Erich Haught

I consider a new career in Southern law enforcement

I was fired! Huggins, who was my supervisor, didn’t like me because I mentioned that I have a degree. He was always jealous of educated people. So he trash-talked me to Edgar Lee Masters, who was in Illinois at the time reflecting on death. He used his special red “this is Edgar’s line” phone, long distance from Hawaii at a great expense. I wanted to explain to Edgar, but I was forced to leave. Huggins made me sign a form explaining that he had offered me COBRA, and then stood there, the smug sonofabitch, while I packed up my crime investigator’s desk. He wouldn’t let me take the Ferrari.

The thing I wanted to tell Edgar is that Huggins doesn’t do any work. He sits around reading the paper half the day, and then he paces around on the gravel drive the next. He doesn’t clean. He doesn’t protect. He just feeds the dogs scraps and watches TV. I made the mistake one night, after I had won access to the wine cellar, to sort of mention this to Huggins. I wasn’t criticizing. I was curious. I wanted to know what he was supposed to be doing around the estate. I think I asked, “What the hell do you do here, Huggins?” I drank some wine. Then I asked, “I mean, what would you suddenly start doing if Edgar showed up here tomorrow? You know, what are you supposed to be doing? What are you not doing is what I mean to ask?”

“You went to college, correct?” Huggins asked me.

“I have a degree, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s precisely what I mean. Good night.”

But he wasn’t indicating that he was going to retire for the evening. He was commanding me to go to bed. “Good night,” he said. He meant, get the hell outta here. He just sat there staring at me, his lip twitching a little. I stared back at him, not blinking because I thought that gave me a certain authority. We both stayed that way until nine o’clock the next morning. Finally, Huggin’s said, “Blasted. To hell with this!” He stormed out of the guesthouse. I fell over in pain, as I had been sitting on the remote control. But I also fell over in triumph. I knew that I had outlasted him, and I had won his respect. I wouldn’t have any more trouble from old Huggins.

Two hours later he was kicking me to the curb.

Now I know a guy in Miami. His name is Chubbs. He’s a cop down there, a detective, and he deals with some pretty nasty stuff: coke, porno, organized crime, Cubans, and all sorts of corruption. He offered me a job as a vice officer with the Miami-Dade Police Department's Organized Crime Bureau. I was used to good weather in a moderate, subtropical climate, and he offered me a company car, a Ferrari Daytona Spyder (365 GTB/4). He also offered me lodging. I’ll be living on a sailboat down at the harbor. But there’s one catch. I have to care for a pet hippopotamus named Buddy. Boy, what fun.