“Freeze,” a raspy smoker’s voice yelled from the Shadows, emerging in a yellow trench coat, blue shirt, wide leather belt.  His large rat ears quivered with anticipation as his nose and mouth twitched.

“Wait now, I didn’t do it,” a thin man in a two tone black and white striped suit said as the cigarette in his mouth shook as he spoke.

“I don’t want to hear it, up against the wall,” commanded the rat.

“I don’t think so,” the thin man yelled as he began to sprint away, jumping onto the subway tracks.

“Fuck, why today, damnit come back here,” the rat followed the thin man, who was a haze of black and white stripes disappearing into the bleak black tunnel.  As the rat entered the deep black his eyes changed and penetrated deep into the darkness.  He saw the man leap into a side tunnel.  Charging ahead, gun drawn he yelled, “I’m not playing around, freeze!”  He turned into the side tunnel and saw the man face first on the ground, blood dripping from a low hanging pipe.  “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”  The rat fell on top of the man, forcing his wrists into handcuffs, pulling him up, he put the gun to the man’s back and forced him to groggily walk back to the platform where a couple patrol officers waited. 

“I’ll get you for this asshole,” the man spat onto the floor near the rats feet.

“Detective Vernon,” an officer approached the rat while it took a long drag on an ashy cigarette.

“Yeah, how can I help you officer?” Vernon replied shortly. 

“Captain wants you back at the precinct prompto,” the officer laughed and so did another approaching officer.  “What you do now?”

Vernon shook his head and pushed between the two, flicking his cigarette onto the ground, smashing it out with his foot.  He had a sinking feeling in his gut about the incident with the boat.  It wasn’t his fault the perp fell onto the throttle after being shot, destroying half the dock while damaging a few hundred thousand dollar yachts.   He climbed the stairs to the streets above, assimilated with the crowd and began the two block walk back to the precinct.  

***

Jake the Duck the mob boss of the entire city pulled a long drag on his dirty cigar, blowing the smoke across the room.  Most of the other ducks sitting around the meeting table coughed as they waved away the smoke.  Jake wasn’t happy, his duckling gang had failed again.  The man Detective Vernon arrested was carrying an important package.  His arrest had sent Jake’s plans down the toilet, flushed hook and sinker.  He slammed both hands onto the table.  “Someone needs to talk to our contacts at the police station and have them sneak the package out of evidence.”  The ducks around the table quickly quacked, “yes boss,”  they all stood up and made a hurried exit.  Leaving Jake to fume over his cigar. 

A few moments later, “well hello sexy,” said a voluptuous female duck.  She wore a tight green dress which molded her bosom perfectly into round melons.  She held a long golden rod with a lit joint in her left hand and a petite green hand bag in her right.  She pulled a drag from the joint and held her breath as she waddled into Jake’s office, taking a seat across from him.

Jake’s forehead was covered in sweat.  “Um, hi Mrs. Malon, I just sent the boys out to get the package back, it won’t be long now.”

“Oh Jake, Jake, Jake…” she paused after saying his name long enough to puff again on her joint.  “Business is business, and well, if I don’t get my package I’m going to be very angry for a long time with you.  But, we don’t want that, do we?”  She put her flippers up on his desk while leaning back in the chair and took another long puff.  “You know what happened to the last person who failed the organization, don’t you?”

Jake gulped, his voice cracked and he quacked a quiet gulping, “yes.”

***

Detective Vernon walked up to the steps of the large building that housed the entire city’s police department.  It started to rain.  Shaking his head caused his fur to fluff up as the sky opened up.  As his hand hit the knob a classy woman burst through the door almost causing Vernon to fall down the steps.  “Hey there Miss, watch out.”

“Oh, my apologies, I am so so sorry, I’m such a mess.  Are you okay darling, I’ve had one hell of a day, if you excuse me,” she brushed an embroidered tissue across her eyes and let it fall to the ground before hurrying toward a cab, she pushed her way past another customer.  Vernon watched as the cab took off leaving behind an angry mouse shaking his fist after the cab. 

“VERNON,” came the loud voice of the Captain, “get your butt in here.”

A few moments later.

“I don’t want to see your butt in my office again for a month, if I even see you, I will bust you down to beat street duty your head will spin, do I make myself clear,” questioned the Captain.  Everyone’s ear was turned toward the closed door marked Captain. 

“Crystal clear Captain,” the door opened and Vernon walked out dusting himself off from the butt chewing he had just received.

A large woman with a shiny badge and badass gun on her hip walked up to Detective Vernon to hand him a cup of java.  “Thick like I like it, thanks Sam.”

“Thats Lieutenant Samantha to you buster,” she laughed and patted Vernon’s arm.  “So I see you finally got your ass reamed for what went down on that bust.”

“Yeah the Captain sure has his head screwed tightly up his rear today.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” she said then began to chuckle.  She took a sip of her own java then nodded her head to the side, “come over here, I think the men have something for you.”

A burly officer shoved a package across the desk, it was wrapped in a neatly sealed evidence bag.  Vernon picked it up, rattled it a few times next to his ear, “neat, any clue what’s inside?”

“Candied pineapple.”

***

Detective Vernon picked up a large grilled cheese, soaked up a large amount of vegetable broth and moaned through an enormous bite.  He sat back and chewed, enjoying the aroma of his six cheese and ham sandwhich.  Switching on the tube, he banged the side of the old television set making the snow and static disappear.  The news flashed on, they were talking about the disaster on the pier.  He switched the channel to the late night program.

An hour later as he snored his old rotary land line phone chirped to life, ‘brrrrinngggg, brrrinnggg, brrrinnggg’.  He opened one eye, and glared at the phone, it only meant one thing, trouble.  He picked up the receiver, “Yeah, Detective Vernon here.”

“Sorry to bother you detective, we have a problem at the station and the Captain wants you down here A.S.A.P,” the dispatcher’s voice echoed through the old phone.

“Alright, be there in twenty.”  He set the receiver down, rubbed his eyes and made his way down to the empty street below except for a few cabs whose cabbies were resting and waiting for morning rush hour.  Vernon waved one down and sat quietly wondering what could be so important to wake him up in the middle of the night and the mystery of candied pineapple.  

The cab stopped in front of the precinct, Vernon paid and tipped the cabbie then walked up the stairs to the station.  The night officer greeted him as Vernon signed in.  “Captain’s waiting for you in the meeting room.”  Vernon nodded and made his way around the corner as the man he arrested earlier walked past, free and uncuffed with an escort, a lawyer and another ruffian he was sure had a warrant.  “See you next time,” the man said as he turned the corner.

Opening the door to the meeting room, Vernon was met with a penetrating glare from the Captain and a bunch of officers.  “Pineapple, you tackled a man over pineapple?”

“Captain…”

“No, badge and gun now.”

Vernon slid them across to the Captain.

“You’re suspended for two weeks and then you’ll report to Sergeant Ibanez for street duty.”

“Captain, that man was carrying something other than pineapple, did anyone search him?”

“Get out!” The Captain’s face was beat red, he rose from his chair pointing to the door with a shaking finger.

Vernon turned on his paws, storming out the door he passed Lt. Samantha, “Hey… hey… hey…” she called out after him, giving a short chase.  She caught up to him, “hey Vernon, it’s alright.  Don’t pay him any mind.”

Stopping at the window overlooking the street, Vernon glared down at the man in black and white.  The man was shaking hands with a mole in a trench coat, handing him a small disc.  The mole and the man  climbed into a beat up, rusted out pickup truck and started toward the freeway entrance.

It only took Vernon a moment to recognize what was going on.  They apparently hadn’t searched the man well enough, whatever the ‘package’ was, it surely wasn’t pineapple.  He ran down the side stairs, into the street in time to catch the license plate number.  He went back inside, but the Captain blocked the doorway, “I said get out.”

“Captain, I just…” 

“No, whatever it is, get out,” the Captain backed into the station and slammed the door in Vernon’s face.  Samantha who had followed him outside stood by and went to put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Can you do me a favor, follow up on their plates, X,2,5,G,M,6.” Vernon wrote the number down on his pad, tore the page out, and handed it to her.

“Sure Vernon, give me a call hey,” Samantha said encouragingly.

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Vernon said as he began to walk home with his hands in his long yellow overcoat, his tail dragging on the wet cement.

***

Jake set the phone back down on the receiver, sat back in his chair and breathed a long breath of relief.  “We are back in business Mrs. Malon.”

She sat across from him, filing her nails and a brief look of disappointment crossed her face.  Leaning across the desk she patted his hands, “oh what a shame, I was going to have so much fun with you.”  She put her file away in her purse, clipped it shut, stood up and walked out the door leaving it ajar.

Jake sat down heavily now, putting his head in his hands.

***

The empty liquor bottle smashed against the wall sending shards of glass flying across the room, skittering across the scratched wood floor.  Vernon raised his hand to the bartender in an attempt to get another drink.  Unfortunately the bartender was preoccupied trying to break up the bar fight that had just started next to him.  Unconcerned Vernon stood and began the walk to the next bar.  He was going to drown his sorrows.

“Bum, bum, bum, bum, snip, snap, snar, beat, dop, du, op, op, oh, oh, op.op.op.op.op… the jazz band playing the corner stage never missed a beat.

“What can I get you Sweetheart,” asked the pretty and curvy waitress, her blond hair falling in ring curls, she wore bright red lipstick and not another lick of make-up.  

“Scotch, on the rocks,” Vernon held up two fingers.

“Gotcha Darling,” she walked like a snake through the bustling crowd.

“Hey Roxy,” Vernon said, surprised as a slight calico cat slid into his booth with him. 

“Hello Vernon, how have you been,” she purred and swished her tail across his neck and shoulder.  “Do you have my money?”

“Well no, I just got suspended,” Vernon said, backing away from the tail.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry…” she paused as a cheshire smile spread across her face, “I fail to see how that is my problem.”

“I’ll get you…”

She cut him off, “I know you will darling, it’s only, I’m an impatient cat,” her claws danced down his shoulder and pulled at the threads of his overcoat.  She pushed him, “have it to me by Monday, don’t make me wait.”  She stood as the waitress came to the table, she grabbed the drink, slammed it back, setting the glass down in front of Vernon.  “Have a good evening,” then walked, shaking her tail with each step towards the door.  It was not Vernon’s day or even week.

“Want me to get you another Vernon,” the waitress asked?

“No, I’m good,” he put a couple dollar bills on the table. Stood and followed Roxy’s example.  It was time to go home, besides he had a nice bottle of scotch next to his arm chair to finish.

He exited in time to see the beat up pickup with the mole and man still riding inside drive by at high speed.  Vernon flagged down another cab and ordered the cabbie to follow the pick-up, then went to flash his badge and found it wasn’t there.  The cabbie kicked Vernon out.

Defeated, Vernon kicked a rock, stubbing his small claw.  He danced around a moment, then started the walk home, the street lamps following him and his shadow.

***

The radio blasted a hard thumping jazz beat as the Mole pressed down on the throttle, sending the pick-up screaming down the highway.  The man held onto his white and black fedora as his hair blew in the wind.  

“We hit the big time Moley, you got any plans of what to do with your cut?”

“Yeah I do Frankie, yeah I do,” click, Moley pulled a large 45 out of his trench coat, put it to Frankie’s head and pulled the trigger before Frankie had a chance to shake off the shock of his friend pulling a piece out on him.  Blood was smeared across the broken passenger window, Frankie’s head and neck hung loosely out of it.  The pick-up’s tires crunched as Moley turned right onto a dark farm road.

Moley stopped the pick-up, got out, rummaged through the truck bed, pulled the large red metal gas can out then began to drench the truck in the foul yellowish clear liquid.  Stopping thirty feet away, he pulled a large joint out of a tin container from his hidden breast pocket, lit it, then threw the match onto the gasoline trail leading to the rusted out pick-up.  The flames engulfed the truck quickly.  He took a long drag in memory of his short time partner, smiled and walked back to the road to hitch hike back into the city.

***

Mrs. Malon’s high heels clicked with each step onto the marble steps.  She paused at the top, a plump pig wearing a suit jacket with a bowtie; her butler, Mr. Hightop waited for her.  He took her small hand bag and placed it on a silver tray near a mirrored desk.  “It is a pleasure to see you home safe Mrs. Malon.”  Then followed her to a small den across from her office. 

“Nickolas, would you be a dear and fetch me a bite to eat, I am famished,”  Mrs. Malon requested?

Mr. Hightop bowed his head, “yes Mrs. Malon.”  He quickly left and went downstairs to the kitchen.

Picking up the receiver, Mrs. Malon stopped and thought about what she was going to say, then dialed in the number:  

“Yes, whom am I speaking to?”

“Amber with 7th International Bank, how may I be of service?”

“I would like to make a bank transfer, my lawyer should have taken care of the arrangements.”a

“Yes Ma’am, I will need to verify your identity for security.”

A few moments later…

“Ma’am you have been verified, I am going to transfer you to a specialist who will assist you.  Is there anything else I can further assist you with?”

“No.”

“Thank you Ma’am for calling 7th International Bank,” 

‘Click’

The phone call was over in a matter of moments.  She couldn’t help but leap from her seat with joy.

Mr. Hightop entered the room shortly after carrying a tray of tea sandwiches and a pitcher of her favorite lemonade.

***

Vernon stopped in front of his door, it was ajar and hanging off its hinges.  His hand went to his empty holster, “damnit.”  Quickly he slid to the entrance and slowly peaked in.  It only took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness.  He saw nothing.  

He picked up a loose board, “hello, anyone here?”   After five minutes of searching the apartment he turned over his newly torn arm chair, breathed a sigh of relief the thieves hadn’t broken his rum, then sat down to pour himself a double.  The apartment was in shambles, everything was shredded or smashed to pieces.  This wasn’t his day, no week, better month, worse year ever in his entire life.  He poured another double, then another, till the bottle was empty.  Picking it up one last time, he shook the droplets around, tilted his head and bottle back, allowing them to drip onto his tongue, then he threw the bottle into the mess.  It crashed into a hundred shards of glass.

***

The airplane skidded across the ocean waves as it landed from its long flight across the Gulf of America.  Mrs. Malon stepped onto the disembarking ladder, looked around with a large smile, pushed her enormous sunglasses down onto her nose and gracefully walked down the tarmac towards a waiting limousine.  She jumped and cheered.

The End.