Barry Deboy made simple collage-photos about it later:
“No luck, chief,” Officer Blair spoke over the police radio. “We’re sitting right outside 102 — been here for about (checks his watch), 17 hundred hours.”
“Since 7 this morning,” chipped in Officer Doublebush riding shotgun, simplifying Blair’s language as usual. Blair continued. “If that old scoundrel Charles Nelson Blinkerton is here, then it’s like he disappeared into thin air. Over.”
“Roger that,” replied the chief. “Keep… your position. Over.” Lt. Tank Bazooka had made a decision. The military needs to be called in. Hesitating only slightly, he punches the big red button on his intercom to start the process.
“Wonder what kind of conspiracy theory Tank roped us into this time, ha ha.”
“UFO’s?” also laughed Officer Gore, riding shotgun. “Portals out the desert?”
“Shakespeare, pheh,” said Officer Chamberlain to this. “And now a surrealist painter come back to life.”
“Pop,” said Gore. “Pop artist. Like Luxemborg.” He meant Lichtenstein of course. Or did he?
(to be continued)