McGriffin Rides Again

Sunday, October 16, 2011 7:16 PM

     McGriffin was tired, as usual.  What it was that was making him tired was unknown.  He had been tired for quite a while.  His blood work came back negative for mono.  Perhaps it was the new medication his psychiatrist had him on.  He was off the antidepressants.  He was off the marijuana too.  At least when he was smoking marijuana he knew where his tiredness came from.  He could slam a Red Bull and go about his business.  But without a source of tiredness, he felt uncomfortable medicating it that way.  He was off self-medication in general.  The medication his psychiatrist had him on was called Risperdal.  It worked alright, it was for his delusions.  He was deluded into thinking he was a famous detective.  He was realizing he was nothing but a normal detective--but an out-of-work detective.

     You see, he never finished his last case.  Usually he just bungles about until the case bores him, and then it magically finishes itself.  That didn't happen this time.  Probably because it was a script and scripts are supposed to be a certain length.  So, it just stays in limbo, maybe some day he'll finish it.  Those gun smugglers will be around, certainly, he can always catch them later.

     Being off marijuana has left him unsure as to who he was, if he was ever who he was, he certainly wasn't what he thought he was.  But, it was clean living.  Mm, yum.  Clean living.

     He poured himself some cereal.  His cat came in through the window, sniffed the cereal, the cat knew what was coming next.  Milk.  And that meant milk for it as well.  McGriffin went to the refrigerator.  He took out the milk.  The cat started circling the ground, making mewing noises.

     "Mew," the cat said.

     "What do you want?" asked McGriffin, knowing full well what it wanted.

     "Milk," the cat said--in cat language of course.  So it just sounded like "meow."

     McGriffin poured the milk on the cereal, then got out a little dish and poured some milk into it.  The cat took three lapfuls out of the dish, and then walked away.  As if the cat knew it was lactose intolerant and really shouldn't have too much of it.  McGriffin dumped the rest of the milk in the saucer into the sink.  Then he turned to his cereal and ate solemnly.  Olga came in the door.

     "You're going to clean that dish after you're done with it?" asked Olga, knowing full well that he was.

     "Yes Olga."  McGriffin took a few more bites, ruing the day he moved in with her.  But it was a monetary need, and money is just as scarce now as it was five years ago.  She was cramping his style as a swinging bachelor.  He was now a sedentary bachelor.  With few to care about his mental condition and sobering up from marijuana.  Only his cat would probably know or care, and he probably did neither.  Olga left shaking her head.  McGriffin dumped the rest of the milk from his cereal bowl into the sink and waited for the phone to call.

     Then it rang.  Which surprised him.  Because usually he waited for the phone to ring, and wound up waiting in vain until it was time to sleep.  He answered it.

     "McGriffin," he said curtly.

     "I have a case for you," replied the other voice, one he did not recognize.

     "That's great," replied McGriffin, "too bad I'm not a detective.  I'm just a poor schlub who eats cereal with his cat while getting harassed by an overweight mother figure."

     "Oh," said the voice.

      "Not to say my mother was overweight, bless her soul, she got a bit of a paunch when she hit menopause, but was fit until the day she died."

     "When was that?" asked the voice.

     "Who are you?" asked McGriffin.  McGriffin was not one to have lengthy conversations with strangers.  Well, not since he became sober.

     "My name is Marjorie."  It was indeed a woman's voice.  "And I'd like to hire you as a private detective."

     "Sorry toots, but I only work for people's taxes.  I don't have a license to be a private detective, anyway."

     "Fine," she said mysteriously, "I can arrange it so you will be on this case."  And with that she hung up.

Sunday, October 16, 2011 7:47 PM

Monday, October 17, 2011 10:40 PM

     "What is it cat?" asked McGriffin, who was being purred upon by his cat.  The cat rubbed his head along McGriffin's chin as he laid in bed.

     "Food," replied the cat, in its cat language.  McGriffin got up and fed the cat, then waited for the phone to ring.  Again, the phone rang unexpectedly.

     "What is it?" asked McGriffin.  He ran his hand across his face; he looked over at the clock; it was 8 AM.

     "Good to hear from you as well," said Detective Reddington.

     "I didn't hear from you yet," said McGriffin, "but I could smell you Reddington.  Let me guess, a mysterious woman has somehow gotten me back on squad using some political favors?"

     "I don't know how you got on the team," said Reddington, "but you are.  I was supposed to surprise you with the good news.  Apparently since we last spoke you've become clairvoyant and don't need my telling you it."

     "I got a strange call yesterday.  A woman claimed to need my help on a case.  I said I was a public detective, not a private one, and she said she could arrange it.  So, what's this case?"

     "I'll tell you all about it when you get in."

     "Damn, I'm tired," he mumbled.

     "What's that?" asked Reddington.

     "Nevermind."

      At the station, Reddington was at his desk.  McGriffin sauntered in like he had never left, but faces were new, furniture had been rearranged.  It had been over a year and he could feel it in the vibe.  Most people didn't know him, those who did were faking not remembering him.  He knew that would change when he saw the Chief.

     "How's the Chief?" asked McGriffin, about ready to enter his office.

     "You better prepare yourself before you open that door," said Reddington.

     "What?  Is my fly open?"  He checked.  Then he opened the door.  "Leeman!"  Behind the desk was his old partner Leeman.  And on the desk was a placard saying "Chief Leeman."

     "That's 'Chief Leeman' to you, McGriffin," she said.

     "But what about 'Chief' Chief?" He inspects the placard, expecting it to say Acme Gag Factory or something.

     "Chief retired," said Leeman, "after you left and I solved the case without you, they made me chief."

     "But you can't be Chief, I know your name."

     "How could you not know his name, he signed all your paperwork?  Oh wait a minute, you never looked at that stuff, you always made me do it."

     "We worked on one case!"

     "Look, McGriffin, one case was enough.  And now, now it seems you have some friends in some high places and they want you back on the force.  Personally, I think we're making it easier for the bad guys with you on board.  But supposedly before you and I worked together you actually solved cases.  Let's see if that happens again.  Here's what we know."

     "Oh no, this is where you tell me I have a new partner right?"

     "No, you're flying solo, you're just going to crash and there's no reason for you to bring down anyone with you."  Leeman reaches into her desk, pulls out some gas medicine and a bottle of water.  She takes the gas medicine and swishes it down with some water.  "You know what?  Authority gives you gas.  Never had a problem with it before I got this position."

     "Can I say?" said McGriffin, "You're looking as sexy as ever.  Before you were my subordinate and it was probably sexual harassment, now that you're my superior, I suppose it's just unwise.  But you are looking damned sexy.  Still in that high-class stripper way, but that's a compliment."

     "The stripper look was never one I was going for.  I'm not in uniform any more.  What makes me look like a stripper?"

     "I don't know, maybe it's the bazooms."

     "I was born lucky!" exclaimed Leeman.  Then she pounded the folder on her desk.  "Look we have a case and it needs your...  Well, I don't know what it needs.  But we're nowhere with it right now, so it can't hurt...  Okay, I'm sure it can hurt, but regardless, you're dealing with it now.  It's a murder."

     "Oh good, I like murders."

     "Charming."  She handed him the case folder.  "Socialite, wealthy, walks in the door to find her husband, also wealthy, dead from too much lead."

     "Plumbism?"

     "Three in the chest.  Never found the gun.  No witnesses.  No suspects.  No motives.  Bullets are untraceable.  Absolutely no leads whatsoever.  And the case is cold.  Haven't had even a wiff of a lead since the case was openned three months ago.  I honestly don't know what you can do.  Except for get out of my office.  We're done for now.  You know the way."

     And with that, McGriffin walked out, case in hand.

Monday, October 17, 2011 11:19 PM