The Weird Insights of a Scobberlotcher

Thirty-one Sounds Outer Space Black

I've never walked willingly into a police station. I wasn't about to start, even for Doug. No, I needed anonymity and a neutral site. So I called the detachment from a pay phone instead. Once I'd found one. Next time I'll pack a lunch and a pair of binoculars. When I finally got through I asked to speak to... damn, who? The one thing Doug never told me was his son's name. The best I could do was ask for 'officer Dexter.' The woman who answered said, "One moment please, I'll put you through to Inspector Dexter." She had a quick trigger finger and didn't hear me snicker. I'm sure it wouldn't have been the first time. Let the phone silence suck at my brain for maybe 15 or 20 seconds before he finally answered. I could've put the time to better use.

"Inspector Allan Dexter speaking."

So it's Allan. Good. We were making progress. Then it hit me. Wait, I hadn't spent a lot of time mapping out strategy. None, really. Just thought in person somewhere was the decent, more credible thing to do. Man to man. Now I was about to chat up a blond at a bar. Just say something. Anything.

"Oh, hi there. Uh, I have a message from your father."

Oh great! Hey, asshole, this is why you always start in the shallow end.

"Excuse me?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm talking to a cop who's gonna think I'm some kinda phony necromancer trying to cash in on his grief. Maybe even in league with that ghoulish real estate agent. And did I just hear a clicking? Were they tracing my call?

"O.k., look, sorry, listen."

Better give him a name to beef up the cred. But real name? To a cop? Not on the first date I don't.

"My name is Jerry and I really do have a message from your father."

"My father is dead. You know that, right --- Jerry?"

"Better than most. He gave me the message just before he died."

Silence.

"And after, too, for that matter."

"And how'd he do that --- Jerry?"

It wasn't going well. I'd managed to stumble against that big red button every cop has. While he was sitting right there at work. Right at his desk. Change of plan? Oh, right, didn't have one.

"Listen."

"I'm listening --- Jerry."

"Really, this isn't bullshit. I'm just not explaining myself very well here."

"No you're not --- Jerry."

"O.k, listen, there'll be a package for you in the next few days. Some papers. Read them and I'll call you again."

Impromptu. Best I could do. But it would have to do in a pinch. I hung up and hustled away like the pay phone in the mall was about to explode. All the way home I kept looking around for police cars. Just silly, really.

I only thought about his voice later. He was definitely his father's son. Same slightly brittle, crystalline quality. Deceptively transparent. Nature? Maybe but also likely part of just being a cop; a combo of circumspection and suspicion. But there was something very different, too. From his mother's side maybe? Or maybe something happened to his vocal chords. There was softness with a side of hoarse. A rustling stream of gray foggy velvet that casually eased itself over and around the sharp edges. Had to fight the feeling I might not be able to completely dislike this guy.