Title: Hit and Run

Category: Ultra-short

The author, a native of NYC, is both a card-carrying movie projectionist
(IATSE, Local 306), and an artist.  Started watching The Show during
Lifetime reruns, summer of 1997, mid-season 4.  Was immediately hooked,
and is still carrying the torch.

Homicide Season: 7

Disclaimer: "Characters used from "Homicide: Life on the Street" belong to
Baltimore Pictures and NBC Productions and are used without permission.
This story may be copied or placed in public domain so long as the author's
original name and story remain intact."

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John Munch, ever the good publican, set the glass down in front of the
thirsty medical examiner.  "Shaken, not stirred."

Dr. Griscom sipped, and shivered appreciatively.

Munch topped off his own beer, and continued, "It was like being in a
Stephen King novel.  I knew it wasn't a case of vehicular manslaughter
as soon as I flipped on the light switch in that garage.  No, what we had
here was vehicular homicide."

Griscom grinned over the lip of his martini glass.  "Your talents never
fail to astonish, Detective.  You can see into the heart. . . ah, the
internal combustion engine, and read true intent?"

"I'm telling you, Doc, I came face-to-face with Christine!"

"Did she gun her engine evilly?  Flash her headlights in a provocative
manner?"

"No, and no.  Nor was it the half-missing windshield, still edged with
miscellaneous gore, that tipped me off."

"Pray, enlighten me."

"Listen, Doc, as soon as I saw that car, I knew. . . How many times have I
suspected that our departmental vehicles are possessed?  That they have
it in for whichever poor shnook has the misfortune to drive them?  We all
know they're bone-rattling, piston-throwing, exhaust-wheezing
deathtraps--but now, one of their brethren has driven 'round the curve and
committed murder."
 
Griscom frowned, not getting the connection between a car involved in a
fatal hit-and-run, and Baltimore's unloved, unmarked fleet.

Seeing the man's confusion, Munch exclaimed, "It was a Cavalier,
Griscom, a Cavalier!"

"Ah, the scales fall from my eyes!"  Griscom took another sip, and
added thoughtfully, "In that case, you might want to ask for the death
penalty."

Munch nodded as he wielded the bar rag.  "Lest all the other Cavaliers--
many of which I have to drive in the course of my gainful employment--get
any ideas."

"I'd advise, hang 'er high.  Preferably in the garage.  To serve as an
example."

Visions of the gallows dancing in their heads, the two men clinked
glasses.