Fastbuck Freddie

Change of pace today, I’m going to tell you a story. It’s a story about Butch, a police detective assigned to a homicide section and a spaced-out street guy the cops all called Fast Buck Freddie, who they named after a Jefferson Starship song. It’s just a story, maybe it’s true, maybe it was all just made up, who knows?

In a lousy mood, hung over and halfway through his second pack of Rolaids, Butch turned into the parking lot of District 2 Headquarters, muttering to himself that somedays, you couldn’t catch a break. Two spaces away, a big German Shepherd in the back of a K-9 unit eyed him suspiciously and began barking. Shutting off the engine, he rummaged around in the glovebox, found a bottle of aspirin, tossed two in his mouth, closed his eyes and swallowed. He held the aspirin bottle out of the window and shook it for the benefit of the dog, When the dog responded with more barking, he muttered, “How about we trade?  I’ll sit on my ass and bark, and you can have dinner with my old lady and the Ellermann’s, tonight…deal?”   Clipping the plastic photo ID to the front pocket of his shirt, he grabbed his sport coat and tossed it over his shoulder.

Walking away, he paused as someone called out, “Butch...hey…Butch…hold on....” He waited and let a gaunt man clutching a bent-up Folgers coffee can, catch up to him. The man was small, almost frail, with a mop of unkempt black hair and prominent front teeth that were badly yellowed. It was difficult to tell his age, he could have been a well-kept seventy or a broken down forty.

Butch smiled patiently, “Fast Buck Freddy, how's that environmental campaign going?”

“Not good, not real good,” Freddy said, shaking the bent-up coffee can that rattled with a few coins. “Them chemicals the city is usin’ in the parks are makin' the birds’ beaks fall off.  No shit, Butch, their beaks are fallin’ off...”

“I’m guessing the public hasn’t caught onto this crisis, huh?”

“Naw,” Freddy rasped, running his hand across a boozer's nose, bright red with broken veins, “It's tough tryin’ to save the environment on a Monday.”

“Here, Freddy, get yourself a drink,” Butch said, digging a $5 bill out of his pocket. “But, first … get yourself something to eat, okay?” he added, holding the $5 in front of Freddy’s face, then dropping it in the can.

“Hey… thanks, Butch… ‘member ‘bout them birds, now. Life ain't worth a shit if your fuckin’ beak falls off....”

Butch just smiled at Freddie and headed towards the building.

It was about a week later, Freddie, drunk on his ass, was walking down the Northwestern tracks, looking for Jesus. He saw a big white light, threw up his arms, yelled, “SAVE ME” and got run over by a commuter train…Some guys never catch a break.