This appeared in the Bulletin Board column in the St. Paul Pioneer
Press last April:

"A brief [online] description of a full-length article published in
the Chetek [Wisconsin] Alert read as follows: 'A Chetek man and Barron
man face numerous charges after allegedly stealing live turkeys, a
road sign, and a squeegee during an extended night of partying.' "

Okaaaay. One can imagine how the Chetek police department dealt with
this rural crime wave. Visions of Mayberry, RFD come to mind.

But my imagination transposed this Crime of the Century to Toronto, a
slightly larger metropolis, and put it in the jurisdiction of a
specific precinct, which just happens to be having a slow night...

My thanks to Bonnie Rutledge, Kathy Whelton, and Jules Stafford, who
read this story while in progress over the last several months. Okay,
so they were captive audiences in shared hotel rooms and I forced them
to read it, but I still value their comments and suggestions!

I also want to thank the late Gerald Durrell, naturalist, wild animal
collector, zoo director, and author, for inspiration on writing about
large fowl. I have fond memories of his story about Cuthbert the
Curassow (chronicled in "Two Tickets to Adventure") and called on them
for this tale.

======================================
It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time
by Nancy Kaminski
copyright September 2002
======================================


"Knight! Schanke!" Captain Stonetree bellowed. "Where the hell are
they?" he asked irritably of no one in particular while glaring at two
empty desks.

He was answered with silence, while the various officers in eyeshot
tried to look busy. Files shuffled, pencils scribbled. Several games
of solitaire were quickly minimized on computer screens.

Finally, Detective Myers offered, "I think they're in Interview 3, uh,
talking about a case. Yeah, that's it. The Briggs case. I heard
Schanke mention it as they went past."

Stonetree made an irritated noise and stomped around the corner to the
furthest interview room. Flinging open the door, he found his missing
detectives.

Schanke was just about to lob a balled-up sheet of paper into the
wastebasket against the far wall, while Knight sat at the interview
table, his feet up on a chair and a pencil in hand. It looked
suspiciously like he was keeping score. The floor was littered with
more wads of paper.

"This is for the championship, Nick..." the words died on Schanke's
lips as he spied the captain. He froze and looked at the wad of paper
in his hand as if he didn't know how it got there.

Stonetree made the noise again. At least Schanke had the good grace to
look abashed. Knight just grinned and twirled the pencil in his
fingers.

"Hi, Cap," he said. "Need us?" He swung his feet to the floor and
pocketed the scoresheet.

Stonetree glared at his two star detectives. "Yes. My office." He
turned and stomped away.

"Saved in the nick of time, Knight," Schanke smirked. "You were losing
big time."

"I demand a rematch," Nick retorted. "I was catching up. I could tell
you would have missed that last shot."

"Like hell you say."

The two detectives trailed after Stonetree into his office. The
captain settled himself in his well-worn chair with a grunt. "I have a
job for you two jokers."

"Thank God," Schanke said. "It's been quiet --- too quiet. Someone
find a stiff?"

Stonetree folded his hands over his ample stomach. "No," he answered.
There was a note of grim satisfaction in his voice that made Nick sit
up straighter. Something was up.

"No," he repeated. "No body. This is a little different. A bit of
overflow from the patrol division, in fact." He paused to enjoy the
looks of mild alarm that crossed the detectives' faces. "While you
clowns are twiddling your thumbs here in Homicide, the uniforms have
their hands full tonight. I told their captain I'd give them a hand."
He looked pointedly at them. "You're the hand."

"What do you want us to do?" Schanke asked apprehensively.

Stonetree settled more comfortably in his chair. Tilting it back, he
said, "There was a really big rave down in the warehouse district, and
it got out of hand. The uniforms that had to break up the fights that
spread across not one, not, two, but three, parking lots found
something a bit unusual. You're to go and sort it out while they cope
with the rest of the drunk-and-disorderlies." He scribbled an address
on a scrap of paper and handed it to Nick.

"Any details?" Nick asked.

"Nope. They were saying something about needing Animal Control,
though."

Schanke groaned. "Not animals...geeze Louise, I hate animal calls."

Nick stood up. "C'mon, Schank, let's go see what's up. It beats
sitting around looking at old files."

"Or shooting baskets in the interview room," said Stonetree dryly.
"Who was winning?"

"Me," said Schanke. "Would you believe it? Mr. Perfect here can't hit
the basket to save his soul. I was wiping the floor with him." He left
the office, muttering under his breath about animal calls.

Nick followed, then leaned back through the door. In a stage whisper
he said, "I was throwing the game."

Stonetree nodded. "Sure, Nick. Get the hell out of here and do some
policing."

"Seeya, Cap."

=============

Fifteen minutes later the two detectives pulled up to a confused
scene. Hundreds of young people milled around amid the flashing red
and blue lights of the many patrol cars parked at haphazard angles.
Things weren't quite under control yet --- every few minutes a flurry
of excitement broke out and the sounds of shouting and scuffling
drifted across the darkened parking lots. Several paddy wagons were
lined up along the side, and handcuffed sullen, protesting youths
were being ushered into them for booking.

Nick somehow found a place to park the Caddy where it wasn't in the
way. They got out, clipping their badges to their coat pockets as they
walked to the nearest knot of officers. Nick snagged one of them and
shouted over the din, "Who's in charge?"

The officer glanced briefly at their badges, then pointed over to
another squad car. "Sergeant Lewis, over there," he said distractedly,
and turned back to his task of getting people to leave the area.

Nick and Schanke headed in the direction he had pointed. They found
the sergeant giving directions to a handful of patrolmen in an effort
to get some semblance of order restored. He spared a grin when Nick
introduced himself. "So you got the short straw, huh? That," he
pointed at a battered van across the narrow street, "is your problem.
Have fun. Oh --- just to let you know, we did call Animal Control but
most of their guys are out on a run. Something about a dog-fighting
ring that Vice just busted. They're out there snagging a couple dozen
pit bulls, and they're going to be a while. Those puppies are *not*
nice. Just so you know." He grinned again and turned away to continue
with his riot-control duties.

The two detectives traded looks. The van itself didn't seem to be a
problem. It was just sitting there, an island of rusted calm amid the
cacophony of the near-riot. It sported a flat tire on the near side
but was otherwise unremarkable. Then Nick noticed it seemed to be
rocking ever so slightly.

"Uh-oh," he murmured.

"Well, partner, o' mine, let's get this over with," Schanke said, and
squared his shoulders. He added optimistically, "How bad can it be,
anyway?" He marched to the van, Nick close behind, and peered in the
driver's side window. There was nothing in the driver's seat except
some empty beer bottles and a discarded fast food bag. Then he noticed
the stop sign.

"Nick, there's a stop sign in the passenger seat," he said
matter-of-factly. The sign's post had apparently been hacked off about
midway so it fit in the van; the red octagon reclined against the
headrest of the seat like an outsized passenger. On the floor at its
foot was a battered cardboard box filled with a strange assortment of
objects --- peering in, Nick saw at least four squeegees, a hockey
shin pad, a globe, a plastic bag full of blue and red Leggos, and
other things not immediately identifiable.

"Uh-huh. Let's see what else we've got." Nick's preternatural hearing
had picked up heartbeats in the van. Lots of heartbeats, only two of
which were human. It was easy to locate the owners of the human ones
--- they were snoring rather loudly in a boozy haze in the van's back
seat. He slid the passenger door open. "Looks like we've got a couple
of drunks on our hands, here." Then he spotted the owners of the
other, non-human heartbeats. He turned to his partner. "Schank, don't
open the back..."

But it was too late. Schanke had gone around to the back of the van
and flung open the rear doors.

"...doors. There are..."

A loud gobbling noise erupted from the rear of the van, followed
closely by heavy, feathered bodies. Schanke staggered back under the
onslaught of seven large, suddenly panicked birds.

"....turkeys in the van." Nick finally finished his warning, rather
too late to be of any use.

The turkeys fled into the night, moving as fast as their ungainly
bodies and stubby legs allowed. Fortunately they couldn't fly. Also
fortunately, Nick thought as he ran after them, the turkeys were about
as stupid as a corner post. He spared a moment to wonder why a corner
post was more stupid than any other kind of post. 'English is such a
colorful language,' he thought as he rounded a corner on Schanke's
heels.

En masse the frightened fowl ran down the nearest dead-end alley,
the detectives in hot pursuit. The feathered fugitives piled up
against the brick wall at the end of the alley and came to a confused
halt, milling around and gobbling plaintively.

The two detectives halted ten feet away from their unhappy flock. "Now
what?" Schanke asked his partner.

"Um, catch them?" Nick suggested, eyeing the plump captives and making
no attempt to hide his grin.

"And?"

"Put 'em back in the van?"

"Can't we just wait for Animal Control to come with big nets or
something?" Schanke asked nervously. "I don't do poultry, except to
eat it, I mean."

Nick surveyed the alley. Except for a few broken wooden crates piled
up next to a service door, there was nothing they could use to
barricade the turkeys in the alley. "I don't think they're going to
come real soon, Schank. They probably think pit bulls are a bigger
problem than domestic turkeys, and a lot more dangerous. I think we're
on our own for a bit."

"How about calling the zoo?"

"They're not wild," Nick pointed out. "Besides, who exactly would we
call? The night watchman? It's not like they're open twenty-four hours
a day."

Schanke sighed. "So, any bright ideas?"

Nick looked consideringly at the turkeys, now huddled together for
comfort in a feathery mound in the corner and gobbling softly, their
beady black eyes looking at everything around them with an air of
vague alarm. "How about I go get the Caddy and park it across the
mouth of the alley. That way they can't make a run for it, and we can
get them one at a time into the van. I don't think they could squeeze
underneath the car, do you?"

Schanke looked horrified. "You're going to leave me with them? Alone?"

Nick grinned. "I don't think they'll charge, Schank. They're not smart
enough to do that. Just sort of wave your arms at them and head them
off if they try to get out. You'll be fine. Probably." With that, he
hastened back to the Caddy to repark it to serve as a temporary turkey
corral. Fortunately, the gargantuan car was long enough to block off
most of the alley entrance, leaving just enough room for the
detectives to squeeze by carrying a turkey --- assuming they could be
caught, of course.

Schanke made a last attempt to get out of turkey-wrangling. "Shouldn't
we be taking care of the drunk guys first? I mean, people before
animals, right?" he asked hopefully.

Nick held up a set of keys. "I took a look at them on the way to the
car. They're out for the count. Just in case, I locked the van and
took the keys. They're okay."

Schanke sighed, then squared his shoulders manfully. "Okay, let's get
this over with. I'm guessing you know how to catch turkeys, seeing as
how you know how to do just about everything else. What's the drill?"

Nick had indeed had experience with large fowl --- geese, to be
precise, and on one rather memorable occasion, a very large, very
angry swan. These turkeys didn't look anywhere as mean and aggressive
as swans, though. The breeding that had resulted in producing a bird
with lots of tasty white meat had also produced an exceedingly stupid
and clumsy one. Or so he hoped.

Nick held up a somewhat oil-stained blanket. "I got this out of the
trunk. Throw it over the turkey's head, grab it, and pick it up.
Shouldn't be too hard. Just look out for the beak," he added,
remembering all too clearly how close he had come to losing a certain
portion of his anatomy to the swan's sharp beak. He had limped for
several days, but it had been worth it. That swan had been delicious.

"You first. I'll watch and learn from your technique."

Nick advanced cautiously on the turkeys, holding the blanket out in
front of him like a matador's cape. The turkeys gobbled nervously and
shifted their feet as he approached. He picked out a likely target and
stared into its vacant eyes, trying to whammy it into submission.

Unfortunately, the turkey was too dim to fall under his spell. It
gobbled loudly, raised its useless wings, and, with a hysterical look
on its face, made a run for it.

Nick lunged and threw the blanket at the turkey's head as it tried to
run past him. They went down in a tangle of wings, legs, arms, and
feathers, the turkey's hysterical gobbling muffled by the blanket's
folds. Nick grabbed the heaving blanket, wrapped his arms around what
he presumed was the turkey's portly body, and then sat up, the turkey
clutched in his lap. The other turkeys ran into the opposite corner of
the alley and piled up against the wall in a panic, the gobbling
rising in volume to an earsplitting level.

Schanke applauded. "Very smooth, Nick."

Nick glared at his partner, then stood up carefully, keeping the
struggling turkey safely under wraps. "I'll just put this turkey back
in the van. It's your turn next, wise guy."

The turkey clutched in his arms, Nick headed towards the van. Once
there, he quickly checked on the drunks --- good, still out cold ---
then shifted the turkey under one arm while he unlocked the rear doors
of the van. He managed to get the turkey into the cargo area without
incident, mostly because it seemed to have subsided into a
semi-comatose state after being in the dark under the blanket. Nick
gently shoved the bird away from the doors, then closed them while it
was trying to regain its balance.

He trotted back to the alley to find Schanke in a face-off with the
remaining turkeys. They seemed to know that their freedom was in
peril, because the braver among them were taking turns trying to make
a dash past the detective, who was grimly blocking them by waving his
suit jacket in their faces. Seeing Nick, he sighed in relief and said,
"Thank heaven you're back --- I think that one in the corner is
starting to organize them."

Nick handed him the blanket and the van keys. "Okay, you're up. Let's
see you improve on my technique."

Schanke put his jacket back on. "You might want to send those pants to
the cleaners later on, Nick."

Nick looked down to discover that his captive had expressed itself by
decorating his pants leg with a large white glob. "Oh, shit," he said.

"Yup, that's what it is," Schanke said cheerfully, and grinned as Nick
glared back at him.

Schanke shook out the blanket and approached the turkeys. "Here,
turkey-turkey-turkey," he cooed. "Come to Uncle Donny." The turkeys
pressed further back into the corner away from the blanket. As before,
one cracked under the pressure and made a wild dash for freedom. With
surprising grace, Schanke pivoted and neatly dropped the blanket on
its head, stepping in its path to intercept it.

The turkey collided with his legs, whereupon the detective bent over,
scooped up the bird, wrapped the blanket securely around it, and
tucked it under his arm. "Nothing to it," he smirked, and sauntered
down the alley towards the van.

"Beginner's luck," Nick muttered, and turned his attention to the
remaining turkeys. He glared at them with his best vampiric glare. The
turkeys shrank back and stood still, their gobbling sounding rather
like resentful muttering. "Be careful, or you'll end up on someone's
dinner table," Nick warned them. He took out his handkerchief and
wiped futilely at his pants leg. The guano was amazingly sticky and
all he got for his pains was a larger white smear. "Damn birds," he
muttered, favoring them with an even fiercer glare. They were his
favorite pants.

The sound of whistling preceded Schanke's arrival. "Piece o' cake," he
said, handing the blanket back to Nick.

"Forget the damned blanket!" Nick dropped the blanket, took the van
keys, then pointed at a turkey in the middle of the cowed bunch. "You!
Stand still!" He advanced menacingly on the bird, projecting the most
powerful vampiric whammy he could muster.

This time it worked --- the turkey froze in its tracks. Nick picked it
up, tucked it under his arm, and strode down the alley. "Don't get any
ideas," he warned it. "Remember what I said about dinner."

The turkey might as well have been stuffed --- in the taxidermic, not
culinary, sense of the word. It didn't move a muscle as Nick deposited
it in the van with its fellows. When he returned to the alley the
remaining four birds were still standing in a silent, shocked
huddle. "Geeze, Nick," Schanke said admiringly. "What did you do to
them? They've just been standing there staring at me!"

"I told them the dinner table was the next stop if they didn't
behave," Nick answered darkly.

"They believed you, that's for sure." He grinned. "Is that what they
mean by 'talking turkey'?" he asked, making invisible quotation marks
with his fingers. "Where'd you pick it up, when you visited Istanbul?"
he asked innocently, warming to his subject.

"Can it, Schank, go pick up your turkey," Nick retorted.

"I think I'll still use the blanket. Just in case I'm not as
convincing as you are." He pointed at one of the turkeys like Nick
had, and said, "You! Stand still!" To his astonishment it worked.
Without fuss he picked up the turkey and transported it to the van.

In short order all seven birds were back in captivity. "I think we
should get them some water, or something," Schanke suggested, his
dislike of dealing with animals temporarily abated enough to think
about the comfort of his feathered captives. He looked around. "How
about using your powers of persuasion to rustle up a bucket or water
from one of these bars?"

Nick had resumed brushing at his trouser leg. "Yeah, maybe I can use a
little water myself," he muttered. "Okay, you keep an eye on the van
and I'll see to the livestock."

In due course a nearby bar provided an ice cream bucket full of cold
water for the turkeys and a damp bar rag for Nick's pants. The two
detectives cautiously opened the back door of the van, the blanket at
the ready to deter another escape attempt. The turkeys were thoroughly
cowed, though, and behaved themselves. Nick placed the bucket in the
compartment, glared momentarily at the turkey that had defaced his
pants, and then slammed the doors shut. A quick check through the
window revealed the turkeys eagerly dunking their heads in the bucket
and gobbling contentedly.

"Now for the fun part --- let's have a little chat with these drunks.
I have a feeling something bigger than drunk driving is going on
here," Schanke said.

" Gee, what was your first klew --- the turkeys or the decapitated
stop sign?" Nick asked dryly.

"I'm a detective, I notice this sort of stuff," Schanke said with
dignity.

They went around to the van's side door, which Nick unlocked. Sliding
the door aside, he reached in, dragged the nearest drunk out, and
propped him against the side of the van. The fresh air and the
vertical position seemed to revive him.

"Hunh?" he said, his eyes opening to peer blearily at his
surroundings. "Wha-?" He was nineteen, maybe twenty years old, wearing
standard student gear --- well-worn jeans, running shoes, a Nirvana
t-shirt, and the distinct odor of beer. "Whassup?"

"What's your name, kid?" Nick asked.

"Hunh?" The kid tried to focus on Nick's face. "Oh, name...name's
Barry. Barry White." He paused, then waved a hand. "Not that Barry
White. He's black. Great singer. I'm white. I mean, my name's White,
and I'm white. You know." He poked his finger into Nick's chest. "Like
you, man." He squinted bleariy at Nick. "Man, you're one white dude.
Need a sun tan, dude." He fumbled in his pocket for a moment, then
triumphantly produced a card. "See? Barry White!" He giggled and slid
a little ways down the side of the van.

Nick sighed and propped him up again. "Okay, Barry. Let's take a look,
here." He took the card and examined it briefly. "Schank, our turkey
rustler here is a student at Niagara College in Niagara-on-the-Lake,
according to this ID."

"Agribusiness!" Barry proclaimed proudly. "Gonna be a landscaper!"

"So what's with the turkeys? And the stop sign? And the other stuff?"

"Hunh?" Barry screwed up his face and thought hard for a minute. Then
he brightened and said, "Oh, yeah, now I remember. Scavenger hunt!" He
grinned sloppily, like that explained everything.

Nick looked disbelievingly at Schanke. "A scavenger hunt?"

Schanke laughed. "You know, Nick. They give you a list of stuff you
have to find in a certain amount of time, and the group that finds
most of the items wins. I'd sure like to see this list, though. I
never heard of one that asked for turkeys."

Nick nodded, remembering. For a brief moment he was in England, 1890,
at a soiree in London. They had had a scavenger hunt, and Oscar Wilde
had been at his wittiest, roving about his street calling on his
friends to find odd bits of ribbon, knickknacks, and...

"Nick! Hellooooo! Come back from wherever you are!" Schanke prodded
his partner out of the flashback. Nick jolted back to the present.

"Um, yeah, scavenger hunt. I know how they work," he shook himself
mentally and returned his attention to Barry. "Okay, Barry, who's your
friend?"

Barry looked owlishly over his shoulder at the snoring figure in the
van. Nick could almost see the wheels turning slowly in Barry's head.
"Mick," he finally announced.

Schanke snorted. "Mick Jagger, I suppose," he said.

Barry dragged his eyes to Schanke's face. "Naw, that would be stupid,
dude. Mick Heffelfinger! My buddy Mick, he's a good guy. He's gonna be
a landscaper, too." He turned around and tried to pat Mick on the
shoulder, almost falling over in the process. "Good guy," he slurred.
"*He's* got a bitchin' tan."

Nick dragged Barry out of the van again and righted him. "Focus,
Barry. I'm almost afraid to ask, but  what are you doing here in
Toronto? Not enough stuff in Niagara for the scavenger hunt?"

Barry frowned, then fished around in his pocket to produce a
much-folded sheet of paper. He peered at it closely. "See?" He held up
the scavenger hunt list. "It says to find 'something small that's
something big.' " He craned his head upward, searching the sky. He
grinned and pointed at the most prominent part of the skyline. "See?
We came to get one of those little dealies they sell, little statue of
the CN Tower." He held his fingers about five inches apart, indicating
the size of the statue. "Little bitty pointy deal of the big,
humongous pointy deal! We had everything else!"

"And the little bitty statues of Niagara Falls wouldn't do?" Nick
asked. "The ones they sell all over Niagara and Niagara-on-the-Lake?"

"Hunh?" Barry screwed up his face in a tremendous effort of
concentration.  "Oh. Didn't think of that. Hey, Mick!" He tried to
turn around again. "Hey, Mick, we didn't have to drive to Toronto! We
coulda gone to the Falls!"

In the meantime, Schanke had taken the list from Barry's uncertain
grasp and scanned it. "Look at this, it says to get a fresh turkey.
You idiot, that means a fresh *dead* turkey, not a live one!"

Barry stopped trying to wake up his friend, turned, and wagged his
finger at Schanke. "Uh-uh. Just says fresh. These guys are fresh. Saw
'em while we were driving around looking for stuff. We found the stop
sign first. Got the squeegees," he said, ticking them off on his
fingers. "...the hair net, the Leggos, the..." he stopped and tried to
remember the other items on the list. "The stop sign! And other stuff.
Stopped to get some more beer, and saw the turkeys at this farm.
Bingo! We got one! Didn't want him to get lonely, so we took a bunch
of 'em." He nodded sagely. "Turkeys come in *flocks*, see, so we got a
flock! A fresh flock!" He waved vaguely at the van. "All we needed was
the little statue. Drove up here, saw the tower, got off the
Gardiner..." he started fading out. "...got lost on the one-way
streets, couldn't find the street that goes past the tower, see? And
then we got a flat tire, so we had to stop, but the turkeys are on top
of the spare, and then we decided to take a little nap." He smiled
sloppily. "We're gonna win, dude, soon's we find a souvenir shop..."
His eyes shut and he slide bonelessly to the ground, and started
snoring.

Nick and Schanke looked wordlessly at the heap in front of them.
"Okay, that makes as much sense as anything else I could come up
with," Schanke announced. "Takes me back to my college days, as a
matter of fact. We had some bitchin' parties, dude."

"You know, I believe you. You're obviously a reformed party animal,"
Nick said.

"Hey, I'm not reformed! I can still party with the best of them!"
Schanke protested.

"So that's why Myra has to drive you home after a hard night of
bowling?" Nick asked wryly. "Guess the beer is stronger nowadays, huh?
But to get back to the matter at hand, we should get Barry and Mick to
the drunk tank to sleep it off." He turned and looked at the parking
lots across the street, where Sergeant Lewis and his minions were
still rounding up unruly rave-goers. The paddy wagons were going to be
filled to capacity. "They look like they still have their hands full.
Let's take 'em in ourselves."

"What about the turkeys?" Schanke asked, eying the back of the van as
if expecting them to burst through the window in a dramatic escape
attempt at any moment. "We can't exactly leave them here."

"Good point. Okay, so we change the tire, load our scavengers back in
the van, and you drive it back to the station. I'll follow you in the
Caddy."

"No way, Knight! No way I'm stuck in a van with a horde of rabid
turkeys. Uh-uh. *I'll* drive the Caddy. *You* drive the van." Schanke
edged towards the Caddy. "Or I'll take 'em in the Caddy, and you take
the turkeys in the van."

"I'm not going to let a couple of soon-to-be puking drunks ride in my
back seat! One cleaning bill per night is enough!" Nick said with
feeling. "Let's go with Plan A."

In short order the tire was changed (the turkeys seemed to have lost
their desire to flee, and merely looked annoyed when pushed aside to
reach the spare tire, which was thankfully inflated), and the drunks
duly loaded back into the van.

"Let's roll," Schanke said, dusting his hands. "See you back at the
station. Good luck. Keys." He held out his hand.

Nick fished the keys out of his pocket and handed them over. "And
Schanke..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't dent the car. Like you'll ever let me
forget that one little incident."

In twenty minutes the unlikely convoy pulled up outside the station
house. When the van lurched to a stop with a squeal of worn brake
pads, the turkeys gobbled loudly in protest and the stop sign slipped
askew in the passenger seat. Barry and Mick, however, didn't miss a
beat in their synchronized snoring.

Nick righted the stop sign and climbed out. Schanke joined him after
he parked the Caddy in its customary spot.

Handing over the Caddy's keys, Schanke said, "There, have I redeemed
myself?"

"Did you turn the radio to the polka station?"

Schanke cleared his throat. "Um, yeah...let me go fix that."

"Later. Let's get our passengers into the tank," Nick replied, giving
Schanke a look that promised a small lecture about messing with *his*
radio.

Another half hour saw the scavenger hunt team once again snoring
blissfully, this time in the drunk tank, and all the required
paperwork filled in and filed with the correct desk sergeant. The only
remaining thing to do was to see to their other captives.

The turkeys.

Nick peered doubtfully through the back window of the van. "We can't
keep them here, Schanke. The van's got to go to Impound. Got any
bright ideas?"

"Let's call Animal Control. Maybe they're done playing with those pit
bulls."

"We can only hope," Nick repled fervently.

Animal Control, though, proved less than cooperative.

"Do you know how many of those dogs we snagged?" the voice at the
other end of the line asked raggedly amid a chorus of barking in the
background. "Fifty! Fifty snarling, biting, vicious fighting dogs!
Yeah, we'll take your turkeys, but only if you want 'em served up as
dog food. Try the pound!" Nick flinched at the sound of the receiver
slamming down.

He hung up his own phone and looked at his partner. "Well, so much for
Animal Control. Got the number for the Humane Society?"

An hour later they had run out of places to call. No one had room for
seven large domestic turkeys. It seemed like every rescue society and
every animal shelter was undergoing a crisis of too many animals and
not enough space.

"I can't believe I'm spending all this time trying to find a home for
a bunch of lousy turkeys," Schanke muttered as the last shelter on his
list said no. "I'm a homicide detective, not some kind of animal
social worker."

"How about your place? You've got a yard," Nick said tentatively.
"After all, it's just for a day. When Mick and Barry sober up we
should be able to find out where the turkeys came from."

"An *unfenced* yard," Schanke pointed out. "What do you want me to do,
put leashes on them and tie them to the tree? No way."

"Hey, how about the Mounted Division? They could go in a horse stall
at their barn," Nick suggested, scanning his list of possibilities for
more inspiration.

"Tried 'em. They're full up -- they just got in a new batch of horses
to start training."

Nick threw up his hands. "I'm out of ideas."

"Well, let's just think about this for a minute," Schanke said,
frowning in thought. He started ticking off the requirements for a
potential turkey-sitter. "We need a secure place...somewhere where
neighbors won't complain about having big, smelly, noisy birds
around...someone who could manage them without freaking out...someone
who will be home for the next day or so..." He looked at his partner,
glee on his face. "Nick, it's you! You've got all the room in the
world in that loft of yours. Don't tell me there isn't a room where
you could stash those turkeys and not even notice them. You don't have
any neighbors. You're stuck at home all day. You're an experienced
turkey handler...Yep, it's got to be you." Schanke nodded and smiled
in satisfaction at finding such a perfect solution to their dilemma.
"Hell, I'll stop at a store and get you some birdseed, or turkey chow,
or whatever they eat. Just put down some newspapers and you're set!"

"Oh, no, you don't..." Nick began, when the captain appeared over
Schanke's shoulder.

"Get those turkeys out of the parking lot!" Captain Stonetree barked.
"We've had five complaints already about possible animal abuse from
passersby, and one of them was talking about calling the papers. We
don't need this kind of publicity. Get 'em out of here!"

"No prob, Captain," Schanke said with a grin. "Nick's offered to take
care of them until tomorrow night."

"That right, Knight?" Stonetree lifted a quizzical eyebrow. "Didn't
know you were so --- agricultural. Good job. Get on it --- now!" He
harrumphed and left Nick glaring at his partner.

"Thanks a lot, Schank. Just see if I ever cover for you again when
you're late."

"But you got along with them so well," Schanke said innocently. "They
listen to you. They'll be no trouble at all. You'll see -- you're a
natural."

Nick sighed and stood up. "Just for that, you're helping me get them
out of the van and into the loft. I've got an empty room off the
garage. They can stay there --- for one day only."

"Glad to be of help. Let's go." Schanke held out his hand. "Keys."

"Sure." Nick deposited the keys to the van in Schanke's hand. "You
drive 'em this time."

"Knight...!" But Nick was already out the door and heading for the
Caddy with that burst of speed that Schanke usually found so
irritating. Schanke grinned ruefully and followed in his partner's
wake. It had been worth a shot.

The Caddy and minivan once again formed a small convoy and headed into
the pre-dawn streets of Toronto. Halfway to their destination, Schanke
beeped the van's horn several times to get Nick's attention, then
turned off into an all-night drugstore parking lot, the Caddy
following close behind.

"What's the problem?" Nick called out the window. "Are the turkeys
getting restless?"

Schanke gestured at the store. "Naw. I just remembered that this place
carries wild bird food, you know, for bird feeders? I stock up here
when Myra runs out. I figure we can get a sack of something for your
guests."

"Oh, yeah, good idea. Why don't you get that, and I'll go on ahead to
start getting the room ready?"

"You're getting into this, aren't you? C'mon, confess --- you always
wanted pets, something to liven up that Dungeon of Doom you live in.
It's sort of cute, actually."

Nick favored his partner with a dirty look. "You're nuts, Schanke." He
rolled up the window and gunned the Caddy out of the parking lot.

Schanke chuckled and turned towards the back of the van. "Okay, guys,
behave while I go get you your dinner. Be right back." The turkeys
gurgled a soft reply. Schanke climbed out of the van, stretched and
yawned mightily, and ambled into the store.

==============

Nick glumly surveyed his storage room. He had moved out the few boxes
of miscellaneous auto supplies, carpeted the concrete floor with
several days' worth of the Globe and Mail, and added two buckets of
water and a couple of flat pans to hold whatever kind of food Schanke
was going to provide.

The earlier events of the evening had been amusing enough, but this
was going too far. It wasn't that he wasn't an animal sort of person
(he spared a fond thought for the late, lamented Raleigh), but he just
didn't feel the same about turkeys. Birds in general, in fact, just
weren't on his list of Creatures To Be Invited Into Your Home.

The next orphan child/dog/bird/cat/iguana/whatever was definitely
going to stay in Schanke's house.

He heard a horn beep a brisk tattoo outside, and hurried to open the
garage door. Schanke backed the battered van into the garage and shut
it off with a stutter of ill-tuned cylinders and a cloud of blue smoke
that sent Nick into a coughing fit.

"Ready for your house guests?" Schanke asked in a cheerful voice.

"Yeah, let's get them in here," Nick said, wheezing slightly, and
gestured toward the storage room. Schanke inspected it critically.

"Looks okay. It won't be too cold, will it?"

"Schanke," Nick said exasperatedly, "They have feathers and the garage
is heated. They won't freeze to death." He opened the rear of the van
to find the turkeys squatting quietly on the metal floor. He thought
they looked tired --- their adventure had no doubt been the most
excitement they had had in their short, otherwise uneventful lives.

"In you go." He picked up the nearest bird and deposited it in the
storage room. The turkeys seemed to be getting used to the whole
process, or they were still under the influence of Nick's whammy,
because not one offered any resistance or protest. Between the two
detectives, they were quickly installed in their temporary home.

"I got some stuff I think they'll like," Schanke announced. He hefted
a large paper sack. "Birdseed with peanuts, sunflower seeds, and a lot
of other stuff. I also got a couple of bags of dried apple slices and
walnuts, and some day-old bread." He tore open the corner of the
birdseed bag and dumped the some of the contents in the two pans. Nick
handed him the bags of apples and walnuts and watched him distribute
them between the pans. The turkeys started gobbling excitedly and
crowded around the pans.

"Looks like they were hungry," Schanke said with satisfaction,
watching them dig into the food. He started tearing the day-old bread
into pieces and tossing them near the pans, now obscured by the
turkeys shoving each other for better access.

Nick looked sideways at his partner. "And you accused me of secretly
wanting pets! Who's gotten all gooey about the turkeys now? Sure you
don't want them in *your* garage?"

"Hey, I'm just being sensitive and caring about Mother Earth's
creatures. I'm that kind of guy."

"Uh-huh." Nick watched the turkeys for a moment. "Well, I'm going to
bed. It's been a long and weird night."

"And that's saying a lot, coming from you," Schanke joked. "I'll take
the van over to Impound." He glanced out the open garage door. "The
sun's coming up. Time to call it a night."

"G'night, Schank. See you this evening." Nick turned off the light in
the turkey's room, made sure the door was shut securely, and headed
upstairs.

An hour later, fed, bathed, pajama'd, and pleasantly drowsy, Nick lay
on the black leather sofa listening to the faint gobbling coming from
the storage room below. It was strangely hypnotic, like listening to
the sea. He was just drifting off to sleep when he was jolted awake by
a loud shriek followed by the crash of something falling and the sound
of a door slamming shut. It was coming from the vicinity of the
garage.

"Wha--?!" Nick leaped from the sofa and ran downstairs, where to his
astonishment he found Natalie Lambert, Official Medical Examiner for
the City of Toronto and Unofficial Doctor to the Undead, leaning
against the closed storage room door, breathing heavily, with a
shocked look on her face. A bicycle lay on the floor at her feet.
"Natalie, what's wrong? What are you doing here?"

"Nick," she said in a shaking voice, her eyes wide, "there are big
birds in this room. Lots of big birds."

"Well, yeah, it's the turkeys..." Nick began to explain.

Natalie stared at him. "Oh, no, Nick, you aren't...you're not
drinking...you aren't keeping a supply on the hoof, er, claw, er,
whatever, are you? Tell me you aren't!"

Nick looked at her in puzzlement. "Huh? No, of course not! You think
I'm drinking turkey blood? Euww, Nat, that's gross. Cow's bad enough
as it is."

"So why are you keeping turkeys in the storage room where you said I
could keep my bike for the winter?" Natalie took a moment to compose
herself, then picked up her fallen bike. She straightened the
handlebars, put down the kickstand and parked it against the wall.
Crossing her arms and looking at Nick, she waited for a reasonable
explanation. "Nice pajamas, by the way."

The faintest of blushes colored Nick's pale face as he realized his
state of undress. "Um, why not come upstairs and grab a cup of coffee,
and I'll explain?"

Ten minutes later, Nick was safely wrapped in his hideous red brocade
dressing gown and Natalie was cautiously sipping a steaming cup of
microwaved instant coffee. "...and so this was the only place we could
figure out to keep them until we find their owner," Nick finished,
conveniently forgetting to mention that he hadn't wanted anything to
do with the plan.

Natalie leaned back in her chair. "Whew! That's a relief! I have to
admit they scared the heck out of me when I opened the door and
flipped the light on. They all started gobbling at once -- it sounded
like Thanksgiving Hell. Didn't you remember I told you I would be
coming over this morning with my bike? You could have put a note on
the door or something."

"No, I didn't remember," Nick admitted guiltily. "Sorry to give you
such a fright. They can be a bit overwhelming. It was thoughtless of
me."

"It's okay, Nick," Nat said, reaching over to pat his hand. "Actually,
they're sort of cute in a dorky kind of way. It's just that you don't
expect to find turkeys in a vampire's storage room. Well, in
*anyone's* storage room."

Nick grinned. "You should have seen Schanke. At first he wasn't too
happy with them, but now he's treating them like stray puppies. Next
thing you know he'll be giving them names."

"I bet he won't look at Thanksgiving dinner the same way ever again,"
Natalie agreed. She put down her coffee cup. "I have to run --- it may
be my day off, but I don't get to loll around like you. I've got
housework to do." She stood up and headed for the stairs.

"And you think I don't?" Nick protested as he followed her.

Natalie looked at him with disbelief. "Oh, great, now I have to spend
the day with the image in my head of you vacuuming. Thanks a lot."

"Today's laundry day. Vacuuming's on Wednesday."

"I'm leaving. Now."

"I'll see you out."

When they reached the garage, Natalie carefully opened the storage
room door and stuck her head inside for a final turkey check. "Be good
little turkeys. Don't bother Uncle Nick," she said in a high, singsong
voice. When she closed the door she had a smile on her face. "Maybe
you want to leave the light on for them?"

Nick sighed. "You're getting as bad as Schanke. Okay, the light stays
on. Don't blame me if they can't sleep."

Natalie laughed and, waving, headed out the garage side door to her
car. "See you tomorrow."

"See you." Nick yawned and stretched. He hoped he wouldn't be getting
any more unexpected visitors. He glanced out the garage window at the
glare of early morning light and cringed slightly. Good, at least
Lacroix wouldn't be dropping in. The last thing he needed was to have
to endure his master's commentary on his choice of roommates.

Then he imagined Janette's reaction to the presence of livestock in
the loft and shuddered. Shaking his head, he trudged upstairs to bed.
Some things definitely didn't bear thinking about.

=============================

Nick's telephone rang at four that afternoon. His breakfast glass in
hand, Nick punched the speaker phone button and said, "Knight."

"How are the turkeys?" Stonetree's gruff voice rumbled through the
tiny speaker.

"They're fine, Captain," Nick answered, taking a sip of cow and
mentally crossing his fingers. He hadn't actually gone downstairs yet
to check on his charges, but he could hear them gobbling quietly to
themselves in the storage room. "Any news on who they belong to?
Please say yes."

"You're in luck. Your drunks have finally sobered up, and it turns out
the owner is Mr. White's uncle. We called him --- he's not pressing
charges for grand theft turkey, seeing as how the culprit is his
nephew. The bad news is, he's not going to come up here to claim them,
either --- the turkeys or the kids."

"What? You're not going to tell me I have to keep them another day! I
said I'd keep them overnight. This isn't a poultry farm! Why not send
them back down to Niagara with the kids?"

"They haven't been able to produce the bail money, so they're stuck in
the clink for a couple of days until they can appear before a
magistrate. Seems there's quite the backlog due to the other drunks we
arrested last night at that rave." Nick thought he detected a note of
amusement in the captain's voice.

"I'm not keeping them another night, Captain..." Nick started, but
Stonetree interrupted him.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Knight. The uncle said he would
donate the turkeys to any charity we picked. Seems he's got ten
thousand turkeys on his farm, and won't miss seven of 'em. So we've
got a butcher lined up to pick up your house guests and, er, take care
of them. They'll be going to Brother Paul's mission just in time for
Thanksgiving dinner."

Stonetree sounded uncomfortable with the concept, Nick thought, but
then, people in modern times seemed disconnected from the source of
the hamburgers, pork roasts, and yes, turkeys, on their dinner tables.
Nick, on the other hand, remembered hunting for his daily meals as a
mortal, and it didn't bother him at all. "Oh, that's okay, then.
When's the butcher coming?" he asked.

"Probably around seven tonight. When you come in to work, I want to
hear that they've gone to meet their maker, in a humane way, of
course."

"Of course," Nick agreed.

Stonetree grunted and hung up the phone. Nick tossed back the rest of
his breakfast and went downstairs to visit the now-condemned birds.

When he opened the storage room and went inside with the remainder of
the food, the turkeys crowded around him in a cacophony of gobbles.
"This is it, guys," Nick announced, gently shoving them out of the way
with his foot and pouring the food into the pans. "Remember I talked
about ending up on someone's dinner table? Well, that's what's going
to happen. So enjoy your last meal."

The turkeys took no notice of their death sentence, although Nick
thought that one looked at him with reproachful eyes. "Don't look at
me that way," Nick told it. "It's not my fault you were born to be
stuffed and garnished. It's not like you're wild out in the woods ---
this can't come as a surprise. Where'd you think all those other
turkeys were going when they disappeared?"

The turkey gobbled and fluffed out its feathers discontentedly, then
edged towards the food pan.

"That's the ticket, don't worry about it. I'm sure it won't hurt,"
Nick assured it. "I can't believe I'm talking to a turkey," he
muttered to himself as he left the room. "It must be catching."

The phone was ringing when he regained the loft. When he answered it,
Schanke's voice blasted cheerfully in his ear.

"Hey, Nick, how're the turkeys?"

"Why does every phone call I receive have to start with that
question?" Nick complained. "The turkeys are fine, Schanke. So am I,
if you're interested."

"Sorry, Nick. So, what's the deal? Did we find out who owns them?"

"Yeah, I just got off the phone with Stonetree. Barry's uncle owns
them --- I guess he's a turkey grower or something. Anyway, he's
donated them to Brother Paul's mission for Thanksgiving dinner,
because he can't be bothered to drive 100 kilometers to pick them up.
A butcher will be taking them away later on tonight."

There was a shocked silence. "They're gonna *kill* them?" Schanke
asked, horrified.

"Well, yeah, Schank, that's what happens to domestic turkeys. They
slaughter them and then you eat them for dinner."

"They can't do that!" Schanke exclaimed. "They're, they're..." he
stuttered to a stop, at a loss for words. "I mean, they're guests of
the city or something. Or evidence of a crime. Yeah, that's it,
evidence! They can't eat the evidence!"

"The uncle isn't pressing charges, so there's no crime," Nick said
patiently. "We can't keep them, he doesn't want them, and he gave them
to charity. I think Brother Paul will put them to good use, don't
you?"

"Oh, Nick, this is *not* good. I told Jenny all about the turkeys this
morning at breakfast," Schanke confessed, "and she's been reading a
book called 'Twas the Night Before Thanksgiving' that's all about a
bunch of kids who visit a turkey farm and rescue the turkeys from
getting killed by the farmer for Thanksgiving dinner, and she thinks I
sort of did the same thing. I can't tell her the turkeys got killed
and eaten! She's even named them all!" Nick heard the rustling of a
piece of paper. "Bob, Tom, Bill, Dudley, Max, Sam, and Alfie," his
partner recited. "Dudley's the one that did a number on your pants,
incidentally. She thought that was pretty funny."

"You don't have to tell her about what happens to them, do you?" Nick
asked.

"I don't want to lie to her, Nick. And I just know she's going to ask
me where they went to live, and if they're happy, and all that kind of
stuff. She's really nuts about animals. You know how upset she was
when she saw the squirrel get hit by the car. She cried for two days."
Schanke was getting upset. "Nick, we gotta do something."

"Well, I'm not keeping them here," Nick said sharply.

Schanke said hastily, "No, no, I wasn't thinking that. Isn't there
some sort of a retirement home for birds, or something? A petting zoo?
Doesn't the president of the US pardon a turkey every year at
Thanksgiving and it goes to a zoo somewhere? Can't we do that?"

"Oh, yeah, I'll just call up the White House and ask them where they
send their pardoned turkeys," Nick said ascerbically.

"Nick, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah, Schank, I know," Nick said heavily. "Okay, let me think.
If it means so much to Jenny, I'll figure something out." Sighing, he
hung up the phone. "Now what?" he asked the empty loft. "First I'm
talking to turkeys, and now I'm rescuing them --- something new in my
lengthy career as a knight errant."

He went to the refrigerator for a refill, and then moved slowly around
the loft, sipping. Normally he managed quite well on his own when it
came to off-beat but necessary tasks, but to date this had never
included finding a home for poultry. He ended up staring at the phone.
"Maybe..." he muttered, and dialed an unlisted but essential phone
number. He waited while it rang seven times. Finally, on the eighth
ring, it was picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Aristotle, it's Nicholas."

"How nice to hear from you, Nicholas. What can I do for you? Are you
considering a change of venue?"

"Not for me, no, but for some...guests of mine. Turkeys."

"Excuse me? Turks? Would that be people of our, um, persuasion?" the
ancient vampire asked cautiously. "You know I'm reluctant to extend
our facilities to civilians."

"No, not Turks. Turkeys, as in large, brown, flightless birds that get
eaten for Thanksgiving. They gobble."

"Nicholas, have you been drinking?" Aristotle asked disapprovingly.

Nick sighed. "No, Aristotle, I have not been drinking. I really have
seven live turkeys in my garage store room, and I need to find a home
for them. The only requirement is that they don't get eaten. Don't
ask."

"Nicholas, this is not one of the services I provide," Aristotle said
stiffly. "I have to draw the line somewhere."

"I'll pay," Nick said persuasively. "C'mon now, this has got to be
easy for you. No new identity papers, no hacking into computer
databases. Just find a farm somewhere where seven turkeys can live out
their lives, preferably within 50 kilometers of Toronto in case
someone wants to visit them. What's the big deal?" He paused. "Oh, and
it has to be today."

"Nicholas..." Aristotle said exasperatedly. "What about my
reputation?"

"I would think this would enhance it. If you can do this, you can do
anything!" Nick answered. "I have faith in your abilities."

The sound of drumming fingers filled the receiver. "Oh, all right,"
the ancient said. "But this is the last time I place anyone or
anything for you that isn't one of us. That means no more people like
your lady friend back in the Fifties, and definitely no more animals.
I don't care if the fate of the western world hangs on it, this is it.
And..." he paused for effect, "...I'm going to have to tell your
sire."

"No!" Nick exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, that's part of the price. All expenses, plus a service fee
of five hundred dollars, plus full disclosure. I'm not going to have
him find out on his own --- and you know he will eventually --- and
blame me for contributing to your insanity. That's the deal," he said
with finality. "Take it or leave it."

"Oh, all right," Nick grumbled.

"Consider it done," Aristotle said cheerfully, now that the bargaining
was over. "They'll be gone before midnight. Is your access code still
the same as it was last year?"

"Yeah."

"You know you're supposed to change that once a month," Aristotle said
reprovingly. "Never mind, we'll take that up at another time. They're
in the garage storage room? Very well. Don't worry about them,
Nicholas, they'll have a long, happy life."

"They better, it's costing me enough," Nick muttered. He heard
Aristotle chuckling quietly as he hung up the phone.

Nick glanced at his watch. Almost time for the butcher to show up. He
dressed hurriedly and was in the garage when a panel van drew up in
front of the loft. He opened the garage door and called, "In here."

A stocky man in a dirty white apron climbed out of the van and stuck
out his hand. "How do. I hear you have a bunch of turkeys for me to
process." The scent of stale animal blood wafted off his clothes as he
craned his head to look over Nick's shoulder into the garage. "They in
there?"

Nick shook the proffered hand, then moved back a little bit to avoid
the worst of the smell. "There's been a change of plans. Can you
supply me seven nice big turkeys? Ones that are already, um,
processed?"

"Sure. I don't care either way, as long as I get paid. How big?"

Nick held out his hands like he was holding a basketball. "About like
this."

The man rubbed his jaw consideringly, then said, "About nine kilos?
Sure. I take cash or check."

Nick dug a couple of large bills out of his wallet. "Here, this should
do it. Deliver the turkeys and any change to Brother Paul's mission."

The butcher pocketed the money. "Will do. When do you want them
delivered?"

"As soon as you can. I'll be checking with Brother Paul to make sure
they arrive."

"They'll be there," the butcher assured him.

After the butcher drove away, Nick went to the storage room and opened
the door. "You've got a reprieve, courtesy of Jenny Schanke," he told
the turkeys. They looked at him with vacant eyes, then went back to
pecking hopefully at the empty food pans. Nick took the hint and
poured out the remaining birdseed. "Here you are. Hopefully you'll get
some proper turkey food, whatever that might be, at your new home," he
told them. He refilled the water buckets, turned out the light,
thought better of it and turned it back on, and left for work.

Nick arrived at the station house to a small chorus of gobbles from
the officers in the bullpen. "Very funny," he called as he sat down at
his desk.

Schanke, who was at work uncharacteristically early, looked at his
partner anxiously. "Well?" he asked. "Am I going to have to try to lie
to my little girl?"

"Take it easy, Schank, the turkeys are safe. I found someone who's
going to find them a home. They'll be there first thing tomorrow, or
maybe even tonight."

"Oh man, oh man, what a relief!" Schanke sat back in his chair and
whooshed out a breath. "I really didn't know what I was gonna tell
her. So who is the miracle worker?"

Nick smiled. "Just a friend with --- connections. Don't worry about
it, he's completely dependable."

Captain Stonetree leaned his head out of his office. "Knight! Schanke!
Get in here!"

The partners stood up. "Uh-oh," Schanke said. "does Stonetree know
that the turkeys aren't heading for the mission?"

"Not to worry --- I've got it covered," Nick replied as they filed
into Stonetree's office and sat down.

"Got what covered, Knight?" Stonetree asked.

"Just a little present for Schanke's daughter," Nick said, glancing at
his partner.

"That's nice. But I called you in here to tell you that Brother Paul
phoned to thank us all for the turkeys. The nice, big, *frozen*
turkeys." He raised an inquiring eyebrow and leaned back in his office
chair, making it squeak alarmingly. "Now, normally I'd ask you to
explain how turkeys that were alive and kicking two hours ago can be
killed, plucked, eviscerated, wrapped in plastic, frozen, and
delivered to the mission," he looked at his watch, "thirty minutes
ago, but somehow I don't think I'm going to get a reasonable
explanation. So I won't ask."

"Captain," Nick began, but Stonetree held up his hand.

"Don't even try, Knight. Brother Paul got his turkeys, and that's all
I want to know. In fact, I don't want to hear anything about turkeys
ever again, unless it's my wife telling me that's what's for dinner.
What I *do* want is you and Schanke out solving homicides. Speaking of
which," he tipped his chair upright and pushed a file folder across
his desk, "you've got one. There was a knife fight in an alley off
Yonge, and one guy didn't make it. Go find the guy who did it."

The detectives stood up. "Awwright!" Schanke exclaimed as he picked up
the file. "Back to normal."

Stonetree grunted. "Yeah, normal. Try to follow procedures for once."
He turned his attention to the papers on his desk. "Get the hell outta
here."

"See you later, Cap," Nick said. "We'll be good. Probably."

"Knight..." Stonetree stopped Nick before he was out the door.
"Brother Paul also thanked us for the fifty dollar donation." He
looked quizzically at his star detective. "Would you know anything
about that?"

Nick shrugged. "Maybe the butcher decided to make a donation, too," he
suggested blandly.

"Uh-huh. Sure." Stonetree nodded sagely. "Makes perfect sense. Just
like those frozen turkeys make sense." The shrewd, dark eyes looked
intently at Nick, who felt uncomfortably aware that the captain seemed
to know a little more about him than he should. The captain continued,
"Anyway, thanks. And I have a feeling I know what present you got for
Jenny. You know, you've got a soft streak a mile wide for a tough guy,
Knight. Keep it up --- it's good for the soul."

"I'll try, Joe." Nick said seriously.

When Nick joined Schanke, waiting impatiently for him by the door,
Schanke asked, "What was that all about?"

"Nothing. He just wanted to thank me for taking care of the turkeys."

"Oh, okay. Wanna drive?"

"Of course. And Schanke..." Nick looked at his partner across the roof
of the Caddy.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for helping with the turkeys, you know, getting the food and
all. I owe you. How about I buy you dinner tonight?"

Schanke's face crumpled into a smile. "Hey, that's pretty nice of you.
Thanks!"

"I hear the turkey sandwiches at the Queen Street Deli are pretty
good."

Schanke groaned. "Nick, you are one twisted bastard." They climbed
into the car.

"But I like you like that. It's a deal. On wheat, with mayo."

FINIS

======================================================
Comments, complaints, criticism, and plump specimens
of meleagris gallopavo to nancykam@attbi.com
"Gobble-gobble. Gobble." ---overheard at the turkey
exhibit, 2002 Minnesota State Fair
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