20
Gillis and Pickle pulled up to the gatehouse at the entrance to Folsom Sampson’s mansion. The guard glanced up from his laptop and flipped the finger to Gillis and went back to watching reruns of White Trailer Trash. Gillis nudged Pickle. He pointed to a surveillance camera. Pickle pulled out his personal Smith and Wesson, lowered his window and fired a bulls eye at the camera, shattering it.
“Nice shooting Dill,” said Gillis. He shifted to drive. The pickup peeled rubber and smashed through the wooden gate.
“What happened back there, Dill?” asked Gillis pointing his thumb back toward the smashed wooden gate.
“Where, Gills?” asked Pickle
“I thought I heard a shot, then the sound of wood snapping, and an alarm horn blasting,” said Gillis
“You must’ve been daydreaming. I didn’t hear any shot or wood snapping. You might have tinnitus from all your practice on the firing range, Gills,” suggested Pickle.
“Make sure you put it that way in your report. Two to one makes our word better than that of the bottom feeder in the gatehouse. Here’s my plan when we deal with Sampson. We divide and conquer. It could be Fleming is setting up Sampson. It could be Sampson is setting up Fleming. It could be they’re both conspiring to elect a liberal to Congress by committing the murders, and blaming the NRA for supporting the Second Amendment.”
“Those sons of bitches, Gills. I never thought of that. Most people won’t agree with me but the country would be a lot safer if they taught kindergarten kids how to use automatic weapons.”
“You make a good point, Dill. The kindergarten teacher might have a hard time getting the kids back in from recess,” said Gillis.
Fist bump.
Gillis continued after the fist bump, “I studied history in community college, Dill. The Second Amendment guarantees you can have any weapons you want. That goes for switchblades, can openers, and grenades. Liberals keep trying to take away our freedoms. I heard a Congressman say he didn’t want us to have tanks. Can you imagine?”
“They want to stop our right to own a tank? What about nerve gas?”
“After the burrito we just ate, they better not take away my rights to gas. I’m locked and loaded.”
Fist bump.
Gillis pulled up to the mansion, hit the breaks and skidded across the newly replaced lawn and knocked over a three-foot Italian marble statue of a nude eunuch. He backed away from the shattered marble, making sure the pickup wheels remained in his newly created ruts. “I want the help have plenty of room to pick up the pieces to the broken statue. If I knew who destroyed that statue ….” Gillis let his words trail.”
“What would you do, Gills?” asked Dill.
“I’d give him a medal.”
Fist Bump.
“Another thing I admire about you, Gills, is your thoughtfulness. Can I be the good cop today?”
“Who was the good cop last time. I think you were. I’m pretty sure you were. Here’s why I’m saying it. You were supposed to be the bad cop, but you didn’t pistol whip Sampson and then Taser him. You only threatened him. I didn’t want to say anything, but at first I was taken aback because threatening is definitely the role of the good cop,” said Gillis
Pickle pondered Gillis’ words. “You’re right. You were the cop that swung him around like a an Olympic discus toss. When will I learn, Gills?”
“Take years of practice, Dill. When I was in your shoes, I made the same mistakes. Keep your eyes on the master and learn my lessons.”
Gillis and Pickle walked up to the the main door. Pickle started jamming on the doorbell. Gillis said, “You coulda been a jazz player, Dill. You got a knack for improvisation.”
“Thanks, Gills. I’d take lessons if I wasn’t so busy making the city safe. We’re on a mission, Gills. It’s hard to think of the pleasures life can bring us,” said Dill.
Before Gillis could answer, the door opened, Fleming appeared. “I assume the police department has insurance to cover the cost of an irreplaceable marble statue of Gnozzi the Magic Eunuch? And, I’ll add the cost of a surveillance camera and wooden gate as well.” He looked at the pickup sitting on the lawn, “I might as well add the cost of repair of a formerly perfect lawn.”
Pickle looked at Gillis who’s looking at Fleming. He tapped Gillis on the shoulder. Gillis turned his head toward Pickle. “I need the practice Gills. I really do.”
Gillis turned to Pickle. He placed a hand on each shoulder. “God speed Dill. God speed.”
Ten seconds later, Fleming was on the ground staring up into Pickle’s radiant face Pickle had his steel toed assembly line shoe pressed against his Adam’s apple. “You got a problem with Gills and me? You wearing cufflinks? Are you related to Till? What was the relationship of Till and Sampson? I’m the good cop today. Gills is the bad cop. Things are going to get tougher if I turn you over to him. His blood sugar is low. The burrito didn’t help. You don’t want to be near him when his blood sugar is low.”
“Fleming turned his head toward Gillis, he mumbled, “You suffer from low blood sugar too?”
Gillis nodded. Fleming said, “Finally, someone who understands.”
Pickle looked at Gillis. Gillis shrugged his shoulders. Gillis caught a five minute clip about low blood sugar on the morning news. He assumed, people were not putting enough sugar into their morning coffee.
He said, “Listen up, Fleming. The best way to cure low blood sugar is to have high blood sugar. It’s why I like to stop by a donut shop around ten in the morning and two in the afternoon. Don’t tell me I already know what you’re thinking. You wonder how I came about acquiring this knowledge. Last summer I spend three months fasting and living only on green tea. When my fast was over, my Zen master had me gorge myself on donuts. I felt like superman.”
Pickle took Gillis aside, “I thought you spent your summer vacation with the hot secretary in petty crimes in Key West.”
“I did. Everything I told Fleming is crap to win him over to our side,” said Gillis.
“Brilliant. You have a gift for thinking strategically that has no peer, Gills,” said an admiring Pickle.
Fist bump.
Pickle said, “Fleming, I’m going to let you up, but you have to keep your low blood sugar in check.”
An appreciative Fleming nodded. Two minutes later Gillis, Pickle and Fleming sat at a table in Sampson’s kitchen. A piece of chocolate cherry cheesecake and cup of coffee in front of each one.