Rusty Nail: A Jacqueline "Jack" Daniels Mystery

BUSINESS WAS SLOW, which made me extremely happy.

I sat in my office, the omnipresent paperwork mountain on my desk down to a few small mounds. I could actually see the wood through the files in some places. It was brown, as I'd always guessed it to be.

There hadn't been a homicide in Chicago for four days, which had to be some kind of record. We consistently ranked as one of the top murder cities in America, often hitting the number one spot. Whenever that happened, cops from my district would get We're #1 T-shirts printed up. I had seven, from previous years.

I whittled away the free time with busywork: filing, reviewing cold cases, cleaning out my desk drawers. I even entertained the notion of painting my nails ' something I hadn't done since joining the force over twenty years ago.

All play and no work makes Jack a bit flighty.

My partner, Sergeant Herb Benedict, had been using the free time to catch up on his eating. He wandered into my office, lugging a gallon of chocolate milk. He set the jug on my desk.

"I didn't have anything to do, so I brought your mail."

"Someone mailed me dairy products "

Herb scowled, his walrus mustache drooping. He had a few years on me, which put him past the fifty mark, but his face was plump enough to retard wrinkles.

"This isn't dairy. It's GoLYTELY. I've got to drink this entire bottle to clear out my digestive tract for my colonoscopy tomorrow."

"Sounds like fun. Shall I come by, take some pictures "

"Funny, Jack. Be happy you're not a man and don't have to deal with this stuff."