Wind of History by Jacek Yerka
"Reckon he's holed up in there, Boss?"
"Reckon that's why we're bogged down here for the night, Smiddy."
"There's a light on."
"You sound like you been to Observation Classes, Smiddy. Gotta diploma in spottin' lights left on, is it?"
"You know what the song says?"
"Song? What song? What's a dumb song got to do with a stake-out?"
Smiddy sings. "Tonight, tonight put a light in the window. To prove that you love me, let it shine, shine, shine . . . !"
"You shoulda been in vaudeville. Voice like that you'd be a first class ventriloquist's dummy."
"Tonight, tonight put . . "
"Smiddy, if he's in there you don't wanna announce our arrival with that caterwaulin'"
" . . a light in the window. Tonight's the night . . . "
" . . . I'm gonna make you mine! 'The Four Lads' cut the single, Boss. My Daddy used to sing it to my Mom all the time. Reckon she was the light in his window."
"Smiddy! Listen a minute. We're on police work here. I'm real glad your Daddy and your Mom lit up the room most nights, but here we're detailed to stake-out this beat-up subdivision and the City don't pay you for crooning. And you forgot to bring any burgers. With onions. And mustard." (A look comes over Boss's face and his eyes roll.)
"Hey! Boss! Look!"
"Wha . . Onions and mustard Where? Oh, Man! What? What is it?"
"The light's gone out."
"You'll not be singin' that 'Tonight, tonight' stuff again then? No encores?"
"Maybe he went to the bathroom?"
"You switch the overhead light out every time you go to the bathroom?"
"Think we should . . ?"
"Yeah! I think we should."
They open the patrol car doors and step out, hefting their firearms.
"You go right, Smiddy. I'll go left."
"No! I said left. Oh, never mind."
Using the hollows in the ground as cover, they approach the house. They station themselves on the stoop, one each side of the door. Both chamber a round. Boss hammers on the door with his gun-butt.
"Police! Come out with your hands up!'
They hear footsteps in the hall. Door chains and bolts rattle.
"No funny stuff, pal. One false move and you're burger meat. And no mustard."
The door opens. A little old lady is in the doorway.
"Face down on the floor, Ma'am. Hands behind your head . . . "
The old lady speaks. "Oh Goody! Policemen! Do either of you lovely officers happen to have a spare lamp bulb? 'Bout a hundred watts?"
(*) Their earlier efforts on behalf of the NY(or similar)PD can be seen here