No Time For Funny Business

“Let me tell ya, sirs, I’m a straight thinking man, fer sure.” The drunk, dirty, and perhaps not completely aware of himself bum fidgeted in his seat as two police officers observed him. “I always ‘ave been, you’d better believe! It was how i was brought up, y’know?” He wiped his red nose, covered his mouth as a fit of hiccups overtook him, then coughed once before continuing his rant. “I calls things as I see them, and I stick to that, ‘cause if a man can’t trust his own eyes, what can he trust?”

“Well, Mr. Kitter, why don’t you tell us about what you saw?” The officers, Irene Briggs and Adrain Malcom Holmes, partners on the force who had brought this Mr. Eustace Kitter earlier in the evening while responding to a noise complaint call, had been passing a file between each other. The Mr. Eustace Kitter in front of them was from out of state, nearly in his sixties, and had a knack for stirring up minor trouble wherever he drifted. The pair of officers hoped to get his story for their report, stick him in the drunk tank for the night, and then let him go to wander over to the next county and become someone else’s problem.

“Well ‘fficers, I’ll tell you everything, that’s fer sure.” The aged man took off his spotted, misfitting hat, revealing a bald, spotted head with tufts of wispy gray hair sticking up just above his ears. After scratching his scalp, he asked for a drink, so Briggs went to get him some water. Now that Holmes was alone with the senior, Mr. Kitter started speaking in a low voice. “Now let me say, sir, that what i saw today was odd, odd and strange. I ain’t never seen a thing like that before, not in anywhere I’ve been and I’ve been in Washington and Oregon, and California, and Nevada, and Arizona. To give it a simple name, it was funny business fer sure. And I’ve always had the good sense to never have any moments to spare for no funny business.” Holmes could tell this was going to be a long night. There was nothing in Mr. Kitter’s records about drugs or addictions or even medications, but old men will ramble for ages if they are allowed. So Holmes gently suggested to Mr. Kitter to start to talk about what he had seen earlier that day, and the old man nodded along.

“Yes, well, I was on a busy corner with good ol’ Timothy. Since I’d found myself in this town nearly three months ago, good ol’ Timothy had been my finest friend, I’d say. The corner, where the foot traffic was high and only a few cars passed by each other, had been good ol’ Timothy’s spot for nearly six years. In the morning, we’d get set up, Timothy making sure to put a Bible passage on a piece of box he’d picked up, and I’d be in charge of watching the tin bowl we asked that folks drop a few cents or dollars into. Then we’d just wait for the shops to open, then wait a little more for the people to come for shopping, then we’d ask for whatever folks could spare.” Holmes knew “good ol’ Timothy” pretty well, a rowdy Catholic who made quite a loud noise in the media some years back when he had been refused entry into a church to attend Sunday sermon. The activists and human rights group jumped at the chance, and before anyone realized it, old Timothy Barnes was the face of a movement. A few months and an election later, and now Timothy and every other homeless person in the county could go to the doctor, the grocery store, the ice cream shop, and anywhere else regular people were allowed (though Timothy was happy enough just being able to attend church).

“When we picked you up, Mr. Kitter, Mr. Barnes wasn’t with you. Any idea where he’d gone off to?” Holmes asked Mr. Kitter, watching the interrogation room door out of the corner of his eyes, waiting for Briggs to return.

“Oh, well sir, good ol’ Timothy had slunk away from me ‘round four or five in the eve. We split off ‘round dinner time and meet back at our campsite in the park some hours later. I went into McKinley’s, where you can have a beer and a big sandwich and a basket of chips for eight dollers on Wednesdays, y’know. After splitting our day’s wages between us, good ol’ Timothy and I had nearly fi’teen dollers each.” He chuckled, then had another fit of hiccups and coughed again. “Pardon me, sir. The cold weather has never been good on me, ‘specially not in recent years. So, after having my beer and big sandwich and basket of chips, and another beer for just four dollers, I went out and ‘round the back to use the toilet. Now, I get dizzy when I drink, I’ll admit to it, and all red brick looks the same when you’re dizzy, anyone with any sense will tell you sir, so I had found myself ‘cross the street and behind another building, looking for the door to McKinley’s toilet and mighty confused when it was locked.” The door of the interrogation room opened as Briggs reentered the room. She had with her a set of paper cups and a pitcher of water. She set them down on the table, pouring water into a cup for the old drifter, who took it seemingly without thinking as he kept on with his story.

The cops shared glances as Mr. Kitter went to talk about how he had resigned himself to having a quick piss in the corner, being unable to get into what he thought was the bathroom at McKinley’s, remembering finding the old man with his pants down. So far, no hints of “funny business” at all. They silently agreed that they’d just report that a drunk old drifter had caused a minor public disturbance trying to pee, so Holmes left to go get the forms. Now that Briggs was alone with Mr. Kitter, who barely seemed to notice the two officers had tagged out, she took stock of the man. Mr. Kitter was roundish, especially in the face and stomach. Maybe he had always been that way, although Briggs assumed that anyone who probably didn’t eat as well as they used to must’ve lost some weight. Even though there was grime and dirt smeared on his face, the old man seemed to have a profound joy in his eyes and in the wrinkles across his cheeks and brow, akin to a Santa Claus that had rolled in a gutter after drinking himself silly. Briggs had a thought of him dressed in red, cleaned up a bit, and sitting a child on his lap, and couldn’t help but be amused. She hadn’t noticed that Mr. Kitter had stopped talking.

Mr. Kitter was sipping water from the cup that Briggs had poured for him. Some drops got caught in the twisted hairs of his mustache and beard. He set the cup down, eyeing Briggs for a bit before starting to talk again. “Y’know ‘fficer, before you picked me up, I saw something quite strange. You don’t have to believe me, I’m sure, since I was drunk and taking a piss in a place I had no business being drunk or taking a piss, but I think it’d be in your interest to listen to me.” Now Briggs raised an eyebrow and found herself leaning in closer, as the old man was speaking quite softly now.

“Well go on,” Briggs said, “Tell me everything.”

“Well you see, ‘fficer, I might’ve been dizzy from being drunk, and might’ve been dizzy from taking a long piss, and when a feller is dizzy it’s hard for him to focus on much of anything, but a good startling will bring a mind into focusing.” Mr. Kitter shuddered. “It was a rat that did it. Now I’m not some heartless bastard that takes joy out of hurting no animals, but when a rat scurries near your feet when your taking a piss, and this rat must’ve been about as big as either of my boots, you can’t blame me for stomping like a crazed loon.”

“So, you saw a big rat?” Briggs questioned, starting to wish Holmes would hurry up with those forms. “I can put in a report with the city, if that’ll make you feel better.” But Mr. Kitter shook his head.

“No sir, it wasn’t the rat that I saw that was strange, just that it put me in a better mind to focus. No ‘fficer, what was strange is that, now that I was alert and taking more care of my surroundins, I noticed that the bricks had changed color. As I said to the other ‘fficer, I had stumbled into a red brick alley looking for the toilet at McKinley’s. And, when you and your pardner came to pick me up, you found me in that red brick alley, didn’t cha?” Briggs nodded in agreement, her curiosity piqued again. “That’s right ‘fficer, but for the briefest of minutes, I was in a grey brick alley instead. And I’m sure most common people would say I don’t know much, but I swear I can tell red brick from grey brick, ‘fficer.”

“How do you think you ended up in that alley, Mr. Kitter? All of the buildings around McKinley’s are all red-brick. Did you wander off, and maybe double back around to the alley where we found you?” Briggs postulated to the old man, but Mr. Kitter shook his head.

“I didn’t move at all, ‘fficer, no way no how. And if I didn’t move, but still found myself in a different place, then that place must’ve come to me, rather than me goin’ to it. I ain’t never been a man to make time for funny business like that, no sir. I was still a bit dizzy from the drinking, but I made to pull up my trousers and head out from there. ‘Course, you and your pardner found me with my trousers at my ankles. How that happened is that I was walking while pulling my pants up, and looking down at my belt rather than watching where I steppin’, so I slipped real easily. You know how it hurts when you slip, don’tcha ‘fficer? Your own body falls on top of itself, and everything aches all at once.”

“Is that why you have bruises on your hands and arms?” Briggs asked, and Mr. Kitter nodded. “You need to be more careful, Mr. Kitter. At your age, even a slip is pretty dangerous.” Mr. Kitter shook his head and wiped his nose.

“Thank you, ‘fficer, and I’ll try to be more careful about it, but I can take a scrape. Now, laying there on the ground, I was covered up by bags and trash. I couldn’t move real well, so I just laid there, and was planning to until I had enough strength to stand again. I’m not sure how long I’d been there, not having a watch or nothing, but it was awhile. I still wasn’t feeling good enough to move, so I just had to lay there. That’s when it happened, ‘fficer. The funny business.” Mr. Kitter stopped to drink a bit more water, and Briggs could tell the man was studying her. The door of the interrogation room opened, and Holmes finally stepped through, a bundle of paperwork under his arm. He sat down beside his partner, slipping on a pair of thin glasses from his pocket and soon the sound of pen scribbling filled the silent room. Mr. Kitter set down his nearly empty paper cup, wiped off his mouth with the dirty sleeve of his coat, and continued. “I heard two voices, a man and a woman I had never met before, arguing in the alley. One of them sounded much older than the other, angrier too, and spoke up above the younger lady nearly the whole time. The younger lady couldn’t get a word in edgewise, was constantly trying to get the older man to quiet down. Whatever they were up to, it turned bad. I couldn’t see them very well, but I know what it sounds like when two folks are pushing and shoving each other. Then, I heard the most terrible sound: a loud cracking noise that hurt my ears and made me close my eyes tight, just like if I’d had a big sneeze.” Now both officers were paying more attention to the drunk drifter, sharing glances back and forth. Holmes had sat his pen down, and spoke calmly to Mr. Kitter.

“Mr. Kitter, I need to ask you to clarify for me,” The old man was still looking at Briggs, so Holmes had to snap his fingers a few times to get his attention. “Mr. Kitter, do you understand that you are potentially describing a murder?” Mr. Kitter nodded solemnly. “Then I need you to try and remember as much as you can, where you were, what the man and the woman might have looked like, anything at all so we can deal with this situation.”

“All I can tell you sir, is what the poor victim looked like.” Then, he raised his finger and pointed at Briggs. Both officers looked at the old man, Holmes in complete disbelief while Briggs just looked to her partner. Holmes, quite fed up with the old man, stood up from the table and crossed his arms.

“Mr. Kitter, let me just repeat what you told us, just so I can be sure I’m not missing anything.” Holmes held up his hand, sticking out fingers as he counted off the details. “You found yourself in a strange place, with no knowledge of where you were or what you were doing. You fell down in some trash, and while you were on the ground two people came into the alley. They started arguing and one of them shot the other, and the victim looks like Officer Briggs.” By now, the senior cop was holding up three fingers. “Is that all right?”

Before