The Memory Agent & Fool Me Once (12 page)

“Last warning,
stop this running shit,” Derek calls to the punk.
 
The punk doesn't listen.

Derek
aims.
 
Shoots.
 
Smooth and perfect.
 
Nails the punk in the sneaker’s
heel.
 

The punk
tumbles on the ground.
 
“You
fuckin
' shot me!
 
I can't believe you
fuckin
' shot me, man.”

Derek rolls
the punk over on his stomach and cuffs his hands behind his back. “I didn't
shoot you, I shot your sneaker.”

“You shot an
unarmed civilian.
 
I know my
rights, man.”

“Good to hear.
Now I don't have to waste my time reading them to you,” Derek lifts the punk up
off the ground and walks him back to the cruiser.

Another
unmarked police car pulls up next to Derek's cruiser.
 
Detective Brant Knox gets out of the car.
 
Knox is
mean-looking
and mean-spirited.
 

Derek throws
the sports car keys to Knox.
 
“It's
about time the cavalry showed up.” Derek wisecracks.

“Bite me,
Winton.”

Derek pushes
the limping punk into the backseat of his cruiser.
 
He gets in and starts the car.

“I'm bleeding.
 
I need medical attention,” the punk
whines from the backseat.

Derek, knowing
full well the bullet did minimal body damages, reaches into the glove
compartment, takes out a small first aid kit, removes a Band-Aid and tosses it
to the punk.

“You're all
heart, man,” the punk cracks.

Inside the
Bridgeport police station Derek sits at his desk typing up a criminal report on
his computer.
  
He stops
typing to take his first bite of a powdered donut.

Captain
Harris, the hard-assed patriarch of the precinct, approaches Derek's desk.
 
“Nice work.
 
Where's the
perp
?”

“Having his
foot looked at.”

“What happened
to his foot?”

“I shot his
Air Jordan.”

Captain Harris
raises his eyebrow, silently wondering why.

“Didn't feel
like running,” Derek shrugs.

“And Knox?”

“Processing
the car.”

“You couldn't
wait for him this morning?”
 
The
captain inquires.

“Knox didn't
think the kid would try to move the car this early, I did.”

The captain,
nodding his approval, walks away.
 
Derek takes a bite of his donut as his phone rings.
 
He answers it, “Detective Winton.”
 
He listens and then hangs up.
 
He puts his donut down, stands up and
heads for the front door.

As Derek
passes the cop at the reception desk he quips, “There’s already a dead body and
it’s not even 7:00am.
 
This is
going to be a very long day.”

*****

Later in the
day inside the Sacred Heart Church, in the fellowship hall, tables are set for
a
pot-luck
supper.
 
Priests and ministers, all dignified elderly men and women
including a few nuns, mingle.
  

A minister
approaches a podium at the front of the hall and speaks into a microphone.
 
“Welcome to our annual dinner for
retired clergy.
 
It's good to see
so many friends and colleagues.
 
We
have with us this evening, Sister Mary Eunice Fox who is joining us for the
first time.
 
She would like to give
the benediction.”
 
The minister
motions to the nun standing nearby to join him at the podium. “Sister Mary
Eunice?”

The nun,
dressed in full habit, joins the minister at the microphone.
 
“Thank you, Reverend.”

The minister
steps aside as the nun addresses the conservative crowd.
 
“Dear father, who art in heaven, behold
our Christian family here assembled.
 
We thank you for the place in which we dwell...”

The nun pauses.
 
She fans her face with her hand.
 
“It is certainly warm in here.”

She resumes
her benediction as if she were experiencing a hot flash.
 
“We thank you for the love that unites
us, for the peace accorded us this day...”

She pauses
again, taking a deep breath and fanning her face.
 
“It really is quite warm.
 
Oppressively so.”

She soldiers
on sounding more like a woman in heat and less like a woman who is hot.
 
“We thank you for the hope with which
we expect the morrow, for the health, the work, the food and the bright skies
that make our lives delightful...”

She stops,
takes a deep breath and grabs at her habit.
 
“Oh hell, it's just too darn hot.”

And with one
quick tug, she rips off her habit revealing her naked body covered only with
three fig leaves strategically placed over her feminine
trifecta
.

This nun is no
nun,
she’s Jillian March, a lovely, vivacious lass in
her mid-twenties who relishes a good prank.
 
She has a strong free-spirit vibe in her looks and
attitude.
 
Her Cheshire grin grows
as the gasps and groans erupt from the geriatric crowd.

In the police
Station Derek readies himself to leave work for the day, his half eaten donut
still on his desk.
 
He looks
tired.
 
It has indeed been a long
day.
 
He heads for the door, saying
good-night
to the night-shift cops.

He's just
about at the door when his phone rings.
 
Sighing, he turns back and answers his phone.
 
“Detective Winton.”
 
He listens, looking surprised he responds,
 
“Who did what?”

Outside of The
Sacred Heart Church, Derek escorts Jillian, in handcuffs, from the
building.
  
She's wearing half
of her habit and a full smile.

“You're quite
pleased with yourself,
aren'tcha
?
 
He asks, trying to mask slight
bemusement.

“More than
quite.
 
The Archbishop dropped his
teeth.”
 
She boasts.

They reach his
unmarked cruiser.
 
Derek opens the
back door for Jillian and she gets in.

“Bless you,
detective.”
 
She flirts as he
closes the door.
 
He rolls his eyes
at her, partly in fake exasperation.

Derek gets in
the car and drives away from the church.

Derek, looking
in his rearview mirror at Jillian in the backseat, catches her eye. Through the
mirror, Jillian gives Derek a happy, genuine smile, which he returns with a
cordial grin. Their eyes stay locked for a moment longer than just cordial.
 
The first spark.

In the police
station, Jillian, still in handcuffs, walks with Derek to his desk.
 
The few cops in the room applaud
Jillian.
 
She gives them a bow.

A cop calls
out.
 
“Hey sister, can we get a
benediction?”

“Knock it
off,” Derek tells the cop.
 
He
motions for Jillian to take a seat by his desk as he removes the handcuffs.

Jillian checks
out his desk, nothing personal is on it. “No family photos?”

“No family for
photos.”

“Are you new
here?”

“Transferred
from San Diego about a year ago.”

Jillian
notices the partially eaten donut on his desk.
 
“Bad day or bad donut?”

“Long day,
made longer thanks to you.”

“Well, let's
speed things up then.
 
I'm Jillian
March, like the month, and you should have no trouble finding me in your
computer.
 
I'll happily make a
donation to the church and pay a fine.
 
I'm also not adverse to community service.”

“I take it you
make a habit of stripping your habit at community functions.”

“Oh no, this
was my very first time.”

“What inspired
you to go all Garden of Eden?”

Jillian,
motioning to Derek to wait for a moment, stands up, walks to the reception
desk, pulls off the APRIL 1 page from the daily calendar, returns to Derek's
desk and, with a big grin on her lovely face, places the calendar page in front
of Derek.

“April
Fool's
.”

Derek can't
help but smile.
 
Jillian takes her
seat.
 
“Jillian March, like the
month, go ahead, look me up,” Jillian states with pride.

Derek types on
his computer and finds her record.
 
As he reviews it, his eyes widen.
 
“You closed a city park for half a day?”

“
Yuup
. In front of all of the park entrances I placed signs
that read ‘Park Closed For Squirrel Mating.’”
 
She giggles.
 
“People actually bought it.”

Derek studies
his computer screen.
 
“You've got
quite a list of pranks.
 
What's the
fascination with April Fool's day?”

“It's just
such a light-hearted day. And we all could use a light-hearted day. Besides,
who doesn't love a good prank.”

“It's not tops
on my love list.”

Jillian
responds with a flirtatious twinkle.
 
“What is on your love list?”

Derek can’t help
but flirt back with a retort. "Sister, you couldn't handle my love list.”

She leans in
closer to him and seductively replies, “it'd be fun to try, detective.”
 
Their eyes lock again, a second spark.

Which is
broken when a cop walks by jesting, “Hope you make this prank a habit, sister
March.”

Derek escorts
Jillian outside and hands her
her
shoulder bag.
“You're lucky that Christians are a forgiving bunch.” He tells her.

“It's not
luck.
 
I think God has a sense of
humor.”
 
Jillian takes Derek's
wrist in her hand and looks at his watch.
 
“Two hours to midnight.”
 
Jillian gives Derek a mischievous twinkle.

“Stay out of
trouble.” He warns, warmly, trying to hide his smile.

Jillian
extends her hand, he takes it and they shake, she holds on to his hand for more
than a cordial moment as she locks eyes with him.
 
She says, heartfelt,
 
“it’s been a pleasure, detective.”

Then her
mischievous smile and twinkle return breaking the moment.
 
She bounces down the front steps
calling “Good night.”

Derek watches
her walk away, a sly grin creeping into his expression.
 
Until she turns
around to give him a final wave good-bye.
 
He camouflages the smile, nods and heads back into the
police station.

As soon as
Jillian sees that Derek has returned inside, she hurries to the police parking
lot.
 
Jillian removes a handful of
magnetic bumper stickers from her shoulder bag and places a bumper sticker on
the bumper of every single police cruiser, unmarked car and personal car in the
lot.

A short time
later a tired Derek is finally ready to call it a night.
 
He shuts down his computer, tosses out
the now stale half-eaten donut and heads for the door.

Derek walks
through the parking lot when something catches his eye - one of the bumper
stickers is illuminated under a lot light.
 
He approaches the cruiser to check out the bumper
sticker.
 
The bumper sticker reads:
I BRAKE FOR CRACK WHORES

Derek,
chuckling, shakes his head.
 
He
checks out the other cruisers and cars and sees that every single one has an I
BRAKE FOR CRACK WHORES bumper sticker on it.

Jillian is
sound asleep.
 
A loud knock on her
door awakens her.
 
Jillian hops out
of bed.
 
Wearing Three Stooges
pajamas she walks through her apartment - which is brightly and happily
decorated with fun
chotchkies
– and approaches
the front door.
 
She opens the
door.
 
It's Derek.

“Detective.
What a pleasant surprise,” she beams.