Chapter 1

A little something different for your holidays. I’m in my fairy tale remix mood again and this time it’s turned out as a 24-hour slice of life story as well.

You may remember the story of Hansel and Gretel from your childhood. This story takes place after they’ve grown up, and changes the setting from the forest to the inner city. I’ve pulled in some other familiar characters just for fun.

And in the interest of full disclosure, there’s no sex. I still have more Risk Versus Reward coming to keep you entertained on that front.

Enjoy,
WaxPhilosophic

Pinocchio stood up on the pedals of his BMX bicycle and drew breaths in great gasps. He had to show Hansel. Hansel didn’t believe nothin’ Pinocchio said ‘less he seen with his own eyes.

Pinocchio wiped the sweat from his brow and flew through the intersection, careening around honking cars without stopping.

He had a plan. Hansel would bring his fancy new iPhone to get a video of what Pinocchio had found and they’d put it on the internet. Then they’d be famous. And famous people get respect. Easy as that.

Pinocchio powered up the last remaining hill, swerved around the sedan parked out front, and ditched his bike on the lawn.

“Hansel, Hansel,” Pinocchio heaved. “Get yer iPhone. You won’t believe what I just seen.”

Hansel leaned forward on the front porch step where he was sitting, and ground the last of his cigarette out on the heel of his shoe. “Lookin’ at you I already don’t believe it.”

“Honest, Hansel. Get yer iPhone. We gonna take some videos. Be on the news. Get famous.”

“Shit,” Hansel said as he stood slowly and spat.

“Serious, man. There’s a body down by the tracks. All dead, with flies and everything.”

Pinocchio watched Hansel hoist himself up and grab the knob of the screen door. Hansel believed him.

Inside, on the first floor of the house, Gretel climbed out from under the kitchen sink. She tucked her service automatic back into its holster and twisted the knob on the faucet. The water spiraled down the drain.

“No more potato peelings in the sink,” she called out. “Okay, Pop?”

Gretel walked into the living room to find her father sound asleep in his recliner.

“Pop, I fixed your sink.”

The old man blinked a few times and peered up. “You’re a good girl, Gretel.”

“Be sure to tell Mrs. Wilson she can’t put potato peelings down the drain, okay? Clogs it right up.”

“She ain’t been ’round for couple weeks now, Gret. Gov’ment shutdown and all. Means she don’t get paid.”

“She just up and left?”

“Gone and found another job I ‘spose.” Gretel’s father reached for her hand. “It’s okay. Your girl Cinderella come by a couple times a week to check up on me. Runs ’round cookin’ and tidyin’ up the place and then sits readin’ the newspaper to me. Acts like there ain’t nowhere in the world she’d rather be than keepin’ an old man company.”

Gretel smiled. That sounded just like Cinderella alright.

“You be good to that girl, Gret. She’s a keeper.”

“I will, Pop. Promise.” Gretel kissed her father on the forehead to seal the pact.

“Say Pop, you seen her around lately? She hasn’t been returning my texts.”

“No,” her father said with a yawn, “can’t say I have.” And just like that the old man was asleep again.

Gretel kissed her father once more before stepping out onto the front porch.

“Cinderelli, Cinderelli.” Pinocchio danced and chanted as Gretel emerged. “Where’s Cinderelli?”

“Been evesdropping, punk? I suppose you’ve seen her, huh?”

“Yeah, I seen her.” Pinocchio leered. “She’s hawt!”

Pinocchio began humping the air and moaning while pretending to slap something with his right hand. Gretel assumed it was Cinderella’s backside that he imagined himself connecting with.

She reached over, grabbing Pinocchio by the wrist mid-swing and bent his arm into a painful position, putting a contorted expression on his face.

“Hey!” he protested.

Gretel just stared at his open hand, saying nothing.

“What’re you doing?” Pinocchio whined.

“Checking your palm for splinters, douchebag. You should be more respectful.”

“Or what?” Pinocchio said, apparently not bright enough to know when to keep his mouth shut.

Gretel fingered the butt of her automatic, still tucked away in its holster. “Or else I’ll shoot you.”

“You can’t shoot me, you’re a cop. Protect and serve. It says so on the door of your car.”

“You seen my car lately?” Gretel looked to the nondescript sedan parked at the curb and Pinocchio’s gaze followed. “I’m a detective now. Unmarked car. See? Nothing written on the doors. Means I can shoot whoever I want, long as I fill out the paperwork.”

Pinocchio stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed while Gretel continued casting daggers his direction.

Not surprisingly, Pinocchio was the first to blink in this contest of wills and he turned pleadingly to Hansel who was just stepping out the front door. “She can’t shoot me, can she?”

“You wanna test her? I don’t. Come on dicknose, let’s go.”

“What about the body?” Pinocchio said.

“Jesus.” Hansel’s shoulders slumped as he shook his head.

Gretel released Pinocchio and turned to her brother, jaw clenched. “What body?”

“Come on, we’ll show ya.” Hansel reached over and slapped Pinocchio hard upside the head before they both turned to trail behind Gretel on her way to the waiting sedan.

Down by the railroad tracks Gretel pushed her way through the crowd of curious onlookers that had gathered. Following closely behind were Hansel and Pinocchio.

“Hey, this is a crime scene, lady,” said the patrolman at the scene. “You can’t be here.”

He was no one Gretel had seen before, and he looked like a kid fresh out of the academy. Gretel decided to cut him some slack and politely showed him her detective’s badge.

“Sorry, ma’am.” The officer said. “I thought maybe you were another of them nosy reporters.”

Gretel glanced at the name patch on the rookie’s uniform. “Just doing your job, O’Shea. Department could use more upstanding young men like yourself. Now, what have we got?”

Apparently not used to being complimented by the senior members of the force, the young patrolman’s face quickly cycled through about three shades of pink before he gathered his composure enough to speak.

“Well ma’am, looks like a typical OC. I mean you can see the bag of candy sticking out of his pocket, and his fingers and mouth have that sticky residue.”

“He’s just a kid.” Gretel frowned. “Anybody touch anything?”

“No ma’am. Can’t say for sure about the locals here, but I called the crime scene investigators as soon as I arrived.”

“Nice work, O’Shea.” Gretel clapped the patrolman on the back. “You think you can keep it locked down until the CSIs get here or you need me to call you some back up.”

“I can handle it ma’am.”

“Outstanding. That’s what I like to hear.” Gretel watched as a wide grin spread across the young patrolman’s face. “Welcome aboard, son. Department’s lucky to have you.”

Gretel turned and sighed. These recruits were getting younger all the time. Or was it just that she was getting older. And since when did people automatically start calling her ma’am?

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Hansel said, stepping up behind Gretel and snapping her out of her period of introspection.

Gretel knew he meant Granny Witch, the evil old woman who lured them into her den of sin as children. “Let’s wait for the CSIs before we …”

“But you already know, don’t you?”

Gretel sighed again. “Yeah, it’s her.”

Gretel’s phone buzzed. She looked down hoping to see Cinderella’s number on the display, but the odds were not in her favor. She swiped to answer.

“Yeah, Cap’n. … Already on the scene, sir. … My brother. … Yeah, it’s her. … Understood, sir.”

Gretel slipped the phone back into her pocket and strode back toward the unmarked sedan. Duty called. “You boys wanna go for a ride?”

“Ooh, can I put the flashing light up on top?” Pinocchio said. “Like Telly Savalas in Bojack?”

Gretel said nothing, but did grin just a little as she heard the characteristic hollow clunk of Hansel’s hand smacking the wooden boy upside the head. “It’s Kojak, dicknose. Like the cheese.”

After a five minute ride, the sedan pulled up outside of The Haystack Tap.

“I’m looking for Hyram Woolfe” Gretel said as she laid her badge on the bar.

The bartender kept wiping the bar top, not even looking up as he said, “Next door. Blowin’ with Boy Blue.”

“You sure about that?” Gretel found it hard to swallow that Boy Blue, so named because of the cyanosis that gave his skin its distinctive blue pallor, would have any breaths to spare for his horn these days.

The bartender just shrugged and continued his cleaning.

Gretel plucked up her badge and headed through the connecting doorway to the jazz club next door. Close on her heels were Hansel and Pinocchio.

The bartender had not lied. Once inside the club, Gretel and her entourage were enveloped by the mellow sounds of the jazz quintet on stage.

Gretel didn’t recognize the rhythm section, but she immediately picked out Boy Blue tooting on his trumpet, and Hyram Woolfe impeccably dressed in a zoot suit and currently engaged in a rather lengthy improvisational saxophone solo.

While Hansel and Pinocchio relaxed and bopped to the beat, Gretel took the opportunity to phone Cinderella. But just like before, it went to voicemail.

“Hi Baby, it’s me,” she said, feeling a little like a broken record on this, her third unanswered call. “I know I’ve been working a lot, so I was hoping you might want to grab a bite to eat. There’s this new place I heard is supposed to be good. Or, you know, if you just want to hang out at home, maybe I can bring something by? Miss you, Baby.”

Gretel turned quickly to face Pinocchio, fully expecting to admonish him for his chants of ‘Cinderelli, Cinderelli,’ but saw only a boy who appeared to be lost in the music.

Gretel tucked her phone away and frowned. This was certainly uncharacteristic behavior for Cinderella, and Gretel hoped she hadn’t done something to upset the woman. She searched her memory, and other than putting in a lot of overtime on her current caseload she could think of nothing that would drive a wedge between them.

Gretel was dragged out of her soul-searching funk and back to the present by a pause in the music and Boy Blue on the microphone.

“Thank you,” he weezed. “We gonna take a little break now. So y’all stay cool, a’ight? We be back shortly.” And Little Boy Blue shuffled off to stage left, dragging his oxygen tank on a cart behind him.

Hyram Woolfe deposited his battered and tarnished sax on its stand preparing to follow behind Boy Blue, but Gretel was up and blocking his path before he could take a single step.

“Going somewhere, Wolfie?”

Woolfe smiled, baring his teeth. “As a matter of fact, Detective …” he said in a deep, booming baritone.