Zoning Patrol (#FridayFlash)

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"Zoning Patrol" by P.J. Kaiser

The dark stairs stretched out before Monty, looking like they had been trod by a million feet.  His head tilted at an odd angle, eyes focused on drops of blood, one after another, like a trail of bread crumbs leading up the stairs.  Knowing where the trail would lead, his stomach knotted and a wave of nausea hit him.  Monty glanced over his shoulder, wishing his partner would appear, but Willard had called in sick that morning.

He took a deep breath and ascended slowly.  Each stair creaked – an audible calling card warning the occupants of the third-floor walkup of his approach.  He tried to step on the outer part of the tread to minimize the noise.  Rounding the top of the stairs, baton in his hand, he knocked; the trail of blood disappearing behind the closed door.

"Police!  Open up!"

No response.

Monty knocked again and shoved on the door with his shoulder.  The brass number three on the door rocked from side to side.

"Open up!  I know you're in there!"

The door came unlatched from the inside as Monty was in mid-push.  He fell unceremoniously into the room.  Lifting his head, he saw bones and body parts scattered around the room.  In the center, a cauldron simmered on a giant hot plate and steam wafted through the room.

A woman, dressed all in black with a pointy nose and ragged black hat stirred the concoction with a wooden spoon as large as a baseball bat.  Her eyes narrowed.

Monty scrambled to his feet, looking with disgust at the juice of the entrails smeared on his crisp uniform.  "What are you doing here?  What's going on?"

"Why, officer, I'm just fixing some lunch.  Won't you join me for some stew?"

"No, thanks." He swallowed hard to keep from retching.  "I'm a vegetarian.  Listen, if you want to avoid a summons, you're going to have to move these proceedings elsewhere.  This area isn't zoned for indoor cauldrons.  The building's electrical isn't wired to support it and, for that matter, the cauldron weighs too much for the underpinnings of the floor.  I'm issuing you a citation.  If you haven't relocated your cauldron within 24 hours, you'll be receiving a summons."

In a softer voice, he added, "Listen, all you have to do is rent a space over on Hudson Street.  All those buildings are newer and they're zoned for home cauldrons.  I saw a 'for rent' sign just this morning on my way into work."

"Thanks, sonny.  Don't worry, I'll get the movers in this afternoon after I finish my spell – er, I mean – lunch."

Handing the piece of paper to the woman, he backed through the doorway and pulled the door closed.  He checked his watch.  Just enough time to run home to change his clothes and shower before the next zoning inspection.

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