Taking O’Malley’s lead, Zengo scooped up the remaining photographs and navigated out through the maze of cubicles.
PLATYPUS POLICE SQUAD HEADQUARTERS, 12:30 P.M.
The confiscated photographs hung on the evidence wall as O’Malley and Zengo ate their lunches and attempted to piece together the events of the Dome blackout. Zengo watched O’Malley take a bite out of his chili dog. As expected, chili sauce dripped out of the bun and down O’Malley’s tie before coming to rest on his shirtfront.
Zengo heard a mail cart’s squeaky wheel, and turned around to greet the office secretary.
“Good . . . afternoon . . . Detectives. Do you have . . . any mail . . . to go out?”
“Hey there, Peggy,” said O’Malley. “No mail here, but thanks for asking.”
The old turtle looked up at the evidence wall. “What have . . . we got . . . here?”
“Photos from last night’s Dome Disaster,” said Zengo as he pulled down the one and only photo that had a glimpse of the culprit. “We think we found a suspect in this picture, but it’s blurry. There isn’t enough information here to make any sort of ID.”
“Hmmm,” said Peggy as she put on her glasses and peered closely at the picture. “May I . . . borrow this?” Zengo looked to O’Malley. What could she possibly do with this picture? Make a macaroni frame for it? What if she lost it? Zengo was about to say no thanks when O’Malley piped up.
“Sure thing, Peggy. But please bring it right back.”
“Will . . . do. In . . . a . . . jiffy.”
The sound of the receding squeaky wheels were drowned out by the yelling that suddenly erupted from Plazinski’s office. Somebody was getting reamed in there.
Zengo and O’Malley quickly moved to their favorite eavesdropping spot. Both detectives were surprised to see Diaz and Lucinni were already there.
“Huh. I thought for sure it was you guys in there,” snarled O’Malley.
“And we thought it was you two clowns,” cracked Diaz.
“Nice shirt, Corey,” giggled Lucinni, gesturing to a stain. “Saving a snack for later?”
“Who’s in there?” Zengo whispered as he stepped closer to the door.
“Don’t know,” said Lucinni.
The shouting stopped abruptly. The detectives heard footsteps coming toward the door. All four platypuses shuffled to get out of the way, stumbling over one another’s tails as they did. The door flew open and crashed against the wall.
Out stepped Plazinski. Zengo noticed the familiar anger vein pulsing in his superior’s forehead. He hadn’t been the one yelling—he was the one getting yelled at. By someone with talons. And a sharp suit. Who had been elected mayor more than any politician in the history of Kalamazoo City.
Mayor Saunders stepped out of Plazinski’s office, ducking his head to avoid the doorframe. He nodded toward the detectives, who were trying to look casual, and failing miserably. “Detectives,” he said, straightening out his jacket. He turned to Plazinski and extended his feathered wing for a shake. “Good day, Sergeant. I know I can count on you.”
Plazinski extended his webbed hand and gripped Saunders’s wing firmly. “You can. I will protect and serve the good people of this city.”
By the look on Saunders’s face, that wasn’t the answer he was looking for. What more could a mayor want, wondered Zengo.
The detective squad stood frozen as Mayor Saunders walked past Processing toward Peggy’s desk. The suave politician smiled and shook hands with everyone he passed. When the mayor was out of sight, the detectives were all still staring at their feet. You could cut the tension with a machete. They all knew better than to say anything.
When the mayor left the building, Plazinski broke the silence. “That good-for-nothin’ politician. They’re all the same.” Zengo was taken aback. In his short time on the force, he had already learned one thing: Plazinski was nearly always on the side of the powers-that-be.
Now Zengo was dying of curiosity. He wished someone would at least ask Plazinski what was going on. He glanced at the others, his eyes begging them to take the lead. But everyone else kept their traps shut. Finally he couldn’t stand it any longer. “What was that all about?”
“Apparently Mayor Saunders isn’t happy with the fact that I sent you guys down to his playground today,” Plazinski snarled. “He wants us to step back and let him sort out the disaster at the Dome.”
“So we’re off the case?” asked Diaz.
“Do I look like the kind of sergeant who would close down this case because some ostrich got his feathers ruffled?” screamed Plazinski, his bill shoved right in Diaz’s. “If anybody in this department thinks I’m just going to roll over and lay an egg because the mayor tells me to, well, then I’d be happy to pass out a stack of tickets and send him out to check for expired parking meters. No, I’m going to turn up the heat on this thing.”
Zengo wondered if he should tell the sarge about the photo they found. He glanced at O’Malley, whose face was unreadable. “Sergeant, you might want to know about something that O’Malley and I noticed in the photographs we confiscated from the Kalamazoo City Krier.”
“What is it, kid?” asked Plazinski, glaring at Zengo as he took a step toward him.
“Um, well. It isn’t much, sir. We found one photo with the wrench that may have been used in damaging the electrical unit at the Dome, but the photo is blurry.”
“Was . . . blurry,” said Peggy as she handed Zengo the original photograph and a printout of a digitally enhanced version of the picture. “I guess . . . they . . . didn’t tell . . . you, Ricky. I’m pretty good . . . with forensic digital . . . imaging. Everything . . . was right . . . there. Right in . . . the photo.”
“Peggy, this is incredible!” Zengo grabbed the picture with a grateful smile. The figure in the photo was tiny. The wrench was nearly as big as he was. And he had a big chunk taken out of one ear. It looked like it had been bitten off.
O’Malley was looking over his shoulder. “That’s the same wrench we recovered from the electrical station. And look at the guy holding it. He’s wearing a Kalamazoo Dome security uniform!”
“So maybe the wrench really did belong to him,” said Zengo. “As someone who works at the Dome, he could have a legit reason to be carrying around tools. Could someone else have stolen it from him to bash in the electrical system?”
“Nope,” said Diaz. “There was only one set of prints on the wrench. I think we’re looking at our perp here.”
This might be the break they were looking for. “No wonder he could sneak around restricted areas during the opening-night festivities,” said Zengo. “He didn’t have to worry about security. He was security!”
Plazinski took the evidence in hand and barked, “Diaz, Lucinni, I want all of the employee records that you recovered from the Dome on my desk immediately!”
Diaz and Lucinni each shuffled their weight and fidgeted with their badges.
“What’s the matter? Get a move on, boys!” barked Plazinski.
“Um . . . here’s the thing . . .” began Diaz.
“Yeah, about those files . . .” continued Lucinni.
Plazinski’s forehead vein had popped out again. This wasn’t going to be pretty. “Do not tell me that you went all the way to the Dome with a search warrant and you didn’t bring back info on one single employee there?”
“Uh. No. No, we didn’t,” said Lucinni, looking at his webbed feet.
“Diaz! Lucinni! New Berry Street! Get a supply of parking tickets from Peggy. That’s your beat until further notice.”
Ouch, thought Zengo. Plazinski had banished Diaz and Lucinni to the snooty shopping district on the north side of town. It was a weekday. They would be dealing with rich people who didn’t take kindly to officers telling them where they could and couldn’t park. That was a lousy assignment.
“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” Plazinski screamed. “GET OUT OF MY SIGHT BEFORE I START THROWING THINGS!” Diaz and Lucinni stumbled off. The serge
ant turned to his two remaining detectives. “Well, boys, looks like this case is yours. I want you to find out everything you can about the fellow in this picture. And do so without anybody knowing you’re sniffing around his tail, understand? If word gets out that we’re looking for someone who works at the Dome, we’re going to have a real angry mayor on our hands.”
“We’re all over it, Sarge,” said O’Malley, snapping to attention. He was about to say more, but Plazinski had already slammed his office door shut so hard that the photo of him shaking hands with the governor fell off the wall.
THE KALAMAZOO CITY DOME SECURITY OFFICE, 1:35 P.M.
“Sorry, files are classified,” said the officer on duty at the Dome, bits of tuna flying out of his mouth as he talked. The plump guard was flanked by television screens showing the feeds from security cameras positioned throughout the Dome. His uniform wasn’t clean, and it barely fit. His badge wasn’t even pinned on straight. O’Malley could be a mess at times, but nothing like this.
“Let me repeat myself,” said O’Malley calmly. “We’re going to need to see files on all of the Dome’s security employees.”
“Let me repeat myself: they’re confidential,” he said, wiping his mouth.
Who does this guy think he is? thought Zengo.
“All right, then,” said O’Malley after a moment. “You have yourself a great day.”
Zengo whispered, “What are you doing?”
“Shut your bill, kid.” O’Malley grabbed Zengo’s arm as he turned to leave. Then he stopped in the doorway and turned to the possum. “Oh, before we go, do you have a bathroom around here? One too many of those delicious Dome slushies.”
“You can go ’head and use the staff bathroom just down the hall.” The possum gestured to where the detectives could find the restrooms. Zengo knew O’Malley was up to something, but what clues did he hope to find in the bathroom? Would the toilet paper lead them to the answers they needed?
“Thank you, sir. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
O’Malley led Zengo to the bathroom. “What the heck was that?!” Zengo whispered. “Why are we in here rather than out there, giving that rent-a-cop the third degree? He probably won that badge at one of the prize booths!”
O’Malley swung open the bathroom door and pushed Zengo in. Once the door was shut behind them, O’Malley hit Zengo upside the head with his webbed hand.
“Have you not learned anything, kid? We have to get that clown on our side. Of course I think he’s incompetent. He wouldn’t even get through a week of training at the Platypus Police Academy. But we need to have him think that we respect him.”
“So what’s the plan, then?” asked Zengo.
“The janitor is going to help us.”
Zengo looked around. “What?”
“C’mon, let’s fill these toilets with as much toilet paper as we can.”
Zengo had learned not to question his partner when he had a plan. He entered the first stall and started unraveling the paper off the roll and dumping it into the toilet bowl. O’Malley did the same in the neighboring stall.
“Now what?” called Zengo from over the stall wall.
“Now we flush and stand back!”
Both Zengo and O’Malley flipped the flush handles. O’Malley had a wide grin on his bill.
The toilet water began to overflow and pool on the floor as the toilet paper clogged the drain.
The guard was eating the last bites of his tuna sandwich when Zengo and O’Malley came bursting back into his office. “I hate to tell you this,” said O’Malley, “but the toilets are overflowing in there. There’s water everywhere.”
The security guard rolled his eyes and got up from his chair. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” He grabbed his walkie-talkie and spoke into it. “Charlie, come in, Charlie, we’ve got a situation over here in the security offices. Toilets are overflowing.”
The janitor’s voice crackled over the radio. “Again? Okay, I’ll be right over.”
By the time the janitor made it over with his mop and plunger, the water had seeped underneath the bathroom door and was spilling into the hallway. The guard followed him into the bathroom. O’Malley and Zengo quietly rushed back to the main security office.
“Quick! We don’t have much time!” O’Malley used his claw as a pick to open the filing cabinet to the right of the guard’s desk. A few clicks later the cabinet was open. He rummaged through some files. “Bingo!” he said as he pulled out a batch of folders and hustled to the door. “Just grab as many as you can!” he said.
Zengo scooped up what was left.
“Here, put everything in this crate,” instructed O’Malley.
The detectives peered out of the office. They could hear the guard down the hall, still in the bathroom, arguing with the janitor about the best way to handle the mess.
“Hey, it wasn’t my fault the toilets were stuffed with TP. Somebody’s gotta learn to use just a few squares!”
It was time to get a move on before the guard caught on to their ruse. Zengo opened the door for O’Malley, who was carrying the crate. They slipped outside and almost got away unnoticed.
“Hey! Where you boys goin’? Why’d you clog the toilets?!” shouted the guard. “What are you carrying? I thought I told you boys that was confidential material!”
“Get goin’, kid!” shouted O’Malley as he pushed Zengo out into the parking lot. The detectives raced to their squad car, O’Malley clutching the precious crate of files. Zengo unlocked the driver’s side door for O’Malley.
Just then a loud engine roared. Zengo turned to see a motorcycle bearing down on them. Before he could even react, the helmeted motorcyclist grabbed the crate out of O’Malley’s hands and zoomed toward the parking-lot exit at full throttle.
“Crikes!” shouted O’Malley, hopping in the car. “Get in, rookie, and hold on!” O’Malley turned the car engine on and buckled his seat belt with one swift motion. By the time Zengo had fastened his own belt, O’Malley already had the car in drive. He floored the gas pedal.
Zengo shouted into the megaphone. “Halt! This is the Platypus Police Squad!” He popped the siren onto the roof, and at a nod from O’Malley turned it on.
“What do you think is in those files?” shouted O’Malley.
“Let’s make sure we live to find out!” said Zengo, holding on to the dashboard for dear life as O’Malley picked up speed.
“Here we go, kiddo!” As O’Malley sped toward the exit, the metal security gates began to close. The mystery motorcyclist zipped through.
O’Malley tightened his grip on the steering wheel, then jerked it sharply, sending the car onto its left wheels and just managing to squeeze through the gates before they slammed shut.
The siren screamed as O’Malley threw the car into reverse, spun it around, and threw it back in drive, flooring the gas once more. The car screeched forward and fishtailed into the flow of traffic. Incredibly, they didn’t hit anyone or anything.
Zengo could still see the motorcyclist, but he was moving away fast. He grabbed the radio. “This is Detective Rick Zengo calling from car one-fifty-three. We need backup immediately. We are in hot pursuit of a motorcycle heading eastbound on Twelfth Avenue away from the Kalamazoo City Dome. The driver is carrying material sensitive to our investigation. Requesting immediate backup. There is no apparent license plate on the vehicle; I repeat, no license plate.”
O’Malley weaved their car in and out of both lanes of traffic. Cars headed in both directions began to move to the side of the road. “C’mon, rook. It’s go time!”
Zengo’s heart raced. He had seen some action in the few months he had been on the force, but he had never been in a full-on car chase before. Though they were going crazy fast, he felt like he was in a dream, almost as though they were moving underwater. He had watched every cop movie ever made, but nothing had ever gotten his adrenaline running like this. They were tearing through the streets at top speed. Innocent lives could be lost at the
slightest miscalculation. For once, he was thankful that O’Malley was in the driver’s seat.
The motorcyclist drove off the road and into a busy sidewalk market. The crowd parted to let him through, and then closed up again. They could not follow him with their car. O’Malley screeched to a halt and punched the dashboard in frustration. Zengo popped his seat belt, threw open the door, and began chasing the perpetrator on foot. We need to get this guy off the road before somebody gets hurt.
The motorcyclist hit another wall of afternoon shoppers, and Zengo saw his chance. He ran around to flank the motorcyclist, whose only choice was to turn down a dead-end alley. What an idiot, Zengo thought, sprinting in after him. The cyclist had turned his bike around and was facing Zengo, as though he was taunting him to come closer.
Zengo reached for his boomerang just as the perpetrator revved up his engine and zoomed up a wooden plank resting against a Dumpster. The motorcyclist popped a wheelie and launched himself up into the air, clearing the Dumpster and landing on the low roof of a building beside the alley.
As Zengo stood frozen and gaping in astonishment, the motorcyclist pulled out a silver boomerang. It sparkled in the sunlight.
“Kid, duck!” shouted O’Malley as he huffed onto the scene and tackled Zengo. The boomerang hit the ground just where Zengo had stood a second before. From the ground, the detectives watched the cyclist drive across the roof and disappear.
Zengo had had his chance, and he’d blown it. Even worse, he’d been saved by the old-timer. He had never felt more like a rookie detective. He stood up and kicked a trash can, knocking it against the brick wall. “Darn it! I was sure I had him!”
O’Malley thumped his partner on the shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up, kid. Look around you. No one was hurt. You did what you could do. We put an APB out on this guy. The PPS will catch him.”
Zengo shivered at the thought of what just happened. He had always dreamed of action like this, and had always imagined he’d come out looking like a hero. As Zengo watched his short and stubby partner brush off his wrinkled clothes, he realized that O’Malley might be old and out of shape, but he never hesitated when the going got tough.
Platypus Police Squad : The Ostrich Conspiracy (9780062071675) Page 4
