Boy, oh boy! Spank my fanny and call me Judy if last night wasn’t one to tell the grandkids about – supposing I ever settle down long enough to have them. Roscoe and I were on patrol, hunting for the little rat-bastard (excuse my French, ladies) when we heard a brouhaha right in my own back yard. I had to hand it to this guy, he had some nerve!

Well, we doubled back down the driveway quick as a wink and quiet as field mice. A little warning about field mice. I don’t know if you’re familiar with them, but they really are pretty darned sneaky. Not too long ago one of these little critters scared the bejesus out of me when I was cutting across the field late one night after a little friendly carousing. Damned thing practically bit my nose off before I could get away.   

But that’s really neither here nor there, is it? Where was I? Oh, yeah, we were doubling back. It was a dark night, no moon and cloudy to boot. I was glad to have Roscoe by my side. His night vision is pretty darned phenomenal and I let him lead the way.

We had just reached the gate when I heard the trash can go over. The porch light was on and in its yellow glow I could see the lowlife and I stopped dead in my tracks. This was no idiot kid. I was right. This was the Masked Bandit. This guy’s a bad egg. He’s been one of Old Towne’s Most Wanted for as long as I can remember for everything from B&E to aggravated assault. And Roscoe and I had him in our sights.

We didn’t need to talk. Over the years R. and I have gotten pretty good at reading each other and at glance from me my partner winked and slid off silently to the other side of the porch. We moved in slowly, backing him into a corner. Yeah, I know how dangerous a cornered villain can be. But he hadn’t heard us, yet, so we still had the edge.

When I was in pouncing distance I gave Roscoe the nod and he went to work. Roscoe can seem to double in size when he wants to put the fear of God into someone. He stood there menacing and shouted, “The jig is up, buddy boy!”

And then I attacked. I sailed through the air and took him down. The stiff never knew what hit him. I’ve been working on this move since I could walk and it’s never failed me. I use my whole body, hips first, and kind of just glue myself to the hapless victim.  And then I keep them pinned until the cuffs come out.

The Bandit struggled, but Roscoe came over and swiped him hard in the jaw. After that he sort of gave up and laid there. He wasn’t fooling me, though. I never loosened my grip. I was practically turning purple with the effort, but I knew he was just waiting for his chance to get away or worse, take me down.

At this, Roscoe was laughing his butt off. I told him to knock it off. He said he couldn’t help it, that we were quite the picture.  Just then the door opened and Daisy looked out. She started screaming so loud, I thought I’d lose an ear drum. I love the dame, but in an emergency, she’s not the gal I’d call first.

Luckily, Rose came to the door and I was able to get a word in. She nodded and put a call into the local constabulary. It wasn’t long before the cavalry arrived and I was able to get up and stretch. I looked at Roscoe and he looked at me. A knuckle bump, a nod – Boom! – there was nothing more to say.

Later that night, over a drink or three, the four of us got to laughing about the take down. We must have looked a right bunch of idiots. Daisy screaming, me turning purple, the big R. laughing till he almost, well, you know.

Daisy kept apologizing for the screaming. Said she was just startled. If that was just startled, I’m a four-legged booze hound. But she’s so cute, I just nodded and kept that to myself.

Then Rose actually patted Roscoe on the head and said, ‘Nice job.’ Just a little patronizing on her part. I mean, Roscoe’s old enough to be her father! But she means well and she mixes a damned fine martooni. Well, the night moved on and as R. and I were leaving to spend the rest of it sleeping under the stars, the girls told me they’d learned their lesson. They told me the next time I tell them something hinky’s going down, they’ll listen with both ears. But I’m not holding my breath. As I said before – Women! You can’t tell them anything.

You can read more about Malcolm and his cronies in Roses and Daisies and Death, Oh My! when it comes out this December.