Grit’s Search Takes a Detour

I stood in the middle of the living room, surveying the mess the cops had wreaked. Studying the place, I tried to imagine where a seasoned gendarme like O’Halloran would hide something he didn’t want anyone else to see? From my experience in the snoop business, hiding one’s really sensitive shit could actually mean not hiding it at all. It could be staring you in the frickin face while you were ripping and tearing stuff to pieces. Then, something caught my eye, which changed the whole dynamic of things.  Over in the far corner near the stairway, which led to the second floor, stood a liquor cabinet. I had been on a dry drunk for a few days, thinking seriously about quitting the booze for some time now. I even attended a few AA meetings, but I’ve got to tell you when I spotted that liquor cabinet, all of my days and nights of gnashing teeth and “white-knuckling” went out the window! 

When I came to, it was dark. I had entered the Chief’s home late in the morning sometime. It was now close to midnight! “Shit!” I felt like crap for a number of reasons. I stumbled toward the front door, not turning on any lights that might attract unwanted attention. As I peered through some blinds next to the door, I noticed a black and white driving by slowly. It stopped momentarily. They were obviously checking the place out. My heart raced a mile a minute while my head throbbed with what felt like a street maintenance crew jack-hammering their way out of my skull. Then the cruiser moved on, lights flashing as it sped away.  I opened the front door and raised the yellow-tape and slipped underneath, walking a bit unsteadily toward my car while scanning the area for possible witnesses. The darkness was appreciated. It gave me some obscurity from prying eyes.  

I made my way to my houseboat, which was docked down at China Basin. I was pissed at myself and needed to get my shit together if I was going to earn my pay! I really needed that money!  When I got home, my two Pugs, Pua and Rosie, greeted me with their usual hyperactive behavior - as if they had just slammed a few ccs of meth. They were snorting like two Vietnamese pot-belly piglets, which they resembled, both vying for my attention. I made a foggy mental note to stop overfeeding them as I staggered to my bed, clothes and all, and flopped face first. I could feel the active tongues of those little girls on my face as darkness wrapped itself around my throbbing head.

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