The Case of Mistaken Identity: A Billy Bulletin Tale

The name is Billy “All Points” Bulletin. The county boys call me a small time detective. Yeah, small time detective in a C note town. The day began like any other day; with me broke, and the only prospect a bad hangover. The call came in on my shortwave from the local 7-11; Burglary...okay, shoplifting. I jumped into my souped-up PT Cruiser, made for the corner of Broadway and Main and pulled into the parking lot just as the perpetrator, or, perp, was making his way outside.
I screeched to a halt and accosted the kid, who was holding onto some dame's hand.
“Okay, Dillinger,” I said. “You and the dame stay right there.” I quickly put up tape around the crime scene.
The dame was going to be a problem.
“Watch it with that duct tape, mister,” she said.
Now I really saw her for the first time. She had the kind of looks a man would die for. Probably not willingly, though. Her green eyes smoldered.
“Watch it yourself, sister,” I told her. “This is a crime scene and your boy, there, is going down the river.” The brat dropped his ice cream and began crying. Me, I continued with the taping when it got stuck on something.
“You idiot,” cried the dame. “You just duct taped my son's head to that VW.”
Just then, the proprietor, or, prop came out of the store. “Hey, All Points, I can't keep the kid in the store all day. You coming in to arrest him, or what?”
I took a second look at the dame and her kid. He did seem on the young side to be a criminal, come to think of it. I looked at the kid with his cheek taped to the windshield of the VW and began to laugh.
“Alright, alright, this'll only take a second.” I had to work fast before the county boys got there. “Stand back...” There was a tremendous ripping sound followed by what sounded like a young boy's scream, soon joined by what sounded like his mother's.
“You ripped the hair off my son!” she wailed, followed by a bunch of gibberish about lawyers. Finally, I'd had enough.
“Look, doll,” I said. “He's still young enough for it to grow back.” I tipped my hat showing my own thinning head of hair. “He should count his blessings.”
Before she could say anything, the local black and whites thundered into the parking lot. The Sergeant, Joe Bidwell, got out and approached me.
“All right, bulletin, we'll take over—what's wrong with the lady?”
I jerked a thumb at the kid, and whispered, “Her son was caught stealing, so she's pretty distraught, not making sense.”
“Officer, thank God, a real policeman,” the dame said, cooing. “I want to get a lawyer--”
As I hopped into my vehicle I could hear Bidwell telling her, “Settle down, lady. Let's just get your little criminal into a pair of handcuffs and then you can call a lawyer. Hey, his head is bleeding. Let's get some tape on that.”
Me, I careened on down the road to the local watering hole. There was an all points bulletin in my head calling me to investigate The Case of the Missing Buzz.