Disclaimer:  I am not responsible for anything.

Some notes from the author:
This chapter has been a long time in the making ... you'll
probably figure out that I started it around Christmas time,
expecting to finish it a lot quicker than I actually finished
it.

Anyway, despite the fact that it's not Christmas right now,
this chapter is still a good read, espeically for you people
out there who like Mitch, Jody, and Captain Styles.

And I know that saying this is an exercise in futility, but
if you read Stateside, send me an email about it. :)

Peace,
Bart

* * *


Patlabor Stateside
Chapter 9: Where do Big Surprises Come From?
By Bart Kelsey

     The Christmas tree lit up the break room in its own
obnoxious little way; the colored, rapidly-blinking lights
were, in Jody's opinion, the absolute pinnacle of bad taste,
but they made her feel good in a juvenile sort of way that
kind of embarrassed her for some reason.
     She had given up several days prior on trying to get
Mitch to hang up more tasteful white lights, but she had to
reluctantly admit to herself (rest assured, she would never
admit it to anyone else) that the twinkling colors were
beginning to grow on her in an odd, fungus-like way--kind of
like Mitch himself.  She wondered for a moment if their
difference in taste had something to do with a difference in
the ways the two of them saw the world.  With a slight shrug
of her shoulders, she dismissed the thought as irrelevant
and went on to muse about more important matters.
     Laura had seemed depressed over the past several weeks;
Jody was unsure if it was brought on by the holiday season,
or her temporary but notable loss of mobility from her leg
injury a month earlier, or possibly both.  She had decided
not to press the matter, instead gently but ineffectually
attempting to cheer her up at odd moments with girl talk and
the like.
     On the opposite end of the spectrum, Weaver seemed to
be really into the whole Christmas spirit thing.  He had
tackled the long and arduous task of repairing the Apollo
with a surprising amount of good cheer, whistling merrily to
himself as he painstakingly tested all the computer systems
and cleaned the mud out of the labor's joints and servos.
The bulk of his break time was spent decorating the station,
with little or no help from the rest of the crew.  Ron and
Gabe offered him a token hand now and then, but their
mannerisms indicated that it didn't matter to them all that
much whether the station was decorated or not.  Surprisingly
enough, the most help Mitch had received came from Tom
Harris, who was Jewish.
     On the whole, though, Mitch was left to his own devices
to decorate the station, but that didn't seem to discourage
him at all.  Catching her mind wandering once again, Jody
shook her head and directed her attention at the television,
which was showing the latest Fox special, "When Goldfish
Attack."  The other shows on TV were even less stimulating.

*

     "You hear about those robberies?"  Ron Paccini stood
with his hands on his hips and looked up at Mitch, who was
busy tinkering with the Apollo's computer system.
     Mitch paused and glanced down over his shoulder.  "What
robberies?"
     "Apparently there've been some break-ins lately that
are driving Captain Stillman nuts over at Metro.  They've
been on the news once or twice, I think.  No evidence of
forced entry or anything--just cleanly-cut safes and small
valuables missing."
     Mitch furrowed his brow.  "That's weird."
     "I'd say so," said Ron.  "Glad we don't have to deal
with it."
     "I hear that."  Straining slightly, Mitch reached into
the Apollo's chest cavity and flipped a switch.  The shower
of sparks that ensued was apparently not the desired result;
cursing, he threw his arms into the air and climbed down the
ladder to the floor of the labor bay.  "Wish I didn't have
to deal with /this/."
     Ron glanced around the room.  "Don't say that too loud.
Laura's not exactly feeling all that great, and if she hears
you, it'll just make her worse."
     Mitch shook his head.  "Yeah, I suppose you're right.
Hey, listen ... I've got some time off tonight.  Maybe we
can go out and do something to take her mind off her
troubles."
     Paccini rubbed his chin.  "That's an idea.  Whatever it
is, though, try and make it cheap.  I'm not exactly getting
rich doing this job."
     "You say that as if the rest of us are."
     Ron shrugged.  "Well, with that labor engineering
degree of yours, you could probably land a job at GM if you
wanted ... or go to law school for a few years and work for
your dad as a patent lawyer."
     Mitch made a face.  "Bleah, and bleah, in that order.
To be honest, I actually kinda like it here--and money isn't
all that big of a deal to me."
     "Now that you mention it," Ron said thoughtfully, "I
guess money isn't all that important to me either.  If it
were, I would have stayed in the contracting business."
     "So, you like being a cop, then?"
     "It's got its ups and downs, but on the whole, yeah."
     Mitch waved his arms at Elaine, who was crossing the
bay toward the residential area.  "Hey, Elaine!  Where ya
headed?"
     Elaine paused, brushing back her blonde hair, which, if
it wanted to, could easily have landed her a spot in a
shampoo commercial.  She was wearing her customary garb--the
shirt from the CAMP dress uniform, and a black skirt that
was long enough to cover the topic, but short enough to be
interesting.  "Just going to my room to check on some e-
mail.  That alright with you?"
     "Absolutely," said Mitch.  Both he and Ron watched very
closely as she turned and resumed her course toward her
quarters.  A brief hint of curiosity crossed Weaver's mind,
about why a driver wouldn't wear something a bit more
serviceable than high heels and a skirt, but he quickly
decided that maybe it would be best if he didn't question
good fortune.

*

     Christmas affects most people in one way or another--on
the whole, people usually either get into the spirit of
things, or they are left behind to feel lonely and
depressed.
     Every once in a while, though, a person is born who is
completely immune.
     Todd Styles was seated at his desk, drinking a cup of
coffee and smoking a cigarette.  Technically, according to
Columbus ordinance, it was illegal to smoke inside a public
building--but what was he going to do?  Arrest himself?
     He had asked Captain Stillman to fax him a copy of the
files on the recent robberies.  It was more for the sake of
curiosity than anything else; looking at police files during
lulls at CAMP Headquarters was about as close as he could
get to actual detective work, so he did so whenever the
paperwork let up enough to allow him some free time--which
wasn't often.
     It brought him a certain amount of satisfaction, trying
to mentally piece together the puzzle of how the robbery
could have taken place.  There were no clues to speak of;
not a fingerprint, nor a hair, nor a crumb of evidence.
Several of the houses robbed had been equipped with high-
tech security systems, none of which indicated that any
doors or windows had been opened on the nights that the
crimes had occurred.  According to the report, the
investigator's first instinct had been to check said
security systems for signs of tampering--and there were no
such signs to be found.
     Styles glanced up from his paper at the sound of a
knuckle rapping quietly on the door.  "C'min."
     Tony entered and took his usual seat across from
Styles' desk.  "Still playing detective, Todd?"
     Styles gave an affirmative grunt.
     "Mind if I play too?"
     Todd picked up the small stack of faxed papers and
passed them across his desk to Tony, who made a show of
glossing over them for a second.  "Any decent leads?"
     "Not a one.  The only thing I can think of is that it's
a bunch of people conspiring to commit insurance fraud."
     Tony Allison looked up from the papers.  "How so?"
     "Simple.  They fake a robbery to make it look like some
jewelry was stolen, and they claim insurance money for it."
     "Yeah," Tony nodded.  "I get that part.  But if people
were faking robberies, don't you think they'd fake something
a bit more orthodox?  Some sign of forced entry, maybe?"
     Styles gazed out his window, considering.  "One would
think so.  On the other hand, if it /is/ a real robbery,
there's the question of how they got in without using any
doors or windows, and did it quietly enough not to wake
anyone up."
     The Head Mechanic just shook his head.  "Beats me."

*

     "I'm not going caroling with you, Mitch.  That's that."
     "Oh, c'mon, Laura!  Ron and Jody are going too, ya
know."
     Laura appeared to be a bit taken aback by this news.
"You mean, you actually /convinced/ them to go on this
ridiculous little trip of yours?"
     Mitch grinned.  "Not yet, but no one can resist my
devastating charm and wit.  And anyway, I gave my parents a
call a little while ago.  We're invited over there for
dinner tonight.  My mom doesn't cook very often, but when
she does, she does it well.  Don't diss her Christmas
turkey.  You might hurt her feelings."
     "Mitch," Laura chided, "that's really below the belt,
using your mom's feelings as leverage."
     Weaver shrugged, grinning wryly.  "Isn't it, though?
Anyway, I need to go talk to Jody and Ron.  We'll be leaving
at six o'clock."
     "I can hardly contain my excitement."

*

     "Let me get this straight.  You're /inviting/ me to
drive you to Christmas dinner?"
     Mitch nodded.  "You make it sound so awful, Jody.  I'm
inviting you to eat with us as well."
     "And once again, why is it that you don't have a car?
Your dad /is/ a partner in a corporate law firm, isn't he?
Can't he buy you one or something?"
     Weaver just grumbled.  "He thinks I need to learn to be
self-sufficient."
     Jody furrowed her brow thoughtfully for a moment.  "I
guess I can see where maybe you could stand a little help
along those lines."
     "Now what's that supposed to mean?" said Mitch
indignantly.
     "Well," said Jody, "for one thing, who does all the
cooking around here?"
     Mitch rolled his eyes.
     "That's right.  Everyone other than you."
     "Hey, I chip in for food--and if I could cook, I would.
But the fact is, I can't even microwave potatoes without
blowing them up."
     "You do know you're supposed to poke holes in them
first, right?"
     Mitch nodded.  "Yeah, everybody knows that.  Heck, I
even poked holes in the aluminum foil that I wrapped them
in."
     "Ahhh," said Jody.  "That explains it.  Why don't we
move on to something that you're a bit less hopeless at,
then?"
     "Go on," said Weaver.
     "Well, unlike a truly self-sufficient human being, you
never make your bed."
     Mitch cocked his head slightly and grinned.  "Lookin'
at my bed, eh?"
     "How can I help it?  You leave the door to your room
wide-open.  Oh," she continued after a brief pause, "and
then there's your laundry."
     "What about it?  I wear clean clothes, which I wash
myself."
     "Too bad you don't bother to fold them."
     Mitch sniffed.  "Details, details."
     "Now," said Jody, "what was it we were talking about?"
     Weaver gave a resigned sigh.  "I was asking you if
you'd drive us out to my parents' house and have Christmas
turkey with us."
     "Oh, sure.  That's no problem at all...in fact, I'd be
happy to."
     "After all that, you're /happy to/?  What's the deal
here?"
     Jody tilted her head down just a bit and looked Mitch
straight in the eyes, smiling as she did so.  "I just like
giving you a hard time.  See you at six."  At that, Jody
stood up and gracefully exited the break room, leaving Mitch
to sit there wearing a perplexed expression on his face.

*

     "And we'll be leaving at six?"
     Mitch nodded.
     "Yeah," said Ron.  "Sounds great.  Count me in."
     Weaver turned his attention back to the task of fixing
the Apollo, but stopped as something occurred to him.  "Hey,
Ron?" he said, without turning back around.
     "What?"
     "Why is it that women always make everything so
difficult?"
     "No idea."

*

     By the time six PM rolled around, the sun had long
since set, and a light layer of powdery snow was covering
the ground.  After bundling themselves up in winter
clothing, Mitch, Jody, Ron, and Laura piled into Jody's car,
and the four of them left the station for the house of David
and Nicole Weaver.
     The road conditions were less than ideal, so Jody took
her time on the way out to Upper Arlington.  This didn't
seem to bother Mitch and Ron very much--the two of them
spent most of the ride looking out the windows at the
festively decorated uptown houses, with Mitch giving Jody an
occasional direction to get to his house.  Laura, on the
other hand, kept her eyes locked on the inside of the
vehicle, as if trying to erase the Christmas lights from
existence by sheer force of will.
     A good twenty minutes or so passed by the time they
finally reached their destination.  The Weavers' house was a
large one--more so even than most of the others in the area.
A pretty stone fence surrounded the yard, opening up to a
brick driveway which led up to the garage, lined on either
side by tall deciduous trees.  The house, upon close
examination, turned out to be a three-story marvel of
Victorian architecture, also made from brick.  The Christmas
lights that hung from the trees, Jody noted, were plain
white.
     Once the car stopped, Mitch climbed out of the front
passenger seat and stretched his arms.  "This is it," he
said, stifling a yawn.  He led them quietly up the front
walk onto the porch, where he rang the doorbell.  There was
a sound of high-heels striking a hardwood floor, followed by
a click as the door unlatched.  It opened to reveal a slim
woman of about Mitch's height, who appeared to be in her mid-
forties.  Her brown hair was cut short, and she wore a long,
black dress and a pair of diamond earrings that weren't
meant to say 'I'm rich,' but said it anyway.
     She pulled the door open, and gracefully gestured
inside with her other arm.  "Please do come in."
     And so they did.  Jody noticed almost immediately that
Ron appeared to be ill-at-ease.  She guessed that it was
because of the interior decorating; it was all very
beautiful and very fragile--the type of place where one
worries that one will make a wrong move and end up spending
thirty years worth of one's paycheck to replace the Gold-
Inlaid Glass Kumquat That We Bought On Our Honeymoon In
Timbuctoo, which one just accidentally knocked off the front
table.  She suddenly wondered how many tens out thousands of
dollars in damages the klutzy Mitch had racked up during his
childhood here.
     At Mrs. Weaver's request, they handed their coats off
to her so she could hang them up in the front closet, and
then followed her into the living room.

*

     The station, meanwhile, was failing to bustle with
anything even remotely resembling life.  Gabe and Elaine
were out on call, assisting with an overturned semi several
miles north of town, and Tom Harris was fast asleep, leaving
Todd Styles and Tony Allison as the only on-duty personnel
in the building.  The two of them were in the captain's
office, holding an utterly fruitless discussion about the
recent robberies.
     "Well," Tony was saying, "if the culprit didn't use any
doors or windows to get in, he must have entered through
some other orifice.  That's all there is to it."
     Styles blanched.  "Would you mind using a different
word for that?"
     "Just trying to liven up the discussion.  We've been
saying basically the same thing over and over again for the
last twenty minutes."
     Todd took a swig from his coffee and glanced out his
window, grinning.  "Maybe he went in through the chimney."
     "If he had, there would have been ashes tracked in on
the floor."
     "Tony," said Todd, "that was a joke."
     "I know.  But on the other hand, it's no more
ridiculous than this whole case is."
     "You've got a point there, Tony."
     
*
     
     Dinner at the Weavers' proved to be uneventful, as
things usually are when people are on their best behavior.
In fact, things didn't really light up until about eight-
thirty, when Mitch announced that the four of them were
going to go caroling.  Laura, who had already heard the bad
news, simply rolled her eyes and groaned a little bit.  Ron
and Jody reacted much more animatedly, protesting for at
least ten minutes before finally resolving to don their
winter clothing and get Mitch back later.
     The air outside was cold, but not unpleasantly so.  The
Christmas lights and the think layer of snow on the ground
gave the night a night a very peaceful, crystalline feel.
     Gloved hands in his pockets, Mitch led the group back
down the driveway and made a right.  "Back when I was a kid,
my friends and I used to go stealth caroling."
     "Stealth caroling?" Jody raised an eyebrow.
     "Yeah.  Basically, we'd sneak up to someone's house and
start singing until we heard people coming to the door, and
then run off."
     "So you've been weird since before I met you, then."
     "I was born weird, Jody.  Hey," he added, pointing down
at a set of strange markings in the snow leading up the side
of his neighbors' yard, "any idea what kind of tracks those
are?"
     Jody peered at them for a second.  "Ya know, they look
a bit like tarantula tracks."
     "In Ohio?" said Ron.
     "I'm not saying they /are/.  That's just what they look
like."
     Mitch glanced at Jody.  "Out of curiosity, how do you
know what tarantula tracks look like, anyway?"
     "My dad used to be really interested in them, for some
reason.  One time, he even caught one and kept it as a pet
for a while.  I'm from California, remember?" she added,
seeing the weird looks she was getting.
     Weaver shrugged.  "Ya know, I never really pictured you
as someone who'd be comfortable around really big spiders."
     "You get used to them after a while.  They're not
dangerous or anything."
     Resuming their walk, the four of them strolled up to
the house next door to the Weavers' place.  Mitch cleared
his throat, and began to sing.  "We wish you a merry
Christmas, we wish you a--are you people going to join in,
or not?"
     Reluctantly, the other three lifted their voices and
began singing along.  As a whole, the four of them sounded
only moderately bad; decent enough that people could
appreciate their attempt at festiveness with minimal damage
to their eardrums or glassware.  The door to the house
opened slowly, revealing an elderly couple.  The woman, who
had curly gray hair and thick glasses, brightened
significantly after peering at them for a second.
     "Andy!"  She stepped outside the door and gave Mitch a
big, grandmotherly hug.  "Oh, this is just so /darling/,
isn't it dear?"  She looked over her shoulder at her
husband, who grunted affirmatively.  "Why don't you and your
friends come in for a few minutes?"
     "We'd love to," said Mitch.

*
     
     The response to their arrival was generally the same
for about four houses; they were invited in by people who
were very happy to see cute little Andy Weaver all grown-up,
with his grown-up friends.  They were offered drinks (wine,
usually), which they gratefully accepted--all except for
Laura, who volunteered to drive home, probably because she
didn't want to accidentally end up getting into the spirit
of things.  By the time they left the fourth house, several
hours had gone by, and Mitch and Jody were starting to look
a bit flushed and tipsy.  Among the four of them, they
agreed that it was probably a good time to say good-night to
the Weavers and head back to the station, as it was
approaching midnight.
     As they walked back down the block, Mitch and Jody
strolled shoulder-to-shoulder, casting occasional glances at
one another, and smiling nervously.  Ron and Laura
discreetly slowed down and gave them some distance, not
wanting to ruin their moment with unsolicited conversation.
     "Are you seeing the same thing I'm seeing," whispered
Ron, "or is the alcohol playing tricks on me?"
     "You mean to tell me you hadn't picked up on this
before?"
     Ron shook his head.
     "You men can be so oblivious sometimes.  It's amazing
you don't go around tripping over things."  As if to
punctuate her hushed remark, Mitch gave a small yelp as his
boot caught on a breach in the pavement.  He and Jody then
broke out into a fit of embarrassed laughter.
     "Weaver," said Jody, drunkenly waving her finger at
him, "I think you had a bit too much to drink tonight."
     The laughing resumed.
     
*
     
     It was quarter after eleven when they finally returned
to the station; the ride took them a half-hour because Mitch
pointed Laura in the wrong direction on more than one
occasion.  It would have taken them longer, except that they
finally chanced upon an area the Laura recognized, thus
allowing them to return to CAMP Headquarters without
Weaver's somewhat besotted aid.
     Mitch and Jody stayed close together after they got out
of the car, and they remained out in the snow when Ron and
Laura headed inside.
     "Wanna go for a walk?" Mitch ventured after an awkward
pause.
     "Yeah," said Jody.
     Not bothering to choose a particular destination, the
two of them wandered over to the intersection and crossed
the street and soon found themselves in front of The Earl of
Sandwich, the local deli.
     "Looks like Earl's still in there cleaning up," said
Mitch, as he peered into the dimly-lit shop.
     Jody nodded.
     "Maybe we should sing for him."
     "What song?"
     Mitch pondered.  "How 'bout 'Oh Christmas Tree'?"
     Jody nodded again.
     "/Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree.../"  Mitch
paused and looked at Jody, hoping that she knew the words to
the next line.  Apparently she didn't, because the look she
was giving him was about the same as the one he was giving
her.  They finally settled on repeating the first line, but
to the tune of the second.  "/Oh Christmas Tree, Oh
Christmas Tree./"  They continued on those lines for a few
more stanzas, until Earl unlocked the door and poked his
head out.
     "Hey," said the New Yorker, "why don't you two cops
come in for some hot chocolate?  It's on the house."
     The two of them nodded and walked inside, taking time
to thank Earl for his hospitality.  They took a seat at one
of the front tables and gazed out the window at the snow
falling and sipped from their hot chocolate, neither saying
a word.
     
*

     "CAMP Headquarters.  Styles here."
     Pause.
     "I'm not sure where he went.  Wait, I think that's him
walking in the door right now.  I'll get him for you."
Styles placed his hand over the receiver.  "Weaver, you've
got a phone call."
     Mitch stopped in the hallway as he passed the captain's
office.  Taking a moment to hang up his coat in the hallway,
he took the telephone from Styles.  "Hello?  Oh, hi mom!"
     Mitch blinked.  "Wow, no kidding.  Are they alright?"
     He nodded.  "Well, that's good at least.  Do they have
any idea when it happened?"
     Another pause.
     "Weird.  Yeah, I'll tell him.  This isn't the first
time this has happened ... I think he's been looking into
it."
     Pause.
     "I love you too, mom ... Bye."
     "What was that all about?" Styles inquired as Mitch
handed the phone back to him.
     "My parents' neighbors just got robbed.  Apparently
Metro's over there investigating right now, but they haven't
found anything apart from an empty jewelry box."
     Styles stood up.  "Mitch, put your jacket back on and
get in my car.  I'll be out there in a minute."

*

     "Okay, now hang a right at this stop sign."
     It had dawned on Mitch that the only reason Styles had
taken him along was for directions to the house in question.
After several failed attempts at starting a conversation, he
finally gave up and decided to just oblige the captain,
pointing out the way to go without any unnecessary chatter.
     "See that intersection up there with the no left turn
sign?"
     "Yeah."
     "Turn left there."
     Styles glared at him.
     "It's a short cut, sir.  Besides, nobody's out on the
road right now anyway."
     Styles shrugged, turning the car left as instructed.
Mitch's thoughts returned to his experience with Jody over
the past few hours.  It had certainly *felt* like a good
time, although there was no way in hell Jody could have
enjoyed herself.  Not with *him*, at any rate.  "Oh, crap!
You were s'posed to turn right back there, Sir."
     Styles glared at him again as he pulled the car into a
nearby parking lot and turned it around to head back to the
missed intersection. "Would you mind paying attention to the
road, Weaver?  You can think about her all you want once we
get there."
     "Think about who?"
     Rather than gracing the question with a reply, Todd
cracked his window open and lit up a cigarette.
     
     When they finally arrived at the house, a pair of
police cars were pulled up in the driveway, and all the
lights were on.
     "Man, this is weird," Mitch mused.  "We were just here
caroling a couple hours ago."
     Styles pulled his Escort into the driveway and got out
of the car, stretching for a moment in the cold air.  "I'm
gonna go in and ask a few questions," he said.  "Do what you
want here, but don't touch anything.  This is a crime scene,
and we need to keep everything intact."
     Mitch nodded.  "Alright.  I think I'm gonna go over and
see my parents.  That's there house next door."
     Climbing out of the car, he started across the lawn
toward the low stone fence on the side of the yard.  He was
about to hop over it, when he looked down at his feet and
noticed something rather strange.
     "Hey Captain," he yelled back over his shoulder.
     Styles, who had just knocked on the front door, looked
over at him.  "What is it?"
     "Are there any tarantulas in Ohio?"
     "Not that I know of.  Why?"
     "Maybe you should come over here and take a look at
this then," Weaver called out.
     The front door opened.  Mitch couldn't make out what
was being said by either Styles or whoever opened the door,
but the captain nodded and headed over to where Mitch was
standing shortly thereafter.
     "What's this all about?" Todd asked skeptically.
     "Take a look at this," said Mitch, pointing to a trail
of strange tracks running the length of the fence.  "They
cross the road from over there, and they run straight up to
the chimney and stop.  I didn't think much of it when I saw
them earlier ... I asked what they were, and Jody said they
were tarantula tracks, so I just figured she was crazy or
something."
     Styles breathed out, forming a puff of mist in the air.
"Maybe we should take a look.  Wait right here--I'm gonna
run back to my car and grab my radio.  We might need it."
     "What for?"
     "Well, this is about the only thing around here that's
out of the ordinary, which makes us the only lead we have.
Considering the fact that these robberies have occurred over
a large area, on the off-chance that these tracks *do* lead
us to any answers, we may be in for a bit of a walk."
     Buttoning his trench coat up, Styles returned to his
car and rummaged through the glove compartment, producing a
camera and a small walkie-talkie a few moments later.  He
snapped a few pictures of the tracks leading up to the
chimney, then pocketed the camera.  "Ready?"
     Mitch shrugged.  "I guess so."
     Shoving his hands into his pockets for warmth, Weaver
followed along after Styles as they traced the tracks down
the side of the fence to the road.  They disappeared at the
curb and then resumed directly across the street from where
they ended.
     "Hey," said Mitch, "I don't suppose you're planning to
tell the Metro guys about this, are you?  I mean, isn't
there some sort of conflict in jurisdiction here?"
     "Well, technically we cover the same area as Metro
does.  They're not going to *like* it of CAMP makes the
arrest, but it's all legal.  There's nothing they can really
do about it--and it makes our department look good."
     The tracks, meanwhile, led the Captain and the
Assistant Mechanic through three back yards, and then took a
sharp left turn at a narrow alley.  They stayed on the trail
with some difficulty; the occasional tire track or patch of
melted snow left the tracks intermittent at best.  At times,
they found themselves losing the trail altogether, and had
to pace back and forth, peering at the ground until one of
them spotted the footprints, allowing them to resume their
pursuit.
     Nearly two hours passed, and Mitch was beginning to
think that they were following the meanderings of a small
animal, when finally the tracks turned into the back yard of
a small, rather nondescript house, and led directly up to
the back porch.
     "Now this is interesting," Styles said in a hoarse
whisper.
     "What's that noise?"
     "What noise?"
     Mitch pointed off to his right.  "It's a whirring sound
... and I think it's getting louder."
     "Follow me."  Styles ducked down and bolted into a
neighboring yard, taking refuge behind a mid-sized evergreen
shrubbery.  Mitch did likewise, looking behind him for the
source of the sound.
     "Look," he whispered, pointing in the direction of the
sound's source, "any idea what those things are?"
     Styles stayed low, peeking around the other side of the
bush.  Approaching the yard were a pair of tarantula-sized
machines, one of which appeared to have a small pouch on its
back.  "They look like really big insects.  Judging by the
sound they're making, my guess is that they're robotic."
     "Want to catch one?"
     "You can try it if you want, but keep in mind, they can
cut through a metal safe."
     "Alright," said Mitch, "scratch that idea."
     "Shhh," said Styles, ducking down on one knee.  Taking
the camera out of his pocket, he took a photograph of the
bug-like robots just as they rounded the corner into the
suspect's yard, and another as they approached the house.
"Okay," he said, snapping a final picture as the robots
entered the abode through an inconspicuous hole in the back
porch, "we've done what we came to do."
     "Wait, aren't we gonna arrest the guy or something?"
     "We'll need to get a warrant first.  After that, we'll
come back tomorrow morning and search the place."  He
flipped the switch on his radio and spoke into it: "CAMP
Headquarters, this is Styles.  You copy?"
     "Loud and clear, Captain," said Tony's voice.  "What's
going on?"
     "I need somebody to come pick up Mitch and I.  We're at
328 Meadowbrook.  And write that address down, while you're
at it."
     "Three-two-eight Meadowbrook.  Roger that.  I'll send
Ron out to pick you up."
     "Thanks, Tony.  Styles out."

*

     At approximately six-thirty the following morning, the
men and women of the CAMP task force were rudely awakened by
the voice of their captain blaring over the PA system.
"Good morning.  I need Paccini and Morisato down here and in
uniform in ten minutes.  The rest of you can go back to
sleep."
     
*
     
     Ron and Jody found Styles sitting back at his desk
nursing a cup of coffee when they got to his office.  "Sorry
to get you up so early.  One of my friends upstairs just
faxed me a warrant to search the house that Weaver and I
were at last night.  I'd like to catch as soon as possible,
because I've been up all night running around town having
photos developed, and I'm about ready to collapse.  Anything
before we go?"
     Ron and Jody shook their heads.
     "Alright, then grab your sidearms and let's move."
     A few minutes later, they piled into the captain's
seldom-used patrol car and drove out to the house that
Styles had surveyed during last night's impromptu
investigation.
     When they arrived, the three of them cautiously
approached the door.  Styles rang the doorbell once.  It
took a little while, but eventually they could make out the
sound of footsteps a flight of stairs.  The door creaked
open, revealing a robed, spindly form of a man in his
forties.  His hair was messy, and his eyes were red and only
half-open.
     "Sorry to bother you this early in the morning," said
Styles, "but we have a warrant to search this house on
suspicion of multiple counts of burglary."
     It took a moment for it to register.  "Oh *shit*!"  The
man's eyes widened, and he bolted back into the house,
slamming a door behind him.
     "Ron, would you do the honors?"
     "No problem."  Ron charged into the house after the
escaping suspect.  He followed the robed, barefoot man
through the small residence and out the back door, where he
managed to tackle and cuff him within seconds.  He then
forcefully brought the man back inside the house and sat him
down in the front room.
     "Since you're here," said Styles, "perhaps you'd be
willing to make things easier for all of us by answering a
few questions."
     
*
     
     "And so," said Styles, "Mr. Fox and I had a nice long
chat before I took him downtown.  Apparently those two bugs
that Weaver and I saw last night were little robots that he
was running from a home-made control center down in his
basement.  He would have them enter a house by way of the
chimney, and then one of them would use a built-in torch to
cut into whatever needed burgling, and then load the jewelry
or whatever into the pouch on the other one's back."
     Laura took a sip of coke and leaned back in her chair.
"What's Stillman think about all this?"
     The captain looked around the break room, grinning
smugly to himself.  "He's absolutely furious."
     "Nice work, Captain," said Laura.  The rest of the
squad nodded their agreement.
     "Arrested on Christmas Eve," mused Mitch.  "That's
gotta hurt."
     "Anyway," Styles continued, "I'm heading home for the
night.  Get some rest--I'll see you all in the morning."
     "Merry Christmas, Sir," said Mitch.
     Styles sighed.  "That too."  He picked up his trench
coat, which had been draped over the back of his chair, and
walked outside into the brisk winter night.
     "Is he alright?" Laura asked, once he had left.
     "Sure," said Ron.  "Why wouldn't he be?"
     "Dunno.  Maybe it's just me."

*

     At a lonely little house on Seventh Street, Todd Styles
leaned back in his recliner and took a sip from his glass of
Scotch, gazing quietly at a framed photograph on the mantle.