The Butler Did I.T. by James Mullaney

Author:James Mullaney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: humor detective crime hardboiled satire parody time travel
Publisher: James Mullaney

CHAPTER 10

I managed to scrape all of Mr. Ed’s sidewalk bomb from my shoe with a Time magazine someone had left on the subway (clearly abandoned for no other purpose, save possibly as an emetic), to the consternation of several squeamish passengers who didn’t love goddamn horsies like me. By the time I arrived downtown I was free of actual shit. I was still, however, buried up to my pretty little neck in the metaphorical kind.

The Main Police Headquarters threatened the entire city block from which it rose up like a billion ton headstone, hulking and angry, out of the bedrock.

I was told when I was a cop that the architect who built the dump a hundred years ago had been inspired by the Bastille. The whole time I was on the force I eagerly awaited the day a bunch of Frenchmen would swarm the place armed with pitchforks looking to lop off my asshole captain’s head, but they never came. I would have hired a frog mob myself out of the back pages of the Gazette, but I didn’t have the energy to set up a P.O. box to answer le courrier fichu, so quitting was plus facile.

The Precinct #1 building was such an ugly, furious looking mountain of granite that it looked as if any second it could whip out a billy club the size of a sequoia, uproot itself from its foundation, and start whacking the life and internal organs out of every paddy and beaner punk in the neighborhood.

This day, for the first time in a very long time, the cop house wasn’t the most intimidating monstrosity in the neighborhood.

I’d heard a baby crying even before I climbed up to ground level from the bowels of the subway. Not the soft, ear-piercing sound of an undisciplined brat shrieking into the back of your head for an entire flight from the East Coast to L.A. This was a kaiju-level scream that threatened to shatter all the windowpanes in the financial district over an empty juice box or a full diaper.

Clearly, the giant, three-story baby I’d read about in the Gazette had not fled the country to Mexico as the newspaper had speculated. The kid was currently sitting on its huge Pampers in the World War Two Veterans’ Park. It was crying its head off while members of the fire deparment armed with a special hose attempted to squirt eighty gallons of creamed spinach down the kid’s wide-open pie hole.

Yet another brat grown freakishly large by an experimenting, garage scientist father who hadn’t thought to add “reverse” to his growth ray, and now the taxpayers were footing the bill. At least there was one good thing that came out of it. When Doris had accidentally let the kid loose during her job search, she’d maintained her perfect record. She had even managed to screw up a job she didn’t even have.

I hoped as I hustled up the sidewalk that nobody fingered me as the boss of the moron who’d set the gigantic baby loose on the city.

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