The policeman in the kitchen had light duty as there were only two pots and a cast iron skillet in the lower cupboards. The upper cabinets had a random collection of pint glasses, a few mismatched plates, and coffee mugs with ridiculous sayings printed on them.
"Looks like he's a gourmet," he said. The pantry was bare except for a bag of brown rice, a few loose power bars, and a box of popcorn. The refrigerator had a stack of lunchmeat packages, a loaf of bread, and two drawers of fresh vegetables. "What, no cheese puffs and rocket fuel soda?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I'm more of a stir fry guy. Better protein stops snacking."
He eyeballed my trim waistline and scowled. "Sure, buddy. There's an awful lot of take-out containers in the trash."
"My roommate," I said.
As if that was a cue, the officers divided up and headed by pairs into the two bedrooms. I waited for twenty minutes until they reappeared.
The bald one was on his cell phone calling in a K-9 unit. "Gotta be thorough. Don't want to waste tax-payer money," he said.
The officers then ignored me and talked about football until the K-9 unit arrived. A German Shepherd with intelligent brown eyes and an eager pace pulled its partner into my apartment. After the third zig-zagging trip around, it looked up at its partner with a lopsided expression of boredom.
He turned the dog towards the bedrooms and it dragged him down the short hallway. It was in and out of my roommate's room in five minutes. Four minutes into my room, there was a low woof. The officer reappeared with the prancing dog; a sport coat in his hand.
I recognized the sport coat as the one my roommate had lent me. It had been in contention for wearing to the memorial service until I decided to wear my suit. If something was found in the pockets of his coat, he'd catch hell at work and most likely get fired.
"Nothing in it, but Gertrude likes it for something. Marijuana most likely," the officer said.
"My roommate wore it to a club a few days ago," I said.
Even the dog gave me a disbelieving look. I sat back down on my stool – it was going to be a long evening.
#
"Convenient that your roommate lent you this coat we found in your room," the bald officer said.
I was glad when my phone rang. I looked down and saw Quinn's name. My stomach jumped more from her than from the suspicious looks the police gave me.
"One of your clients?" the second officer asked.
"The fading scent of pot on a sports coat that was worn to a dance club doesn't really prove intent to sell, does it?" I asked. "And since I'm not the average under-informed, sub-intelligent criminal I'm sure you're used to making you feel smart, this whole search is over." I opened the door to let them out.
The K-9 officer was pulled through the open door by his eager partner. Two of the others shrugged and went to follow him, but the bald policeman blocked the door.
"Funny thing about stereotypes," he said. "They always come from some sort of truth. Like the fact that most criminals get all cocky like you are now before the weight of the law chokes it out of them."
I found a beer on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator and cracked it open before sitting back down on my kitchen stool. The police officers looked thirsty. "Go ahead and keep searching. You've got your warrant, and I'm not stopping you."
He scrubbed his bald head. There was no reason for them to remain at my place, but he could not let me have the last word. "Tell us about this alleged roommate of yours."
"Alleged? His name is on the mailbox and all that mail over there. I would have thought you would know all about him from your search of his bedroom."
"Are you going to cooperate or what, Mr. Redd?" He crossed his arms over a beefy chest.
"Fine, yes. My roommate's name is Jasper Collins. He does freelance web design, mainly for commercial businesses and corporations. He's always telling me he's after the 'big fish.' I think he even sent a proposal to your precinct after he got fed up trying to pay a parking ticket through your website."
"Freelance? So you two just sit around all day staring at your screens?" the officer asked.
"No, Jasper is more of the go-getter type. He gets most of his clients through face-to-face meetings. Encourages the techno-afraid to let him help," I said.
"And who was his last client?"
"A bakery over on Tenth," I said. "He said they have good donuts, maybe you know the place?"
The cops all sneered, but the tallest one stopped and tilted his head as he thought. "They did. The place closed down two months back."
I mentally ran through the list of clients Jasper had talked about. As I thought about it, I realized three of the clients he mentioned recently were local businesses I had seen closed or for rent. I never paid much attention because Jasper always paid his share of the rent on time and in full. There were holes all through his work stories, and I had just tripped into one in front of the police.
"A lot of businesses try shutting their brick and mortar stores and going online," I said.
One of the officers ducked into Jasper's room and came back out with a business card and folio. "Looks pretty polished to me. Your roommate's got a solid business plan. What? I went to business school before academy."
The bald policeman shook his head at his partner. "So, your roommate is a go-getter with a business plan and real clients. And you play an imaginary game for money."
Quinn called again. I took another swig of my beer and enjoyed knowing her quick-wit was only a button away. What would she say to the room full of police? The thought made me smile.
"Another client?"
"No. Same person," I said and showed him my phone.
"Oh? You get a lot of ladies by playing video games?" the bald officer asked.
"You'd be surprised how many attractive women play Dark Flag, officer. She's actually very good at it. A novice, but I think if I trained her up a bit she'd be amazing," I said.
He took the phone and considered the photo of Quinn that accompanied her ring. It was one of my favorite pictures.
Sienna and I had gone together to visit Quinn the day she arrived on campus. She had just pulled on her UCLA sweatshirt. Her hair was a riot and she was brushing it back and smiling a wide grin when I snapped the picture. Sienna dismissed it for not being posed or polished. That was what I loved most about it. Quinn looked natural and happy with a bright shine to her eyes.
"Is that why so many people come and go from your place?" he asked.
"What?" I put down my phone.
"Sounds like people are in and out of here all the time. You 'training' other people?" the officer asked.
"I did not know it was a crime to have people over to our apartment," I said. Jasper had a very lively social life. He could not bear to be in the apartment more than twenty minutes on his own. He was always inviting people over for a drink, to watch a show, or to gather and head out on the town.
The only person I ever had over regularly was Sienna, and that had stopped nearly a year ago. She did not have time to leave UCLA except to visit her parents and she much preferred the interior designed surroundings of her family's home to my bachelor pad.
"We both work off-hours and know a lot of other people with the same work-from-home type schedules," I said. "Jasper works with other freelancers – logo-designers, artists, etcetera. I have an agent and other industry colleagues that come here. So, yeah, people come over a lot."