Incident At The Bay Wharf

Crime and punishment for nuns and bums

Incident At The Bay Wharf

Detective Wilder interrogates a stranger regarding the fish incident. Someone has been absconding with tuna on the bay dock. Sister Mary Misery fingered this perpetrator of the crime. It was this one particular criminal type, an unsavory person for sure, with character flaws galore, person of ill repute, known here as as a person of interest to the local authorities. When the nun went to shop for fresh fish yesterday, a Friday, at The Wharf Fish Market on the pier by the bay, she noticed something was not to her liking, something not right. Some thing smelled funny and it was not the fish.

Sister Misery is a traditionalist. She and her girls at the convent must have fresh fish from the bay port market on Fridays. Being that yesterday was that day, it was only natural that fish would be on sale and later on it would be on the menu for them to enjoy. It would be the order of the day, the law so to speak.

The cops picked up Mr. Smithers skulking about the wharf, sniffing the commodities, hunched over in his usual manner. He spotted them with his one good eye and tried to make an escape when the authorities cornered him, captured him forthwith in an instance and dragged him downtown for an interview or two. The lead detective, Norman Wilder begins with, “Mr. Smithers, can you give us an account of why you spend most of your waking hours at the Wharf?” Smithers is an Aqualung sort of old sod; visible snot, oozing mucus and all that stuff, running down the wrinkled leather like face. We are sure he does not know the word handkerchief or its meaning. A quick glance reveals a filthy long tattered gray coat, long nasty Brillo like beard, (surely a home for cockroaches) and he speaks with a lisp, smells funny but not hysterical or hilarious by any stretch.

He looks at the detective with the one remaining yellow jaundices eye, quasi functional or should we say still operable, bulging from the socket, barely rolling around precariously in that smallish head, which seems to be held up by limited gravity above slouching shoulders.

The old man was hardly audible when he spoke and when he did it was through thin liver like lips, in a low measured phlegm garbled voice, muddled, muffled, monotone in tenor. These prevailing conditions of his were probably due to drinking excessively something other than water over a ton of years. He murmurs unintelligibly for a while but when pressed with threats for a thing called facts he clams up. Two agents take Mr. stinky into a small blue room to soften him up When he return to the lead detective, answers come more readily but not to the satisfaction of Detective Wilder. The vagabond is still somewhat hesitant and vague, to the point of in coherency at times and with stilted meanings, nonsense meanings at times. Smithers states his case for the record as follows; “I like birds, fresh air, fish and water and pretty girls....soft pretty young girls with short skirts.” “Is that a crime?”

When the detective inquires further; “Can you tell us please, where were you yesterday morning between 6:00 and 7:00 am?” The man slurs his words and shouts, “I be with meself thinking about Aristotle and his kind... where else!?” “I be walking along the shadows of the morning docks in sleepy thought near me home sweet home, staying close to me cardboard box under the shallow bridge by the main road south.”

Wilder continued, “Were you at The Wharf Market at any time yesterday?” The unkempt man stated emphatically, ”Why I like to think of meself as a citizen of the world.” “I am neither here nor there or anywhere at any given moment, as the wind might blow me... that's where I be!” “I be carried off to the righteous course as to ponder and wonder in a direction so directed by the wind itself as I might go with it at its command and companion.” “Perhaps checking with the wind might be helpful to you good sir so maybe you might start there if it be your pleasure.”

The detective retorted, “You must be a politician.” “Your answers ring of their kind of truth.” “We here at headquarters would like something a little more tangible, a little more substantive.” “Please stay focused Smithers.” The old man lifts a crooked finger and asks for a sandwich, preferably a boiled fish on toast, as that was his favorite kind and perhaps a bottle of something to compliment it, say, something with a kick, something medicinal for his condition, which was delicate at best and perhaps they could conjure up something with spirituality, personality to it, something he can call his own. The law man replied, “We need answers.” “Keep your addictions to yourself!” “Get drunk on your own time mister!”

The interrogation was going in circles, nowhere fast, so detective Wilder asked that their special guest be escorted uptown to see Dr. Noise. He sent one of his trusted blue coats to watch over his new found filthy friend like a hawk. The driver questioned, “Who is Dr. Noise?” “Wilder responded, “He is a hearing specialist on Second Sounder Street in the medical district.” “We need to have this clowns ears checked.” “There is obviously a failure to communicate with this one.” We'll get him unclogged, cleared and continue with this mess on Monday.

Sister Mary Misery was called upon for her observations in this matter and to testify in the case of the missing fish. She arrived wobbling, with a disjointed limp, rosaries swinging to and fro, dressed in her penguin best for the occasion. The detective offered her some tea. She requested a single malt Whiskey with a straw and a rolled joint to clear her mind.

After some pleasantries and small talk were exchanged they both got down to business. Full color glossy pictures of the subject, Mr. Smithers, were produced for her viewing pleasure as a tool, a guide to refresh her memory. The crime occurred yesterday so the task of recollection should not be a monumental concern by any stretch for the habit clad lady.

The sister said that Mr. Smithers stands out in a crowd. You can not miss him or his fragrance. Pointing at the photos the sister screams, “That's him!” “That's him inspector!” “I would recognize that awful thing anywhere.” One does not forget such offenses against humanity, against man and beast, against nature, against sight and him with the blatant attack on the olfactory senses for goodness sake. She was close to fainting.

She was in tears recollecting the incident and recounts the encounter. The bum had just opened his long filthy gray coat at the fish market. It had deep pockets on the inner side flaps. When he performed this onerous act of taking fish without paying, all of nature stood still with the stench which wafted sinuously through the air, killing the mood for all shoppers gathered there for that hideous moment. Sister Misery only wanted to purchase seven fresh fish for that nights dinner and to be on her merry way. She got more than she bargained for. Therapy might be in order, a consideration for a future vocation. She was so alarmed that she threw her fish into the air where they tumbled about in free fall action. The habit came off unexpectedly in a fever of excitement. She ran screaming hysterically in circles until she fell, spraining her left ankle, screaming in pain.

This was all very fascinating to the detective who was already writing down every word spoken while simultaneously watching her intently, eyes wide open with great attention to detail with heart racing. He had not immediately noticed or picked up on her injury when they first met upon her arrival. He took the hobble or wobble, which was more like a funny limp to be normal. Her gait seemed appropriate at first glance for someone of her age, her weight, which was portly to say the least and people of her persuasion or to be more precise, her denomination. He thought all nuns walked that way. He could not help but notice the huge thick crucifix covering her chest like a shield of armor. It was made of silver and wood and could certainly stop a bullet dead on impact in his estimation.

The rosaries swaying or swinging like a child's swing on the playground mesmerized him. They were certainly a distraction. They should have clued him in from the start to her now obvious medical condition, the obvious limp disability. Everything about her seemed normal to him when she first came to his office. His first thoughts were to console her and comfort her in her hour of need from the trauma she must have endured.

He asked his questions diplomatically so as not to alarm her. “Can you say definitively sister, that this person in this picture, this person of interest, is the man you saw at the fish market stealing tuna?” The nun nodded yes. As far as Wilder was concerned the case was closed. The nun started to leave the premises and drive away without incident in her ancient station wagon when things went south.

Sister Misery stood erect to depart; then started fidgeting about in her long black garment to find cigarettes and matches hidden away in those dark recesses, well within the confines of the gown, somewhere there in some mysterious compartment or pocket known only to herself. She was groping about with those thick, cold, icy nun fingers, normally held together in solemn prayer at this hour. A large hand gun fell out from somewhere inside her dark attire. It made a loud noise as it fell on the old linoleum black and white checker board tiled floor. The sound reverberated through the small station. It caught everyone's attention and caught them all by surprise. Wilder's jaw dropped at this revelation. He quickly commented, “Sister Mary Misery, is that a concealed weapon?” “Is it loaded and do you have a permit?” She answered no to the concealed gun question, no to the permit question and yes to the loaded gun question, posed to her by the now perplexed officer in charge.

The detective held his head in both hands so as to keep it straight and to keep it from falling off.

The other inspectors in attendance at the small office were equally mystified. Did Detective Wilder want to arrest the nun on illegal weapons charges? In light of all the controversy in the Catholic Church these days would it be prudent to take her into custody? He questioned her, “Sister, is that your gun and why do you have it?” She sheepishly responded, “It is for self defense.” The detective said, “Why no permit?” She smiled and replied, “Nuns are not rich.” “Nuns are people too in need of protection.” “It was easier and cheaper to buy it on the street.” The law man informed her that this was a serious offense. “I'm going to have to confiscate the weapon and I'm letting you off with a warning this time.” She bowed her head and limped away. The law wanted to stay on her good side. It was imperative to get a conviction for the fish thief from the sister so they turned their heads the other way. Detective Wilder was still holding his head in hands having nothing better to do at the time.

When Mr. Smithers returned from his ear doctors visit he was taken into custody again but this time permanently. He would be charged with the designated crime of fish thievery and locked up immediately. He was all smiles though. His grin was as crooked as him. He was in for the surprise of a life time. It was like he hit the lotto. He was going to enjoy free food and free lodging for a long time to come compliments of the good citizens of the community and their tax dollars. No more card board boxes for him and the dangers that go with living in the outside world. He would receive full protection from armed guards and the law 24 hours a day in the warmth and comfort of his own private cell. He will even have TV and books to read.

Fish thieves must be held accountable for their actions even when and though they are smelly. Crime in this instance paid and served Mr. Smithers quite well. He was being moved from a box under a bridge to the big house with a view overlooking a window. Free vision and dental are included as well at no extra charge.