It Just Figures

*Chapter Three*

"Homicide," Lewis picked up the call. "Huh. Uh, huh. Corner Keystone and Kasson Avenues, uh, huh." He hung up the phone, looked around the squad room for Kellerman.

"Yo! Mikey!" he called.

Munch looked up from the paper he was reading. "Got a live one?" he asked.

Lewis smirked, looked out the window. "No, I gotta dead one. All them live ones is up at that new strip club down on good Dr. King's drive. We, my friend," he continued, looking back at Munch, "work in Homicide. Homicide means dead. Now, why is it you don't know that, with that nose of yours always stuck in some book?" He stood looking down at John, head tilted, finger on the side of his nose.

Munch shook his head, went back to his paper.

"MIKEY!" Lewis bellowed. "Now, where do you suppose he got off to?" he added out loud to himself.

Munch turned the page. "Not my turn to watch him."

Lewis strode off into the break room. The phone rang again. Munch, not taking his eyes off the paper, slowly reached for the receiver, hand groping empty space in slow motion. Just as he looked up to locate the phone, the ringing stopped. "Homicide," he heard Frank say. His hand floated back to his paper. He hadn't missed a word.

Lewis came back into the squad room and walked up to Munch. He slid Munch's feet off the desk and replaced them with his hip. "Hey, my fine partner..."

Munch held out his hand to stop him. "Hold on one second there, Lewis, don't call ME partner. Your real partner's feelings would be hurt."

"Well, my real partner ain't here to hear, is he? You see him anywhere around this fine establishment? Besides, the man ain't got no feelings," answered Meldrick. "Anyway, you're my partner at the bar, ain't'cha? Don't that count for somethin'?" He smiled sweetly at Munch.

Munch closed his paper, slid it under his blotter, "Now why do I have the feeling this isn't about the Waterfront?" he mumbled as he rose from his chair.

******

The garage was dark, the open sides almost too much to look at with the brilliant sun outside. The cars were vague shapes silhouetted against the brightness.

"Can't even tell the black n' whites from the unmarks," bitched Munch.

"Now that's not somethin' a man with your brains, a homicide police, top of the cops, should ever admit," Meldrick baited him as they walked towards a large, block-letter style 26 painted in what used to be white on the cement wall. Darkened by years of exhaust, the numbers were barely legible, scratched and chipped by bumpers of cars driven by tired, angry police. Cops who just wanted out of the damn car, off of the damn roster, out of the damn uniform, be it blue with a badge or black with a tie, and into a dark, damn tavern.

"Hey, Lewis, get off my back," Munch tried half-heartedly at anger, "I'm not supposed to be your other half anywhere besides the Waterfront—Partner. And speaking of partner, where's is old Mikey, off sailing the deep, blue seas?"

"Beats me," Meldrick answered, tossing the keys to John, who caught them nicely. They got into a dirty Cavalier. Meldrick scrunched down in the seat, feet shoving aside empty cardboard coffee cups and crunching styrofoam fast food boxes in a vain attempt to stretch his legs in the cramped, trash-filled vehicle. Meldrick said, smiling, "Not my turn to watch him," and pulling his leather pork pie hat down low over his closed eyes, he settled back for a quick snooze.

******

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, before I kiss you!"

"Now, John, why you got to wake me with a nightmare? And here I was, having a beautiful dream," Meldrick sighed.

"Well, welcome back to the real world," Munch announced, "We're here," turning the wheel sharply towards the curb. Rubber-neckers jumped away from it's edge as Munch cut in close and braked the car with a jerk, throwing Lewis forward as intended. The hat flying off was a bonus. Meldrick shot him a dirty look. John smiled back. "Skipped the seat belt again, I see. Don't you know how many lives seat belts save each year?" He unbuckled his own. The men climbed awkwardly out of the car.

"Look at that, would you just look at those goddamned vultures!" Lewis shook his head. "Mmm, mmm, mmm! And not a one of them will have them sharp eyes that those corpse-eating birds is supposed to have!"

"I believe you're referring to birds of prey. Do you know why vultures don't have any feathers on their heads?" Munch asked as he slammed the car door.

Lewis reached into his inside pocket, pulling out a small green notebook and a Bic pen with a well-chewed cap. Munch lifted the yellow tape reading CRIME SCENE. DO NOT CROSS, held it up for Lewis to go under. Lewis did this limbo style.

"Hey, partner, I asked you a question. I take it that your lack of an answer is a clear clue that you have no answer—and that's probably the only clue we'll get on this fine day," Munch added, looking down at the victim, who lay past caring on cold cement.

"Is this a joke? This better be a joke, asking me some dumb question at a crime scene about vulture feathers," he said. "Let me ask you a question, John! What would I even care about some damn, bald vultures?" Meldrick demanded, nodding at a uniform on the scene at the same time.

Munch was circling the body slowly, looking carefully at everything surrounding it. "For your edification, a vulture's head is featherless because said feathers on said bird would get awfully messy and difficult to clean with the bird sticking it's head into carrion time after time. Nature's garbage man, my friend."

Meldrick circled in the other direction, scribbling notes as he walked. He would be the only person able to make out these hieroglyphics. "They sure don't call you a walking encyclopedia of useless information for nothing, now do they," he laughed. Then he called to the uniform, "Any witnesses here, Henry my man?" Henry spread his lips thin, corners pulled down. "What do you think, Lewis? Nobody seen nuttin'," he said with disgust, adding, "So what else is new?" Lewis thought, Damn! Ever'body be askin' me goddamned questions today!

Lewis and Munch had circled their way in close to the body. They stood side by side, looking down into a very dead face. This one had a look of grim understanding in its eyes, a look that seemed to say, "Oh.—it's my time now. It's my turn to die."

*****

"Well, I'll be damned," Munch said softly. Lewis said, not surprisingly, "Mmm, mmm, mmm," shaking his head. The victim was without a coat, and his bloodied shirt was practically in pieces, most likely shredded by the same knife that stabbed him repeatedly. "This here fellow has got hisself 3 nipples!" he hissed to Munch. Then he chuckled, "Maybe he's from outer space, eh, Munch? Ain't that your department?"

"It's known as a witch's teat you idiot, and it's not as uncommon as you might think, if you ever do," John snapped. "And just because I happen to find many things interesting, just because I have an open—and superior, I might add—mind—"

"Yeah, I heard you believe in them u-foes!" Lewis cut him off. He laughed openly now.

They squatted, pulling on rubber gloves, to search the pockets gingerly. They'd heard of dicks finding needles in pockets, and other things, too, surprises they didn't care to think about.

"—doesn't mean I'm some damn encyclopedia," John continued, "Although I will admit, I'm the closest thing to an encyclopedia you and some of my many partners will ever come across!" he finished.

"Hey, looky here—" Lewis pulled out a wallet near bursting with cash. He ran his thumb over the edge of the $100.00 bills, whistling.

"And just who is our...wealthy friend?" Munch said. "Lucky certainly wouldn't be the appropriate adjective here."

"Beats me. No license, credit cards, no i.d. at all, nada, zip. Nothin' over on your side of the street?"

"The cupboard is bare, my friend."

"Mmm, mmm. Well, all I got to say is our perp may be one sick bastard, but ya gotta hand it to him. He ain't no low down thief." They were still squatting beside the body; Meldrick staring at it, John looking off into space, the two men lost in their own thoughts. "What you wanna bet that knife ain't within a'hunerd miles of here?" Lewis suddenly said, as if to himself. "And no witnesses, neither." He looked away for a moment, and then back at Munch. "It's starting to look bad, my fellow superhero, my co-avenger of the dead. It's starting to look like we might be right smack in the middle of a goddamned whodunit here." He finished, "All we got is a rich stiff from the planet Neptune and a buncha bald vultures."

John Munch stood with a groan. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, leaning backwards for a moment, looking up into the sunny blue sky. Then he looked down at Lewis, who was still "mmm, mmm, mmm-ing to himself. "To quote Tonto," Munch said, "What you mean we, Paleface!"

Just then the ME's black dodge wagon pulled up. "Half of what I say is meaningless..." Munch sang, "...but I say it just to reach you, Ju—li—an. Na." He smiled down at Meldrick and added, "And vultures are featherless, Dumbnuts. Eagles are bald."

[Author's note: Thanks to Lennon/McCartney for the line from "Julia." Huge thanks to the brilliant minds who created/own "Homicide: Life on the Streets" and its characters. Chapter 2 dedicated to Girly-Girl. This story is dedicated to Bee Bee with thanks for nagging me. Research source: "Homicide – A Year on the Killing Streets" by David Simon.]