Free Wrapped Up in Crosswords by Nero Blanc Page A

maybe the fat guy they’re looking for isn’t bald. Then we’re in the clear.”
    Despite Lever’s objection to yet another ‘fat’ comment, the three men decided to follow this plan of action, pulling off their wigs and detaching the adhesive that held their beards in place. “Okay, Al,” Rosco said after they’d removed as much of their holiday disguises as they could. “You’d better step out first.”
    â€œAre you nuts? Look at those guys; they’re just waiting to make a kill. Two of them are drooling! What’s wrong with you, Poly—crates? You go first.”
    â€œI’ve got a dog on my lap. I can’t raise my hands. Besides, they can see you better. And to be honest, you look less shifty than Abe and me.”
    â€œThat is so lame. In fact, it’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard—even from you. Hiding behind a dog, and a small one at that … Sheesh.”
    â€œRosco’s right, Al,” Jones protested. “We need to make sure the Staties understand our intentions.” He jabbed his elbow into the lieutenant. “Off you go. Be sure to write.”
    â€œHo, ho.”
    In the end, Lever realized it was the only solution to the standoff. He cautiously opened the door, stepped from the van, hands held high in the air, and shouted, “We’re police officers. This is a Newcastle Police Department vehicle.”
    â€œUp against the van, fat man,” echoed from a bullhorn across the roadway.
    Lever looked at Jones, who had replaced him in the driver’s seat. “This reference to my size is getting very old,” Al mumbled.
    The bullhorn continued, “Palms up against the side of the van, wide apart; spread your feet and make no quick moves … Okay, number two, out of the van. Keep those hands where we can see them.”
    Jones glanced at Rosco. “Number two? Personally, I don’t care for the metaphor.”
    Rosco shrugged. “Hey, what’d you expect? Imagination?”
    Abe stepped out of the van and positioned himself next to Al: hands spread, feet wide apart, as Rosco slid across the seat. He placed Gabby next to him and said, “Stay here, Gabs, I’ll be right back.”
    But as Rosco left the van, Gabby also hopped out, then ran to a grassy patch to relieve herself. Rosco made a move to retrieve her, but the bullhorn blared with another warning.
    â€œDon’t move. Stay where you are. Do not follow the dog. Up against the van.”
    Rosco did as he was told, and after a minute Gabby trotted over and sat between his legs.
    â€œYa gotta go, ya gotta go,” Abe said, and Gabby responded with three shorts yips.
    The Massachusetts State Police officers descended upon them like a swarm of wasps and had the threesome patted down, handcuffed, and with their backs against the van before anyone could say a word. Gabby growled and yapped during the entire operation until an unusually tall trooper wearing captain’s bars on his jacket turned to a shorter officer and barked out an order. “Call Animal Control. Who knows where they stole this mutt from.”
    Mutt? Gabby thought. Where’s this guy get off? A couple of canine teeth to the back of the leg would teach him a good lesson. But she opted to let the critique pass; the humans were in enough trouble without complicating the situation.
    Lever scanned the dozen or so officers looking for a familiar face, but their crisp uniforms, chiseled faces and muscle-men physiques made them appear disconcertingly similar. It was as if they’d just lockedstepped their way out of one of the boxes of Combat Action Soldiers lying in the back of the van. So Al started from square one.
    â€œFellas, you’ve got the wrong men. My name is Lieutenant Al Lever. I’m a homicide detective with the Newcastle Police Department.” He cocked his head to his right. “This is Abe Jones, our forensics man, and