"One windshield, one pair of pants, two shirts. At this rate, we'll have
all new equipment by the end of the shift."
Jim glanced up at Pete as he pulled on his gunbelt. "Knock it off," he
muttered.
"Don't get sore at me," Pete said mildly as he buttoned up a fresh uniform
shirt. "I didn't dump your soda in your lap. As a matter of fact, I should
be the one sore at you for fouling up lunch. Funny, but I didn't know a pizza
would stick to the window like that."
"It was your stupid idea to go in there and have me try to straighten her
out. You know how embarrassing it was to duck flying pizzas?"
Pete tucked in his shirttail. "Yes, I do know. I was there, remember?
I caught the meat-lovers supreme right in the chest." He inspected his badge
for any lingering mozzarella in the crevices.
Jim sat down on the bench in front of his locker and pulled on his shoes.
"Well, at least now she'll quit pestering me."
The locker room door swung open, revealing Mac's head and right shoulder.
"Reed, Malloy. In my office, now."
"Be right there, Mac," Pete promised. The door swung shut. "He didn't
look too happy."
Jim let out a mournful sigh as a lace broke off in his hand. "What else
can go wrong?"
"Don't ask."
Five minutes later, Jim pushed through Mac's door. "You wanted to see
us?"
"Shut the door and can the innocent act, Reed," Mac snapped. "I just got
a call from the owner of Smokey's Pizza about a melee` at his establishment
involving his assistant manager and two of LA's finest. He mentioned pizza
plastered to his window, and soda pop all over one of his booths."
"What, he didn't mention the bread sticks?" Pete asked from where he leaned
against the table.
"Malloy, this is not funny!" Mac snapped.
"Mac, if you would calm down long enough to listen to our side of it, you'll
see the humor in it, I promise," Pete said.
Mac made an effort to relax. "All right. Spill it. And it better be
good."
Pete glanced at Jim. "You wanna tell him or shall I?"
"Be my guest," Jim muttered. He pulled a chair up and slumped into it.
"First off, Mac, none of this is Reed's fault."
Mac eyed Jim suspiciously. "Then why do I get the feeling that it probably
is?"
"It's not. I was the one that insisted we eat at Smokey's. I wanted to
give Jim a chance to straighten things out with that Tracy Dalton woman that's
been pestering him."Mac opened his mouth to protest, but Pete held up a placating
hand. "I know, Mac, not one of my smarter moves, I admit it, but it seemed
like a good idea at the time."
"Malloy, if I had a nickel for every cop that used that line to cover his
rear, I'd own L.A."
"May I finish?"
"Please do. I can't wait." Mac leaned back in his chair.
"Jim was polite about it, but when he told her to quit sending him stuff,
she went crazy. Dumped his soda in his lap, then went back into the kitchen
and came out hurling pizzas at us. I got Jim out of there and went back
in to try to calm Tracy down. In between dodging flying bread sticks, I
managed to pay the owner for the damages. Between me and the owner, we got
Tracy calmed down. I gave Tracy a stern warning about assaulting police
officers. I didn't think she needed to be hauled in, not over something as
simple as a lovers' quarrel."
Jim let out a protesting squawk. "We're not–"
"Reed, quiet," Mac growled. He looked at both of them. "Look, you two,
patrol officers are supposed to keep the peace, not break it. Reed, I suggest
very strongly that you limit your attempts at curbing your lovelorn girlfriends
to your personal time. And Malloy, keep your butt out of your partner's business,
in case the fair lady decides to throw something more dangerous than pepperoni
next time."
"Right, Mac," Pete acquiesced.
"'kay, Mac," Jim mumbled.
Mac shook his head, then started to laugh, quietly at first, but soon his
face turned red. "You clowns get back on patrol!" he gasped.
Jim was more than happy to oblige.
###
Jim sat at his dinner table that evening, shoving his mashed potatoes around
his plate without eating.
"Jim, what's wrong?"
He started, then shoved a bite in his mouth. "Nothing, why?" he asked.
"Oh, it's just that Jimmy and I both finished eating ten minutes ago and
you're still sitting there playing with your food."
Jim finally noticed that little Jimmy was no longer at the table. "Jean,
it's about those pictures that got stolen. I'm kinda worried."
"About what? They were just a bunch of ugly pictures."
Jim pushed his potatoes around a little more, trying to decide what to
tell her. He didn't want her worrying needlessly, but at the same time,
she was the one home alone with Jimmy, and if some pervert were out
there . . . . He dropped his fork onto his plate. "I had a talk with one
of the detectives about it," he finally said.
Jean went very still. "Jim, what are you trying to tell me?"
"It's probably nothing," Jim assured her, wishing he hadn't brought it
up. "Just be a little more careful watching him when he's out in the yard
playing."
Jean stared at him as if his hair had suddenly caught fire. "Jim! You
mean someone's after Jimmy? Our Jimmy?"
"Honey, calm down," Jim soothed, putting his hand on hers. He lifted it
and gave it a kiss. "I'm probably just a little paranoid because of all the
garbage I see every day. But I just want you to be careful, okay?"
She didn't look reassured, but she nodded. "All right."
"So where'd Tiger go, anyway?" Jim asked, looking behind him toward the
living room. He was relieved to spot his son at the back door, hands and
nose pressed against the screen as he watched something outside. Jim pushed
away from the table and snuck up behind his son, scooping him up with a growling
"Gotcha!!"
"Daddy!!" Jimmy squealed, then started to squirm as Jim started to tickle
him.
Jim grinned at his son's helpless giggles. "Tickle monster's gonna get
you!" he said. "Tickle monster's gonna eat you up!"
Jimmy's giggles turned into shrieks of glee as Jim blew on Jimmy's tummy.
"Put me down!! Put me down!!" he yelled.
"Uh huh, buddy. Tickle monster's not done yet!" He held Jimmy tighter
against his chest and grabbed Jimmy's bare foot. Jimmy howled in mock fear,
laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
Jean watched her two men from the doorway. "Jim, stop it before he pees
in his pants," she finally said.
Jim grinned at her above his son's head. "Aw, my tiger's not gonna . .
." Jim's voice faded as he felt a warm wet spot bloom on his favorite shirt.
"Uh oh."
"Jim!" Jean moaned.
"Uh oh," Little Jimmy echoed his daddy. His eyes puddled with tears.
"I sowwy, Daddy."
Jim grinned then kissed Jimmy on the nose. "Don't worry, Tiger. It was
my fault. Let's you and me both go change, okay?"
The tears evaporated. "'kay, Daddy."
Jim took Jimmy back to his bedroom and pulled off his son's pants and underwear.
"Hang tight, Tiger," he told him, then rummaged in Jimmy's dresser for clean
clothes. As he helped Jimmy climb into new underwear, Jim glanced out the
window toward the alley. He frowned. "Hey, Jean!" he called. He tugged
a clean pair of jeans up and started to snap them.
"I'll do it!" Jimmy insisted, pushing his daddy's hands away.
"Okay, let's see you do it, hotshot."
Jimmy grunted and stuck his tongue out in concentration and finally got
the zipper up. "See!" he said proudly.
"Congratulations, Tiger." Jim snapped the little jeans.
"I gonna go wook at Fwuffy now."
"Okay. Tell Mama to give you a carrot for him." He patted Jimmy on his
behind, then went to his bedroom to change his own shirt. He glanced out
the window, but their bedroom looked out on the street, not the alley. He
yanked off the soiled shirt and pulled open a drawer to retrieve his second-favorite
tee shirt. It wasn't there. He dug through the drawer, then checked the
other three drawers and the closet. Nothing. No L.A. Dodgers tee-shirt anywhere.
He pawed through the dirty clothes, but he hadn't worn it in weeks, so he
knew it was clean. "Jean!" he yelled again, but she didn't answer. He gave
up, pulled on a red-checked button-up shirt, and trailed down the hallway.
"Jean!"
"I'm on the back porch!"
Jim found her digging through a stack of flower pots. He reached around
and gave her a kiss. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Mrs. Wannemaker has some geranium cuttings for me."
"Oh." He walked to the corner of the porch and looked down the alley.
It was still there. "Jean, who's car is that?" A yellow Volkswagen bug,
parked behind Mrs. Wannemaker's, too far away for him to read the plate.
"Which one, the Volkswagen?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know. I've never seen it before."
"Be right back," he muttered, then jogged across the back yard and down
the alley. The VW was empty, but he recognized the plates. "What is she
up to now?" he murmured, looking around and not seeing anyone. He debated
on whether to knock on Mrs. Wannemaker's back door, decided he didn't want
another confrontation, then slowly walked back home. He forgot all about
the Dodger tee-shirt.
###
"Tracy Dalton's car showed up in my alley last night," Jim said by way
of greeting as he met Pete in the locker room the next morning.
"Good morning to you, too, partner." Pete shrugged into his uniform shirt.
He grinned. "So, was she packin' a pizza?"
Jim didn't share Pete's smile. "No. I didn't actually see her."
"Maybe she's got a friend in your neighborhood."
"Sure, Pete. And I'm the Easter bunny. I'll see you in roll call." Jim
turned on his heel and left.
Ed Wells stuck his head around the corner of Pete's locker. "You two lovebirds
havin' a spat?"
Pete barely gave Ed a glance. He was starting to kick himself for taking
Jim's worries so lightly. If that was Tracy's car in Jim's alley, that's
just a little too hinky to be true. "Ed, good-bye," he said. Pete shut
his locker and followed the trail of smoke coming from his partner's ears.
He found Jim sitting alone in the briefing room, hunched over a table scribbling
in his notebook. "Jim, look, I'm sorry."
Jim sat back with a sigh. "Nah, I shouldn't have snapped at you. My fault."
"You sure it was Tracy's car?"
"Yeah. Same plate." He went back to doodling squares and triangles around
a license plate number.
"723 Ocean-Paul-Ocean ," Pete read. "That the one?"
"Yeah."
Pete could tell by Jim's clipped answers that his partner had by no means
let him off the hook. "Look, Jim, if it helps any, I think I'm finally starting
to see your point about this woman. The pizza parlor was bad enough, but
seeing her car by your house is a little scary."
Jim shot him a glance from under worried brows. "Pete, she's nuts. She's
a mental case."
"Maybe," Pete conceded. "Question is, what are we gonna do about her?
There's no law that says she can't park in an alley behind your house."
"Or send me flowers or gifts or notes." Jim pinched the bridge of his
nose, then brushed his hair back. "I don't know what to do."
"Maybe if you keep ignoring her, she'll finally go away," Pete offered,
not really believing it.
Jim went on as if Pete hadn't spoken. "And I still gotta worry about some
pervert out there getting his kicks out of my kid's picture. Or my picture."
"Jim," Pete started, then stopped.
"What?"
"You don't suppose Tracy's the one that went through your trash?"
Jim took a long moment before he finally shook his head. "No. There's
no reason for her to."
"You just said she's a mental case."
"Yeah, but going through our trash? That's . . . that's . . ."
Pete understood Jim's loss for words. "I know. It's crazy. But it's
something to think about. And it may mean that a pervert's not after Jimmy."
"I don't think Tracy's a much better alternative," Jim mumbled miserably.
Pete squeezed Jim's shoulder as he moved to sit down in his chair. "Not
so sure I disagree with you, partner."
Wells and Officer Brinkman clattered noisily into the room, followed by
a steady stream of the remaining officers on Daywatch, effectively ending
their conversation. Pete listened with half an ear to Mac's rundown of last
night's activities and the latest rash of burglaries, robberies and assorted
mayhem in the district. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Jim
wasn't taking his usual notes. In fact, he didn't look like he was in the
same room as the rest of them. Malloy nudged him with his elbow and Reed
brought his attention back.
" . . . and lastly, keep your eyes out for a stolen Manx cat. There's
a little old lady on DeVries Street that breeds them and claims Maximilian
is worth about $5,000."
"This one's black with green eyes, and no tail," Mac supplied.
Wells snorted. "Man, if I'm shellin' out five grand, that cat better have
a tail."
Malloy rolled his eyes at Jim, who managed a small laugh that was drowned
out by the chuckles of the rest of the men.
"Get outta here, everyone," Mac ordered, but he pointed a finger at Pete
as Malloy started to rise. "Malloy, hold up. I need to see you."
Jim closed his notebook and grabbed his case. "I'll meet you in the car,"
he said.
Mac waited for Jim to leave, then crossed his arms and leaned against the
desk. "What's wrong with your partner this morning? I don't think he took
in a word I said."
"He's got a lot on his mind," Pete shrugged. "Yesterday he found that
Tracy woman's car parked in the alley behind his house."
"You're kidding!"
"Wish I was. She's got Reed spooked, and to tell you the truth, Mac, she's
starting to spook me, too."
"But didn't Reed tell her to back off? Wasn't that what that whole pizza
episode was all about?"
"I don't know what to tell you, Mac. Reed did everything but tell her
to leave town and never come back."
"He sure it was Tracy's car?"
"Yep."
"You know there's not much we can do under the law for something like this."
"Yeah, and that's what scares me." Pete gave Mac a casual salute, then
left to join his partner.
###
"I know it's our job to catch criminals, ma'am, but your husband isn't
a criminal," Pete explained with exaggerated patience.
"But he hasn't moved off that couch in three weeks! If that's not criminal
laziness, then what is?" the florid-faced woman shrieked.
"Ma'am, we can't arrest your husband for being lazy," Jim said. The corners
of his mouth twitched in a vain attempt to hide his amusement.
She put one pudgy hand on an ample hip. "Oh, this is really funny to you,
isn't it! Well, what if I told you that he's collecting disability checks
when there's not a thing wrong with him?" She punctuated each word with
a jab of her index finger into Jim's badge.
Jim backed away a step and resisted the urge to turn and flee. "Ma'am,
we can file the report and sent the detectives from fraud out to question
you, but we still can't arrest him at this point."
She threw two chubby arms up in disgust. "Well, if that don't beat all.
What do I pay taxes for if the police ain't gonna help me when I need them?
Go on, get out of here! See if I ever call you people again!"
She shooed them both out the door, and as she slammed it shut decisively
behind them, Pete sighed. "She thinks that's a threat, but if you ask me,
if she never calls us again, she'll be doing us a huge favor."
Jim grinned, rubbing his chest where her poking finger had nearly driven
his badge through his ribs "She's got a mean right hook."
"Think you'll live?"
"Yeah. I'm tough. I can handle it." Jim stuck out his jaw and swaggered
down the sidewalk to the car. Pete watched him, then shook his head and laughed.
###
Jim's good mood lingered all the way through lunch. He polished off the
last of his chili dog as Pete glanced at his watch. "Time to go?"
"Yeah." Pete crumpled his napkin. "L.A. crime waits for no man."
They tossed their trash away, then stepped out from under the coney stand's
awning into the bright October sunshine. Jim squinted at the blue sky. "Think
it'll rain?"
"Jim, there's not a cloud in the sky!"
"I know. But the weatherman said rain this afternoon. Looks like he blew
it again." Jim opened his door and slid into his seat. He grabbed the mic.
"1-Adam-12, clear."
"Uh oh," Pete muttered as he checked his rear-view mirror before pulling
away from the curb.
Jim looked at him, then turned around and looked out the back window. "Oh,
no." A yellow VW had pulled in behind them. Before Jim could slide down
in his seat and pretend he wasn't there, Tracy Dalton was standing beside
his open window.
"Officer Reed, I would like to apologize for yesterday."
"Apology accepted," Jim mumbled, and started to roll up his window. But
Tracy grabbed the top edge of the glass. Short of smashing her fingers,
he couldn't close the window.
"No, that's not good enough!" she said, yelling through the two-inch crack.
"I mean, I know I really embarrassed you and everything, so I want to make
it up to you."
"Look, Tracy, the best way you could make it up to me is to leave me alone,
all right?"
The swiftness of the change in Tracy's expression sent a chill through
Jim's gut. Her blue eyes turned from friendly pleading to the cold gaze
of a rattlesnake in less than a second. "You don't really mean that, do
you?" she said tightly. Her hand moved toward her purse.
Jim shoved her other hand off his window. "Pete, go!"
Pete hit the accelerator. Jim had a glimpse of Tracy lunging for his door
handle, but her hand slid away as they accelerated down the boulevard. Jim
grabbed the mic, lifted it to his lips, then put it down. "How do I call
it in?" he asked shakily.
"What's the code for two officers with their wits scared out of them?"
Pete asked on a deep breath. "Do you think she had a gun?"
"I don't know."
Pete pulled a u-turn in the middle of the next block and drove slowly back.
Jim could tell he was rankled by getting chased off. "Pete, if she had a
gun, and we'd stayed, she'd have had us dead to rights."
"I know," Pete said grimly. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."
The drove past the coney stand, but the VW was gone.
"She's not gonna let it rest." Jim felt almost sick. "She's gonna keep
hounding me until one of us . . . ." He ran his hand over his hair and tried
to calm down.
Malloy grabbed the mic. "1-Adam-12 requests 1-L-90 meet us on Tac 2."
He switched frequencies.
"L-90 to Adam-12, go."
"Mac, you at the station?"
"Yeah, Pete. Watcha got?"
Pete cocked an eyebrow at Jim as he answered. "An unwanted admirer.
Meet you there in five."
"Pete?" Jim asked.
"Spill it, partner."
"Maybe you're right. Maybe she is the one that went through my trash."
Pete glanced at his friend, then back at the road. "We'll figure out something,
partner."
###
"Do you think she had a gun?"
Jim shrugged. "She may have, Mac. We weren't in a safe position, so we
didn't stick around to find out. By the time we got back around the block,
she was gone."
Mac squeezed his blue eyes shut and massaged his temples. "Reed, how did
you manage to get yourself in this mess?"
Jim didn't answer as he stared glumly at his shoetops.
Pete stopped his pacing. "Mac, this is not Jim's fault."
"You've been saying that about your partner an awful lot, lately."
Jim's head shot up as he glared at Mac, but Pete held out a hand and shook
his head slightly at Jim. "I've been saying it because it's true," Pete growled.
"Look, this could have happened to any one of us. It almost happened to
me one time."
Mac sighed. "Yeah, I remember that oil heiress or whoever she was."
"At least she was relatively harmless. Mac, I know I did my share of kidding
around about this at the beginning, but this girl's off her rocker. I saw
what Jim's been trying to tell me all along. She's nuts."
"I agree the way you say she acted at the coney stand was pretty suspicious,
but you don't know that she was reaching for a weapon. And, really, unless
she breaks the law . . ."
Jim waved his hand in disgust. "We can't do anything. Yeah, yeah, I know.
I've said that same line to more battered women being stalked by crazed lovers
than I care to count. But hearing somebody say it to me makes me
understand why those women usually want to slug me." He shoved a hand through
his hair, then looked at Mac. "What if she goes after my wife? Or my son?"
"Then we'll arrest her," Mac stated, then softened. "Look, Jim, I feel
for you. I really do. But my hands are tied. Unless the law changes, we
can't go around arresting people for crimes we think they might commit."
"What about the crime of robbing someone of their peace of mind?" Jim growled.
He took over pacing duties from Pete.
"Jim, I can have them patrol your neighborhood more often. It's the least
I can do."
Jim stopped his back and forth pacing with his hand on the doorknob. "Yeah,
Mac. Sure. Do the least you can do." He yanked the door open and left.
Pete gave Mac an apologetic shrug. "He's upset. I'll go talk to him."
"Pete," Mac called.
"Yeah, Mac?"
"Tell him I'm sorry."
Pete nodded. "I will."
###
"You were kinda hard on Mac back there," Pete commented. He carefully kept
his face neutral as he watched traffic.
"Pete, I don't want to talk about it, all right?"
"Sure, Jim."
Pete drove in silence for three blocks, then shifted in his seat. "Jim,
look–"
"I said I don't want to talk about it. I mean it."
Pete glanced over in time to catch a Jim Reed glare smack in the face.
"All right, we won't talk about it. But Mac told me to tell you he's sorry."
When Jim responded by turning to stare out his side window, Pete sighed quietly
and went back to watching the road.
blocks later Pete screwed up his courage again. "Did you run Tracy's
plate?"
"Yeah."
"And?" Pete tried not to sound exasperated.
"Clean."
"Did you get an address?"
"Yeah."
Pete drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Reed, pulling my chest
hairs out one at a time would be less painful than talking to you right now.
Would you meet me half-way here?"
Jim opened his mouth to say something, but the dispatcher broke in with
a call for a domestic dispute. "Just what I need," he grumbled, then acknowledged
the call.
Neither of them said a word as they drove to the apartment complex. They
took the elevator to the fifth floor in silence, walked down to 5B in silence,
and after calming down the irate couple inside, returned to the car in silence.
By the time they cleared and got back on the streets, Pete was ready to explode.
"Reed, would you say something!" he snapped.
Jim looked up from his report book. "Huh?"
"Don't give me those innocent eyes. I'm not going to work four more hours
with The Silent Stranger."
"Pete, I just don't feel like talking, okay? I've got too much on my
mind."
Pete instantly felt like a heel. "Sorry," he said softly. "Just give
me a minute and I'll get my foot out of my mouth."
"Pete, there's nothing to be sorry about."
"Yes there is," Pete protested. He squirmed a little in his seat. "I'm
sorry I didn't believe you sooner."
"Don't worry about it. Look, this will probably all blow over eventually
and we'll have a really good laugh about it."
"I hope so," Pete said sincerely.
Jim smiled and went back to his report.
###
Four Tracy-free hours did wonders for Jim's mood. By the time he got off
shift, he felt so good he stopped by a flower vendor on the corner on the
way home and picked up a bouquet of red and pink carnations for Jean. He
parked his Corvette in front of the garage, picked up the bouquet and his
dirty uniform and went whistling in the back door.
"Honey, I'm home!" he called in a terrible imitation of Ricky Ricardo.
Silence.
"Jean?"
Then he spied the note on the refrigerator. "Gone Christmas shopping.
Back by 7. Pot roast in the oven."
Jim let out a long sigh, deflated by Jean's absence. He peeked in the
oven–the moist aroma of onions and beef caressed his nose. He left
the roast for the time being and went into the living room for the vase he'd
given her for Mother's Day last year. He stared at the shelf where it usually
sat, but it wasn't there. He checked the other shelves in the room, then
checked their bedroom and the dining room. No vase. "I know I just saw
that thing yesterday," he muttered to empty air. He returned to the kitchen
and started opening and shutting cabinet doors in search of another vase.
He had no idea where Jean kept the extra ones. He finally found a nearly
empty orange juice bottle in the back of the refrigerator. He upended the
bottle and swallowed the last bit, then stuck the bottle under the kitchen
faucet. He filled it with water, put the flowers in, and fiddled with them.
"How does she do that?" he muttered. Jean's arrangements always looked
great. His looked like a bunch of carnations stuck in an orange juice bottle.
"Oh well, it's the thought that counts, right?"
He glanced at the kitchen clock. "Bet ol' Fluffy hasn't been fed." He
grabbed the box of rabbit pellets and headed back outside to the back yard.
"Hey, Fluffy, you ratty ol' thing. You wanna tell me who won the football
game yesterday . . ." His voice trailed away.
Fluffy wasn't in his hutch.
Jim spun in a quick circle, glancing across the yard, but no Fluffy. "Jimmy,
how many times have we told you not to mess with the door latch," he grumbled.
He shoved the pellets in the hutch and started an intensive circle search
of the back yard. No Fluffy. Jim heard the phone ring in the house and abandoned
his search to run for it.
"'lo!" he gasped on the seventh ring.
"Hey, partner, hope I didn't interrupt anything?"
"Hey, Pete. You didn't. I was, uh, in the back yard."
"Cookin' out?"
"No, I was doing a circle search for a possible 207 rabbit."
"What?"
Jim grinned at Pete's tone. "The rabbit escaped. I came home a few minutes
ago and went to feed him and he's gone."
"How's Jimmy taking it?"
"Jimmy and Jean are gone shopping. I better find him before they get back."
"Want me to come help you look?"
"You eat yet?"
"You're not gonna cook it!" Pete squawked.
Jim laughed. "No, Pete. There's a pot roast in the oven. Come over and
help me search for Fluffy and you can have some."
"Gimme ten minutes."
Jim hung up, then went back outside to resume the search. He poked under
shrubs. He opened the garage door and shone his flashlight in every crevice
big enough to hold a lop-eared brown and white rabbit. He checked under the
back porch. He even looked in the trash cans. By the time Pete pulled up
in his Barracuda, Jim was ready to give up.
"Please tell me it's a four," Pete begged as he let himself in the back
gate.
"Uh, no. Fluffy's still AWOL."
"Well, maybe a dog ate it or something," Pete said, distaste for the mission
clearly showing on his face.
"Let's check the front yard."
They searched and found nothing, although Jim had his suspicions about
how diligently Pete was looking. Jim let out an exasperated breath. "I've
told that kid at least a hundred times to latch the door."
"C'mon, Jim, he's only three."
Jim climbed onto the front porch and collapsed onto the porch swing. "I
know," he said tiredly. "I wonder what else will go wrong this week?"
Pete sat down in one of the porch chairs. "I suppose you checked the alley
for VW's."
"Yeah. None there, thank God."
Pete leaned back and watched the quiet neighborhood. Awful lot of nice
lawns–Fluffy was probably eating his way toward downtown. "Here comes
your neighbor," Pete said, nodding toward the sidewalk.
"Hello, Mr. Reed! Mr. Malloy!" Mrs. Wannemaker chirped. "How are you
both?"
"Fine, Mrs. Wannemaker," Jim said as they both stood up.
"Oh, no, sit down, sit down. I just came down to see if that nice girl
got hold of you."
Jim glanced at Pete, then back at Mrs. Wannemaker. "What girl?"
"She said her name was Tracy. I met her yesterday, actually, but she was
here earlier today, oh about an hour ago, I guess. I saw her from my front
porch, so I called to her and told her no one was home. She said she had
something she wanted to drop off. In fact, she had a big white box in her
hands. Did you find it?"
Jim struggled to hide his alarm. "No, ma'am. Didn't find a box anywhere."
"Well, maybe she decided not to drop it off after all. Well, I'd stay
and chat, but I have a cake baking. I'll bring you some later."
"Thank you, Mrs. Wannemaker, that'd be nice. I'll tell Jean you stopped
by."
Jim waited until the elderly lady was out of earshot, then he shoved both
hands through his hair. "Lord, why can't I have one day's peace?" he groaned.
"How much you wanna bet Fluffy's been petnapped?" Pete said grimly. "Tracy
here an hour ago with a big box, and no box and no rabbit around now. It
fits."
"Either that or she left a bomb under the house," Jim said.
Pete jumped off the porch and looked underneath.
"Pete, I was making a joke," Jim protested.
Pete looked up from his hands and knees. "Tracy's no joke, partner. I
hate to think of my godson getting blown up in his bed."
"Hey, what about me and Jean?"
"Okay, Jean, either." Pete conceded. He climbed to his feet and brushed
leaves off his knees. "What do you say we drive over to Tracy's house and
see if there's a rabbit living there."
"I dunno, Pete. What if she didn't take it? I'd look really stupid.
And if she did take it and didn't let us in, there's no way on God's green
Earth I'm going to Mac to tell him I want a search warrant for a missing
rabbit."
Pete grinned. "I see your point."
Jim shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. "Then again . . ." He dug
out his car keys. "C'mon, let's go."
He led the way to the car in the back, then as he unlocked the passenger
door, he looked at Pete. "Hey, wait a minute. What did you mean by that,
'Jean either'? What about me?"
Pete just gave him an enigmatic smile. "Get in and drive, partner."
###
Tracy lived six blocks away in a small, neat bungalow remarkably similar
to the Reed's. Jim parked alongside the curb in front. "What do you suppose
the penalty is for felony rabbit-napping?"
Pete smiled at Jim's lame attempt at a joke. "Rabbit theft's a misdemeanor.
Now, c'mon, Jim. Waiting won't make it any easier."
"Right." Jim took a deep breath, let it out, then climbed out of the car.
He let himself through the gate in the picket fence, then walked resolutely
up to the porch and jammed his finger against the doorbell before he gave
in to second thoughts.
Two minutes passed with no answer, so he leaned on the buzzer again.
Pete looked up and down the porch. "No one's home. You sure this is the
right address?"
Jim tapped on the mailbox attached to the side of the house. T. Dalton
.
Pete stepped off the porch and looked around the side of the house. "I'm
gonna check around back."
Jim fidgeted and paced until Pete came back. "There's a rabbit back there,
all right," he reported. "Can you identify Fluffy?"
"He's got a chipped left front tooth. And he's got one brown ear and one
white ear." Jim ran around to the back of the house, where he found a white
cardboard box on the patio. He looked inside. "Yep, that's Fluffy. What
could she be thinking?"
Pete was stretched up on his tiptoes peering into the back window. "Same
thing she was thinking when she stole your pictures. Take a look."
Jim felt his stomach tighten at Pete's grim tone. "What is it?"
Pete just shook his head.
Jim stretched up to his full height and looked in. "Oh my God," he croaked.
He found himself looking into a bedroom, and there in full view next to the
bed, right by the window, sat the ugly picture of him and the blurry picture
of Jimmy, both carefully framed and arranged. There were also three other
framed pictures of him, clipped from various news stories about busts he'd
made. The little display was both pitiful and disturbing. He swallowed hard
and lowered his head against the window sill.
"Jim, you okay?"
He shook his head.
Pete pulled gently on his arm. "C'mon. Let's take the rabbit and go."
Jim shook himself and grabbed Fluffy and his box. "Pete, what do you think
I should do?"
"I really have no idea. I'd be very, very careful around her, though."
They walked through the back gate just as a yellow VW pulled up behind
Jim's car. "Oh, no," Jim murmured.
Tracy leaped out of the car and stormed toward them. "You! What are you
doing with my rabbit?" Before Jim could react, she snatched the box out of
his hands.
"Look, lady!" Pete snapped. "That rabbit belongs to the Reed family.
We have every right to arrest you for breaking and entering and theft."
"Oh yeah? Prove it! There's no collar, no tag!"
"We have an eyewitness," Pete growled.
As angry as Jim was, he quailed at the thought of a report of his stolen
rabbit getting bandied about the station. "Pete, wait," Jim said, then turned
hard eyes on Tracy. "I'm not going to arrest you, this time, but stay
away from me, my family, my house, my neighborhood . . . I don't want to
see so much as a glimpse of a yellow Volkswagen within five miles of me.
Is that clear?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Get off my property."
Pete started to leave, but Jim hesitated. "Tracy, why are you doing this?"
he asked.
Her mouth twisted into an ugly grimace, but she didn't answer him. He
brushed past her and walked to his car. He didn't look back as he drove
away.
###
Jimmy was on the front porch wailing when they got back. Jim jumped out
of the car and ran to him. "Jimmy, it's okay, it's okay, calm down, buddy,"
he murmured as he held him close.
"B-b-but Fwuffy's . . . gone . . ."
"Shh. Fluffy's not gone. I've got him in the car."
Jimmy pulled back and looked at Jim with disbelieving eyes. "Weally?"
he asked in a small voice.
"Really. C'mon." He took Jimmy's hand.
Jean stepped around the end of the porch where she had been searching.
"Why'd you take Fluffy without leaving a note?" she asked with some impatience.
"Jimmy's been in a panic."
"I didn't take him," Jim called out as Jimmy tugged him toward the car.
"Uncle Pete! You got Fluffy!" Jimmy pulled loose and ran to retrieve
his beloved pet from Malloy.
Jean caught up with her husband. "You want to tell me what this is all
about?"
"Tracy Dalton."
"She took Fluffy?"
"Apparently. He was gone when I got home, and while we were looking for
him, Mrs. Wannemaker came by. She told us Tracy'd been here this afternoon,
so we went to Tracy's house. She wasn't home, but the rabbit was in a box
on the back patio."
"Well, did you arrest her?"
Jim shook his head. "Not this time."
"Not this time? Jim, why not?" Jean demanded. "Isn't stealing someone's
pet against the law?"
"Well, yeah, but . . ."
Jean narrowed her eyes at her husband. "But you didn't want to be embarrassed,
am I right?"
Jim felt his face burn. "Yeah."
"Jim Reed, you are the most prideful, ridiculous . . ." She ran out of
words and let out a frustrated noise as she turned on her heel and stomped
back into the house. Jim winced at the angry door slam.
Pete strolled up, holding Jimmy in his arms. "Doghouse again, partner?"
"Yeah," Jim sighed mournfully. "I should've arrested her. That was really
stupid."
"Not necessarily. It might have just stirred things up worse than they
already are."
"I don't see how things could get much worse." Jim shoved his hands in
his jeans pockets. He'd give anything not to have to walk into his own house
right now, but unless he wanted to sleep on the porch, he had to face Jean's
wrath. At least Pete was with him–
"Well, partner, I'm taking off."
"What?" Jim squawked.
"Hey, you're a big boy. I held your hand while you dealt with Tracy and
got slammed by a pizza for my efforts. I don't intend to catch a rump roast
upside my head this time." He handed Jimmy to his dad, got in his car, and
drove off.
"Traitor," Jim muttered. He set Jimmy down and picked up the rabbit instead.
"C'mon, Squirt. Let's feed Fluffy."
