Read Detective D. Case for Free Online Page B

decided to fire again.
              On
the side, Officer #2 groaned.
              “You
need to take him to a hospital,” D. advised.
              Officer
#1, with two hands, shoved D. to the ground along with the second officer.
“Well, well, well,” he teetered. “May I ask again: did you have anything to do with
this?”
              “What
in heavens do you mean?”
              “Are
you a dumbbell of an idiot? I’m talking about the goddam fire for crying out
loud!”
              They
both stared at the fire on the top of the building. “I have nothing to do with
it!” D. exclaimed. “I was on a case with the police department! You know Chief
Advert, don’t you?”
              “I
say we do. What of it?”
              “He’s
the one who brought me here! What else have you got ticking in that mind of
yours? You’re thinking I’m some kind of arsonist?”
              “Heavens no!”
said Officer #1. “I’m only hypothesizing,” He got Officer #2 on one foot and
assisted in getting him back to their car. “Don’t move,” he told the detective.
              “I
promise without sincerity,” said D. and he meant it. A few minutes later, after
both policemen were out of sight, the old detective ran off through the
streets, hoping to find Chief Advert still in his office. However, he thought
of something else: what the hell had happened to him when the fire broke out?
Everything felt in control again, but before that . . . he wasn’t sure if he
needed to think about or forget the whole thing. All the way to the police
department, nothing changed between D.’s body and his thoughts. He still kept a
running pace through the darkened streets like a well-known fugitive and he
still heard the one word in which he assumed was an answer: Ghosts, ghosts,
ghosts.
    He never believed in ghosts, but as he
ran, these thoughts sidestepped him, making way for much more sinister things.
Large lumps clustered in his throat so he had trouble swallowing. This was
dirty business, but he needed the money. D. never was interested in money, but
lurking in the far corner of the McDermott penthouse made him pull a sharp turn
toward a curb.
              He
needed to rest, catch his breath, but the only way to go was back to the police
apartment where Chief Advert was. Facing the stern men wasn’t something he’d
like to do. Every weekend was like a short vacation, but he needed to provide
evidence (and a little help, too, if he could help it). On his way, D. passed a
billboard advertising a lottery. WIN $57 MILLION IN PRIZES it promised, but
wiser people knew not to take the bait. Those who did, he knew, ended up worse
than they began. Some wealthy people stayed private like the McDermotts used to
be. Others of the rich who also made up a majority of the populated group were
only spoiled kids dressed up as adults, wearing clothes far more mature than
they tended to be; he knew what that was like. It’s not like he was that type
in the Younger Years, but he was great at witnessing people going through those
phases. He observed many things like a telescope peeking through a forbidden
curtain, scrutinizing the hollow of people's lives, which deepened the hole of
shame in D.'s heart. Detective work had its up and downs, but what he did now
was neither. No, it was groundbreaking. Nobody told him about ghosts or
supernatural occurrences in the duration of his work. Older detectives (most of
them dead by the time of this written piece) had never witnessed spirits during
their cases. So it made reasonable sense as to why D. would never think of such
things happening in his life, if they even existed.
              A
preschooler rattled D.’s heart with its hands, probably wondering what it would
do if they provoked too much. His eyes felt pressured from red cracks in the
whites--so likely to shatter like a flower vase. Yet they were wide