Crime scene has ended...go in peace. The fall of Francesca!

Good morning, everybody. It’s Wednesday…yeah, great…whoop whoop…whatever. It’s also a dark, dark day here at The Compound. I know, you’re saying, “well, of course it is, Robin, you dolt…it’s 4AM”…actually that’s what the Wife said to me this morning.

No, no…the chapter of our lives written by the Francesca has now vanished in a haze of flashing blue and red lights, 12 ga. shotguns and brown uniforms.

I attended a football game last evening wherein the Nephew’s boy was playing. Nice job, Nephew’s Boy, nice job! Be sure to throw Uncle Robin some tickets when you get picked up by the Steelers (he actually appears ready to play for the Swooners now).

But, I digress…

So I get home last night following the game and The Compound is filled with law. There were mostly sheriff’s units with a couple of OHP cars thrown into the mix. As I attempted to pull in through the gate, I was stopped by an altogether young deputy who informed me that I couldn’t enter as the area was now a crime scene.

Gadzooks! Crime scene? What the hell was happening? I always swore that County Law couldn’t find The Compound. That time the Wife called them because I was dancing naked in the rain - it took three days for a deputy to finally show up. The rain had ended and I was dressed (and sort of sober) by then. Duh!

It occurred to me that the same deputy who showed up then, probably led this raid. He had blazed the trail for the others…trail blazer that he is.

Not wishing to be inadvertently shot with the 12 gauge Deputy Pup was holding across his chest, I just shut down the engine and decided to enjoy the show. I took a long pull through the straw stuck in the Sonic cherry lime-aid I bought on my way out of town.

Deputy Pup never took his beady little eyes off of me as he stood there seeming to dare me to do something.

“Nice evening for a Compound raid, don’t you think,” I asked?

Deputy Pup didn’t move a muscle.

Cousin Fred was in his wheelchair up by the main house. Another deputy was there, presumably to keep him from approaching the crime scene. The Wife was standing behind him with a filterless Pall-Mall between her lips and a fifth of Old Crow in her hand.

I asked Deputy Pup what exactly the raid was about. He informed me that they were serving a warrant for grand theft auto and interstate flight.

Interstate flight? Great coogley moogley, that meant the Feebs were involved. Sure enough, a couple of finely coifed individuals in dark jackets with FBI emblazoned across the back emerged from inside the Mobile Mutt Rescue Unit. They stood looking around until another deputy led the Francesca from inside with her hands bound behind her back.

He loaded her into a sheriff’s unit parked near the Love-Boat-sized RV.

At that point, Cousin Fred began wailing about “no more sponge baths” and “who will lick off the red hot pepper sauce?”

Wait…what? Huh?

He began yelling at the Wife (seldom a good idea) to push him down to the car so he could say goodbye. To her credit the Wife made at least a feeble attempt at pushing him. She was only pushing with one hand, holding the bottle of Old Crow in the other. This was causing the wheelchair to well…wheel…in a circle.

Finally, she managed to get him lined up with the long driveway with its downhill grade and give him a shove that propelled the wheelchair down the slope toward me. The deputy that had been guarding him stepped aside. He must have figured the Wife was more of a threat than some broked**k in a half body cast and a wheelchair.

I thought of jumping out to save Cousin Fred, but Deputy Pup wasn’t moving. Finally, the wheelchair slammed into the front of my vehicle propelling Cousin Fred onto the hood. His face was pressed against the windshield as he looked in at me, screaming, “They’re arresting her, Cousin! They’re arresting Francesca! Do something!”

That’s when it hit me. Ah ha! Mystery solved. The RV was stolen property! I’m a regular crime solving genius sometimes, I’m telling you!

Fortunately, the sheriff’s office had shown up with an ambulance in tow. Good thing, because they would definitely never be able to find this place in the dark. The EMS unit hauled Cousin Fred off to the hospital (presumably). The sheriff’s unit hauled off the Francesca to the county jail. At least the two of them will be within 200 yards of one another.

A large tow truck showed up soon thereafter to haul away the Mobile Mutt Rescue Unit. As it lifted the front end, the beast let out one last gasping heave sound from its puking dog siren and off it went into the night. Gone from our lives forever.

Deputy Pup stepped back from the side of my vehicle and informed me, “The crime scene has been resolved. You may pass.”

I muttered under my breath, “Resolve this,” and drove on.
 

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