Maverick James

Short stories about a witty small-town Oregon detective Ira Parker. [Original stories written by Maverick James, 2014.]

[detectiveparker-blog]

Sawyer: You've been here for two hours. How did you accomplish this?

Parker: With two hands.

Sawyer: It's a mess.

Parker: No, it's sanity.

[detectiveparker-blog]

Settling In

"I refuse to work with that woman. She’s rude, careless…" he protested as the case file hit the desk, and for a brief moment parting the smoke in the room like the Red Sea. "All she cares about is herself. She doesn’t even have the background or credentials to have her dirty hands on this case. I say we just lay low, let my men do what they do best. Which is figuring this shit out." He reclined back in his leather chair and propped his feet up on the desk, while puffing on his cigar and blowing smoke into the room. Chief Inspector Dean Armstrong, the name plate on his desk read. A short, old man with snow white hair, cliché bright rosy cheeks and wrinkles that have wrinkles. He cleared his throat, removed his thin gold-framed glasses off his nose and tossed them up onto the desk. Around the room he had pictures mounted on the walls of him shaking hands with every statewide authority figure. The pictures started as black-and-white newspaper clippings when he was younger with a muscular physique in police uniform to recent photographs of him.

"Dean, quite frankly I don’t give a rats-ass what you think." Director of Police, Louie Bowman, said calmly. Waving a cloud of smoke out of his face. "Armstrong, you’ve been with the force for a long time now and it’s time that the old dog learned some new tricks. For starters, pretending to get along with people or remembering that senority doesn’t guarantee your job." Bowman stood in position with hands behind his back and feet planted firmly to the ground, eyes locked on Armstrong’s cigar. "She’s the only choice we have right now. The entire state of Oregon will be breathing down our necks unless we take immediate action, Dean. Call her." 

Bowman slowly reached into his shirt pocket and grabbed a card and handed it to Inspector Armstrong. One side was completely blank, on the other was nothing but a phone number centered on the card. Bowman opened the office door and watched a cloud of smoke roll by and looked back at Armstrong, “Just put her in contact with one of your best field inspectors and give me a status report by six o’clock this evening.”

Still feeling Director Bowman’s stare on him, Armstrong put out the cigar and dialed the number that was on the back of the card. As the phone rang, he stared at his reflection off a photo on his desk and practiced his fake smile.

"Miss Parker? This is Chief Inspector Dean Armstrong of the Grants Pass Police Department…" he refocused his attention on his reflection once more and faked a smile, "we need your help."

[detectiveparker-blog]

She's the only choice we have right now. The entire state of Oregon will be breathing down our necks unless we take immediate action, Dean. Call her.

Louie Bowman, "Settling In" (Detective Parker Series)