Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me; neither does the sandwich recipe.
A/N: This story originally appeared in the STAR for Brian Keith's first CDzine, "Pastiche A Trois".
Dedication: I bow to only one person in my admiration for Frank, so this is for Cheri.
THE PERFECT COMBINATION
by
Owlcroft
Lieutenant Frank Harper carefully unfolded his sandwich from its waxed paper wrapping. He peeked inside the pumpernickel to see salami and dill pickle slices thickly layered with mustard and mayonnaise. Giving thanks to Saint Claudia, the patron saint of policemen's lunches, he reverently raised the sandwich to his mouth, thinking this was truly the perfect combination.
Before he could bite into his long-delayed lunch, he became aware of loud squabbling in the hallway outside his office. It sounded very familiar and it was coming closer.
"Oh, dammit. How do they know?" he groaned. Hastily, he wrapped a paper napkin around the sandwich, shoved it into the middle drawer of his desk and scattered files everywhere to look busy.
"Frank, ya busy?" Retired judge Milton Hardcastle came through the door without waiting for an answer. "We need an address, and no," he turned to face the man following him into Frank's office, "we do not need any help!"
"Frank, would you talk to this donkey?" Mark McCormick perched on the corner of Harper's desk and glared at the judge. "He thinks all we need to do is walk into Johnny Albert's office and ask a coupla questions and nobody will care who we are or what we're doing there. We need some back-up." He folded his arms and looked defiant.
"You're the back-up. I told ya! I'm going in and you're gonna wait outside--".
"Excuse me." Frank stood up and held out his hands placatingly. "You need Johnny Albert's office address? Be right back."
He stood in the hall for a few minutes, listening to the argument in his office, then he headed for the dispatch room. He spent a few minutes there, idly chatting with Sergeant Rogers, then went to the lab just to see if there was anything interesting happening there. It had only been ten minues since he left his office, so he got the Albert address from Records and had an enjoyable conversation with Officer Kennard about the Raiders' chances for the season.
Finally, twenty minutes had passed, so Harper tiptoed back down the hallway toward his office. As he neared the open door, he could hear Mark telling some sort of story to the judge and they were both laughing.
"So, then," McCormick snickered, "the guy says, 'But I only came in for the muffler!'" Hardcastle roared with laughter at the punchline and Harper felt his hopes for lunch rise.
"Here ya go," he said, entering his office with a smile. "Need anything else today?"
The judge stood and accepted the piece of paper. "Nope. That'll do us for now. Let's go, kiddo."
"Thanks, Frank," said Mark. "Hope we didn't interrupt anything."
Harper smiled some more. "Nah. Nothing important. See you two later." He waved them out and waited to make sure they were actually leaving.
Stealthily, he edged to the door and peeked around the frame. Sure enough, they'd gone. He sighed, sat at his desk, opened the drawer he'd stashed his lunch in and gasped. Someone had drawn a smiley face on the paper napkin around his sandwich.
"Those two . . . " Frank couldn't think of exactly what they were. He picked up his decorated lunch, unwrapped it and finally took a bite. I don't know what they are, he thought as he sank into sandwich bliss, but they're certainly a perfect combination.
finis