Guilty As Charged
Someone is knocking on the front door. Why in the world is there a doorbell if people are going to knock? Technology… whatever.
I look through the peep hole then open the door as if I have a choice.
“Good afternoon son, we’re from the police department. This is Corporal Gigimull and I’m Sergeant Toobles. May we come in?”
Son? I stop by to visit my parents house and now all of the sudden, I’m ‘Son’?
I did my best ‘I dunno shrug.’
“Was that a yes or a no?”
“Dunno,” I said.
“Okay, fine. Have it your way.”
Corporal Gigimull’s fists were clenching in and out. His face was turning red. He looked like he was halfway to a heart attack. Or maybe it was just a bad case of gas.
“Son, we have reason to believe that there is a laundering operation going on on these premises.”
So it finally caught up with me.
“Look, I was 12 years old and I made the lady up the street pay up front for two weeks of her newspaper subscription. I didn’t charge her again for two weeks, so are we good?”
The cops just looked at each other then back at me.
“What kind of stupid psychobabble is that? This has nothing to do with your juvenile delinquency. Although, if you don’t cooperate, we may just have to use your confession.”
“Can I get a lawyer?”
“No. Where do you keep your laundering equipment?”
‘Scuse me?
“You know, the machines. Where are the machines?” At this point, they both stepped past me, into the foyer.
“C’mon in,” I said under my breath.
“Thanks.”
My parents didn’t seem like the law-breaking type. Then again, I was always the last to know.
Were they hiding something from me, not telling me about some kind of nefarious side-hustle? They did just install a new brick patio in the backyard. Dad has been retired for over 20 years. Everyone knows Social Security doesn’t pay squat.
“Well? Where are they?”
The two officers smelled like toasted bagels and cheese. Cream cheese… not that fake plastic Swiss.
“Downstairs,” I said, wondering if I had given the right answer.
“Let’s go, Harry.”
They tromped down each stair. If Mom could see these guys tromping down her carpeted steps still wearing their shoes, she would have had a conniption. I trailed after them.
“Over here Harry,” the sergeant guy said to the other not-a-seargeant guy. They had found their way into the laundry room.
“These are pretty big machines,” the cop said to me. “How many people in the household?”
“Two,” I said. “Just my mother and father. I stopped in to do some laundry. Mom is pretty cool that way.”
The sergeant nodded then looked at the other cop.
“I’ll bet the mother is the mastermind.”
Corporal Gigimull nodded.
Sergeant Toobles talked into his walkie talkie thingy.
“Requesting flatbed to the following location. Hold one.” He looked at me. “What’s the address here?”
“What are you guys doing?” I asked.
“We’re going to have your laundering equipment hauled away. Laundering is a crime.”
“It’s not my equipment,” I said.
The sergeant shrugged.
“My mom’s going to kill me.”
“Son, it’s possible your parents are involved in a very serious crime. What’s the address?”
“She’ll probably beat me with a baseball bat.”
“I’m sure that won’t happen,” he said, growing impatient.
“You’re right… butcher knife.”
“You’re a drama queen.”
“King,” I corrected him.
“Sure.”
It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes before a couple of of large guys in dark blue jump suits came tromping down the stairs with a dolly.
“Go ahead boys, take it away,” the sergeant said with great confidence.
“Not the dryer?”
“Not this time. We’ll start with the washer. We’ll be in touch if we need the dryer.”
“I’m sure you will.” Of all days to stop by my parents house to get laundry done.
The two big guys hauled the washer up the stairs, practically taking out the door frame at the top.
“Careful!,” I said. Dang… Dad was not going to be happy about this.
The corporal slapped me across the top of my head.
“Watch it boy, you’re under suspicion,” he said which practically left him breathless.
“What did I do? That’s my mom’s machine,” I corrected him.
“You’re under suspicion for juvenile delinquency.”
Outside, the sergeant slammed his hand on the back of the flatbed, signaling the big guys in the blue suits to take off. The two cops got into their car.
“We’ll be in touch,” the sergeant said.
As they drove off, my mother pulled up into the driveway and got out of the car.
“I knew this time would come,” she said. “I told your father they were too big. I told him we didn’t need laundering machines that big. Did he listen? No. No he didn’t.”
We watched in silence as the police car and the flatbed disappeared down the road.
“Did you by chance get the clothes out of the washer before they hauled it away?” she asked without even looking at me.
“No,” I said. “Was I supposed to?”
“Would have been nice,” she said. “All of your underwear were in there.”
More silence.
“Did any of them take off their shoes in the house?” she said, walking up to the house.
“No. No they didn’t.”
“Jerks.”
