Scrubwell and Pitstain

Chief Pitstain eyed the door hungrily.

His lieutenant should have been back with his sandwich by now. But he wasn't, and consequently the door was looking better and better. It had that funny scrollwork that reminded him of a croissant. Officer Heiss walked by munching on something he couldn't see - he got up to look. By the time he got to the door, Heiss had passed, and he still couldn't see what she was munching on. This was inexcusable! He strode to the door, threw it open and was about to call her back when the inevitable happened. And then, astoundingly, it happened again! Heiss staggered under the blast of his pit odor, temporarily disabled! He snatched the chips with one hand and pointed at the clock with the other - to distract her, and hid back in his office. She fell for it, he thought, listening carefully from under his desk.

He heard the sounds of Lt. Scrubwell returning with his sandwich. "Not now," he muttered very softly. "They were trying to tell me something - something important about the Chirpy murder, I know it."

"Who was, Chief?" the sparklingly clean lieutenant asked.

"Nothing you could learn with your by-the-book investigations, Scrubwell!" he growled, and ate another chip.

The remaining three rustled in the bag, and it was like some kind of message for him, and only him. "The butler did it," maybe, or "the bugler hid it," or "the butter bit it," although that last one didn't make much sense.

"Get up, Pitstain!" Scrubwell barked, looming over him, "You don't have clearance for those chips!"

The chief was a man of determination, and he had stuffed all three into his mouth before his lieutenant could stop him. But the lieutenant was clever and whacked him on the back so hard his mouth opened and two of the chips, now damp, flew out of his mouth. Of course, the Lt. placed them in a sealed baggy and stored them as evidence. First he dumped out the BLT - into the trash! he'd show ol' Piss Stain who was really in charge here, and used the ziplock like he'd been taught in Detroit. That ziplock training course was the best thing anyone had ever given him. He didn't notice Pitstain behind him with the paperweight until it was too late! Too bad he'd played hooky the day they got the paperweight instructor in!

The Chief swung wildly, and the paperweight struck Scrubwell just above his right ear. Scrubwell flew across the desk, catching all dislodged items frantically in his hands, to use for later evidence. Pitstain scrabbled about for the sandwich, easing it out of the waste paper basket lovingly, before making good his escape. As he made his way down the fire escape, a sudden thought struck him. What about that container of Pringles from the bludgeoning/spousal abuse case last week? He'd have to sneak back in tonight and get those for his dinner.