Come in, Dracula. Have a seat. Can I get you a cup of joe? Oh, I forgot—Joe’s not here. He’s working days now. Would you settle for some coffee? O.K., suit yourself.
I called you in because we need to talk. You know how highly I value you. Just between us, you’re the best detective I’ve got. Joe is good, but (also between us) he has not been in top form lately. He’s pale, weak, and drained. In fact, the whole department is pale, weak, and drained. I know you’ve been picking up the slack for everybody, and yet every day you seem to get stronger and grow more into the job. Your work has been irreproachable. I don’t know how you come up with some of your leads. What, do you change into a bat and fly around and go into people’s apartments through their open windows or skylights? You’re amazing.
Your performance is not the problem. It’s your emotions. You get too involved. You’re too committed to your work, if that makes any sense. And you ride the other officers pretty hard—I mean, you climb right up on them, hook the toes of your strange, pointy shoes into their belts, put your cape over them, even give them hickeys when you become upset. I appreciate your passion, but that’s just not professional deportment, and I can’t allow it.
So, for the time being, I am moving you to desk duty. I’m taking you off every case you’re working on, as of tonight, which, as I see out the station-house window, is the full moon. I’m ordering you to turn in your cape with the huge collar, and that weird medallion or whatever it is you wear on a chain around your neck, and I’m also going to need that box of dirt you sleep in. And your gun. You will get them all back, don’t worry. This is just a temporary reassignment, so that you can clear your head under that hairdo you apparently drew on with Magic Marker and can come to terms with some of your personal issues. Don’t think you’re being given a make-work job, either. Your English is pretty good, if not totally there yet, and you are the only native Transylvanian speaker on the entire force. There may be documents for you to translate, and you’ll be on call as an interpreter, should the need arise.
I anticipated that you might want to file a grievance, and—can I give you a tip about that? The grievance office is at headquarters, you have to file in person, and it’s not open at night. Grievance closes at four in the afternoon, I believe. And, as I understand it, that is not an optimum time for you. We’ve given you flexible hours here, and it’s worked out. Most police officers tend not to like that one-hour-after-sunset-to-one-hour-before-sunrise shift, and I know you love it, so I’ve broken some regs to accommodate you and have let you write your own ticket, basically. If you go to Grievance, you would endanger that, plus you’d risk turning into a pumpkin or whatever you think might happen to you if you’re ever out in daylight. So I would advise you to consider any decision to go to Grievance very carefully.
I understand how you might be feeling right now. You know, I wasn’t always a precinct captain. Believe it or not, I was once a rookie like yourself, a little green around the edges. You probably noticed I have a couple of plugs coming out of my head. And did I ever show you this? That’s right—both my hands are sewn on. Same with my feet, my legs, everything. If you can keep a secret, my birth name was not O’Hara. In fact, I wasn’t even born. I was built in a guy’s basement. The wing nut who made me—no disrespect intended—gave me his own last name, which I changed to O’Hara when I reached legal age. And years ago my first boss, Captain Mickey Wolfman, God rest his soul, did the exact same thing to me that I’m doing to you.
I’ll never forget it. One day, Captain Wolfman took me aside, put his big, hairy paw on my shoulder, and said he was sending me to the impound lot to write down engine I.D.s from confiscated vehicles until I could actually talk. Back then, everything I said came out as a kind of preverbal “Uuhhnnnh.” Captain Wolfman was absolutely right to make that move, and obviously I did eventually pick up regular human speech. I hated the old bastard’s guts at the time, but today I thank him with all my heart. Maybe someday you’ll feel the same about me. Now get the hell out of my office, Dracula, and let me go back to work. ♦
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