FUTURE MYSTERIES

by Joe Raciti

Episode One!

Date: Sunday - July 31, 2005

Location: 123 E 47 th Street , Manhattan New York

Detective Jacob Wallace gets a call from his boss, a Mr. Justin Durand.

“Hello?”

“…is this line secure?”

Wallace sits up and quickly glances around his room.

“The line's secure, yeah.”

“You gotta get down here.”

“It's Sunday… what's up?”

“The time we have left on the Martin case is what's up Jacob! A reporter came in here ten minutes ago – knows something that could blow this thing right open.”

Wallace fumbles to pull on his trousers, holding the phone between his shoulder and his ear.

“What's the tip?”

“Don't know - the kid will only talk to you… wants a private room too.”

“Strange…”

Wallace wondered why the reporter would only talk to him. He finished buttoning up his shirt and threw on a dark tan jacket.

“Did you happen to catch his name?”

“ His name! Wallace – what did I tell you about assuming?”

“…It makes an ass out of ‘u' and ‘ming'.”

“Damn straight! – I wouldn't expect such a rookie mistake like that outta you Wallace… you feeling alright?”

“I'm a little hung over from the under-cover assignment on the Cristol case.”

“Well I'm sure Mrs. Smith of the New York Times will be pleased to know that the only reporter she'll talk to thinks she has a penis!”

“I told you, I'm hung over.”

“Just get your ass down to the precinct before she walks.”

“I'm on my way.”

Wallace places a small, white aspirin under his tongue and gulps a healthy glass of OJ. He pulls on his matching overcoat and hat and almost forgets to feed his goldfish.

“It looks like it is going to be another long day Jody.”

Jody swims toward the edge of his bowl and releases a little bubble of air that floats toward the surface. Wallace is halfway down the hall when that little bubble pops. Moments later he's firing up the engine to his black, Honda Prius. Wallace knows his car isn't flashy but can't afford a real ass-hauler… not on a detective's salary for crissake!

*

Episode Two!

“Teachers, doctors, lawyers, writers, artists, musicians, TV personnel, parents and unparents… young people – old enough to vote.”

The crowd laughs.

“I stand before you today leading the polls in this 2005 election by nearly ten percent – thanks to the wonderful, hard work that YOU put into my campaign.”

The crowd cheers.

“During my first term in office, we fought the war on drugs, and we won.”

The crowd cheers.

“We fought the war on pornography… and we won.”

Crowd cheers.

“We fought the war on war, and we WON!”

The crowd cheers.

“I guess it's no secret that I hate to loose.”

The crowd laughs.

“And I'm not going to loose… I can't – WE can't. We did wonderful things during my first term but there is more that needs to be done. There are wars that must be fought!”

Crowd cheers.

“We need to fight the war on bad education.”

Claps.

“WE need to fight the war against littler.”

Claps and one whistle.

“We NEED to fight the war against CORRUPTION!!!”

The crowd cheers wildly.

Emiliano, disgusted, turned off the radio and leaned back into a rocking chair that sat peacefully on the porch of his sprawling, El Paso estate. Sitting next to him, Myra Kate Vallianos played a banjo. Ever since Emiliano had his leg put in a cast, he hadn't been able to play his cello.

“Play the song from that one movie Deliverance.”

“Again?”

“Yeah, I love that song.”

“I'd really rather play the guitar.”

“Don't be crazy, you love to play that banjo.”

“Ugh.”

“Please… c'mon – I gotta run on a broken leg.”

“You're running to be the governor – you're not physically running on your leg.”

“It's still a lot of strain!”

“Oh alright, I'll play that damn song one more time.”

“Thank you.”

Emiliano began rocking back and forth in his chair as Myra played: do do do do do do do do do… DO DO DO DO DO DO DO DO DO… do dodo do de do de do… do dodo do de dodo, do… The twang of an old five string banjo bounced off of Emiliano's big, smiling face and floated off the porch, down the front walkway, passing a red white and blue sign that read, “RODRIGUEZ, a vote for your future!”

*

Episode Three!

“It's about damn time Wallace! I hope you got breakfast AND lunch while you were out.”

“Good one boss – the Prius doesn't take this humidity well and the traffic was downright bad.”

“There's someone here who would like to meet you.”

“…Jacob Wallace I assume?”

Julia Smith of the New York Times had a very straightforward approach to business. Wallace liked her from the start.

“When you assume, you make an ass out of ‘u' and ‘me'.”

“The only thing I would ever make out of ‘u' and ‘me' is a deal. Can we talk privately?”

Wallace escorts Mrs. Smith to a sound proof booth, where they sit at a cold, metal table, facing each other under a green, low-hanging light. Wallace strikes a match on his heel and lights the Marlboro cigarette that is hanging loosely from his lips. He offers Ms. Smith a smoke but she, disgusted, refuses.

“I came to talk business.”

“Me too…”

Wallace takes a puff of his cigarette.

“…What do you have that I want?”

“Information on the Martin case.”

“Informationay on the artinme asekay, eh?”

“…Yay, I mean yes.”

Wallace makes a dramatic pause – he is a seasoned pro at dramatic pauses and never misses an opportunity to show his skill.

“And what do I have that you want?”

At this moment, purely by chance, a young hoodlum drives by the precinct blasting ‘Snoop Dogg' loud enough to be heard, though muffled, in the soundproof booth. (Well come on, how many soundproof booths do you know of that are actually soundproof?) The resulting baseline that suggestively permeated the already sexually tense atmosphere sounded like this: BUM BUM, baBUM-BUM BaBa, BU-BU ~ this repeated several times as it faded into the distance. Wallace glanced up from under his brown, cliché detective's hat to see if he could detect a reaction to this convenient chance occurrence in Ms. Smith's body language. She was doing likewise as their gazes awkwardly met.

“You can offer me protection.”

Wallace draws a ghost from his cancer stick and exhales a donut shaped cloud that floats upward and dissipates.

“From a bad guy?”

“…From a good one.”

*

Episode Four!

Joe Raciti pulled up to his favorite stop – 205 East 47 th Street , Manhattan New York . At this address resided one Martha Hoffman, practicing veterinarian. Joe looked forward to this stop because he loved animals. He would pet the little puppies that had diarrhea and feed the three-legged kitties with hairballs. – A point of clarification: he didn't feed the kittens hairballs; rather he fed kitty food to the kitties that were unfortunate enough to have balls of hair stuck in their throats.

“Hey there muscly arms, bringin' me the good news today?”

“Hey Martha, not much today, just one letter from Ed McMahon.”

“Well, no news is good news, right?”

“Speak for yourself!”

“HAHAHA hahahaHAHAHA hahahaha… oh oh HAHA HAAAAAAA HAHAHA Hahaha. Whew… haha. Oh, you kill me. Come on in, I'll get you something to drink.”

Joe was greeted be the familiar scent of kitty litter, bird treats and dog hair. Bending down, he scruffed up a confused little kitty that began licking itself.

“OJ, coke or water?”

“OJ would be great thanks – I gave up Coke.”

“Oh really? – Why?”

“Too expensive… plus you can't trust the needles.”

“Oh oh HAHAHAHAHAHA… don't get me started… hehe HAHA. Oh you are a bad, bad man!”

Martha poured a tall glass of OJ and sat down on the couch next to Joe, placing his orange juice on the coffee table next to the Sunday paper. Martha picked up the paper and shook her head.

“I never would have thought that someone like Jessie Martin would be helping terrorists.”

“It's awful isn't it?”

“You know, you think you're safe and the whole time a terrorist is living a few houses down the street from you.”

“I heard they found anthrax hidden in her kitchen.”

“Can you believe that?”

“I can believe just about anything these days.”

“And the way they dragged her off, screaming her head off… I though she was being kidnapped!”

Joe gulped the last of his OJ and put the glass in the sink.

“Well, I should be on my way. I gotta lotta stops ahead of me before I can retire for the day.”

He thanked Martha for the OJ and made his way down the driveway to the little door-less, white vehicle that he drove from the right side.

“See ya tomorrow.”

*

Episode Five!

Wallace didn't like the way things were going. He had a bad feeling in his gut and a lump in his butt.

“A good guy, huh?”

“Really good.”

Wallace thought of the best guy he knew.

“The Mayor?”

Ms. Smith leaned in close to Wallace, somewhat exciting him.

“The President.”

“[AKKK, KUH! KUH!]”

Wallace swallowed his cigarette in one, unexpected breath of air. Ms. Smith looked concerned.

“Are you alright?”

“[Kuh – kuh, huah, akk, uh ahem AHEM!] jus… just gimme [KUH] a second. [kuh…ak] I just [akHOUka!] swallowed [cuh] a cigarette… and learned [AK] that… I'm supposed to def [akakcuha] to defend… you from the US armed forces. [Ak!]”

Wallace drinks some water from a cup that magically appears on the table next to him and gathers his thoughts. The cup disappears.

“Listen babe, I don't know what kind of protection you're looking for… I doubt I stand much of a chance against a trained battalion of heavily armed weight-lifters.”

“But you could hide me.”

A devious plan flashed inside the calcium bowl that sat atop Wallace's skinny neck.

“I suppose you could stay at my place until your life is no longer in danger.”

“I only need a month or so.”

“…Please wait right here.”

Wallace leaves Ms. Smith alone in the sound proof (wink) booth and finds his boss.

“Mr. Durand”

“Jacob, how are things going in the sound proof (wink) booth?”

“Ms. Smith needs to be kept in hiding for the period of a month. She can stay at my place; no one knows we talked so she would be safe. What do you think?”

“Well, we aren't a protection agency Wallace…”

“I know boss, were a detective agency – and Ms. Smith might have some information we could use to crack the Martin case.”

“Listen Wallace, if you want to assume the risk, well - I admire that. But a dead detective is no good to me even with a God-Damn DNA sample proving the Pope guilty of child molestation!”

Wallace couldn't believe he had thought of the mayor before thinking of the Pope.

“Trust me on this one boss, it's the right move.”

*

Episode Six!

“Can you hear me now?”

“What?”

“Can… CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

Evan Schaffer hated cell phones but had come to accept the fact that his life style relied on the occasional, annoying interaction that occurred through the little, cancer-inducing calculator that he was holding against his face.

“HELLO, OH YES I CAN HEAR YOU NOW.”

“Mr. Sriwattanakomen please, you don't need to yell, I have very sensitive hearing.”

“OH YES, SORRY ABOUT THAT, I SHALL MAKE AN EFFORT TO KEEP MY VOICE DOWN.”

Evan held the phone away from his face. Mr. Sriwattanakomen, an extremely successful businessman who controlled all of Thailand 's main import/export operations, was known to make it hard on the small percentage of his employees who attempted to collect workers compensation. Evan had lost a finger working for Mr. S three months earlier and was owed one last paycheck.

“Mr. Sriwattanakomen, you owe me one last check for my finger.”

“NO NO, THERE MUST BE SOME MISTAKE. I MAILED THAT CHECK LAST WEEK.”

“That's what you said two weeks ago.”

“WELL THERE YOU HAVE IT, I OVERPAID YOU!”

“…Listen Roy , I know you're dodging here. Your shady business took my finger ya dick head and I will be compensated! Put the check in the mail or you get a call from my lawyer.”

“Let's not let things get out of hand.”

Suddenly, Mr. S.' voice was a respectable volume… sinister, but at least he wasn't yelling.

“I don't think you want a class action suit on your hands and I'm under the impression that we just might have a case.”

Mr. S. was silent. He seemed to be processing Mr. Schaffer's threat.

“I will send another check immediately – please let me know if you receive it in a timely fashion.”

“Either address will be fine – I'll be flying into Australia in a few days so New York or Out Back, it makes no difference to me.”

Mr. Schaffer had taken a job researching for a neural scientist in Adelaide . He flew from New York to Australia frequently on the company's dollar.

“It's very kind of you to be so flexible.”

Mr. S.' tone was at once businesslike and loathsome. The two hung up the phone. Mr. S. pushed a button on his large, maple desk.

“Julie.”

“Yes sir?”

“Fire people.”

“Yes sir, how many this time?'

“… Four.”

“Whoa, you ok boss?”

“Fine.”

“Ok, I'll get right on that.”

“One more thing Ms. Lindenberg.”

“What's that boss?”

“Put me in touch with Mariko Terasaki… we have business to discuss.”

*

Episode Seven!

Wallace returns to the sound proof (wink) booth he left Ms. Smith in just moments earlier.

“Your living arrangements have been taken care of. You are promised safety for a period of no less than one month.”

Wallace wonders if he is lying. Ms. Smith nervously looks around and then pulls a piece of paper from her pocket.

“I got this letter in the mail this morning.”

Wallace unfolds the thick piece of paper and begins reading:

Ms. Smith – as a well known reporter for the New York Times, you make possible a trade of sorts that benefits both you and I. You see, JESSIE MARTIN IS INNOCENT! The fact is - she was framed. It is true that a certain “Martin” sold secrets to terrorists however; the real culprit is a Mr. Martin J Griffith. If this name sounds familiar, it's because Mr. Griffith has been an important advisor to the current President in both his first term in office and more recently during his campaign to be reelected. Now, you may be wondering who I am and how I know this. My name, for all intentional purposes is Water Camel. I used to work for British intelligence, but I was released on suspicion of being a double agent. I made my way to New York and continued the work I had been doing, though limited, before I was discharged. I'm sure this letter comes as a surprise. There are a few recommendations that I will make as to how you might consider proceeding from this point forward.

First of all, you should know that the President is aware of what has transpired. I know from good sources that he is planning on relieving Mr. Griffith from his position under a watchful eye, as soon as the election is over. But the President's priority is to do everything in his power to stop this information from making it to the presses in order to preserve his currently positive image. The President has made what I consider to be a bad decision – putting an innocent person under the stresses of jail and embarrassment, simply to preserve his image. This cannot be tolerated. It is my belief that releasing this information publicly will lead to an open investigation that will ultimately prove Ms. Martin innocent and she will be permitted to freely walk the streets again.

I am aware that this can potentially be a block-busting story for you Ms. Smith, which is why I think we can both benefit from this transaction. You see, Jessie Martin is my wife and I believe the US government's ultimate goal is to frame me... I happen to the perfect candidate to take the blame for the recent subway bombings. The US and British governments have been working together closely to pin the blame for the bombings on someone so that the public could feel a sense of closure and security.

Find a detective by the name of Jacob Wallace. I worked with him a bit when we were younger and he's the only person who can be trusted from this point on – including me! Take this letter to him. He will know what to do. He can find all the proof he needs to wrap this case up at the address written at the bottom of this letter. Located at that address, he should find illegal activity occurring on behave of a certain local named Mr. Sriwattanakomen.

I know you are probably thinking, “This can't be! Mr. S. is a well-known benefactor of charitable organizations…” and so on. The truth is - he is an international terrorist. He's bought secrets from the President's advisor and has also been mixed up in a whole grab bag of tasteless affairs since he hit the scene in 1997. When the President decided to life Tariff on goods imported from Thailand , who do you think really cashed in? – Mr. S! - Of course, Mr. Griffith promptly received a check for $250,000.

The money Mr. S. gives to charities helps keep suspicion off his back – relative to his real earnings – illegal profit included – a million cold is a droplet in a very deep bucket. But the first place I look for criminal activity is always in charity. Follow the yellow brick road and you'll probably run into a field of poppies – catch my drift?

So listen, Mr. S would never be caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He is also a very powerful man – one that should be handled carefully. Manny of his shady business deals go down at the border between Thailand and Myanmar where his men and women blend in among an array of thieves, swindlers, gamblers, 2-bit gangsters and low lives that characterize the general area. But Mr. S.' genius lies in his business plan. He has many people turning lots of small deals. – The plan is simple but he manages to work the dark underbelly of the black market relatively undetected.

Following every deal that his people make is impossible and fruitless. My recommendation is to find a way into his personal filings undetected. Use the information you find in the ways that only a good detective can and give New York the best damn story since the last Harry Potter!

Please make the right decision, human lives are in jeopardy.

•  WC

208108 KAUHI Thailand

Wallace thought long and hard but could not for the life of him think of a single person who “Water Camel” could be. He had worked with a lot of people but none seemed to fit the image that Wallace was so clearly picturing in his head of this mystery man. Just who is Water Camel?

*

Episode Eight!

“Ohhhhhhh… ohhhhhhh… ohhhhhhh…”

“Concentrate.”

“Mmmmmmmm…”

“Feel the heat, concentrate.”

“Ahhhhhhhhhh.”

“Go deeper.”

“Ooooooah.”

“Deeper…”

“Ohhhhhh…”

“Ok get ready – time to climax…”

“Ohhhhhh…”

“Wait for it… wait for it…”

“Huh, huh oh oh oh oh…”

“Now! – Release everything that has been building up inside of you.”

“OHHHHHHWABAWABAWABAWAAAAhhhhhh”

“Deep breaths…”

“Uhhhh… ahhh”

“Slow your breathing.”

“Ahhhhhhhh… ahhhhhhhhh.”

“Good, now slowly begin to open your eyes…”

“Mmmhhff…”

“And now you can feel yourself coming back to reality…”

“Ahhh…”

“And now your eyes are completely open… you can begin to stand up now. Stretch out a little…”

“Ah…”

“And were back. Great session today everyone, I mean it. I could feel your energy from all the way up here. Fantastic. See you next week.”

Megan Bartges had been teaching some form of meditation since she had graduated from college. It was a purely chance occurrence that Gabriel Rogers, a classmate of Megan's, decided to give meditation a shot.

“That was amazing!”

“Well I'm glad you enjoyed it… thanks for coming.”

“Well, it was my pleasure.”

“Was this your first time or have you done it before?”

“This was my first time actually, yeah.”

“Oh wow, well I'm glad I was able to witness you loose your virginity.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your virginity – it's what we veterans call first-timers… it's a little joke.”

“Oh yes, of course.”

Gabe had remembered Megan. They worked as RA's together in the same dorm, and Gabe always thought very highly of her.

“So, same time next week, right?”

“Yes.”

“Will you be instructing the class… or should I expect someone else?”

“No, no – I'll be teaching the class… I'm the only certified instructor.”

“Really, well that's great. Then I'll see you next week?”

“…Yes, same time.”

“Oh yeah, haha – same time.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

Gabe watched Megan smudge out the Tiger-Lilly incense and exit the small, carpeted room they were in. He couldn't help but notice – she had a fine piece of ass!

*

Episode Nine!

Wallace looks out of his window. The metal wing is vibrating. Staring at the blurring tip, Wallace falls into a little daydream. He wonders if Simone Boyle, the young detective taking over for the Cristol case, can handle the pressure of an undercover assignment. He wonders if he left the stove on. He wonders if his pet fish Jody will be lonely while he is away.

“At least Julia is there to feed him and love him.”

Wallace thinks to himself.

“Ah, Ms. Julia Smith of the New York Times… she is truly something.”

Wallace's thoughts become completely devoted to Julia. He imagines running through fields with her, eating ice cream with her… maybe settling down one day and raising a family. Wallace has a queer smile and a longing gaze on his face. He had forgotten that there someone was sitting next to him.

“Who is she?”

“Huh? – Oh. Haha, I almost fell asleep there for a second.”

“Well, who is she?”

“Oh nothing, nobody rather – I was just daydreaming about… about starting an all-boys high-school.”

Wallace had been trained to quickly add detail to his lies and wonders if this one will hold up. The man looks shocked and disgusted. Turning away he returns to his work. Wallace, a little confused, looks down at his pants and realizes he is sporting a huge boner. Covering himself with his hat he turns an awful shade of pink.

“I was thinking about a woman.”

Mr. Schaffer, even more disgusted, tries to ignore detective Wallace.

“No, seriously… I'm sure this looks bad because of the... you know the… well because of my… my erection, but I assure you, I'm not a pervert… I was thinking of this reporter and – what can I say, I'm a guy and she's really great. So I got a boner – big deal. I mean…”

Wallace can sense that he is digging himself into a deep hole. A portly woman seated in front of Wallace stands up and turns toward around.

“Excuse me, but I'm appalled! If you don't mind I think the greater half of this row would appreciate it if you discussed your sex life another time!”

“No no, I wasn't talking about my sex life…”

Over the PA, the pilot begins to speak.

(DING) “This is Ryan Lewis, your captain, speaking. We're going to start our decent into Sydney in just a moment. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened until I have turned off the seatbelt sign, indicating that it is ok to stand up and walk around the cabin…” (DING)

“Are you calling me a liar?”

The portly woman is getting excited.

“Look, I'm not calling you a liar – don't get worked up over nothing.”

“WORKED UP! – WORKED UP! – I'm not the one getting WORKED UP HERE Mr. – YOU are!”

A nearby flight attendant approaches the woman.

“Please mam, would you kindly take your seat and fasten your seatbelt.”

The woman becomes hysterical.

“YOU ASK ME TO SIT DOWN IN THE FACE OF SEXUAL HARASSMENT!?!”

Everyone on the plane falls silent and focuses in on the action.

“I'm sure I don't understand…”

“THIS MAN MOLESTS TEENAGE BOYS!”

The passengers on the plane omit a choreographer gasp. The stewardess looks shocked.

“…Is this true?”

“Of course it isn't true, why would I ever admit something like that on an airplane, are you people crazy?”

“So it is true!”

“What? – I didn't say that… what's going on here?”

(DING)”All passengers on connecting flights to Thailand , there is no need to pick up your baggage in Sydney . The baggage is automatically loaded and can be picked up at your final destination.” (DING)

Evan Schaffer decides to chime in.

“It's true – he was masturbating earlier. I asked him to stop but he said that he was thinking about high-school boys and told me to fuck off.”

The passengers on the plane gasp in unison once again. Wallace turns an even stranger shade of pink and sinks into his seat.

“That's not true!”

Everyone in the plane stares in silence, shaking their heads.

(DING)”…I regret to inform you that I have been put in a position that leaves me no choice but to do something that I haven't had to do since Pee Wee Herman flew to France in 85.” (DING)

The passengers wait in painful suspense. Wallace fumbles in the seat in front of him for a barf bag – there is none. Over the PA is hear a loud (DING) and next to the glowing orange seatbelt sign appears a glowing purple sign that is not immediately recognizable. Through dizzy, blurry vision Wallace can just barely make out the depiction of a circumcised penis and ball sack being grasped by a large male hand. Superimposed over the image is a bright red circle with a line through it. Wallace pukes all over himself. In the glove compartment, a very uncomfortable Julia Smith wrestles herself free from a tan, canvass duffle bag. Protected or not – she was going to get her story dammit!

*

Episode Ten!

“Mr. Sriwattanakomen, How are you?”

“Fine thank you, how are you?”

“Just fine thanks – Julie called me… she said you wanted to talk business.”

“Yes, yes… I'm wondering Ms. Terasaki, how are those bootleg soccer jerseys selling in Greenland ?”

“Well, to be honest – not great. There aren't many soccer fans in Greenland it turns out.”

“Hmmm… I feared as much.”

“The only deals we have been able to make are with the occasional lost tourist.”

“Hmm…”

“Hockey jerseys on the other hand are selling like hotcakes!”

“AHAH!”

“Mr. S. - are you ok?”

“Yes, quite well thank you, and how are you?”

“Fine…”

“I think I know how to turn our little business debacle upside up.”

“… Sell hockey jerseys in Greenland ?”

“No! - Of course not. By the time we turn out a new line of bootleg hockey jerseys the market will have dried up completely.”

“So what's your plan?”

“HOTCAKES!”

“Hotcakes? But sir, they are already selling hotcakes like hotcakes in every breakfast joint this side of Holland .”

“Yes, but do they sell MAGIC HOTCAKES in every breakfast joint this side of Holland ?”

“Sir, you are a genius!”

“And you, my dear, are a hottie.”

“Well thank you sir.”

“I'm giving you a raise!”

“This is very unexpected sir… thank you!”

“Aha… aha… and… ok, raise over. Back to work.”

Mariko and Roy hung up the phone and Mariko pulled a small pad of paper and pen from her coat pocket.

Tuesday – August 9, 2005

Mr. S. gave me a raise of sorts today. He

Also ordered the sale of “magic hotcakes”

in Greenland . I think he may be smoking

the crack he's been pedaling in Vermont .

Note: I sense something BIG is going down.

*

Episode Eleven!

“I can't believe you snuck into my carry-on!”

Wallace was trying to get a grip on everything that had happened during his trip to Thailand .

“Well I wasn't going to hang around your dumpy apartment while you were living my story.”

“I thought you wanted protection?”

“If I thought I'd be hiding in a waste depository I would have found a cozy little trashcan down some crack alley and made myself comfortable!”

“Who's going to feed Jody?”

“Is Jody one of the high school boys you were fantasizing about?”

Julia laughed heartily at her own joke. Jacob grew sour.

“Aw, come on. Don't be a sour puss.”

“… I smell like throw up.”

Julia burst out laughing and eventually, Jacob had to smile.”

“Where to now sarge?”

“I guess there's no convincing you to stay in a hotel somewhere is there?”

“Not a chance.”

“Then let's get something to eat after I change my clothes. Then we'll check out this address.”

Smith and Wallace found a nice little restaurant right off the shore of the Andaman Sea . Mr. Durand was footing the bill so the two ate like the king and queen of diamonds. There was shoestring spaghetti with parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme… cheeseburgers in paradise and sweet carolina rice just for starters. For the main course they had meatloaf, some funky chicken and a side of black eyed peas. Julia drank lilac wine and Jacob had one bourbon, one scotch and one beer. For desert they had shoofly pie and apple pan doughty. When they finished eating, Jacob handed the company credit card to the waiter and unbuckled his belt.

“Yum me!”

“Agreed.”

“I haven't eaten like that in a long time.”

“I've never eaten anything like that at all.”

The waiter retuned the card and the Smith and Wallace team headed for Roy 's main office at the address Water Camel gave them. When they reached the main gate, they found that all of the lights were out and the office seemed to be empty. They were also surprised to find that the gate swung open easily. Jacob began to get that bad feeling in his gut again but he soon remembered that he was just violently allergic to sage. As the team neared the back entrance, Wallace couldn't help but ralph all over himself.

“Are you sick again?”

“I'm allergic [BLEEEEECHAHUGGGBBLEEKAKHA!] allergic to sage.”

“You know it probably would have been wise to think of that before you spent four hundred dollars on a meal that was just going to end up as fertilizer to some corporate weed!”

“Well, as I said [BLAAAAAHHHHH.PHUKAHKUHKUH] as I said before, I'm allergic to sage – including that of the advice variety.”

“Well you better pull yourself together or I'm going in without you.”

Ms. Smith found the back door conveniently unlocked and had opened it while Jacob was upping chunks. The feeling returned to Jacob's gut once again, but this time he knew it had nothing to do with sage… something was definitely fishy.

*

Episode Twelve!

“Where's Dave?”

“Dave who?”

“Dave Gentry.”

“Oh, haha, DAVE … I was confused there for a second. You see that wasn't Dave Gentry you've been talking to these past few weeks.”

“It wasn't?”

“Ha ha, no-no, no – that was the undercover agent who I took over for. His real name is Jacob Wallace.”

Agent Boyle had thought long and hard about how she would explain her replacing of “Dave Gentry” to the sharpest criminal in New York without drawing suspicion. As her meeting with coke-dealing Jeremy Cristol drew near, she decided she would wing it.

“I'm a little confused… so, Dave was really an undercover agent?”

“Uh huh.”

“And you're an undercover agent too?”

“Yep.”

“… So what's your real name?”

“My real name is Simone Boyle.”

“Simone Boyle huh?”

“Yep.”

“So the name Emily Firetog – that's just made up?”

“Completely fictional.”

“Huh… So why are you telling me this?”

“Because I'm not actually a secret agent silly! – I'm a giraffe! Hehe.”

For all of Cristol's wit, he had always been susceptible to pure stupidity. Boyle could sense this from the moment she saw him. Thus she was able to formulate a plan that landed her a date with the sleaziest, most sought-after criminal this side of Holland .

“I happen to really like giraffes you know.”

“Really, I had no idea.”

“Listen, do you have any plans for tonight?”

“Um… no.”

“I would be honored if you would accompany me to see War of the Worlds – starring Tom Cruise and directed by Stephen Spielberg – tonight at the regal Palisades Theater.”

“We're gonna see a war?”

“No, it's a movie.”

“Oh, yes I'd love to.”

“Shall we say nine?”

“Ok.”

“Ready?”

“Yep”

“Ok… one, two three…”

Cristol (a.k.a. the Cristol Pistol) counted to three and then he and agent Boyle said in unison…

“NINE!”

…Which in German means “NO.”

*

Episode Thirteen!

“Got it!”

“You broke the code to Mr. S.' safe?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“There is only one number on the pad lock.”

“What!”

“Only one number.”

“I don't believe you.”

Agent Wallace leaves his lookout post by the office door and inspects the safe.

“Seven… the only number on this lock is seven.”

“I know.”

“That seems kind of stupid.”

“Well it doesn't make for a very good lock.”

“Maybe it's a decoy safe.”

“I don't think he would leave such valuables in a decoy.”

Inside the cast iron lockbox they find over a billion dollars in cash, a pyramid of gold bricks, pearl necklaces, the Hope diamond (which had recently been stolen), Roy's baby pictures, a paperback copy of “The Catcher in the Rye,” Italian leather boots, Russian egg people, a moldy banana, a tennis racket, two maple trees, piano music, and official, certified documentation of every business transaction – both legal and illegal – ever made my Mr. S. or his affiliates. It turned out that Roy kept amazingly detailed records of his business dealings and, conveniently, certified every single document with his signature in ink and his thumbprint in the lower right hand corner.

“This seems too good to be true… I feel like we are pon's in some crazy man's chess game.”

“Well if we are, he just put Mr. S. in checkmate!”

Or did he?

*

Episode Fourteen!

“I had plans to run on a different platform but when I broke my leg, my options were limited to platforms that are handicap accessible only.”

A healthy roar of laughter rose from a good-sized crowd - a beautiful start for the statuesque Mexican of the Southern Continent.

“In 2004, I moved back to Texas because I wanted to make a difference in the place where I grew up. I was elected to the district school board and promptly made changes that broke down corruption and put the focus back to where it should be – on our children! I believe that children are our future. Give them love and let them find their way...”

Emiliano's speech was airtight and he knew it. The crowd was eating up every word he was saying. He really knew how to play to the audience. Sincerity and humor, as well as the occasional over-the-top emotion blended effortlessly and deliciously in the Texan crowd's ears. Not blending as well among the Texans was a sinister, shadowy figure that was suspiciously distracted and moving against the natural flow of the crowd. Emiliano saw this person and was at once changed. There were no secret service agents at this speech – Emiliano would have to defend himself if the time came. But Emiliano didn't fear for his life – he seemed to know that this sinister figure hadn't come to hurt him. At an appropriate break in his speech, Emiliano feigned a dramatic pause – seizing the opportunity to inspect the figure. The awkward shadow caught Emiliano's gaze and quickly held up his arm, on which was attached a wrist watch that the figure tapped twice before nodding – indicating to Emiliano that it was time to leave. Emiliano wasted little time.

“So, uh, remember, a vote for Rodriguez is a vote for your future. Thank you and God bless.”

Practically falling off the stage, Emiliano made a quick, albeit clumsy, exit and jumped into the passenger seat of an ageing Subaru. The engine roared out of first and smoothly into second as the car sped off down a dusty dirt road. That little stick shift sure had kick!

*

Episode Fifteen!

“Two for the airport please.”

Jacob pays for Ms Smith's train ticket with some of the cash they took for Roy 's safe. Julia promises not to report the infraction. From their private-ish back seat, Julia and Jacob pour over the documents taken from Roy 's safe. They separate the documents into two piles based on the labels Roy had given to each file – either “legal” or “not legal.” Scanning the “not legal” pile, that Jacob refused to call “illegal” despite Ms. Smith's pleading, there is discovered a peculiar listing of addresses that immediately catches Jacob's eye.

“This is peculiar.”

“What?”

“ 54 th street … Park Avenue … East 47 th street … these are all in New York – Avenue of the Americans… Rockefeller center…”

“Maybe Roy has a lot of clients in New York .”

“That's not all that's peculiar.”

“Oh, what else is peculiar?”

“One of these addresses is 312 E 47 th street , Manhattan .”

“So?”

“That's my address.”

“… Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure!”

“Did you do business with Mr. S.?”

“No!”

“What else does it say?”

“It says ‘check for $30,000 paid in full to one Jody Fisher on May 3 rd 2005.'”

“Who's Jody Fisher?”

“My fish.”

“You named your fish ‘Jody Fisher?'”

“Yeah.”

Jacob suddenly realized the stupidity of his pet fish's name and became embarrassed. He continued flipping through the documents until the warm feeling gradually left his face.

“Here's another one: Martha Hoffman - $50,000 paid in full, July 10 th . And one to Jeremy (a.k.a. the Cristol Pistol) Cristol - $90,000 paid in full, July 12 th . There's even one paid in full made out to Justin Durand – July 22 nd !”

“Here's another one made out to your fish - $70,000.”

“And two to Jessie Martin – each for $60,000. And another to my boss, $40,000.”

“Do you think your boss is in on this?”

“About as much as my fish is!”

“… Something doesn't make sense.”

“Wait… let's just think this thing through… remember what Water Camel said – we have everything we need right here. We just have to think.”

“Ok, let's look for patterns.”

“Right! – First of all there is a lot of cash moving into one general location in a very short amount of time.”

“Yeah, and the names are probably not the names of the people directly involved.”

“Well certainly my fish isn't engaging in criminal activity but we shouldn't discount the possibility of illegal behavior from the other people just yet.”

“But you never got anything in the mail for Jody.”

“True… TRUE! Meaning that if anything really was mailed to my address, it didn't stay in my mail box for very long!”

“If at all.”

“Oh my God! – Do you have a map of Manhattan handy?”

“Sure.”

Julia pulls out a huge laminated map of Manhattan and a set of dry erase markers of an assortment of colors. Jacob grabbed the red one and laid the map out over the seat in front of him. Connecting lines between each of the addresses uncovered, Jacob confirmed what he had suspected… each address fell on his local mail route.

“ Roy isn't mailing checks to these people… he's mailing checks to my mailman, Joe Raciti!”

“Your mailman? – Do you think he is helping Mr. Griffith?”

“Well… that's tough to say, but I'll tell you one thing – there is no way Joe is spending all that money alone.”

“What are we going to do?”

“We are going to my place and waiting for the mail.”

“Are you expecting something?”

“(?)… We are going to follow the mailman. He'll lead us to where we have to go.”

*

Episode Sixteen!

Jody swam gloomily toward the bottom of his little fish bowl. He knew he had eaten every last morsel of food off of the small, blue rocks that lined the bottom of his tank but his will to survive was stronger than the average goldfish – if there was a way to live he was going to find it! The swim to the bottom was painful and extremely tiring for the gaunt fish and, as expected, upon reaching the bottom Jody was disappointed to find only rocks and no food. Jody's vision began to go blurry, as if he were underwater with his eyes open. He felt lighter than usual and his eyelids were beginning to get droopy.

“Don't close your eyelids Jody; I need you right now man… just keep swimming. If you close your eyelids you're a goner and nobody will be here to see it happen. Jacob will walk in here tomorrow and find you belly up. Do you want that to happen?”

“No but what can I do?”

“Just keep swimming. Swimming is good for you – especially if you are drowning. Swimming will keep you sane. You have to keep your sanity if you want to survive.”

“But I'm talking to myself.”

“Don't listen to him.”

“Ok.”

“Listen to me and only me. He is weak. You need to be strong now.”

“Ok ok, strong.”

Jody begins to hallucinate. The side of his fish bowl starts to sprout daisies and the bedding rocks turn into little blue tongues, swirling around all the other tongues in an orgy of pebble love. His reflection continues talking to him.

“Are you hallucinating?”

“No!... Yes L … I can't help it. The daisies are so pretty.”

“Listen to me… I am not going to repeat this; we are going to get through this. But you need to be strong.”

“I can't do it.”

“YOU CAN DO IT!”

“…”

“SAY IT!”

“I can do it.”

“LOOK AT ME! – LOOK ME IN THE EYES RIGHT NOW AND SAY THIS TO ME THREE TIMES: I AM GOING TO LIVE!”

“I am going to live… I am going to live… I… am… going… to…”

Jacob bursts through the door. Jody slowly begins to turn upright.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

Jacob grabbed the fish food jar from the shelf and began furiously peppering the tank with the paper-like food that Jody had craved for so many days. Jody sank, sank, sank to the bottom of the tank, which was very peculiar for a dying fish – they usually float to the top. He drifted down, down, down and finally came to a rest on the rocky, blue bed below. He was so tired – so weak. His mouth was agape, his eyes were closed – Jacob and Julia watched and prayed. All around Jody it was snowing. Little pieces of paper slowly drifted toward him – gently landing all around. Jody opened his eyes to see his little dirty fish bowl one last time before giving up, but his eyes didn't see the familiar environment. Instead, Jody watched a dark snowflake from above, falling gently towards him. The snowflake grew larger and larger – Jody watched, unable to do anything else. Closer and closer the snowflake fell until it was right above the dying fish. With one last breath of water swirling through Jody's weak gills, the light paper food is sucked into the gaping mouth of the glowing orange pet. Jody closes his eyes. Jacob and Julia shed a single tear between the two of them.

“You were one hell of a fish Jody – ONE HELLOFA FISH!”

Jacob turned from the bowl. Julia gave Jacob a hug… he began to sob uncontrollably. Julia held him for a long time. She had once lost a pet and knew what it felt like. Jacob sobbed and sobbed – Julia stared sadly at the tank. Wait – something moved! Could it be Jody? Could he have risen from the dead?

“It moved! – I think Jody moved.”

Jacob immediately controlled himself and ran to the bowl – staring.

“Yes, YES! He moved. HE MOVED.”

Jody's mouth closed over the food and his eyes opened slowly. Licking his lips he began to breathe again.

“He's alive!”

“Good boy Jody! Good boy! – Eat more Jody! Eat more!”

Jody saw a big piece of paper food just to his right. He tried to move but his fins were caught in the rubble! Jacob and Julia watched as the fish struggled to free itself, but with every move it grew weaker and weaker. Slowly it stopped trying. It just breathed heavily and starred at the food - so close and yet so far away. Jacob and Julia felt so helpless just watching. If only they could eat the food for him!

“Jody, you gotta keep trying, you just gotta!”

“Maybe he stopped trying because he thinks we don't believe in him.”

“Well we gotta let him know that we do!”

“… I believe in goldfish. I believe in goldfish.”

“I BELIEVE IN GOLDFISH. I BELIEVE IN GOLDFISH!”

“WE BELIEVE IN GOLDFISH! WE BELIEVE IN GOLDFISH! WE BELIEVE IN GOLDFISH!”

Jody couldn't understand what Jacob and Julia were saying because, as a fish, he didn't understand English, but something inside of him made him want to try one last time – to give it everything he had and succeed or die trying. Timing his breathing just right, Jody coiled all the energy he had left in his rubbery body and made a sudden lunge for the food. WHOOSH! He was free and swimming ferociously toward the food. With his mouth wide open he went crashing face first into the rubble, scoring a shit-load of food. Munching away Jody devoured the food and felt his strength return. He spit out all the rubble he accidentally bit and began eating the rest of the food in the tank – he was saved!

“Yippy!”

“He made it!”

Jacob and Julia were jumping up and down but then they stopped. Jacob looked into Julia's eyes, and she looked into his. Their hearts raced – this was it! This felt right! They leaned in to kiss. Eyes closed; hands gentle – they moved closer – lips puckered. Closer, closer – almost there… (DING) The doorbell rang – the mailman! No time for kisses.

*

Episode Seventeen! The Exciting Conclusion!

“Ouch!”

“What happened?”

“Another thorn.”

“Oh. You gotta watch out for those.”

“Do we really have to crawl through bushes?”

“Yes! We can't let Joe see us.”

“How long have we been at this?”

“I don't know but I think we have almost gone a whole route.”

“I hope this is over soon.”

“Look – he stopping at my boss's house. I think that's it.”

Joe looked around suspiciously and pulled a few envelopes from his bag. Placing the envelopes into his blue shorts pocket, he tossed his mailbag into the passenger side of his little white vehicle that he drove from the right side and hopped in. He turned the key and turned down a road that was decidedly off his mail route. Jacob and Julia jumped on a two-person bicycle that was conveniently lying on the lawn in front of them when they jumped out from the bushes.

“Quick, he's getting away!”

“Good thing that little vehicle only goes about ten miles an hour.”

Jacob and Julia followed the little white square from a safe distance, taking turn after turn. They traveled for what seemed like hours. Jacob could sense they were onto something big. The mailman definitely didn't live around these parts. After an exhaustive stalking, the white truck finally pulled to a stop in front of an old deserted warehouse.

“Shoot… why did it have to be a warehouse? – I hate warehouses.”

“What's wrong with warehouses?”

“They spell trouble, that's what.”

“Warehouses spell trouble?”

“… You know sometimes I can't tell if you are kidding or if you really want to know the answers to some of the questions you ask me.”

“I'm kidding…”

“…”

Jacob and Julia watched as Joe slid into an open doorway. Jacob and Julia inched close under the protection of the recent fall of night. Putting their ears to the door, they could hear voices and the soft sound of music. There was a gathering of sorts inside. Jacob felt hot. He knew they were close. Whispering to Julia and removing from his coat two Uzi's and a huge machine gun, Jacob made a plan:

“This is how it's gonna go down. I am going to kick open the door with my K-Swiss – looking totally badass. Holding the two Uzi's across my body in an ‘X' shape I am going to say something dramatic that will come to me on the spot. You are going to throw the chain from the door in front of me to increase the visual appeal of the scene and then roll behind the nearest gas tank with the machine gun yelling, ‘Everybody freeze or you're all gonna burn in hell!' I'll handle the rest. “Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Ok, here we go… on the count of three. One, Two… THREE!”

Everything went according to plan. Jacob kicked in the door with his K-Swiss looking totally awesome as he “put his spin on it”. Julia whipped the chain in front of Jacob in a most dramatic fashion and rolled with her machine gun to a big, round tank of gas just off to her right. She didn't quite deliver her lines with the same passion that Jacob had imagined but it got the job done. Jacob had his arms crossed; Uzi's aimed and ready to tear into anyone making a false move. Jacob never really said anything dramatic though… he was too taken back by what he saw. Inside the warehouse were all of his friends, drinking wine and socializing. Everyone stopped talking and stared at Jacob who had a stunned and confused look on his face. Scanning the crowd, Jacob saw everyone. His boss, Mr. Durand, was there - as was Jeremy (the Cristol Pistol) Cristol, Emily Firetog, Simone Boyle, Dave Gentry, Gabe Rogers, Megan Bartges, Martha Hoffman, Jody Fisher, Evan Schaffer, Roy Sriwattanakomen, Mariko Terasaki, Julie Lindenberg, Jessie Martin, Marty Griffith, Jon Fombonne (dressed as a camel), Rachel Jacobs, Emiliano Rodriguez, Myra Kate Vallianos, Ryan Lewis and Joe Raciti.

“Don't shoot the messenger…”

Joe had cracked a strange smile across his face. Emiliano moved toward Jacob.

“I really do enjoy a good mystery… don't you?”

Jacob lowered his guns and looked around. Everyone was smiling. Jacob couldn't hold it any longer – he burst out laughing so hard that he had to bend over from the pain. Everyone started cheering. Jacob and Julia ran into the center of the group. Everyone was laughing and hugging. When everyone had finally settled down, Gabe was the first to speak:

“That was quite a bit of fun… shall we commence with the orgy now?”

“Not just yet.”

Jacob looked at Ryan Lewis who proceeded to turn the “no orgy” sign off with a loud (DING).

“Ok Gabe, now it's time for the orgy… now it's time.”