“Did you see that Dr. Ugliski lived through his surgery?” Detective Bradley Johnson asked Detective Cesar Contreras?

“Yeah. Amazing.” answered Contreras. “Ugliski’s surgeon said that the .357 hollow point hit the steel suture in place from the heart valve transplant, didn’t explode into shrapnel like it’s designed to do on impact with anything hard, and got diverted away from Ugliski’s heart and out his left armpit, not damaging anything vital on it’s way in and out of Ugliski, “The Lucky Bastard!” He should buy lottery tickets when he gets out of the hospital and that bar in downtown San Diego that’s got his name on it, huh?”

“Damned straight!” Johnson said. “We already got an anonymous call to go talk with some Army guy who’s home on leave and living with his wife and kid in her parents’ house on First Avenue in the barrio down by the river. Marcos Duendes . . . d’ya ever hear of him? There’s nothing in our records. We can run his criminal history when we get his birthdate or social. Ugliski’s surgeon already said that Dr. Ugliski and his wife both said that they never saw the face of the person who came to their front door, asked for ‘Rob or Robert’ and started blasting away. Good thing Ugliski’s fast reflexes slammed his solid oak door on the last two slugs or this would be a murder case instead of just attempted murder.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Contreras asked. “Let’s go see Mr. and Mrs. Duendes.”

“Right on. Right on. Right on!” answered Johnson.

[DISCLAIMER: NOTHING AND/OR NODODY YOU KNOW OR THINK YOU KNOW HERE. KEEP MOVIN’!]