Dubious Detective Work

“One more step and I’ll shoot.” I heard spoken behind me. Fatso froze at the doorstep. I wondered if he was one of the people we were running from.

“Is that you, David?”

“That’s detective David to you, scumbag.” I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of my gun-toting rescuer. He was a serious-looking man, a cigarette held between clenched teeth, face hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. Sunglasses.  And it was in the middle of the night. I was unsure if I should’ve been intimidated or skeptical.

Fatso breathed a sigh of relief. “I was hoping it was you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

“Am I?” The man asked, unscathed, chewing offhandedly on his cigarette. I noticed then that it wasn’t actually lit.

“Yes, you are.”

“Oh really?” The man replied, unconvinced.

“Yes, you really, really are. If I wasn’t so relieved it was you who found me and not them, I would be upset. I would say you're a disgrace to all detectives, but there's no way you're a licensed detective. Of all the people in the world pretending to be detectives, including six year olds, you are by far the worst. If every-” 

“Enough talking,” He sniffed, clearly offended, “Now put your hands where I can see them.”

 He did just that. Moving his gun from my back to the side of my head, he spun around to face David with a smug smile. David’s face took on a dismayed expression.

“Alright, fine. Let the kid go and I’ll let you go. For now.” He said edgily.

My kidnapper, smiling broadly all the while, slowly opened the door and stepped through it, keeping the gun trained on my face. He slowly eased the door shut.

“You really are an idiot though.”

 I could hear his hurried footsteps as he ran away from the door and towards whoever he had planned to meet with inside.

“Well,” my rescuer said with an air of finality, straightening out the collar of his trench coat, “Looks like justice has been dealt out once again. My work here is-“

“Um, excuse me, detective sir, but how has justice been dealt?" I asked, frustrated with his relaxed demeanor, "The kidnapper/murderer just got away, and is probably telling the people in there –who want me dead- that the only thing separating me from them is a grown man wearing Mickey Mouse pajamas.

“Hey, I had to rush out of bed this morning.” he said defensively, surreptitiously buttoning up his trench coat to hide his stupid PJs.

“Whatever, we just need to get out of here right now!” I hissed, dragging him away from the door. Which, in a minute, would probably be full of guys with guns.

The End

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