[ wp ] You work with the worst detective in history . He misses every clue and makes leaps of illogic that leave you baffled for hours . He also always catches the right bad guy . No one knows how he does this .

Roger and I strolled into the diner a few blocks from the police station, where, yet again, he had bagged a jewelry thief. With seemingly no leads, hearsay evidence, and a smudged fingerprint. 
 
 He was almost hopping with giddiness as I trudged behind, reviewing the case in my head, trying to pinpoint any part that I myself had glanced over or missed that would have led to the correct suspect. 
 
 “ Andy, snap out of it! ” he called back, holding the door open to the corner eatery. It was his favorite place to go after a booking. The red pleather booths and broken jukeboxes probably fostered some type of satisfactory pleasure in him to rival the bitterness it struck through my stomach. His goofy smile and short wave were sickenly stupid. How had I come to this job again? I would ask myself frequently, and most often on arrest days. Damn department store had to lay me off; at least he paid well. If I knew Roger, breakfast was on him. 
 
 He strolled in, waving to the cashier at the front, blowing her a kiss. We sat in our designated booth, directly adjacent to the rotating pie slices. “ Oh Wanda, you ’ re too kind, ” he said bashfully as she brought over some coffee. For Christ ’ s sake coffee was complimentary for everyone. 
 
 “ So… ” He began. I tried to play dumb, but he knew the ritual. I would be lying to myself if I didn ’ t admit a small part of me was intrigued, and loved the activity. I pulled out my spiral bound notebook that kept the notes of our cases. He chuckled, as if it was the first time seeing the notebook, pointing at his head and mouthing the words “ Steel trap. ” As if he had any clue what was going on; more like empty toolshed you bumbling twat. 
 
 I opened to the first page of the recently closed crime. It had newspaper clippings from the day after the incident, and a hand-drawn layout of the jewelry store with all exits, windows, and security cameras marked. “ Oh so there were security cameras! ” he remarked. I wanted to throw my coffee into his eyeballs. 
 
 I snapped the book shut. I didn ’ t want to ask him questions today, to pander like an idiot school-child for test answers. “ Just tell me how you did it, ” I said, flatly and without enthusiasm. 
 
 “ Aw come on now, ” he made sad puppy eyes, “ don ’ t get worked up Andy. You ’ ll crack one eventually. ” 
 
 He waited a few more seconds in silence. A thin smile worked across his face. Then he opened his chesire jaws and took a bite of his jelly toast. He eyed me again, still stoic, and laughed, splattering crumbs across the table, onto my eggs and into my coffee. That really cracked him up, and he continued riotously, throwing back his head and spitting jelly everywhere, smacking the table, and stomping. The waitress almost dropped her tray in surprise. What a nut! 
 
 When he slowed down, he wiped the tears from his eyes. “ Andy, Andy, Andy, ” small snort, “ you should see you face. ” 
 
 I hate this idiot. 
 
 He rolled up the sleeves of his tweed jacket, like he was getting ready to get to work. Then he put his head down and paused, always one for drama. “ I ’ ll start from the beginning, ” he said, face in his palms, then lifting his head up to stare me in the eye. 
 
 “ Clues build on clues, ” his classic opener. “ And the first clue was… Ralphie. ” He wanted me to asked who Ralphie was. I didn ’ t. 
 
 “ Ralphie, ” he began, smiling once again and adjusting his glasses, “ is the guy who owns the pizza shop across the street from the jewelry store. He was working the night of the robbery. He said he didn ’ t see anything. Sure. So I bought a slice, shot the shit, gabbed it up, talked Yankees and Red Sox, front page article of his newspaper, the whole shebang. ” Stop talking in cliches you dolt. “ Anyway, he lightens up, tells me he saw a guy, short, black leather jacket skulking around the shop for a few days, went in and out once or twice. Mostly harmless looking, maybe looking for an engagement ring, but it just popped back in his head. ” 
 
 He paused for some appreciation of his genius. Who cares what a pizza guy says. Nothing. Receiving no recognition, he continued. “ So I knew who did it from the start, I just had to prove it. ” 
 
 First suspect? Sure, he definitely did it. “ Next, I checked out the crime scene again. No broken windows, no evidence of forced entry. Zilch. ” He drew a zero in the air with his finger. 
 
 I couldn ’ t resist anymore, “ You didn ’ t look at the security footage? ” 
 
 “ No, ” he said, like it was the first time the thought popped in his head. If he had been smart enough to think of it, he would have seen the same thing I did: a blurry figure run through the front door and bag the cameras immediately. 
 
 “ Anyway, ” he recounted, “ I knew the criminal must have had a key, it ’ s the only way. That stingy Jeweler, he would never leave the door unlocked at night. ” 
 
 Ok, it was 5-year-old deduction, but I guess it was some kind deduction at least. I had inspected the lock myself. It had not been tampered in any way, and was still fully functional after the crime. 
 
 “ That led me to the hardware store. The closest one to the crime happened to be the closest one my apartment, so I checked it out. ” Lucky guess. 
 
 “ The old man owner wasn ’ t there, but his wife, Nancy, she was working the key stand. I ’ m kind of a regular, you know, busting all these robberies and breaking and enterings, so she knows me. A real spicy broad, if you know what I mean. ” He raised his eyebrows and grinned like a horny twelve year old. “ So she tells me about this guy that came in recently, shorter side, smelled kind of funny, like cooking grease or something. She wasn ’ t into him, I could tell. Damn that apron really accented the curves. ” Still grinning, making a motion with his hands as if cupping a bowl. “ I ’ m working her now, complimenting the apron, how she makes those key copies so well, I even listen her complain about her husband that lucky bastard. I tell you if she was my wife. ” Long whistle, then “ Wooo! I don ’ t even want to say. ” 
 
 “ I get it, ” I interject, trying to move this along. 
 
 “ She suddenly remembers more about this guy. Short, she says. Leather jacket, she says, Can ’ t remember the rest. ” 
 
 Roger ’ s grin is at full capacity, taking up his whole goddamned jaw. “ But I remember, ” he whispers, tapping on his steel trap with one stubby finger. 
 
 “ I ’ ve got my guy. Time to stake-out. ” 
 
 “ And why didn ’ t you call me for the stake-out? ” 
 
 “ You think I ’ m going to pay you twenty bucks an hour to sit in a car with me? ” 
 
 I still can ’ t believe I have to walk around with this clown for twenty dollars an hour. 
 
 “ So I ’ m staking out the crime scene, and, sure enough, he comes back. They always come back. ” He shakes his head, pitying their stupidity. How awful is that? Roger, pitying them. 
 
 “ I ’ m out of the car now, trailing him, 20 feet at first. He ’ s going for the store again, a second hit? I ’ m 10 feet now, I ’ m going to overtake him before he gets to the door. ” 
 
 ‘ Hey! ’ I shouted. ” What an idiot, completely blowing his cover. “ He turned around, he ’ s got a crowbar! I dodge a swing, right by the old cabeza, whiff! He takes another, near miss. I jump on him and somehow muscle away the crowbar. One swift hit and, bam! He ’ s out cold. ” 
 
 He leans back in the booth, very satisfied with himself and the jelly toast breakfast. Hands behind his head, wrapped in his curly salt and pepper mop. He must picture himself a hero, maybe a genius even. I ’ ve never seen such a smug buffoon. 
 
 “ And the rest is history. ” 
 
 “ The fingerprint? ” 
 
 “ Oh they already had the fingerprint, Andy. I picked it up the first day at the scene. It was at the station with the rest of the evidence. ” He replied nonchalantly.
