Peaches

At about the same time every night, Carl found himself longing for a day job.  It was simply impossible to find what he really wanted, especially at a so-called convenience store.  All he wanted was an iced tea, peach flavour.  He found plenty of lemon and green, even some raspberry, but no peach.  And the blasted 7-Eleven was the only store in town that stayed open past ten in the evening.  He cursed his craving and cursed the burglar he’d just arrested for awakening that craving in him.  Damned raccoon smelled of peaches.  Why did it have to be peaches, and why did it have to be an exceptionally warm night?

He’d heard the alert from dispatch fifteen minutes previously, and was the closest to the scene of the crime.  He’d responded with lights blazing, but without a siren.  He didn’t like driving through sleeping neighbourhoods making such a racket that would wake the dead, unless he absolutely had to.  And he was sure a simple break in wasn’t worth pissing off those lucky enough to work during the day.

He'd seen the raccoon frozen with surprise, looking out the window at him.  The coon had made a dash for the back of the house, and Carl had gotten out of the vehicle and pursued the burglar.  Why was it always raccoons on his shift?  They got enough of a bad rap as it was just looking like they’d recently robbed a bank.  The least they could do was not live up to that stereotype.

He also wondered why they always ran.  It was like they fully expected to be able to outrun a cheetah.  He'd put on a quick burst of speed and managed to tackle the coon as he’d burst out the back door.  He had expected the burglar to smell of dirt or garbage or something, like most of the people he’d busted.  This one had surprised him: a scent like peaches was present in his fur, as if he’d just stepped out of a shower, having shampooed his fur all over.  For a moment Carl had entertained the idea that this guy showered before he robbed the place, hoping to make a clean getaway, but a moment later decided the coon didn’t look smart enough to come up with such a plan.

“Your rights are as follows: you have the right to remain silent,” he'd said as he hauled the raccoon up and restrained him against the wall of the house so he could put his handcuffs around the coon’s wrists.  To the coon's credit, he hadn't tried to protest or claim innocence.  “Anything you say or do...”  He’d said it so much that it had become an automatic routine even when it was unnecessary, and he wondered if he would end up in an old folks home, muttering the Miranda rights to himself in a drugged stupor as the nurse delivers his Jell-O.

Carl hadn’t realized how hot the evening was until he’d sat back in front of the wheel in his car and the smell of peaches got to him again.  The scent had awakened thoughts of a nice cold iced tea, but he remembered they were all out at the station.  He'd wondered what would be open at a few minutes to midnight, and only one place came to mind, but first he had to take his suspect in.  They were all suspects until they had their day in court, even if they were caught red handed.  While at a red light, he'd shaken his head at the justice system he was trying to serve.  At least he could process the coon and trust the courts to convict him.  

It had turned out there was no one home when he had arrested the coon, and he’d wondered whether those living there also had night jobs like he did.  He’d figured that someone on the day shift would have to contact the owners to find out what was missing.  As he had processed the coon and taken him to his jail cell, the smell of peaches had continued to assault his nose until he couldn’t take it anymore and absolutely needed that iced tea.  Damned raccoon.

Carl had swung by the 7-Eleven on his way back to his patrol, but unfortunately his craving couldn't be sated.  Naturally, he found that they stocked every flavour of iced tea except peach.  Funny, he thought.  We always get our man, but we can never seem to get our tea.

©2007, CW Tyger