Free Wrapped Up in Crosswords by Nero Blanc Page B

Rosco Polycrates, a private detective, formerly NPD. It’s his dog, and he’s got the appropriate medical records and license to prove it. This is a police van. Phone the plates into NPD. Ask for Dolores; she’ll confirm everything I’m telling you.”
    The officers had holstered their weapons by then, and the tall trooper with the captain’s bars stood at their center, his hands resting aggressively on his hips. He was the one who spoke, and his tone was flat and unforgiving. “We checked the plates, bozo. They don’t come up NPD. Do you have I.D. to substantiate this claim, or are you just wasting taxpayer dollars?”
    â€œI had a feeling you might ask that.” Lever sighed. “We’re collecting Christmas gifts for kids. We left our I.D. in our street clothes.”
    â€œCaptain, take a look in the van,” Rosco chimed in. “There’s a police radio, shotgun bracket; the rear’s sealed off for detainees—”
    The trooper held up his hand. “I’m not concerned about the van at the moment; right now I want to know who you three yokels are.”
    â€œWell, we sure as heck didn’t just break out of the Suffolk County Jail,” Jones replied, annoyed at being handcuffed for the first time in his life.
    â€œI know that,” the trooper stated. “But I didn’t until you pulled off the wigs. The skinny guy from Suffolk’s bald, and the fat guy’s a tattooed biker with a pony tail.”
    Both Rosco and Al decided it wasn’t a good time to protest the “skinny” and “fat” descriptions.
    â€œUnless you fellas can prove who you are,” the captain continued, “I’m going to have to take you back to the barracks. Animal Control will be here in a minute for the dog.”
    At this suggestion, Gabby once again began barking and growling at the trooper. “Aw, come on, captain,” Rosco protested over the noise, “this makes no sense. You’re serving yourself up a mountain of paperwork, and we won’t get these gifts to the kids on time. Why don’t you just get an NPD beat-cop to drive out here and ‘make’ us. It’ll take ten minutes.”
    Rosco’s idea made a certain amount of sense to the captain, but he wasn’t about to make life that easy for the Santas.
    â€œI’ve got three potentially violent criminals on the loose. There’s no telling where they are. They’ve stolen a car; they’ve cleaned out a costume shop, so I don’t know what the hell they’re dressed up as; and you think I’m worried about paperwork?”
    â€œWhat makes you think they moved this far south, Captain?” Lever asked, now sounding businesslike, and very much the detective.
    â€œOne of them apparently has a sister in Newcastle.” The captain then looked at the trooper standing beside him. “Roberts, contact NPD. See if they can send someone out here to vouch for these clowns.” He glanced at Al. “Where did you leave your I.D.?”
    Lever sighed again. “In the evidence room.”
    The captain nodded; it was clear he considered Al’s response less than professional. Then he addressed a second trooper. “Shaw, cite the bald one for driving without a license, and the skinny one with a leash violation.”
    â€œCome on, Captain,” Lever groaned, “that’s petty garbage and you know it.”
    The captain smiled at Shaw. “Write the big guy up for doing seventy in a fifty-five while you’re at it.”

Ten
    W HEN the three Santas entered Don Oliver’s Gun Shoppe at eleven-thirty on Thursday morning, Don, the thirty-two-year-old owner was waiting for them. The Santas appeared a good deal less cheery than they had an hour earlier. Their costumes were rumpled, and their wigs and beards appeared bedraggled and askew. Gabby was nowhere to be seen.
    â€œHey. I was expecting you guys to stop by