What kind of Chicanery was this?

Darryl Hanson wasn’t the smartest tool in the box. Whether he’d been poorly educated, hadn’t cared about learning, been traumatized as a child, it was apparent his learning ability hadn’t progressed beyond the eighth-grade level.

However, for all that, his chicanery knew no bounds. He was great at manipulation, and hands down, one of the best at quibbling detective Marny Ferris had met in a long time. She’d watched from the sidelines with great amusement at the variety of tactics he’d used in an attempt at getting out of trouble. He’d broken into his grandmother’s house while she’d been at church, stolen a number of valuables and the money she’d stashed in the corner cupboard and tried to make it look like a break-in.

His little adventure must have tired him out since when she’d arrived home with a couple of family members and friends who’d been invited to enjoy a late lunch with her, he’d been found fast asleep on the sofa.

At first, they didn’t know what to make of his sudden appearance. He’d been awol for three years and no one had heard a word from him. He was scruffy, rather unkempt and had his ill-gotten gains hanging out of his pockets. Some of her jewelry had fallen on the floor at his feet.

Fiercely angry, Marta Hanson had walked straight up to him and after ascertaining what he’d been up to, kicked him in the shin with a great left hook of her foot and awakened him. Startled, he’d jumped to his feet nearly knocking her over in the process. One of her friends had grabbed hold of her to steady her and pull her out of harm’s way. In an aggravated voice she’d hissed, “Darryl Hanson, just what do you think you are doing? Breaking into my house, stealing my belongings? What is the matter with you?” after which she swung her oversized purse at his head, striking him quite forcefully for a woman of her age and size.

“Gramma, it’s not what it looks like! Really!”

“Since you broke into my house, uninvited, have my jewelry and no doubt money in your pockets, I’d say it looks exactly like what it is; you are stealing from your own grandmother! You should be ashamed of yourself!” She gave him another whack with her purse before continuing. “We haven’t seen you in years and this is how you return to us? Slovenly, unkempt, with stealing on your mind? How could you?”

He quickly began fishing her jewelry from his pockets attempting to hand it all back. “Here, here, this is all of it, I swear! Take it back. I don’t need it.” He began edging toward the door.

“Oh no you don’t mister! Not this time! You took from your parents, your sisters and now me. That is the last straw! I’m calling the police.”

“Gramma, no please don’t! I gave it all back! I’m trying to turn over a new leaf, but I need a little cash to get a place.”

His ridiculous excuse carried no weight at all with her and she called the police. “It’s time you learned the hard way since all the talking and offers of assistance you’ve received over the years have fallen on deaf ears!”

Realizing she was making good on her threat, he grabbed the cashback he’d dropped on the table and hightailed it out the front door before anyone could stop him. Her friend, Margaret stood at the front door watching. “He’s running down toward lst Street. He’s taken a left heading toward the city center. Rotten little scoundrel.” Which was amusing in and of itself as he was six one and two hundred pounds.

The police department had been looking for him for a couple of hours and found him hold up behind a mom and pop store eating a bagel. The second he saw them he was up and running but he’d had nowhere to go. An eight foot fence at the end of the lane had stopped him cold and when he realized he couldn’t scale it, had dropped to his feet, hands in the air and the cops had cuffed him and taken him to the patrol car. He’d again attempted to make a get away and how he expected to do that was unclear but he’d been contained and slumped in the back seat during the ride to headquarters.

He’d begun his story and run the proverbial gamut of excuses ending in a tirade about having given back everything and he’d only been going to borrow it until he was established. Established how was unclear since he had no job prospects.

Sitting down, taking her time to arrange herself, part of her plan in dealing with the perp, she said, “You really don’t have a leg to stand on here, Darryl, you were caught red-handed.”

He slumped in his seat and then leaned on his knees with his elbows. “Damn family. No support!” he sighed.

“On the contrary, Darryl, I think they’ve been very supportive but this was the last straw.”

“You are being charged and it’s up to the judge regarding your sentencing. I strongly advise you to change your lifestyle. This is a golden opportunity, a wake-up call if you’d like to turn your life around before it’s too late.”

When he was led away, he grumbled. “I was doing fine.”

“If you call living on the street and theft living the good life, then you really haven’t hit rock bottom,” she replied. “I truly hope you make some changes. Life can be so much more.” He snorted and that was the end of it until his court date.

Walking out the door she sighed, “Yep, it takes all kinds, I guess.”

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