if you…”
“I mean, I never wear panties. They chafe something awful, you know? And everyone knows, chafing leads to burning, and burning leads to…”
“I’m sorry, officer, what was the question?”
July 12, 2007
Stacy: Detectives in Love
“Well, that’s quite the personal question, don’t you think?”
“No, ma’am. It’s an effort to ascertain if you do, indeed, patronize this establishment on a regular basis.”
“’Patronize this establishment’? Who talks like that?”
“I’m afraid I do, ma’am. It’s an unfortunate side effect of my chosen vocation.”
“’Chosen vocation…’ Riiiight. Well, what is it you do do?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, that’s not something I’m comfortable discussing with a lady I’ve just met. In fact, that’s not even something I’m comfortable discussing with my proctologist.”
“Wha..? Um, you know, I think it’s time for me to stop talking. Bye.”