When a call came over the radio that a murder had taken place, Detective Hill was relieved. During his tenure as a police officer, he witnessed every version of depravity and his attitude towards death had hardened, though this was the first time he reacted with anticipatory giddiness. In a few days, the retirement forced upon him would become official. He hoped a lengthy investigation extended a career that he didn’t want to end.

A few weeks earlier, when summonsed to the police commissioner’s office, his sixth sense tingled. After a storied career with many commendations, he knew to always trust his gut. It never steered him wrong. The topic of retirement was sure to come up but it wasn’t an issue he wanted to think about, much less discuss. The moment he walked into the office, Detective Hill interrupted the initial pleasantries with an agenda of his own.

“No party,” he insisted.

“C’mon, you know it’s a required part of the job,” the commissioner pushed back. “You earned it.”

“Required? Does that mean you’ll fire me if I don’t attend?”

“Well, no. Of course not.”

“Then take lots of pictures and send me a postcard. I won’t be there.”

The only thing worse than leaving a job that he loved was the retirement party. They always felt like a reception held after a funeral. A time for surviving loved ones to reminisce about their loss while breathing a sigh of relief that they weren’t the ones in the casket. Retirement was the death of an occupation.

The detective found the rhythm of an active investigation comforting. Every crime different, each was a puzzle that needed to be solved. He was never the smartest person in the room and didn’t need to be. As long as he followed his gut and whichever direction the clues led, then his clearance rate of solved cases remained high. The job, even when he failed, always provided balance to his life. It was his calling.

There was a delicate symmetry to police work. Every investigation had a criminal and a victim. Most of those who committed crimes were brought to some version of justice. Sometimes street justice prevailed. The few that escaped a guilty verdict were often arrested for subsequent crimes. The poor were jailed, the rich set free, and police were universally hated every time one officer stepped beyond an acceptable measure of force. The system wasn’t perfect but at least it prevented anarchy.

Detective Hill parked his car just beyond the cordoned off section of police tape. It was rare for a violent crime to occur in the upscale neighborhood that surrounded the house. Most of the complaints from this section of the city were for vandalism or petty theft but that was immaterial. His experience had proven that any crime could take place in any neighborhood, just as anyone, if pushed far enough, could commit the most heinous act.

Before stepping out of the vehicle, he looked out his windshield at the parade of onlookers who stood nearby with a voyeuristic curiosity. Several officers lined the perimeter of the scene to keep the general public at a distance. A few reporters insisted on answers to questions that were premature to ask. The light bars on top of a half dozen police cars filled the area with red and blue illumination.

Elated at the thought of approaching a fresh crime scene, the detective stifled a smile as he walked towards the house. Sprawled out on the front porch lay the victim. Hovering over the lifeless body, the medical examiner was finishing and covered the body with a cloth sheet to shield it from view.

“Got anything for me, doc?” the detective asked.

“Pretty straight forward. Gunshot victim,” he replied. “But I’ll have more after the autopsy.”

“It was a burglary gone wrong.”

The detective turned towards the voice. In the doorway stood Officer Cunningham, a rookie on the force. A third generation police officer, his efforts were well intentioned, even though he still had a lot to learn.

“How many times have I told you?” Detective Hill replied. “Leave the detecting to the detectives.”

“The suspect has already admitted to it. But you’re never going to believe whose house this is.”

The pair walked towards the back of the house, to the kitchen, where several officers loitered around the suspect. Sitting in a chair, distraught, was the police commissioner.

“It was self defense!” he blurted without provocation. “Mother fucker tried to break into my home.”

The detective turned towards the officer and asked, “Did you secure the weapon and mirandize him?”

“Why would I read him his rights?” asked Officer Cunningham as he raised a sealed evidence bag with a gun inside.

The detective sighed as he walked across the room. When he approached the commissioner, two uniformed officers blocked his path. Standing defiant with arms crossed across their chest, they stood on each side of Detective Hill, sandwiching him in between. Undeterred, the detective recited the Miranda rights amidst loud protestations by the commissioner. The other officers in the room grunted in support of their unified disapproval.

“The law is the law. Nobody gets a free pass,” the detective reminded. He looked around the room before returning his gaze to the commissioner. “I need the room. Gimme five minutes alone with him.”

The officers turned to look in the direction of the commissioner, who nodded in agreement. After the last officer exited the home, the commissioner jumped to his feet.

“You’re arresting me?”

“I’m not gonna end my career in controversy. We have to play this by the book.”

“It was self defense!”

“Not for me to decide. You’re gonna come with me to the station for questions. After the district attorney weighs in, we’ll go from there.”

“And if I don’t?”

The detective stepped closer and said, “Then I’m gonna drag your ass outta here kickin’ and screamin’. It’ll make for a great headline in tomorrow’s paper.”

After weighing his options, the commissioner agreed.

“Fine, but we’re not done talking about this. I still own you for a couple of days.”

The commissioner walked to the front door but hesitated before opening it. Detective Hill reached out from behind and placed his hand on the commissioner’s shoulder. He offered a supportive squeeze before guiding him through the doorway.

Outside the home, the crowd had swelled to double in size. Every available officer now stood in stern observance of the spectacle. All eyes turned towards the front porch. After descending down the first few concrete steps, the commissioner turned to face the detective.

In near unison, most of the crowd shouted, “Surprise!”

Confused, the detective looked at the commissioner, then back to where the gunshot victim lay. The motionless body stood to reveal it was a plain clothes detective with fake blood smeared on his shirt.

“You wouldn’t go to the party so I had the party come to you,” the commissioner explained with a smile. “You were really going to arrest me, weren’t you?”

The stone faced detective leaned in and whispered, “I still might. Filing a false police report is a crime.”

Locked in a gaze, the two men stared at one another without flinching. The detective was no less adamant about his statement as the commissioner was when pleading his innocence. A few minutes later, a smirk appeared on Detective Hill’s face. It was the perfect end to a wonderful career, one he was already starting to miss.

No poem today I don’t wanna loose my streak lol

My name is Louis Vincent and my Old retiring partner is Roger Kane and my current job is to keep him occupied which I can tell you is not a problem at. all. Rather I wonder if we get even get to the surprise party we planned for him. Roger is 70 years old and is extremely hardheaded which is good when he’s on the job he’ll keep cracking that nut of a case until it’s cracked. That’s why I’m keeping him occupied with several mysteries to be solved such as his missing book, the case of the missing belt buckle, the case of the missing door knob, and other such things but he solves those way too easily and is increasingly getting closer to solving the surprise party we have for him.

So now on the present time where he is solving two mysteries at the same time (I know right what is he even) OK so the frosting that’s missing from this donut is because they ran out of frosting and they ran out of frosting because of budget cuts and they’re having budget cuts because the frosting place where they get the frosting is having an awful time getting the materials and because there having an awful time getting the materials the big man on top won’t pay them top dollar for the frosting materials. Roger said with a satisfied look like he didn’t just raddled off that whole thing “so young buck what’s next.” “You still haven’t solved that other… “I get cut off Yeah the Barbecue place Henry said that’s hard getting the meat here from the other state onward honestly it’s a simple as that Roger said again rattles off another mystery.

“Well I guess that’s it when I go back to the station and end your last day with a drink” I said hoping he wouldn’t take it “Maybe after this one detour Henry said that there’s A meat place at this address to pick up the meat and drop it off here “ Roger said readying himself to get back to the car. Sure thing Old man It’s partner to you Young buck

We got in the car and drove to where the address was I said “hopefully this detour won’t be too long” The place was probably not a meat packing place for sure it was a lot more of a Old flea market mall place and there was no light from the windows whatsoever. Then a thought dawn on me that “son of a rat Henry is in on this too?”

Roger walking faster than me open the door and let himself in seeing those dark he said hello loud into the echo with some breathing sounds in the background strangely (but expected)

The lights turn on with a big banner everybody of a round 300 people screamed “Surprise!!!!” Rogers face smiled widely as he said “I knew it I didn’t know how they put this together but I knew there was a surprise waiting for me somewhere”

“Looks like this is a mystery we both solved eh?” I said looking on the spectacle of his amazement

To cut a long story short Roger enjoyed the party and at the end of it he gave his badge and gave away all his books to me at the end of it all we shook hands and went off to his retirement which he calls me still to this day wondering if I read such and such book lately and that if you read this you’ll be an excellent detective like he was I read the book but I’m not telling him that can’t give him too much of an ego can I?

Well as the new head detective I ought to find a new partner pretty soon.

‘Hey, Joe can you put me down, for 2, for next Tuesday. The misses, might go with me. She likes to get dolled up, And charm the Sox off of the crowd’. This little get together, is a master plan, of our bosses secretary, Julie. She Runs the show and keeps him in line.

Well, he, Sam the boss, had decided, to give up the boots, and badge in trade, of retirement. He gave them, 32 long, hard years of his rugged life. He wanted to spend, his last long days, not working on the railroad, but to soak his toes on Tropical beaches. A good book, doesn’t sound to bad, he thought, as he stared into his cold coffee cup, for some Answers. ‘The countdown begins, he said out loud, to no one in particular, as he sat alone, with his distant thoughts.

Meanwhile, behind the scenes, the work gang, was preparing a surprise, for Mr. Sam. It was to be held, far away, from The job, and only certain, kinds of people would attend. Each co worker, was to be given, a silver tag, with a number Carved in the plate. 1 thru 10 was the range, of the numbers, as the selected, 10 showed up.

Their plan, was to decorate, this room, to look like a tropical beach, with sand, salt water and room for many toes to Sink into. Sweet tropical, music flowed thru the speakers, with the softest, of sounds, for all to enjoy. It was turning, Into quite the scene, as everyone arrived.

The numbers were called, and each worker, attendee, was assigned to set up the chores. ‘Whispers, were heard, From the mouths of some, about would, he find out?’ ‘Someone will tell, as they nodded in agreement, as the rumors, Flew like the hands, of work.

Sam, was still at work, busy making phone calls, to each employee, but no rings, were answered’ ‘are they all right, He asked himself’ as his heart rate began to rise up, with worry. ‘This is not like them to ignore, my calls’, and it seems, That he couldn’t even leave a message.

I know what they are doing, as they, didn’t realize, that he has trackers, put in their workers, I D badge. He grinned A wide smile ,as he quickly turned, on the computer, specially made for those badges. As he began, to view the, Employees, he realized, what they were up to. He turned the computer off, as he sat back, in his chair and took A short, nap before they came, to call for him. He drifted off, dreaming of his tired toes in the soft, granular sand.

Burn your lips into mine. Oh obsession and lust are a torment of the mind...

The sleepless nights I cried insane. In and out of consciousness, I’m never the same. Black out sad, in my broken state. A heart of make believe and long lost fate. I’m addicted to the sour of his notes. The unclaimed darkness of rhythms wrote. Stars thus fade. As the clouds rummage through what’s left, in disdain. So it seems, the reality of what’s right has left so much wrong in me...

-HMG

Lonzo, well Detective Alonzo Huggins, pushed the door to the squad room open, causing it to slam against the door as he had done every working day for the last fifty years. He made his way over to his desk, pushed the messy pile of papers out of the way, plopped his to-go coffee on the top of the desk, opened his egg sandwich, and took his first bite. It was only as he was chewing on his breakfast that he realized he was the only one in the room. He checked his watch to make sure it was still running.

“Hmm……” he mused, then muttered to himself, “I wonder where everyone is?”

This was not typical, as usually when he got in to work the place would be humming, the night team heading home and making sure the day team was up to date on any new developments overnight. Lonzo finished his sandwich, took a long sip of coffee and stood up. Still not a soul in sight and he wondered if he had missed a meeting time or something. This was his last full day before retirement, and he had gotten a bit sloppy the last week or so, but his team understood and covered for him.

He strolled down the hallway and just as he was almost to the conference room, the doors opened and the whole squad walked out.

“Oops, sorry Lonzo,” his partner had run right into him as if he were invisible. “We were just…umm….finishing up…uh…something.”

“Yeah? Anything I should know about?”

“Nah. Just stuff going on. Hey, man, you’ll be out of here at five tonight and don’t need to worry about a darn thing except cleaning up that pile of reports on your desk and signing those retirement forms. You gettin’ out, man.” Henry grinned at him and walked on to the squad room. The others had just glanced at him and rushed by him. He had the distinct feeling that they were avoiding him.

He sighed, headed into the men’s room and washed his hands and looked into the mirror. How had he gotten so old? Almost 70 years old and he’d been doing this job for so long it had become the core of his existence. His wife had left him a decade ago, his kids had all moved to various parts of the country and now, today, he wouldn’t even have his job to come to every morning. Truth be told, he was scared to retire, even though he had tried to talk like he could hardly wait for it to happen. Oh, well, life moves on. He sighed and decided he better get back to the disaster of reports on his desk.

One of the young guys was heading to the bathroom as he walked out. “Oh. Good morning.” He ducked his head and almost ran into the men’s room.

What the hell was wrong with everybody today? You’d think he was already invisible. And there was another group of his team chatting up in the corner and when he approached they split up and headed to their desks. Lonzo shrugged and plodded over to his desk. He began making piles of the papers in front of him so he could file or throw and was absorbed in the mindless work when he realized the Captain was standing next to him.

“Leave that for a minute, Lonzo. Can I see you in the Conference room? I have someone I’d like to introduce you to if you don’t mind.”

Now Lonzo had never heard the captain be so solicitous. Usually he barked an order and everyone, including him, jumped. Lonzo guessed he was making an effort to be nice since this was his last day, and their relationship had never been particularly friendly.

“Sure. I can get to this later.”

“Oh, let it know. Maddie can see to it.”

Longo’s eyes widened. Maddie? Maddie the Monster was the squad secretary and never, EVER would any of them presume that she would “see to” anything other the absolute basics of her job. But since this was the captain he shrugged and rose. They walked down the hall toward the conference room, then the captain paused.

“Wait a sec. Come into my office for a moment, would you? I need to find a folder.”

“I guess. Can’t I just meet you at the Conference room?”

“Nah. Just come in and sit a spell since this is your last day. It’ll only take me a minute.”

Lonzo had decided Captain was acting very strangely but maybe he was just having a bad day. He followed him into his office and the Captain indicated he should sit. The Captain sat behind his desk and opened his bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of Johnny Walker and two glasses. Now Lonzo was really shocked. Captain’s love of a bit of whiskey was well known, but in all the decades Lonzo and he had worked together, not once had the captain poured him a shot.

“I just wanted you to know,” Captain said, pushing a glass across the desk. “We are really going to miss you, Lonzo. You have been, without doubt, one of our finest detectives with a superb closure rate.” He raised his glass to Lonzo. “Here’s to your retirement and may it be all you hoped for.”

Lonzo tipped his own glass, and the two men sipped on that fine whiskey and then Captain said, “Let’s go.”

He led him out of the office, down the hall, and held the door open for him.

“SURPRISE!”

Lonzo jumped about two feet when he stepped in and heard the call and the applause. There in front of him was the complete squad. The room was decorated with blue crepe paper and there was a huge cake on a table in the corner along with a catered lunch. Lonzo, not EVER given to emotional reactions after so many years of being a stoic officer of the law, felt his eyes tear up.

Best party ever.

the water fills my lungs.

i can’t breathe, i just can’t breathe.

my head is stuck, pulled under the water from a strong hand, one i used to trust.

bubbles and bubbles.

i’m choking, sputtering, gagging up swamp water. my legs and arms are probably caked in mud, covered.

it squelches as i try to sit up, the hand pulling me back under.

a voice brings me back. officer catrow. “rex? you good?”

“yes,” i breath in and out, suddenly not drowning. suddenly i am okay, as catrow, my husband, kisses my forehead.

“just another memory,” i whisper to him. “i’ll be fine.”

“i hear the young officers are planning you a party for your retirement.”

“oh.” i say it, voice hollow.

he keeps smiling and i try to smile back.

“are you sure you’re okay?”

“yes.”

he doesn’t press me, but i know he can see right through me as if i was a mirror.

we walk, arm in arm, to the building and through it, until i see blue balloons, floating high.

sharks and pictures of waves on the walls.

it is all too much, too consuming.

i am being pushed, falling deeper into the ground, going unconscious.

i leave the building without saying goodbye and i do not come back.

They shoot the white girl first.

The camera flashes, covering her in light that spills across her body- like blood does.

For a second the room goes silent like the soft press of a trigger before the bullet leaves the barrel.

But do not fear; for life can be dangerous but it is also a party.

“Relax my friend, this is just a party. the time for mystery will always come, there will always be people lurking, hiding in the darkness but you must find comfort in the unknown ”

The click, the light, the shot- was only the camera, only the captivities of memories.

The picture dispenses and this mystery is solved.

The camera was guilty, this I know for whoever stood in front of it froze, with a smile in the flashing of it’s lights.

June/24/2022

“You’re for real Gene? You’re really gonna retire?” As Denver mindlessly flipped through the manila folders organized on Gene’s desk, he nodded.

“Sure am. It’s been a wonderful fifty years,” squeezing Denver’s shoulder he added, “but I can rest easy knowing my position is going to be in good hands.”

Gene’s decision to retire created for the perfect opportunity for his boss’s nephew to slip in.

Behind him, Gene watched as his partner sat peeling away the paper liner from his donut. “You’ve got big shoes to fill bud. Gene and I have roamed these streets for decades. I hope you like donut shops!”

Gene Rousett had been working as one of the top detectives for so long, that the term ‘retirement’ now felt foreign to him. He and Bobby used to joke that the only way he’d be leaving the building would be in a body bag. Times do change though. After the slip he took last winter, his doctor’s encouraged that he take it easy. With his mobility restricted, he knew it was time.

“Detective Musgrove!” Swinging his feet off his desk, Bobby raised, giving the captain a crisp salute.

Giving Bobby a quizzical look, he waved away the salute. “Bobby…not necessary.” With flushed cheeks he slunk back into his chair.

Captain Tony Richardson was a clean-shaved man with short gray hair. His body had lost much of its muscle mass, but amongst the wrinkles along his eyes, he had the memory of an elephant. Being only ten years younger than Gene, Captain Richardson’s title of the oldest Captain was well known, here on the west side of the state.

Watching Tony envelope his nephew in a crushing hug, Gene could see the striking resemblance. Especially in their nosiness. “See this Denver?” Tossing Gene’s organized Manila folders to the side, Gene suppressed the desire to snatch away the rest of his folders before he disorganized those too. “Gene here keeps all his folders organized. It’s a great quality to have in this kind of work. I’ll expect this same amount of effort from you.”

Alone in the break room, towel-drying off his plate, Gene jumped as the door behind him slammed shut.

“Bobby, Jesus, you’re going to give me a-“

Cutting him off, Bobby slammed a notebook onto the table behind him. “We need to throw Denver a welcoming party.”

Tendril's of jealously wrapped itself around Gene’s mind. He’d heard of parties celebrating someone’s departure, but a party to welcome someone in?

“Uh, yeah. I can see that. Have you mentioned this to the other guys yet?”

Bobby nodded, explaining that Neil and Dusty were completely on board with the idea. For the next hour, Gene and Bobby became a party planning committee of two. Truth be told, it was mostly Gene making every decision - everything from the cake, to where it should be held.

As they got up to leave, Gene raised his arm out. “Bobby, what do you need from me? I could place the order for the cake or-“ His partner glanced curiously at Gene as he shoved the notebook under his arm. “You’ve done more than enough bud. Thanks a bunch.”

The following morning, shoving open his shed’s back door, Gene yanked off the dusty car cover, revealing his most prized possession. The cracks in the ceiling, created flutters of light against her turquoise fins. “Hello old girl” he said softly.

Growing up, times were rough for Gene. In order to make ends meet, he was forced to sell his 1958 Chevrolet Impala his father had gifted down to him. As a surprise for celebrating twenty five years on the force, everyone at the station pitched in to help pay for a new one.

Deciding to finally embrace the idea of retirement, Gene drove his way out to Elwood. Strumming his fingers along the wheel, some of the Northern Red Oaks were finally beginning to embrace their name. Twisting the dial on his stereo down, sounds of laughing tourists filled his ears.

Finding the only available parking space for what seemed like miles, he stepped out, tipping his fedora to the woman fiddling with her hair.

Flattening his ironed green button down, his cheeks suddenly felt flushed.

“Afternoon” he said, before making his way inside the weathered record shop.

From behind the counter, an oily-looking man popped his head up.

“Afternoon sir! How can I help you?”

Removing the folded up paper from his pocket, Gene said, “I received a notification that the order I placed is finally ready.”

Studying the numbers at the bottom of the page, he skirted back towards the stock room. As Gene waited, he flipped through the newest vinyls that had arrived. “Got it, got it, got it,” he muttered under his breath as he flipped past each one.

“Sir!” Twisting around, the young man held up Gene’s package. Thanking him, he slipped the man a few extra dollars as a tip. Gene hoped he would use it to get himself a proper haircut.

Clipping on his sunglasses over his rectangular frames, a hunch backed man strode from the bakery a few stores down. Squinting, Gene’s eyes widened in recognition. Bobby!

Making a speaker with his palms, he shouted out, “Bobby! Bobby Musgrove!” As Bobby twisted around in confusion, Gene chuckled to himself. It was always a hoot to trip up his friend every once in awhile.

Waving out to him, Bobby’s eyes grew twice as wide as normal at the sight of Gene. Giving him the cold shoulder, Bobby hobbled off down the sidewalk.

What on earth? That wasn’t like Bobby at all! Increasing his strides, Gene followed him, but it was no use. His friend had no intention of acknowledging him.

Sinking into the nearest bench, Gene wondered if in fact, fifty years of friendship truly didn’t mean as much to Bobby as Gene thought. Stroking the back of his neck, Gene shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Working in the force for as many years as he had, it was second nature to use logic to deduce any situation. Shimmying out the blue notebook he kept with him at all times, he flipped to a clean page before writing out ‘8/2/2022: Bobby left ‘Batter Spatter’. Pushing aside the gray hairs that had covered the face of his watch, he made one final mark. ‘1:18pm’.

Musty air with a hint of fish blew through his white hair. Gene laughed to himself as those who were far younger - and much more vain - pinched their noises before making a belching noise. He did empathize with them. If you weren’t born around here, the odor could be construed as ‘gross’.

Reaching for his phone, a sudden idea occurred to him.

“Gene! Buddy, is everything okay?”

Plugging his other ear, Gene held up his phone closer to his ear. “Oh yeah Neil, I’m fine. I was just thinking, maybe we could get together and go for a sail? We could grab Dusty and bring him too.”

A long silence filled the other line as he waited for any sort of response.

“Uh, jeez Gene, today? It’s uh…today doesn’t work for me.” Because of the noise coming from his end of the line, Gene could only make out parts of his sentence.

“Oh. Alright, another time then.”

“Absolutely, another time.”

Dragonflies skimmed across the water’s surface as sharp gravel pushed up underneath Gene’s beige orthopedic shoes. Removing his socks, gentle waves lapped over his knobbly toes. “It doesn’t make sense.” It was already peculiar that Bobby ignored him, but for Neil to be too busy to take his boat out, was completely unlike him.

Was Gene truly replaceable?

Across the lake, Gene gave a cold, intense stare to the marina. For years, he and Neil and Bobby, hell - even Dusty- would take Neil’s boat out onto the open water, all ‘shooting the shit’ together.

Now, it would become Neil, Dusty, Bobby and Denver shooting the shit on days like today, without him.

Back home, Gene threw his keys onto the counter as he rummaged through his fridge. Mirroring his own slumped shoulders, his Aloe Vera plant laid slumped in the windowsill. Leaning against the counter top, the blinking ‘1’ on his answering machine caught his attention.

In a roaring voice that could only belong to the Tony, he pulled the machine closer to him. ‘Gene! Tony here. I’m just callin’ to let ya know about Denver’s party tomorrow.’ Gene wrote down the address before deleting the message. Now, more than ever, Gene was regretting promising to be there.

Speed dialing his number, Gene rehearsed his words inside his mind. After seventy five years, public speaking still made his palms go clammy from time to time.

“Gene!”

“Bobby! I, I mean, Tony. Captain.” Swallowing down the knot in his throat, he said “I was just calling to confirm that I’ll be there tomorrow.” Hesitating, he asked “Captain, have you heard at all from Bobby?”

In the background, Gene could hear the screaming enthusiasm from his television. Of course, it was Saturday night football. Tony’s favorite.

Ignoring his question, he said “Alright Gene, thanks for the confirmation, we’ll see you then!”

What in the hell is going on? He’s been by these mens’ sides for the better half of their lives and now they can’t even give him basic respect and answer his questions?

The following morning threatened rain, but now the skies remained both rain and cloud free. Ten minutes to three, Gene parked his blue beauty across the lot, away from everyone else. His driving skills were impeccable, but he didn’t trust other drivers as far as he could throw them.

In bright white font, ‘THE LANES’ greeted him. The red exterior seemed far too flashy for him, if he was being honest with himself. Why had a bowling alley been decided on? As far as he knew, Denver had no interest in bowling. Gene had suggested a quiet restaurant down closer in town.

Inside, a bored attendant behind the counter was busy spraying an anti-fungal cloud into each bowling shoe.

Taking in the scent, a reminiscent smile came over his lips. For much of his forties, he’d spent his weekends rolling strike after strike, leading his team to the 1991 championship.

“Excuse me?”

Pulling out the ear buds from the attendant’s ears, he gave Gene a once over, before tapping on his phone. “Sup?”

Who on earth greets a customer saying…what was it…’Sup?’

“I’m here for a Mr. Denver Nevis. There should be a party here?”

Reaching for the clipboard hanging on the adjacent wall, the attendant - Gavin - asked for his signature.

“In case of damages.” He said

Sliding the board back to him, a sly grin spread over Gavin’s face. “Alright, Mr. Rousett, go on back. It’s the last door on your left.” Upon entry, he hadn’t realized this entire bowling alley was aquatically themed. Murals of hand painted coral reefs lined the walls, while plastic shark heads covered the ball returns. Hanging by fish line, various plastic fishes swung lazily.

“These guys are shedding no expense for this kid.” He said.

As the door came into view, Gene froze. “Wait a minute…” Bobby was the one who asked him to plan out Denver’s party. Gene’s eyes scanned the lanes as Bobby’s words reverberated inside his mind. ‘You’ve done more than enough.’ Could it be possible…is this…?

Pushing open the door, he flicked on the light.

SURPRISE! Cheering in a circle, were all of Gene’s closest friends and co-workers.

“I…I don’t understand…” Gene sputtered out, taking in the brightly colored streamers hanging from the ceiling.

Wrapping his arm around Gene, Bobby gave him a hard pat on his back. “This is all for you bud! It’s your retirement party! You didn’t really believe we’d let you leave without celebrating you, did you?”

Surrounded by all of Gene’s favorite desserts, sat a cake with with a fondue trout rising from the blue frosting. Wiping his face, Gene made his way around the room giving everyone a hug.

Dressed in his professional best, Captain Richardson extended his hand to Gene “Detective.” Returning his shake, Gene gave a curt nod. “Captain.”

“Congratulations Gene!” Wrapping him up, Kristine left a lipstick stained mark on his cheek.

“Mr. Rousett!” Pulling Denver into a side hug, Gene gave his shaggy hair a rub.

A few minutes later, Neil returned to the room with a full platter of beers. “Alright y’all grab yourselves a beer! We’ve got toasts to give!”

With everyone officially seated and comfortable, Neil kicked off the first speech, quickly followed by Captain Richardson. Gene’s heart grew with each speech.

Slurping down the rest of his beer, Bobby wiped his mouth before making his way to the front of tables.

“Gene. My best friend.” Trembling, Bobby’s voice caught in his throat. “Gene Rousett. I consider myself a very lucky man to know someone as wonderful as you for as long as I have.” Clearing his throat, he went on. “For those of you don’t know, Gene and I met at the station when we were basically still kids. Now, I was new to the area, but damn it if Gene didn’t take me under his wing. Buddy, you’ve been by my side through every big part of my life. You offered me a place to stay when my first marriage crumbled and you were my best man when I married that beautiful woman over there.” Off to the side, Kristine sat wiping away a stray tear.

“To Gene Rousett! To the best man I’ve ever known.”

Applauses and whistles filled the room as Gene stood up to give his best friend one final hug.

“I thought you guys were replacing me,” Gene whispered. “I even used a notebook trying to deduce what was going on.”

“I’m sorry bud. It’s just, if we let you in on anything, you’d figure it out. You’re like the Captain, with that memory of yours. But no one could replace you bud.” Chuckling, he added, “Not even Denver.”

“You’ve been a great friend to me for a lot of years, Bobby.” Raising his glass, Gene added, “here’s to many more years of friendship.”

Gun drawn, I open the door with a slow creak, eyes peeled for movement.

I got the address from the receptionist. All it took was a little distraction for me to peer over and memorise the writing on the notepad.

I had noticed the whispers around the office… talks of supplies, ballrooms, and even sharpies. These were odd words that made me think, and everyone stopped talking as soon as they saw me!

It’s my last two weeks before retirement, do they think I’m outdated? I seem to get filing jobs nowadays, writing up reports and labelling evidence. They must think I can’t do this anymore!

But I followed the clues. When a case got big enough, it was talked about in the break room, and soon enough I caught wind of it…

I couldn’t see why it wasn’t solved yet, it seemed easy to me!

Supplies in a ballroom contaminated with sharpies! Sounds crazy, but these are code words we used a while back, in case we had any moles in the precinct.

I caught sight of addresses scrawled on notepads, and, though they didn’t seem to connect, I knew they had to.

‘Supplies’ meant class A drugs, most likely hidden - that’s what ‘ballroom’ meant a few years back. I wasn’t sure where ‘sharpies’ came in, but perhaps that was new slang.

There were a few addresses, cake shops, party places, but one didn’t fit.

A conference room nearby. I kept hearing whispers of a date, tomorrow, in fact.

“One more bust before I go?” I asked my gun, before putting it in my holster. I took a cab, feeling tense. I should’ve called for backup, but they obviously didn’t trust me anymore…

The building was cold and empty, with a few balloons on the ceiling leading up the floor. It made me think of my own retirement next week, I wondered what it would be like…

The door to the room was open. I drew my gun and walked in…

“SURPRISE!” People shouted, leaping from behind tables as the lights came on.

In panic, my gun went off with a bang, making everyone scream.

“What the…” I read the banner. HAPPY RETIREMENT!

“That’s not until next week…”

“No, no,” my wife took the gun from my hands. “It’s this week, hun.”

“Oh. Did I shoot anyone?” I asked.

My love of 36 years shoved me the gun. It was empty. I frowned.

The chief came over with a grin. “You aren’t very discreet when looking for clues, old man. Also, you nap a lot… it was easy to see your notes and sort out your gun so you wouldn’t shoot anyone!”

In wonder at my co-workers, I look at the cake that has my face on it. GOT YOU! It read. I smiled and blew out the candles.