"Take care of him,” Maria said, and went inside.
Vic approached the panhandler, who started to raise his hand again, then dropped it when he saw he was about to be confronted by someone wearing a shirt and tie. Just as the man lowered his eyes and turned away Vic said: “Excuse me, sir, I'm afraid you'll have to—"
"Yeah, yeah,” the Deadhead said resignedly, waving goodbye.
"This is government property and—"
"I heard ya, man. I'm outta here, okay? Ya happy?"
Vic considered the question, but the man never looked back. If he had, he would have seen a rookie inspector holding a closed badge case as uselessly as he had a teacher's pointer or stick of chalk. And with the same look of disappointment.
Inside, Vic found Maria making a real arrest. The suspect, a window clerk, was about to be handcuffed, with the new station manager looking nervously on. When Maria saw Vic she nodded to the people still in the lobby, and this time Vic got to flash his badge.
"Okay, folks, let's move on, shall we?” he said. Confronted with a badge now, they grumbled and started to shuffle out.
"Not him,” the station manager said, pointing at the old man wearing dark glasses and holding a seeing eye dog at his side. The German Shepherd panted happily in the air conditioned room. “You'll want to talk to him,” the station manager reiterated, seeing Vic's uncertainty. “I'm afraid I've called the police, too. Was that wrong?"
Maria shook her head. When the last customer was out, the other window clerk shut and locked the inner door.
"Okay,” Maria said, still holding the handcuffs. “You say you saw him place sheets of stamps under his shirt?"
"Not me,” the station manager replied. “Him.” Again he pointed at the blind man, who smiled, displaying a lower row of gold teeth.
"How?" Maria asked.
The station manager adjusted his tie. “Well, as Andy puts it, he's been in here since opening, waiting for the general delivery mail to come in. And when a slack time came about an hour ago Andy went on break, with Tom here covering."
Vic looked at Tom, the clerk Maria was about to put handcuffs on. A tall slender kid in his mid-twenties, Tom hung his head down, staring in fear at the floor.
"Well, when Andy came back from break the old man there approaches him. He whispers that Tom went to Andy's station and pulled out about a hundred sheets of stamps from Andy's stock. Then slipped it under his shirt. Tom's break was next, you see."
"But how—"
"The stamps are out in Tom's car, under the right front seat. When Tom went on break Andy checked his stock, see, then called me. I looked out the window from the second floor toward the parking lot in back and saw Tom putting something there, for sure. His back was to me, but—"
"But how? I mean—” Maria gestured in futility, and finally pointed at the old man with the seeing eye dog. “How did a blind man's dog tell him about Tom?"
The old man cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he said.
"Yes sir?"
The old man shuffled forward to the counter. The dog remained behind, still panting and smiling. “Think I can explain it."
"Please do."
He removed his dark glasses. The eyes beneath were not clouded, but blue as the Phoenix sky. “Truth is,” he whispered. “I'm not really blind. My dog Trixie, she's the blind one. Blind as a bat."
* * * *
When a policeman rapped on the door with his nightstick, they all turned in unison. Everyone, that is, but the dog with the clouded eyes. The patrolman stared with such amazement at the scene that Vic laughed. He tried to stop laughing, but that only made it worse.
Andy unlocked the door.
"What's going on here?” the officer wanted to know, seeing the kid now in handcuffs, and the German Shepherd.
Maria held up her badge, Vic following suit. “We have jurisdiction here, officer,” she said, obviously trying to hold in her own amusement. “Sorry about the confusion. When we're done with our report we'll give you a call."
"Okay,” he said. “I see you've got it under control. This time."
In the car on the way back to the office three hours later, and with the thief finally turned over to police for booking, Maria allowed herself the luxury of giving in to a good laugh at the bizarre incident. It wasn't a long laugh, but it was distinctive, and Vic relaxed and enjoyed it. They were going to get along just fine, he realized.
"I'm sorry, I really shouldn't..."
"No, no, it's okay."
"I mean we're professionals, and it's a serious matter for that kid, and—"
"I understand. Really.” He grinned.
She glanced at him, then looked back at the road. “You know who you remind me of? I been trying to think, and just now it hit me."
"What? Who?” he asked.
"Agent Mulder on The X Files. You ever watch that show? Because they say the truth is out there somewhere. I trust you'll be the one to find it.” She paused, and smiled. “By the way, sometimes I think we work on the same kinds of cases, too. Just so you know."
* * * *
(Jonathan Lowe has published widely in magazines, with awards from the SC Arts Commission, Roger C. Peace foundation, Writer's Digest, and Audiofile. A bachelor, he lives in Tucson.)
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Ghost Rider: Stories by Jonathan Lowe Page 13