My Day-Dream Of Love...

by Unknown Author

Originally published in Confessions of Love Comics #14 in 1952.

There is a regulation in our police department, that no officer, regardless of rank, may write about any case in which he was concerned unless he has permission from the Police Commissioner. About three months ago, the newspapers in blazing headlines told about the capture of that notorious criminal, Joe Di Circio. And if your memory isn't a bit short, you may recollect that I got all the credit, ex-patrolman Frank Peters. Don't let that "ex” bother you, for I still am on the police force, but now as a first-grade detective. 

There was an angle to the story that wasn't told in the newspapers at the time, though the female waggers of tongues in Centerport talked about it over their back fences. It was Anne's insistence that really got me official permission to tell the real events behind the story. With her carrot-colored hair, freckled face, and tilted nose, she made quite a picture in the Commissioner's office. "You have to give Frank your O.K. on the story," she demanded. Old Man Martins hadn't been boss all these years without knowing how to handle a situation like this “Anne, I have known you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper. Remember the time I spanked you when you kids tried to ring all the doorbells in town. I'm not going to let you make a fool out of yourself. So you made a mistake and almost ruined your life. But almosts don't count. Maybe the old hens out here are talking behind your back and imagining a lot of things that never happened. But the thing that counts is that you and your husband are together again." 

That should have been enough to stop any female, but not the new Anne. There was a singing determination in her voice as she snapped back. "I admit I made a fool out of myself. Surely. I'm not any different than the average young girl of my age. If I can make such a mistake, so can lots of other girls. I feel it will help them and at the same time stop some of the buzzers in town." The Commissioner knew when he was licked. He should know women, having buried three wives. So he threw up his hands in token of surrender and wrote out that necessary O.K. for me. 

Anne went to Centerport High School with Frances. Actually, she picked out my wife. It was on the annual school picnic that Anne got me aside and said. "Frank. Frances is the girl for you. She's wild about you but too bashful to say anything. And she's not flighty like some we know." People still think my wife is bashful, even today. With her close-cut jet black hair, brown eyes, and thin face, she makes a good enough picture for me. 

Two months after I married Frances, Anne married Steve Higgins. Nice tall lanky boy and the girls all thought he was the leading catch. As a wedding present his old man gave him the Joy II. a 45-foot cabin cruiser. It wasn't exactly for pleasure. Meant that Steve could run the boat between the mainland and Warren's Island. They have several big hotels out there and you have to take a boat to get out there. In addition, it was understood he was going to get the small hotel that his father operated on the bay-side, facing the island. 

Ever live in a small town? If you did, then you understand what is meant by the word “monotonous". Life goes on day in, and day out, and you just do the same things. If you make the necessary readjustment inside of you, then you can be happy. If not. you can go nuts without too much effort. You begin to daydream, imagine that all the excitement and thrills of life are away, far away, in the big city. I spent one year in the big city when I was studying at the police academy. After the initial thrill died down, I found out life was about the same as in my small town, monotonous if you saw it that way, different, if you made the adjustment. 

Every morning. except for Sunday. I got up at 6:30, ate my breakfast, and then drove the patrol car through the town until I hit U.S. Highway 34. I did this at least twenty times a day. Whenever possible I would stop at the small hotel that Anne and her husband were operating. On this particular day, Anne was serving me at a table in the corner. One look at her face and I could see things were all wrong. "What's eating you. Anne?" I asked though it wasn't very hard to find out what was wrong by just studying her expression. "I'm going mad in this one-horse town. If Steve doesn't sell out quick, he is going to be minus a wife." I patted her gently, told her a baby would solve things, and went back to my car. 

Half an hour later it happened. Midland has the same wavelength as most of the surrounding cities. "Calling cars 18, 23, and 31, Joe Di Circio just tried to hold up the Midland Trust Company. Shot and killed the guard. He escaped. Last seen driving a blue Buick Sedan. License number CY291-604. Stolen car. He is armed. Be careful. He is 6 feet tall, has wavy brown hair, gray eyes, scar over his left eye. That is all." 

At about four o'clock that same day, a young man entered Anne's place. He carried a small black bag in one hand, and a suitcase in the other. "I'm a writer," he explained. "Have a novel to finish. I would like a room facing the water. And my meals to be served to me in my room." He looked and talked like big city stuff. Anne checked him in and the name he gave was Donald Berger. It was summertime, and Steve was busy running that cabin cruiser over to the island. So Anne brought up the meals and listened to his stories. He made no improper advances. But he knew women, alright! He got her so befuddled, she couldn't think straight. He talked about New York, Chicago, San Francisco. Then he would jump to Hawaii, Paris, and the Orient. He let the hint drop, he was willing to take her if she had money and a car. Two hours later, Anne came back with $4000 in traveler's checks. It was cash that he wanted for, with the checks, he couldn't ditch Anne. They went downstairs together, with packed bags and who should greet them in the small lobby—Steve! 

He had had motor trouble and the boat would have to be laid up for a day. So he decided to come back to the hotel. It wasn't Anne that caught his eye, but the fellow with her. He had seen the "Wanted" picture that I had shown him several days before. "That's Di Circio," he shouted. like a fool, "he's wanted for murder. What is he doing here, Anne?" Joe whipped out an automatic, fired one shot at Steve. It hit him in the shoulder and he fell to the floor. In that second, Anne came to her sense. Joe would have killed her, but he needed her alive to sign the traveler's checks. He was practically broke. "If you don't want a dose of the same medicine, walk out to the car and do what I say." From the floor, Steve saw them leave. He crawled over to the back of the desk and called police headquarters. 

The commissioner himself spoke to me over the radio-phone. "Frank, Joe Di Circio has Anne as his prisoner in her car. He turned left from the hotel, get him!" That meant only one thing he was going to take the old country road. I knew a shortcut, and ten minutes later I was chasing him. Both Anne and he spotted my car. Anne says I forced the car to the side of the road. I say Anne grabbed the wheel. It was a wreck, and he came out with his gun in hand. The fool! He didn't know I had won the pistol championship for the year. It took one shot to finish him, and I didn't miss. 

Anne has this to say, "The excitement and thrills we imagine we are missing; it's better to miss them. Real happiness lies in two young folks building a common life together." Anne begged forgiveness from Steve, but he said he had nothing to forgive, after all, she probably saved his life. And their baby is on its way. 

Why did Anne want me to tell the story? I guess I forgot to mention, Anne is my younger sister.

END