And the Fates Conspired Against Me
By Mary T. Kalnin
Kalnin@seanet.com
Summary: A day in the life of Steve Sloan
Rated: G
Thanks to Betty and Kellyanne for editing
Disclaimer: The characters and locations from the television
series
Diagnosis Murder belong to CBS, Viacom, Paramount, and their
producers and
creators. They are: Lt. Steve Sloan, Drs. Mark Sloan, Amanda
Bentley, and
Jesse Travis, CJ and Dion. I'm just borrowing them for fun and am
not
making any money off this. Comments may be directed to the above
e-mail
address.
This morning my alarm clock rang at 7:00, just like every other
day. I
reached to shut it off, but my hand slipped and the clock landed
on the
floor, about ten feet from the bed. After mumbling a few choice
words, and
dad would still wash my mouth out with soap if he heard them, I
got out of
bed to pick up the clock, but I took too big a step and my foot
landed on
it; the next thing I knew I was falling. My arm hit the corner of
the
nightstand and my butt hit the floor. Boy, I could just hear dad.
I
certainly was wide-awake, so I figured that I could manage to
shower without
third degree burns, and I did. However, when I got out of the
shower, I
slipped on the bathroom floor. If I hadn't grabbed the vanity to
steady
myself, I'd have hit my head on it. I did twist my ankle,
however. Gad, I'
d been up for all of twenty minutes and I was ready to crawl back
into bed
and call it a day. Unfortunately I couldn't, because I had to be
in court.
I hobbled into the bedroom and started to dress. I managed to get
my
clothes on, but not by much. Luckily, I had to wear a suit
because of the
court appearance, so dad wouldn't see the bruise on my arm. All I
had to do
was keep from grimacing as I walked and sat. No problem, right?
I'm a cop,
right? Right. Well, it was time to go upstairs and face the
music, or, in
this case, dad. He probably hadn't heard me fall because he
didn't come
downstairs. At least, I hoped that was why he didn't come
downstairs.
I took them slowly and managed to climb the stairs without
further bodily
injury, but my ankle hurt a little. I'd no more than hit the
landing when I
turned my ankle again. Oh, peachy. But luck was with me; dad
wasn't
anywhere to be seen. I felt a whole lot better, so I took a deep
breath and
started toward the kitchen. I figured that dad was in there
because I could
smell bacon and eggs, my favorite breakfast. Maybe dad had heard
me after
all; he or mom always fixed it for me when I was a kid and I was
sick. Gee,
I haven't thought about that in years. I was half way to the
kitchen when I
neglected to notice that the furniture had relocated. Ouch!! I
tripped on
the leg of a coffee table that I'd have sworn wasn't there
before. At least
I didn't fall. I grabbed onto the lamp and sent it to the floor.
Dad was
going to hear that, without doubt. As I stooped to pick up the
pieces of the
lamp I heard footsteps, and an all too familiar voice:
"Hi, son. Having trouble, are we?"
"Hi, dad," I replied. "No, we are not having
trouble. We just tripped on
the coffee table that wasn't there before. When did you move
it?"
"I didn't. You did, two days ago."
"What do you mean I moved it? I never move the
furniture."
"Sorry, kiddo, you moved this piece of furniture. Remember
the night that
you and Jesse decided to play cops and robbers? You wanted the
coffee table
for your hideout. It was move either the table or the couch. I
told you to
move it back. By the way, don't you get enough cops and robbers
every day?
You have to play at it, too?"
I grew serious for a moment and replied: "Dad, when Jesse
and I play,
nobody gets hurt. Neither of us has to do our job."
"I see. Steve, that suit always looks good on you, but why
so dressed up?
Hot date after work?"
"I wish. Court appearance. Jury selection and the opening
arguments in the
Daniels trial are over, and testimony starts today."
"I don't recall the case. Did I have anything to do with
it?"
"No, it was an easy one. Daniels is the no-good who abused
and killed his
wife and child."
"Oh, yeah. Well, your breakfast is ready. Steve, what was
the thud I heard
downstairs this morning?"
"Nothing. I dropped the alarm clock."
Dad gave me that look of his, the one that says: "OK, I'll
get the truth
later." He ordered:
"Eat your breakfast before it gets cold."
"Yes, sir. Thanks."
I started toward the kitchen but forgot about my ankle. I winced
when I
stepped and dad saw it.
"Steve, what's wrong? Did you hurt yourself?"
"Nah, I just twisted my ankle a little. It'll be okay after
I walk on it."
I finally made it safely into the kitchen and sat at the table. I
took a
spoonful of jam to spread on my toast and spilled it on my white
shirt. Dad
had just come in to get another cup of coffee and saw the mess.
"Steve, what is the matter with you?"
"Uh, nothing. I guess it's just a bad morning."
"Are you nervous about testifying? This is nothing new for
you."
"No. I don't know what's happening, but I'd better get
myself under
control. I'm going downstairs to change my shirt."
"Don't, son. I'll go get you another shirt and you finish
your breakfast.
Give me your jacket and tie too."
"Dad, that's not necessary, I can get it later."
"No, son. Let's give that ankle of yours a rest."
I had no choice but to take off my jacket and shirt and hope that
dad's
eagle eye would miss the bruise. Fat chance! He saw it.
"Steve, what happened this morning? And don't tell me you
dropped the alarm
clock!"
"Dad, I did drop the clock. I stepped on it when I went to
pick it up and
lost my balance. My arm hit the nightstand and I landed on my
butt."
Despite his obvious resolve, dad couldn't control his laughter. I
could see
the smile breaking out on his face.
"Steve, I'm sorry, but I'd love to have seen it." Then
he managed a
straight face and asked me if I'd hurt myself. I told him no. He
was still
suppressing his laughter when he took my arm in his hands and
checked the
bruise.
"Steve, that's quite a trophy." He lost it again and
then continued: "It
looks okay though. Did you hurt anything else? Oh, yeah, your
derriere.
We'll discuss that tonight." He left the kitchen holding his
sides. I was
content to let him think that nothing else had happened, because
if he knew
that I'd slipped in the bathroom he'd really be worried. He
doesn't laugh
when it comes to the bathroom. I started to eat again and managed
to
finish. Dad returned with a clean shirt and played British valet:
"Sir, allow me to assist you."
"OK, dad, knock it off."
"Sir, you have already knocked several 'its' off. Might I
suggest that you
put this shirt on and leave now? Perhaps I should drive you. We
wouldn't
want you late for court."
"Ha, ha. Thanks dad, I appreciate the help."
I put my shirt and tie on and grabbed my jacket.
"If I leave now, I should get to court in good time. Bye,
dad."
"Good, bye, son."
Just as I opened the front door, I heard him finally give in to
laughter.
Well, I guess it was pretty funny. I got into my car and, with
some
apprehension, started the engine. It roared to life just fine and
I was on
my way. I reached the courthouse in plenty of time, and spent
about fifteen
minutes waiting in the corridor outside the courtroom. Eventually
I was
called to present the case. Sometimes I think that I could
administer the
oath to myself. I managed to stay in one piece and professional
during
questioning and cross. It actually went pretty well. We've got
this creep
nailed. By the time I was dismissed, it was almost noon. I left
the
courtroom and went for my car; I thought I'd go over to the
hospital and get
dad. We could go to Bob's for lunch and I could check on the
restaurant. I
reached the courthouse garage and slipped on an oil spot. I
didn't fall but
I did twist my ankle again. That was the third time I twisted my
left
ankle. This was really getting old.
I finally reached the hospital, traffic was a real mess, and
hobbled into
the ER. After the third time, your ankle really hurts.
Unfortunately Jess
saw me and came over and said in his best smart aleck voice:
"Steve, having a problem?"
"I suppose you've talked to dad?"
"Yes, and I must say that I can't wait to get to your house
tonight. Are
you going to give us a lesson in the fine art of
clumsiness?"
"What do you mean get to the house?"
"Hey, Mark invited Amanda, the boys and me for dinner. Don't
look at me
that way, he's your dad."
"Yeah. And, no, I'm not going to give clumsy lessons. It was
a bad morning
and it's over. Now, where is dad? I thought we'd go to lunch at
Bob's and
I'd check on the restaurant."
"He's in Pediatrics entertaining. He came in so full of
laughter that he
thought he'd pass it on."
"Terrific. I'm so glad that I can provide him with the
impetus to
entertain. I hope he gives me half-credit, at least."
"I'm sure that he will."
Jesse turned serious for a moment and asked:
"Steve, do you think that you sprained the ankle?"
"No, I don't think so. Dad probably told you that I twisted
it earlier this
morning; I slipped on an oil spot in the courthouse garage and
twisted it
again."
"Come with me."
We went into an exam room and he checked the ankle. He flexed it
and I
winced a little. He saw that and said:
"Sorry. I think that you're right; it's not sprained. Take
it easy for the
rest of the day, though. Oh, how was court? Did you get through
testimony?"
"Yes. Daniels' lawyer grasped at straws all through the
cross, so I feel
good about this. We've got him. You know, Jess, I hate these
cases. It's
always worse when it's a child."
He looked at me with a great deal of compassion: "I know,
Steve. And for
what it's worth, I'm glad you had the case so there would be no
doubt about
conviction."
"Thanks. Oh, here's dad now. Hi, dad. You'll be happy to
know that I
managed not to kill myself."
"Yes, son, I can see that. Did you come by to hide for the
rest of the day,
or to see me?"
"I came by so we could go to lunch. You game?"
"Sure."
We went off to Bob's and things were looking up. I didn't hit
anything en
route and we arrived in one piece. I was beginning to think that
the trials
of the morning were behind me. Hah! Kevin, my head server, set my
lunch in
front of me, a nice plate of ribs and slaw, and I dropped a rib
on my shirt.
I must have a thing about white shirts. Dad excused himself and
walked
toward the kitchen. I thought that he was going to get some
cleaner so the
stain wouldn't set, but then I heard the laughter. It was bad
enough that
he was laughing, but he started to tell everyone else. Great. He
did come
back with a wet rag; we cleaned the shirt as best we could and
finished
lunch. The restaurant was in good shape, so I took dad back to
the hospital
and headed for the station. With any luck, I was in for an
afternoon of
peace and quiet.
About fifty feet away from the station driveway, I felt my left
rear tire
start to go flat. At least I wouldn't have to change it. After I
reached
the precinct, I drove the car into the garage instead of parking
in the
outside lot. I went to tell one of the mechanics about the tire,
and
slipped again on another oil spot. This time I fell but managed
to land on
a relatively clean part of the hard, cement floor. I got up to a
round of
applause and, summoning whatever shred of dignity I had left,
bowed and
suggested that they might not want to spread this around the
station. Heck,
at the rate things were going, I'd probably take a spill in the
squad room,
assuming that I made it to the squad room without breaking a leg
or
something equally inconvenient. I reached the safety of my desk
and sat
down. Well, I should say that I tried to sit down; I really just
caught the
edge of the seat and the chair rolled out from under me and sent
me
sprawling. Yep, I landed on my butt. Various and sundry
"friends" came to
my aid; upon determining that the only thing suffering was my
dignity, they
started to laugh. Spencer said:
"Hey, Sloan, thanks. It's been a lousy day and we needed the
laugh."
"Anytime, Spence. You know that I love to help my friends
out. And I would
like to help you out, out of the window. It's not funny."
"Actually," said Hart, "it is."
Stuart helped me up, trying desperately to hide her amusement:
"Are you all right?"
"Yes, but I'll never tell them that. Thanks. Now, if you
would do me one
last favor?"
"Sure, what?"
"Adjourn to the ladies room before you laugh. It's been a
bad day."
"All right. See you later."
She barely got that out before her face dissolved into a smile
and she let
out the loudest guffaw I've ever heard. Maybe I should have
stayed at the
hospital. I retrieved my chair and sat. I started to write
reports and was
half way through a big one when my computer froze. I couldn't get
the
blankety-blank cursor to move, I couldn't close the program, I
couldn't
reboot, I couldn't even get the shut-down menu. I was really in a
mess when
Stuart returned. She's the computer whiz kid, so I asked her to
come over.
She ambled over to my desk and said:
"Having a problem, Steve?"
"Yes. It's frozen. I can't even get the shut-down menu. Now
what?"
She started to chuckle again and I shot her a nasty glare. She
couldn't
control herself this time and sputtered out:
"Turn it off. Wait thirty seconds and turn it back on. That
should start
it up again. You've probably lost everything and you'll have to
start over.
You are having a lousy day, aren't you?"
At this point, I started to laugh. "You don't know the half
of it, Stuart.
Thanks."
I did as she said and, much to my amazement, she was right. I
started over.
The fates were kind this time and I finished a fair number of
reports before
my phone rang. Ugh! I looked up and said:
"Spence, why don't you take that call? I'm not up to a
murder, right now."
"Sorry, Sloan, I have to go question a witness."
"Sure you do."
I had no luck conning anyone else into taking it, so I
reluctantly picked up
the phone.
"Homicide, Lt. Sloan."
The voice on the other end reported a body in the park nearby.
She was
calling from a pay phone near the entrance. Could I come? I could
hardly
say "no." I would see her in about ten minutes. It was
a hot day, so I
didn't bother to take my jacket and tie. I went to retrieve my
car and was
pleased to see that it was ready and parked outside in the lot. I
found a
note on the windshield: "Didn't want you to injure yourself
again. Pete."
I arrived at the park within ten minutes. I looked around for the
woman
who called me, and spotted someone sitting on one of the benches
near the
telephones. I got out of the car and approached her. As I neared
the
bench, she stood up to greet me. I pulled out my ID and
introduced myself:
"Ma'am, did you call the police?"
"Yes, I did. Are you Lt. Sloan?"
I showed her my ID and said: "Yes. Where did you find the
body?"
"This way."
She led me to it and I stooped to examine it. I guessed that it
had been
there for about thirty-six hours, if I remembered dad's bug
theory
correctly. I called for a medical examiner, with any luck it
would be
Amanda, and stood up to interview my witness.
"Ma'am, may I have your name, please?"
"Maria Sinclair."
I pulled out my notebook and reached for a pen when I noticed
that she had a
funny look on her face. "Something wrong, Ms.
Sinclair?"
"Uh, if I were you, I'd take a look at my shirt."
"Oh, yeah, the stain. It's BBQ sauce from lunch. I was
hoping it wouldn't
show."
"It's not just BBQ sauce. Check your pocket."
While I looked at my shirt, she put her hand to her lips and
tried to
suppress a grin. Oh brother, a large, blue ink stain. I wanted to
scream
and run. Naturally I couldn't, so I pulled the felt-tip pen out
of my
pocket and continued the interview:
"Ms. Sinclair, how did you come to find the body?"
"I was walking through the park as I always do. I decided to
take this path
today and was just strolling. I always stop to smell the flowers.
It
relaxes me. Anyway, I stooped to check out the pansies, when I
glanced into
the bushes. I thought that I was seeing things and took a closer
look.
Actually, I almost panicked and went home. Then my sense of civic
duty took
over. I called, you picked up the phone, and here we are."
"You said that you decided to take this path today. Does
that mean that you
usually don't?"
I noticed that she was still staring at the shirt. I should have
brought
the jacket and maybe she wouldn't have noticed. Then I thought
that she
might be having trouble standing so near the body, so I suggested
that we
sit on one of the benches. She went to sit down and I went to
grab some
yellow tape from my car to cordon off the crime area. On the way
back I
walked across the grass just as the sprinklers came on. Oh,
great. Drowned
cop. She stood up trying desperately to hide her laughter and
couldn't
quite do it. She helped me tape off the area and we went back to
the
benches. I wondered what had happened to the ME. We sat and she
said:
"I am very sorry, Lieutenant. I suppose that you could have
done without
this today."
"That's all right, Ms. Sinclair. Things have been going
wrong all day. May
I ask again, do you usually not take this path?"
"Oh, I apologize. No, I don't. I usually walk on the path
that goes
through the middle of the park. I thought that walking around the
perimeter
might be a nice change. I'm not sure that it was."
"I understand. Finding a body is nobody's idea of fun.
Police officers
aren't crazy about it either."
She asked if I thought that someone had killed the poor guy and I
said it
was likely. Finally the ME pulled up, not Amanda darn it. I asked
Ms.
Sinclair to wait just a bit longer while I spoke with him. When I
returned
I asked her a few more questions and gave her my card. She said
that she
was all right and could get home by herself. I told her to call
me if she
wanted to talk. I say that to all witnesses because after they've
been home
awhile, they feel the full impact of what they've seen. It's
terribly
stressful for them.
I returned to the precinct and entered the squad room to a round
of applause
and heckling:
Spence again: "Hey, Sloan, get into a water fight with the
victim?"
"Ha, ha, Spence. No, actually I was on the losing side of a
fight with the
LA Park Department. Someone decided to turn the sprinklers on
just as I was
walking across the grass." Then I turned and said:
"Nobody say anything."
And for once, everybody complied. I took off my shirt and hung it
up. Too
bad I couldn't take off my pants. Maybe I'd dry out.
I started to write the report when the ME called. The autopsy
would be
ready the next day at around noon. It was now 3:00 p.m. Another
two hours
on duty, then home to my refuge. Oh, wait, everybody was coming
to dinner.
I wondered if I could talk dad out of having company, so I picked
up the
phone and dialed his cell number. After a couple of rings, he
answered.
"Dr. Sloan."
"Hi, dad. I don't suppose that I can talk you out of having
company
tonight, can I?"
"Why, son? Having more problems?"
I could hear him laughing.
"Oh, no, dad. I just fell again, once in the precinct garage
and once at my
desk; then I forgot to cap a felt-tip pen before I put it in my
shirt
pocket; finally I lost a war with the Park Department sprinklers
at a murder
scene. Haven't had any problems at all. Hey, the best part of the
day was
the dead man in the park."
He got serious for a minute and asked: "Steve, did you hurt
yourself?"
"No, dad. I'll live."
I shouldn't have said that because then he gave in to his urge to
laugh. I
was beginning to think that the fates were celebrating "Get
Steve Sloan
Day," and dad was in on it.
"Dad, I really don't need Jess making wisecracks. How about
if I tell you I
'm getting a cold? Those sprinklers in the park really did me
in."
"Nice try, son. Why did you walk through the sprinklers? Did
you have this
irresistible urge to revert to your childhood?"
"Funny, dad, funny. No I didn't have an urge to revert to my
childhood. I
was coming back from the car with tape for the crime scene when
the
sprinklers went on. Ahhhh choo!"
"Steve, sorry, but I can't 'unextend' the invitation. Both
Amanda and Jess
have left. They're on their way now and I'm just about to
leave."
"Oh well. Maybe I can make it back without driving off the
PCH and into the
ocean."
"Steve, that's not funny."
"Dad, this whole day hasn't been funny. Not if you're
me."
Dad was still laughing. My other line rang so I said good-bye to
dad and
punched the button.
"Homicide."
"Lt. Sloan? This is Maria Sinclair."
"Hello, Ms. Sinclair. Something wrong?"
"No, I guess not."
"Tell me."
"I guess I'm not used to finding dead people in parks."
"Neither am I. In fact, I never get used to it."
"You don't?"
"No. I just deal with it. I just keep in mind that someone
was murdered
and it's my job to find out who did it and arrest him, or her as
the case
may be. Ms. Sinclair, try to take it easy tonight. Have your
husband take
you to dinner and then go to a movie. A comedy. I'll probably be
by to
speak with you tomorrow. I'll just need to wrap up a few
details."
"That's fine, Lieutenant. Thanks for talking.
Good-bye."
"Good-bye, Ms. Sinclair."
Well, another citizen soothed. And then I had another hour and a
half to
wait. Please, no more phone calls. The powers on high heard me,
and the
time passed quickly. Before anything else happened, I grabbed my
shirt and
jacket and got the heck out of there. I made it home without
mishap, and as
I entered the driveway, I noticed that CJ and Dion were playing
catch. I
pulled off to one side and stopped. I got out of the car just as
Dion
tossed the ball. His aim was off and I ducked. The heel on my
shoe slipped
and I landed on my butt again. A cement driveway hurts. They both
came
over to me trying to hide their laughter. It didn't work but Dion
did
manage to say:
"Steve, I'm sorry."
"I know. Just be careful. Baseballs can knock a person out.
Sometimes
they can cause a concussion or worse. Let's go inside."
"OK. Steve, please don't be mad."
"Dion, I'm not mad. It's just been a bad day."
"Mom told us," continued CJ.
We went into the house and found Amanda, dad and Jess in the
kitchen. Dad
looked around and asked:
"Steve, are you still in one piece?"
"Barely." Jess saw the back of my slacks and inquired:
"Uh, Steve, did you sit in some dirt today?"
"No, I fell in the driveway just now."
Amanda turned and asked: "Steve, what happened?"
"My heel slipped."
"Why?" questioned dad.
I started to make up some nonsense answer when Dion spoke up:
"I threw the ball and my aim was off. Steve had to duck
before it hit him,
and he fell."
Amanda inquired with some urgency: "Steve, are you all
right?"
"Yes, Amanda. Don't worry. We've talked about the damage
baseballs can do.
It's over. From now on, guys, play in front on the sand. It's too
dangerous in the drive. OK? Now, come downstairs with me while I
change."
We went into my bedroom and the kids sat quietly on the bed; I,
on the other
hand, opened a drawer and pulled it right into my stomach. Good
kids that
they are, they tried mightily to suppress their laughter. They
couldn't
and, by that time, neither could I. We had a good laugh. I went
into the
bathroom to finish changing and freshen up, while the boys
flipped on my CD
player. The next thing I heard was a full pre-teen concert backed
by the
Beach Boys' "Help Me Rhonda." They weren't half bad.
When I entered my
living room, I picked up a pencil to use as a mike, and we
finished the song
together. Dad called us to dinner so we shut off the CD player
and went
upstairs. As we walked through the living room, I pulled a stunt
worthy of
dad. I tripped over the ottoman and landed in the middle of the
floor.
Laughs all round and once more that familiar voice:
"Son, I see you tried to imitate me. I'll score it a five
out of ten. Keep
trying, you'll get it."
"Sure, dad, I'll do that."
I was pleased that I got through dinner without spaghetti stains
on my
shirt. Ditto for the ice cream and coffee. Finally, a successful
meal! We
played Monopoly for a couple of hours and the evening was finally
over. The
boys had fallen asleep so Jess and I carried them out to Amanda's
car, and I
stayed outside to see them off. After they left, I went back into
the
house. As I started to climb the stairs to go help dad, I tripped
and fell
all the way up. I heard a chuckle and looked up to see dad:
"My, my, Steve, you are having a bad day. Can you
stand?"
"Yes. I think I twisted my ankle again."
I got up and found that I was right. I had twisted the ankle. I
could
barely walk on it. Dad's medical training finally took over, and
he said:
"Never mind the kitchen. I'm taking you downstairs and
putting you to bed."
I couldn't refuse. I was tired and really sore. Dad put my left
arm around
his neck and helped me to my bedroom. Heck, he even helped me
change. He
opened my bed and tucked me in as if I were five. I motioned for
him to sit
and he shook his head no.
"Gee, dad, afraid I might rub off on you? I think that the
fates have
conspired against me and it's 'Get Steve Sloan Day.' You should
be
perfectly safe unless you change your name."
"I'll be right back. I have something to show you."
I was finally safe, tucked into bed and lying back on the pillow.
Dad
returned with a slip of paper and an ice bag. He sat and put the
ice bag on
my ankle. He gave me a rather compassionate look and said:
"Steve, your ankle should be all right and your bruises will
heal; but I
want you to stay in bed for a day, just to keep off your foot.
I'll stay
down here tonight just in case you need something."
I didn't protest. I asked him to hand me the pad and pen that
were on the
nightstand and he complied.
"Son, I think I know what caused all your problems
today."
He showed me the slip of paper and we both laughed and laughed. I
had to
agree with him, and I felt better knowing that tomorrow will be
all right.
I don't usually keep a diary or journal, but I had to get this on
paper so I
can read it over tomorrow. Otherwise I'd never believe it
happened. The
slip of paper was a page from dad's desk calendar. Today's date:
April
1st.
