No One Liners
Join Date: Dec 2005
Location: Scotland, UK
Current Game: SWOTR
Jo Feathers brown eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed with festering anger as she stared down the portly police detective sitting at his desk. “Ok, Detective Smart,” she began, her jaw set at a hard angle as she spoke through gritted teeth, “for the benefit of my obviously minuscule mental capacity for comprehending matters of police procedures, protocols, and jargon, explain to me your meaning of ‘we’re working on it.’”
“Like I said before, Mrs. Feathers,” Detective Richard Smart began. He spoke slowly as if he was speaking to a small child, steepling his fingertips as if trying to bring home his point. “We are doing everything we can, following leads, interviewing witnesses, reviewing the CCTV footage of the,….”
“CCTV footage?” Jo interrupted him. “My daughter Rachel is missing! She disappeared in a closed pod of the London Eye while it was in the bloody air and full of people and no one saw a thing! What is CCTV footage of the bloody stupid visitor centre and gift shop going to tell you about what happened to her up there?”
The detective raised an eyebrow. “I never mentioned the gift shop and visitor centre footage. How did you know about that?”
Jo rolled her eyes. “You just told me.”
Detective Smart took a moment to consider. “No. No, I’m sure I didn’t mention them.”
“How else would I know? What, do you think I’m psychic now or something?” Jo snorted.
“Perhaps you're a suspect?” Det. Smart countered.
Jo’s mouth sprung agape with affronted shock. “You know what? I take that back. Maybe I am psychic, because I can certainly foresee this conversation is going absolutely nowhere!” She grabbed up her purse which was sitting in the chair, and then, oddly, stopped to pick up the receiver of the phone on the Detective’s desk.
“Detective Smart?” she spoke into the phone. “I highly doubt it, sir, but…. Pardon? Yes, he’s here, although apparently only in body.” She eyed the pudgy policeman who was looking at her rather strangely. “Of which there is considerable amount from his habit of hiding pork pies in his desk.” She handed the phone receiver to Smart. “It’s no wonder you can’t manage to do your job and find my daughter! You don’t even bother to answer your bloody phone!”
As she stormed out of the office, Det. Smart looked down at the phone. It hadn’t rung. “Hello?”
It was his supervisor on the other end of the line. As Smart spoke to him, he absently opened his top left drawer and pulled out a half-eaten pork pie. Just as he was about to take a bite, he paused, then frowned, curious to know how Mrs. Feathers had known about his secreted pie stash.
As Jo was leaving the police station, she stopped in the corridor next to where a man was sitting in a chair. He was handcuffed to a chair, but didn’t look rough, or drunk, or even that upset. He was just a normal looking man, wearing normal looking clothes, sitting quietly in a chair that he happened to be handcuffed to.
But something about him struck Jo as odd. He was staring at her in a most unusual manner. “What?” she snapped at him. “You never seen an angry, frustrated, thirty-something single mother storming out of a police station full of inept public employees because they can’t manage to find even a trace of her six-year-old daughter who apparently vanished into thin air?”
The man cocked his head to one side. “N-ooo,” he said rather slowly. “Saw one of those just this morning. I was just thinking that you look like you need this.” He nodded down to one of his cuffed hands.
In it, a business card had suddenly appeared, as if he had just pulled it out of his sleeve like a cheap magician.
“What’s that?” she asked.
She frowned warily. “I don’t like you,” she said to him bluntly, as she gingerly snatched the tip of the card from his fingertips. “You look like a predator.”
At her words, the man began to laugh. Loudly. And very much sounding like a hyena. Then no sooner had Jo raised her brows at him, he stopped. “I get that comment a lot,” he said, his voice still sounding a bit slow. Then he grinned, sporting prominent canine teeth, pointed, but not fanglike. Just… unusual. “I don’t know why.”
Jo’s eyes narrowed menacingly at him. “Oh, yes, you do,” she said accusingly. “I know how to spot a liar.”
“'Spot' a liar….” The man s******ed, then snorted rather abruptly. “I like you. You make me laugh.”
“Yes, an exceedingly easy task, in my opinion,” Jo commented dryly. She looked down at the card. “Third Eye Investigations?”
The man nodded. Once. “They’re professionals.”
"Professional whats?" Jo abruptly held up her hand in the man's face, preventing what was probably another laugh on the way. "Don't," she said to him. Then she shrugged. “Well, whoever they are, they’ve got to be better than the numptys around here.” She put the card in her pocket and decided to head over to the office. A personal visit was always better than a phone call for getting things done.
Veni, Vidi, Velcro. (I came, I saw, I stuck around)