Sgt. Joe -- a teaser from my incomplete What's so novel about it.

This is a teaser from a pre-edit draft of my Strangefellows Day contest entry. I had started on several stories for the contest when I realized two were closely related to an earlier story of mine. This is from the least complete thread of the three related stories. I felt guilty not posting anything for the contest so here's peek into my mind.

Oops, forgot to warn you to look at it in the miror only, one must never gaze upon the face of the Gorgon directly.

Sgt. Joe

This is an entry in Erin’s BC Strangefellows Day contest. See, that was easy, John. Okay, I’ll admit it wasn’t so bad, John. — Sorry but I’m having a convesation with myself --

Your constructive criticism and advice is appreciated; let’s face it, this gets addictive after a while. I’m an applause junkie, I admit it. This is an exercise in the joys of creativity and in appreciation of furgle-bargele. Damned MS Word keeps barflagating my worms. Gwelb! Any violations of copyright, trademark or use of real people or incidents are purely for purposes of humor or parody and done solely for the free enjoyment of the reading public. All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2007.

Adult content advisory: this story may contain situations and topics unsuitable for children. It’s mild stuff usually, but you were warned.

Sgt. Joe

By John from Wauwatosa
Proofed by a blithering idiot, me

* * * *

“Sergeant Joe Friday to the Chief office at once,” the PA in the precinct blared. I heard a snicker just before the microphone was switched off.

I hurried to the Chief’s office as being late would have unfortunate repercussions. I couldn’t help it my parents christened me Joseph Aloysius Friday but why did I choose to enter law enforcement, why, why, why? I must have a masochistic streak a mile wide to have done that. The department was cool about it; I was immediately assigned badge number 714. I earned sergeant on merit, I’ll have you know. Oh, when this whole mess started I’d just turned 24 and had been a sergeant, um … 37 hours.

Back to being me, Joseph A. Friday, and a cop; the day I became a full-fledged officer was the proudest of my life until the goon-squad saw my badge number. Then it started and it was less than subtle.

“Hey where is Officer Bill Gannon?”

“Joe, you really should get a buzz cut.”

“Friday? I thought it was Thursday.”

“Joe, that was dum-da-um-dumb on your part.”

You get the picture; my life was hell in a Hollywood scriptwriter’s hand basket.

I was working the day watch out of Bunko when …ha! I got you, didn’t I? You could practically smell the monotone, couldn’t you? I’m told I have a normal, if not animated manner of speech which puts the constant jokes about Dragnet to shame. Still they come but what’s a guy to do? I love helping people and my hackles rise at the sight of injustice. I have a soul so being a lawyer was out so I’m a cop.

The Chief wanted me because I was new in the district, my face was unknown and…

“Be honest, Sir, I’m new and thus expendable.” I was never one to mince words.

“I wouldn’t put it that way but there is some truth to it. We have a bad situation and too little solid intelligence on it. You know of the spate of disappearances in the latest month or two?”

“The half-dozen college students who disappeared from the river front bar district and were never seen again? We get frequent reminders on it in our daily briefings.”

“It’s worse than that, Officer Friday. There is a separate problem that turns out is intimately related. You know of the several instances of people claiming to have lost their memories but are convinced they are in the wrong bodies?”

“The speculation was a bad batch of illegal amphetamines had hit the street. It supposedly fucked up their brains, sorry, that was unbecoming of an officer, and made them psych cases.”

“Several of the earliest patients recently claimed their memories were returning and the details they gave forced their doctors to test their DNA to prove they were not who they claimed to be.”

“So, what were the results?”

“They were a perfect match to who they claimed to be except for one detail, their 46th chromosome pair … was changed. A couple had fingerprints on file and they matched exactly who they claimed they were though the size of the prints had changed. One had a blood sample stored in a lab from a previous surgery, it tested identical but opposite sexed. The doctors were shocked, you can well imagine.”

“But how is it possible? This is fantastic. It’s something out of a bad sci-fi novel or witchcraft.”

“We suspect the later but haven’t ruled out the former. Don’t give me *that* look; magic is real. It’s definitely low profile and deliberately so but it does exist. We need, that is, I need you to go undercover as a student. You’ll take courses and do everything as a student, even living in student housing. Make friends and party; be a normal student. With luck you’ll get invited to go out drinking and can flush out the criminals.”

“But I’m 25, I’m a little old.” So I lied, but 25 sounds so much more mature than 24.

“Your cover is you are returning to college after a hitch in the army as an MP. That way if you spout any police jargon, it will be excused. You can claim you were disillusioned be the experience. You joined the police after your discharge as you had no other skills but became disgusted with the corruption and resigned in protest. Surely you can find something about police work that upsets you, *Friday.*”

He said *Friday* in a particularly annoying tone of voice. I caught on fast.

“*That* should do it. You mean I’m going under cover as me? But there are public records of me as a police … I’m to fake my resignation? But I was never in the military; if someone checks my background I’ll be sunk.”

“I will take care of that personally. You military records will be beyond question. You look younger than your real age of twenty-four which will help you fit in at the university. I must warn you, there is a strong possibility of a mole in the department or in the local courts. As you are new here you are considered a low risk. This will be difficult; you will get heat from some of the hard line officers. I’m sorry but it has to be for your cover to be convincing.”

“This sounds like an old movie plot.”

“I watch a lot of movies, Officer Friday. Joe, I have a contact who will watch out for you but she can only do so much. If you are successful in attracting the attention of the *perps* you could be a victim too.”

“You mean I’ll become a ... female,” I whispered.

“Yes, but you’ll retain you genetics; you won’t become a Chinese girl or African American or something else you are not. You would be a female you, but a best-of version of your female self.”

“That makes me feel so much better — not. Is it reversible?”

“That’s a yes and no, Joe. If the specific spell or charm used is known or better yet the person who cast it is wiling to help, it can be reversed safely after a few months have passed. Any sooner is too much of a shock and mixing magics is dangerous.”

“I’m confused.”

“I’m too. I’ve been told to think of it like radioactivity. Magic has a half-life. After a sufficient span of time most magical energy decays to a safe level. I can’t order you to do this but volunteering will look very good in you record once I can make it public. I promise you this, Joe, if the worst happens you will be assured a position in the department and it won’t be a dead-end make-work position either. We stand by our own and I’m told none of the victims lost any knowledge or intelligence. Whoever is doing this is not completely malicious. We discovered that once a victim is fully recovered they are as bright as before their transformation and sometimes brighter.

“Fully recovered? You mean they’ve been restored to their original ... In that case, yes, I accept. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“The victims are stuck as they are for now, sorry, Joe. The DA is working hard to get all their records fixed so they can access their assets and continue their education but it’s not easy. A couple of the victims were a bride and her maid of honor on a girl’s night —out/ bachelorett party. They both took it hard. The bride almost succeeded in killing himself. Her friend blamed herself for what happened. Apparently the bride rarely drank and she wanted her to loosen up for once. The marriage is off, possibly forever and the bridesmaid in a coma from a drug overdose. She, I mean he is in bad shape.

“This is case is a top priority and … the man in a coma was, is, the only daughter of my late bother. You understand why I need to see an end to this horror?”

“In that case, I agree. Can I interview the victims?”

“Too dangerous, you might be observed. I have all their testimony on several encrypted DVD’s. They also include you’re instructions on how to proceed. I want you to take them home and review them. Show them to no one and make no copies. The password is,” He whispered a nonsense phrase to me which I memorized at once. “Joe, if the worst happens; I’d be proud to call you my daughter if that’s what it takes. One way or another; I’ll make it right.”

“I don’t know what to say. I’ll read the materials and do my best. Thank you for your confidence and your support, *Daddy*.”

“I’ve created a monster. Go!”

* * * *

I took the DVDs with me and watched them at home. The testimony of the survivors made me angry and apprehensive. I was angry that someone would do this to anyone, especially innocents. I was apprehensive because I knew this could and likely would happen to me if I was successful. If I was unsuccessful I might die or worse.

That worried me the most, the seeming inevitability of my becoming a female. The Chief and the experts on magic concluded to succeed in catching the persons responsible I needed to become a victim, I needed to be transformed. The *plan* was to make myself a tempting target and my support team would catch them inflagrante delicto. If we were extraordinarily lucky it would before they could use whatever is was that would transform me, be it a potion, spell, mystical object, a summoned demon, whatever.

It was as likely, maybe more likely — the experts disagreed — I’d end up a member of the fairer sex. If -- notice the growing pile of *ifs* -- my support team caught the suspects after they’d begun my transformation, I would be wearing a bra and panties for some months to come until I could be restored. This was *if* the potion, spell, mystical object, summoned demon, whatever is not destroyed, lost or so on. I began to believe skirts were in my future but that our perps would get caught. I hoped we could do it soon and get control of the means they used to do it, for the sake of the victims … and myself.