The Kiss of Pro-Death
The street was chockablock with black-and-whites by the time Easy arrived. He'd heard the call on his police scanner and decided to cruise by, check it out.
Approaching the perimeter of the crime scene, the fleshy sleuth flashed his P.I. license at a uniformed cop, then nonchalantly ducked under the yellow and black tape unchallenged. The whole force knew Easy Thomas.
As he made his way through the small army of milling cops, it wasn't long before Easy saw what all the ruckus was about: There, lying on the cold pavement, was a body. Female. Twisted. Bloody. Lifeless. Instinctively, he scanned for evidence, clues.
Just then, a familiar voice called, "Hey, Easy," and the graying gumshoe turned to see Det. Sergeant Antonin "Tony" Scalia. Tony was an old pal, a good cop, a guy any non-criminal adult black male, someone such as Easy himself, would be proud to be profiled by.
"Hey, yourself, Sarge. Whattaya got here?"
"My theory? I'd say, from the position of the body, the high-rise behind her and the Planned Parenthood membership card in her wallet, she probably just had or had performed an abortion, was overwhelmed with guilt and jumped off the roof. In other words, zygote murder with a suicide chaser."
Easy surveyed the scene. Ligature marks encircled the woman's pale throat; defensive wounds scored her hands and forearms; one of her shoes was stuffed in her mouth. He added all this up in his mind before turning to his friend.
"You're the expert, my man," Easy said. "I guess there's no reason for me to start poking my nose into this. How about we go get a cup of coffee? My treat."
The Case of the Illegitimate Litigator
It was late when she burst into Easy Thomas' office. If you didn't count the curvy co-star of Harry Potter and the She-Prisoner of Whambamthank youmaam, the DVD Easy was viewing at that very moment, she was the most scrumptious dish he'd ever seen.
"Mr. Thomas, I'm completely terrified," she blurted, as he powered off the TV. "You see, I recently graduated from law school and today was my first day on the job at a white-shoe firm downtown. I'd only been there for a few hours when I got a call from some man. I don't know who he was. He sounded crazy. Yelled that I was in his office, called me a Latino whore and threatened to kill me. I told the police, and they're looking into it. But I need protection. Will you help me?"
Easy told her to wait in his outer office while he mulled things over. Once he was alone, Easy rang up his good friend Sgt. Tony Scalia and replayed what had just taken place.
"Typical," Scalia spat, contemptuous. "Obviously, this nervous Nellie of a shyster got hired just because she's a broad and/or Hispanic. And unless I miss my guess, she displaced a sharper, smarter, worthier white male candidate — i.e., the caller — who's understandably PO'd and who wants to give this affirmative action tool exactly what she deserves. If it were me? I'd cut her loose and let the chippie fall where she may."
"Yeah, I think you nailed it there, Tony," Easy affirmed. "I'm definitely going to blow her off. Victimized damn bitch."
The Mystery of the Purloined House
Easy's client, a plainspoken plumbing contractor named Frank, claimed he'd left for work bright and early one morning only to discover that, when he returned around 7 p.m., his house was gone. Vanished. Could the famed private eye, Frank wanted to know, get to the bottom of the mystery? Easy promised he could and would.
In a stroke of good fortune, Easy just happened to have his head far up his old friend Det. Tony Scalia's ass at the time he started his inquiries. He took the opportunity to feel out his brainy buddy about the AWOL abode.
"Look at the guy's address," the cunning copper said, after hearing Frank's story. "His house is on a piece of prime property any developer would love to own. And should own. So, obviously some industrious, public-spirited land developer prevailed upon City Hall to seize the house as eminent domain, then quickly had it razed to make way for an upscale mall or luxury condos. The only crime committed here was your client impeding America's vital economic progress with his domicile."
"Hey, you're right," Easy said, "Wait 'til I see that guy again. I'm gonna give him a sock right in the jaw for sending me on a wild goose chase.
CONTACT BOB WOODIWISS: bwoodiwiss(at)citybeat.com. His column appears here the last issue of each month. His book, Keys to Uncomfortable Living, a collection of humorous and satirical essays, is in bookstores now.
