The Three Stooges

The gentle green glow of several computers lit up their faces. Several of them had pictures of the students who had been taken sick, a few others had the records of other students and a few had pictures of Megan Fox in several gratifying poses. Jim and Angie paused for a while, before each took a separate terminal and started typing away at their respective keyboards.

After roughly eight minutes of furious typing, Angie turned to Jim and found him drooling on his keyboard. Clearly, he had had a sleepless night. She crept over to him and gently slapped him with her keyboard.

“Hey! Hey Jim! WAKE UP! We’ve got work to do.”

Jim woke up with a start on the third keyboard slap, asking, “Where’s the DEA officer? I’m clean, boss. Oh, it’s you.” The last bit he said in a tone that might have been irritation if it hadn’t been covered in drool. He took another disoriented look around their command center, and finally rested his eyes on his partner in crime.

“So, any luck, Angie?”

“Well, we know someone’s been peddling the stuff illegally. We also know they work the graveyard shift. That’s why the users only get sick at three in the morning. Oh, and most importantly, it’s very low-grade powder.”

Jim looked at Angie, completely blank, then managed a burp.

Angie sighed and continued to speak.

“It’s rotten stuff, so bad the kids can OD on just smack packs. I cross-referenced the data we have on the students with Wikipedia, and I’ve come up with a few possible suspects. Have a look.”

Angie turned to one of the computers and clicked a few times. The pictures of three students and their bio-data came up on the screen. She pointed at them and said, “Our three suspects.”

Jim looked grim, as he said, “Let’s call them the Three Stooges.”


The End

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