Disclaimer: The original Patlabor series was created by
Masami Yuuki. This is a tribute to it, and thus is not
intended to step on his toes or the toes of anyone else
involved in its production. :)

Pervious episodes (or, in this case, /the/ previous episode)
is/are archived at R&C Books, at the following link:

http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Bay/1375/

*****

Patlabor Stateside
Episode #2: Froot Loops and Obscure Regulations
By Bart Kelsey

     "Todd, would you mind stepping into my office for a
moment?"
     Todd grimaced as he stepped inside.  Vince Gersht
sullied in behind him, closing the door with an ominous
/click/
     "Have a seat, Todd.  We have a lot to talk about."
     He did so.  "Mind if I smoke?"
     "Yes," answered Vince, deliberately leaving it unclear
whether he meant yes, he minded, or yes, Todd could smoke.
     Styles studied Gersht for a moment, then without
changing expression, he reached into his pocket, pulled out
a cigarette, and lit it.
     "Mr. Styles, do you have any idea how much your
department cost the city yesterday?"
     "Five hundred ninety-three thousand one hundred thirty
dollars and seventy-two cents.  They've been rubbing the
figure in my face all day, Commissioner."
     "Then I'm sure you know, Styles, that your little
incident made me look very bad."
     "I'm aware of that."
     "I hope you're also aware that if your department gets
shut down, you're not likely to get transferred back to the
metro police."
     "So then, my seventeen years on the force count for
nothing?"
     "Basically."
     Styles tapped the ash off his cigarette over the
Commissioner's hardwood floor.  "For the record, sir, I
didn't request a transfer to this job."
     "For the record, Styles, we here at city hall could
care less.  Dismissed."
     Styles took a final puff from his cigarette, and then
tossed it, still mostly un-smoked, into the garbage.

     Jody and Ron sat quietly in the break room
contemplating recent events.
     "He's gonna kill me."
     "Probably."  Ron leaned back in his chair and kicked
his feet up on the table.  "But on the other hand, since you
put both our labors out of commission, there isn't much we
can do around here until they get fixed, `cept sit around
and have a good time."
     "You're welcome."  Jody leaned over and thumped her
head on the table a few times.
     "Not to trivialize your suffering or anything, but I
don't think they'll take it out of your paycheck or sue or
whatever.  Technically, the damage is the fault of the
person who committed the crime."
     "Of course, you /did/ make the department look really
bad on its first day of service."  Weaver was standing in
the doorway, grinning smugly.
     If looks could kill, the one Weaver got from Jody would
have burned a hole into his forehead.  "Weaver, aren't you
supposed to be in the garage fixing those labors?"
     "You mean the ones you broke?"
     She didn't answer.
     "We got done with the Corwin a half hour ago--I'm
taking some time off for lunch.  Anyway, if it makes you
feel any better, so far you've only cost the department four
man-hours and fifty bucks worth of cable, not counting the
half mill worth of damage in Upper Arlington."
     "Weaver," said Ron, "this really isn't the time."
     "Right."  Weaver shrugged and meandered off down the
hall.
     "Welp," said Ron, patting his stomach, "I'm hungry.
Wanna head out and grab a bite to eat?
     "Might as well."  Jody sighed and brushed her jet-black
hair out of her eyes.
     "Anywhere in particular you'd like to go?"
     "How `bout that deli across the street?"

     The Earl of Sandwich was nothing fancy, but then
fanciness isn't something one expects from a deli across the
street from a police station.
     "Can I get you people anything?"  The man behind the
counter was sixty or so, slightly overweight, with graying
hair and a moustache.  He had a slight New York accent.
     Ron fished out his wallet.  "Turkey and Swiss on rye
with mayo, and a Coke, please."
     "I'll have a club sandwich.  No lettuce."
     "Anything to drink with that, miss?"
     "Just a water, thanks."
     "Together or separate?"
     "Sep--"
     "Together," Ron interrupted.
     Jody looked at him, somewhat surprised.
     "Least I can do.  You've had a rough couple of days."
     "Can't argue that."
     "Ok, that'll be $12.49," said the cashier, as he rung
up their purchase on the register.
     "Keep the change," said Ron, handing him a ten and
three singles.
     Ron and Jody made their way to a table beside the
window, which looked out over the rather run-down 4th Avenue
neighborhood.  CAMP headquarters stood out like a sore
thumb, the only recently-painted building in view.
     "So," said Ron, seating himself and taking a bite from
his sandwich, "where'd you work before you got your job
here?"
     "Didn't," said Jody.
     "School, I take it?"
     "Yeah, I majored in Labor Piloting at OSU."
     "Man," said Ron.  "Back when I got my job with the
police force, there was no such thing as a Labor Piloting
major.  They hired me right out of a construction company."
He paused to take a sip from his Coke.  "Anyway, you from
around here?"
     "Nope.  San Diego, originally."
     "...and more importantly, do you /like/ it here?"
     Jody thought about this for a moment.  "Well, I suppose
Columbus is as good or bad a place as any...I figure I'll
probably move on after I finish destroying it."
     Ron smirked.  "That's the spirit.  Me, I've lived in
Columbus all my life.  Can't say I'd rather live anywhere
else, either."
     They talked quietly for a half-hour or so, not really
discussing anything terribly interesting.  Jody had to admit
Ron's friendly demeanor was almost unsettling.  It wasn't
that Jody felt Ron had an ulterior motive; in fact it was
the very idea that he didn't have one which troubled her.
Unconditional friendship was something she'd experienced
very little of during the twenty-two years of her life, and
she wasn't entirely sure how to handle it.
      "Out of curiosity, how long have you and Weaver known
each other?"  Ron took the last bite of his sandwich and
stood up to put on his jacket.
     "'Bout three years, on and off.  He was in a few of my
classes back at school--never really knew him all that well,
though."
     "How come?"
     Jody shrugged.  "Dunno.  Guess he always came across as
obnoxious, so I figured he wouldn't be worth the trouble."
     Ron shook his head and smiled, pausing to hold the door
open for Jody as they left.

     Steve Wankmeier, Head Yes-Man to Columbus City
Commissioner Vince Gersht, Commissioner's Office Secretary,
and All-Around Weenie, was playing Solitaire on his
computer.
     "Wankmeier!"  The Commissioner's voice sent him
scrambling to switch his window back to the impressive-
looking spreadsheet he liked to pretend he knew how to use.
     "Yes, Commissioner?" he said in that slightly
effeminate voice that made people wonder about him.
     "I need you to find me a way to fire Todd Styles from
the Mobile Police Department.  That prick has stepped on my
toes one too many times, and now he's gonna pay for it."
     "Well, he cost the city half a million dollars.  Isn't
that enough?"
     "No, technically the criminal was at fault there.  I
need something I can blame directly on Styles.  Doesn't have
to be anything major--the taxpayers are pissed as it is, so
they won't complain once he's terminated.  Just search
through the regs and find something obscure that we can nail
him on."
     "No problem, Sir."

     It was early afternoon when Styles got back to the
station.  The steady Columbus drizzle did little to liven
his mood as he entered the station and took a seat at his
desk.
     He paused for a moment to crack his knuckles, then hit
the button on his PA system.  "Jody Morisato, I need to see
you in my office, please."

     Large, open buildings (converted warehouses, for
instance) have a tendency to give loud noises (announcements
over a PA system, for instance) an ominous, reverberating
quality.  Jody cringed at the sound of her name over the
intercom.
     "I go to meet my fate," she mumbled to herself as she
shut off the television and headed for Styles' office.  The
walk was longer than she remembered it--as if some higher
being was playing a mean practical joke on her by giving her
extra time to contemplate her impending doom.
     The door to the office creaked forebodingly as she
pushed it open.
     "Miss Morisato."
     "Cap--"  The word didn't quite come out all the way, so
she cleared her throat and tried it again.  "Captain."
     "I think you know why I called you in here."
     Jody nodded.
     "I just took a lot of heat for you over at city hall."
     She nodded again.
     "Part of it may have been my fault for allowing someone
who is inexperienced to deal with the situation."
     Jody bit her lip.
     "On the other hand, Miss Morisato, if I order you to
/slow down/ and /holster your weapon/, you need to do it
/IMMEDIATELY!/"  Styles slammed his fist down on his desk,
causing Jody to start visibly.  "Is that perfectly clear?"
     She nodded again.
     "Well?"
     "Yes sir."
     His tone softened somewhat.  "You're a decent pilot,
Jody.  You do fairly well in training, which is why I'm
keeping you on active duty.  You need to experience real
situations if you're going to overcome this.  Of course, if
you can't handle that, then you have no business being on
the force."
     "I can handle it, sir."
     "That remains to be seen.  At any rate, consider
yourself reprimanded."
     "Thank you, sir."

     "Commissioner?"  Steve Wankmeier poked his head into
Gersht's office.
     "What is it, Steve?"
     "I think I found something you might be able to bust
Styles on."  Steve held up the reg book proudly.
     "What, exactly?"
     He approached the desk and put the book down where the
Commissioner could read it.  "Well, it says right here that
there have to be at least two officers up and about at all
times, day or night."
     "So?"
     "So, we send someone to do a surprise inspection at 3
AM.  With any luck, we'll catch them while they're all
asleep, and you can fire Styles for `failure to control his
officers' or something."
     "Excellent work, Steven.  Report to me tomorrow morning
after you've given the inspection.  Here's a key to the
station."  Gersht pulled a key ring out of his pocket and
selected a rather nondescript key.  He tossed it to
Wankmeier, who fumbled with it for a second or so before
dropping it on the floor and picking it up again.

     Mitch Weaver and Tony Allison worked well into the
evening fixing the Apollo.  Mitch whistled quietly as he put
the final touches on the labor and closed its chest plate.
     "Well, kid," said Allison, "fire it up and see if she
runs ok."
     "'Kay."  Tony hopped up the ladder and climbed into the
cockpit.  "Here goes nothin'."  He closed his eyes and
turned the key, and was greeted by the pleasant whirring
sound of a running engine.
     "How's she look?"
     "Ok so far.  I'm gonna try and move her."  The mech
bent its knees and then took a cautious step forward.  It
took another, then another, then spun around quickly and
started moonwalking.
     Weaver grinned diabolically as he turned up the
Apollo's outboard speakers to full volume and sang into the
headset.  "I'm bad, I'm bad, ya know it..."
     Ron, Gabe, Jody, and Laura, who had been playing Euchre
in the break room, quietly filed out into the mech bay to
observe the grim spectacle.  Captain Styles, who had been
busy in his office filling out various documents pertaining
to yesterday's accident, came out soon afterwards.
     "My God," he mumbled, casting a reproachful glance at
the dancing labor.  "I've hired an idiot."
     Tony walked up and stood beside him.  "Actually, Todd,
minus his eccentricity, the kid's a damn good mechanic.  I
had to help him out a bit with the Corwin, but he pretty
much fixed the Apollo by himself.  Didn't even crack open a
manual or anything."
     "Who's bad?"  In a spectacular finish, the Apollo spun
and landed on both knees, arms in the air.
     Styles shook his head.  "Just great.  Get us a friggin'
disco ball, and we'll be all set."
     "Wrong decade, sir."  Weaver's voice rang out through
the labor bay.
     Styles opened his mouth to reply, and then stopped.  He
turned and headed back to his office, muttering to himself.
     Laura shrugged.  "Well, I though it was kinda cute."
     "Yeah," said Ron, "'specially since he wasn't even
alive when the song came out."
     Weaver had meanwhile returned the Apollo to the docking
platform and was climbing out of the cockpit, apparently
very proud of himself.  "Thank you!  Thank you very much!"

     /Mmm, I'm hungry.  I think I'll go raid the fridge./
     Weaver yawned, stretched, and rolled out of bed.
     From the top bunk.
     "Never slept on top of a bunk bed before, eh?"  Harris
spoke without opening his eyes.
     Weaver rubbed the bruise on his hip as he picked
himself up off the floor.  "Not as such, no."

     "Laura, did you hear that?"
     "Go back to sleep, Jody.  It's 3 AM."
     "I'm serious, I heard something."
     "What?"
     "It sounded distinctly like a /thump/."
     "Nope, can't say that I heard any thumps.  Can I go
back to sleep now?"
     Jody sighed.  "Yeah, I'll go check it out."  Throwing
on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, she tiptoed out the door
and into the hallway.  She looked around for a moment,
noticing a dim light coming from the mech bay.  She crept
down the hall, being careful to stay up against the right
wall.  Very, very slowly, she peeked out around the corner.
     /The break room./

     /Ok, now for a spoon./
     Mitch Weaver was a man with a mission, and that mission
was to procure a spoon before his Froot Loops got soggy.  He
first checked the obvious places, starting with the drawer
to the right of the sink.
     /Pot holders./
     Moving on, he checked the other four drawers.
     /Miscellaneous kitchen utensils, plastic forks,
spatulas--why the hell would anyone need and entire drawer
full of spatulas?--and coffee filters.  Dammit./
     Undaunted, he continued his search, this time checking
the upper cupboards.
     /Cereal bowls, old soup--damn, they stopped packaging
Cheez-Its like that six years--/
     Weaver's fascinating internal monologue stopped
suddenly when he was tackled from the side and thrown to the
floor, face down.  He then became keenly aware of a knee
being pressed into the back of his neck.
     "I'm placing you under arrest!  You have the right--"
     "Jody?"
     "Weaver?"
     "Just couldn't keep your hands off me, could you?
That's okay.  I have that effect on women.  Lemme give you a
tip, though.  There are lots of sexier places to put your
knee than on the back of my neck."
     Jody reluctantly lifted her knee up.  "Sorry about
that.  I thought you were breaking in and robbing us or
something."
     "Morisato, what kind of idiot would rob a break room?"
     Jody helped him up, resisting the compulsion to explain
to him exactly what sort of idiot would break in and rob a
break room.
     "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get a spoon and
have--What was that?"
     "What was what?"
     "It sounded like a door being unlocked."
     "Dammit, Weaver, quit making fun of me."
     "Shhhh!" he whispered.  "I'm serious.  It came from
down the hall."  Very quietly, he crept toward the doorway
and peeked down the hall toward the front door.  Jody, not
wanting to miss out on the excitement, did likewise, just in
time to see a dark figure slip into the door to the
captain's office.  A moment later, the figure reappeared.
Like a pair of small animals trying to avoid a hunter, Jody
and Mitch quickly drew back inside the break room.
     "Think he saw us?" Jody mouthed.
     Mitch shook his head.  "No, but it sounds like he's
coming this way."
     "Ok, when he gets to the door, we'll both tackle him."
     Mitch nodded.  Drawing in a deep breath, he stood
ready, taking what looked like an extremely unpolished
wrestling stance.  Beside him, Jody did the same.  Then,
they waited.
     It seemed like hours.  They could hear the intruder's
barely audible footsteps as he approached.  Finally, as the
he reached the doorway and came into view, they leapt at
him, quickly knocking him down.  He shrieked twice before
they managed to pin him to the ground.
     "Ow ow ow!" said a slightly effeminate voice.
     "Just what the hell do you think you're doing in here?"
Jody wrenched the man's arm behind his back.
     "Surprise inspection."
     "At 3 in the morning?  Yeah, right!"
     "No, really.  I'm Steve Wankmeier.  Commissioner Gersht
sent me here to do an inspection?"
     "But why now?" Weaver pressed.
     "He wanted me to catch you when no one was up, so he
could fire Styles."
     "What's that got to do with Styles?"
     "There's a regulation that says two people have to be
up and about at all times.  Gersht wants to use it as an
excuse to terminate your captain."
     "Did I just hear my name?"  Styles' bathrobe-clad
silhouette was visible in the entrance to the mech bay.
     "Yeah," said Weaver, "this Wankermeister guy says he
came here to inspect us at 3 AM so he could catch us while
no one's up and have Gersht fire you."
     "Why that conniving bastard!"  Styles paused for a
moment, a smile slowly appearing on his face.  "I gather you
two didn't let this guy in, did you?"
     Jody looked up.  "No, sir, he came in by himself."
     Styles' grin quickly spread to Weaver.  "Sounds like
breaking and entering to me, Captain."
     "Book him, and call Metro Police."
     Weaver saluted.  "Yes, sir.  Mr. Wankermeister, you
have the right to remain silent.  Anything you say can and
will be used against you in a court of law.  You have the
right to an attourney.  If you...er..."  Weaver stammered
for a moment.  "I'm just a mechanic, so I dunno the rest of
this thing, but you get the idea."
     Steve Wankmeier groaned.

     Vince Gersht rolled over and picked up the telephone.
"What is it?"
     "Vince?"  The voice on the other end was unusually
bright and chipper for a 3 AM telephone call.  "This is Todd
Styles."
     "What do you want?"
     "There's Steve Wankmeier that just broke in here.  Says
you had him do it so you could have me fired.  Know anything
about that?"
     "No," he lied.
     "Well, just in case you remember anything, we arrested
him and had Metro Police lock him up for the night.  You may
want to go bail him out in the morning."
     The commissioner hung up.  "Damn you, Styles."

Epilogue:  Steve Wankmeier was bailed out of the Columbus
City Prison the following day by Vince Gersht.  Todd Styles
and Jody Morisato both went back to bed, separately of
course.  Mitch Weaver finally got to sit down and enjoy his
Froot Loops.  They were soggy.