his hips and
sputtered, “They are trying to leave without paying for their
meals.”
“ What meals? Have you folks had
any meals?” Jason asked the teachers. Looking around the banquet
room, he noted, “There are no plates on the tables.”
Mr. DeLuca practically snorted, “Of course
there are no plates on the tables. They haven’t been served
yet.”
His tone made it plain he thought Jason should
have figured this out on his own.
Mr. McHale, knowing exactly who Jason, Paul,
and I were, stepped forward. “As a matter of fact, detective, we
haven’t even ordered yet.”
Mr. DeLuca's eyes flashed. “You just shut your
mouth,” he commanded Mr. McHale.
Mr. DeLuca turned on Jason, “Call in a paddy
wagon or whatever you have to do, detective, but I demand you
arrest all of them.”
Jason took a deep breath to compose himself
before saying, “Mr. DeLuca, you want me to arrest a room full of
teachers because they have not paid for food you haven’t even
prepared, for meals they haven’t even ordered? Is that
correct?”
“ Yes!” Mr. DeLuca said
emphatically, apparently glad the cop finally understood the
situation.
Jason looked around the room, finally catching
his wife’s eye. She was trying to hide a smile. We all wondered if
Mr. DeLuca had any idea at all of how ridiculous he sounded. I
looked at Maeve, but she wouldn’t look my way. Later she said that
she was afraid if she looked at me she would start laughing and
wouldn’t be able to stop.
Mr. McHale wasn’t laughing. I thought he was
going to explode, and realized I needed to do something.
“ Sgt. Lewis, I think I should take
Mr. McHale here outside and get his side of the story.”
Jason looked at me in confusion at first.
After all, I wasn’t a cop. But he went along.
“ Good idea, Lanier. Detective
Patrick and I will stay here and keep an eye on the rest of these
suspects.”
Jason barely managed to keep a straight face
as he said this. Mr. DeLuca stood there fuming. The teachers were
talking quietly among themselves. They all knew who Jason, Paul
Patrick, and I were, especially that those two were
cops.
Mr. McHale wasn’t sure what to think, but he
followed me outside. “Michael, when did you join the Police
Department?”
I looked back toward the banquet room to be
sure we were out of earshot. “About thirty seconds ago, sir. I
think I’ve been deputized by silent consent. Mr. DeLuca doesn’t
know that. Come on, let’s you and I go use the payphone. I assume
you won’t be staying here for lunch.”
Mr. McHale made a derisive noise deep in his
throat. “You assume correctly, young man. Who are you going to
call?”
There was only one person I could think of who
could handle a group like that on short notice, Alfred
Dupree.
“ I am going to call an old friend
of mine. Your staff wanted Italian. I hope they’ll settle for
pizza.”
I called Alfred and asked him if, as a
personal favor to me, he could make up enough pizza to feed the
staff at Laney High and do so in the next hour. All he asked was if
they were coming there or if I needed them delivered.
“ I can’t imagine you’ve got room
for all of them,” I said.
“ Nonsense, Michael. The lunch
crowd has started thinning out. You bring them over, and I’ll have
a place for them,” Alfred assured me.
“ Thank you so much for this,
Alfred. I really owe you one.”
“ Don’t be silly, Michael. It’s the
least I can do for such a good friend as you.”
Mr. McHale seemed relieved to hear the
situation had been taken care of, at least that part of the
situation.
My next call was to my father. “Dad, I need to
know the details of Mr. DeLuca’s lease on the Primavera’s
building.”
“ What in the world for, son?” my
father asked, surprise evident in his voice.
If I was going to get the teachers out of
there before the situation became any more ridiculous, I couldn't
take the time to go into detail. “I promise I’ll explain later. I
just need to
sputtered, “They are trying to leave without paying for their
meals.”
“ What meals? Have you folks had
any meals?” Jason asked the teachers. Looking around the banquet
room, he noted, “There are no plates on the tables.”
Mr. DeLuca practically snorted, “Of course
there are no plates on the tables. They haven’t been served
yet.”
His tone made it plain he thought Jason should
have figured this out on his own.
Mr. McHale, knowing exactly who Jason, Paul,
and I were, stepped forward. “As a matter of fact, detective, we
haven’t even ordered yet.”
Mr. DeLuca's eyes flashed. “You just shut your
mouth,” he commanded Mr. McHale.
Mr. DeLuca turned on Jason, “Call in a paddy
wagon or whatever you have to do, detective, but I demand you
arrest all of them.”
Jason took a deep breath to compose himself
before saying, “Mr. DeLuca, you want me to arrest a room full of
teachers because they have not paid for food you haven’t even
prepared, for meals they haven’t even ordered? Is that
correct?”
“ Yes!” Mr. DeLuca said
emphatically, apparently glad the cop finally understood the
situation.
Jason looked around the room, finally catching
his wife’s eye. She was trying to hide a smile. We all wondered if
Mr. DeLuca had any idea at all of how ridiculous he sounded. I
looked at Maeve, but she wouldn’t look my way. Later she said that
she was afraid if she looked at me she would start laughing and
wouldn’t be able to stop.
Mr. McHale wasn’t laughing. I thought he was
going to explode, and realized I needed to do something.
“ Sgt. Lewis, I think I should take
Mr. McHale here outside and get his side of the story.”
Jason looked at me in confusion at first.
After all, I wasn’t a cop. But he went along.
“ Good idea, Lanier. Detective
Patrick and I will stay here and keep an eye on the rest of these
suspects.”
Jason barely managed to keep a straight face
as he said this. Mr. DeLuca stood there fuming. The teachers were
talking quietly among themselves. They all knew who Jason, Paul
Patrick, and I were, especially that those two were
cops.
Mr. McHale wasn’t sure what to think, but he
followed me outside. “Michael, when did you join the Police
Department?”
I looked back toward the banquet room to be
sure we were out of earshot. “About thirty seconds ago, sir. I
think I’ve been deputized by silent consent. Mr. DeLuca doesn’t
know that. Come on, let’s you and I go use the payphone. I assume
you won’t be staying here for lunch.”
Mr. McHale made a derisive noise deep in his
throat. “You assume correctly, young man. Who are you going to
call?”
There was only one person I could think of who
could handle a group like that on short notice, Alfred
Dupree.
“ I am going to call an old friend
of mine. Your staff wanted Italian. I hope they’ll settle for
pizza.”
I called Alfred and asked him if, as a
personal favor to me, he could make up enough pizza to feed the
staff at Laney High and do so in the next hour. All he asked was if
they were coming there or if I needed them delivered.
“ I can’t imagine you’ve got room
for all of them,” I said.
“ Nonsense, Michael. The lunch
crowd has started thinning out. You bring them over, and I’ll have
a place for them,” Alfred assured me.
“ Thank you so much for this,
Alfred. I really owe you one.”
“ Don’t be silly, Michael. It’s the
least I can do for such a good friend as you.”
Mr. McHale seemed relieved to hear the
situation had been taken care of, at least that part of the
situation.
My next call was to my father. “Dad, I need to
know the details of Mr. DeLuca’s lease on the Primavera’s
building.”
“ What in the world for, son?” my
father asked, surprise evident in his voice.
If I was going to get the teachers out of
there before the situation became any more ridiculous, I couldn't
take the time to go into detail. “I promise I’ll explain later. I
just need to
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