Date: Fri, 11 Oct 1996 17:34:02 -0500 From: D Echelbarger Subject: Slip of the Pen (1/1) Another "inspired by Beth" special. The Cousins will probably kill me for this one. ;> Usual disclaimers. Unusual disclaimer-- Do not read while consuming food or beverages. If you do, be prepared to wipe said food or beverages off your monitor. Slip of the Pen by Diane Echelbarger (Second season, probably after "Close Call") The two homicide detectives were on their dinner break when the call came. "81 Kilo, 81 Kilo, do you read?" Nick jumped into the Caddy and picked up the mike. Schanke was still waiting for his order at the pick-up window. "81 Kilo here, what's up?" the blond detective asked. "81 Kilo, see the officer, possible vehicular homicide, Spaight and Dundas." "Roger that, dispatch. We're on our way." Nick started the Caddy. "Hey, Schank," he called, "we've got to roll!" "Right, be right there!" Schanke paid the counterperson and hurried back to the car, juggling a slightly greasy paper bag and a large soft drink. "Hey! No food in my car!" Nick's protest was automatic. "C'mon, Nick!" Schanke maneuvered onto the front seat. "You can't expect me to just throw it away! Besides, I got you one, too." He pulled a chili dog out of the bag and offered it to his partner. The vampire fought a gag reflex as his nose was assaulted by the combined odors of chili, onions, and jalapenos. "Keep it," he growled, and put the Caddy in gear. The two squad cars at the scene had cordoned off the accident site. The officers were taking statements and collecting evidence. A large delivery truck was skewed across the intersection, packages scattered over the pavement. Dr. Chang was crouched over a still figure, and a burly man in a familiar brown uniform sat on the curb, head in his hands. "What've we got?" Nick asked as they crossed the barrier tape. "Suicide." Walters, the senior uniform on the scene, held out an evidence bag. "Guy threw himself in front of the truck. This was in his breast pocket." Schanke stuffed the last bite of his chili dog in his mouth before taking the clear plastic baggie and reading the note inside. "'I can't stand it anymore. I'm sorry, Margie.'" He snorted. "Geeze, you'd think these sickos would find a way to off themselves without ruining someone else's day, y'know? How's the driver doing?" "Not too good." Walters shrugged. "We've called his company, told 'em to get someone down here to pick up the truck. We won't be filing charges; three witnesses swear the driver didn't have a chance to stop. But we'll need him to make a statement." He grimaced and took the evidence back. "Sorry to pull you down here for nothing." "That's okay," Nick assured him, then turned to his partner. "Look, as long as we're here, why don't we help clear those packages out of the intersection?" He was really interested in keeping Schanke out of the car until he'd finished eating. This seemed like a good way to accomplish that. "Sounds like a plan to me," Schanke agreed. He unwrapped the second chili dog, propped the sack on the delivery van's bumper, and began gathering up packages one-handed and tossing them inside. Nick picked up some of the larger boxes, stacking them carefully in the back of the van. One or two made broken-glass noises; he set them to one side. Off to the left, a large, squarish package had burst on impact; its contents sprawled over the pavement. Nick picked up one of the spilled bags. "100% Silk" was stamped on the plastic. Inside was a pair of Winnie-the-Pooh boxer shorts, size medium. In fact, the box seemed to be filled with variously- patterned Winnie-the-Pooh silk boxers. There was Pooh with his hunny jar, Pooh with a kite, Pooh with Piglet, Pooh with an umbrella.... Snickering a little at the thought of a grown man wearing such childish underwear, the detective gathered up all the spilled bags and crammed them back in the box, then locked the flaps together. As he bent over to lift the reassembled carton, the shipping label caught his eye. L. LaCroix CERK Toronto, Ontario CANADA Nick stared, unable to believe his eyes. *LaCroix* had ordered these? His master, the cold, ruthless inventor of a hundred subtle humiliations, wore *Winnie-the-Pooh* underwear? And *boxers* at that? In disbelief, he burrowed into the box until he found the invoice. It read: "Quantity Item Description 36 456298 Boxers, 100% silk, Winnie-the-Pooh assortment" and the name on the order form was "L. LaCroix." The vampire detective snickered again, and decided suddenly that this box was *far* too damaged to be trusted to an ordinary deliveryman. He would, Nicholas concluded, have to drop off his master's purchase personally. Calling something to Schanke about needing to double-check, he hurried out of sight down an alley, box clutched in his arms. After a quick glance around to assure that he was unobserved, he took flight. LaCroix was verbally shredding one of his callers as Nick entered the studio. When he finished dissecting the hapless mortal, the master vampire keyed up a musical selection and greeted his most troublesome offspring. "Nicholas," he said with a small, wintry smile. "This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you here tonight?" "This." Nick set the box on LaCroix's work console, fighting to keep his expression under control. "I found it at an accident scene. I believe it's yours." "Indeed?" The ancient vampire raised an eyebrow at him, but seemed otherwise unconcerned. He glanced at the shipping label. "Ah, SummerSilk. Thank you, Nicholas." He opened the box. A moment's absolute silence followed. Then, LaCroix turned on his protege with a furious snarl. "*What* is *this*!?" he demanded, obviously enraged. "Is *this* your idea of *humor*, Nicholas?" He waved a pair of Pooh boxers in the detective's direction as his eyes started to glow. Nick suddenly wasn't so sure this had been a good idea. He decided to play innocent. "I don't know what you mean, LaCroix," he replied with every ounce of sincerity he could muster. "Isn't that what you ordered?" "What-- *I*--" LaCroix choked on the rest of the sentence, and turned back to the box, flinging Pooh-patterned shorts wildly in all directions until he reached the invoice. He glared at the slip of paper in disbelief for a moment, then dove for his trenchcoat and pulled a catalog out of an interior pocket. After a few moments' frenetic page-turning, he slammed the catalog down on the console and skewered one page with a rigid forefinger. "*That*," he announced, icy with rage, "is what *I* ordered, Nicholas." Nick edged warily closer and looked over his master's shoulder. "Clearance Special!" the page announced. "Save 75% on our 100% pure silk jockey shorts! Black only. Order item #456289." The two vampires compared the advertisement to the invoice. "Uh, looks like they transposed a number," the detective commented cautiously. "Brilliant deduction, Nicholas," LaCroix replied sarcastically. "Thank you for your insight." Nick debated replying that he was just trying to help, but decided the remark just might get him decapitated on the spot. Instead, he began to edge toward the door as LaCroix picked up the telephone and dialed the toll-free number on the back of the SummerSilk catalog. "Um, I've got to go now, LaCroix," he murmured as he eased the studio's door open. "Talk to you later." His master ignored him. All his attention was centered on the receiver. In his most life-threatening tone, he told the hapless mortal on the other end, "Give me Customer Service. Now." Nick fled while he had the chance. Diane E # D Echelbarger gryphon@execpc.com # # WWW HomePage: http://www.execpc.com/~echelbar/ #