Big Red Noses

"You made that child cry, Ray," admonished Fraser, removing greasepaint from his cheek with a wetwipe.

"That was not my fault, it was not my fault he came around the corner right when I pulled out my gun--"

"We were at a birthday party, Ray, it was not an unforeseen occurrence that a child might--"

"Drop it, Fraser. We got the bad guys, so just drop it, all right? There are worse things than making some little kid cry."

"You know, there are some who would argue that point."

"Unless you're one of 'em, Frase, you can just drop it." Ray tugged the ridiculous rainbow wig off his head and threw it on the floor. "Wait, especially if you're one of 'em, I mean. Now give me one of them thingamabobbers you've got there."

"The wetwipes, ray? Certainly. You know, many people use cold cream to remove greasepaint but I find that the wetwipes do a perfectly adequate job, particularly when you're in a situation where cold cream would be inconvenient."

"Dress like this often, Frase?"

"Well actually, there have been certain occasions--"

"Forget I asked," he said, and scrubbed viciously at his cheek. "Tell me something. What kind of freak uses birthday clowns to transport his drugs?"

"Indeed, Ray. The irony alone is mind-boggling."

"The what now?"

"The irony, Ray, of transporting cocaine in big red noses."

"That's not irony, that's... well, I don't know what that is. Stupid, maybe. I mean, who the hell doesn't notice a guy in a big red nose and floppy shoes walking into an office building?"

"Most people, apparently, since they're been operating for well over two years. Perhaps they thought he was a fetishist."

"A what now."

"I find it difficult to believe that you don't know what a fetishist is."

"Okay a, I know what a fetish is, Fraser, I know what all kinds of fetishes are; and b, he's a clown. What kind of a fetish is that?"

"A surprisingly common one. Why I once read an article in the newspaper where--"

"Do not tell me the rest of this story, Fraser. Of all the things that I never want to know, that is numero uno on the list, right there at the top."

"Well, suit yourself," said Fraser, already completely free of clown make-up and looking as fresh as if he'd just stepped on duty. If one ignored the suit with the big floopy pom-poms. "Still, it explains the ease with which the deliveries took place."

"It explains nothing, Fraser," insisted Ray. "And you know what? I don't want to know. I do not want to know. We caught the bad guys and it's done, it's over with, it's kaput. Now do you think you could help me get out of this stuff?"

"Certainly, Ray," said Fraser, and pulled off his nose with a resonating pop.

[ by CJ Marlowe ]   [ home ]   [ disclaimer ]