Well, here I was, a somewhat fresh rookie officer riding the two man car on the West Side. Crime was running rampant; someone was stealing the fresh donuts the baker had been puting out for the morning paper boy. My partner was a 5 year vet and had a reputation as having a good sense of humor. Maybe things were looking up. We had a hot stakeout. (excuse the pun)
Previously, The Falcon of Justice, (me) had had the extremely important job of driving the parking meter jeep throughout the crime battered central business district. The meter scofflaws had been running amok for months now and I had been assigned to bring them to justice. I had been quite successful at re-energizing the city revenue machine. Thus my promotion to Car-3 on the West Side; The graveyard shift.
I was huddled in the bushes a mere three feet from the donuts. I was preening my falcon wings, my square jaw jutting in the gloom. If there had been moonlight it would have glinted from my clenched, white teeth. I was ready.
The odor of the fresh chocolate covered dainties shared the warm muggy air with the muffled snores of my seasoned partner, safely ensconced in the prowl car in the alley. He had been listening to the oldies channel on our forbidden portable radio. It was a dark night, no moon, and the lowering clouds obscured the dim light that the stars would shed upon this potential crime scene.
Suddenly, a scuffling and snuffling noise. It was the perp, I knew it! Consuming these aromatic comestibles right under my nose! The arrogance! The Falcon of Justice swooped down out of the blue black darkness of lawlessness to bring this perpetrator of evil deeds to justice. While trying to juggle my nightstick, mace in my sap gloved wrapped hands, I reached out for this fowl creature, who would deprive the morning paperboy of his freshly baked treat.
With a snarl, the malafactor turned on me and lashed out with tooth and claw...What? Tooth an claw? One of the largest racoons I had ever seen was now clutching the donut box, crumbs dripping from his salivating fangs as he swiped at me with his remaining front paw while scrabbling for a foothold with which to escape with his hind feet. I was at a disadvantage as I had him grasped firmly about the mid section in a flurry of nightstick, mace, fur, cardboard, spit, curses, hissing and choclate icing while his hind feet found purchase in my crotch as he found the foothold he has been scrabbling for.
With a howl and a call for 10-39, officer in danger, I let loose of everything but the cardboard box containing the remaining donuts. I would not be deprived. The masked villain made quick with an exit while casting a look over his shoulder, hissing that vengeance would be his, later.
My esrtwhile partner, jolted rudely out of his well deserved slumber by the screeching and the call of 10-39, bolted from the cruiser, his cap perched crazily on his rumpled hair, while his pants and gunbelt, which he had loosened for easier stakeout aletness fell in a heap about his ankles and he tumbled to the ground.
Suddenly, the night was quiet. A gibbous moon was revealed by the scudding clouds. I was sitting on the ground holding the donut box, my weapons scattered widely about the perimiter. My partner was sprawled on his hands and knees, his gun belt and trousers around his ankles. I looked at him, he looked at me. We both looked around. I said, "Did you call anything in?" He shook his head. I said, "Do we have any coffee left in the thermos, I have some donuts." We both were reduced to gales of muffled laughter and the Two Falcons of Justice were thus born.
