Serial Saturday: "Protective Custody", Part 9

            When Alex awoke the next morning to the chiming of his alarm, the sun was just beginning to peek around the corners of the building, almost all the heirlooms were safely stowed in the attic, and things were really looking up for him. As he progressed through his normal grooming routine, Alex pondered over the best way to present them to the couple. He finished getting dressed and looked at himself in the mirror.

            It had been more than a week already since Ted and Marlo first appeared; he was already growing accustomed to their intermittent presence in his daily life. Going to work, he admitted to himself, just would not be the same without them. He dimly wondered if their unfinished business was completed yet; he was certainly the better for their influence!

            He met Ted and Marlo at the front door.

            “Nice to see you looking so good, Alex,” Ted commented as the trio walked down the lane toward the police station.

            “I feel good today,” Alex replied with surprising energy.

            “Oh, did you have a nice date last night?” Marlo queried.

            The memories of the previous night caused the young man’s smile to dim. “Well…” he sighed, “I guess you could say that—in a way,” he admitted slowly.

            “What happened?” Marlo looked sorry that she’d brought it up, but confused as to why she should be.

            “I found out who she really was… and I dumped her.”

            “Oh, Alex!” As much as they disliked Adelaide and disapproved of Alex’s pursuit of her, Marlo was quick to sympathize with a severed relationship. Alex wondered how many guys fought over the rich Staten baby sister before she found Ted. “I’m so sorry,” she looked very much like she wanted to hug him, but they both knew it was not possible.

            Alex shrugged, “It’s okay; she was acting all strange last night anyway, and I would have just stopped seeing her over that, but then Daphne—“ He stopped.

            Ted was in his face, “Yes? Daphne?”

            “Never mind,” Alex muttered.

            Marlo giggled, “Oh, stop it, Ted, you’re making him blush!”

            “Marlo, honey, it’s his fault for going out with Daphne when he’d like us to think it’s Adelaide.”

            “I never went out with her!” Alex snapped.

            “Oh? Let me guess,” Ted persisted, “you just happen to bump into her all the time.” He rolled his eyes. Marlo chuckled.

            “It’s not serious!” Alex protested, but by this time, he was at the door of the station, and no further conversation was possible.

            Ted couldn’t resist one last jab, for Alex’s ears only. “You know, there’s no reason why it has to be. Why wouldn’t you get serious with a girl like Daphne, instead of chasing miniskirts like you always do?”

            Alex ignored him and greeted Marnie. “Hey, Marnie, how’s it going?”

            Marnie grinned at him, “Aw, it’s going great, Alex; how about yourself?”

            Alex checked his stack of the day’s cases, noting that they were varied, but kept in fairly decent vicinity of one another. “Well, it’s a lot different than I have been in the past, but I have to admit, I kind of like it.”

            He left on his beat right away, performing his duties like any decent cop—like a cop who actually cared about doing his job right. He noticed that the Brendons didn’t seem to talk much, except Marlo. She chatted endlessly about the different perpetrators he arrested or the accidents they saw, but it was all directed to Ted, not to Alex.

            Still, that didn’t bother him; he was almost glad that they didn’t talk to him much, because he couldn’t seem to shake off the last comment Ted had made about Daphne. In fact, Alex found himself thinking about Daphne more that day than he had ever before. He thanked the fates that Ted and Marlo couldn’t read his mind; he did not want help sorting out these thoughts! For once, she never appeared on any of his routes, but for Alex this was almost worse than thinking about her and then seeing her, because the more he didn’t see her, the more his mind ran wild with memories and thoughts about her. He had never met a girl quite so intriguing. He’d had two conversations with her, and she’d told him more about herself than any previous girlfriend had in a month of dates. Yet still there was so much he didn’t know about her. Did he want to know more about her? Why did he want to know? Would she ever tell him, or would he end up with someone completely different, and she would always be the “really good friend”? Alex shook his head as Marlo was making comments about the fashion sported by the delinquent in the back seat. Their hints and comments had already got him thinking about Daphne as a friend. He didn’t even know her full name, much less where she lived or how to contact her, for crying out loud!

            He returned to the station in time to fill out the paperwork before his shift ended, but no sooner had he reached his desk than Captain Prosser’s grating voice boomed out, “DAVIS! In my office, now!”

            Instantly, everything Alex had done that day—in fact, everything he’d done in the past year—flashed through his mind as he thought about the corner-cutting, the lack of follow-through, the “choosiness”… in short, every time he had failed. Perhaps it was his past choices now catching up to him; he’d had his “playtime”, here came the consequences. Fighting the shaky feeling in his hands and the weak feeling in his knees, Alex approached the foreboding orifice. He noticed that Ted and Marlo didn’t enter with him; he’d have to face the music alone.

            Sure enough, Chief Prosser sat at his desk, the familiar frown on his face as he looked over some papers. He did not lift his eyes from the paper.

            “Sit down, Davis,” he ordered gruffly.

            Alex took his seat, but his gut lodged in his throat while his heart sank down through the floor. He’d seen this happen from afar. Prosser, sitting at his desk, viewing some papers; the subject sits down, and Prosser pounces, shouting and spitting at the subject until they scurry from the office and out of the station, completely cowed. Alex braced himself for the shouting.

            “How long have you been on the force, Davis?”

            Alex was so worried about what he thought was coming that he almost completely missed the question. “Sir?” he asked.

            “I asked you how long you’ve been here, officer,” Prosser laid the paper down and clasped his hands. Alex had no idea of his expression because he dare not look the Chief in the face.

            “Um, about s-seven years, sir,” Alex responded.

            “How many calls would you say you have taken in that time?”

            Alex blinked; he never kept record of how many calls he took; he knew Barelli kept a running tally, but certainly Alex never thought of doing the same! “I don’t know how I could keep track, sir,” he replied honestly.

            “Of course you do, you just never have,” Prosser scoffed. “I had Marnie pull the records for your patrol car over the last six months,” he stated, shifting the documents and pulling up the one in question. He turned it around and pushed it toward Alex. “Would you mind explaining this to me, officer?”

            Alex glanced over the page. The six months previous showed a steady, low volume of reports going in and out; he remembered when he developed the trick of hanging out at locations for extra time, and not reporting in till he felt like it, so the dispatcher would think that he had actually taken that long to deal with the issue.

            All that changed within the last two weeks, showing continuous report-ins, and a high volume of calls taken. He had driven more in the last two weeks than he had in the last three months combined.

            “Would ya look at that!” Alex squelched the urge to jump as Marlo’s voice breathed in his ear. The Brendons were standing on either side of him now, gazing at the chart. Alex shook his head; how was he going to explain to Prosser that the sudden change had come about because of two ghosts from a certain call he didn’t take?

            Prosser was still waiting for an answer. “Well?”

            “Sir, I, uh,” Alex tried to be as coherent as possible, without seeming dishonest, “I guess you could say that I sort of woke up one weekend and decided that I wasn’t happy with my life, and I wanted to change it.”

            Prosser blinked; he’d never had a lackadaisical cop turn around this fast, and with no sign at all of any ulterior motive nor evidence that said that as soon as he got what he wanted he’d go back to the way he was. Once a lazy cop, always a lazy cop—but there was Alex.

            The gruff police chief cleared his throat and pushed some more documents around. “I’ve gotten a few e-mails in the last week, Davis…about you.”

            Alex gulped, “Me, sir?”

            “Are you a parrot?” Chief Prosser snapped. “Yes, of course, you. This one’s from Officer Derby, who I’m promoting to Sergeant at the end of the month: ‘Alex Davis has always been like a son to me; I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but lately I’ve seen that son grow into his own man. If you’re considering anyone for promotion, I think it should be him.’”

            Alex glowed at the praise from his mentor.

            Prosser picked up another paper, “Here’s one from Marnie: ‘I was thinking about quitting a few weeks ago, sir. I had no satisfaction in my job, and I felt taken for granted by everyone, just another potted plant in the lobby. Alex Davis changed all that when he turned and told me Good Morning. He’s greeted me like a real person ever since, and made me feel like my job is worthwhile. I wouldn’t be here without him!’”

            Prosser set the paper down as Alex squirmed; he’d never received such praise from anyone before. He’d gotten by with just doing the minimal, exactly what everyone expected of him. Prosser stared at him; Alex felt his whole face burn. He bent his head in an attempt to hide the flaming-red color without being rude.

            “Those were two e-mails I wasn’t surprised to get, not after seeing your records. This morning I received a third e-mail, from the last person I ever expected to recommend you.” He picked up a third paper and read,

            “Dear Chief Prosser—Three months ago, you couldn’t have paid me to write this letter. One month ago, this note probably would have said the complete opposite of what I’m saying now. In fact, I don’t know why I’m writing this now, but I want to send it off before this mood leaves me and I end up deleting it.

            “I’ve never said this before, but Alex Davis is a really good kid. Sure he’s a world-class idiot sometimes, and he’s a total jerk the rest of the time, but lately I think I’ve seen a side of him that I never expected. He’s shown us on the force what he’s capable of in the last week. I think he should be given a better chance of getting the respect that his abilities deserve. He should be promoted. There, I’ve said it.

-Lt. BreeAnna Munroe”

           

            Alex’s head swam. Bree Munroe had actually written to Captain Prosser about his promotion? Was the world coming to an end so soon?

            Prosser didn’t say anything for a long time. He merely watched the sweating officer closely. Alex wished he could know what was going on in the stoic Chief’s mind.

            Chief Prosser’s face was a blank mask. His piercing gaze practically nailed Alex to the chair.

            Slowly, the Chief of Police leaned forward and clasped his hands.

            “I have to say, Davis,” he began slowly, “When you first joined the force, I thought you were one of those punks who just wanted to carry a badge and a gun to impress the ladies. I figured that once the going got tough, you would back down, give up, and you’d be the grunt of the force until you quit or got fired.”

            Alex felt a small part of him want to curl up in a deep hole under the earth and never emerge; this was exactly his reasoning behind becoming a cop: because it made for a really cool day-job. Evidently Captain Prosser had seen that from the beginning, and kept him on anyway.

            Prosser continued, “Now, the Mayor has notified me that there’s room in the budget for some promotions, and he told me to select the ones most worth the upgrade. I’m going to send him the list tonight…and your name will be on it.”

            Alex furtively reached under himself and grabbed his chair to keep from leaping out of it in excitement. “Thank you, sir,” was all he could trust himself to say.

            Prosser’s irritable mood returned and he waved his hand impatiently. “Get outta my office. See Marnie about getting a braid for that hat of yours before you leave. Congratulations, kid; you’ve earned it.”

            Alex didn’t remember his feet ever touching the ground as he moved out of the office, past Marnie’s desk, and out of the station. He didn’t doubt Ted and Marlo had to carry him. His senses did not return until he was standing on the sidewalk outside the police station. He barely heard their farewells as they honored the agreement and left him alone for his free time.

            He might have been standing there for most of the night if someone walking by had not saluted him, “Good evening, Officer Davis!”

            Alex blinked; who—A young woman smirked as she walked around him. He turned to follow her.

            “Hey,” he said.

            Daphne stopped under a street light and smiled. “I seem to recall that’s the first word you said to get my attention when we first met.”

            Alex dimly remembered that night; he shook his head. “Oh yeah, that; I don’t think that counts as an official meeting.”

            Daphne tilted her head, “We talked,” she countered.

            “I didn’t even ask your name.”

            “But you wanted to know if I was okay.”

            “Force of habit; it comes with the job.”

            Daphne laughed and twisted a lock of hair around her fingers. “Well, okay then; I’ll see you later.”

            She turned to leave, but Alex reacted on a gut impulse and stepped after her again.

            “Hey, um,” he wasn’t quite sure what to say when she turned to look at him. “Are you—uh, have you had—I mean—“ Where were the coy pick-up lines that always came with girls he knew had heard them all before? With them, he knew that they would know how to respond to any invitation; with Daphne, he couldn’t be so sure, especially with the way she’d suddenly turned sour on him the night before. He felt his cheeks flame brightly, and he decided to forgo proper grammar for the sake of getting his point across.

“Dinner?” he asked.

Daphne laughed; it sounded so much more wholesome than the high-pitched titter Adelaide favored. “Sure, I’d like that, I haven’t eaten yet; I was just about to stop by the taco wagon on my way home.”

Alex sighed with relief, “Here, I’ll get us a cab and we can go someplace downtown.” He escorted her to the main road to do just that.

Alex took Daphne to the Casa Romero, a Mexican restaurant he had frequented with his family.

“My sisters would always get these little one-dish things,” he mentioned to Daphne as they sat in a booth next to the window at the front of the building, “but Dad and us guys would go for the big plates, the two-hand burritos. Their enchilada sauce is awesome.”

Though the restaurant was not as upscale as the ones he’d gone to with Adelaide, Alex found that time actually flew as he and Daphne chatted away over spicy enchiladas and a sizzling pan of fajitas.

“So, Daphne,” Alex busily hacked another bite off the mammoth enchilada, careful to get plenty of chicken inside the tortilla, “I saw the other day that your bracelet has your initials on it; what’s your last name?”

Daphne chuckled, “Oh yeah, that’s right; isn’t the name the first thing you get off a girl, along with her number? I guess you don’t have anything but my first name.” she stabbed a few peppers and onions and deftly rolled them in the tortilla. “It’s Phillips,” she answered casually, focusing intently on her work, “Daphne Phillips.”

Alex nodded; he’d only gotten a glimpse of the spidery cursive engraving, and it wasn’t enough to discern whether the last letter had been a “P”, a “B”, or an “R.” He was glad she replied to his question so he would not have to admit that detail.

Alex felt like they’d only been at the restaurant for twenty minutes when Daphne glanced at her watch.

“Oh man,” she gasped, “It’s ten o’clock. I should get home.”

Alex stood to his feet immediately, “Oh, of course.” He waited for Daphne to walk past him out toward the front of the restaurant. The aisle was narrow, forcing them to do an awkward sort of dance to get past each other. Alex tried to carry the conversation to ease some of the tension. “This was fun, um, I mean, I had a good time tonight.”

Daphne smiled at him, “Yeah, me too; we should do it again sometime.”

Alex paid for their meal and the two of them walked out to the sidewalk to find another cab. One pulled up, but just at that moment, Alex glanced across the street and saw that they were very near an alley he remembered Chad Andrews’ fence mentioning, between the bowling alley and the gas station. He never realized how close it was to this restaurant, nor even that it was on this side of town.

Daphne was already in the cab, waiting for him. “You coming in?” she asked.

Alex couldn’t take his eyes off the shadowy alley, “No,” he said, “I think—I need to check something. I’ll see you later, Daphne.”

“All right; have a good night.”

“Thanks, you too.”

The minute the cab pulled away, Alex dashed to the crosswalk and darted across the street. There was a small out-building attached to the side of the bowling alley. Alex knocked on the door.

“It’s open!” a gruff voice barked.

Alex pushed open the weathered metal door and stepped inside. The room was small, mostly illuminated by black-light, and crowded with metal merchandise, mostly jewelry. Alex knew there were only a few items left on his list, but he followed a system he’d used on other stores and found very effective.

He pulled out a mug shot of Chad Andrews, “Do you know this guy?” he asked the frowning, scruffy man behind the counter.

The man gazed over the rims of his glasses at the photo, and pensively scratched his paunch with gnarled fingers.

“Yeah, been here a couple times; haven’t seen him lately, though,” the eyes darted up to Alex’s face suspiciously.

“I’m not here to make trouble,” Alex promised, “I just want to know: did he sell you anything?”

Another glance; another scratch. “Yeah; small fry. Just one piece.”

Alex felt his heartbeat quicken. “What piece would that be?”

The man pushed away from the counter and turned his back on the young man. Alex worried that he might have blown his last chance to finish reclaiming the heirloom, but the burly man soon turned back, holding a tiny box in his large hands.

“Just this,” he said, opening it and pushing it toward Alex, “A ring.”

A shock like electricity coursed through Alex’s hands as he picked up the ring. He had not previously seen any of the other heirlooms, but he had definitely seen this one before! It was Marlo’s wedding ring; her ghostly form still wore it!

He fought to keep his voice steady as he asked, “How much?”

The man glanced at him; Alex knew he was getting the once-over. Finally, the man crossed his arms and pushed his glasses up his nose. “One-fifty,” he rumbled.

Alex shook his head. “Seventy-five.”

The man leaned his paunch and both hands on the counter. “One-twenty.”

Alex adopted the same stance, sans the overextended belly, “Eighty.”

“That’s real gold, a real stone,” the man insisted, “I ain’t going lower than hunnert, take it or leave it.”

Alex shook his head and pulled out his checkbook. Chad had probably sold him the trinket for something like eighty dollars, but he would rather spend the money than risk losing the ring. “Fine, one hundred it is,” he responded.

The man replaced the ring and closed the box. He sneered at Alex. “Want a bag for that?”

Alex knew perfectly well there was no bag in the store. “Nah, I can carry it.” He turned around and left the room.

Alex arrived in his apartment, but he didn’t go straight to the attic just yet. In fact, the more he looked at the ring, sparkling so innocently in its box, the more he remembered the way Marlo would constantly be twisting it and playing with it, and the less he liked the idea of just dropping the box somewhere amid the jumble of heirlooms already in the attic. Something this small wasn’t meant to sit in a storage crate.

Ted’s jibe from that morning returned to him.

“Why not Daphne?”

Alex thought about the date he’d just left, the casual congeniality of Daphne—the way she rarely talked about her family. When they had been sharing personal stories over dinner, he’d rambled on an on about how one time his older brother and sister did such-and-such, or how his sisters always liked to go here or there, or his brothers’ favorite activities. Daphne had laughed and engaged in his family—but she never volunteered any tidbits about her own. Could it be that she didn’t have a family?

“Why was she going to all those pawnshops, then?” Alex asked aloud. This Daphne sure had a lot of mystery surrounding her.

In spite of all the unanswered details, Alex knew one thing was certain as he looked at the small, delicate ring between his fingers. He hadn’t given it much thought over the last few years, but with the promotion coming, Alex keenly felt the weight of responsibility on him, and he found within himself a new resolve. Daphne may not have been his best date ever, nor was she the prettiest girl he ever dated, but if he could spend the rest of his life with a girl like her—if not Daphne herself—by his side, he would be happy to the end of his days. What was more, he would appreciate the opportunity to be her especial protector, not just as a cop, but also as a husband.

He put the ring back in the box and tucked it in the back corner of the drawer of his bedside table. It looked sort of funny, seeing a ring box next to his Glock pistol and badge. Alex grinned as he lay back in bed and turned out the light.

Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise for Ted and Marlo Brendon, to see their young protégé finally taking his last steps to maturity after almost two weeks of intensive monitoring?

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Next >>>>>>

Serial Saturday: "Protective Custody" Pt. 8

At ten minutes to eight o’clock the next morning, Alex Davis frantically rummaged around his room to get out of the street clothes he had been wearing and into his uniform by eight o’clock.

            He had overestimated the effort it would take to get out of bed so much earlier than usual, not to mention he had also underestimated the “Harding Avenue” lead on the whereabouts of the Staten/Brendon heirlooms. There were no less than seven pawnshops within three blocks of Harding Avenue, and five more within a ten-block radius. Six of them had been visited by a certain lanky twenty-something within the last week, and three of them, upon hearing that said patron was an arrested criminal, willingly gave Alex a discounted price. The other three seemed not to care; Alex deduced these were Chad’s regular fences, and through clever steering of casual conversation, he learned the locations of several black market alleys frequented by Mr. Andrews.

            Alex’s own attic room where he stored all the dishes and valuables from his parents now contained half again the amount of merchandise, but since he knew the Brendons, even as ghosts, had no occasion of going up there, they were safe from discovery until the opportune moment—namely, when Alex would be able to recover everything that was stolen.

            Eight o’clock sharp, Ted and Marlo appeared. Alex was still in the process of smoothing his rumpled appearance.

            “You know,” Marlo observed with a matronly frown, “you’re kind of pushing this time-bending thing too far, I think.”

            Alex sighed, grabbing a granola bar and a cup of yogurt to dip it in on his way out the door. “I know, I’m sorry!” he cried, “I had an earl—a late night last night.”

            “All those reports keep you way past your bedtime?” Ted chided gently.

            Alex stopped in his tracks, just beyond the police station, and winced. He still had several forms to fill out, which he’d forgotten in his excitement to find out about the heirlooms. “I guess you could say that,” he conceded.

            Ted shrugged, “That’s okay, you’ll get them done.”

           

            Alex walked into the station and automatically swiped his keycard.

            “Morning, Alex,” Marnie greeted him with more warmth than usual.

            On a whim, Alex stopped instead of just breezing past the window to her desk from the bullpen, as he usually did. He looked up at her. “Good morning, Marnie,” he replied, “what do you have for me today?”

            “Not much, I’m afraid,” she responded, “just a lot of follow-up, places like the neighborhoods around by the cinema and the school district, speed trap on Beverly Highway, and any red flags that pop up. Boogie’s at nine, I’ll have dispatch keep you informed.”

            “Great!” Alex smiled and picked up the necessary dossiers.

            “Great?” Barelli’s sneering face appeared at his elbow, “What’s so great about a busy beat, Davis? You’re not thinking of hitting any single moms at the grade school, are you?”

            Alex gritted his teeth and walked away from Barelli with a scowl.

            Ted shook his head, “He does have a point, you know; you’ve been making progress, but you can’t reconstruct a reputation in a week.”

            “I just wish he’d leave me alone,” Alex whispered.

            “What’s that, Davis?” Barelli hooted, “Talking to yourself…again?”

            “BARELLI!” Prosser’s gruff bark echoed around the bullpen. “Patrol! Now!”

            “Oh, darn,” Barelli couldn’t resist one last blow, “one of the chicks in Pentomino Heights probably lost her fat corgi again; better go save her—oops, I mean, it.”

            Alex forced himself to stay rooted at his desk till he heard the garage door close behind Barelli. He huffed and began filling out the next form.

            “That young man needs to learn some manners!” Marlo cried tenderly. “Has he always treated you like this, Alex? Oh, I wish I could do something about him—or to him!” A fiendish glint lit her eye.

            Alex gave her a warning look and shrugged it off. Instead of replying verbally, he opened a document on his computer and typed out his responses. He was done attracting undue attention.

            I’ve never gotten this much flak before, he wrote, back then, I just kept out of everybody’s way, did what I wanted, not much follow-through unless it was a direct order from the captain.

            Ted chuckled, “So maybe the reason everybody has it in for you is because you’ve shaped up, and they don’t believe it?”

            Alex grinned and typed, Could be.

            He finished the reports and even went through the tedious process of delivering them to the different departments himself, instead of leaving them on his desk for Marnie to pick up at the end of the day, as he usually would. This action elicited shocked responses when people realized who it was, and almost always followed by a smile.

            En route to the first neighborhood on his list, Alex’s radio bleeped.

            “Hey, if anybody’s in the vicinity of Ernst Avenue,” said a cold voice he recognized, “I have a partial visual on a subject heading north on Cavern Street, and I need another pair of eyes to confirm.”

            Alex groaned; here he was, feeling more efficient and better than he ever had before, and his first opportunity to “go to bat” for someone, it had to be Lieutenant Munroe, the person who really hated him!

            The Brendons, crunched in the front seat, both flashed him a thumbs-up and a grin.

            Alex picked up his radio, “Roger that, this is 145, I’ve got you covered.”

            For once, Bree Munroe was so shocked she didn’t even have a comeback. “Wha…Al—I mean, Davis? What are you doing over here?”

            Alex checked his itinerary. Yes, one of his sweeps would take him right over Ernst Avenue. He could cover for Munroe and still fulfill his duties. “It’s on my list,” he said, “no big deal.”

            He could tell she was fighting to keep control of her voice and the situation as she responded tersely, “I’m sending the mug shot to your computer. Confirm, and I’ll move in. Don’t even think about engaging him yourself!”

            Alex watched the photograph of the burly Caucasian male, 35, 6’4”, 230 lbs., appear on his screen. He set the radio down. It would be just like Bree Munroe to want to take on a suspect like this.

            “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he remarked to the Brendons with a wink. He turned down 14^th Street, which would take him right out to Ernst Avenue.

            He radioed Bree. “Turning on to Ernst Avenue now,” he reported.

            “Don’t you dare spook him, Davis!” she warned him.

            Alex stayed behind the cover of some trees as the suspect in question approached the block. One glance told him the man had ear-buds in. Wonderful, that made him unsuspecting, distracted. He scanned the face quickly, memorizing it before glancing back at the photo. The man moved like a linebacker; in fact, he probably was one, in college.

            “It’s him,” he told Bree quickly, “He’s plugged in.”

            He heard a noise over his radio, and blinked. She laughed; Bree Munroe actually laughed. Albeit it was sort of a darkly delighted chuckle, but it was more than just the scoffing “HA!” Alex had only ever heard from her.

            “He won’t even know what hit him!” she crowed, and Alex clearly heard the revving of an engine down the block to his left.

            “Hit him?” he echoed, not sure if Bree was being figurative or literal.

           

Bree’s patrol car zoomed past him, pulling to a screeching halt just across from the man. Lieutenant Munroe jumped out, guns blazing, like she meant business.

            “Victor McAllister,” she shrieked, “you’re under arrest for assault and theft!”

            Victor realized too late that she was on him, and by the time he thought to yank the earbuds out of his ears and sprint, she already had one wrist cuffed. She jumped to grab the other, and pulled it roughly behind his back to cuff that one. There was a malicious glint in her eye as she marched Victor not to her own patrol car, but to Alex’s, and shoved him into the back seat.

            “Take him down to booking, will you?” she asked rhetorically, “I have a few more arrests to make.”

            Alex rolled his eyes. A smart-aleck remark formed in his mind, but Marlo saw it coming and shook her head. Instead, Alex responded, “Fine, whatever,” through gritted teeth.

            He turned back to the main road before he could see the brief stunned expression on Bree’s face.

            He did, however, witness the shocked reaction he got when Marnie saw him marching in behind the former linebacker.

            “Did you find this guy?” she gasped incredulously as Alex guided him into the holding cell.

            Alex shook his head, “I’m just the delivery boy. Lieutenant Munroe made the arrest.”

            This only increased Marnie’s amazement. “You…Alex Davis…. Brought him in…for Bree Munroe?” She looked at him as if she thought he was delirious or something.

            Alex enjoyed her astonishment, shrugging as if the behavior was completely normal. “She said she had more arrests to make.” He turned back toward the garage. “I’m headed back out to the speed trap.”

            “Oh…” Marnie could barely get the words out, “Oh—okay.”

            On his way out to the highway, Alex decided to take the route that would bring him right through Harding Avenue. He said nothing to the Brendons, and they never suspected a thing.

            Alex, however, was plenty suspicious himself when he saw Daphne walking out of one of the pawnshops he had yet to visit. What could she be doing there? Why would a girl who works three different jobs every day be visiting a pawnshop? Alex wondered; could it be that she was not as well-off as one would expect, and so received extra revenue by selling her stuff? Alex wondered what a girl like Daphne would have to sell. Was she from a “fallen-from-riches” family, and so had to sell her family heirlooms to survive?

            Once he reached the highway, Daphne was completely forgotten, and Alex focused entirely on the task at hand. He monitored speed, recalling that this was how he was able to get his first date with Adelaide. He remembered that night, about how she took him to ritzy places, how her face glowed, how she sat across from him at the table and winked softly over the rim of her martini glass…Alex blinked when he realized his radio was in the midst of a conniption.

            “Hate to interrupt your dreams,” Ted commented wryly, “but there’s a shoplifter cornered at the Hertzfeld market, and rumor has it he’s waving a gun around.”

            Alex dove back in the car and flipped on his radio. “Dispatch, this is 145, I’m headed to Hertzfeld.”

            “Fourteen-five, is that you?” the dispatcher’s voice for once lost it’s dry, cutting edge and seemed almost pleasantly surprised. “Very well, I’ll notify the management.”

            Once Alex arrived on the scene, it didn’t take long to figure out that it was a modified airsoft gun in the man’s hand, because he immediately surrendered at the sight of Alex’s very real sidearm and badge. The instant he returned to his vehicle, the dispatcher contacted him with another request.

            “Caller on Southern Avenue says there’s a suspicious-looking man creeping around her neighbor’s yard.”

            Alex chuckled, “Can I get a more accurate description than ‘suspicious’?” he asked.

            “Why, Officer,” the dispatcher responded, “is there something wrong?”

            Alex raised an eyebrow. “Should there be?” he asked her.

            “The only description you’ve ever asked for is the victim: is she cute, is she young, is she not too young, is she rich—“

            “Yeah, I remember,” Alex grimaced to think of how shamelessly he would treat his job in the not-so-distant past. “No, there’s nothing wrong,” he winked at the Brendons, “I guess I just woke up and decided to be mature for a change.”

            “Change indeed!” the dispatch replied, “Well, she did say he was tall and lean, and had dark hair. I’m sorry I can’t get you much beyond that.”

            “I’ll head over there and see what I can find,” Alex replied reluctantly.

            En route, the dispatcher called him again.

            “Patrol 145, I have a call coming in about a car crash on Forrest Avenue.”

            “What about the suspicious housebreaker?”

            “Patrol, that is not an active emergency, please proceed to Forrest Avenue via McGrath Street.”

            The dispatcher had lost her personal tone, and reverted back to the “professional” drone. Alex sighed, “Roger that, Dispatch,” he replied.

            He turned down Forrest Avenue. Two vehicles were involved, and the fire truck was just arriving. Alex saw two teenage girls standing beside the car in back, crying uncontrollably, while the couple from the car in front stood at a distance, glancing between Alex and the girls and whispering nervously to each other. It appeared to be a full-on T-bone collision, but how had they managed it? The front car’s body was more substantial; it had crushed the other car’s hood almost completely, while keeping its passengers safe. Alex could see a young man in the driver’s seat, badly injured and unconscious. The firemen worked in grim silence to get him out.

            “What happened?” Alex asked the two groups. Both began speaking at once.

            “Those kids came out of nowhere officer, they just came whipping around the corner and smashed right into us before we could get out of their way!”

            “I don’t know what happened, officer! Tony was driving and all of a sudden this car comes out of nowhere around the corner and totally smashes into us!”

            The man from the front car glared at the girl who had spoken, “Wait a minute, you crashed into us first!”

            The girl rubbed her face and stamped her foot. “You were the one who clipped the front of our car and got us spinning out of control!”

            “Well then you should not have been driving so close to the middle!”

            “We were almost on the shoulder! You were practically in our lane, there was no way we could have avoided that!”

            Alex groaned inwardly. He looked back at the cars. The skid patterns on the road did seem to support the girl’s story of the couple being at fault, but—he shook his head. That wasn’t his problem. He glanced to the group, “Do you all have emergency contacts?”

            The man nodded, “My sister’s on the way.”

            “My mom is coming to take us to the hospital,” the second girl said.

            Alex nodded, “All right, good. Let me call a tow truck, and we can get this mess cleaned up.” He grabbed a small broom from the back of his patrol car.

            In an hour, they had swept most of the glass and debris off the road. It took another hour for the tow trucks to arrive, but eventually they did, and Alex could return to his car for the next call.

            Alex barely had time to pick up a hamburger for lunch between chasing down a purse-snatcher for an elderly woman, checking up on that suspicious stranger from the morning (who turned out to be the resident’s husband recently returned from a long business trip; he had merely been checking for the spare key hideaway), and calming down a crazed gunman at a drug store downtown. It was nearing five o’clock, Alex knew he had plenty of reports to fill out back at the station, but Ted insisted he turn on his radio.

            “Patrol 145, this is 618, do you copy?”

            Alex wanted to bang his head on the steering wheel. Last call of the day, and it had to be Lieutenant Munroe?

            Marlo laid an intangible hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Alex; you’ve done really good all day. Make this one count!”

            Alex punched the call button on his radio. “This is 145,” he responded through gritted teeth, “I copy.”

            “Meet me at Heathrow Boulevard. Think you could manage that, 145?”

            Heathrow? Alex’s spirits rose. That was back in the high-end district! This could be his lucky call!

            “I’ll be there in ten, 618.”

            “Roger that.”

            Alex pulled onto the freeway, grateful for the chance to visit the old places. As much as he had tried to leave the old Alex behind, he still missed hanging out where he could be noticed, where he wanted to be noticed.

            He spotted Bree’s car parked in front of a sports bar. The Lieutenant herself was nowhere in sight.

            “Six-eighteen, this is one-forty-five,” he said into his radio.

            “Fourteen-five, come on in, and bring your extra cuffs and a first-aid kit.” Bree responded, and there was a small noise just before her radio clicked off; was that a snicker he heard?

            Alex walked into the sports bar. It looked like it would have been a nice enough establishment—if it weren’t for the glass and tables and chairs strewn everywhere. Alex found Bree in the likeliest of places: in the midst of the chaos. She had one man unconscious, another in cuffs, and two more under her gun and that of the bartender.

            “Cuff that one first,” she nodded toward the one under the bartender’s eye, “so Mitch can go back to cleaning up the mess.”

            Alex nodded and followed the instructions. As soon as he finished, Bree handed him the extra pair from her belt. “Now the guy on the floor. Careful moving him, I think I dislocated his jaw.”

            Alex shook his head, “So what was their crime, Lieutenant?”

            “Brawling, disruption of the peace, and belligerence,” she stated calmly.

            “And what were you doing?” Alex struggled to heave the burly man upright so he could get the cuffs on.

            “Disrupting the belligerence,” she shot back. “It’s my job. Cuff this guy for me, I’ll get the two packed in.” As Alex worked, Lieutenant Munroe trucked the man in her cuffs and the first man Alex cuffed out to the curb. “Bring them when you’re finished,” she called over her shoulder.

            “She sure likes to boss you around,” Ted Brendon remarked.

            “Tell me about it!” Alex snorted.

            “What was that?” Bree’s catlike ears caught his muttered remark.

            “Nothing!” Alex hollered. He ordered the still-conscious perpetrator to walk out ahead of him, while he half-dragged the unconscious brawler out the door.

            Bree was waiting next to her empty patrol car. She had deposited the first two perpetrators in the back seat of Alex’s car.

            “In here, playboy,” she barked at Alex. As she closed the door behind the unconscious man, she didn’t even look at Alex as she said, “You don’t mind taking those guys in for me, do ya?”

            She moved on as if she did not expect a reply, but Alex surprised the two of them when he suddenly burst out, “As a matter of fact, no, I don’t mind.”

            Bree stopped and gave him a strange look. She blinked, and climbed into her car. Before pulling away, she rolled down her window.

            “Thanks, Davis,” she said, and zipped off toward the station.

            Alex drove after her, and she was just booking a newly-revived brawler when he came in following his two passengers. He saw that same strange look in Bree’s eyes as she glanced briefly at him, but she didn’t say anything and walked away.

           

            Alex sat at his desk to start on the evening’s paperwork. A hot-pink, heart-shaped post-it note caught his attention. It was a message from Marnie.

            Girlfriend called. Wants a date. Says to call at eight. 555-4642

            Alex smiled; it was just what he needed, a date with Addie. The smile dimmed as he remembered the guy he’d seen her with last, and the way she’d brushed him off on Sunday. Marnie did say she wanted a date; maybe she had come around.

            Alex finished the last form and called Addie.

            “Hello?”

            “Hi, Addie, it’s Alex. Are you still up for going out tonight?”

            “Oh, jeez, yes! I’ve been so incredibly bored all day long! Come save me!”

            Alex chuckled, “All right; I’ll pick you up at your townhouse at eight-thirty, just like last time. Does that work for you?”

            Addie did not reply right away, and Alex detected some indistinct talking in the background.

            Finally, she spoke, “Actually, could you pick me up at the Chic Boutique? I’ve just been doing a little shopping. Oh, and tell Mack to let you drive the Jag."

            Alex hesitated; a Jaguar? “It’s no trouble for me to—“

            “Oh, please, Allen!”

            “It’s Alex,” he corrected her automatically, and sighed, “All right, the Jag it is.”

            Alex made a quick stop by his apartment to change his clothes and freshen up, and then he took a cab to the parking garage on Addie’s block.

            “Hey Mack,” he greeted the attendant. “Addie asked me to—“

            “I know, she called me,” Mack winked and slid him the keys to the Jaguar. “She must like you; she saves the Jag to show off her date. Makes him feel good, makes her look good.”

            Alex felt so out-of-place even touching such an exclusive car that he didn’t reply. He forced himself to focus on getting to the Boutique, finding that concentrating on the driving took his mind off of the fact that it was an extremely expensive car.

            Addie was waiting on the curb when he reached the Chic Boutique. Alex parked and got out to help her load the numerous bags into the trunk. She handed him a thin box.

            “This is for you; I’ll drive while you put it on,” she said quickly, dodging around the car before he could react.

            Alex sat in the passenger seat and opened the box. Inside was an Italian silk shirt and hand-stitched tie. They looked custom-made. He glanced at Addie; why was she doing this?

            “Is what I’m wearing not nice enough?” he inquired.

            Adelaide glanced at it sideways. “Not hardly, Alvin; we’re going to the Sandy Shores tonight, and I want my date to look his best!”

            Alex shook his head and changed shirts; first the Jaguar, now a shirt and tie—not to mention she continuously got his name wrong. Was he supposed to be someone else?

           

            Addie pulled up next to the curb, and a valet opened the door to let her out. She waited till Alex came around and took her by the hand.

            In the restaurant, the host recognized her by sight, and led her to a booth against the side of the restaurant. The waiter followed soon behind.

            “Hello, my name is Carlos, I will be taking care of you tonight. Can I get you two started on any drinks or appetizers tonight?”

            “Appletini for me,” Adelaide spoke up immediately, “and Alex—“

            “Corona with a lime,” Alex ordered.

            Carlos nodded, “Appletini and Corona? Very good, sir.”

           

            Alex glanced down the menu, intentionally ignoring the prices; Mack’s words haunted him, “She wants to show off her date.” He had a feeling that in Addie’s case, “showing off” meant paying for the meal as well. His mouth watered at the selection of ribs and sirloin steaks.

            When Carlos returned with the drinks and asked if they were ready to order, Adelaide pounced.

            “Yes, we are,” she bubbled gratuitously. “We’ll have house salad and bruschetta to start, and for the meal I’ll have the Chicken Portobello Massala, and Alex will have the Catfish Fillet.”

            Carlos nodded and took their menus before Alex had time to register.

           

            Very soon, he was back with their salads and bruschetta. Alex ate, knowing that he wasn’t going to get a very filling meal tonight. Carlos brought their entrees, and sure enough, the catfish fillet graced the center of his plate with only a few potatoes arranged neatly on the side, and a small knot of green beans on the other.

"I hope you don't mind my doing this,” Adelaide burst out almost apologetically, clasping his hand in hers. “The tabs think I'm dating a deep-sea angler."

Alex blinked and shook his head, "I didn't know that fishing was more reputable than police work!" he retorted before he could stop himself.

Adelaide ignored his offended tone and giggled, "It's not about being reputable, it's about reputation, dear! If people knew you were a cop, they might think I was only stringing you along to get things from you."

Alex bit his tongue, as his mind wished to demand of the young lady, Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?

Once they had finished eating, Adelaide glanced toward the door, and then nodded to the small area near the live band playing music for the patrons.

“Let’s dance,” she proposed.

Alex could almost forgive her for the fish as she gave him the opportunity to do some “showing off” himself. Many dates in the past had involved dancing, and through that practice, Alex had become quite dexterous on the dance floor. He led with great finesse, while Adelaide simpered, swayed, and flirted with him. He noticed that she exaggerated her movements more than she needed to; watching Adelaide spin around him, Alex received the impression that she might be putting on an act somehow. For whom? And why?

Alex blinked away from his thoughts as he realized Addie had come to a stop and now swayed with her arms around his neck.

“I’m thirsty,” she whispered in his ear. “Could you get me a drink?”

Alex nodded, “Wait here,” he said.

It took him a while to weave out of the knot of dancers, but he made it to the bar.

“Two ice waters, please,” he said to the bartender.

Glasses in hand, he began weaving his way back to where he had left Adelaide.

She wasn’t there. Confused and gradually becoming disoriented in the shifting crowd, Alex tried to pick her out among the moving people, then he scanned the tables just off the dance floor to see if she was waiting there. The beat of the music picked up, and Alex nearly spilled the glasses he held as an energetic couple jostled him.

“Watch it!” the man snapped, and Alex decided that the middle of the dance floor was not the best place to wait for Addie. He weaved back to the outside of the area, and finally he spotted her—at the bar.

Alex set the glasses on the nearest table and focused on dodging around waiters and tables to get to her. She was already on her second cocktail.

“Adelaide,” he called her attention as he approached.

She turned, and he saw the old familiar glassy look just starting to glaze over her eyes.

“I got thirsty while I was waiting, and then I couldn’t find you,” she explained.

Alex shook his head and gently removed the cocktail from her reach. “Those aren’t really thirst-quenchers, you know,” he chided her. “Time to go, Addie.” He grabbed her purse and led her from the restaurant.

As he pushed open the door for her, Addie remarked, “That was fun.”

“I’m glad you had fun tonight,” Alex said, but he barely had time to get the words out before Adelaide started babbling profusely.

“Oh, believe me, Arthur, I did have fun; you sure know how to show a girl a good time. I mean, the movie last night, and the candlelight picnic before that—I never knew you could get so romantic! Will you take me out on your boat next time?”

Alex was almost speechless at this unexpected chatter. Movie? Picnic? What was she talking about? She behaved as if he had been the one to take her out, not the other way around! When she asked about the boat, though, he remembered the ruse she had covered him with; perhaps this was just a bit of gossip for the tabloids, just in case any were lurking about. Alex decided to play along.

“Sure,” he responded.

Addie smiled and smoothed his collar. “Nice shirt, and I like your tie,” she winked at him. Then suddenly she was off down the sidewalk, spreading her arms wide, “Oh, the moon is so beautiful tonight!” she cried rapturously, “Don’t you think that this city is the best place in the country? We really are the luckiest people in the world.”

Alex checked his impatience and grabbed Addie’s hand again.

“Adelaide,” he murmured gently, for her sake, “what’s gotten into you?”

“It’s you,” she blinked widely at him, and she was off again on another speech.

“You’ve gotten into me, Alex, and I’ll never forgive myself for it! How awful I have been, trading around boyfriends as if they were just another outfit to wear, and it’s thanks to you that I have realized my mistake! I never knew who I really was before I met you, Alex, but you were the first one to see through the tangled hair of deceit and low self-esteem that I had hid behind for so long.” Her voice rose with the drama of her words, and she stepped closer and closer to Alex as she spoke. Alex could only stand and watch, numb with amazement, as Adelaide put on a persona he never expected to see from her. She was right in his face now.

“No more charades, Alex,” she whispered, “I cannot hide—“ suddenly she cut herself off and kissed him passionately. Alex kissed back, gratified, but desperately confused; what was she doing? Finally, she pulled back and smiled at him.

“I—“ Alex struggled to find his voice again, “I think I need to drive you home, Addie.”

Addie dropped her arms from around his neck and nodded. “Sure,” she replied evenly, “we can go back to my place for some privacy.”

She was still acting; she might even still be drunk, for all he could tell. Alex accepted the keys from the valet and drove back to Adelaide’s townhouse. He helped her out of the car and up the stairs, but when he offered the keys, she shook her head.

“Keep the car,” she announced in the same elevated tone she’d been using. “We’ll meet again on Friday, let things sizzle till then.”

Alex dropped the keys in Addie’s purse. “Friday? Why wait so long?” he asked, “are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow,” Addie said quickly, dropping her voice to a whisper, “I’m…busy.”

“Busy doing what?” Alex was beyond caring about being discreet or not.

Adelaide put a finger to her lips. “Shh! Not so loud! Look, Alex, you were great tonight, you’ve been great every night, but just so you know, things aren't ever going to work out between us."

This was definitely the strangest break-up Alex had ever been through. "So that's it? I'm not your boyfriend, I'm just your chaperone when you don't have one?"

Addie sighed and twisted a lock of hair around her fingers. She leaned on the doorpost. "Alex, I like you, I really do; you make me feel—"

Alex shook his head and raised his hand, "No, save it,” he said, going down the steps. At the bottom, he turned back to Adelaide. “I won't see you on Friday...or ever. We’re done; it’s over. Goodnight, Adelaide."

He expected another dramatic blowout, but none came. Addie sighed and closed the door. Alex departed for the bus stop that would take him back to his apartment. Why did a temporary fling like Adelaide Donahue leave him feeling so jaded?

A car horn shattered the late-night stillness. Alex peered down the street and saw in the shadows a woman struggling to load cleaning supplies in her car. She probably bumped a button on the remote clutched in her hand. Alex jogged over to her, reaching out to catch the cumbersome vacuum before it crushed her foot.

“Here,” he offered, “Let me help you.”

"Well hello, Mr. Knight-in-shining-armor!"

Alex blinked at the familiar voice. The young woman moved into the light, and Alex cried in surprise, “Daphne, what are you doing here?”

Daphne grinned as she heaved the last box of equipment into her trunk and closed the lid. “Stealing cleaning supplies, officer!” she joked. After a light laugh, she continued, “No, while you're a cop who moonlights as a celebrity boyfriend, I guess that makes me a mall attendant who moonlights as a cleaning lady.” She shrugged and looked slightly embarrassed.

Alex knew exactly how she felt. “You heard that, huh?” he asked, leaning against the trunk next to the brunette.

Daphne nodded, “Loud and clear; so did the guy with the camera hiding behind that tree over there. He's gone now, but Addie got her last moments.”

Alex blinked, “You know her?”

Daphne chuckled, “Of course! Addie Donahue, the reality tv superstar.”

Alex wrinkled his nose, “Reality TV?” he echoed incredulously “Are you serious? That chick needs a reality check!”

The brunette gave him a playful nudge with her elbow. “Ouch, sounds like you let the paper flames burn ya!” she teased. She reached down to pick at a spot of something on her jeans as she spoke. “Don't sweat it. She's probably done this to five other guys on cities across the country already. Some new series she's doing called ‘That's Amore!’”

Alex felt every inch the fool as the extent of Daphne’s words hit him. He’d been a pawn of a reality TV series! He tried to needle Daphne in her turn. “You sound suspiciously well-informed for someone who is not a fan,” he observed.

“Can I help it if the television store across from Coach plays her promo videos all the time?” Daphne asked with a shrug. Her brown eyes sparkled as she jabbed yet again. “You'll probably make a cameo appearance in the next one, before the series airs. Or maybe she'll want to keep you a surprise; after all, you're the first guy to break up with her because she's a bad girlfriend, not because you found out about the cameras."

Alex shakes his head, “This is unreal!” Just then, he remembered that this was not the first time today he had seen Daphne. “Oh hey,” he tried to switch tacks casually, “I wanted to ask you: I saw you coming out of the Gold Rush Pawnshop earlier today; what were you doing?”

He felt her stiffen guiltily next to him. She spoke quickly, “Why would you be so interested? I wasn't doing anything illegal!”

Alex looked over at her; Daphne was chewing her lip, “No need to get worked up,” he said, “I was only curious.”

She looked up at him, “Well you can go on being curious then, because I'm not telling!” she snapped. He could see the regret on her face as soon as the words left her mouth. Daphne sighed, “Sorry I didn't mean to snap, it's just—“ she waved her hand ambivalently, and ran it through her wavy brown hair. “I'm tired,” she admitted, “I need to get home. I have an early start tomorrow. Good night, Alex—I mean, Officer Davis."

            She got into her car and drove away.

            Alex reached the corner, but instead of waiting for a bus, he hailed a cab.

            “Gold Rush Pawnshop, on Harding Avenue, please,” he directed the driver.

            Alex walked into the pawnshop and asked the owner if he remembered a girl fitting the description of Daphne.

            The tall, lanky man stroked his stubbly chin. “Blond girl? Average height? Two-thirty?” Finally he nodded, “Yeah, I remember her. She's come in a few times before, too. Why?”

Alex realized how strange it sounded, but he was beyond caring as he said, “I just want to know why she comes in.”

Sure enough, the man gave him a puzzled look. “Who’s asking? You her father? Brother?”

Alex waved his hand, “Just someone concerned for her.”

The owner gave a gap-toothed smile, “Ah, boyfriend; she comes in and looks at the same case of antiques every time. Pretty sure she can't afford anything, but looking's still free in my shop.”

“Which case?”

            The man pointed to a small display case against the wall directly in front of the door.

Alex glanced in, and he could not resist crying, “Hey, I recognize those things!”

Instantly, the owner was at his side, “You do?” he cried incredulously.

Of course he did! They were most of the remaining pieces of the Staten heirlooms that he’d been searching for! Why on earth would Daphne be looking at these? Alex quickly tried to cover his true interest while being as honest as possible.

Yeah,” he told the shopkeeper, “I'm an off-duty cop, see, and I believe you're in possession of stolen property.”

The words did the trick. The man paled, “S-s-Stolen?” he stuttered in horror, “You mean the guy that brought them in was a thief?”

            Alex pulled out his smart-phone and opened a copy of Chad Andrews’ mug shot. “This guy?” he asked.

The man didn’t have to look twice. He nodded, “That's the one; officer, I swear, I never would have taken them if I had known. He even brought his Grandma in, saying it was her stuff he wanted to sell me!”

Alex shook his head grimly, “No doubt it was some unsuspecting soul off the street,” he said. Leaning in, he continued, “Now, I believe you, so what I'm going to do is buy all this stuff for the amount you paid, and you can forget you ever had them. Is this everything you bought from the guy?”

The pawnshop owner was already opening the display case and unloading the merchandise onto the counter. “Yeah, this is all of it; I've tried different pricings and sets, but haven't sold a one of them. I paid $600 for the whole mess.”

            Alex reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his checkbook. He filled out a check for the amount and handed it to the man. “Make sure it doesn't happen again,” he warned.

The storeowner was so grateful he packed the heirlooms into a crate for Alex. “Yes sir,” he said with a nod. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Alex picked up the box, elated at his good fortune. “Goodnight!” he said, and took the cab back to his apartment.

<<<<>>>>

Next >>>>>>

The Show-Down: Sherlock vs. Elementary

I almost didn't watch Sherlock. I'd seen it pop up a few times on Netflix as a recommendation, but I also had the misfortune to watch The Young Indiana Jones—at least the first 30 seconds of the pilot. It was so terrible, I was afraid when I first saw Sherlock pop up that it would be something like that. (I'm not kidding; on my mobile device, the thumbnail makes Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman look like a couple of teens or twentysomethings—neither of which fits with Doyle's Sherlock at all, in any context) Moreover, I had seen and very much resented the version of Sherlock played by Robert Downey, Jr. Don't get me wrong, he's a great actor and I can imagine no one better in the role of Tony Stark... Just not Sherlock. (For those who liked the movies, I understand that the inspiration for them came not from Doyle but from a series of graphic novels themselves inspired by the stories; I do not condemn this in any way, I only adhere to my preference for the originals)
I was worried that this new series was going to try and build off of it, making Sherlock to be a crystal-snuffing, potentially-homosexual brainiac with a bumbling roommate. (Harsh, but there you have it; I was genuinely worried... My apologies to the BBC for assuming they would commit such an atrocity against one of their own, to reduce Sherlock and Watson to such a degree)

Then one day, May 2011 I believe, my sister mentions to me, "Have you seen that modernized Sherlock series on Netflix? It's really good!"

My first reaction (In my head): "Now, wait a minute! I thought I was the Sherlock nerd here! I've read the Complete Unabridged Adventures of Sherlock Holmes cover-to-cover four or five times, nearly to the point of memorization for some of them! You've read it, what, barely even once when it wasn't assigned for school? And you're the one telling me that you really like a Sherlock series?"
We owned two DVD sets of Sherlock Holmes TV series, one with Leslie Howard in the leading role (which you couldn't see or hear, of course, because it was black-and-white and very poor quality), and another with Christopher Lee (Which was awesome; I love it when actors can bring their own expertise to a character without it being a recently-acquired skill; Lee's own experience as a detective with Scotland Yard came out beautifully in his portrayal of Sherlock). I have only seen those once, and no one on my family would even dream of wanting to watch them at all.
Now here was my sister, telling ME about a "cool new Sherlock series."
I had to watch it.

By the intertitle card at, oh, probably five minutes into the episode, I was irrevocably hooked. Sherlock exceeded my wildest dreams on several counts:
1) Even though it was a modern setting, it followed the plots of the stories on which the episodes were based to the point where I could predict the outcome because I knew the story;
2) The relationship between Watson and Holmes is teased about for one episode only, then regarded for what it is for the remainder of the show, and never brought up again (so far);
3) The nicotine patches were, in my opinion, a master stroke! In the original stories, I only found one mention of Sherlock's "coke habit" in one story, just a few sentences in hundreds of pages. In that same spirit, the writers of Sherlock devoted one scene of one episode to Sherlock on withdrawal, hunting for his drug with all the maturity of a little boy who's mislaid his Halloween candy—but Sherlock never finds it, because Watson has done the responsible thing and gotten rid of it (Well done, John!)
4) The montage over the several cases that the series never covers but have contributed to Sherlock's fame was equally entertaining. I do love a good bit of wordplay, which they managed to involve with every single title mentioned!
5) Quite frankly, I never saw Moriarty coming, and I really like how he seems to be a bit younger than Sherlock, to give the effect that Moriarty could have in fact outlived Sherlock, even if they went their separate ways and didn't try to kill each other again. (As opposed to being a devious older man, as in the movies)

Which brings me to the CBS show Elementary.

The greenlighting of the series was announced, if I remember correctly, not long after the second season of Sherlock—and about the time when I discovered the cancellation of another CBS show that I really liked, that ended on an UNRESOLVED CLIFFHANGER after only one season! At first I was like "No way!"
By now I had realized that my fear about Sherlock being portrayed as a druggie and his relationship with Watson becoming something more romantic than it ever was in the stories stemmed from the Americanization of Sherlock Holmes, our own perception of the character, based on our culture, as opposed to the British culture. I read the phrase "recovering drug addict" and learned that Watson would be a woman, and promptly launched a preemptive personal boycott. No one was going to change Sherlock Holmes for me! I just knew it was going to be a copycat series, and I was very disappointed that CBS would choose to discontinue an original, exciting concept in favor of starting a re-hash.
I was perfectly happy with "my" Sherlock...
Then the Hobbit came out and delayed Season 3 of the show for another year. What's an avid fan to do?
I decided to give it one shot. If I watched the pilot and it fulfilled my low expectations of it, I could continue the boycott with impunity.
By the end of the episode, I still was not sure if I particularly liked a female Watson, or the kooky, esoteric Sherlock, as portrayed by Johnny Lee Miller. As it turns out he was more of a "rehabilitated ex-druggie" than a druggie, but he was definitely more antisocial than Benedict's suave, clever "higher-functioning sociopath."

A comparison between the two might very well fall along the lines of "How to Win Arguments And Influence People" (Cumberbatch) and "How to Lose Respect and Alienate People" (Miller).
Benedict's Sherlock was clean-cut, suave, and almost transcendent of society. Miller's Sherlock is scruffy, unorthodox, and treats society with more of an irreverence than actual disdain.

As for the story arc/episodes themselves, I would go so far as to consider the BBC version entirely canonical. With the exception of some character names and the use of modern locations and technology, one could easily believe that Doyle would have, if he were a 21st-century writer, written his mysteries in exactly this way. Doyle's Sherlock certainly would have used his smartphone for all sorts of information and communication at his fingertips, etc.
CBS, on the other hand, makes no pretense of going "canonical." From calling the show "Elementary," to merely using the names Sherlock Holmes and Watson, not the actual characters themselves and certainly not fashioning any sort of patterned mystery "as the book does it," the American show does an interesting thing. It takes an icon of detective literature and reconstitutes it into an inventive but in all other ways typical crime drama series. If the two main characters were the eccentric Floyd MacDowell and his spunky "sober companion" Jessica Hartman, the series would not even have to worry about copyright issues. The mysteries and investigations are unique, the context is entirely original—all that's left is a few of the better-known names from the original book.
I love a good crime/cop drama. I've watched and enjoyed plenty. I was on the fence about Elementary because I was still trying to picture it in the context of Sherlock Holmes. Once I stopped thinking about it as Sherlock, though, and started regarding it as a brilliant criminologist and his female housemate (who really seems to be Watson and Mrs. Hudson rolled into one) and not a romantic interest—suddenly the whole show got a little bit better. Not completely—the crime scenes are generally disturbing, and the Elementary Sherlock is candid (just barely pushing the envelope) about the topic of sex, but only when it is pertinent to his observations. (which is not always)

Verdict: I feel I can recommend both series equally—provided they are regarded as completely different species. Sherlock is a cat, and Elementary is more like a dog; they both have four legs, fur, and make great pets, but they have vastly different characteristics and serve very different purposes. But both series are well-done, well-acted (the writing on Elementary could use a little help sometimes, unlike Sherlock), and very fun to watch.

Serial Saturday: "Protective Custody", Part 7

 

Alex was in a decidedly good mood when Ted and Marlo appeared the next morning.

"Congrats on the capture last night, son," Ted said as Alex basked in the glory of actually nabbing the bad guy on a stakeout. Trouble was, it was the only congratulations he'd gotten all day, the one from a couple of ghosts, because those that knew didn't care, and the rest just plain didn't know.

Alex smiled, "Thank you," he responded.

"What?" Chris had been walking by his desk in time to catch the comment.

Alex flushed and ducked his head. "Nothing," he muttered.

He noticed as he filled out his paperwork (more, lately, but Alex didn't find it as much of a drag as he expected) that the Brendons stood with awkward expressions, watching him.

"What is it?" he asked under his breath.

Marlo cleared her throat. "Um...about that guy you caught last night..."

Alex glanced toward the holding area where the miscreant awaited processing. "What about him?" he asked the couple with a puzzled expression.

Ted sighed, "Marlo thinks he might be the accomplice who stole all our stuff."

"Really?" Alex was so shocked that he couldn't help squeaking a bit and turning a couple heads. He dropped his voice, "Are you sure?"

Marlo nodded, her eyes wide and sad. "He's wearing my dad's cufflinks in his ear-gages!"

Alex shook his head, "I don't believe this—but we only got him on attempted robbery; there's no way we can pin that one on him."

"There's gotta be a way!" Marlo persisted. "Couldn't you, like, question him on it or something?"

Alex shook his head, "And when the chief asks me where I got my intel from, what do I tell him? I heard it from a couple ghosts?"

Marlo twisted a lock of hair in agitation, "Maybe an anonymous tip?" she suggested slowly.

Alex scoffed, "Yeah, right, who is going to tip about a robbery where the only witnesses are dead and the murderer is already caught?" he saw that in spite of his derision, Marlo still seemed concerned. "Incidentally," he whispered under his breath, "why are these heirlooms so important to you?"

"Mom gave them to me because she knew that out of all my brothers and sisters, I was the only one who would regard them as treasures and keepsakes, not sources of money when mine ran out! None of my siblings would have thought twice about turning around and selling the things to pay off debts or to increase credit. Now that man probably has them, or he's pawned them off now that we're dead!" Her voice choked like she was crying, but Alex could see no tears.

Inwardly, he could hardly believe his good luck, but he hid it behind a blank face.

"I'm sorry," he told the couple, "It's not my department."

Alex behaved as one trying to make up for a shortcoming. He accepted even the most obscure calls: a squirrel stuck in the chimney, he settled an argument between a woman and her son as to whether or not her son had stolen something from her (chalk it up to paranoia; the woman was not even missing anything, she merely mistrusted her son when he said he had not stolen anything from her), and an elderly woman who did not know who else to call when she could not get the lid off her pickle jar.

Alex did not even head home immediately upon returning to the station before his shift ended.

Ted glanced dubiously at the stack of reports Alex would have to fill out.

"Well, it's getting near quitting time," he observed.

Alex did not appear to hear him. The clock above the door of the bullpen clicked off the last few seconds.

"See you tomorrow, Alex," Marlo joined her husband, and the two ghosts disappeared.

Alex stayed where he was for five extra minutes, just to be sure. Carefully, he laid down his pen and sauntered toward the holding area.

As luck would have it, Tom Jones stood watch over the prisoner.

"Say, Davis," the eager young cadet greeted him, "I hear you were the one who arrested this guy."

Alex forced a smile, "Yes, I did."

Jones grinned from ear to ear, "Oh man, a real arrest! I wish I could have been there!"

"Hey Jones," Alex tried to sound casual, "Would it be okay with you if I talked with the guy for a bit? I just have a few questions."

Jones looked confused, "Questions? I—I guess so. I don't know all the policies of—"

"Thanks buddy," Alex winked and patted Jones on the shoulder.

This simple movement emboldened the young man, and he waved Alex through.

"Certainly, take as long as you like. As long as he doesn't leave his cell, no harm done, right?"

Alex nodded as he proceeded down the hall. Jones started to follow him, but Alex stopped him.

"I kind of wanted to talk with him alone, if I could," Alex hinted.

Jones nodded, "Oh, right; wouldn't want to spook him, right?"

Alex grinned. "That's exactly right."

"Good luck, Davis!" and unsuspecting Tom returned to the front of the hall.

Alex knew his time was limited, in spite of Tom's assurances, so when he saw the familiar lanky figure in jeans and a t-shirt, he got right down to business.

"Nice cufflinks," he remarked.

Chad Andrews looked up, recognized Alex as one of the officers who arrested him, and scowled. "Whatchu talkin' 'bout?" He sneered, "I ain't got no cuffs!"

Alex chuckled, "I'm talking about your studs dude; those are cufflinks, right? Pinched 'em off a job you did oh, I guess it would be about a week ago, now, wouldn't it?"

            Chad registered surprise that he would know about that job, but quickly lapsed into indifference. "I ain't talking to no cop," he stated gruffly.

"Oh but you see," Alex returned, "I'm off-duty right now; you'll already be jailed for attempted breaking and entering, oh, and a few other robberies with your fingerprints; that's what led to last night's party you know. All I want to know is, did you do the job on Seventh Street last Saturday?"

Chad's eyes shifted dubiously. "Seventh?" he hedged, "Yeah, I might'a been thereabouts recently."

"Did you keep all the stuff you stole, or did you fence it?" Alex pressed.

Chad jerked away from him and cried out, "Hang on dude, I ain't ratting on my fences! Those are my professional connections!"

Alex knew he needed to be more careful or he would lose his source entirely. "Look," he hastened to reassure the thief, "I just want to know where to find the stuff; did you pawn it? Did you sell it? Did it leave the country? Is it out-of-state?"

Chad's manner did not change. He moved closer to the bars, squinting at the young officer in front of him. "Why you wanna know?" he asked suspiciously, pointing a dirty finger at him. "I tell you this, you go find the crap, that's evidence against me, evidence that I done robbed another house!" Fear showed in his eyes.

Alex tried to keep it casual and shrugged, "Hey, like I said before, you'll already be doing plenty of time for those other robberies. It would take more than just getting back those heirlooms to extend your sentence longer than it's going to be." Alex paused only a moment before promising, "Just tell me where I can find the stuff, and I won't rat you or your guys."

Chad's face twisted in confusion. "You sure about that, blue?"

Alex nodded, "I'm sure. The other guys in this precinct don't even have to know that we had this conversation. I'm sort of doing this on the side."

"Why you wanna get it all back so bad?" Chad grinned, showing several crowns even at his age, "Impressing a lady-friend? Working with the family on the side or something?"

Alex nearly denied it, but he thought of Marlo; he was trying to impress her, and she used to be part of the family who owned it. "Something like that," he admitted.

Chad hemmed and hawed for a minute, then finally said, "Okay, I'll tell you this much, most of the heavy stuff I pawned off at the stores around Harding Avenue. Start there."

Alex nodded, "What about the rest?"

"Hey! Davis!"

Alex turned around to see Lieutenant Garrison, a grumpy, portly cop, striding toward him while Jones all but cowered in fear.

"You're not supposed to be here, Officer," Garrison sneered. "What do you think you were doing?"

"Helping Detective Haversham," Alex replied instantly. A plan formed in his head. "He said there was an item missing from the list of stolen loot, and sent me to retrieve it." He turned back to Chad, "Hand over the cufflinks," he ordered.

Chad rolled his eyes and pulled the gems out of his ears.

Alex smiled and stepped past the lieutenant. "Have a nice night!"

Alex went straight back to his apartment and straight to bed, but not before setting his alarm for six-thirty. He had a lot to do in the morning, and he wanted it to be out of the way before the ghosts showed up.

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