Chapter 2: Jim Follows Up On A Hunch
Chapter 3: Jim Makes Strudel at the Denzels' Place
Chapter 4: The Denzels Get Wet... With Laughter, That Is!
Chapter 5: Jim Finishes The Job
Programming Note: I would strongly advise you to read previous chapters before continuing.
Chapter 3: Jim Makes Strudel at the Denzels' Place
Tom and Marla Denzel are in the kitchen, preparing hundreds of ingredients for their strudel.
"Where's the mustard, Tom?"
"Heh. I didn't know we used mustard in our strudels!"
"Dear, what the hell, you talked like... like... him. Nothing wrong with that, of course. Just sounds weird."
"Jim? Yeah, Marla, it's pretty fucked up to be honest. I'm like the most bad-ass cop in the history of the force. You remember that time I killed that guy with my bare hands... and then did the autopsy right there... with a knife made of PCP, without spilling a single grain so that he passed the drug screening?"
"Of course, dear."
"Well, now I speak to schools about the dangers of smoking weed. I've started to chuckle like him, too. I like really lame jokes, and I want that serial killer brought to justice, but I don't know if I want that sick fuck to die... I just want that killer off the streets so my rec-league team can get underprivileged minorities to understand the value of teamwork, Marla. Heh.... I mean, Fuck."
"Oh, dear, you're just gettin' on in years."
"I'm 33, Marla. I still have all sorts of bad-ass capers in mind."
"Speaking of which, where are the capers?"
"Aren't those salty as shit, Marla? It's a strudel, not a goddamn savory pie," Tom said, taken visibly aback by his own culinary knowledge.
"Look, don't question the recipe, Tom."
"I mean, it did taste ferric last time, let's not beat around the shit."
"That was because of our damn water filter, Tom. You didn't put the softener salt in."
"Yes I did. Look, give me some sugar. Now, I put the softener salt in every month, I have the receipts to prove it. Maybe we had some problems with the filter or something. There's like, what, 10 gallons of water in the reduction? I could totally see how that would happen."
"Okay, Thomas, but let's work extra hard so that nothing bad happens. Hand me the cloves."
The doorbell rings.
"I think Jim is here, Tom. Is Dave coming?"
"I'll get it. Just a minute. Yeah, he goddamn insisted."
"Oh, Tom. Don't get worked up."
"Marla, you know I'm trying to make Captain, dear, and I can't have that fucking forensics piece of work in my way. He's the first out the door. But until then, I'll bear with him."
"It's Jim."
"Let the young man in."
"Hey, Officer Denzel! Heh."
"Hey, Jim. What's up?"
"Just fixing to make some strudels. Gee, it sure smells like ingredients in here!"
"Yes, Marla has hundreds of ingredients. I'm not even sure they're all edible. The last batch tasted like iron, to be honest."
"Yeah, I tasted that too... Was it your water filter, maybe?"
"No, I'm sure I put the salt in for that. I have the receipts and everything."
"Looks like we've got ourselves a mystery!"
"The only mystery is how we haven't accidentally gotten poisoned when Marla mixes three hundred fuckin' ingredients together. Statistically we must be allergic to a few, right? You know stats, right? Anyway, I always eat too much and get sick, heh."
"Well, remember, with twice as many ingredients, you're actually getting half as much of each ingredient... so you'd probably get half as sick... actually what you'd get is a more consistent sickness the more ingredients you'd use... and the more allergies you had. Heh."
"Yeah, I guess. All I know is that iron crap must have been tainted. She works so fucking hard putting those ingredients in, measuring them and shit, so it just sucks when something ruins it."
"You don't have any motivation to make it suck, right, Tom? Heh."
"No, of course not, Jim."
"You sure she's not forgetting anything or putting in anything extra?"
"I'm sure. Only reason I'm even worth a damn thing to her is that I find ingredients and double-check her measurements. She got her degree from the historically black college two blocks away-"
"Oh, yeah, you mean that 'Nightbird' mural over on Park, right?"
"No, Jim. That's the historically black collage. Anyway, the point is, civil engineering, she knows how to make a bridge that won't fold, she knows how to make a strudel that doesn't taste like shit even with 300 ingredients. Big part of that is what she calls 'quality control'."
"THOMAS, LET JIM SEE THE INGREDIENTS!" Marla called from the kitchen.
"Okay, you heard her, Jim. Let's make some strudel."
"Heh. Okay."
"So, one half-teaspoon of margarine."
"One half-teaspoon of margarine, in the pot."
"Sixty ounces of bacon fat."
"Sixty ounces of bacon fat, Marla."
"Wait, you guys, how does that make any sense? Heh."
"Shut up, Jim, and let her cook."
Six Hours Later
"Twelve C.C.s of ground tungsten."
"Twelve C.C.s."
"Aha! I bet that's what the iron taste was from!"
"No, Jim. Tungsten has a cupric character with hints of zinc and sriracha."
"Oh. Are we going to add any PCP, Tom? Heh."
"No, Jim. Of course not."
"...because that would sure make you a Dusty Baker, wouldn't it? Heh."
There was a bit of a pause before Mrs. Denzel continued. "Well, we're all finished. Thanks for your help, Jim! That's every single ingredient. Whew. I like to unwind with a hot bubble bath with Tom at this point, Jim. So if you'll excuse me..." Marla leaves the room.
"Oh, should I wait in the guest room, Tom?"
"No, you should probably just go, Jim."
"Oh, okay. Heh."
"Well, I think whatever we did got rid of the iron taste. Extra pair of eyes can never hurt."
"It's a shame Dave didn't show up! Heh."
"It's... yeah, sure, what a shame, Jim."
"Oh, by the way, do you happen to have any of that serial killer victim blood around, Tom? If Dave's not here I figure I should at least check it out. Heh."
"No, don't have it on me, sorry. I only bring evidence home when I absolutely can't bring it in to work with proper storage. Like last month, I think, was the last time I had it, maybe."
"Ah. Heh. Well, enjoy your bubble bath. Gee that sounds fun. I wish I could join you guys! It's like having a water park in your bathroom!"
"Yeah, but she puts all these damn candles every where, feel like I'm going to burn the whole city down. See you, Jim."
"See ya, Tom."
"Hey, Jim. You be hustlin' and grindin'?"
"Before the other'n be findin' me! Haha!"
"Peace." I waved to Tom and left their quaint abode just as it exploded, sending me twelve meters in a second into the mud of a merciful and pathetic once-green attempt to inject nature into the savagery of the city. In the wire I heard cackling and knew that Dave had done something terrible. First, I went to my home to regroup for awhile, tucked away in the darkest, most impenetrable room in my house. Just sitting, sleeping, and recovering, thanking God or whoever that I never told Dave where I'd come from and that my wire had found its burial beneath a mural of a bird looking up amidst the darkness all around it.
I slept on my back, waking occasionally in bruises and tears. I doubted that I should ever laugh again.
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