...the phone rang. "Yeah," Briscoe answered it, listening for a few moments. "Uh-huh....we'll be right
   there." He turned to his new partner, Eddie. "A manager got killed at WalMart." He slid on his jacket
   and made his way toward the door.

   *******************

   "So what happened?" Eddie asked a uniformed cop.

   "You're not gonna believe this. This guy got killed becauase the store didn't have any Pokemon toys
   here."

   "Ok, so which one of you two kindergarteners knows what a Pokeyman is?" Lennie asked.

   "Well, Lennie, it's a .....

It's AN annoying little creature that all the kids must have this year for Christmas." Ed Green
   answered. The pressure's on for the parents...and I guess this kid just lost it...
    .."And so what?.....he grabs the nearest weapon and in this case the nearest baseball bat and starts
   swinging at the manager?", Briscoe theorizes.

   "Not quite, Old Spice" Green responded. "The officer at the scene interviewed a witness who said
   the kid started swinging at a 5 year old who wouldn't let go of the last pokemon. Manager just got in
   the way."

   With a wry smile Lennie smirks, "As if working the toy department during christmas isnt hazardous
   enough for your health....."
    Briscoe and Green escorted the suspect--a 12-year-old named Corey Hammer--out of the mall.
   Near their cruiser, a man and woman were loading numerous goods into a station wagon. The man
   had a crate which held a very small dog no more than one or two months old. "The Pokemon Little
   Puppy," said Lennie.

    At the 2-7, Briscoe and Green began the interrogation while McCoy and VanBuren watched through
   the glass. "He's so young, the most he'll get is kiddie jail," Anita lamented, "Too bad we can't get his
   parents for this." A grim smile spread across McCoy's face without ever reaching his eyes, "I have
   bigger fish to fry. I plan to prosecute both the store and the Pokemon company for depraved
   indifference -- murder two."
    "You might have a little trouble with that," said a voice from behind.

   The speaker was Detective LaMotte, who was holding a folder. "Just got the word on that Pokemon
   young Corey killed for. It's a phony. So are the others in that store."
    McCoy retorted, "But that does not mitigate the fact that Pokemon and the toy store created the
   conditions that led to that manager's death. And since the toy was a fake, we can tack on fraud.
   There is a clear line from the Pokemon's inherently aggressive nature to the department store to the
   death of the manager. All I need on a jury is one schoolteacher..."

    "There's more," said LaMotte. "The people I've talked to say that Victor Uzielli is behind the
   distribution of these fakes."

   Anita and Jack exchanged grim looks. Victor was a cousin of Gianni Uzielli, who had corrupted
   Detective Profaci last year.

   LaMotte entered the interrogation room and mentioned the counterfeit Pokemons. Corey Hammer's
   tough-guy act vanished at once and he looked like just another scared kid.

   "Now he's sorry," Van Buren said, but her mind was elsewhere. That Uzielli-Profaci affair was still a
   very sore point.

    Briscoe and Green had another homicide to deal with at 6:55, scarcely two hours after Hammer's
   crime. A gentleman named Knowlton Stanstead had been fatally mugged and among the items still on
   his person was a receipt from Kidz Iz Uz; he'd bought several Pokemons.

   Several witnesses agreed that the killer was Sabligna the Scabrous. Briscoe and Green found him in a
   bathtub playing with the Pokemons.

   "Easy guys, let me come clean!" Sabligna said, but the cops wasted no time.

   Sabligna was taken to the 27th Precinct headquarters while the Pokemons were taken to the labs at
   One Police Plaza for analysis. By 8:15, the results were in: the Pokemons were genuine.

   Lennie said, "Jack's gonna love this!"
 
 

   Green asked his partner, "But what's the connection to the first Pokemon homicide?"

   "Maybe there isn't one," Briscoe responded.

   "Well, I for one don't believe in coincidences. Let me see if I can get it out of him."

   "Okay Ed, but no funny stuff."

   Green stepped into the interrogation room with a covetous smile. "Hey, Sabligna. How you doing?
   You like a pop or something?" Sabligna shook his head. Ed continued, "Well you know that you are
   going to a very bad place. Do you really want to go there? I didn't think so. Well, there is a way to
   spend less time there. Now, I have to talk quickly, because your mother's coming and you being
   under 18 and all, that pretty much means we have to stop talking. Now Sabligna, I never like to see
   young people go to prison for the rest of their lives. In fact, I'm very fond of young people." That
   hungry smile returned to his face. "Very fond."

   Sabligna shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

   "Now we know that you enlisted the help of that little boy at the Wal-Mart. All we need from you is
   the name of the person you are doing all this work for."

   The boy's face blanched, "No way man! I'm too young to die."

   "Well, I guess that you are going to that very bad place." Green leaned in a little closer. "But you
   don't have to go there right away. We could keep on 'talking' for a little while. Who knows how long
   it will be until your mother gets here." He whispered, "It's not like we have enough officers to have
   one actually watch through the glass. We could 'talk' in complete privacy for as long as we want to.
   Would you like that?"

   Ed stood up, walked behind the perp, and gently placed his hands on his shoulders. Sabligna began
   to squeal, "Okay! Okay, I'll tell you who it was! It was...
 

   The interregotation room door suddenly opened and through it,Lt.Van Buren entered accompanied
   by a very anxious middle aged woman.

   "Det. Greene, meet Shawna Mitchell, Sabligna's mother."

   Sabligna's mother hugged his son tightly. Color started to seep back in Sabligna's ghost-white pallor.
   "How dare you talk to my son without me me! Look at him!," noticing the gauntness of his face.
   "Jesus, you like scaring the living daylights out of boys, Detective?", Shawna Mitchell accused.

   "Your son is involved in a murder investigation, possible two, Mrs. Mitchell. Det. Greene was merely
   trying to ask...."

   "Oh I know exactly what he was doing...", Shawna interrupted.

   Van Buren sighed. So much for wishing complete cooperation, she thought. "Det. Briscoe escort Mr.
   Mitchell back to holding. Mrs. Mitchell, I suggest you find your son an attorney fast, he's gonna need
   it."

   Everyone walked passed the Lieutenant and into the busy precinct office. Greene was about to
   follow when Van Buren stopped him."Det. Greene, may I speak with you for a moment?"

   As soon as the door closed his LT's demeanor changed dramatically, she was out for blood. HIS
   BLOOD.

   "What the fuck are you playing at, Detective? When was it did you decide to turn my precinct into
   some kiddie whorehouse?"

   "Look LT. I was just....."
 

   The telephone buzzed. Anita answered with, "Van Bur..."

   "You listen to me, Van Buren, and listen good!" Green recognized the voice of Borough Detective
   Commander James Deitz. "Two homicides in *your precinct* in as many hours! This is *not
   acceptable!* You and your detectives had better clear those cases *like yesterday* or there'll be
   housecleaning like you wouldn't believe! *You hear me, Lieutenant!*

   "Yes sir." The other end clicked off loudly. Van Buren turned angry eyes to Green and said, "What
   are you waiting for, Detective!"
 
 

   "So, before LT. comes out of her office and starts chewing our heads off again, what do we have so
   far, partner?," Lennie asked an obviously tired Greene. Both he and Eddie has been at their desk for
   5 hours straight trying to make sense of this seemingly juvenile murders.

   With a dejected sigh Greene answered," We got the 12 year-old Corey kid for the murder of the
   Mr. Santos,the Wal-Mart manager. We know from there that the darn Pokemons in the entire store
   were fake. Now whether or not Corey knew they were fake... probably... but we can't say for sure."
   As he continued his tall tale of woe, he handed Lennie the second Pokemon homicide file.

   "Then we got good ol' Sabligna as a suspect to the other Pokemon murder. This time the toys are
   genuine and we think that Sabligna knows who's been hoarding those suckers. But now that he's
   lawyered up it's going to take us a lot of time, time we don't have, to get the information out of the
   little weasel. Are both homicides connected? your guess is probably as good as mine."

   Lennie leaned back in his chair and slowly digested all the input the Greene gave. Lennie suddenly
   stood up and started to put his coat on. "Where you going,Lennie?", a confused Greene asked.

   "Out.", came the short reply. "What's the name of the Sabligna's vic again?"

Briscoe and Green drove to the SoHo home of Knowlton Stanstead. The newly widowed Victoria
   was obviously grieving, as were three of the four children. Baby Tyler slept in his crib.

   "The Pokemons were for all of the kids," said Victoria. "It just doesn't make sense..." She wept.

   The detectives talked with the Stanstead family for another half-hour. They learned nothing
   conclusive.

   They returned to their cruiser and in two minutes word came that Sabligna Mitchell had been shot by
   a sniper while being transferred to Spofford. He was in critical condition. The gunman was still at
   large.

Borough Detective Commander James Deitz sipped the hot battery acid that passed for coffee as he
   gazed out the window of his office at One Police Plaza. Only the nearest buildings were visible, for it
   was snowing heavily. It was 8:22 AM, December 23. Sabligna Mitchell had been in a coma ever
   since being gutshot 12 hours ago. The 27th Precinct's detective squad had made no progress.

   "Sometimes I think those jerks couldn't find Paul Bunyan's cabin if it were covered in fluorescent
   paint," Deitz said.

   His listener was Jack McCoy, who said, "Keep at 'em. I want answers, fast."

   "You still want to prosecute the Pokemon execs?"

   "The Pokemons, the Uziellis, the Hammer and Mitchell kids, I want 'em all. This has got to stop."
 
 

   With the only person who has knowledge on the pokemon scam in a coma, Greene and Briscoe is at
   their wits end. LT. Van Buren skinned them earlier for the lack of progress in this case. Though sore
   and slightly resenting the unfair reprimand both detectives understood the pressure the Lieutenant
   herself is feeling. Deitz stopped by today at the 2-7. Everyone in the precinct knew from the way he
   came flurrying in and out of her office that he was lighting all sorts of fire up the LT's behind.

   "Hey Lennie," Briscoe raised his head to look at Greene. "What?" , he asked listlessly.

   "How many major Pokemon distributors do we have in Manhattan?" Eddie asked. He started going
   through the papers on his desk looking for the document that would show the figures.

   Turned out Briscoe had that document. "Says here there are 5 major distributors in Manhattan, all of
   them ordering the product directly from Japan. Zenki Inc. is the name of the distributing company that
   sold the Pokemons to Wal-Mart."

   "But weren't those fake?", Greene asked.

   Lennie nodded thoughtfully."You think they duped Wal-Mart by dumping the fake pikachus on them
   and selling the geniune ones in the black market? Or in this case, the yellow market?" Lennie
   remarked drily.

   "Shall we go ask them?" Eddie stood up. This could be the break they needed, he thought excitedly.

   "Any chance their office has a big bed and a bathtub?"

   It was the day before Christmas. Briscoe and Greene have yet to see insides of their apartments
   since the Wal-mart shooting happened. The way the case is going,it looks like Santa is going to miss
   Lennie and Eddie this year.

The Zenki head office was in the Woodley Building. John Adelaide was the chief executive and his
   middle-aged secretary said that he was conferring with a gentleman.

   "Who is this gentleman?," Briscoe said.

   "Victor Uzielli," said the secretary. "Charming fellow, real Old World manners."
 
 

   The detectives entered Adelaide's office. John Adelaide was sitting behind his desk and his face was
   almost white enough to be invisible in snow.

   His guest was florid and wiry, with wavy salt-and-pepper hair. He turned, and from behind his
   spectacles made eye contact with the detectives.

   "Hi-Fi!" said Lennie. "Merry Christmas!"

   Victor Uzielli said, "Guys, I'd love to chat, but after I'm through here I'll be at Schreiber's having
   conchiglioni with my lawyer."

   "Ohh, I've got indigestion already," said Lennie.

   "H--his lawyer is my lawyer," said Adelaide. "So you'd better make like snow, and melt away."

   Green said, "Just one problem with snow melt. It causes floods."

   Back in their cruiser, Green said, "Hi-Fi?"

   "That was a character from the Sad Sack comics. Uzielli looks just like him."

   "Sad Sack?"

   Lennie grimaced and shook his head. "Before your time."
    "Whatever you say, Old Spice."
   Lennie grimaced. "Ed, if you call me that one more time, they won't have to give me a paper target
   the next time I qualify with the hand gun."
   "How do you mean?"
   "I'm gonna use you."
   "OK, Old Sp...er, Lennie, just take it easy. I think this case is getting to you. What say we leave the
   whole deal behind for a bit and go up to the Bronx Zoo and have a look at the llamas."
   Green had been fascinated by llamas for as long as he could remember. His interest in the shaggy
   creatures had taken him to the Andes for a year of Peace Corps work after college. The Spanish he
   had picked up would come in handy later on in his work with the anti-gang sqauds in the South
   Bronx.
   "Why not?" Lennie replied with a shrug. "That way I can find out if they really are quadrupeds..."
 

   Near the gates of Bronx Zoo, Lennie saw a familiar face: Gary DeBruin, who had run numbers for
   the Uzielli family in the late 1980's. Now he was standing behind a vendor's cart, which was crowded
   with Pokemons.

   "Verry interestink," Lennie said in a bad German accent.

   "Something wrong, Lennie?" said Green.

   Lennie shook his head. "You never saw *Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In*, did you?"

   "Rowan and Martin Uzielli?"

   "Forget it, Ed."
 

   Green scratched the top of his head, perplexed at the card that fate had dealt him by having him get
   assigned to this museum piece of a cop as a partner. He shrugged, then, and made an offhanded
   beckoning gesture.
   "C'mon, Lennie, let's get to the llama enclosure before they throw us out of here."
   Briscoe gave the ground a gentle kick and then ambled off a stride behind his more eager partner.
   "Say, Ed, how do you say 'the llama is a quadruped' in Spanish, anyway?"
   Green smiled. Finally, he had something to teach the old man.
   "La llama es un cuadrupedo."
   "La yadda yadda?..."
   Green's exasperated expression made Lennie wish that he had taken Rey's suggestion to pursue a
   refresher course in multicultural studies at the police academy. It also made him wish that he could
   make good on his earlier threat to qualify with the new automatic that he hated using Green as a
   target, but he tried to think about things he couldn't change as little as possible...
   Green's urgent whisper broke in on his thoughts.
   "Hey, Lennie, look over there, by the reptile house - is that who I think it is?..."
 

   Green pointed to an elderly, bearded man with curly hair.

   "I swear, that's Al Jaffee. He does the fold-ins for MAD Magazine."

   "Yeah, I remember those from the Sixties. Didn't know he was still around. I was always partial to
   Don Martin."

   "I know about him," Green said with a yawn.

   Lennie laughed, pleased that his partner wasn't a total ignoramus. "My favorite Don was "The
   Impressionist." This guy stands at the edge of a meadow and says, "Ahhh! This is it! This will be my
   greatest painting! I shall call it 'Cattle In Pasture!' " So he paints with great flourishing strokes, and by
   the time it occurs to him that a bull is charging, the beast is about to hit!"

   Lennie laughed heartily, then continued, "The next picture shows the bull in a posh art gallery showing
   off his abstract masterpiece, 'Artist In Landscape!' Pretty funny, huh, Ed?"

   "ZZZZ..."
    "Yeah, it's a hoot, Old Sp..."
   Green's brow furrowed as his partner frowned and reached for his weapon.
   "...I mean, Lennie. Listen, let's take a look at those llamas, OK by you? I mean , that's what what
   we're here for."
   Lennie's regrets that he was a supposedly civilised man in an orderly society were growing by the
   minute. Those regrets were not enough to push him over the edge of what passed for acceptable
   behaviour, though, and he he was content to just grunt, nod, and pull both hands away from his waist.
   "I'm telling you, Ed, some day, you're gonna go too far..."
 

   "Let's talk to DeBruin," Lennie said. "Then you can make like a sheep, and talk to your llambas."

   "That's 'llamas,' Lennie. And they're related to camels, not sheep."

   Lennie grimaced and said, All right! Hump it over to your llamas. I'll talk to DeBruin."

   Lennie approached the vendor and said, "Gary! Long time no see!"

   Gary held an ugly toy which had the shell of a clam, the arms of an octopus and the pincers of a crab.
   "Lennie! Can I interest you in a Tentacruel?"

   "I'd rather you were 'tentacool' so..."

   "I have that, too!" Gary showed a pale blue alien-like toy.

   "This is such a looong day," Lennie muttered.
 

*End fo message 157*