Sam Spade At Work

The snow was falling even faster now. Faster and bigger fatter flakes.

Way different from when I left for work. Then it was just lightly coming down in little balls that were neither snow nor sleet. It looked like those little balls they fill beanbag chairs with. I always referred to it as "sneet".

Well, it wasn't sneeting now. It was flat snowing. A big white fluffy blanket that wouldn't warm your bones no matter how thoroughly you wrapped up in it.

I pulled up the collar of my coat to keep any of those cold wet things from assaulting my neck. They were vicious like that. Communist swine. I knew this type of snowflake. It would lurk around wafting on the breeze waiting for an opening so it could dive down your neck or into your ear canal or whip past the edge of your glasses and land right in the center of your eye.

Yeah. I knew it's type.

The Admin building is a huge marble edifice built over a hundred years ago back when big rocks and the men who knew how to cut them were cheap. Nowadays you couldn't get one block for the price of the whole building.

It was my job to make sure it was secure.

Of course it was freaking secure. The place is built like a bank vault and it got locked up tight last night after the last secretary abandoned her desk for the long holiday weekend and nobody has been back in there since.

But I had to check it again anyway. It was my job.

My boots squeaked wetly on the aged tile floors. Who knew how long those tiles had been there or how many were layered beneath them. Heck, the place could have once had ten foot ceilings now reduced to eight with the layers upon layers of floor tile.

I started out on the third floor, checking doorknobs as I went. As I hit the stairs down to the second floor something caught my eye. It was a dead cockroach the size of a skateboard, laying on it's back, legs curled up.

At least, it looked dead. You could never tell with these things. Stepping on them did no good, as they were able to withstand weights of several hundred pounds per square inch. It would take someone the size of a Lieutenant or even a small Warden to crush one of those. I just wasn't carrying that much backup with me.

And I knew that if I tried to stomp it and it was only pretending to be dead, that vicious sucker would rip off my boot and I'd be lucky to be left with a partial foot to drive home with.

So I did the next best thing. Right out of the manual. I kicked that sucker down the stairs. It bounced and spun and flipped end over end like a two foot long paper football before coming to a stop on the landing below.

It was dead all right.

Or one hell of an actor. If I ever see antenna marks in the cement in front of Grumman's Chinese Theater in Hollywood, I will know who should have won the Oscar this year.

"And the winner for Best Dead Bug goes to....... the envelope please?"

That nasty bit of business out of the way, I continued with my task. The building was s ecure. Was there ever really anything in there worth stealing?

I doubt it. There was sure nothing there I wanted.

Oh sure. I'd strip all the woodwork out of the place and haul the whole thing off for the stones, but other than that....... no.

Once again I stepped out to face that evil snow again. It stared back at me, mockingly.

I suspected that the walk back was going to be no picnic.

I wrote the above while sitting in the Comm room watching the weather channel.

So you can guess what kind of night I had.

I could have done that one from home over my email.

Ah, well.

For some odd reason, tomorrow being Xmas, is also National Pumpkin Pie day. Shouldn't that be on Thanksgiving instead? I'm so confused!