The Rest of the Story.......

No fish tales this week, no pictures, just a tale. Due to overwhelming demand, I decided to continue the tale from last week. Now you will have….. The rest of the story. For those of you who missed it, the bolded paragraph below was the opening to the blog post earlier this week.

 You may think you recognize some of the characters in this tale, but I assure you, that are all quite fictional. Names, characters, places and incidents are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

 The dark, gray clouds hover over the Fred Meyer parking lot, so low it creates a claustrophobic effect. Red and blue flashing lights reflect off the wet pavement as police string crime scene tape around a lone RV in the corner. We watch from afar as an ambulance slowly pulls up with other emergency vehicles, lights flashing, not in a hurry, that cannot be good. Blood, seeping across the pavement makes its way towards a nightcrawler that recently emerged from the wet soil. A robin swoops down and gobbles up the unsuspecting worm. And just like that another life is gone. No one notices, time marches on.

Detective Olivieri donned her raincoat and approached the RV with the analytical eye of a 30-year veteran of the Fargo Police Department. While it is true there are not a lot of crime in Fargo, or even North Dakota for that matter, she has seen a lot of gruesome things in her day. Of course, she will never forget the Woodchipper case back in ’96. She had just been promoted to detective a month before that case and she remembers thinking how she wished it was her lazy, blue-beer drinking husband that had found his way into that woodchipper rather than poor old Carl. But that case is what really made a name for her, so if Carl had to be sacrificed to make a name for herself, so be it.

Before entering the RV, she stops and scans the parking lot. Why Fred Meyer allowed freeloaders to camp in their parking lot she would never understand. All it did was invite undesirables into their town looking for a free place to stay. She notices two sets of eyes peeking through the curtains of a Lance camper sitting on a white Ram pickup. South Dakota plates on the pickup are prominent on the front of the truck. South Dakota scum, why can’t they stay in their own state? She knows she’ll have to interview them and see if they saw anything. A task she was not looking forward to.

 Entering the crime scene, she sees more blood on the floor. “Where’s our vic?” she says to Colibaba as he is snapping photos of the inside of the RV. Colibaba was hired last month in a newly created “Forensics Officer” position. Not for his forensic skills, but because he was friends with the Chief. “He’s really good at taking pictures eh?” was the only explanation Chief Roche gave for the hire. But we all knew the real reason. They were bro-friends, have been for years, hell, the whole town knows. “No vic” Colibaba responds, “just blood, lady in that white Ram over there was walking her dogs, had an altercation and called it in”.

 “Make sure you get a close up of that bloody boot print, we can probably determine the size and make of it”, she tells Colibaba. “That’s my boot print, I accidently stepped in the blood”. “Take a picture of it anyway”. Christ, he will probably take a selfie with it, that guy loves his selfies. Scanning the rest of the floor she sees a single Croc sandal. A huge Croc, laying next to it is a bloody sock that looks like it had seen its better days. Damn, that a huge croc. Who wears Crocs anymore? Who wears Crocs with socks? She stifles a laugh thinking of her poetic skills. This case is getting weirder by the minute.

 “RV’s registered to a Harold Fury out of Pennsylvania”. Colibaba says. “Di called the phone number listed at the DMV, got a hold of the wife. She say’s Harold left in the RV two months ago. Said he was going to tour the ball parks across the US, no idea where he is and she said she hopes he never comes back”. ‘Di’ is Colibaba’s wife, also the dispatcher for the city. Nepotism at it’s best. She’s a lovely woman who deserves so much better. How’s that saying go; He married up and she married way, way down?

 May as well go talk to the lady in the Ram, she thinks as she heads across the parking lot. Before she can even knock, the door is opened by this gorgeous hunk of a man. Shirtless. Piecing blue eyes staring back at her. But it’s not his eyes she is looking at, it is the perfect 6-pack of a chiseled chest that has her attention. She grabs onto the side of the truck as her knees become weak. Her mouth is suddenly dry and she cannot speak. Finally pulls herself together and asks to speak to the complainant. “That was my wife Barbie, she was walking Dakota and Zoey when it happened. Let me get her for you”. Barbie? Dakota? Who calls their wife Barbie? Who names their dog Dakota? Original.

 ‘Barbie’ comes to the door, a perky little thing who looks like she has had one too many lattes this morning, or is she nervous about something? “Can you tell me what happened Mame?” “Well, I just was walking the girls, Dakota and Zoey, when this crazy man jumps out of that trailer and starts kicking at my dogs! Dakota hid behind me, but little Zoey is not afraid of anything and grabbed onto that man's canckle and started shaking it. Shook his Croc right off!” Upon hearing her name, little Zoey appeared around the corner of the interior of the camper. An ugly dog, with a nose that looks like it ran into a few too many walls. Shreds of a bloody sock hung from her disfigured teeth. Geez, find a dog dentist Olivieri thought.

 About then Barbie screamed, “There he is!” Pointing to a gangly ogre trying to run across towards the Fred Meyer. “If he gets into that store, we’ll never find him”, Olivieri yells.  “Fear not,” Barbie replies, “I have a Fur Missile, get’em Zoey!” Barbie launches Zoey who takes of across the parking lot, chomping into the man’s uninjured ankle dropping him to the ground. Olivieri rushes over handcuffing the man and turning him over. “Why it’s Harry the Dog Hater! Wanted in 23 US states and two Canadian Provinces” Barbie takes ahold of Zoey who is still shaking Harry’s legs like a little Tasmanian Devil.

 Harold Fury was living up to his name and was furious! “I told my wife that I was on a cross-country tour of Major League Ballparks, but I was actually on a cross-country tour to terrorize dogs. And I would have gotten away from it if it wasn’t for that dang-blasted flat-faced ugly dog!” After getting Harold safely in the back of her squad car, Olivieri comes back and tells Barbie, “I’ll be putting your name in for the $100,000 reward on The Dog Hater, a lot of people will be glad to know he is off the streets.” “$100.000?”, Barbie replies with a twinkle in her eye, “Why that’ll be perfect, I’ve had my eye on a new Breville Espresso Maker, a new Freeze Dryer and a new Class C!”

 And that, my friends, is the tale of how Harry the Dog Hater was brought to justice making the world a safer place for all two and four-legged creatures across the north.