If you happen to be in a seaport town, or America's oldest seafarers city which just celebrated its 450th birthday, you'd know it.
Enjoy!
~~~
Talk Like a Pirate
Day
by Jack M D Owen
Derek Flynt had a perfect description
of the assailant.
But the Ancient City Police Department
dispatcher just laughed at him.
Derek described the perp as somewhere
between five to six foot tall, depending whether he was stooped under
his tricorn hat or standing upright on his peg-leg with the pink
Rubber-Maid non-slip tip. There was a tendency, between witness
statements, for the black eye-patch to switch from left to right,
but the brown orb against a black-blue and purple blood-shot
background, was consistent.
Unfortunately for the St. Augustine
Glamor Mall Security Guard, males of all ages and shades had chosen
that date, September 19, to partake in the 'Talk Like a Pirate Day”
as part of the long-weekend celebration of the Ancient City's 450th
Birthday. Derek was getting reports from Hymie the Jeweler, the
SmartFone Depot and even the Tittilating Truffles & Tidbits
confectioner, of being robbed.
“Its no joke.” He complained to
a laughing dispatcher.
Derek waddled as fast as his stretched
gray-polyester pants, with broad brown-stripe down the outer seam,
would allow, glowering at mini-pirates waving plastic bendy-blade
swords tethered to mothers juggling shopping bags, mobile-phones and
car-keys in the Friday shopping frenzy.
Every door of every store revealed its
Jack Sparrow or Long John Silver replicate. Some flashed glittering
medallions on gold chains framed in an open-neck blousy-shirt, one
hand on a cutlass handle while the other juggled a flickering
cell-phone being sprayed with cookie-crumbs. Several folks swayed
like seasoned sailors stepping on-shore from a six-month cruise,
augmented by an aura of rum-fumes ranging from Pinacolada to Pusser's
Navy. Eyes, left, right or dual – with obligatory patch perched on
foreheads – were inevitably cross-hatched pink
The rent-a-cop fan of NCIC forced
himself past the 52-Variety Donut Store toward the PetsStore and its
'Treasure of the Week', a doleful-eyed, floppy-eared, saggy-dugged
blood-hound. Clutching a sliver of chartreuse
material, reportedly ripped from the pirate's breeches on the
jeweler's security-door screen, Derek pushed through the
'Adopt-a-Pet' crowd to the manager.
“I need to borrow your sniffer dog.”
He pushed through shoppers to the head
of the line. His plea was ignored in the litany of items being rung up:
“...and two bags of gourmet
rat-feed, the deluxe water trough with Avian-attachment, together
with vitamin pills, sleeping pills, urinary infection and band-aids,
$213.53 plus tax...” Each verbal note accompanied, with electronic
pinging sound-effect, flowed uninterrupted.
“Slide here, sign-three, put your
PIN in.”
Whirring sounds produced a foot-long
listed of items thrust into the bag with purchases.
“Next”
Derek stood in an unbroken sea of
swashbuckling weekend sailors, “Aaaarrring” and “M'Hearty'ing
in a plethora a pronunciations.
Ignored.
“Can I get some attention, here?”
“Take a ticket, sir. We'll get to
you.”
Derek's pale skin gained a tint which
bloomed through shades of pink to red to scarlet bordering purple at
the unwelcome attention many mono-eyed faces focused upon him, while
the cash-register pinged on uninterrupted.
He flourish his badge.
Nothing.
His hand moved to his gun
“Aaaarrrgggh.” The crowd cooed.
The blood-lust was almost palpable.
The blood-hound bayed, sensing the
game was afoot.
But Derek gulped hard, removed his
hand from hip and bid a farewell to the store clerk; in a gesture
hard to discern on later re-runs of the security-camera, shook his
head and left.
“Where's Rin-Tin-Tin when you need
him?” He muttered.
Derek waded through waves of shoppers
of all shapes and sizes clad in some semblance of a piratical nature.
Overhead the sound of speakers
hollowly called for parents to gather lost or dumped children. Some
parents routinely diverted recalcitrant replicates toward the Lost &
Found kiosk for the holding-pen staffed by retirees and liberal-art
students. The kids would be retrieved in a couple of hours, well-fed
with finger-paint globs on clothes and play-dough blobs in hair;
baby-sat at no cost but a scrub in the tub and another load of
washing – later.
Sounds of the distinctive city-cop
cruiser sirens bounced off the walls through the automatic sliding
doors.
Derek gained his minuscule security
office which housed a wall of monitors following the ebb and flow of
shoppers, fire and security alarm systems together with ingress and
egress controls.
He smacked a large red-button, flicked
a couple of direction switches and hefted the clump of pass-keys on
its retractable chain clipped to hi broad belt before setting off to
meet the ancient city's finest. Jaunty was not a term normally applied
to Derek's progress through the mall but, there was a certain light
fillip to his step.
The multitude was congregating at the
triple-door main entrance while new customers pushed through the
one-way entry. Several,who tried to exit against the flow, were
brushed aside and back into the mall.
Stocky Officer Darlene Lacey and horny
K-9 Monty, on full-exposure as usual, stood waiting.
“What...”
“Robbery, three places. Threatened
assault, with a cutlass, by an assailant decked out like a pirate.”
Her eyes rolled backward.
“Y'gotta be...”
“Nope. No joke. This SoB blooded the
jeweler when he nicked him after he loaded the sword-blade with
chains and medallions. He's gotta look like Mr T if he's wearing all
that bling.”
Dekek ignored the jeers and jaunts
from the swelling crowd.
“So?”
“I've got this,”Derek held the
scrap of icky-looking material between thumb and forefinger. His eyes
switched to Monty who was treating himself to a slobbering full
toiletry, much to the entertainment of children and chagrin of
parents.
“Monty's no bloodhound.”
“But the perp doesn't know. How many
pirates do you see in this color bloomers.” He shielded the sliver
to display before Darlene.
“And...” she prompted. “There's
more?”
“Yeah.” Derek smirked.
“What?”
“Once we've matched the patch –
we've got him cold.”
“How?”
“Pirates don't have no receipts for
booty, matey.” Derek declared. “Har-har.”
ends...
