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Bones in the Closet, Skeletons in the Dirt
August 3rd, 2074
The sounds of stones underneath shoes echoed through the silent night, it was early morning and that reddish pastel sky loomed over the backyard. A zipper hissed and the sound of crackling on pebbles bellowed loudly through the dawn. He peeked about, hoping that nobody was staring at him doing his business. In the blackness of the backyard loomed a black figure, six and a half feet tall, eyes are white as the purest Peruvian marching powder and a figure blacker than the soul of a sinner. He stared at the figure, absolutely jaw-dropped, gulping in fear. He stared down the figure fearfully, slowly and slowly it grew closer. He stepped back slowly, on all fours it ran at him and grabbed him. A crooked creature with legs bent like hooks and multiple arms bending like stork's legs, it held him by the throat and elevated him high. He was helpless and soundless. The creature burrowed into him, looking him in the eye and screaming to the top of its seedy little lungs in primal anger.
His eyelids shot wide-open, he looked over at the alarm clock: 5:45 A.M. Eyes as wide as craters, a scruffy dark-haired man sat up, sweat dripping from his forehead. That nightmare again, the one that would scare any man. A nightmare hobbled underneath the failures of the lost times and the inevitability that those lost times will mean nothing. He refused to lift his swollen, heavy swollen head in fear. The dusky light poured in through slim Venetian blinds. He peeked his head out of covers, squinting in irritation at such a dim but yet blinding light trespassing in his eyesight.
The sky beamed yellow tinted stratocumuli, illuminating a dark violet-teal, putting such illustrations in your head would be unjustified to the real thing of waking up in a hazy fit of fatigue and adrenaline and seeing a sight so grand pour over the Ohio landscape, a sight that everyone from Huntington to Ashtabula could witness if they weren't fast asleep. The man got up, bed was a restraint, bed was a prison, bed was a gulag. A gulag which himself was a prisoner, a zek, Solzhenitsyn turned in his grave and wept. He stepped up from his velvet sepulcher and reached for his house-coat, a slow start to an even slower day. The first mind-boggling mystery of the day 'French press or espresso?' Children starving on the streets of Nanking and his first-world problem was what coffee he was going to have, better them than me.
The kettle steamed, two scoops of sugar, some milk and a bit of Jim Bean, Irish-Coffee was always a nice awakening. His onyx suit jacket was lobbed over the arm of the davenport, he reached into the pockets, finding his badge: 'Skyway Patrol Robotic Affairs, Supervisory Special Agent Harrison Woods, #24601', his picture glistening in the laminated ID badge. 'Damn, that shot doesn't do me justice.' Harrison sniggered to himself, he shoved his badge back into his flannel suit pocket. Harry poured the steaming hot water into a mug, stirring it briskly with his teaspoon. He lifted up the cup to his lips, sipping the rich roasted Colombian delicacy. Harry sighed, reclining back in his chair with a big shit-eating grin on his face.
The neon lights outside vaguely contrasted against the morning sky, the facade of Felix the Cat, the monochrome monolithic structure created as an ode to a time of old, constructed by a people who have witnessed sights unlike any other underneath a regime of a nation that just couldn't take anymore, a nation that never felt so much pain. Inside the art-deco and the retro-futuristic frame of the building was the diner. 'Mezmer's' A grimy, filthy little dungeon down in Tremorton, a little seedy podunk town down in the boondocks that was always never and always will be.
Harry looked down at the table, a scrumptious club sandwich with the appeal of a Vogue cover and a barista-style cappuccino...Italian blended, perfection was the word for such a spectacle. "Oh Frank, it's just you…" Harry mumbled, his voice throaty and guttural, wrapping his hands around the club sandwich, biting his teeth into the doughy, chewy bread and tearing it off, mulching it down his throat. 'F. Carbuncle' was imprinted on the Officer's nameplate, he was not plain-clothes like Harry, he was a full on blue blood, a red-headed jovial man in his early thirties…Frankie was really something, optimistic through the dark, his voice was slightly adenoidal and softly-spoken. An extremely buoyant human being, not even Death himself could bring him down.
"You alright there, Harry?" Carbuncle wondered in astonishment of how a dead man could lift himself out of bed and make coffee for himself and then go out on a beat of a Rustbelt city which had seen better times and then go back home again and do the same thing again. "Yeah, yeah. Just…feeling a bit under the weather." Harrison looked behind Carbuncle, Frank turned his head around. Harry snuck his flask of Jameson, opening the tab and pouring some into his cappuccino. "You look a bit pale, you get a good night's sleep?" Frankie swallowed some cola from the can, darting his eyes over to Harry.
Harrison looked up, caught off-guard. It was a late night and he didn't get much sleep, especially when you have nightmares like his. "O-Awh just a bad dream I had…It's always the same frickin' one." The same one that kept him up at nights, the same one that destroyed his ability to have a good night's sleep. Frank dropped the can down onto the table, leaning in. "The ones about the screwed up figures?" Harry stared out the window onto the street, zooming along was a black Volkswagen T2, the perfect car for a flower-child who wanted to make something of herself rather than living out of the box. "Yeah…that dream scares the shit out of me every goddamn time, when will it fuckin' end?" Harry poured the coffee into his mouth, biting angrily in remorse that his night sleep was ruined and he was left with his happy-go-lucky partner.
Frank shrugged, oblivious. Oblivious to the fact that what he had said was blasphemy to the church that is the ears of Harrison "You might want to see a shrink bout' 'dat, y'know?" Harry scoffed into his coffee cup in sincere disbelief that such a suggestion would ever be put forward by such a guy like Frank. "Yeah, get myself a lobotomy while I'm at it, would look really good with my spit drippin' from my freakin' lip." Frank folded his arms, defeated and downtrodden at a suggestion for the welfare of his friend. "Hey man, I'm just concerned is all…" Harry sighed, lifting his coffee mug to his lips. "I don't mean it like that, I appreciate the sentiment…I'm jus-…I'm just…I just need to focus alright, ye' get me?" Frank shrugged, he just shrugged. There was little he could do but bite into the last of his sandwich. "Yeah, I got you." Harry nodded gracefully, acknowledging that his friend got his meaning. "Glad you understand…We goin' out on patrol now Frankie?" "Yeah, of course." Frank wiped his face with a napkin and stood up from the booth, placing his jacket on him. Harry lunged up, buttoning the top of his flannel shirt and following after Frank. "Yo, wait up." Harry opened the passenger seat door, climbing into the black, glossy Tsjaika Gorki. A beautiful, retro legend of a car imported all the way from Soviet Russia. "On the beat, yet again…Ey' Frankie?" Frank turned the keys in the ignition, strapping on his seat belt. "What would Tremorton do without us?" Harry looked over and smiled. "Keel over and die."
The car took off down the street, heading towards the residential district. Harrison switched the radio on. "This tune is the bomb." Harrison proclaimed, rocking his head softly to the tune. "Can't say I am much of a Heron fan..." Harry scanned Frank up and down as if he had two heads. "You don't like Gil Scott Heron?" "It's not that I don't like him, Harry, it's just not my type of music." Harry stared at Frank frustrated "And what do you listen to?" Frank switched gear. "I like myself a bit of adult contemporary…a bit of pop." "Pop? I ain't going to judge, who d'ya like?" "Spitney. I heard she is coming out with a new song with WillEyeAm from what I know." Harry reclined his chair, laughing his ass off. "Really? Spitney?...You always took me for maybe a RnB guy or maybe a country rock fella'…Spitney?" "Well I mean, you can't say much buddy. You listen to fuckin' Gil Scott-Heron, like seriously!" "And? What's so bad about Gil Scott Heron?"
Frank turned to Harry, "Well the first thing I-" "Watch the road!" An incoming car sped down the road, Frank swerved into a yard and the car collided with the back of an Ice-Cream truck, Harry and Frank smacked the dashboard, the airbags enabled. 'Ugh…Fuck…' Harry opened the door and climbed out, clutching his bleeding nose. He was in a daze, objects spinning around him, the phosphenes in his eyes swirling as if he was shocked by a lightning bolt. 'Fuck it-…Ah!' Harrison stepped to the driver door, forcing the door open for Frank and pulling him from the wreckage. "You alright?" Frank's head was bleeding, woozy and in a stupor, completely inattentive of what was going on around him. "Ugh, yeah…Yeah, I'm fine…what the hell?" Harry shook his head, looking up at the wreckage, clutching his bleeding nose and spitting out bloodied bile, "What the fuck?" That was the only thing on his mind, how seconds of conversing in a car could lead to him bleeding on the side of the street. The Ice-Cream truck was smashed into the tree, Harry scraped off the dirt and glass, limping over to the door. Harry stood upon leaking ice-cream and soft drink, kicking open the hinges of the door of the Ice-Cream truck, he found a bald driver unconscious. Harry pulled the guy from the Truck around his arms like a fallen soldier who wasn't to be left behind. "Frank! Call a paramedic, we got an injury!" "Aw shit, you got to be kiddin' Harry, the Chief is already on my ass!"
Harry laid the man down on the pavement, a puddle of water stained the relatively dry ground which was odd, there was no rain and no sight of a fire. 'Something's wrong…' Harry stretched up as Frank called for an EMT with the car radio. Harry glanced over to the source of the leak, closely examining it…a fire hydrant? Harrison walked across the street to it, noticing the pattern of the spillage...a spray, a spray like a hose in a fire. This was intentional, something was going on, this was relevant to the case somehow. Harrison observed the sightings around him, still shocked from the impact of the car. "Yo Frankie!"
"Yeah?!" "Dispatch on the line?" "Yeah, of course!" "I need a list of fire records from the TFD, think you can get Dispatch to copy out a sheet?" "Sure, I'll ask them!"
Harry folded his arms, pacing up and down in contemplation. 'Something fits, it all fits…We probably want to wait for the ambulance to come, see if I can get a description on what caused that truck...' Sirens lit up the sky, the sound screeching through the air. 'That must be them.' The ambulance braked outside the wreckage, An EMT exited the ambulance, he jogged up to Harry, and in a silvery way, he said: "Got the call, you alright Agent Woods." "Just a bad nosebleed." The EMT took out a pen torch and shone the light in Harry's eyes, "Look into the light." Harry swiveled his head from side to side, his pupils dilating. "Yeah, you are good. Here, you'll need this." The EMT took out a tissue and handed it to Harry, Harry wiped the blood and ripped off a bit, shoving it up his nose to clog the wound. The EMT sprinted over to the body, fixing it into position and checking the pulse. "Bradycardia's set in, the guy's unconscious…He's fine though, just a concussion…We got some blunt force trauma from the car getting overturned, but other than that he's fine…Oh here is the man of the hour." The EMT snapped his fingers in the conscious man's face. "Alright there Mr. Frosty, you suffered a bit of an injury…Do you know what date it is?" "3rd of August…isn't it?" "What year is it?" "2074?" The EMT smirked. "Good, good…The Gumshoe would like a word…" Harry hobbled over to the Ice-Cream vendor, kneeling down. The EMT moseyed over to Frank and overlooked him.
"Alright, my name is Skyway Patrol Officer Harrison Woods, do you know me?" "Yeah, you're the cop who's always in Mezmer's." Harry nodded his head in acknowledgement, looking over the broken and bloodied man. "Yeah, that's me. You took a bad hit, your truck is totaled…What happened?" The Vendor lunged up and gripped Harrison by the lapels and brought him closer. "It was a twenty-foot tall ROBOT! It grabbed me by the bumper and toppled my truck on this goddamn tree!" Harry beamed his eyes in fearful astonishment at the man, jaw dropped. The Vendor started to breathe heavily. "It was huge! There were two kids with it, I drove past…" "Two kids?!...What did they look like?!" Harry pulled the Vendor by the scruff in a startled rage. "What the fuck did they look like?! Tell me!" The Vendor huffed and puffed. "Two kids…black hair, short…The other was a red-headed kid, as tall as the robot…Wore a waistcoat, what fuckin' kids wear waistcoats nowadays?! What kind of kids?!" Harry released the Vendor from his grip, sighing in futile vitriol. 'Fuck…'
The EMT waltzed over to Woods, "Is Frank alright?" "Sergeant Carbuncle just has a scratch, got out pretty good. I'm surprised the wheel didn't ram through him but other than that…As for Mr. Scoops…The biggest problem we have to deal with is all the poor, poor children who have to lick ice-cream off the pavement and get Toxocariasis, the poor little bastards." "Alright, enough about dog shit worms. Did yo-did you see some kids while driving down here?" "Kids? Y'mean Brad and Tuck? I saw Brad standing down the road…as if he was…waiting? Did you hear about that Class 4 Meteorite?" "Thought it was Class 5?" The EMT shrugged indifferently, nothing meant anything to him. "Pfft, I am not a meteorologist." "No shit...It's going to burn up in the atmosphere from what I've been told." "I was told that it wasn't and it would crash into Lake Erie." "Trust me, if that was the case Skyway Patrol would be on that meteorite like Bob Marley on a blunt." Frank staggered over to the two, his head freshly treated with a bandage. "Hey, Harry...I know that shit, he drives past Brad and Tuck all the time...What did he say?" "He said he saw a twenty-foot robot and two kids fitting Brad and Tuck's description." "Tucker and Bradley? A twenty foot fuckin' robot?!" "Mhm…I can make a guess where it came from." Harry and Frank looked at each other sternly, they both turned to the Wakeman House.
"Wakeman?" "Wakeman."
The EMT stepped in between the two. "The old spinster involved in this?" "Maybe…" uttered Harrison.
Harry darted his eyes over to something at the side of the Wakeman house, he bit his lip in anticipation as he waddled over to the shattered window, picking up a piece of glass. 'Somebody broke Wakeman's window.' A ball sized hole where the glass should've been was smashed through, it was evident what happened. "Get over here!" Frank and the EMT sprinted over to the window, staring into the dark deep abyss of a broken window, inside they saw their darkest fears and they were terrified, absolutely petrified at what they saw. "Well…" said the EMT, "I think we got ourselves a mystery on our hands eh gang?" "Looks like Wakeman has skeletons in her closet..." Harry turned to the field, forcing the bloody napkin from his nose. Harry bent down examining the footprints on the dirt, small ones...the size of a seven year old's foot. The EMT lolled back in the garden seat and smiled smugly.
Harry paced the field, examining the Kombi sitting patiently outside Wakeman's house. She had gotten back to the house just before the Truck crashed. Harry clutched his shirt pocket, taking out a flask of bourbon. 'So Brad and Tuck do their shit, the window gets smashed and then we have the Ice-Cream Truck fender bend…So that leaves us with the hydrant.' 'I got the call back from the Fire Department, no call about a 10-80 within' the last week.' Harry sipped from his flask, shuddering as the sour drink poured down his throat, he cringed. Harry turned back to Frank. "That means we got ourselves someone with access to a fire pipe with a Fire Department suction couplet and the only person who has ties to emergency services is our prime suspect…"
"Noreen Wakeman." The EMT answered. "Bingo." Harry drinking from his flask. "But why would she use the couplet..." Frank rebutted. "...I don't see Wak-" An explosion rocked the sky. Harry looked up to the skies, blue laser beams, and flashes. The EMT held his hand to his face, shielding himself. "Well looks like the Great Gig in the Sky is on…" "That's unrelated isn't it?" "It ain't Skyway Patrol, we didn't get the call for the meteorite. I think it's our unsub…"
Harry sprawled out on the living room sofa of the Carbuncle residence, staring up at the ceiling completely mesmerized, absolutely shell-shocked. It was a feeling of euphoria and orgasmic high. Adrenaline seeping into your head and the DMT from your brain draining into your skull. The phosphenes came back, the prisoner's cinema came back, this concentrated energy that flew around in his brain as he contemplated not just the case that had just opened, but the entire scenario, the entire world. It was marvelous, ecstatic, orgastic. Frank slumped over the leather chair, slack-jawed and completely brain-dead. Both of them completely still, left alone with nothing but their thoughts. Frank then slumped back up and glanced over at Harry. "The EMT took away our witness, I reported it into both Skyway Patrol and TPD."
Harry blinked, he just blinked. His frontal lobe was not working, he turned it all off and focused his spiritual energy on repairing his broken soul. He raised his head up at Frank in...not apathy, not indifference but the opposite...He cared too much about what Frank was talking about. "What they say?" "They said our witness was no good, brain trauma, we don't have a warrant to search the Wakeman house." "Fuck…" Harry lowered his head in a depressed haze of thoughts. "I know…You want a beer?" Frank stood up, darting his eyes up and down the man who was reclined on his Chesterfield. "Sure, say you still got that Burning River Ale?" "Of course, I do!"
Frank reached into the fridge, taking out two brown glass bottles filled with frothy beer, he grabbed his keys, taking out his bottle opener. Frank popped a cool one for Harry and himself, he sat horizontally on his couch in such a relaxed and nirvanic way giving one to Harry, he leaned over and smiled sincerely. "To the Cuyahoga!" "To the Cuyahoga!" The glasses clinked and they both downed the cool drink, laying on the couch and enjoying the atmosphere that they had.
"I'll tell y-" Tucker walked into the living room covered in black dust, Harry and Frank turned to him. "What the hell is on you Tuck, where the hell have you been?" "Ugh, that's a lot of questions Dad…I was at a bonfire." "You were at a bonfire?" Frank looked at Tuck in awe, he knew he was lying, it was obvious. You could tell it on his face that he was hiding something. "Yeah, Brad went with me." Tuck had a source of false assurance behind him. "Where the hell did you go, Salem? You look like a goddamn. Guess you just came out the toaster and scraped the burnt off yourself." "Well it got pretty smoky, ya know?" "Oh I know, I know just well…Say, Tuck?" "Yes, Dad?"
"Do you know who broke Wakeman's window, or who toppled the Ice-Cream Truck?" Tuck cringed at such an obvious question that was to be answered with an obvious answer, "I'm going to take a shower." Tuck twisted the knob of the door and left the room, going upstairs and away from the truthseekers, leaving a drunk and an ignoramus in the living room, looking like the biggest idiots of the town.
"I told you shit was goin' on…Say what time is it?"
Frank examined his watch, staring at the little and big hands. "It's 3:45". Harry sighed in disbelief of how fast the day went. "3:45? Jesus, I'm fuckin' locked this early, well that's fuckin' great." Frank turned his head to his hand, staring silently at his fingers, a microcosm in his grip. "My car is still totaled…" Frank swiveled his head over to Harry, replying instantaneously. "I called a mechanic, it should be good in a day or two." Harry hoisted himself up, sucking on the neck of the bottle like an infant to his mother, heading out towards the door. "I'm headin' back to PD, I need to set some stuff up and begin my investigation." Frank stared back at his hand, completely abstemious of the situation around him. Harry shambled down the street, guzzling down his grog, contemplating what the hell he was doing with his life and why he was so concerned about a used hydrant and a toppled Ice-Cream truck. Harry snuggled himself down on a bus seat bench, his head slumped back against the glass and his eyes fixated on the roof of the bus stop, void, nothing but black, uncomprehending void.
Harry snatched a cigarette pack from his pocket, placing it in between his minor diastema teeth. Harry shook his head, attempting to get back into reality. He reached his hand into his jacket pocket, lifting an Electric arc lighter from his pocket, pressing the button and lowering his cigarette down to the beam. Alcohol and nicotine were enough to get Harry through the day, a short-term solution to a long-term problem. Harry took a puff, inhaling the cigarette and exhaling softly, his eyes closed, soaking in the atmosphere. The sound of screeching sounded down the street, wheeling, and wheeling as a big white bus emerged from the corner of the street and slowly advancing down the street. Harry took the last puff of his cigarette, tossing it to the ground and stomping it out with his oxford shoe, his thumb stretching out to get the Bus' attention. The bus steered into the driveway for Woods and the doors rolled open ajar, Harrison snuck the drink into his jacket and nodded to the Bus Driver.
Harry seated himself down at his mahogany desk, holding his arms out obliviously at nothing. "Where the hell do I start?" Harry asked out loud to no one in particular, completely helpless as to where and what he was going to do, placing both of his hands on his head, tugging his hair and mumbling 'What the fuck am I gonna' do?' Harry surveyed the telephone in silence, he gripped the receiver and with his index he inputted digits. "Hello, Operator? I need to be put through to BCI."
"Of course, a moment sir."
"…Bureau of Criminal Investigations Office, rank, name and number?"
"This is Supervisory Agent Harrison Woods, badge number is 24601, I need to be put through to the Investigations Division immediately."
"Yes, of course, hold."
Muzak played, Harry gripped the phone harder impatiently. "Hey, Harry!" Sergeant Morgan entered the room, looking down at him. "What'cha need Morg? I'm on the line with BCI." Morgan was a short, fat Irish guy, a fat Leprechaun with a cup of tea in his hand. "I heard you and Frankie crashed into an ice cream truck today, just wanted to say congrats." "Fuck off plastic paddy, I'm busy."
The phone clicked, "This is Appellate Assistant Oswald Courtney, how may I help you, Agent Woods?"
Harry lifted his jacket off his shoulder, tossing it up on the coat hanger.
"Yeah, could I get a call into OHLEG? I need you to shoot me over a file on Noreen Wakeman."
"Is he the Russian guy?"
"Not Oleg! OHLEG! O-H-L-E-G, The Ohio Law Enforcement Gateway!"
"Oh, OHLEG! Yeah, sure...Norman Acheman?"
"Noreen Wakeman!"
"How do you spell that?"
"November, Oscar, Romeo, Echo, Echo, November. Wilco, Alpha, Kilo, Echo, Mike, Alpha, November."
"Oh…I see, Noreen Wakeman...It looks like her file's been redacted in regards to her behavioral sheets and performance records in Skyway Patrol. The only file I can get you is news-clippings. I can get the classifieds but you are going to need to get through a helluva' lot of red tape to get 'em...We're talking sextuplicates."
"What if I send over two I-2Xs and a 952, I'll also brush over a 2-X5 to make it all legal."
"Uhm, yeah, sure that should work. Send me over those in the mail, I should probably have your files in by…today is Friday so…I should have them in two days' time, hopefully. I'll send over whatever I can get now, the station commander will print it out for you. Right, is that all?"
"Alright, that'll do, that'll do just great. You send me a copy of them over and I'll have those forms sent over, thanks for your help."
"No problem Agent Woods, have a nice day."
"You too Mr. Courtney."
Harrison slammed the receiver down, placing both of his hands on his face. "What kind of name is Courtney?"
Harry chugged down his coffee, a gang of Tremorton's boldest babbling around him, gorging on donuts and downing coffee. Harry blocked it all out, he heard all these kinds of stories. 'The perp did this, the perp did that…The perp tried to get away and in the end, we all won and the baby got her candy back.' Harry read the headlines of the Tremorton Examiner 'TREMORTON AMUSEMENT PARK COMING SOON.' The article talked about an event taking place in a few days and supposedly that the kids were going to love it. "You see that freaky-ass light show, Will?" "Shit was crazy, I think Skyway Patrol is coming out with a report on that...Speaking of which..."
"...Ay Harry!" Harry shot his back, finding Morgan and a couple of cops sniggering.
"Me and the boys are talking about your old partner Brikowski, you know the fat lazy guy?"
Harry squinted at Morgan, vitriol running through his veins, irritated at this tumor that polluted the department. "This coming from you? You call Mike a fat bastard but yet here we have a fucking whale running through the department. I didn't know Tremorton hired Shamu to protect and serve." The other cops busted their asses at Morgan, his cheeks blushing up in embarrassment and rage. "You think you so goddamn good eh Golden Boy? You are a fucking bad apple Harry, a bad fucking apple! Internal Affairs is on your ass and y'know it!" Harry took a drink from his latté macchiato, he was getting agitated sitting around that fat piece of shit. "Buddy, I'm not in the mood for this charade and neither am I in the mood for you. Now you can kindly fuck right off and stop talking about Mike and do something productive, like your fucking job? Mike was twice the fucking cop you ever were and I don't give a fuck what you think of him and he would say the same, so shut your FUCKING mouth and leave me the FUCK alone!" Morgan folded his arms, an annoying smug grin on his face. The kind of shit-eating grin that would make you want to punch his fat face in as a makeshift nip and tuck. Harry stood up angrily, shaking his head frustrated.
'Frank…C'mon pick up…C'mon…'
The phone was picked up. "Ugh…Wh-who' this?"
"It's Harry."
"Harry…It's f-It's two o' clock in the fuckin' morning and my head hurts like a bitch. W-why are you calling me?" Frank was stripped in bed, his half-naked wife just across the way. Harry paced up and down the car park, scratching and staring around extremely paranoid. "Because! I figured the shit out, Noreen is hiding something from us. She's got something up her sleeve! Brad and Tuck know about it too, they're in on i-" "Slow down Harry, my kids aren't involved in Wakeman's crazy schemes.' Misses Carbuncle placed her arm around Frank's neck. "Oh come on baby, who is it?" "It's Harry, I'm just taking a call." "Don't take too long, I like a man with scars." Misses Carbuncle yawned and scratched softly at his back.
"Harry, let's calm it down before you start making accusations, I need the method behind your madness." Harry groaned, clutching dossiers in his hand firmly. "Here-Here's my idea of what happened…Tuck and Bradley were playing baseball, one of them accidentally smacks the ball off the window, Wakeman was driving her T2 when we were at Mezmer's so this shit happened around the time we left after our coffee…So that means that we got there just a few moments after the Truck got smashed and after Wakeman came home…One of your kids went in to get the ball and shit went down, Wakeman comes home and finds out what happens and the Truck gets smashed in a tree. We arrive on scene a few minutes later, Tuck, Bradley and the unsub meet up and…I don't know how to correlate that shit to the light show we saw earlier but the pieces are there Frank! They are there!'" "Jesus, it makes so much sense now. So ugh, what do you suggest? We don't have permission to get a warrant on Wakeman." Harry opened up the trunk, picking up his shotgun he loaded the chambers in, holding the phone with his shoulder. "Your sons are obviously in bed with Wakeman's pet, so we got to keep eyes out for when they ever want to visit the place." "Ugh, shit Harry. Tuck and Brad said they are going over to Wakeman's tomorrow to do some laundry or somethin', do you think they are going over there to meet with our unsub? Hell, who the hell is our unsub?" "Ice-Cream guy said he saw a "twenty-foot robot", maybe he wasn't joking. We're looking for a tall android, my idea is Wakeman might be hiding Cluster Sleeper Cells or something like that."
"You think Wakeman's a cluster sympathizer, I mean she was Skyway Patrol just like you are Harry." "She's nothing like me. You get the idea, Frankie? I want you to meet me at my apartment tomorrow, pick me up and we'll stake out the place." Frank soothed his sore, swollen eyes with his fingers, grunting. "Yeah, sure Harry, c-c-can I go to bed now?" "Yeah sure, I'll see you tomorrow Frankie boy, I'm going down the rabbit hole and you're coming with me." "Yeah, we'll see just how it leads." "Yes, we will. Frankie?" "Yeah, Harry?" "Tell no one about this and I mean no one, as far as they're concerned he accidentally swerved into a tree. You GET me?" "Yeah, I got you...Goodnight Harry." "You too."
Harry hung up the phone, placing it back in his jacket pocket. He thought to himself, "Well, well Noreen…" Harry opened the dossier, taking out a dossier: Noreen's Skyway Patrol portrait smack bang in the middle of the brown envelope. '…We'll find those bones in your closet…and all those skeletons in the dirt.' A devious smile appeared on Harrison's face.
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