The Jester's Court

Chapter 3: It All Went Downhill From There

Neither forensics nor the technician were of any real help. The Jester had worn gloves and had managed to make a simple adjustment for the light. Though, granted, that simple adjustment required a little tool to access the system. The technician said that any reasonable electronics buff could get the plans from the internet and make one. Pretty much used the same parts as a fancy robot kit.

Which reminded me that I needed to buy a new robot kit. The one I had gotten was opened and missin' parts! I tried to send it back for a refund, but the bastards didn't believe that it had been opened when I got it. So, I'm out the money and still have no fun robot to play with. My wife was gonna kill me.

Actually, I wasn't so sure that she wasn't gonna divorce me. My little joke before about bein' gay not stoppin' her wasn't much of a joke. We'd been goin' through a rough patch and she'd been livin' with her mom. I was tryin' to woo her, but she wasn't really havin' it. I expected divorce papers any day now.

You'd think I'd be more upset about it, right? Nah. We'd become pretty much roommates about five years ago. I think she started havin' an affair. I realized that I didn't really love her anymore, at least not in that way, when I found that I was more relieved than anythin' else at that realization.

But, anyway, my dwellin' on the issue wasn't helpin' catch the Jester.

"Hey, Terry, the wife is out of town for the weekend. You want to meet up tonight and shoot some pool?" Danny asked over lunch.

"Yeah! Sounds good," I said, enthusiastically. I always enjoyed my drinkin' buddies.

"Cool. Don't drive this time. You know we'll only leave your car there when you drink too much and you'll get another ticket."

"Like the tickets matter. We're cops," I pointed out, mouth full of food. I dripped sandwich oil on my tie. Damn it.

"Dude. You know they have better things to do than to look around and forgive us our tickets. Besides, you're pushing that issue with them. Just take an Uber or Lyft or something. We'll make sure you get home."

"Okay, okay," I said, givin' in.

Danny nodded. "Good. Now, what are we doing this afternoon? I can't think of anything else to look into with this Jester guy."

"Me neither. Let's dive back into some of the real cases we have to solve."

"You got that," Danny agreed. He wiped his mouth and I noted that he had gotten nothin' on his clothes. I, on the other hand, had gotten the aforementioned oil as well as some mayo on my tie. But, that was okay. I'd be droppin' off my usual five ties the next day. Saturday was tie pick-up/drop-off-from-the-cleaner day.

"I got to thinkin' about the bolt cutters," I said, about to share a little of my childhood with my partner. "I know that it really doesn't help us, but do you think that they were spray painted or tape-wrapped?"

"What? Dude, what are you talking about?"

"Well, when I was a kid in high school, I was on the color guard,"

Danny smiled, "You? I thought you played football."

"I did, but I was in the band, too, okay? I just never really got to do the half-time thing, but we went to competitions and stuff."

By now, Danny is snickerin' behind his hand.

"It's not funny. I enjoyed it. Let me have this," I whined.

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, taped or painted..."

"Right. So, when we wanted to color somethin' fast and make it look intricate, say, like the diamond pattern on the bolt cutters, we'd used colored tape. It was basically colored electrical tape."

"So, what does that have to do with our case?"

"Oh, I don't know, it's just somethin' I thought of. Maybe it's relevant and maybe it's not."

Danny looked at me like I was crazy. "Whatever, man. You and your messed up tie ready to head back to the station?"

"Yeah, let's go. No need to keep talkin' about electrical tape."

The rest of the day was rather borin', so we were all ready to shoot some pool come quittin' time. And, of course, that meant bad bar food and cheap pitchers of beer. Mmm mmm, heartburn or heart attack? Take your pick.

Danny and I squared off against two other detectives from homicide. They were good guys, mostly, and mean pool players. Had their own cues and everythin'. Me? Well, like I said, I'm an off-the-rack kind of guy.

So, there I was, choosin' my cue for the evenin', when I heard the first snickers. I didn't think nothin' of it until I heard the bells. You know, those little round bells for kids crafts? Yes, those bells. I turned around and there was a whole line of homicide detectives in jester hats, tryin' not to laugh.

Of course, tryin' not to laugh didn't mean that they weren't laughin'. But, they were holdin' it in pretty good... except some had started to shake with a case of the giggles... which caused the little bells to jingle... which made them laugh harder... and, well, you get the picture.

Honestly, I was a bit dumbfounded as to what to say. I mean, I can take a good natured ribbin' along with the next guy, but this seemed a little over the top. But, it wasn't worth startin' a fight over, so I just laughed along with them. And vowed to get even, of course.

Alas, my plans for whoopin' their asses and showin' who's boss failed within the first round. Thank goodness I'd had the mental faculties to not take a side bet; I don't know what the hell I was thinkin'.

So, Danny and I had to endure an entire night of jester hats and jokes about fools, jokers, harlequins, and even mimes, as if they actually fit into that group. But, the food was mostly hot and the beer was mostly cold and I was... well, mostly happy.

Until... someone got the bright idea to start tellin' stupid jokes. They took turns lookin' them up on the internet and declared that the Fool In Play had to tell a joke before each shot. Do you know how long that makes a game of pool? Pray that you never find out. It was downright painful. If I hadn't had a good buzz goin'...

"What's black and white and red all over?"

"I don't know! What?"

"A mime in a wood chipper!"

And it all went downhill from there.