SFH3 Run #1890
|:||Presidio Golf Course parking lot at the Arguello Gate to Park Presidio|
|:||Gloryhole & Crabs|
|:||Do Her Well|
In the criminal justice system, disturbances of the peace are considered especially heinous. In the Presidio, the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies are members of an elite squad known as the Special NIMBYs Unit. These are their stories.
“You can tell by the spray pattern that the beer was poured from a tap, not a bottle,” Shaft paced around the edge of the crime scene tape while Dick Simmons snapped pictures frantically. “I would say that the perpetrators were here for at least ten minutes after they committed their first act.”
Dick Ass Mother Fucker looked confused. “So you’re saying that these guys, they stood around after the call was made?”
“Yes, of course he’s saying that,” Backwash strolled confidently up to them. “Can’t you see by looking at the road?”
Dick Ass Mother Fucker looked at the road, where On All Fours was bagging a sprig of poison oak, and Banana In Public was sketching the nearby blackberries frantically.
“Nothing there. No tire marks at all. They were bold, if nothing else. But not that bright…” Backwash grinned.
Half an hour later they were all gathered around a blown up map of the Presidio.
“It’s here that the first DNA evidence was obtained,” Backwash pointed to a small trail near the golf course. “Wee Wee?”
“Ah, yes. Canine in origin. On the Bristol Scale it’s a two, a good specimen. Very easy for the lab to work with. Mostly high grade dog chow, but there was a hint of popcorn, as if the suspect perhaps begged for a treat. I would like to think there might have been a trick in exchange, but far too many…”
“Ahem,” The Perfect Woman put his hands together and stepped forward. “Did you happen to run in through a DNA database?”
“Allahu Aqbark,” Wee Wee continued. “Records indicate he has no criminal history, however he did have to repeat Obedience Training. The last report indicates, though, that he is a Very Good Boy.”
“It’s interesting, is it not, that his owner Masterbaster has been seen in the vicinity of other neighborhood disturbances?” Backwash pointed out.
“You’ve got to see this!” Circle Jerk ran in, flinging papers everywhere.
“Is this relevant?” Shaft crossed his arms.
“Oh, it’s more than relevant.” Circle Jerk ran off without pausing, nearly knocking the paperwork out of Machu Machu Man’s hands.
“You see, Masterbaster has long had ties to Backside Banger. Backside’s been talked to regarding his odd van a couple of times, but the cops never could pin anything on him. However, recently his vehicle was parked next to a suspiciously white van, with dinged up impossible-to-open doors and a decal of a foot on the back.
“Hand Pump?” Backwash gasped.
“If that was all I would have just sent a memo,” Circle Jerk continued. “Hand Pump has been under surveillance by the FBI for a couple of weeks now, and they’ve just cracked his code. They forwarded the information to me this morning. Crabs and Gloryhole aren’t a medical issue or his favorite hangout—they are his accomplices.”
“And let me guess, they were all in the Presidio on the night in question,” Backwash concluded.
Circle Jerk nodded and began rocking back and forth, reciting pi digit by digit. Just Doesn’t Get It popped up and frowned at them all. “It’s too much for him,” he said, leading the man away. “I don’t know why he allows you to bleed him dry, time and time again.”
“Pictures just came in, sir!” Just Alex handed a stack of surveillance camera photos to Backwash.
“Fucker by the bridge, Dickweed cutting across the road. One and Done climbing the steps to the cemetery. And—oh.”
“What is it?” asked Hello Titties, pushing forward. He winced as he picked up the picture.
“Bury this,” Backwash shoved the photo of Worst Bottom Ever into his hands. “It would cause too much alarm, if the residents knew this were going on in their backyards.”
“I think it’s time to put a call in to Cuming Mutha,” advised Shaft. “We’ll get him to issue a warrant for an immediate search of their property—Chicken Bone Her is usually pretty thorough, and Fuck Norris and Good Shit can set up a perimeter with Just Omar so that Hand Pump and these people he calls his hares can’t escape.”
“I almost feel like calling Brown Eye and Cockamole with a press release,” Backwash laughed, but gasped as she saw the door open.
Just Mana walked in with Bierectional at her side. Screaming Orgasm and Just Get It Over With paused in the hallway behind them to gawk. “Your files?” she asked politely but firmly.
The Perfect Woman hesitated, but handed them over. Just Mana flipped them into the trash. Screaming Orgasm let out a gasp, and Just Get It Over With looked like she wanted to run far away.
“Mana, wait,” Backwash held up a hand.
“It’s Fix Her Up Her now,” Mana corrected her. “I’ve been seeing to some improvements in my life— ” she winked at Bierectional and held up her left hand. “And I’m improving this department as well. No more stupid noise complaints. Let’s solve some murders, people.”