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Detective Forni scraped his chair back a few feet, but it didn’t help. The guy’s breath followed like a rancid vapor trail. “Alright, Mr. Ribald, tell me what happened.”
With a sigh, Ribald patted the wet hair plastered to his forehead. “It’s not ‘Mister’. It’s ‘Doctor’.”
“Okay then, Doc. Wanna explain why you were doing laps in the fountain of the Plaza Hotel?”
Ribald’s clothes were still damp and a puddle had started to ooze under a pair of decomposing wingtips that should have been chucked last decade. He stared at the detective with glazed eyes. “It’s a bad penny, you see. A foul, evil coin. That’s what causes all the trouble.”
Detective Forni crossed a pair of beefy arms. “A penny, huh?”
Ribald looked and smelled drunk, but his speech was dolby-digital clear. “It’s Lucifer’s own currency. Forged from the fires of damnation with a cursed hand and unleashed against the mortal world to corrupt humanity.”
“Right.”
Ribald dropped his soggy head into shaking hands. “I can’t get rid of it! No matter how far I throw it, or how deep I bury it…it always comes back. You’ve heard of the proverbial bad penny? Well, it’s been haunting me for two years.”
“So you pitched it in the Plaza fountain?”
“Yes! Yet another feeble attempt to rid myself of the beastly thing. But I inadvertently tossed my house key along with it. So I had to wade into the font. And each time I reached for my key, I pulled out that god-forsaken penny instead. I’m telling you, it’s driving me mad!” Ribald was jerking around in his seat like it was electrified.
“Take it easy, Doc. How about if I keep that thing while you sleep it off in lock-up tonight?” Detective Forni held out a big paw.
Ribald’s eyes went wide. “You would do that for me?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Maybe that’s the trick! Someone has to ask for it!” He hooted like a lottery winner and dropped the penny in the detective’s hand.
#
Detective Forni’s wife poked at the coin on her kitchen table. “How do you know it’s the same one?”
Forni looked haggard. “It’s the same one, alright. Dated 1999. Denver Mint. Look at Lincoln’s bow tie. You can see the knot. And on the back, he’s sitting in the middle of the columns.”
“Honey, all pennies look that way.”
“This one’s different. See the scratch on the side? I marked it last week.” Forni gnawed a fingernail. “It keeps turning up. The same one. Over and over.”
His wife shrugged. “Looks like a regular penny to me. Don’t let it bug you.”
#
The psychiatrist flipped through a two-inch file. “Hmmm. Divorce. Bankruptcy. Alcohol and drug dependency. You’ve had a busy year, Mr. Forni.”
Forni sighed, “It’s not ‘Mister’. It’s ‘Detective’.”
“Alright, Detective. Just lie back and relax.” He motioned to the leather couch. “What’s that in your hand? Here, let me have it.”
Forni opened his palm and grinned.
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