Elegy For the Phony Detective

Justin Keane
Aug 28, 2017 · 1 min read

The phone rings, and it is always — and I mean always — the guy from the back of the newspaper.

“You go to the Western Union, there is one in the A&P, and wire me the three hundred dollars.” His voice is a thousand notches of grime streaked across commercial cutlery. It is the worst nightmare of a city. “You get the money back when you do your first event.” He pauses. You pause. “You’ll probably make five, six hundred,” he says. “It’s a black tie dinner.”

Two weeks later, you are the phony detective. You leave him three or four separate messages — one for each different number. “You got me,” you say. “Maybe I want a piece of the action though.” It’s what you think you ought to say, you and the same TV act you took into the bar a few nights ago when you said “a beer please, gimme a beer.” Like Archie Bunker.

Then you get brave, and you get stupid. You disguise your voice and say, this is Detective Wilson from the 60th Precinct and we have several complaints about the bunco you’ve been running. That last sally of wit? Woody Woodpecker.

He never calls back, of course. Another cold case for the phony detective.

)

Justin Keane

Written by

Writing Sentences

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade