SHORT STORY ABOUT A THUG AND HIS ENCOUNTER WITH SOME “BADASS” DETECTIVES

Maybe we could all use a laugh or two…STAY SAFE!!

THE SPINNING PISTOLA

Man, what a night . First, “Paddy’s” then it was a night of sex and debauch at 36DD’s apartment.

Her place is sure the hell a lot nicer than mine. Pictures, flower arrangements, family photographs sat on end tables. You know nieces, nephews. She explained who all the pictures belonged to. Probably more than once. Yeah, yeah sure nice, yeah there real cute. Hey listen DD I’m a horny old letch so lets stop with the who’s who and get down to “bidness.”

Diane Daniel’s AKA 36DD does not disappoint.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

Ronnie Blade, a vicious, evil, straight razor totein’ scumbag got got.

Ole’ Ronnie lad, in the process of ripping off a dope hole managed to shoot and kill one of St. Louis’s finer citizens.

He got nabbed by a couple sharp beat cops in the area. Heard the ruckus headed to the source, saw Ronnie hot footin’ down the sidewalk and viloa’.

Ronnie, known to all cops in the 19th and adjacent districts, is good for at least three murders. In reality, many more.

The chump always skated on the charges. Why you may inquire..good question.

In the ‘hood nobody sees or hears anything. Like the Richard Prior Jessie and cool breeze routine…”Office, I been blind fo’ fifty’ years…I anin’t seen notin’ till yaall came through that door.”
Great stuff from a funny man.

Upon completion of the booking process, Mr. Blade cooled his heels in the holding cell.

We just finished rounding up witness for a burglary case. Got the warrants issued, headed back to the barn.

I parked our trusty battered, beaten detective car in the LT’s spot. “Where in the hell is Nate…it’s only a little after two and his car’s gone. Hell, he never sticks his nose outta’ his office.”

Ian drug his sorry ass into the district. I wasn’t far behind.

I glanced to the south parking lot. A bunch a trustees from the jail washed cars. Nate’s car in the rotation to be washed.

Ah, ha..so the dip shit’s still in his office. The office, coke machine, coffee pot or the john. How on earth did that turkey get to be a LT…he’s afraid of his shadow. Oh well in a bureaucracy everyone rises to their level of inefficiency. Damn, ole’ Natie boy should be the chief if that’s the case.

What’s the matter with you Richie lad..all I want is to put the finishing touches on the paper work and book on ‘oughta this popsicle stand. Maybe give 36DD a shout, see what’s cookin’.

I hustled to the building, went upstairs, droped the load of paperwork on my desk.

Deshawn and Sal, a couple of street wise detectives chatted in the corner. When I walked in Deshawn looked over. “Hey Rich, Ian ya wanna have a little fun?”

“Sure, what “ya got in mind?”
“Couple a street dawgs nabbed that baddass Ronnie Blade. Nate’s still in his office chewing on Rolaids, watching the clock an going over all that stuff he’s got about Florida.”

“Put the two together for me Deshawn.”

“Thought we’d drag Ronnie’s sorry ass into Nate’s office, gently place his no good buttin in one a those creaky ass chairs and begin a not to gentle interrogation.”

“Does the Natester know about Ronnie.”

“Hey Richie my man, Nate don’t know shit ‘bout no police work. My trusted shill, Sal is in the process of giving Nate the somewhat puffed up resume of the felon du jour.”

Jeeze, do I wanna get involved in this or do I just want to go home ride my bike, grab a shower…Hell no.

“Yeah, me an Ian are all in.”

The three of us headed to Nate’s office.

Sal brought the bad guy in, slammed his butt into one of the chairs.

“Hey man these cuff hurt my hands, why don’t yaall thame ‘em off…or ya scared to?

Deshawn, a hulking black detective said, “ya sho nuf, ya little popcorn pimp I’ll take ‘em off.”

“Man, yall’ can’t talk to me like that..community relation an all.”

“I jst did, bye the bye the Community would be a hell of a lot better off if you were in Washington cemetery or the bottom a the Mississippi river or where ever you wind up.”

Ronnie started to get up from the chair. He is pissed. Eyes bulged, lower lip quivered, his muscular frame tensed.

Deshawn pushed the doofus back into the chair. “Hey asshole, I didn’t tell you ta get up did I?”

Nate damn near swallowed that stinkin’ pipe he always had in his mouth. He knew he didn’t want anything to do with this. He hustled the papers on his desk to one side. “I’ve got a meeting to go to downtown, I can’t stay here.”

In the haste to leave ‘ole Natie boy jumped up from his chair. His Glock, which we were all sure had never been fired except for the range popped out of his holster. Quite possibly from Nate forgetting to secure his weapon after one of his frequent trips to the john. That irritable bowl syndrome seems to be getting worse everyday.

Nate, inadvertently struck the pistol with one of his wingtip shoes. The Glock zipped across the room. It stopped to the right of the chair occupied by Ronnie. It sat on the floor, spinning.

Ronnie looked down at the pistol, making it last revolution, crossed his arms, clicked his teeth and said “Oh no, I ain’t fallin’ for that one!!”

About Ken Dye

Having grown up in Missouri, Ken Dye graduated from Northeastern Missouri State University (now Truman State University) and served his country. When he returned to St. Louis, he joined the St. Louis County Police Department and served in the tactical operations unit, as an undercover narcotics and homicide detective, and with the intelligence bureaus. After 13 years, he moved to Chicago to work with the Illinois Criminal Justice Authority. He is the author of three books: two crime novels, Shadow of the Arch and Beyond the Shadow of the Arch and his new release Michael Brown, Jr. didn’t have to die, a non-fiction narrative. For more information about the author, visit www.KenJDye.com.
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