Beginning - Chapter 3

   After a certain period of time with the new discovery on the case, like previous 'maybe breakthroughs', this one fizzled as well. Well, it was technically still in the process of fizzling out. The man that had put it together, whatever it was, had scoured the internet trying to mathematically account for his odd patches of periodic slight relationships that made no sense yet. The man had one single actual law enforcement contact, and that contact had emailed him finally. Also, a bolt from the blue in the form of an email:

   "Hey, I got a week off, I'll stop by. If you don't say otherwise, I'll assume you're done for the week on Thursday night. See you after work."

   That email he knew who it was, it was "speedbump@hoosier.com", his internet friend who happened to be his actual law enforcement connection. It was the other email that had his goat.

   "I'm pretty sure I know what you're looking for. If you are willing to pick up the tab for a night out, dinner at London Lloyd's on 37th, and drinks afterwards, I have what you are looking for."

   That email, he had absolutely no idea who in the hell he was. The hell was his email? "theamalekike@nytrades.com". Right. New York? He knew no one there. The one guy online from New York? It was upstate New York, the country, and they hated the city of New York.

   When he went and read the email again, the man claimed that he was willing to bet he had the relationship he was looking for, and he shamelessly wanted a dinner and drinks out at a very fancy New York place for the supposed information.

   "What do you think, kitty? I know I like having the weekend off, and seeing Speedy for dinner. I have no idea who this guy is, probably some kook…"

   That was when his cell went off.

   "Speedy."

   "Yep."

   "Where are you?"

   "Ah. 20 minutes out, give or take. You good?"

   "Yeah."

   "See you in a little bit. Usual spot."

   The man played one more game, but it was a little short one. He was finally going to get to see what his LEO friend had to say in person about all this. He printed out the email to show his friend, it was so out of the blue to get this offer, perhaps without the printout he might not believe him.

   He was already in his own small used pickup truck, when his phone rang again. A few seconds had them finding each other in the big parking lot, then they coordinated parking together. They shook hands and exchanged normal pleasantries, and walked into the truck stop eatery all but arm in arm.

   "Christ, slow down a little, Panic… I stop suddenly you're liable to run right up my ass."

   The waitress seating them giggled. Panic looked right at his smart-alack friend and smiled.

   "Ma'am? Me and my boyfriend would both like coffee to start with. This is 'Boo Boo Speedy' and Boo-Boo takes his coffee big… strong… and black. Just like his other boyfriend he likes to spend more time with. Hm!"

   And he punctuated his little performance by dramatically crossing his legs, bouncing his foot, and tenting his fingers and resting his chin on his interlaced fingers, his elbows awkwardly on his knees.

   The waitress was trying not to giggle more, but lost her effort. She was pursing her lips and pinching them in in an attempt to keep from guffawing.

   "Would you like to order for your… boyfriend?"

   The waitress got it out without losing it. The man's friend buried his face in the palms of both hands, he hated it when his buddy did this shit.

   "You know… I think I'll let Boo-Boo order for himself. I'm not sure he still likes Hot Irish Sausage…"

   That was it, the waitress lost her inner battle to contain herself and was now laughing and holding her abdomen, threatening to drop her pad and pen. The man was smiling, proud of himself and his little performance. His friend, when him and the waitress both laughing looked at him? He wasn't laughing, his face came up with a "oh good lord…" look on it.

   The man produced a badge in a case and flipped it briefly open, and with his best deadpan:

   "Everyone wants to know why is Speedy retiring? Why does Speedy wanna go fishing and get out of this line of work? This is why…"

   And he spread his hands out to indicate what he had to deal with. He tried to glare at his friend and the waitress as best he could, but he finally cracked the edge of a smile and the waitress giggled and ran off, ostensibly to get coffee.

   "That's one of the main reasons I like you, Speedy. For a state cop, you still have an irreverent sense of humor. Most cops don't have a sense of humor."

   "Oh for Christ's sake Panic, you're always the one pointing out stuff about the words we all use for things? I'm a… well, you know I'm a cop… why is it people think cops off duty aren't just normal people. I never understood that. Why is that with you?"

   "Oh, hell. I just never had a cop friend before, really. Well, I mean I worked with one before he was a cop for a while. Two or even three, now that I think of it… I mean, but we weren't drinking buddies or anything. I'm even pretty sure I wasn't his cup of tea and all. I was a friend of a friend."

   "Well, was that guy, those guys… were they normal? Sense of humor?"

   "Oh, yeah. Especially Clay? He was outrageous when you got a few beers into him…"

   "There, see? Those guys had a great sense of humor, you said so yourself, and they're cops. So… where does this come from?"

   "No, that was before they went to cop school. They shave their head and they shrink their brains, and solder their brains back in backwards or something. After cop school? I swear for the next year and a half, they talk like 'fucking… newscasters… ma'am…' "

   Speedy snickered.

   "Oh yeah, we call that 'cop talk'. Believe it or not? Its a fucking class at 'cop school' as you put it. Now, by cop school, I'm gonna bet that you meant to say the state police academy, not the standard local act 234 requirements class. I know that, because once you start to do 'cop talk' class? Its over a 3 day course, and only the state police academy goes into any detail with how to do cop talk properly. Locals? They either went through the academy, or, you hope they pick it up on the job from someone else who you pray is doing it correctly, or, the locals get bad habits. So… did all 2 or 3 of your buddies make it through the state police academy, went on to carry guns and badges?"

   "Oh, yeah. The one definitely, he showed up at my house when I was burning old carpets to kill the fleas the last owner left me to deal with. He was pretty cool, and didn't give me a fine, and told me to 'put the fire out, but, put it out slowly… it could even take you all night to get it out'.

   "Oh, cool. Official corruption, right there, and you participated in it, Panic. You used your personal, prior relationship with that police officer? To get treated better. You see? What you call low-level corruption? It works both ways."

   "Well, wait a minute. I never once asked for any special treatment. He just… gave it, I guess. Doesn't that absolve me of the corruption?"

   "Hm. No, not completely. You accepted something offered to you. If I don't ask for a free coffee and doughnut, aren't I still taking something to butter me up if I accept it? Look, I'm just trying to explain that it works the other way too. You can't complain when you get the occasional negative police interaction, if you enjoy extra positive police interactions when they happen. I mean, have you never once, ever been doing something, and have a cop show up… look at you, and just laugh, and yell at you to go home and sleep it off? That's a cop who doesn't even know you, being as friendly as he can possibly be. They usually only do that, when they don't have a partner, and you didn't piss them off, and you were polite."

   "Partners, can be a bad thing?"

   "Depends on the partner. I hate having to break in a new partner, cause if I start getting any static when I decide to give someone a lecture and tell them to move along. A partner? Can either back you up and go with your lead, or, they can fuck everything up. I hate that smarmy 'I'm gonna put it in my report' bullshit. I mean come on, everyone hates that cherry shit."

   "You make it sound like a weekly TV show."

   He shrugged.

    "I guess it can be. Well, sometimes. So… you said you might have something new you wanted to show me? On top of the other thing I already looked at online."

   "You don't wanna wait for the food?"

   "Hell no, is it any good?"

   "Which. The food, or the possible lead?"

   "Hell, both."

   "I eat here all the time, food's okay. Not too overpriced. And what the hell, we always meet here, when you come in."

   "And the possible lead?"

   "Never ate there before. Got an email out of nowhere, guy offers that he can connect the dots, it will cost me 'dinner and drinks'. So? I have no idea…"

   And he dove into his pocket and came up with a folded piece of paper, which he somewhat ceremoniously unfolded and oriented in front of his friend on the table for him to read the printout of the mysterious email.

   "What are the odds?"

   Speedy wondered aloud, and glanced at his younger friend, who just shrugged back.

   "You know as much as I know at this point, about this guy."

   Speedy wiggled his head back and forth as if calculating something.

   "What's the dinner place cost?"

   "Yeah, I looked it up…"

   He held out his phone.

   "It looks expensive, don't you agree with me?"

   "Oh yeah, that looks pricey. Are you actually considering this?"

   He shrugged at his LEO friend again…

   "You, no, you're not suggesting I pitch in on this nonsense, are you? I mean, you just know it's gonna be some crackpot, or at best? Some reporter trying to pick our brains then skip out. I mean, I can come up with a whole lot of scenarios, where this is about like setting hundred dollar bills on fire."

   "Maybe if we split it, and we both just have water on ice, and let our friend have whatever he wants, it might be manageable?"

   "Fuck me, Panic. I already know where you're going with this, what if this is the one thing we need, that breaks everything wide open. And? Technically, you're right, of course… the problem is? Without any official backing, we can't afford to exactly chase down very many leads at these prices, if you see where I'm coming from. Now, if we had some indication, that there was even a bit of possibility that this is anything at all… how about we bet on it?"

   "I, uh, I really don't 'bet'. I don't even do scratch offs, I only buy club tickets to basically donate a dollar to the cause…"

   "See? You want to try this out, just to be safe, but… you don't want to risk anything on the outcome."

   "Are you… 'daring me', Speedy?"

   Panic smiled then added to it..

   "What would the bet even be like?"

   "Well. What are we talking here? There's gasoline for both of us, to New York. There's tolls and bullshit to get in downtown and back out. We will burn a gallon every block if there's any traffic at all downtown. Parking? Fucking outrageous. We have a drink or two? A room in New York for the night? Its beyond outrageous, we'd have to drive all night back. I'm guessing, and I mean guessing… couple hundred bucks there and back, to be safe, plus dinner. Couple hundred more, potentially? I literally have no idea what the prices are."

   "Where's the bet at in all that bitching?"

   Speedy chuckled.

   "Asshole. Loser picks up the tab, obviously. Now, how bad do you want to risk going to New York, chasing down random leads?"

   "So, I basically pay for the whole thing up front, and what's the bet? If the information leads directly to the killer, then maybe I get my money back? That doesn't sound fair to me… how do we judge whether it's an even remotely valid lead?"

   Panic paused and switched gears.

   "Is Bluedot still coming to meet us?"

   "His name is Scott. ESS SEE OH TEE TEE, what's with you and the screen names? If I didn't already know you, I'd think it was creepy."

   "That's Bluedot. I start having more than one name for people? I have enough trouble with names as it is… no way… I'm a faces guy."

   "What's Bluedot got to do with it?"

   "Well, we could let him go, and he could call the winner, if it was a substantial enough lead it was possible. If it's zany, he can call it, and I cough up enough cash for three of us. You lose? You're on the hook for three dinners. Bet's back to you."

   "You don't bet, and you're upping the ante? On blind luck? This could reach… I don't know… a grand, potentially? Depends on the dinner bill."

   Speedy said "speak of the devil…", and he was waving Bluedot over.

   "Scott…"

   "Hey Tom, hey Panic."

   They all shook hands, the drive was uneventful. They both launched into his thoughts on the plan and the bet, and the possibility of him being the referee.

   "Guys? For such smart guys from the website. Logically, I'm getting either way it goes? A free, big, fancy dinner and drinks out in a big, fancy, New York restaurant like on the television. Why wouldn't I want to go? One of you two is gonna get made fun of online, I can guarantee you that, too."

   "Shit, Blue… Speedy? Are we gonna bet on this?"

   "Oh hell. If you want to…"

   They both paused, then shook on it.

   Scott Bluedot piped up

   "Guys? You have to both promise, to, you know… hold the referee blameless, no matter what? What's exactly the criteria for this so called possible lead, that I'm gonna call it."

   Speedy started counting off on his fingers…

   "No UFO, no Aliens, no Bigfoot, no Loch Ness Monster, no Chupacabra, no Men In Black, no none of that bullshit, and you know what I mean, right?"

   "You get leads on the phone and email as cops at work, that involve UFO's as the tip?"

   "You have no clue… it staggers the imagination sometimes, I swear. Look… it just has to sound… I don't know, 'reasonable'. If its reasonable? It sounds reasonable? It looks reasonable? You win the bet. That's fairly generous, isn't it? That's how much of a hunch I get as a state cop, that this is gonna be a Bigfoot humping the Loch Ness Monster scenario, you honestly have no idea how common the whack a doodles are, I'm telling you… and New York isn't supposed to be crazier than I gotta deal with assholes in Chicago for Christ's sake?"

   Scott Bluedot looked from one to another.

   "So, when's all this taking place?"

   Neither of them, now that they thought about it, had any clue yet. Panic offered up…

   "What do we even think. I got a long weekend, every weekend. I can make it longer with maybe a phone call if I want to, good chance it's all right I trade a day… It could be this weekend, it would be a lot easier to do it next weekend, simply because I can all but guarantee I can get a longer weekend out of it, with the extra week to find my replacement… you two?"

   Scott said it next.

   "You both know, the whole reason I'm even in this state, in this area? Is my big pond job. Its near the end, but, I'm paid per diem to be on site until its officially closed and done, which is the end of the season I contracted for. I'm here anyways. Next weekend, my free big New York dinner is coming? I can't wait. That's two of us… what about you, Tom? Whats Speedy's schedule like, as a state cop getting close to retiring…"

   "Honestly? You know how, some jobs, if you started before such-and-such date… well, you get to maybe, build up as many sick days you never claim as you want to… and new guys after a certain hire date, can't do it? Or, more typical I guess? Retirement benefits can hinge on before or after a certain hiring date. You follow the logic of this?"

   Both shook their head affirmatively. If they weren't following, they were pretending to.

   "Okay. That's me. I have, good lord, I cant even count all the sick days I have built up. Well, actually I can, its almost as many days as I have until retirement starts. The complicated part is? It also matters what day I put in for retirement. Depending on when that date exactly is, determines how those extra added up days get factored in. I don't want to risk losing my little built in severance package, you know? We're talking about s-e-v-e-r-a-l months of pay. In a lump sum. In one of my retirement fund paper things. I'm single, do you have any idea what kind of hunting trip I'm gonna take to celebrate retiring?"

   "You mean, and you're seriously considering taking all the days off, that would take you up to…"

   "Almost the last date I want to put retirement in on, or, risk screwing up. Right now? I get to both take those days off, and I get paid for them, and I get paid for them in the lump sum. Why wouldn't I want to do less work for more money, and, as a bonus? We would get several months clear to look into anything that even remotely panned out on this. I'd still have my badge legally. An off duty state cop with a long career, even out of state? It has its privileges. I want this all off the record, unless we ever find anything."

   "Panic? I already know you want a couple months if anything pans out on this. Scott? You're almost bored wrapping your pond science gig up for the next couple months. I want to tap your brain about water science bullshit… and? Worst comes to worst, nothing pans out? We all go shooting at the range all weekend if we can't figure out anything constructive to do. What do we have to lose?"

   Panic wanted to know something.

   "How long till you put your days in, Speedy?"

   Speedy smiled broadly at both of them. Then he leaned back slowly in his seat, broadened his smile more, and laced his fingers behind his head.

   "Who says I didn't already? I am getting paid, like, I forget how many times with all the over time. Fuck my career, its over anyways."

   "Do you, uh, lose brownie points doing this? Would you, I don't know, win special brownie points, if you worked out your several months and waved off the extra cash? Maybe, everyone would clap you out, like I see on TV movies? Might be worth something to you personally…"

   "Oh, brownie points? Yeah. Brownie points… off the record, both of you. Here's my idea of a bad day at work. Okay? Now, you both know I'm a SWAT unit, right?"

   "Yeah…"

   "SWAT sniper, right? SWAT sniper sounds so much cooler, just my two cents…"

   "Yes. I'm both a SWAT unit, and, also a certified SWAT sniper. Anyways, back to my off the record bad day at work scenario. Now, I have two modes at work. Three, actually. Four, if you count the desk work as another one. Lets see. I could be assigned to active SWAT unit. That means I'm either out working on SWAT calls, or waiting on any SWAT calls, or, training on switch-off days with the other on-duty SWAT team."

   "Okay, that's only during certain situations. I no longer actively train, its an on and off thing, so, I spend more time riding around on patrol. If anything in a certain geographical area in my area of the state I'm driving around in, has a swat call? I'm to head there. I mean go figure. If you even think you need an asset there, who better to judge it than if you get lucky enough one or two trained guys show up automatically."

   "So, I got SWAT duty… or, I got car duty… I also got desk duty… and I also get court duty, because any case requires me to spend hours sitting in chairs."

   "How is any of this, the worst bad day ever?"

   "They really sneak up on you. You have to be on guard for them, you know? So anyways, I'm on semi-permanent car duty. I ride around a certain geographical area, I shift up with the local state police barracks and grab a car. When I do that, its cool because I get an office out of them, and I can get messages and stuff. I get notified if a big arrest is pending, and there's a call for a SWAT unit to effect the arrest. I would get an address and a call in, as would other guys like me across the area around the state. 12 or 16 of us will show up, automatically, an hour after you put the message out, if you do it at the right time."

   "That quick? An hour after someone types out some 'alert' email, guys with vests and M-16's are out rolling, like in the movies?"

   "Uh, on site within an hour is the usual. I got a pack of shit in the trunk, I can go jump in my squad car in my PJ's and be on site as quick as my lights can get me there. If it's not a critical call, we go pack-up at the local barracks, and go hit the address. I mean, its just another address, another day out of the office, you know?"

   "So where's the bad day coming from?"

   Speedy smiled.

   "Off the record, remember? You know how you just love a good conspiracy theory, Colonel Panic?"

   Panic smiled almost sheepishly.

   "Yeah…"

   "Well. You normally expect the address is correct. I can't remember whatever possessed me that day, at that moment in time, to fucking type in "LYNX 123 main street, shit splat suburbs address, 12345… but? I did. I thought I typed in the wrong address."

   "Why?"

   "It was coming up as the mayor's address."

   "The mayor of what suburban hell?"

   "No, that was the address. It was saying that the mayor of fucking C-H-I-C-A-G-O lived at that address, on LYNX on the fucking internet search engine."

   "Did you go hit the mayor's house?"

   "No… no we did not go and hit the mayor's house…"

   "Okay. You called someone else, and they said that was a misprint ?"

   "Something like that, yeah."

   "Speedy?"

   "Yes, Colonel Panic?"

   "Uhm… how good are the odds, that you guys might have not happened to double check the address was indeed not a mistake. I mean, went and hit the fucking mayor of Chicago's upscale home. I mean, you would think you was hitting some drug dealers home, right?"

   "Well… that's exactly what me and the other boys just like me that showed up, was you know, all talking about that morning."

   "How… 'bad' would it have been, had you guys went and kicked in the door, and when some guy said "I'm the fucking mayor" and you just what? Pistol whipped him, if he's lucky? Doesn't SWAT shoot people occasionally?"

   "Like I said, Colonel Panic, like I said… I about had the worst day ever. Had we hit the mayors house? Even if we didn't take anyone out of there in a body bag, are we going to end up on the evening news, our body cam's footage? Jesus H. Christ, I cant even imagine what a goddamn circus like that even looks like, but, I almost found out now, didn't I. How's that for a fucking conspiracy theory, you know?"

   "Holy shit. Now… who the hell ends up being responsible for the address? I mean, doesn't someone, somewhere, get in trouble? I mean, someone can die when police every once in a great while, on pure accident, hit the wrong address. I mean, it happens… but, what are the odds, that it just happens, then again that it just happens to be the mayor's house, and I mean not just the mayor of Shittsville, the mayor of Chicago to boot. What are the odds? I don't believe in coincidences."

   "Yeah."

   "Yeah… and who the hell signed that boner of an address? Don't they… get a week off without pay?"

   "Um. That's what me and the boys thought, that morning, when we accidentally found out it was the mayor's house."

   "Well, can't you just trace it? Doesn't it have to be someone's arrest? Someone's idea? Doesn't some… guy at some DA's office have to sign off on it? A judge? Some secretary's name is on it? What?"

   "Well, yeah. More than one of those, actually. Then, it all gets put into "barracks piles" we call them, and each barracks gets a "blotter" of so many high-risk warrants to serve. It's… well, it's kind of routine."

   "Who… I mean, someone stuck that address in there, right? It didn't appear in some list out of the thin air."

   "Well… its funny you say that. Because that's exactly what anyone ever came up with, that ever looked into it. A little over two years, and internal affairs couldn't get a thing on it."

   "Can I walk in, grab just the right piece of paper, and if I walk around with a fucking pizza and can say where I pretend I'm going… can I, I don't know, if I knew just where to sign it, can I write in an address, and expect it just gets picked up? Is that even possible?"

   "Well… no one is really sure, Panic. Something like 88 different people were electronically signed into that floor of that office building at the time where… it would have been the best time to pull some shit like that. And? Before you ask? Yeah… it was definitely someone who knew the day to day routines of that whole building, down cold."

   "One office stand out?"

   "Not really. On a dare? My one buddy, who by the way works in internal affairs? Said it didn't have to be anyone with any real access. A fucking janitor could easily get away with it. Then, who told the janitor to do it? An office worker makes more sense, but, they never could pin it down. It just appeared like magic."

   "See, my crystal ball says… there was… a window cleaner no one suspected, that…"

   "Not a window cleaner. They grilled a fucking electrician who happened to have the great misfortune to have work in the building, that day in that time frame."

   Scott asked.

   "Let me guess… nothing ?"

   "Big goose egg. And Panic? Before you come up with one of your 'good secret operative' theories? You just have to trust me here, that a team of trained and experienced State Police Investigators with nothing else to do, and nearly unlimited budget and manpower and time-frame? Well, let's just say that's no small matter. I know how they fucking operate? And I wouldn't want to have that team on my ass, that should tell you something."

   Speedy paused for emphasis.

   "So… when I say it was looked into, that the electrician was possibly an undercover operative? It was looked into."

   "I guess the guy wasn't dirty in any way, that…"

   "Panic, in real life? It would peak my interest during an investigation if someone were too clean. That would set the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. No children died and mysteriously turned up either, when we investigate something? We don't go by one photo to say we documented it, no, we want as many photos as we can get, covering as many different stages of age and activities as we can find. You can't photo-shop all that. The electrician, and his wife? Their whole families both live nearby and are easily documented. If this electrician is some kind of 'trained secret operative', then, monkeys are about to fly out of my ass."

   Bluedot chuckled.

   "So, you're saying you got nothing?"

   "No. I'm saying… we got nothing… "

   "Speedy?"

   "Yeah, Panic."

   "Is there any kind of official investigation into the smiley case, ever? I mean, did anyone competent ever take a real team look into it, and decide it was officially nothing?"

   "Honestly? There was no 'broad' smiley case at all, until as most people know, that one guy made a book and videos about it. Interest in the case grew only from that seed, as far as it being the smiley case."

   "What do you mean by… as far as it being the smiley case?"

   "Well… what I mean is, each of the areas where what we informally call 'smiley shit' is guessed to be in play? That area might have a long-standing 'drownings' string going on. Individuals on their own time might work the possible case, but, officially? If a town or even a city has zero evidence to really get started on? It's hard to do anything other than document the victim and their prior whereabouts. It sounds cruel, but, there's active cases that can be solved, and someone has to make the calls on manpower and budgets, sadly."

   "I guess I understand, that reality has to set in, somewhere at some time. So… what's 'reality' for this case?"

   "Well. Unless something breaks all on its own in the next week? It all hinges on one expensive dinner, and our bet. I mean, I have an experiment I want to try with Scott here, Mr. Water Wizard, I figure Colonel Panic has to help too. But… unless we come up with something? We're looking at several months of 'hobby investigation' and bon voyage."

   "So, has anyone ever officially looked into the smiley case, or, any of the other names it might go under? I mean, how do you triple drownings and no one can provide a concrete answer as to why. Insurance companies are sometimes blamed for 'inventing' this case. When insurance companies can't explain triple the number of drownings, they raise rates and make a note of it."

   "I made a number of… off the record phone calls to anyone I could think of. Local, city, state police stations. I do things like call the firemen that helped find the victim, or the ambulance driver's recollections. They admit they don't know why they have elevated numbers of accidental drownings. The FBI? They repeatedly state 'the FBI does not comment on the Smiley case'. Which means, if I trust my one FBI friend I sort of know from back in the day? He says, that's FBI-speak that would indicate a couple of possibilities…"

   Then he paused, and the waitress brought their main meals, which they smiled at until she left and they were in rapt attention.

   "…possibility one? The Smiley case was given a once-over, nothing was found or they would probably work the publicity on anything they found. Technically then, it becomes a dead cold case, and they can't comment on any technically 'open' case."

   "…possibility two. Equally likely, is that the smiley case has been relegated to the UFO and the Bigfoot file, which is to say it got the once over, found nothing, and they refuse to be associated with anything Bigfoot related."

   "Note if you will, that in each possibility? The case got at least a quick going over, who knows if anyone there found it 'odd' and played with it for some extra time, or not. But, it means that it got looked at. Glanced at, at least."

   Scott observed.

   "I love how the FBI wants to carefully distance it self from the case, while still being able to say the case was open all along…"

   Speedbump, hungry soon-to-be-retired cop wanted to know.

   "Anything else before we eat?"

   Panic shrugged and picked up the salt shaker, Speedbump was about to eat when Scott wanted to know what his contribution was going to be, the experiment.

   "Let me make you a deal, Scott. Let me eat my food while it's hot, then I promise you? I will answer any questions you have about my experiment. But, if you knew how many meals I have missed or eaten cold over my career? You would take pity on me, and let me eat."

   When they were all finishing up eating, Panic tried to get Speedy going again, he was always the eager one. Speedy smiled and waved him off.

   "The waitress is going to come over at some point and see if we want dessert. After she leaves with our dessert order, I'll start in on the experiment idea."

   Scott and Colonel Panic were small talking waiting on this moment to occur when Panic picked his head up, something had caught his eye and it was their waitress. He caught her eye by making a face, and gestured to her. He was a regular, he knew she would be over at her first chance. Seconds later, she slowed but didn't stop long on the way past. She raised her eyebrows at Colonel Panic, to say "what?".

   "He wants pie for dessert."

   "Does he know what kind?"

   "Apple?"

   "Done… whipped creme? Ice cream?"

   "Just the pie."

   "Anyone else want dessert?"

   Scott Bluedot shook his head, and Panic said "my usual?"

   She dipped her head, and motored on. Colonel Panic smiled and added.

   "Pies on the way. Finish."

   "Oh, you guys are killing me. All right, Scott? You're the pond science guy. You're going to be my… floating balls expert, okay? I want your opinion on releasing balls into the river at a certain point, and under certain conditions."

   Scott wondered aloud.

   "With the point of it being?"

   "Okay. We have a drowning victim at location… X where the victim is found. Everyone assumes, that he goes into the water nearby. You don't look around very far, before you come up with a local kid's spot. Couple of beer cans in the fire-pit, couple of stumps and dead trees to sit on. He's there, or he's either on his way there or his way back from it, he's stopped by the water's edge… for whatever reason, he goes into the water. This time of year, that this shit always happens? You don't go in the water, and he's not really dressed for being outside at night this time of year, the kind of weather they had then. Kids drowning, at night, around bodies of water? Sadly, been a fact of life since the beginning of time. But now, all of a sudden? Its in cold weather, and they're not dressed for it. I have to admit… these cases really… kind of stand out, that way.""

   "What's the problem with this? It sounds very… generic."

   "Well, it is generic. My personal theory was? Why couldn't it have been a further trip for the floating body. So, we end up going up the river on the shore, noting each and every location even remotely considered 'accessible'. We figure, if local kids can get there, we have to get there."

   Speedy wagged his head, recounting it.

   "We come up with a few other fishing or kids spots, but, nothing that stood out. And what's more, the further upstream we get, the less likely that our victim gets that far, that's what our experts say."

   "River experts ?", Scott Bluedot wryly commented.

   "Funny you should say that. Not river experts, but, they are familiar with patterns of floating victims. Any area with a river, you expect that. What do you think about the river and how far the body can get in a short period of time?"

   "Well, first off, that isn't even a river, exactly. Oh, I know it's called a river, but if you mean the Monongahela river, that's not a true river anymore; it's divided up into sections. Pool abc123g or something, will be the Army Corp of Engineer's name for it. It's not a river because water no longer flows freely from point A to point B. The locks are dams, and they open and close the dams to regulate the height of the water. They make it deeper than it normally would be without the dams."

   Colonel Panic and Speedbump looked at each other and smiled… pond science guy strikes his first blow.

   Scott mused aloud.

   "Was it raining around the time of death, was what you said ?"

   Speedbump had to ask.

   "Why?"

   "Because a true river, when it rains? It gets current fairly steadily increasing. These locks? Stop that flow, at first. Only when the water threatens to overflow do they go spillway, or open a lock or two. In flood stage, you open them all up. All these hillsides? The water runoff can get scary with these steep hills; you could shoot a body in just the right place? Halfway out into the river, I bet, if it was raining. It would float with all the driftwood up and back both, until they went spillway. But I'm sure your river experts know all this, I assume."

   "Yes… and no. It was cold at night that time of year, the water was fairly cold. Time of death was never firmly established. Now, you gotta picture this, Blue. It's cold out that time of year, and its going to get even colder. We ended up getting weekend volunteers to give their own free time, hiking in sections, from lock to lock."

   Speedy drummed his fingers.

   "It took a while for enough volunteers to get it completed. What do we come up with? A whole list of drink beer and fish spots. Without any other scene, there's not a lot we can do. The occasional case like this one? Sometimes bugs me. We looked at all the listed spots, but, nothing stands out."

   "Which is where you two come in. My theory is this… I need other spots where that body could have came from, instead of just around the immediate shoreline."

   Scott suddenly did one of his soft 'jump ins' to the conservation, to make one of his important, but soft, points.

   "So, are you saying then, off the record, and just personally between us three right now… that you think there might actually be a goddamned smiley killer?"

   And Scott Bluedot lowered his stage whisper more than usual, and actually glanced around, as if to make sure he wasn't overheard.

   Speedy inhaled and exhaled slowly a couple of times, obviously calming himself and trying visibly to phrase it just so.

   "This would be something new for me. By that, I mean… any killers I chased before in my career? During my 'investigator' years? There was a… well, there was clearly a killer. We had a body. It had been killed by 'method X'. The killer or killers… I don't know, they stole the toenails for trophies, yes I'm making this shit up obviously. For an example… but, there was a fucking body, so there was a fucking murder. The hell of this thing? No one even knows if there is a killer. I don't even feel like I'm even trying to catch a killer right now? I feel… I feel… like I'm trying to prove a murder even happened."

   "Okay… and…"

   "And what? We can't even definitively prove murders even occur, so let's say we all get convinced by whatever reason… how the hell do you even go about trying to find a killer it took you years just to figure out he even existed? We have a relatively small time window to even try this, I honestly look at it like the only job to do is prove its even real. You prove its real, then the whole Roman army will come and take over."

   Colonel Panic shook his head up and down slowly.

   "Okay. I see that. Its logical, its practical. We wouldn't even have the resources to go after some evil organization anyways, you would need to hand it over to the FBI…"

   Scott giggled.

   "Hold on, Panic. How did you just now go, from here to there? How do you figure you go from 'can't even prove a killer exists' to 'evil underground organization'? See, this is where you really are a writer. That's some kind of imagination, that you got, right there. Sorry if it comes off as rude, but, I want your line of reasoning on that."

   "Oh, I don't care if it is rude, there is no 'rude' in science, right? No, I can defend my line of reasoning."

   Then the desserts came. They sloughed off the conversation until they were alone again. They were all now if only unconsciously, doing it. Looking around, dropping their voices. Conspiring.

   "No, I can defend it. Here…"

   He took out several 8.5 x 11 pieces of paper, with maps and dots and numbers on them. Most of the numbers were already printed, a few notes in hand printing were added.

   "Look. Here's how this case even came about. Well, one way… this is a big city, with a lot of waterfront. Those dots? Those are accidental drowning victim locations. Now, lets look at it over time… page 1 is 1970, page 2 is 1975, it goes up until today, another year and a half before the next one comes out. You explain to me, and to the insurance industry that can't puzzle it out either… it goes up, almost doubling between 90 and 95. Then? It almost doubles again, between 95 and 2000. Then? It simply levels off there, and stays there! Nothing accounts for it. If you're under the age of 30 and you live in certain cities? Certain areas. You are more than triple the normal chance of accidental drowning as a means of death, but, only in small geographically limited areas. Pockets around the country. But? Only above the mason Dixon line, below the great lakes region, only on the east coast. What about the rest of the country? All… completely normal numbers of accidental drownings. With, I might add? A very specific victim profile. A profile, that normally? All but excludes them from what's happening to them."

   "And, whats more? All the data on the drowning victims? You have to remember, about 1/3rd of them? Are real drowning victims, so to speak. Only about 2/3rds of them are even smiley, whatever smiley actually is."

   "Okay, how does that equal sinister nationwide killer organization? Seriously."

   Colonel Panic shrugged much like a little kid, looked at Speedy with almost puppy dog eyes, and said quietly:

   "If I was the smiley face killer? How do I scout all these locations, have all these locations ready to go. How do I find, recruit, and locate my victims without any violence, and re-locate the victims, again without violence, where I want them."

   "Well… duh! If you lived in this city you showed us? You would know all this. You would have a way of finding 'whoever'… right?"

   "Bluedot? You're not getting it. This is one city. I can show you this, all day and night long. I have trouble envisioning one man doing all this… and there are a list of cities with water fronts this is going on in. If this is real, I can't come up with any other explanation, than a action-TV-movie… 'underground cult' is doing this. I mean, what the hell else would explain it? It would have to be a number of people."

   Scott looked to Speedbump for support.

   "Speedy… please tell me you think that's crazy."

   Speedbump gave a wan smile. "What he said is… more or less accurate. If it is real? Then it would have to be… an organization of some kind."

   Scott was quietly perturbed and recalcitrant on his point, that it was too fantastic.

   "So more people made money in the stock market from 1990 to 2000, and you see a few extra drownings. Waterfront? City? Money… I don't see this as that sinister…"

   "Scott? If you look this city up? The population did rise. But, it rose steadily upwards, then crested so to speak, somewhere between 85 and 90. Since then, it has stayed steady or a slight loss, year to year since then. No, it's almost the opposite of what you said… the people were already there… and that somehow attracted whatever it is, that triples the drownings."

   Scott quietly retorted.

   "I thought it was all dead college students?"

   "It mainly is. Here, look at this…", and he unfolded a few more 8.5 x 11 papers. "Here's what you need to start having smiley drownings. You need water, you need a college, a university, something. If you have several, and a couple of them are expensive? Your odds go higher of having it start happening. There's an area in Virginia? They have about doubled the university drownings in an area in between several major research universities."

   Scott observed, and Speedbump nodded in assent.

   "Really rich area, then…"

   "Well, in the areas where the universities are, sure, its a city… but its happening in the cities, and in the area in between too. Where it's just regular rednecks area. If you have enough colleges, and enough rich smart college students? It spreads. Like a cancer."

   "What am I even looking at…"

   Scott had a pinched look of what appeared to be mild irritation… Speedbump furrowed his brow and grabbed another paper and looked at it. "Yeah… where did you get this? Is this your thing?"

   "No…"

   Colonel Panic admitted it.

   "Emailed a little bit with an insurance dude, online. The red circles… on… that sheet there…"

   He pointed.

   "…are colleges and universities. Okay, the blue circles are accessible waterways. Notice how the universities, and the small city around each one? Has the usual drownings pattern, over double."

    "But look, it doesn't stop. Whatever it is? It starts running up the rivers in the area, out of the waterfronts, and keeps going further and further up river. It saturates the area in between the distant universities. It's like looking at… I'm a medical student, tracking a rare form of mold around… it spreads. Look at the dates, and particularly the years. Over a period of ten years? Each university waterway in the distance? It 'moves' slowly up the river, until the area is saturated."

   Scott looked at it, then bobbed his head.

   "Okay… I give you, its weird."

   Panic looked at Speedy.

   "Well? Speedy? How did I do?"

   Speedy continued to study the papers with the circles, and the dates.

   "This one… this is all the papers in one, right?"

   "Yep."

   "Once again, Panic. Where the hell did you get this?"

   "I told you, an insurance dude. Online. He let me see the figures for myself. But everybody online is anonymous."

   Speedy stopped him.

   "Whoa, maybe its anonymous for you? I'm still the state police a couple of states over. I can goddamned tell you where an email came from, I can get that."

   "Well, if you say so, that's cool. It's not an email, its a droppings file. A PDF file."

   Scott wanted to know, and Speedbump was leaning his chin on his hand listening in a seemingly intent fashion as well.

   "What the hell is that?"

   "Okay. Me, and you, and you… we're all on some big website. I want to show you two and 20 other people too, I wanna show you all my cool pictures, or graph, or book report or whatever. No one is handing out their emails, it would be a spam nightmare when the fucking bots picked up on the emails. We use a drop site."

   Speedy prodded him.

   "A drop site? You make it sound, like it's a dead drop site."

   "Well, that's exactly what it is. Look. I go, to the website we use, its called 'droppings.com' by the way… the mascot? It's a cute little puppy dog, taking a shit. Anyways, you just cut and paste your file name into a big box? Wait several seconds, and it spits out a hash thing. You just cut and paste that, and bingo… anyone can click on your link, and instantly download your file you want to share. Supposed to be completely anonymous."

   Speedbump dryly observed on it.

   "Sounds like something someone dreamed up, just for illegal communications."

   Bluedot nodded his head yes with him.

   "Look… let's say, I want to have access to hundreds of reports, or thousands of magazine articles, whatever… I just store one big folder, on the droppings site? I now only have to carry around one little digital link. I can even write it down and type it in cold if I have to."

   "Now, if everyone online, on a big website, is all looking into certain things? Now, we can all share graphs and diagrams, and text messages. Freely. Easily. Reporters? Use sites just like this one, to drop off 'articles' they wouldn't want to be caught dead with if they're being followed. We should be using a site just like this one, on our own website? So we can quit filling up our 'storage space' every couple months. If everyone would use a hosting site like this one? We could have zillions of images stored offsite."

   Bluedot wanted to know…

   "Why don't we use that then, Panic ?"

   "Uh, mainly because our website? Is not populated mostly by computer people. It's all you can expect for the average online user, to upload an image. You'd be surprised how many people never once uploaded an image in their life, outside of a fucking social media site on the goddamned phones. Hell, I used to be a computer programmer for a living, back in the day, and I felt like I was trying to shit bricks to upload a picture on our website. Took me a while. Fucking teenagers are better at this shit than I am sometimes."

   Scott wondered aloud.

   "Do we have anything resembling a plan ?"

   He got 2 blank stares.

   "Let me re-phrase it then. Do we have something resembling an itinerary?"

   Panic and Speedy looked at each other. Speedy launched it.

   "We meet up, what? Next Friday? The three of us are having dinner in New York on Saturday, I would guess."

   Scott came back with it again.

   "No, I meant this weekend. There's too much rain and mud to really go out and go shooting. Fishing would be miserable too. Any ideas?"

   Panic upended his palms towards Speedbump.

   "Well. If there's no shooting and no fishing, anyone have any objections to… we get a 6 pack and scout some river sites? Panic grew up in this area, he knows the river. I just want to see some of it. I'll drive."

   Panic nodded, they then looked at Scott.

   "I don't care. Is it that wise to drive around drinking a 6 pack?"

   Speedbump nodded sagely.

   "You're right, but, as long as I'm driving…"

   He flashed his state police badge case and smiled and shrugged. Scott giggled.

   "I hadn't really thought of that. Okay."

   After dinner and coffee, they all paid their own checks, and went out and got into Tom's car. It was his personal vehicle, but it screamed 'cop car'. The other two were looking it up and down, when Speedbump added.

   "I got it at a police auction. After I got it fixed, it was a good deal. I'm used to driving one of these things anyways."

   Scott said it first.

   "I wanna sit in the front, with Speedy…"

   So he hopped in shotgun.

   "Fuck me sideways, I wasn't quick enough…"

   And, the 2 older guys laughed as he got stuck with being in the back seat 'cage'.

   Speedbump talked into the rear view mirror.

   "It's not that bad, Panic… it was originally a cage seat and backrest, too. I took that out and stuck in regular removable cop cushions."

   Scott wondered aloud about that phrase.

   "Cop cushions ?"

   "Yeah… see, you guys know how for instance old people tend to buy the model of cop car? But, that's just the base retail model the cop cars are built off of. An actual 'cop car' comes in two or three varieties, and has specific odd parts. The cushions in the back seat, if its not the cage backseat? Are made to easily flip up and over, for us to check perpetrators dropping off drugs and weapons and needles and shit we don't catch. All cop cars had this problem for years, until the cage and the removable cushions."

   "Is this your way of you telling me, that's where you keep your stash, Speedy?"

   "Funny. While we're at it? It's my car, I want to set some ground rules right now. Capiche?"

   Bluedot and Panic exchanged 'I have no idea' glances.

   "Okay, I'm not working? But, I'm not… not working, either. I am… scouting. Here's what I want. Anytime we are out of the car, and on water? Scott Bluedot, has what we will call the talking stick. Only he can 'lead' the conversation, talk over people. Understood? Mr. Panic?"

   "Deal. What about while in the car… that's you then, I assume, right Speedy?"

   Speedy smiled too broadly into the rear view mirror.

   "Funny you mention that, Panic. In the car? You're on, mister nervous energy comedian writer… you. I want you to… come up with a story like you do, when you write? I want a fucking story idea."

   "Story about what?"

   "Make up a story, We've all read some of your writing on the site. I want you to just make up a story. A made up story, it just has to be possible. About this. If it is something at all, then its an organization. Make me up a damned story about the evil organization, but… make it believable. Come on, you're a writer? Lets hear you write."

   "This… this is what real state police investigator dudes do to try to solve murders? They make up stories until something sounds plausible?"

   "Actually… as you call it, 'state police investigator dudes' do… whatever the hell they do. It doesn't matter how you get the idea, just that you run across it, and write it down for later. Make me up a story, you make jokes and carry on. Have fun."

   "Well… you know I don't drink much, right? At least, I hardly ever do drink. It's a rare thing for special planned occasions, me and drinking. No, I'm going to buy a whole six pack of my favorite energy drink. And I'm going to get all excited, and since I have an audience? I'm going to act up more than usual. But? That's how I write at home."

   "Wired on energy drinks?"

   "More or less. Or coffee."

   "Speedy? Let me ask you this. If I want my story to be very believable. Like… everyday possible, easy to believe plot line? I have to pick it out of everyday life. So… I have a model to create writing."

   "But, we don't want ordinary… we want an extraordinary story, Panic."

   "Yeah, but you don't want it UFO Aliens Bigfoot weird, either. You want it plausible? Then as an unpublished author, I swear to god, how I would go about it? Honestly, I would start with normal everyday that already exists. Then… slowly change this and that, until I created the 'evil organization' out of a normal flower shop or pet shop. I do it slowly, usually, not all at once."

   "I mean, I guess that makes some bit of sense."

   "So my question to you, Speedy… as a state police investigator dude? And how I love those credentials, it's funny to me. But seriously now. How many… e-x-i-s-t-i-n-g national or international criminal organizations already exist? I would almost want to pick one of them. Why? Why not. Rattle some off, Speedy."

   "Well. You got your ever-present 'mafia' just about everywhere at some level or another, even if it's just what I would call small or local mafia."

   "Eh. The mob wants to run scams and make serious money, right? We can't even establish an ongoing robbery motive here. So no, anything but the mafia. What else is there, Speedy?"

   Speedy took more than a slight pause to think and answer, allowing Bluedot to observe…

   "Yeah, tell me more about what goes bump in the night I don't already worry about. Make it easier for me to sleep at night."

   "Well… you got your normal organized crime, we'll call it that. Then? You got all your drug gangs, you got your individual drug dealers, and packs of drug dealers. You have whatever normal serial killers are working at any one time across America, couple hundred give or take. Every state can expect to get a portion of those. Now, there are these weird little 'traveling con men' and they run in packs, and actually tend to have a 'circuit' they go around, making a living. Hell, you even got your people smugglers, those are widespread criminal organizations. You even got your roving bands of gypsies, they pull low level cons and scams, distract the homeowner thefts, never anything violent."

   "Okay, out of all that? I pick the gypsies. My made up organization? I am a… rogue band of gypsies. They, for some reason, have to pick and kill… I don't know, college students? Good college students… it's their sacrifice to their… fucking gypsy god, their cult. There. It has a base in the everyday and the believable… the work would be in coming up with the details of who what where when why of the cult thrown into the story."

   "Okay, and the rest?"

   "The rest of what? The rest? Is just, practical details about how and why to carry out the drownings."

   "So, it's a rogue band of gypsies? That somehow morphed into… a thuggee cult? Okay."

   Bluedot said it, he couldn;t keep it in.

   "That's the craziest thing I've heard yet, I think."

   Speedy refused to agree with Bluedot when he asked for agreement.

   "Just to be fair? Even though Panic is throwing a dart at a dartboard to make up a story to connect all these zillions of dots we can't really account for? It's just ironic he picks the gypsies out of thin air, is all I'm saying."

   Now both Panic and Bluedot were puzzled and looking for the answer.

   "Well… 'harmless' is not the right word for the gypsies, but, as harmless as they're generally thought to be… they're very real, they're a very real criminal organization. They have a fucking hierarchy, they operate in a cell-like structure. They also m-o-v-e a lot, it's a central part of their identity, the moving around in bands. They hug the east coast, up and down. They winter further south, they roam up and down the east coast all spring summer and fall, and make it as far inland regularly as the mid-west and around the great lakes and up into almost Canada."

   Both Panic and BlueDot looked at each other and asked almost simultaneously:

   "So?"

   "You two science guys don't see the relationship? It's the first plausible 'link' if you wanna grace it by calling it that, that I ever heard of. The gypsies? These dots, more or less, fit fairly well over their general areas of movement."

   "So, that sounds pretty promising…"

   "Yeah, it does…"

   "Not really. The areas are good for it? But the dates are all wrong. Look, a lot of my mystery cases that bug me, well, they stand out because I have a loosely connected string of people with dress clothes wandering into the water for seemingly no real reason, at the wrong time of the year."

   Panic asked out loud:

   "How does anyone account for the fact that the typical victim descriptions? How do you rationalize away the fact that it's predominately college students, and all of them are what people would call 'go getters'. It's the exact opposite of the normal trend. Which is that with better family and money and education, comes decreased risk for things like accidental drownings."

   Bluedot countered:

   "Nonsense. College age kids from all the best universities hit Florida once a year, and they act like retards. They drown and fall from balconies left and right. I don't think it's that mysterious a leap, that these same kids, don't just get drunk and slip and fall at just the worst time, every once in a while. All year long."

   Panic came back:

   "Where's the new material to explain the doubled and tripled numbers on the board. It's no secret that college aged kids always have had drinking parties, all along, all through history. It's not like keg parties were invented recently."

   Both of them stopped and looked to Speedy to referee them.

   "Honestly, I can see it from either point of view. On the one hand, it's pretty easy to just sit back and say 'dang college kids drinking and screwing around, serves them right to die by misadventure'… its also easy to notice the constant carping from the insurance people how nothing demographically accounts for the doubling and tripling."

   Some silence went by, then Speedy added quietly and almost ominously to it.

   "The weird thing is? He picks Gypsies, out of a hat. They live down south all winter, then they come up north, to pursue their scams."

   Bluedot shook his head slowly.

   "It… has merit?"

   Speedy shrugged.

   "Yes and no. Yes, it fits their movements and patterns. No though, because its the complete reverse. This happens all winter, not all summer."