Jim, Chapter 1: Jim Still Has That New Cop Smell

Chapter 1: Jim Still Has That New Cop Smell

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


Chapter 1: Jim Still Has That New Cop Smell

Hi, I'm Jim. Today I'm going to tell a gritty tale from the criminal underworld.

Now, I'm a cynical man. I wear all black, every day, and talk about how life is pain. So when I get a call to check out the gritty criminal underworld, my first response is, "You mean this one?". Heh. No, I'm just kidding. I'm as optimistic as anyone; I have little urgency; I basically respect human decency, and I think that life is pretty alright. Heh.

I guess that makes me a pretty bad cop. That's what my superiors say. All my superiors are mystified that Denzel, a cop I'd shadowed for a couple weeks, hadn't ever offered me "PCP", whatever that is. I guess he got spooked out by the assortment of pipe cleaners I gave him my second week on the job as a present. I didn't think much of it, but he chuckled and a couple days later I got moved to another department, much further from the crime-ridden part of town, but much closer to my house. So that worked out pretty nicely. Whatever the case, I was instructed to toughen up somewhat, so I have been working out a bit and have resolved to curse more. Heh. And I told Mr. Denzel to tell me if anything "really crappy ever comes up in his precinct so I can see for myself." I will cure myself of this infectious chuckling if I have to kill a man in cold blood.

...


Heh. Just kidding. So I went to the Denzels, had strudel with him and his wife, and after that we went to a fresh crime scene. Gee, whiz; it wasn't very nice when we got there. I licked my lips to remove some crumbs before we went in. Boy, what a good strudel, though.

"Tell your wife she makes a mean strudel, please, Mr. Denzel."

"That's Officer Denzel to you, rook. Now, pay attention to the crime scene." Mr.- I mean... Officer Denzel said as we walked in. Officer Denzel has a haircut I'd describe first as "imposing, not just by the standards of haircuts." His hair had the strange mixture of chaos and order that I mostly associate with bureaucracies. Locks of hair seemed to jump out at you, and not in an unkempt way, but like, he wanted you to think that that the locks of hair could jump out at you if Denzel so chose. And I was pretty sure they could.

The crime scene was a river of blood and little else. "Officer Denzel, right. Anyway, what happened here, sir? It looks like blood from a hundred people. A proper slaughter, I suppose! Some, uh, brutal motherfuckers at loose, here, sir." I said.

"Or just one with the blood of a hundred people, rook. Had you considered that?" Denzel dead-panned.

"Come on, Officer Denzel, that's crazy. There's no way the supernatural is in play. Low-ball it at 50 victims that bled to death."

"What if a blood-bank got robbed, rook? Wouldn't that make more sense?"

"Makes more sense than a 15-foot-tall Lovecraftian horror bleeding out on the sofa. Are there any bodies here? Any forensic analysis yet?"

"No bodies were found, rook. Can you explain this?"

"Are we sure it's blood?"

"Rook, are you an idiot?"

"Well, Officer Denzel, maybe I'm just optimistic, but are we sure someone even died? I've never seen this much blood in one place, and somehow my ol' BS meter is ringing. What about a chemical leak? There's no evidence of footsteps in or out, right?"

"No, but you are an optimistic idiot, rook. A man sees a room full of blood and he thinks it's red paint or water? How did you get to be a cop? Come on, get out into the air for awhile." We left the crime scene - a dimly-lit apartment - for the cold air and November streetlights scattering into the grey twilight. I looked at Officer Denzel's implacable shell and wished for a small portion of that capability, but I guessed I would never have it.

"Well, alright, maybe it is blood. But I was just saying we have to consider everything, Officer. What's your best explanation?"

"I don't know, rook, but this is what you signed up for with me, and until you can accept the horrors of the race of man, you'll never be a good cop. You used the word motherfuckers, and I respect you for that, but you're not nearly bad-ass enough yet."

"Well, thank you for that. I'm working on it. Heh. But you're right, I guess that's on me. What a motherfucking slaughterhouse, though, Officer Denzel. I didn't realize it could get so raw in this damn city. Do you want to get some coffee? It helps me think and it helps me forget, all in the same drawn breath."

"Rook, say that again?"

"Coffee makes me forget and helps me think, all at once?"

"No, before that."

"I didn't realize it could get so, uh, motherfucking raw in this damn city?"

"Perfect, rook. There may be hope for you, yet."

"Thank you, Officer Denzel."

"You still have a long way to go. Now, let's go back into the crime scene."

"Alright, Officer Denzel. And thanks again."

"Shut up, kid, before I have to take back what I said."

"Heh. Alright."

We walked into the crime scene again and a bunch of people had made their way into the building. I panicked a little and shepherded a few of them out the door. Going into the bloodbath, I noted with horror that a group of people, dressed in black capes, were eating the blood off the floor

I threw up in my mouth and looked at Officer Denzel, and said to them "Stop, police! This is a live crime scene and tampering with it is a criminal offense!"

Officer Denzel just stood there and said, "Hold up, rook. Haha, I guess you have to let the ghouls get their fill."

"Officer Denzel, how could you? These people are violating a bloodbath crime scene! The perps might never be caught because they've tampered with it! What a sick fucking world!"

"Oh, so now he gets it. Look at the little rook. But, rook, there's one little problem with your theory."

"W-what, Officer?"

"That's not blood they're eating, rook."

"What?"

"It's strudel filling! Haha!" I heard the voice of Mrs. Denzel as she popped out of the eerie blue-yellow fluorescence of the kitchen with a tray of strudels, grinning. The hooded ghouls removed their hoods: They were police officers all along!

"Heh. You got me," I said, amid all the laughter of the room, "Nice prank," I laughed heartily as I accepted the offered strudel with relish (not the condiment relish, but, oh, you know what I mean! Haha!).

Officer Denzel smiled. "I guess you're well and truly oriented with your new department now, rook. Thanks for the pipe cleaners, by the way. Do you want to smoke some PCP?" The room went silent.

"I don't even know what that is, Officer Denzel! Haha!"

"And I'm just kidding, haha. I would never offer that..." and Denzel paused and suddenly contemplated, "... at least to you, Jim." A little bit of awkward silence ensued as everyone considered the full implications of this addendum before he said, "Haha, I guess you're not a rook anymore, Jim! You're just Jim! That was a slip-up, but I guess that's how we roll today."

"Heh. I guess you're right."

Denzel and the police force were patting me on the back intermittently, and it was a pleasant air, but it wasn't to last: After about a half-hour the cops started to pack up and get back to their families and lives, many surely drowning the day in a slurry of booze and donuts in the grey slush of the city in November. At the end it was just me and the Denzels left.

"Well, I guess we'd all better go, Officer Denzel."

"Jim, one more thing. This was a joke and all, but, we do actually have killers like this. The city is sick and depraved. You have to understand that. The blood shed is illimitable and can never return to the ones whose blood has been shed. We're actually chasing a serial killer with this exact pattern. If you want to join the investigation, it's all yours, Jim. You're part of the force now."

"Thanks, Officer Denzel. I'll join your investigation. But I hope you know that I'll never stop lightening the air with my adorably misguided naivete. I've come to the sad conclusion that my chuckle will be with me until the day I die."

"What a fucking fate, Jim. That's awful. Damn. And I thought 5th St. at dawn with the junkies was a bad beat!"

"Heh. Fair point. I guess it isn't that bad."

"There are worse things in the world than being too optimistic, Jim. Just don't let it slow your hand on the trigger, not ever."

"I won't. Besides, if I ever kill someone in cold blood that might rid me of my chuckle. Heh."

"...Jim, I hope that day never comes."

"Oh, I was joking! Heh."

And the Denzels and I laughed and had strudel at their house afterwards, though, after three separate tastings, I started to taste something vaguely... ferric about the strudel's filling. Whatever. I would be on the investigation in no time, and would have plenty of opportunities to critique Mrs. Denzel's wonderful recipes. Heh.