Bullseye By Alexis Kypridemos Copyright 2013 Alexis Kypridemos Fiction-Fix.

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Bullseye
Detective Davie Croquet handed his partner, Detective Dick Tuggs, a print-out. Tuggs examined the perfectly straight line running across graph paper. "Yang seems pretty steady on the polygraph," Tuggs said, referring to Yang, an apprehended murder suspect. "Yeah," Croquet agreed. "But the fingerprints we got off the crime scene match Yangs." Tuggs looked up from the polygraph sheet. A minute later, he and Croquet burst into the interview room. Yang sat handcuffed in the chair where they had left him. "OK, give it up, Yang," Tuggs said. "We found your fingerprints at the crime scene." "But Im innocent," Yang said. "Damn!" Crocket thumped the tabletop. He turned to Tuggs. "If he can't find anything fast, we have to let him go," he said quietly. With no other option but to find some new lead in next to no time, Tuggs and Croquet sat opposite each other going over the evidence again, just piles of paper on the floor. Their increasing fatigue and tension was evident from their expressions, as they leafed through mounds of paperwork on the case. Tuggs put down the paper he was holding. "OK. OK. Can you hear me out on something?" Croquet put down his papers and looked up tiredly. "Sure," he sighed. "Ive been going over the crime scene reports," Tuggs said, "And Ive been thinking, the body was like this, right?" Tuggs made room on the floor and lay down, approximately the way the murder victim was found. "And the gun wounds were over here, right?" He held two fingers on the left side of his chest, perfectly consistent with a right-handed assailant. "Yeah, but how does-" Croquet started to say. Tuggs sat up. "The murderer had to be left-handed!" he said. "So, if Yang is left-handed, that makes him the murderer?" Croquet asked.

"Exactly." "How are you going to establish that?" Tuggs walked over to his desk, opened one of the drawers and took out a tennis ball. "Easy." They returned to the interview room. Croquet walked behind Yang and leaned against the wall, forearms crossed over his chest. Yang looked up. "You again." "What? Youre not glad to see us?" Tuggs said, and bounced the tennis ball off the wall. "I tell you, I am innocent. In five hour, I leave here and there is nothing you can do about it." "Well, youre almost right about that one, Yang." Tuggs bounced the ball again. "Except that weve been going over the evidence again." "So?" "Well, its just that, weve come up-" Suddenly, Tuggs threw the ball. Yang made no move to catch the ball with either his left or right hand. The ball bounced off the table and hit Croquet in the nuts. He clutched himself, coughed, and collapsed. The End ### Tuggs and Croquet also appear in Live Hard:

Live Hard
Detectives Richard "Dick" Tuggs and David "Davie" Croquet knocked on the front door of their Chief's home. They had arranged to pick him up that morning, since his car was in the shop. There was no answer at the door. "Chief, you in there?" Tuggs called. "Maybe he overslept," Croquet said. Tuggs shook his head, knowing better. The Chief was never late. "I don't like this," he said. There was a faint murmur from inside the door. "Did you hear that?" Tuggs asked. Croquet nodded. They drew their guns and moved to either side of the door. Tuggs pointed at the lock. Croquet took a step back and delivered a kick to the lock. "Ow!"

His shoe thudded against the door and bounced off. The door stood unscathed. Croquet clutched his foot in pain. "Youve got to be careful, man," Tuggs said. "Here, let me get it." Tuggs kicked the door in with what sounded like a gunshot. He showed Croquet the smoking sole of his shoe. "Magnums." "Ive got to get a pair of those." They entered the house, guns at the ready. Another faint murmur came from the back of the house. They moved to the kitchen, covering each other. In the kitchen, Croquet jumped in, landed in a shooting stance, both hands on the gun. Tuggs walked in, no acrobatics. The empty kitchen yawned at them. A whimper came from the floor. They looked down. The Chief's son, Junior, was bound and gagged. Tuggs leaned down and ripped the duct tape off Juniors face. Junior sobbed. Tuggs helped him sit up. "Did they hurt you?" "They called me a- They called me a ninny," Junior said, buried his head in Tuggs arms and burst into tears. Tuggs dropped him back on the floor. "Over here," Croquet said. He'd moved into the pantry. There, the Chief's wife and daughter were also tied up and gagged. The detectives untied their bonds. "Dick! Thank God!" the wife said. "Are you OK?" Tuggs asked. "Were fine. But they took George." "Those bastards." Outside, the two cops rushed to Tuggs' car. There had been no need to ask the Chief's wife who had abducted him. There was only one suspect, the head of the Comemierda cocaine trafficking cartel, Lucas Cabron. Cabron had informants everywhere. He must have learned of the Chief's intentions to throw every cop he had against the Comemierda operation in town. As Tuggs sped away, Croquet dialed a number at the precinct on his cell phone. "Hawthorne? Its Croquet. Theyve got the Chief." Croquet said to Hawthorne, the officer who took charge in the Chief's absence. "Got the Chief?" Hawthorne said. "Who? What the heck are you talking about, Croquet? Explain yourself." "Cabrons goons. They kidnapped the Chief. Theyve got to be taking him to Cabrons HQ down in Comemierda right now." "Theres no way you can know that for sure-" "Listen, Chief; if you want to send back-up, send it. If not, dont. We're going in."

He hung up. "Any idea how we do that?" Tuggs asked as he overtook the car ahead. "I know someone from when I was an air marshal. He's not entirely clean, but he might be able to help us. For a price." "He'll have to do." Tuggs screeched his car to a halt outside the house of Meek Oswald, Croquet's connection. They got out and each took a bag of gear from the trunk. Croquet pushed open the unlocked front door and walked into the living room. Tuggs followed. Meek was asleep, his butt on the couch, his face on the coffee table, next to an empty bottle of gin. Croquet leaned down and shook him. "Hey, Meek. Wake up." "Hmm?" Meek grunted, coming to. "Whats happening?" "I need you to fly us to Comemierda. Now." "Comemierda?" "Yes. Now." "I dont know, man, its kind of..." Crocket took out a wad of dollar bills and showed it to Meek. Meek blinked sleepily and took the money. "Come on." Meek led the two detectives to his tiny rotor airplane, parked in the garage. Meek hit the remote control for the garage door and got in the plane on the drivers side. "Hop in, its open," he said. Tuggs and Croquet climbed in. Meek turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed and the airplane launched forward. The plane taxied on the street for five blocks before Meek pushed the throttle to the fire wall and they were airborne. ### Continue reading Live Hard on Scribd or Smashwords for only $0.99. Fiction-Fix.com