A fake Jamaican took every last Dime.

I lit the cigar and placed it in the corner of my mouth, sliding the lighter back into my pocket. My fingers groped around the cigar as I talked to the cop before me. Ash dropped off the end, my shoe grinded the black grit into the cracked cement of the parkling lot ground. The cop was a rookie, couldn't have been more than a few months on the force. I stood straight up, taking the cigar out of my mouth and throwing it into a nearby trashcan- I never dropped them on the ground, not after what happened. Bringing out a small white notebook, I took a fresh yellow number two pencil from my shirt pocket, placing the point to the pad and nodded for him to start.

He was a round man, cheeks bulged slightly which gave him a young innocent face. His eyes were bright blue, and he had soft blonde hair, short and small stubbles just barely visible growing into a beard. He was shaking, literally trembling, and I tried to not let my disapproval show. I tipped my head down, my narrow brown eyes scanning the blank sheet of paper with impatience, the fedora I was wearing covering my upper face. With a voice that shook but sounded like it was trying to compose itself, he told me what had happened.

"I was at McDonalds, getting my breakfast before I started my routine shift from six to eleven am..."

I looked up at him, let out a sigh and rubbed my temples. I was becoming frustrated with this man. I was a serious man, dedicated to my work, but also ready to get the duty overwith. I was a crime scene investigator for Christ's sake. Where was the crime? I began to scribble as his incomprehensible words began to form into facts.

"I began surveying my route, from Sheridan to Argyle and around the loop. That's when I noticed something strange. There was some kind of brouhaha going on in the alley that cuts through that strip. Anywho, I heard a screaming. Getting out of the car I went into the alley, to see a woman screaming at the top of her lungs from a fireescape that someone had just robbed her at gunpoint. I drew my gun and ran where the suspect must have gone, and saw this guy running at great speed, but he doubled back through the next cut through over, and I ran back out. I got there to see him back up into my fricking cop car."

He paused, taking a long breath, which renewed the pinkish in his cheeks. I nodded, scribbling in my shorthand, and looking behind him. He was looking like a sad child who had lost a puppy dog, staring at his mangled cop car. It was smashed bad; most of the bumper was on the ground. The tail lights were both completely broken, the glass and bulb.

"He rammed it, not just like a love tap from a guy who didn't know it was there. He did it to get it away!"

I raised an eyebrow, glancing at the man curiously as he yelled the last part. I could see him flush, he was obviously upset.

"I got in the car and radioed for backup, gave them the description of the vehicle and suspect and went back to the woman, telling her everything was going to be O.K. She disapeared back into her apartment, leaving me to myself. So when backup arrived they asked me what happened. Getting in a fellow cops car we pursued the suspect. We drove for a few hours- nothing. But then when it was about twelve midday- just as I was getting off shift to see the mechanic about the car- we got a call to 911 from a man saying he was robbed. It was a few minutes drive from the original scene. So we jumped in and left, bringing out guns."

I stopped writing, slipped the notebook into my pocket and grabbed a cigarette. Today I myself was nervous, my hands shook as I once more lit up. Breathing in the toxic fumes calmed my nerves, giving me once more my hard exterior. I talked slowly so it wouldn't fall out, questioning him.

"Well, what happened when you got to the second scene?"

The cop laughed; This took me completely offguard. I stood a little dumbfounded when he told me what had happened.

"We pulled up in a residential area to an old man, in a bathrobe shouting vulgar words. We told him to calm down and tell us what happened. It was a strange story indeed. Turns out, he had come to meet a man-our illeged suspect- for a drug deal. Go figure, old men getting high, maybe it's like a last hurrah. Anywho, he tells us how this rasta-man approached him in an area know for drug-dealing and other illicit activities. He tells us the man took his money, went to the car to fetch the dope, and drove off. It didn't match the other case, so we thought. Turns out the woman was the same- buying drugs from a tall black man with dreadlocks. There were thousands of those on this island- It's Jamaica for Christ's sake.

"Anyways, we radioed to chief for a command. He told us, that I had to get this guy off the street. Lord knows I don't have the money to pay for the cop car, and of course our sh*tty police department didn't buy insurance, so chief gave me an ultimatum: Catch the criminal, or you lose your job. So I was on his trail like a hot potato- My life was on the line before he shot me."

I had been informed that he had been shot, and nodded slightly. He pointed to his chest, where there was a bandage, the hole in his bullet proof vest just large enough to fit a dime through.

"We found the vehicle and we hit the back of his car, a move that spins the vehicle out of motion so we can apprehend the suspect. Well, he takes off running, bags of dope and money in both hands. I am a big man, a slow man, but I mustered up the strength to catch this man and take him down. Just before I got his hands under control he slipped and pulled out a pistol, shooting me right here. I was fine, but I staggered back- Hurt like hell. *bunny* got away."

He stared at the ground, obviously ashamed and disappointed. Still, I had no idea why I was here. I am a murder crime scene investigator, who had been murdered? This cop had called me personally to invite me to investigate a death. I agreed. Now I was wasting my time with a random cop incident. Letting out a groan, I stared at the man angrily.

"Just tell me who died?"

The man blinked, shocked my getting to the point motion.

"I did."

He muttered, solemn, but confident. I stared at him. This was one big joke. He could tell I was angry and he started laughing hysterically, I growled, my body tensing up.

"I died. I died when I lost my job. And I didn't even get the criminal. Got knows he's corrupting some woman in an apartment or old man in a bathrobe. I can't handle it. That's why I called you here, I want to know what happened, why I died."