DANGER BROAD - Canola

Part 4 of a tongue-in-cheek film noir style series I wrote years ago.
Commisioner Oyl sat at her desk in the police station, amidst a stack full of reports and Most Wanted flyers that needed to be stapled to the board outside her office. She had just come off the night shift and her feet were killing her.

I'd love to take the damn boots off she thought, but she took pity on the other officers. They were certain to get a wiff of the evidence she had spent the last 15 hours working hard.

She stood up and stretched, her long dark hair suddenly falling out of the clip that had been holding it back for most of the late night hours. Arms over her head, her ample bosom heaved up and down as she stretched, exposing her tight midriff from years of exercising and hard work as a cop who had pulled herself up through the ranks. She was the object of desire of every male officer in the precinct, and role model for every woman.

So consequently, she never dated and she had no friends.

Oyl sat back down in her leather chair and hit the intercom.

"Maynard, right now!" she barked, a little shriller than she had intended. She didn't like what she had just read in front of her, stuck on top of the stack probably put there this morning by one of the new recruits.

"Right here, right now, Commish" said Maynard as he entered the office, wiping his hand on his black pants, leaving grease stains in the process. Maynard had a thing for potato chips. He had gotten shot in the thigh during an undercover operation a couple of years back, and three stale potato chip bags stuffed in his pocket has ricocheted the bullet to cause it to only graze the top of his knee cap. He was one lucky cop. It had only intensified his love for the junk food.

"Sit down" she motioned to him, "and take a look at this picture."

She handed him a glossy 8 x 10 photo. It was the picture of a blonde woman standing at the bar of a tavern he had remembered from a stakeout a while back, probably five years. He couldn't quite make out her face, but he rememberd the bar. And her hair. Long, blonde, thick hair. The kind a man could get lost in. The bar was called something like a health food or some other cacamamie craze. What was it he thought, the Ebola, no, the.....

"Recognize the woman?" Oyl asked him. He hadn't really paid attention, he was still trying to remember the name of the bar.....the Gondola? It was on the tip of his tongue, man, he hated when that happened, he started to snap his fingers, as if this would jar his memory.

"It was taken at the Flamingo" she started.

"YESSS......!" he remembered now "The Granola! That was at the Granola, and that bartender was a real pain in the ass, always talking about religion and welfare and something about sign painting......"

"Yeah, never mind that Maynard, she said, impatient now "Do you remember the woman?"

"How could I, I'm only looking at the side view, although there's something about her that looks familar. Maybe the way she's standing or how shes holding her drink. Whats that she's holding in her hand?" He brought the picture closer to his eyes, and squinted, not quite able to make out if it was a cigarette or a pen.

"I had trouble seeing it, too" Oyl admitted, "So I sent one of the new recuits to the lab for a blow up. She should be back any minute."

"So whats all this mean?" Maynard asked. He didn't like where this was going. Suddenly he knee cap was itchy and he needed to sit back. He had sat down on the leather sofa pushed against a picture window. Man, these commisioner types get all the perks he thought to himself. All I get is extra potato chips.

There was a knock on the door as Oyl began outlining what she wanted him to do.

"Here's the blow up you wanted Commisioner Oyl."

It was Officer Sar, a new recuit who was anxious to make an impression. Maynard couldn't stand her. Just what we need he thought to himself, another woman in command. His look was not wasted on Sar.

"Sit down, Sar, make yourself comfortable. This is going to be a long morning, I've had a bitch of a night, and I need a shower" said Oyl, pointing a section of the sofa closest to Maynard.

Sar sat down on the arm of the leather sofa, not wanting to sit anywhere near this Maynard character. He smelled like he needed a shower as well, and his hair was out of control.

Commisioner Oyl sat in the other leather chair diagonal from the two officers. Maynard was an excellent cop, able to blend in with any situation and easy going to boot. His fellow officers respected him, even if they didn't take him seriously. He was the class clown, the village idiot, the funny guy at a roast.

He had never fired a shot from the gun that sat in his shoulder holster.

Officer Sar was a newbie, an opportunistic cop. Young and strong at 26, she could smell them right away. Not necessarily a dirty cop, but one with ambition. It's easy to mix up the two sometimes, but every now and then you got one that really just wanted to get ahead, and would do iot with integrity. She hoped Sar was that kind of cop. She would soon find out. She knew that Maynard would show her what she needed to know to survive.

After Oyl finished filling in Sar about the history of a case Maynard had worked on several years ago, she pulled the leather chair closer to them, so close she could smell their breath. Sar's smelled of onion cream cheese that adorned a bagel she had wolfed down before going to he lab. Maynard's smelled of the tell tale potato chips. Salt & vinegar.

"So you'll be going undercover again, Maynard, as will you Sar. Think you can handle it?"

"Oh yes, Ma'am!" Sar said, standing up. She had listened intently as Oyl mapped out their strategy and their next plan of action.

"That's it then, you two. The Mayor is looking to me to get this sewn up once and for all, before the holidays."

Her next statement was pointed directly to Maynard. "You may not be as lucky this time, Maynard. She gots friends."

"I'll be careful, Commish. Don't you worry."

He wasn't letting no blonde floozie get one over on him. Not this time.


_______________________________________________


"Where we headed?" Sar's voice crackeled into the earpiece Maynard wore. He was walking down the street to the bar he used to frequent so many years before on a stake out that nearly killed him. Sar was in an unmarked car a few feet behind him.

"To the Flamingo, where else?" He answered curtly, coughing into his collar and pulling his shirt closer around his neck. Summer was nearly over and Fall was around the corner. It was getting chilly. Or was he just alittle nervous. He didn't like that she talked so much.

He had grown out his facial hair, but shaved his tell tale afro. He looked like a young Sidney Poiter with a beard.

Nearly there now he whispered, and stopped before walking in through the doorway. A door with no window, it only had a small boxlike opening where a glass pane would have been, reminiscent of the old speak-easys he had seen on television. Right now it was closed.

He put his hand on the doorknob and got ready to push it in when the door smashed him in the face opening the other way.

"Sorry man!" said the man who has crashed into him, nearly knocking him down. He bent down to offer a hand, but Maynard was cupping his nose, he thought it might be busted.

"Do you know when the next bus is?" the man said in a panic, unaware he had just broken the nose of an old drinking buddy.

"Never mind, I gotta get outtta here!" and ran around the corner.

Stopping at the red light, he stood paralyzed when a rusted green toyota pulled up beside him. A cute blonde with sparkling eyes and a cigarette dangling from her mouth leaned over and said "Hey, sport, wanna ride?"

A smile of relief spread from ear to ear when he realized who it was.

"Canola!" he said. "What a sight for sore eyes!"


To be continued.......