light-haired, and icy-eyed, the man looked far too Nordic to carry off summer wear. It was the first time Magozzi had ever seen the painfully genteel man in anything other than a very expensive suit, and it was a little unsettling. Even the Chief himself seemed slightly at odds in his alien skin of lightweight shirt and slacks, his hand straying every now and then to his tieless collar, as if searching for a missing body part.
"Afternoon, sir. I'm glad you could make it today," Magozzi greeted him.
Malcherson gave him just a hint of a droll smile. "I'm happy to be here, Detective. Although I must admit I'm feeling slightly guilty about standing in this line, planning to willfully contribute to the discomfort of one of our own."
"You're in good company, sir."
"I see that. And itis for a good cause."
"That's exactly right, sir, and if it makes you feel any better, I know for a fact that Detective Rolseth is delighted for the opportunity to make such a substantial contribution."
That, of course, was bullshit, and everybody, including Chief Malcherson, knew it. Gino Rolseth, Magozzi's partner and best friend, was mad as hell to be the main attraction today, but he really hadn't had much say in the matter. Earlier in the week, an anonymous donor had offered to match this year's Fun Fair proceeds, but only under the condition that Gino take the perch above the dunk tank.
Gino had immediately thrown a world-class fit, refusing flat-out, but once word got out in Homicide, everybody was quick to remind him that his refusal would be tantamount to ripping food from the mouths of needy children in danger of turning to the streets, et cetera, et cetera.
Nobody knew who was behind it-they all had their theories- but one thing was certain: It would be the only case Gino would be working until he figured it out.
Magozzi and Malcherson both cringed a little when they heard a loud salvo of hoots and hollers coming from the front of the line. A few minutes later, skinny little carrot-haired Detective Johnny McLaren was practically jigging toward them, a bright blue snow-cone smile plastered on his sun-pinkened face.
"Man, was that great! You should have seen the expression on his face when the ball connected and he went down. Glad I'm on vacation next week, is all I have to say." He turned toward Malcherson. "Come on, Chief, you've gotta know who's behind this. You took the call, right?"
Chief Malcherson's expression was stone. "I truly have no idea, Detective. I was hardly in a position to press the matter of identity, given this very generous individual's adamant wish to remain unnamed."
McLaren smirked a little and rocked back and forth on his feet, trying to decide whether or not to believe him. "Okay, sure, Chief. The whole gift horse thing. Well, good luck, guys. I'm going to go buy myself another ticket."
"I CANNOT frigging believe that you, of all people, my own partner for Christ's sake, actually participated in this travesty." Gino was sitting morosely at a sunny picnic table with Magozzi, slurping the sticky remains of a snow cone out of its limp paper holder. He'd exchanged his soaked swimming trunks and T-shirt for jeans and a vintage bowling shirt that had seen better days, probably sometime during the Korean War.
Magozzi did his best to look contrite. "The Chief and I were actually having second thoughts there for a while, but when we saw your own daughter dunk you, that pretty much nailed it for us."
"Yeah, but I've got an avenue of remuneration for that little traitor-Helen's going to be fifty before I let her get her learner's permit. Damnit, I knew I should never have let her go out for Softball."
"Well, if it's any consolation, I'm feeling pretty bad about the whole thing. Hell, I had no idea I could still throw like that."
Gino glared at him. "Yeah, right, and neither did the Chief, who I just found out was an all-star frigging pitcher at the U of M. I'll tell you what-you find out who the comedian is who
"Afternoon, sir. I'm glad you could make it today," Magozzi greeted him.
Malcherson gave him just a hint of a droll smile. "I'm happy to be here, Detective. Although I must admit I'm feeling slightly guilty about standing in this line, planning to willfully contribute to the discomfort of one of our own."
"You're in good company, sir."
"I see that. And itis for a good cause."
"That's exactly right, sir, and if it makes you feel any better, I know for a fact that Detective Rolseth is delighted for the opportunity to make such a substantial contribution."
That, of course, was bullshit, and everybody, including Chief Malcherson, knew it. Gino Rolseth, Magozzi's partner and best friend, was mad as hell to be the main attraction today, but he really hadn't had much say in the matter. Earlier in the week, an anonymous donor had offered to match this year's Fun Fair proceeds, but only under the condition that Gino take the perch above the dunk tank.
Gino had immediately thrown a world-class fit, refusing flat-out, but once word got out in Homicide, everybody was quick to remind him that his refusal would be tantamount to ripping food from the mouths of needy children in danger of turning to the streets, et cetera, et cetera.
Nobody knew who was behind it-they all had their theories- but one thing was certain: It would be the only case Gino would be working until he figured it out.
Magozzi and Malcherson both cringed a little when they heard a loud salvo of hoots and hollers coming from the front of the line. A few minutes later, skinny little carrot-haired Detective Johnny McLaren was practically jigging toward them, a bright blue snow-cone smile plastered on his sun-pinkened face.
"Man, was that great! You should have seen the expression on his face when the ball connected and he went down. Glad I'm on vacation next week, is all I have to say." He turned toward Malcherson. "Come on, Chief, you've gotta know who's behind this. You took the call, right?"
Chief Malcherson's expression was stone. "I truly have no idea, Detective. I was hardly in a position to press the matter of identity, given this very generous individual's adamant wish to remain unnamed."
McLaren smirked a little and rocked back and forth on his feet, trying to decide whether or not to believe him. "Okay, sure, Chief. The whole gift horse thing. Well, good luck, guys. I'm going to go buy myself another ticket."
"I CANNOT frigging believe that you, of all people, my own partner for Christ's sake, actually participated in this travesty." Gino was sitting morosely at a sunny picnic table with Magozzi, slurping the sticky remains of a snow cone out of its limp paper holder. He'd exchanged his soaked swimming trunks and T-shirt for jeans and a vintage bowling shirt that had seen better days, probably sometime during the Korean War.
Magozzi did his best to look contrite. "The Chief and I were actually having second thoughts there for a while, but when we saw your own daughter dunk you, that pretty much nailed it for us."
"Yeah, but I've got an avenue of remuneration for that little traitor-Helen's going to be fifty before I let her get her learner's permit. Damnit, I knew I should never have let her go out for Softball."
"Well, if it's any consolation, I'm feeling pretty bad about the whole thing. Hell, I had no idea I could still throw like that."
Gino glared at him. "Yeah, right, and neither did the Chief, who I just found out was an all-star frigging pitcher at the U of M. I'll tell you what-you find out who the comedian is who
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