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 Started a New Humor/Adventure Novel (untitled)

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Angelique Clark

Angelique Clark

Posts : 45
Join date : 2012-11-28
Age : 20
Location : Here, There... Everywhere

Started a New Humor/Adventure Novel (untitled) Empty
PostSubject: Started a New Humor/Adventure Novel (untitled)   Started a New Humor/Adventure Novel (untitled) Icon_minitimeFri Aug 09, 2013 6:55 pm

Hey Shea! Sorry I haven't been active on here for a long while; I was out traveling the northwestern U.S. But over the summer, I decided to start a new novel... that I actually plan to finish. It's a mix of humor and extreme adventure. I appreciate your feedback Smile


Chapter 1

“Are you positive the creamer is completely gone?” She sighed, rubbing her hand over her face; like they did in the movies. “How on earth, am I expected to work properly now?” There was an ample amount of immaturity in her voice, and her father glanced over.
“Daisy,” He started, a stern expression appearing on his already serious face. He cupped his black coffee with content. “What have I told you about being professional in this business?”
The young girl let out a dramatic breath. “’Never whine, or shout, nor swear, or pout.’” Her voice deepened to mock her father.
But she did it with a great wave of eagerness. After all, Daisy Ford looked up to her dad like a pilot studied the sky. She knew he knew nearly everything, and she always liked to think, in her head of course, that she would fulfill all his dreams for him; since he was quite an old man. At least, in Daisy’s point of view.
The man himself interrupted these thoughts. “Now then; put some milk in those beans and quit your complaining.”
Daisy laughed, and dumped in a generous helping of sugar to the coffee her father called “beans and water”. Then, she swooped up her hair into a sloppy bun, took the mug in both hands, and skipped out of the kitchen. Daisy certainly had her moments of childishness, for a girl of only fourteen. But what could really surprise a person, was her strange state of pure seriousness. She could virtually turn a criminal to his knees with just one glance of her stony-hard face.
This, of course, was one of the main reasons Daisy had started her own business. Along with being a successful entrepreneur in many fields, Daisy was an amateur detective. At the tender age of twelve and three quarters, she had out-run the Los Angeles Police Department in a metaphorical chase to nab a diamond thief, a bank robber, and man charged with four cases of DUI; all in the same afternoon.
Let us not forget the time when Daisy and her father were on a vacation in San Francisco. It had been a glorious Sunday morning. They had planned to go for a swim along the tanned ocean. Little did Mr. Ford know, his sweet, eight year old daughter had not only managed to halt a terrorist attack on the Golden Gate Bridge, but she’d cracked a case involving a man in a wolf costume, and a poodle, that even the brightest of private investigators hadn’t been able to uncover.
After those incidents, Daisy’s dad had believed it necessary for himself and his thirteen year old daughter, to move into a nice, quiet gated-community condominium, on the outskirts of Central L.A. Before that time, Mr. Ford had been one of America’s top dogs when it came to private I’s. Once they relocated, however, he was chosen for Police Chief.
During that past year, Daisy had done her own little bit of “relocating”. She’d started a babysitting business, sold lemonade on weekends, and last, but most importantly, she’d created business cards out of construction paper, and printed her name and number on them. But no, these cards weren’t for her babysitting clients, and they were not to be given to the usual customers of cookies and juice.
These slips of paper had been passed along to family after family. They called her up, hour after hour. “Missing Dump Truck from Sand Box at Local Park” was her first, official case. Following it, there were titles such as “Diamond Ring: Lost in Breakfast Cafe”, “Suspicion of Criminal on the Neighborhood Watch”, and “Pizza Boy Vanishes after a Deliver to an Abandoned Warehouse”. Daisy couldn’t say no to anything anyone called about.
She’d been at her career for over a year. It was probably the only time she ever acted like an adult. Her face pinched when in concentration; her eyes wide when a new case was relayed. However, she was still just a girl going into the ninth grade in the fall; and along with that, she had a grand sense of humor. Daisy knew she wasn’t a real detective. Not yet. But she also knew she had done a lot of good, and she wasn’t about to stop simply because Mr. Ford got worried.
But what kind of father wouldn’t? Sure, she left the house every day for school, and in the summer, she’d visit the beach by herself with friends. Those weren’t the things he worried about, though. It was the action, the danger... the cases. Sometimes, he would forbid her to even continue her work; when it got too risky.
Daisy never thought of it as risk. She thought of it as an adventure; a chance to not only help for the greater good, but to achieve greater heights.
“Coffee isn’t coffee without the creamer...” She was muttering to herself at the moment; scanning papers on her wide, mahogany desk. It had been a gift from her father on her fourteenth birthday. Mr. Ford seemed to act double-sided when it came to Daisy. On the outside, especially at the office, he played his daughter off as the spunky, but average teenage girl. But he knew, on the inside, that she was far from it; though spunky, no less.
Daisy shoved some of the loose-leaf notebooks from the desktop, and flipped open her note pad. It had a brown leather front, and a spiral top. She always used it to write simple notes down at crime scenes.
It would not come as a surprise that Daisy Ford was an avid reader of Nancy Drew. Her mother had collected the entire series. Mrs. Ford had planned on giving the books to her daughter when she turned eleven... but the time fell short, and the idea never experienced; as Daisy’s mother had died on plane to New York, just days after Daisy’s eleventh birthday.
“If you want something done, you’ve just gotta do it yourself.” The girl mumbled, scribbling the name of her victims on a fresh page of the note pad. “If Mr. Fargo had just seen who had run off, it would make this case a lot easier...” But he hadn’t, she decided, so there’s no use wishing the old man had better eyesight. “First thing’s first,” Daisy slammed the pad back down on her desk, and started pacing the bedroom, “I need to get a good look of the people who were around the shop when the money was stolen.”
Daisy sipped her sugar-coated coffee with a look of disgust. She had never liked coffee. But she was the kind of girl who hated stereotypes, mainstream media, hating, and of course, some of the vague, irrational ideas of adults. Those who knew Daisy the best would agree that that was one of her best qualities; as rash as she was about it. There was something about a young, reckless, sarcastic, and crudely-honest fourteen year old amateur detective that rubbed people either the right way, or the wrong way; so you might expect. But so far, she hadn’t managed to damage too many older folk’s egos, with the exception of countless, unintelligent criminals.
“Dad!” She hollered through their three bedroom, luxury apartment, “I’m going out!”
He never liked the sound of that.
“Where to?”
Daisy slipped her pad and pencil into her jean’s pocket, a five dollar bill into the cuff of her grey Converse, and pulled a cotton, hooded sweater from a pile of discarded clothes. Then, she yanked her brown messenger bag from the bed post, and swung it over her shoulder. With an eagerness in her step, she took the mug of coffee off her desk and appeared back in the kitchen. “Potter’s Bakery. Fifth Avenue and Queen.” She didn’t glance at him as she watched the caramel colored liquid disappear down the drain.
She only drank coffee because everyone else did. It was part of the job, she always said.
Mr. Ford raised an eyebrow from his seat at the breakfast bar. He flipped the Sunday paper closed. “Notepad?”
“Yep.” She jingled, grinning.
He nodded once. “Emergency money?”
Daisy pulled it out of her shoe for a brief moment, as proof.
“Survivor kit?”
She held up her bag.
“I think that one is obvious,” His daughter chuckled, fingering a loose thread at the hem of her old, blue sweatshirt. “So can I go now?”
Her father sighed. “Yes. You may go. Make sure to look both ways before crossing the street, young lady. And don’t talk to strangers!”
Now she was laughing into her sleeve. “Dad. Really? Don’t talk to strangers?” That was practically the elementary way of saying “I’m going to crack a case”.
“Well...” He let out, “be safe. Like you always are. Don’t smile at too many people.”
“How nice.” Daisy said dryly, rolling her eyes. “I don’t exactly want to come off as a gangster.”
He quickly retraced his words, “No! Of course not. Smile at everyone, and I mean everyone, Daisy.”
She was already at the front door, waving to him before shutting it with a gentle “click”. Her eyes wandered ahead of her, and she nearly knocked into an old woman picking up her morning paper.
“Sorry,” Daisy tipped an invisible hat, and picked up the paper for her. “Nice to see you Mrs. Raine.”
Mrs. Raine snatched up her possession and let out a grunt. “Always off causing trouble...” The old woman was known for muttering things, and thinking no one else in the world could hear her.
Daisy just smiled and went on her way. It was a bright day outside, and she waved to the bell boy as she slipped through the revolving doors out of the lobby. Cars of all colors and sizes rushed before her sharp eyes; the slowest of stray cats could be caught on Daisy’s line of vision. She never missed anything. Nothing got past her.
At least, so far.
She immediately tore her jacket off the second her feet hit the pavement. It wasn’t the least bit cold out, and both Daisy and her father knew that. It was just what they always did. Whether it was hailing, or snowing, or if there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, Daisy had to put on her jacket. Like a firefighter rushing to an emergency, or an officer speeding off on a mission. It was protocol.
The sun was shining in the distance, and the high-rise buildings around her let off a shadow here and there. Her hands found the tip of her pencil and pad, and she pulled them out without letting her eyes leave the motion around her. On a blank line, Daisy marked, “8:24 am”, then, “nothing suspicious as of yet”.
Just then, a large rumbling noise zoomed past her on the street, and her eyes widened. The bus! Being a part-time athlete, and a winner of track awards, it was not a problem for Daisy to weave around pedestrians, jump over cracks in the sidewalk, and land in a somewhat safe manner on the bench of the bus-stop. A few tired, middle-aged businessmen shot her quizzical stares, but Daisy pretended to ignore them. She couldn’t actually ignore them, of course, since she never missed anything. Nothing got past her.      
She slid her bus card across the plastic meter, and climbed the tall steps into the smelly, public bus. Her father could technically afford a private limousine and an entirely separate mansion on the shore of the Virgin Islands if he so chose; but the Ford family had never been the type to boost their civilian status simply to get into the tabloids. Rich was something they didn’t want to be known as. But heroes, now, that was a different story.
The Police Chief and his amateur detective daughter preferred to stay in the shadows of Hollywood’s iconic sign. To be in front and to be in the limelight would just ruin their ability to focus. And focus was everything in the business of police work. That, and a clever mind.
“Is this spot taken?” Daisy asked a woman with red, frizzy hair.
She looked up in startle, but managed a quick smile.
Hiding something, no doubt. Daisy grimaced and moved in front of the lady’s knees to get to the seat near the window. Something about the red-haired woman had unsettled her. But that wasn’t surprising. Everyone usually ended up on her list of suspects when she was trapped in the center of a case. Sure, she followed the rule of “innocent until proven guilty”, but her other motto was, “suspicious until proven nervous”.
Daisy had found out, after a short while, that the majority of people seemed highly suspicious, if you watched them like a hawk. And she did tend to watch people like hawks most of the time. The truth of the matter was, however, that a person’s behavior usually could be justified as plain old nervousness in the end; which could more likely than not, lead to disappointment of the detective.
She watched the woman with interest; taking in her most distinct features. Daisy noticed that her curly, red hair was freshly cut, and that her eyebrows were still a dark black color.
“Pleasant morning, eh?” Daisy smirked, extending her head at the odd young woman opposite of her.
It was practically unspoken law that you never got friendly with strangers in a public bus, especially if you lived in a city with a population above ten thousand.
Her red curls bounced as the green eyes glanced back and forth until landing uncertainly on Daisy. “Um, yeah. I guess.” The woman’s hands twitched.
Daisy had that effect on people. Just her overly cheerful, constantly-suspicious attitude scared people half to death. “The name’s Annie. I’m just visiting here with my family. They told me to go pick up some breakfast. Know it good bakeries?” She was clever too. Daisy went through fake names like a writer went through paper.
“Uh. I’m Georgia. And the best place is probably Ruth’s Cafe.” Her voice cracked.
Daisy continued to grin. “A pleasure meeting you Georgia. So, Ruth’s, huh? Know anywhere else?”
Georgia let a hand rush through her messy hair. “If you like bread, there’s always Potter’s Bakery. But the owner’s a bit weird.”
“How do you figure?” Daisy twirled a finger-full of dark, brown hair. Her eyes were wide open.
She relaxed only a fraction. “Um. Well, he’s almost completely blind, and the fact that he named his bakery after a fantasy series aimed for kids is a bit unsettling in itself.” A light chuckle escaped her lips.
Daisy laughed too, maybe a bit too loudly. “That is weird,” She agreed, still acting as Annie, “so is there anything else strange about the place? I heard something went on down there, but none of the details reached me. Y’know, ‘cause I’m just a kid and all.”
Georgia tapped her chin in thought. “Oh, well, that’s funny you mentioned it. Just yesterday there was a robbery there. I saw it with my own two eyes. Some kid on a skateboard. There were probably others, but I didn’t see them. Just a blonde boy; about your height. He’d stashed two white bags under his arms. They were full of something. Money, most likely.” The woman was talking freely now; not even giving Daisy much thought.
But Daisy was ecstatic. My first lead! “A blonde boy, huh? So did you tell the cops about this?”
“Um,” she hesitated, “n-not really. I don’t like to get myself involved, you know?”
“Right. Yeah. Of course.” Daisy nodded, but her thoughts wandered elsewhere. “And you said there was no one else around? At all?”
“Nope,” Georgia then laughed, “unless he was up on a building somewhere.” She was joking.
Daisy stored this idea in her head, and chuckled along with her. “Did you notice anything... special about the kid’s board?”
“The skateboard, I mean.” She clarified.
The red head paused, flicking invisible dust off her black skirt. “It had neon wheels. They were green. That’s all.”
Daisy looked up from their conversation to feel the bus come to a screeching halt. “This is my stop. I’ll see you around Georgina.” She smiled with distraction as she stood up and moved into the aisle.
The stranger watched Daisy with her own weak form of suspicion. “It’s Georgia. And why so interested in the robbery?”
“It’s a habit.” Was all Daisy said as she waved over her shoulder and dashed out of the bus.
Georgia glanced back out the window as the rig pulled away. Behind the thickness of exhaust, she spotted the young, perky girl enter Potter’s Bakery. “Huh.” She grunted, shrugging.
The bell over the shop door rang, causing the old man behind a long, faded counter to turn in surprise. He put on a crooked smile and waved at a rack of candy.
Blind as a bat. Daisy stepped up to Mr. Fargo and bit her lip. “’Morning.”
“Howdy! Is that you Miss Ford?”
Daisy recovered from her immediate shock that the old man had actually remembered calling her, and nodded, though he couldn’t see it. “Yes, sir!”
“Well, well, well... so you’re here to help me. Finally.” He grumbled, slamming a fist on the wooden counter repeatedly. “Them police officers haven’t got a damn clue. I saw ‘em, yep I did. They be rummaging through my cash register like animals, and when I told them that there side window didn’t open, one of ‘em slammed through it anyway! I say, it’s almost as if they wanted to break the glass... my goodness.” Mr. Fargo ranted, taking his glasses off and on as he spoke.
The young detective listened attentively, but wrote down what she’d learned from the woman in the bus as she did so. “Sir, would you mind if I came around to your side and took some finger prints?”
“Finger prints? I believe the cops already did that, hun. Not that they helped at all.” He started again, muttering.
She smiled, but took out a roll of tape from her messenger bag. “It’ll only take a second, Mr. Fargo. And even if the police have already taken saplings, there’s no way they’ll hand it over to a kid like me.” Daisy didn’t try to pretend she was some big-shot, even if she did happen to be more intelligent than most of the squads put together.
“Fine, do what you must. Now, I didn’t see nothin’ happen, so I’m afraid I won’t be able to help ya crack nothin’.” The old man explained, rubbing his wrinkled forehead. The suspenders he wore sagged down when he fell into a wooden-backed stool.
“It’s alright, Mr. Fargo. I was able to gather a few things on my ride over. But tell me, something, sir, can you see anything? At all?” Daisy questioned lightly, letting her finger slide an inch of tape across the cash register drawer. Taking it off, she planted another inch of tape on the sticky side; leaving whatever kind of evidence she could gain on the inside of both piece of tape.
Mr. Fargo bit his lip. “Eh. The vision goes in and out; like the day turns to night, and the night back to day. I can only recognize a few of my customers by memory, not sight.”
Daisy nodded. “Do you remember a young boy, with blonde hair and a skateboard, by any chance?” She held the piece of tape up to a dim light illuminating from the ceiling. Squinting, she made out a few squiggly lines, and flecks of dust. Daisy let herself smile; she’d gotten some real evidence. But a good detective doesn’t pour drinks and throw a party over a single thumb print. She hadn’t actually done anything yet.
The money was still in the wrong hands. And Daisy knew, from her personal relation to Mr. Fargo, that he usually left most of his retirement fund within the contents of his unlocking register. If she didn’t locate the criminal behind the scheme, the blind old man could be homeless in a matter of days.
Since it was also a known fact, that he literally had a handful of customers every couple months or so. He only baked bread now, and even that turned out burnt and flat. Most of the ingredients that were supposed to be inside the baked goods, were scattered across the tile-less floor.          
“Yeah. I know a fellow by that description,” Mr. Fargo was saying, “he’s a regular customer, and a trusted friend. I told him all sorts of stories about myself, and he told me how his family was poor and aw, that lad was a sad one indeed. Our conversations always turned back to his lack of funds. A real sad story, that is was.” He sighed.
She put the fingerprint tape into her bag, and turned back to Mr. Fargo. Her ears picked up the man’s every word, and then sorted them into her head. Just in case, Daisy took out her note pad, and added a few things down. “Do you have any surveillance systems in your store, sir?” Daisy knew it was a long-shot. But Mr. Fargo was constantly surprising everyone with his latest oddities.
The man shook his head with disgust. “No, I don’t follow all that new-fangled technology. My eyes can be my security, I always say.” He held a hand to his chest.
Daisy held in a chuckle. “Well,” her face turned serious, “considering you don’t have much of an eyesight left, Mr. Fargo, I think that’s all the questions I have for you. Thank you for your cooperation.” She held out a hand to shake, but then remembered his blindness, and withdrew it.
“I should be thanking you! I’ve heard a couple things about your adventures, Miss Ford,” a smile lit up his face, “and I knew you could help me.”
She nodded, and stepped over to the window the police had apparently broken. “Well, sir, I haven’t done anything yet. I’ll get back in touch with you when I find anything else out.” Daisy left the shop with her ears catching the tone of the door chime, and her eyes on a Harry Potter poster collection.
Then, she was back outside, taking in the scent of the city air. A few people walked past her in a brisk manner, and she moved along with them towards the nearest crosswalk. Using her father’s advice, she did a quick “right left right” and hurried across the intersection. Still puzzling over why it wasn’t “right left right left”, Daisy shuffled on the side of the street opposite of Potter’s Bakery.
That’s when she recalled Georgia’s comment about “if there was somebody else, they’d be crouched on a rooftop somewhere”. Something told Daisy that the woman in the bus was more than just speculating. She did see someone on a rooftop.
Daisy’s eyes panned the shops along both sides of the street. This was the more treated area of fifth street; cobblestone sidewalks, tall cherry trees, and old-fashioned lamps. For California, it was actually pretty cool out for the time of day. It was the middle of summer vacation for Daisy, and the week had kept a steady eighty-four degrees.
A light wind took itself through the air, sending a sampling of pre-autumn leaves scattered to the ground. Some children confined in a double stroller, sat beside the post office with their mother, letting small, plastic pinwheels work their magic.
Once she was significantly down the street from the scene of the crime, Daisy began to scrutinize each possible place on a building for an immediate escape ladder. Or in this case, a ladder that a budding criminal could have scrambled up to, after a near-heart-attack robbery. As she climbed the only emergency steps she could find, her heart pounded; almost as a reenactment of what could have happened to the blonde boy, or maybe a henchmen of some sort, at the time of the escape from the clutches of an angry, blind shop owner.        
Daisy never let any possibility slip through her fingers.
“Maybe I can find some evidence up here...” She said to herself in a soft tone, hitching up her bag as her feet hit the rooftop.
Eyes picking up nothing but a chimney stack and air conditioning unit, Daisy sighed; but continued her hunt. Of course, like most great detectives, she didn’t exactly know what she was hunting for... just that she needed to claim it. She let the messenger bag slip down her shoulder, onto the flat-topped building. A flock of birds dove overheard, and a dog barked in the distance. Daisy realized you could see and hear a lot more things on the top of a roof than you could on the ground.
This thought made something churn in her head.
“There might have been someone else helping this blonde kid. Most robberies I’ve seen have always involved more than one thief. Or one thief... and one look out.” She mentally snapped her fingers and cracked a smile. That’s it! She could see everything from the roof, and what better place for a look-out than the top of a building?
Daisy sat herself down at the edge of the roof-top, and surveyed the land below her. It was only four or five stories up, with a palm tree to the right that was still growing. The tips of the palm fronds met with an edge of the building.
She swung her legs without thought; concentrating fully on the scene around her. Her mind was re-creating the event of the day before; when a bell over a shop door chimed violently, an old man started hollering, a young boy took off with stolen goods on a skateboard, and a red headed woman stood to watch on the opposite side of the street.
Her eyes followed a trail of grey skid marks starting near the palm tree trunk, and ending at the bottom of the emergency ladder. The scuffed-up lines ran parallel to each other, and probably both only a few inches wide. Skateboard wheels.  
A stream of pedestrians walked in front of her view, so she glanced away to pull out a small camera from her bag. Once the crowd had moved onwards, she snapped a few images of the skateboard wheel marks from every angle. Then, she stood up and paced back to the top of the ladder. She found something there that she hadn’t noticed the first time. A light pair of shoe prints.
Daisy knelt down and snapped a photograph. After hitting the zoom button on her screen, she wrote in her note pad, “wheel marks leading to ladder, suspect shoe size: 8.5”. Satisfied with those discoveries, she shoved the notepad and camera away, and took out the roll of tape from earlier that day.
With expertise, the young detective found a half set of finger prints along the railing of the roof. Daisy knew though, that she still hadn’t found direct evidence that whoever the fingerprints belonged to, were that of the Potter Bakery robbery.
Then she got an idea. Daisy gathered up her equipment again, and led herself back down the ladder. Without a single person glancing her way, she hurried back to the bus stop, and waited a good six minutes before sliding her card and entering her ride home. However, she wasn’t going home just yet.  
“Hey,” A voice said behind her, a finger tapped her shoulder, “aren’t you Miss Ford?”
Daisy raised an eyebrow and swiveled her torso to face the speaker. She was surprised to see a tall man with dark black hair and a police officer’s uniform. His tag read “Detective Alex O’Hallen”. “Yeah, but no one really calls me that.” She replied back, smiling.
“Oh. Well, I recognized you from the station; besides the fact that your dad is always talking about you.” He chuckled, “I’m Detective O’Hallen by the way.”
Daisy shook his hand. “I know. I heard a lot about you too, actually,” she laughed, “my Dad says you’re the best investigator this side of the state; after him, of course.” She let her bag drift to the floor.
Alex nodded. “I try.”
“So, why are you on the public transit? I mean, not that it’s a bad thing.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Uh, well, my Lexus decided not to start this morning, and the guy I usually have over to tune it up, was sick. I was either forced to miss work, or ride the bus. I hate taxis, in case you were wondering.” He laughed again.
Daisy chewed on her lip. “Um, so, what has my Dad said about me? Good things, I hope.”
The detective grinned. “Of course. He’s always bragging about your Spelling Bee scores, track times, and your interest in basketball. You’re going to be a Freshman this year, right?”
She sighed internally. Daisy was kind of sad that her father hadn’t ever mentioned the fact that his daughter was a budding detective herself. If she brought that up with Alex, he’d probably just think she was trying to get some kind of attention. “Um, yeah. Just about two more months of summer.”
“Are you headed to the station right now?” He adjusted the collar of his tan uniform.
Daisy nodded. “I have some evidence of-“
Before the words could leave her mouth, the bus came to a loud stop, and people’s voices traveled above her own. Officer O’Hallen was obviously disinterested at that point anyway, as he made his way through the thick crowd to the front of the bus.
The young detective scrunched her nose. She didn’t like that guy. He was a bit too cocky for his own good; and he didn’t even say goodbye!
She yanked up her bag and stalked out of the smelly bus. Tossing her head to the left, she spotted “Archer Street”, and started for it. Detective O’Hallen was already swinging himself through the revolving glass doors. Daisy fought the urge to roll her eyes at his behavior.
“Good morning Miss Ford.” Officer Wayne greeted, the second Daisy’s untied Converse met with the sparkling clean floor of the West Side Los Angeles Police Department building.
She smiled at the older man who was stacking sheets of paperwork. “Hey Darren. Do you know if my Dad’s in his office yet?”
“Yes, he’s here. What’re you up?”
The bright overhead lights shone down on everything in sight. There probably wasn’t a single speck of dust for a mile of the place. Several thick, bullet proof doors lined the back of the hallway, and an elevator sat beside the grand staircase. This was the business entrance. On the opposite side, there were no off-limit signs to smoking, and the click of handcuffs were a norm. Daisy rarely went across the hall to that part of the station.
“Just working on a few projects.” She answered the man, not bothering to go into detail about something her dad had obviously never talked about. They’d probably laugh. “I’ll see you later, Darren.” Her legs hurried to the staircase, and she stepped up them like she was walking along a cloud. That was a major perk to being a trained athlete.
On her way to the Chief’s office, Daisy passed a couple other cops that she’d befriended in all the years her dad was an officer. They waved at her, but deep down, she felt like they had no idea who she really was. Just the Chief’s kid with good grades and a state-champion track score.
She knocked with a firm fist on the bullet-proof door; a gold-framed sign engraved the name, “Police Chief Gregory M. Ford”. A few seconds of silence followed, and then the door knob clicked.
“I only know one person who ever dares to knock that hard.” Daisy’s father laughed, smiling down at his daughter.
She grinned and hugged him. “Sorry. I just wanted to be sure you heard me.”
“So what’s up?” Mr. Ford shut the office door behind them, and offered his comfy, rotating desk chair to her. She was the only person in the world that could get away with sitting there. He leaned against the long, wooden counter.
Daisy stared into his eyes with a cloud of seriousness. “Dad; I’m close to cracking that Potter Bakery case. You know, the robbery? I have two sets of fingerprints, one from the cash register, and the other from an emergency escape ladder a few shops away. I also was able to snap up a few pictures, and even talked to a witness of the scene, on the bus.”
The Chief’s eyes widened with impression. “Great work! But how does this prove anything about the actual suspects?” He stayed serious, like her, even though his mind traveled slowly back to the multiple homicide reports that were scattered across his desk. None of them had been solved yet.
“Well, I figured I could run the fingerprints in the lab, and once I got a face to a name, I could go back to the area and ask around. Someone is bound to have seen the kid who stole that money.” She explained in a simple manner, splaying her findings across his desk.
“Um, sure, honey. The guys down in Lab 3 might be able to help you run the tests.”
Daisy nodded with importance, and was about to add something snarky about Detective O’Hallen, when the office phone began to ring. She knew to fall silent while he answered it with a stern expression.
“Yes, this is LAPD’s Chief Ford,” Daisy’s father listened on the other end for about two minutes straight, “I understand. Yes. We’ll send out our-“ there was another long, string of silence on Mr. Ford’s end and his face turned hard, “well of course, Sir. I will send only my best man. Sir? Yes. But why us? No... I understand. Tomorrow? Sure. Yes.” Mr. Ford was pacing the room now, “goodbye, Sir. I know, we will.” He let the line beep for a few seconds before placing it back on the desk.
Daisy frowned at the overly-serious look on her father’s face. “Dad?”
He paused, and then turned to face her full on. “Daisy, that was the President of the United States. The Seven Small Wonders of the World have just been stolen from The Arabian Arc.”
She gasped. “What will this mean-“
“It could either mean the end of all World Peace, or...”
“Or the break out of a World War III.”
The Potter Bakery robbery had officially vanished from Daisy’s mind.
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The Wright Pad :: Critique Corner-
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