Munch sprinkled salt onto the dish. The amount of food before him was overwhelming: he thought ordering a ham and cheese sandwhich would mean a little bit of ham, a little bit of cheese, a little bit of bread, and...is that mayonaisse?
But he wasn't in New York anymore: he was in Georgia, Atlanta, Georgia to be correct. He was there on loan to the GBI [A/N: Georgia Bureau of Investigation] while some of their detectives were on quarantine.
Munch liked being out of the concrete jungle, but the great South in all its glories wasn't being much of his friend. For one, the city made him drive to Atlanta from the city. Though they provided him with a driver, they happened to find an annoying salesman from Alabama to help him make the journey.
Bubba Jake Barber was a furniture salesman from somewhere in Alabama that Munch knew was on no map, no matter how local. All Bubba Jake did was talk...and talk...and talk, and when he was done with that talking, he talked some more. Bubba Jake even talked in his sleep, which Munch discovered on the first night (the city wouldn't pay but fifty bucks for a hotel, forcing the two to become roommates). He spent the next three nights in the same car, in the same room, and in the same tiny space on earth together.
"Hun, is your food a'right? You look a little green around the gills!" the waitress called. John swallowed his bite slowly.
"I'm fine."
"Just thinkin' 'bout that place back home. Where you from anyways, Hun?"
"New York City at the moment. And you?"
"My, my, ain't you a funny one! Y'all heared that, Mike? That man's from the Big Apple, way on up in New York. How'd' you like it up there with all thems tall buildin's? I hears y'all's got buildin's that got o'er a hundred floors!"
"We do," Munch responded, though he was tired of being Mary Darleen's show-and-tell for the trucker-looking men sitting at the counter, who were now watching him intently.
"My, my, my!" Mary Darleen exclaimed. "Bill, when you gonna take your wife up there to see them buildin's?"
"When he decided to get away from you," Munch muttered, dropping his sandwich to take a sip of his soda. He was only a fourth of the way done, but he knew he couldn't eat anymore, especially with the huge helping of fries sitting on the other side of his plate.
"Hey, Hun! What do you do for a livin'?" Mary Darleen asked, watching him intently. The men returned their gaze to him as well.
"I'm a police officer," Munch replied, sighing under his breath and wiping his mouth with discontent. But unlucky for him, time was moving no faster: he still had forty-seven minutes of his lunch break left. He knew he wouldn't spend it all here.
"Ooh, I bet he carries a badge an everythin'!" Mary Darleen exclaimed. "Show us your badge, Hun!"
"I don't have it with me," he responded, which was the truth: he traded it in for a GBI ID badge when he began his work.
"Now why would a cop not carry his badge? That's like a hunter not carryin' his gun!" one of the guys exclaimed.
"I'm not here on vacation; I'm here on business."
"Ooh, are you here to solve them robberies. I hears they hit the Quickie Mart last night, and they hit the 7-11 the week before!" Mary Darleen gasped. "Are you coverin' them?"
"No, I'm a detective for bigger crimes."
"Like moonshinin'?" one of the men asked, eyeing him darkly.
"Um...no. I spent many years as a homicide detective before becoming a sex crimes detective."
"Does that have to do with porn?" the same man asked. Munch wiped his mouth again, though he hadn't taken another bite since Mary Darleen started these charades.
"Depends on the type. We've taken down child porn creators for years," Munch replied. The man nodded.
"Suzie Mae said she was eightteen when she made them tapes, and I believe her."
"Hey, Dade. Dade, you should show him the tapes," the smallest of the men snickered.
"Shut up, Bug!" Dade hissed. "He don't want to see no porn. I bet a detective from New York gets all the lovin' he needs. He don't need no porn."
'You'd be surprised,' Munch thought, but he knew not to own up to that: Mary Darleen had been eyeing him the entire fifteen minutes, twenty-seven seconds he'd been there, and she still hadn't stopped.
"I didn't see no weddin' right. Detective, you got any lady detectives back home in New York? You know, a wife or somethin' to help you investingate crimes but love you like you need to be loved by night?"
"You are one obsessed woman," Dade hissed, snatching a thick paperback from behind the counter. "Do y'all take down this smut? Look what it does to them women!"
"Aw, Dade, I'se was just askin' the man a question. Let him answer," Mary Darleen smiled, biting her lip flitatiously.
"We have 'lady detectives,' but none of them are married, and they certainly aren't married to me."
"See, Mary!" Dade exclaimed, slamming the paperback onto the floor. Munch eyed the clock again: only two more minutes had passed, but there seemed to be no escape in sight.
"But you've been married, ain't you? A man of your standing can't go to bed alone every night," Mary Darleen whispered.
"I prefer it," Munch lied. "Women are too much hassle after a long day solving crimes. Yep, I'm a bachelor, and I'm currently a full one."
"But you ain't ate nothin' Mr. Detective! Stay and finish your meal!"
"But I must get back to work," John rushed, laying his money on the counter, careful not to tip too much. "Good day."
"Bye, Mister Detective. I never did get your name," Mary Darleen smiled, winking at him gently.
"It's Elliot Stabler," he replied, leaving the restaurant.
"Oh, Elliot Stabler. I bet he and I would have beautiful chilruns," Mary Darleen smiled. The men laughed at her as Munch made it to his rental car. He wished he could unhear her last words, but he knew it'd make a great story for the guys later, especially Elliot.