Sam Flint, Private Eye. The case of the missing blueprint. YA (standard:mystery, 6803 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jun 23 2020	Views/Reads: 1475/1028	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A missing paper brings on a nation-wide search. Also, Sam must find two missing cats.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

The town was located about sixty miles from its nearest neighbor, that
one of about a thousand people. The area has been empty of habitation 
except for a few old prospectors like Junior before the plant was 
built. Since it was too far to commute, a small company town developed 
around the business. Eighty percent of the population worked at the 
ACDP, including Sam's father. 

In any case, the Plant, as they called it, to save money on benefits and
get cheaper insurance, decided to employ locals as security guards. In 
that State, the head of a security company was required to have a 
Private Investigator's license. For that purpose, Mr. Jackson, the 
plant manager, called the local police station for a referral. 

That police department consisted of Sadie's father -- who worked
part-time as the Police Chief and full time at the Plant; a part time 
patrolman who also worked at the Plant; and Sadie. Sadie was the only 
full-time employee. She took care of paperwork during the day and 
manned a one-line telephone. 

‎"‏I can't be bothered, honey," her father told her from the
foreman's office at work.   "I'm busy at the plant. See if you can find 
someone to recommend." 

"Yes,‎ ‏Daddy. I'll take care of it."   She immediately
called her boyfriend. 

Sam had been reading a pulp detective novel from his  '50s collection at
the time. Although once applying for a Secret Service job -- impossible 
with a D+ average in high school -- he made a non-living as an 
encyclopedia salesman and odd job sideline in the small town, living 
off Sadie's wages. Yearning to be a detective like his heroes Sam Spade 
and Rock Flint, he jumped at the opportunity. 

The head of the Board of Directors was urged by Mr. Jackson to ask his
friend, the Governor of the State, to expedite the license. Which was 
done. Overnight, Samuel Kawaski became Sam Flint, a private eye just 
like his heroes. 

The Plant officials were surprised when Sam actually opened a private
office near his home and hung up a sign. They shrugged, figuring that 
in such a small town he could hardly be a problem. As long as the man 
stationed a security guard at the Plant, they didn't care if he played 
detective. 

‎*** 

Sam arrived at the Plant a few minutes before seven. Using his keys, he
entered the Superintendent's Office to find George busily rounding up 
his daughter. Debbie had been coloring, with crayons, in a coloring 
book and on a few pages of scrap paper her father found on the floor. 
She was sound asleep as George carried her out to his Chevy, laying her 
on the back seat. Nobody around there bothered about seat belts or 
kiddie seats. 

George returned to be debriefed by Sam. 

‎“‏Did anything happen last night,”  asked his boss,  “ that
I should tell the manager?” 

“Nah,‎ ‏Shamus,"  answered George. Sam like to be called
Boss or Shamus.  “ Just a truck left last night, is all." 

“Did you mark it down in your logbook‎?” ‏Sam asked, walking
over to the receptionist's desk, where the Security Log was kept. The 
receptionist would sometimes read it, if bored enough. 

‎“‏Sure, Boss,"  George answered, getting his gear together
along with that of his daughter. 

Sam looked at the entry. 

“Come here a minute,‎ ‏George,"  he ordered. George came
over and stood beside him.  “You put down for the time  ‘tonight.'  You 
know better than that,"  Sam reminded him.  “What time did the truck 
leave?” 

“I didn't look,‎” ‏replied George.  “It was early in my
shift, though." 

Sam erased and changed the entry to read  ‘early tonight,'  then closed
the book. George waited in his car for his wife to finish work so they 
could go home together while Sam made sure the offices were straight 
and not disarrayed by the kid. When the manager arrived, Sam greeted 
him, told him everything was all right, then left for his own office. 

On the way, Sam slapped himself on the forehead. He'd forgotten about
the cats. He turned and headed for home where he found Sadie awake and 
preparing for work. 

For her, readying for work consisted of throwing on any clothing that
was handy while breakfast was in the oven, in the microwave, on top of 
the stove, and simmering in a stockpot. She was a big eater. Sam tried 
to carry her lunch boxes out to the rear of her GMC pickup truck once, 
only once. 

‎“‏Morning, honey,"  Sadie greeted him.  “ How was your
sleep?  I slept good last night for a change." 

“All right,‎” ‏Sam replied.  “I caught Giggles. I have to
take him back this morning." 

“Oh,‎ ‏I heard the cats yowling this morning and let them
out. They're around here somewhere." 

“Oh no.‎ ‏I hope I can find him."  Sam headed for the door. 
“Here kitty, kitty, kitty,"  he called, to no effect. He searched the 
area around the house and couldn't find the cat. He went back to the 
garage and looked for Jericho. The female was also gone. Now he had two 
cats to find, or explain about Jericho to a probably irate Ms. Adams. 

Finally giving up and planning to try later, Sam started back to his
office. He pulled up and parked in a sandy area in front of a decrepit 
wooden shack from goldrush days. The detective wished he had shade, but 
the building was free and you couldn't have everything. 

Sam studied the never-drying paint on the front door. He had gotten a
good deal from the town's only general store on what was supposed to be 
quick-drying paint. The detective had carefully written his name on the 
door. It turned out to be never-drying paint and soon ran down the 
front of the door in a wide and wild design. He'd painted it over with 
more expensive paint but couldn't wipe the other off completely. 

The inside of the shack was furnished with a variety of old and broken
furniture, donated by well-meaning residents to help him in his new 
occupation, and maybe get a discount if they ever needed his services. 
He owned a desk with a couple of straight chairs in front of it. One 
had a leg shorter than the others. However, it was padded and 
comfortable. The other was only a run-of-the-mill dining room chair. 

Sam did splurge on a decent businesslike chair for himself. His small
frame was almost lost in the huge office monstrosity. He had only a 
cellphone, which he constantly forgot to charge. It didn't really 
matter, as he received few calls. 

Sam's normal procedure was to go door to door, selling his services
along with encyclopedias. Among them was mowing the few sparse lawns in 
the small desert town. For that, and like activities, he enlisted his 
little crew. They worked only about thirty hours at the plant and were 
available for other tasks. Of course, Harry would be drunk more often 
than not and seldom available, and old Junior had only limited uses. 

Sighing over the anticipated task of catching Giggles and Jericho, Sam
had barely settled himself in his chair when the phone rang, or 
actually squeaked, at him.  “Sam Flint Detective Agency, at YOUR 
service,"  he answered in what he assumed to be a female receptionist 
voice. 

“It's about time,‎ ‏Sam. Everyone's looking for you.
Something important is missing from the Plant. You better get over 
there, now."  It was Sadie from the police station. 

Sam quickly returned to the Plant. The first thing he saw was Sadie's
father in uniform. Uh, oh, he thought. Her old man should be working on 
the assembly line. It must be important to have him miss work, and in 
uniform. 

Chief Thomas appeared agitated as he paced back and forth while trying
to listen to the manager, Mr. Jackson. Others were hurrying to and fro, 
intent on unknown tasks. 

Parking his car, Sam approached the men. Mr. Jackson turned to Sam and
instructed,  “We'll talk later. Just wait in your car. This talk is 
classified." 

The deflated detective retreated to his auto and sat for a while,
observing the confusion. Finally, he noticed a novel on the seat and 
resumed reading  “Rock Quarry and the Weeping Widow."  Sam had quite a 
collection of used detective novels from the forties and fifties.... 

* 

Rock woke to find himself bound, hand and foot, with a thick hemp rope
wound around his ample and muscular chest. He was tied tightly under a 
large “Indian”  brand motorcycle. Its front wheel had been removed and 
the front-end bolted to a post set in a dirty concrete floor. Judging 
by the objects around him, Rock was obviously in a motorcycle shop. The 
last thing our hero could remember was kissing the beautiful blond, 
Tessie.   "She must have had knockout drops on her lovely red lips,"  
Rock decided. 

Returning to his predicament, he looked up to see the back tire of the
huge cycle spinning a few inches over his chest. Rock's hands were 
bound behind him. He noticed a little slack in the rope, but not enough 
to get the bindings off. 

Twisting his head to the side, he spotted the Nazi spy he had been
chasing, now grinning down at him. The back of the motorcycle was held 
up by an auto jack with the handle extended. 

Hitler's dastardly dupe balanced a bucket on top of the extended
jack-handle and left for a few seconds. He came back with a hose in his 
hand. A tiny but steady stream of water spilled from the end of the 
device to splash on both Rock and the floor. The dirty Nazi placed the 
spurting end into the bucket. Laughing diabolically, The nefarious 
villain turned and left the room. He grinned back at rock as he slowly 
eased the door shut. 

Rock looked back at the bucket, which was slowly filling with water.
When it contained enough heavy liquid the weight would release the auto 
jack. That, in turn, would drop the wildly spinning tire directly onto 
the chest of our hero. The wheel was intended to chew Rock up like 
confetti, splashing blood and tissue over the entire room. 

Tensing manly muscles, our hero tried to fight his way out of the ropes.
Too late. With a   “ping”, the jack handle hit the floor and the 
spinning wheel dropped.... 

*** 

“Sam,‎ ‏Sam. They want to see you now."  It was Julie, one
of the office workers, sent out to get him. Putting down the novel, he 
again approached the officials. 

‎“‏What do you know about the truck that left last night?” 
Sam was asked by Mr. Jackson.  “Something important was missing this 
morning. The FBI wants to keep it a secret but we thought that as Head 
of Security you might know something?” 

“All I know,‎ ‏sir, is what George told me this morning," 
Sam answered.  “From our angle at the guard post at night with the 
lights on all we can see is an outline at the gate. If it's square it 
has to be a truck. The glare from the Plant floodlights messes up our 
view." 

“We've talked to George already,‎” ‏said Mr. Jackson.  “He
told me the same thing, that he saw one truck leave the premises. He 
also said that he didn't see any strangers walking around the area. We 
didn't have any of our own vehicles leave last night. They're still 
here."  Mr. Jackson turned and walked away, abruptly dismissing Sam. 

Getting back into his car, Sam saw Jericho walking across the recessed
top of a loading dock on the main factory building. He quickly ran over 
and grabbed the errant feline. Rolling up his windows, he locked the 
cat in the car. One down, and one to go. Sam checked the area for the 
missing Giggles, but with no luck. Seeing a door partially open, he 
decided to check the interior of the Production Building. Maybe the 
tomcat was inside? 

Opening the door into a large noisy room, Sam was stopped by a man in a
white hardhat.  “What the hell you want, buddy?” 

Sam managed to stutter,  “I'm looking for Giggles." 

“Ain't no Giggles here,‎ ‏Jack,"  he was told.  “Get the
hell out'a here, we're working."  Sam was pushed back out the door, 
which was promptly slammed behind him. 

The PI spied a rack of hardhats in an enclosure near the door. There
were many colors and styles available. His analytic mind told Sam that 
if he put one on he would be thought to be an employee. He could then 
wander in and search the building for the cat. Since he was wearing a 
green-tinted suit he, naturally, grabbed a green hardhat. 

Choosing a door around the corner of the huge building, Sam walked in as
though he owned the place. He found that the hardhat made a world of 
difference. The first worker to see him, wearing a yellow hardhat, 
called over another in a white one. 

That worker, a woman, came up to him and asked,  “ Is there anything we
can do for you, sir?  I would be glad to be of help?” 

Surprised at the reception, Sam tried to look official as he replied, 
“I would like to have some help looking for a runaway cat named 
Giggles. He might be in here. Is it all right if I look?  I won't be 
long, ma'am?” 

The woman walked over to a support post where a telephone hung and, in a
few seconds, he heard, “This is the foreman. I want everyone to stop 
what you're doing and look for a cat. It may be loose in this 
building." 

The noisy room quickly became quiet except for muffled laughter. The
woman remained at the telephone and dialed another number. As she 
talked, he could hear the same announcement repeated in other rooms. 
Soon, the entire building was silent except for sounds of searching. 

Sam stood and waited for about a half-hour while the building was gone
over by a hundred employees. No Giggles. He thanked the woman and 
returned to his car. With nothing else to do, he drove toward Ms. 
Adams's house to return Jericho. He would have to find the missing cat 
somewhere else. 

Later, the Production Manager would be confused by a note explaining
that some unknown big shot in the appropriate green hat had visited. 
The plant had shut down -- to a lose of about $2,500 -- in a search for 
“ Giggles."  How would he explain that to Mr. Jackson?  he wondered. 

*** 

Meanwhile, Sam arrived at Ms. Adams's house and, carrying Jericho,
knocked on the front door. 

Ms. Adams had long had a crush on Sam. There weren't many bachelors in
the little town. Sam did not reciprocate her feelings. For one thing 
Ms. Adams, though possessing a pretty face, only weighted in at 150 
lbs. Sam wouldn't even look at a woman unless she hefted 300. He 
preferred large women. 

She came to the door and, smiling, thanked the detective.  “Thanks for
bringing Jericho back, Sammy. Did she help you any?” 

“Yes,‎ ‏ma'am, Ms. Adams,"  Sam answered,  “but I would like
to borrow her again tonight ... if I could." 

“Anything for you,‎ ‏Sammy. But I missed her last night, and
she never took her pills. Maybe tomorrow night?”  she suggested.  “Yes, 
my little pussy will be available for only you, but tomorrow night." 

The double entente was intentional, but not noticed by Sam. It seems
that Ms. Adams insisted on giving Jericho birth-control pills. She 
didn't trust the spaying operation, and didn't want to take chances. 
The woman did trust the pill, since it'd worked for her and she'd slept 
with more than half the men in town. 

Sam searched in vain for the missing Giggles but figured he didn't have
a chance without Ms. Adams's little kitty. 

Overnight, the small town welcomed an influx of visitors, mostly large
men in dark suits driving long black government cars. There were no 
hotels or motels in town, so they drove out to the Plant and parked at 
the back of the parking lot, setting up tents, a portable barbecue, and 
chemical toilets. It went on their expense accounts. 

*** 

When Sam returned to the Plant the next morning to relieve Junior, he
had to run a gauntlet of strangers to get in. He was stopped three 
times by three separate pairs of large hard-looking scowling men. They 
all insisted on calling Junior for permission to let him in. For a 
change Junior was awake and alert when Sam walked into the Office Area. 


"You won't believe this, boss,"  stated an excited Junior, "but we got
us the FBI, the CIA, and even a bunch that won't tell me who they are. 
They had to clear everyone coming in for work last night and wouldn't 
even let in the pizza guy. Boy, was he pissed." 

Sam checked out Junior's work and let him go. Just before the guard
left, Sam had an idea and asked, "By the way, what did the pizza boy 
drive last night." " 

"His Ford. I guess it finally got fixed." 

"Got fixed? What else does he drive?" 

"Oh, the last few days he's been driving his Pa's bread truck. It's all
he had and Harry doesn't need it at night." 

"Do you know if he drove the truck the night before last?" 

"How the hell would I know? I was home in bed, boss." 

"I know. Thanks, Junior. See you later." 

Junior left and Sam waited for Mr. Jackson. He would build it up a
little before telling the manager. 

"How you doin', Sam?" Mr. Jackson asked, a worried look on his face as
though he were expecting more trouble. 

"Okay, sir,"  Sam replied. "By the way, have you found the truck you
were looking for?" 

The manager paused a moment, then answered, "No." He shook his head. "No
one seems to have any idea who it was. The State Police searched the 
entire area within fifty miles of here. They questioned everyone they 
could find, and found nothing. They haven't given up, though. Why do 
you ask." " 

"I asked around and I think I found it, sir."  Sam answered proudly. 

"How did you fi.... Who was it.?" 

Sam told him. Mr. Jackson crossed the room and picked up a telephone. In
a few minutes, activity increased out by the gate. All five large black 
autos roared into action and stormed out the gate, almost colliding in 
trying to be first out. The rest of the strangers ran toward the Office 
Building. Ignoring Sam, the men pushed and shoved each other, and Sam, 
trying to get the best position to talk to Mr. Jackson. Sam was forced 
into a back corner of the room. He didn't mind, since he was finally 
included in the conversation. 

"Do you think the pizza boy did it.?" one of them asked of nobody in
particular. 

"I sent Jones to arrest him. We'll soon find out." 

"You can't do that. We have jurisdiction. I sent Macosic to pick the
thief up." 

"The hell you say? You can have him after we're done with him. This is
our case,"  a third man told them, angrily. 

"Bullshit, it's ours." 

"You're way out of your jurisdiction, asshole." 

"Sez you, you bastard." 

There was a scuffle and one of the men drew a large pistol from beneath
his coat, while most of the others simply pulled out their badges to 
flash around. Two men took the gun from the one, which caused two more 
to get their weapons out in protest. 

"Cut it out. Now!" screamed Mr. Jackson. 

The argument settled down with all of them glaring at each other. One
stared intensely at Sam who, wanting to be invisible, smiled back. All 
of them waited for long silent minutes as the glares changed to 
sheepish looks. 

Finally, twenty minutes later, the telephone rang. Mr. Jackson answered
it, talked for a minute or so and announced, "The FBI's got him." 

That caused most of the group to resume glaring at three of the men, who
smiled back and puffed out their chests. 

All five law enforcement agencies began background checks on the poor
pizza boy, who remained in jail. He didn't mind much. There wasn't much 
excitement in the little town and he knew he'd be telling about the 
incident for many years to come. Besides, he could spend the time 
talking to Sadie, being an admirer from afar. 

The group had forgotten all about Sam, who tried to blend into the wall.
The longer he went unnoticed, the more he could find out about the 
theft. 

"Damn it, We have to search the pizza boy's house, truck ... the entire
area. Maybe we should call in help?" " 

"The hell you will. It's our case. We have to search. You keep the hell
out of it." 

"Sez you, asshole." 

"Shut up!" Mr. Jackson had to yell again. "We have to work together." 

"The CIA can't do anything, this is in-country. We have--" He was
stopped by a look from Mr. Jackson. 

"You FeeBIe's th--" He also was silenced. 

"Now, lets get our shit together,"  Mr. Jackson instructed. "All we know
is that the drawing and specifications were locked in Joe Camp's office 
the other night. They were gone the next morning. Since an unknown 
truck was seen, we assume someone on that truck took it. Thanks to Sam, 
here, we might have identified the vehicle." 

For the first time, everyone looked at Sam. They appeared shocked to see
he had been included in the meeting.  Mr. Jackson sighed, also 
realizing the fact and that it was too late. At least, as Head of 
Security, he could be explained to their bosses. As a blooming idiot, 
he was in less demand. 

"We have to question the driver and any others involved. There is
nothing we can do until the lab results get back,"  Mr. Jackson 
continued, "unless the pizza kid cracks." 

"I'll try to find you proper accommodations in town," Mr. Jackson told
them. "This may take quite a while, and there are too many in on it 
right now. We aren't calling in any more help." He looked pointedly at 
Sam before finishing, "Right now, if you have nothing to do or add, 
please go back outside." 

Sam left with the others. After a quick search for the missing cat, he
returned to his office. Finding nothing waiting there, he picked up his 
"Rock Quarry" novel.... 

*** 

Our hero managed to brace his feet against the post holding the front of
the roaring cycle, thus saving himself from being dragged farther under 
the racing rear tire. The wheel and rapidly spinning deadly treads 
dropped onto Rock's chest, severely bruising iron-hard stomach muscles. 
It rapidly shredded his shirt and undershirt after chewing up his tie 
as an appetizer. 

Penetration was stopped by the detective's bullet-proof vest, made of a
super-hard material under secret government standards. Yet another 
product that will help beat the Axis. Slowly, so as to not rock the 
vehicle, Rock stretched his legs to bring the ropes, those around his 
chest, under the spinning wheel. The madly whirling tire, probably 
bought with counterfeit ration stamps, chewed through the ropes. Now 
free, Rock reached up and shut off the engine, thereby saving gasoline 
for the War Effort. 

Rock rose to his feet and, stretching long muscular legs, set out to
revenge himself on his nemesis, the nasty Nazi spy. 

He left through the same door his enemy had used. Rock expected to find
the dirty traitor on the other side, but noticed that the room was 
empty. A heavy door on the other side of that room was locked from the 
outside. When Rock turned the knob, he set a trap in motion. The door 
he had only just come through slammed shut and Rock heard a soft 
hissing sound. 

The hissing came from a rear corner where a white gas was emerging. He
was once again trapped.... 

*** 

Sam put down the book and, leaning back, reflected on the morning's
activities. If he helped solve the case his reputation would be 
assured. But what could he do?"  Maybe he could talk to the pizza 
driver?  The driver and Sadie would probably be alone at the police 
station by then. 

* 

The diminutive detective walked up three wooden steps and into the
police station. It consisted of one good-sized room, two cell-doors 
visible at the rear with a water cooler between them, positioned so 
that the incarcerated could reach the tap, and a small pile of National 
Geographic magazines on a shelf next to the cooler. 

On the near side of the room, Sadie sat on a reinforced steel chair, her
cheeks flowing over and hiding the seat from view. On the desk in front 
of her stood an ancient Apple Computer, one of the earlier models but 
adapted for phone-line Internet access. That and a telephone. 

Sam moved behind her, as quietly as possible, leaned over and gave her a
quick kiss on the neck. 

With a loud "Scrrrreeech" the chair swung around. Arms like hairy
tree-trunks enfolded the PI and drew him into a tight hug. Lips that 
could easily engulf half a ham sucked at his face as he relaxed leg 
muscles, luxuriating in the tight confines of his lover's arms. To Sam, 
it was like being back in the womb. He could never understand why some 
people preferred thin women, rubbing bones while making love. 

"Hey! Not in front of me, you two,"  A voice interrupted them. It came
from one of the two cells. 

"Shut up, Jeffy."  Sadie rumbled from the side of a busy mouth. But she
did release Sam who, with a sucking sound, staggered back two paces 
like a fly pulling loose from a spiderweb. 

Jeffy Jones sat in a tatty easy-chair at the rear of the first cell, a
cup of coffee in front of him and the jail's guitar on his lap. A 
double-bed almost filled the rest of the cell, leaving room for a table 
containing a small refrigerator and a television set. 

"You missed all the excitement, Sam,"  Sadie continued while smoothing
her clothing. "The last of the Feds just left. They told me not to let 
anyone talk to the suspect." 

"Suspect?  Sam, I'm a 'suspect.' Did you know that?"  I've never been a
suspect before in my life. Just like on television." 

"I don't want to get you into any trouble, baby. I'll leave your suspect
alone, but maybe have a few words with my pal Jeffy here.  Okay by 
you?" " 

She had to think that over a moment. He was sort of a detective, you
know? It wasn't as though he were a civilian, and two friends talking 
should be okay. 

"Sure, Sam, but make it brief and don't ask him about you-know-what." 

Sam opened the door to the second cell. Not knowing how long it would
take to interview Jeffy, he preferred sitting in the comfortable padded 
chair in there rather than standing. 

"What they charging you with, Jeffy?" 

"All I know is they caught me with a small bag of grass. They was'a
asking 'bout pizzas and why I drove Papa's truck, like somethin' was 
wrong or somethin'. Hell, my Chevy was broke and I had'da make my 
deliveries. 

"Man, that old truck ain't no good for pizzas though. The pizza parlor's
over in Westville, and I gotta go like hell to deliver at the Plant. 
They's gotta be at least warm, ya know?" 

"You didn't steal nothing, now did you, Jeffy?"  Was you in the office
at the plant?" 

"You know I wasn't, Sam. George don't eat no pizza and don't ever open
the door at night. It sticks in his falsies. Why'd I wanna go in there 
for?" 

"Don't seem like they have much on you, except for the marijuana,"  Sam
offered. 

"Don' even got that. Me an' Sadie done smoked that up a'ready, out
back'a the jail. She got her some oregano ta' put in'a bag." 

Sam sneaked a look at Sadie, who was turned around, ashamed at smoking
the evidence left in her care. 

All eyes went to the door as three men charged in. One nodded familiarly
at Sadie as all three went over to Jeffy's cell. His, like Sam's, was 
unlocked. The building had been built back in goldrush days and the 
keys lost over the intervening years. Sam, not wanting to be 
recognized, swung his chair around backwards. A high back hid the small 
detective from their view. 

"Alright, Jones. Fingerprint time. We're gonna put your butt in that
building. It won't take long to compare prints with those in the office 
and then we got you." 

"You ain'ta gonna find nothin' on me, pig."  Sam could hear Jeffy reply.
The boy seemed in good spirits. It was probably the most excitement 
he'd ever had, Sam thought. 

"Why don't you save time, Jones, and tell us who you work for?"  We know
an idiot like you couldn't have planned this." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Ye.... Shut the hell up." 

After a few more minutes of such exchanges, the government men left. Sam
could hear them stomping down the steps outside. 

After they left, the three still inside had a good laugh. 

"I gotta go, sweetie,"  Sam informed his girl. "Work calls and I have a
lot to get done today."  He, too, left on his own mission. 

In order to think and plan his next actions, Sam went back to his
office. Feet on the desk, looking out a window at fields of growing 
grain, he spent time in thought. First things first, he figured. Might 
as well look for the cat. 

Extricating himself from the chair, Sam put on his suit coat and started
for the door. He was stopped by the squeak of his phone. It was Mr. 
Tompkins about having his lawn mowed. The man wanted it done right 
away. Sam would make a detour to George's house and ask him to mow it. 

Arriving at George's mobile home, the detective walked up the steps and
knocked on the front door. George's wife answered. 

"Hi there, Sam. How's business?" she asked as she stepped aside,
signaling him to enter. 

"That's what I'm here about, Molly,"  Sam told her. "Is your husband
home?  I need him for an hour or two." 

"I'll get him." She left the kitchen to find her hubby. 

While she was gone, Sam looked around the kitchen. He saw a large piece
of computer paper hanging on a wall by the door. It contained a 
childish drawing of what looked like a cow in the middle of the sheet. 
Green stripes could be dimly seen through it -- along with what 
appeared to be a blueprint. 

Walking over, Sam looked more carefully. "Jesus Christ,"  he exclaimed.
It looked like it could be the missing paper from the Plant. 

Molly returned with George to see Sam gawking at their daughter's
drawing. 

"You like it, boss?" asked George. 

"Do you know what you've done?" Sam admonished him. "If this is the
stolen paper, you're in a world of trouble." 

"What do you mean? I found it on the floor of an office." 

"What can we do?" Sam exclaimed. "You might go to jail for life over
this." 

"What the hell you talking about?" Molly interjected in confusion. The
others only knew something was missing, not what it was. That had been 
kept secret. Sam explained to the couple what he had found out. 

They couldn't figure out what to do. It seemed like a good time to call
the professor, Harry. They were lucky in that Harry was still at least 
half sober when George called him. He agreed to come over after being 
promised a beer upon arrival. 

An ex-college professor before the booze hit him and got him
blacklisted, Harry was very learned as well as intelligent. After being 
updated, he sat drinking for awhile and finally came up with a 
solution. 

"You can't simply turn it over to them,"  Harry told them. "We have to
find a way for the Feds to get it that won't implicate George." 

"How are we going to do that?" asked Sam. "George's and Debbie's
fingerprints are all over it. Not to mention the cow on the back." 

"It's not a cow. It's a rabbit,"  George informed them. 

"Whatever it is, it will put you away for a long time,"  from Harry,
opening another beer without permission. 

"George. You check the incinerator room on your rounds, right?" Harry
asked. 

"Sure. So what?" 

"Did the cops search there, do you know?" 

"Sure. They looked in the door then put some of that yellow tape across
it. 'Do not touch' or something." 

"I mean did they search the whole room, ash barrels and all?" 

"I don't think so. The tape is just over the door to the incinerator
room." 

"Did anyone besides you and Debbie touch the paper? Think carefully." 

"No. I hung it myself." 

"What you can do, George, is work tonight for me. First take the paper
outside right now, yourself, and burn all of it but the corner, leaving 
maybe four or five inches. Leave the corner with the serial numbers, 
and you better leave a little bit of the diagram on it too -- no 
rabbit, though,"  Harry instructed him. "Then put it in a baggie. Sam 
can come in later tonight and plant it in a corner of the incinerator 
room. Then, you pretend to find it just before the end of your shift. 
That way your fingerprints will be on it and you can swear you found it 
in the incinerator room." 

"What if they search my car when I come in?" Sam asked. 

"I doubt it, since you're in on the secret already. They should consider
you as one of them. Maybe put the baggie in your underwear, just in 
case?" 

"What about Debbie's fingerprints?" 

"At four-years-old? They wouldn't be on file with the Feds." 

They all agreed. Harry finished his beer and left. First, though, he
made sure he would be paid for that night -- even though he didn't 
work. Sam stayed to supervise George as he burned the document. Taking 
the baggie, Sam left while George went over to mow Mr. Jones's lawn. 

Later that day, Mrs. Thompson called to say that Giggles had come home
on his own. She told Sam she would pay him for his time if he sent her 
a bill. 

*** 

Sam arrived at the ACD Plant about three am to find the Federal officers
asleep near the gate. They'd had a busy day combing the town's back 
yards and trash cans. He parked in his usual spot and, taking the 
baggie, walked around the buildings as though checking up on his 
employee. George had hired a babysitter for that night. 

Sam carefully planted the contents of his baggie under a barrel of burnt
ashes, leaving the edge sticking out from under the can. Then he 
sprinkled dirt on it, and scuffed the paper with his heel. 

He then returned to the office building to notify George. The guard went
on his rounds at his usual time and returned to call Mr, Jackson, who 
soon arrived. 

"Let me see that,"  exclaimed the excited manager. The three of them and
six of the Federal officers were in the manager's office. The other 
officers and Sadie's father were on the way over. "That's it. I 
recognize the serial number. Where did you find it, Sam?" 

The detective deferred to George who, getting into his role, excitably
explained, "While I was on my patrol of the grounds, I decided to do my 
duty and search the rest of the Incinerator Building for inflammables. 
I found it under a trash barrel, sir. Thinking it might be important, 
with a serial number and all, I brought it back in." 

George was dismissed for the night and Mr. Jackson told all of them to
leave his office while he made some phone calls. The Feds eventually 
left after fighting over who could use which telephone in the outer 
office to call their respective leaders. Sam sat back and smiled to 
himself. Another case solved. 

The End.


Tweet