The Clumsy Trespasser

            It was the fingerprints of a man named Michael Heathrow, found on the windowsill of Carmilla Gentry’s second floor bedroom window, that sent Detective-Inspector Nels on what would turn out to be a wild goose chase through the streets of Catshill. Following along, Detective-Sergeant Pudget knew already that the fingerprint lead was a no go, since he had duped their fingerprint experts by swapping their sample during their little processes.

            “Where to first, Nels?” Pudget asked his so-called partner.

            “Mr. Heathrow’s records say he often frequents the local pub. We might be lucky enough to meet him there ourselves.”

            In fact, the pub was just where Pudget wanted Nels to go, which was why Heathrow had made a good scapegoat. With the sun slowly sinking into the horizon to bring about yet another night, Pudget doubted rather strongly that Heathrow, a large man described as being over six-six, would actually be present there. If he was, he would be an unnecessary complication in Pudget's plan.

            The two caught a taxi bound for the local pub, known by regulars and newcomers alike as The Clumsy Trespasser. They sat in silence for a long moment until the cabby, looking at them in the rear-view mirror, spoke.

            “Hey, have you guys heard the news? We could be looking at another world war.”

            Nels almost seemed to nod. His grip tightened slightly on the fedora resting on his lap. “So I’ve heard.”

            Pudget scoffed. “What, because of some Hitter guy?”

            “Hitler.” Nels corrected without as much as a glance toward his partner.

            “Whatever. I’m telling you right now, this will all be over within a few months, and we’ll forget it ever happened.”

            “One can hope…”

            The three of them all remained quiet until the cabby pulled up at the curb outside of The Clumsy Trespasser. Nels paid the man and got out. By the time Pudget circled the cab to stand beside Nels, the inspector had placed his fedora back onto his head and had slipped a new lollipop into his mouth.

            “You’re going in with that in your mouth?”

            “Yes, why?”

            “They’re going to ridicule you, is all…”

            Undeterred, Nels pushed open the heavy wooden door to the pub and stepped inside with Pudget following at his heels not unlike an eager puppy.

            The selection of men found seated across the bar was not very pleasing to Pudget’s eyes. There were tall men, fat men, tall fat men, muscular men, muscular men with scrawny little punks at their sides, and men who looked like they’d just escaped from prison. Needless to say, upon seeing a plump little man and a skinny-as-a-twig dude that probably, to their standards, looked like a woman to them, the atmosphere very quickly became tense.

            Without even a pause, although Pudget could see the anxiety on the profile of Nels’ face, the inspector took a seat on one of the bar stools closest to the door.
           “Bartender?”

            The bartender, a beefy man with greying hair, approached Nels and sneered at him. “Yea? Whaddya want?”

            “I’d just like to know if there is a man here by the name of Heathrow.”

            “’eathrow?” The bartender asked, dropping his Hs. “Never ‘eard of ‘im.”

            “Well, you must have, because word is he frequents this place.”

            “Nope. I dunno who you are, but I ain’t never ‘eard of anyone by the name of ‘eathrow.”

            “My name is Alex. I’m a colleague of his.”

            “’e ain’t got no colleagues.”

            Nels raised a brow, as well as the corners of his lips. “I thought you didn’t know him.”

            “I don’t.” The bartender stumbled.

            “Then how do you know he “ain’t got no colleagues”?”

            “W-well, I… The name musta… The name musta reminded me of this poster we got today. Some wanted poster.”

            Nels took off his fedora and placed it down onto the bar in front of him, a sign of intrigue. “A wanted poster, you say?”

            “Yea. Just ‘ung it up. You can take a look if y’want, I don’t care.” The bartender gestured toward a wall covered in papers, some old and some new. The most recent poster added on was indeed a wanted poster, however for a nameless assailant who had apparently been terrorizing the neighbourhood as of late.

            “Nels,” Pudget said, “Do you think this is our guy?”

            Nels shook his head. “I doubt it. The fingerprints were from Heathrow.” He responded discreetly so as to not bring attention to himself.

            “But… Hey… Wait a minute… Nels, call me crazy, but this guy kind of looks like you.”

            “What?” Nels asked, a light-heartedness to his voice that nearly made Pudget laugh.

            “I’m serious! Look at his hair… Not too many men have long black hair like that these days.”

            “How can you tell if that’s all hair? It’s a black and white photo with bad contrasting.”

            “What else could it be?”

            “As funny as it is to conclude that this guy looks like me, we need to get back to work, Pudget.” Nels announced after removing his sucker from his mouth, only to reinsert it seconds after saying what he had to say.

            In truth, the poster was fake. It had been made by someone who owed Pudget a big favour in order to try and create the idea of Nels himself being the “true” perpetrator of their current case. However, Pudget quite enjoyed the fact that Nels had felt the need to defend himself. It revealed to the sergeant that Nels was lacking at least some confidence in where exactly he stood in the law, and in that also presented to Pudget the fact that tricking Nels into believing he commit the crime and just forgot about it somehow might be easier than he initially thought.

            “Look, sir. Honestly, I know you’re lying. There’s no way you don’t know Mr. Heathrow. In fact, because you’re lying to me, I can’t help but assume he’s in this very pub.”

            The bartender was silent and wore a poker face, but Pudget could see that he was beginning to sweat under the pressure of Nels’ accusing stare.

            “I’m here.” Was said suddenly by someone on the other side of the bar. Sitting on the stool there was a large man with short blond hair. He had some tattoos, and almost looked ex-army from the way he held himself, even though he was slouching. He looked very intimidating, so Pudget averted his eyes.

            Apparently not getting the same vibe of “this man is going to beat up not just myself but any pets or family members I have” from the suspect, Nels pushed his fedora closer to Pudget and stood up, slowly beginning to walk toward Heathrow’s side of the bar.

            “I see. You’ve been here the whole time, Mr. Heathrow.”

            “Yeah, and I don’t take lightly when people who’ve got no business with me think they do.”

            “Oh, but I do have business with you.”

            Heathrow turned around to face Nels. “Oh yeah? What’s that, then?” He asked sarcastically.

            “Mr. Heathrow, where were you about two days ago?”

            “What’s it to you, tiny?”

            “Please answer the question.”

            With a scoff, Heathrow responded. “I was here. Where else?”

            “I can attest to that.” Said the bartender.

            Nels brought his eyes back down on Heathrow. Unlike the bartender, Nels' pale eyes seemed to have no effect on the larger man.
           “Alright, then. I’ll accept that answer. Have you ever heard of Carmilla Gentry?”

            “Who?”

            Nels nodded and lowered his head. “I’ll take that as a no, then.”

            “You’re a cop, aren’t you?”

            Pudget, panicking internally, moved his eyes from Heathrow to Nels repeatedly. Heathrow’s appearance, and needless to say his aggression towards Nels as well, were unexpected to say the least.

            Not missing a beat, Nels reached inside his dark red suit jacket, pulling his badge out from an inner pocket. “Station Detective-Inspector Nels.” He introduced himself before putting the badge back.

            “Anyone ever tell you I hate nosy cops who accuse me of something I didn’t do?” Heathrow snarled as he stood, now towering over Nels.

            “That’s a strangely specific thing for them to have told me, but I think I might have read that about you somewhere.” The inspector said casually, looking right up at the muscular man.

            “You little smartarse, I’m gonna knock that mouth right off your noggin.”

            It was Pudget’s turn to begin sweating, but he was petrified by nervousness.

            Nels removed his lollipop from his mouth. “You wouldn’t hit a guy half your size with low-blood sugar who hasn’t eaten in well over a few hours, would you?” He asked confidently, perhaps making fun of Heathrow having been “strangely specific” in his last comment.

            “Not many people would, but I’m not one of them.”

            Nels’ smirk disappeared, and his brows furrowed. He seemed to have understood what he’d walked into right as those words fell from Heathrow’s mouth, but he didn’t appear to even try to dodge the punch swung at him. Heathrow’s fist connected solidly with Nels’ nose, drawing blood in a matter of seconds, and the strike actually knocked Nels not just flat, but out as well.

            The bulky man who, it was safe to assume, had been wrongfully accused clenched and unclenched his slightly-bloodied fist as he sat back down. “What a bloody moron. Someone get this b*****d out of my sight.”

            The gaze of many others at the bar, including the bartender himself, rested upon Pudget, who took the hint and got up, rushing to Nels’ side. Kneeling down, he tried to coax the inspector awake.
           “Nels, come on, it’s time to get up.”

            The coaxing elicit a groan from Nels, whose entire face nose-down was already practically coated by a sheet of blood, but nothing more.

            “D****t…” Pudget grumbled to himself. Draping Nels’ arm across his own shoulders, the detective-sergeant pulled Nels to his feet. After carelessly placing the fedora onto Nels’ head incorrectly, Pudget dragged his unconscious enemy out of the pub. The Clumsy Trespasser now sounded like a fitting name for the bar, for that was exactly what Nels had been.