Another time, another crime.

Detective Oldetower had originally pulled out his over sized magnifying glass to examine what looked like a muddy footprint on the floor near the teller's cages.

Upon further investigation, it turned out to be a muddy footprint on the floor near the tellers' cages.  There were various degrees and sizes of footprints all over the bank. Not much help.

His magnifying glass revealed an industrious  little ant lugging half a salted peanut.

"Hello ant, did you see anything? If you could talk, I'd probably get  better information than I have so far today."

He sat back on his haunches and sighed deeply. He was already sick of this investigation. He'd never interviewed so many people that had obviously lost touch with reality!

The security system of the local bin of Loonies must have sprung a leak. Either that, or there was an influx of visitors from some other planet, where there was no oxygen going to their brains.


A deep voice interrupted Oldetower's ant investigation. If he hadn't been so emotionally drained, he probably would have been startled.

"Yeah?" He groaned tiredly.

"I'm here to confess." The speaker said.

Oldetower stood and regarded the man. Average height and build, dressed casually but neatly. He didn't look crazy, but then he had already discovered that looks can be really deceiving today. He had already heard three implausible confessions this morning.

"Alright sir, what's your name?"

The detective enquired as he pulled out his battered gray notepad.

"Jesse James."

Surprised at the name of a famous outlaw, he continued to write.

"So what exactly happened here today Mr. James?"

"Me and muh bruther Frank, and the Younger boys robbed this here financial establishment." 

Jesse James confessed in a distinct southern accent.

Oldetower dropped his hands to his side, tilted his head back and rolled his eyes.

"Here we go again, wonderful!"  He thought.

"Uh.. Mr. James, what's today's date?"

"Why it's May 23, 1867. Whut kinda cop are ya if you don't know whut day it is?"

The more annoyed Mr.James got, the thicker his accent got.

"Where do you live, Mr. James? "

The bank robber wannabe stared blankly at the detective.

"Uh... Clay County Missourah?"

"Hold that thought Mr. James. I'll be right back."

Oldetower walked a few feet away and pulled out his cell phone. He hit his speed dial.

"Chesterville Halfway House for the Previously Mentally Institutionalized. Good morning, how can I help you today?"

The over cheerful female  voice on the other end asked.

"She sounds like she's ready to snap herself."  He thought.

"Yeah, this is detective Oldetower of the city police. Are you missing any of your space cadets?"

He held the phone out to protect his hearing from her loud protests. She vehemently objected to his  insensitive use of politically incorrect terms  for the emotionally and mentally challenged.

He rolled his eyes again. It occurred to him that he  should probably stop doing that. One of these days his eyes were going to get stuck up there, then where would he be?

When she had finally stopped yelling, he spoke calmly into the phone.

" I have a gentleman here that goes by the name of Jesse James, and he just confessed to the robbery of a downtown bank. Is he one of yours?"

He listened for a moment, then gave directions to the bank. He hung up without saying goodbye.

He walked back to the suspect and took him by the elbow.

"Why don't you come with me Mr. Anthony. That is your real name isn't it?  Anthony Arnold Anthony? Anyway, there are some people coming soon to take you back to the Halfway House."

Oldetower walked him over to a row of chairs along a side wall.

"You just sit here till your people come for you, okay?"

Mr. Anthony sat down  and looked up at Oldetower.

"I know where Jimmie Hoffa is."

The detective just shook his head and walked away.

The End

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