My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur, I'm a cop. I walk the comic strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their artists. Most cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet(DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM).

The Dentist for our Narnia Police Department, Dianne Hunter, called me and wanted me to stop by her office. She said it was important and to bring Sgt. Hanger. Cliff was always nervous around Dianne and found any excuse for not making an appointment with her. This time, however, was business and he drove me over in his squad car. We arrived at Dianne's office and Cliff cautiously looked inside. The front desk was empty and Dianne was not in sight. With a sigh of relief, Cliff and I walked in. A light, young voice called out behind us.

"You're just in time, Detective Minotaur, Sgt. Hanger." Jessica, Dianne's assistant and receptionist, says as she blocks any escape. "We've had a cancellation and you, Sgt. Hanger are overdue for yours." She steps forward and takes him by the arm. In shock, Cliff is unable to resist.

"B-B-but Miss...?" is all he can say.

"Just call me, Jessica." she says, as she guides him to the next room.

"Good work, Joe." says Dianne as she joins me.

"Poor Cliff." I say. "He won't call her Jessica. He's a stickler about calling people by their last name, if he doesn't know them all that well."

"That could work out even better." says Dianne. "You don't know her full name, do you, Joe?"

"Now that you mention it, I don't." I say and ask, "What is it?"

"Her name is, Jessica Darling."

(DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM. DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM DAH!!)

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. I walk the comic strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their artists. Most cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet (Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum).

It was approaching noon, Sgt. Hanger and I needed to find something to eat besides the cafeteria food at the Narnia Police station.

“There’s a little theme café opening up a few blocks over, Joe.” Cliff says. “I noticed it this morning on my way in.”

“Well, anything’s gotta be better than the meatloaf they serve downstairs.” I say. “Let’s roll.”

We got in Cliff’s squad car. It was a late model MacGuffin with the Police Intercepter package. I hate budget cutbacks. We headed out and soon found ourselves(19 minutes later) parked near(a block and a half from) the café. The café was small and some of the people inside were strangely dressed. Like Cliff said, it was a theme café. We sat down and prepared to order. The waitress soon appeared and told us of the lunch specials.

“Welcome, Gents.” she says. “I must appologize, but we’ve just opened up and we only have a limited menu. Our cook, my husband, is really good and he can do a lot with what we do have.”

“Well, what have you got?” Cliff asks.

She says, “Spam.”

“Spam?” I ask.

“Yeah, Spam.” she says. “But don’t worry! We can slice it really thin and call it Canadian Spam Bacon. We can slice it thick and call it a Spam steak. We can put it in a bun with a slice of pineapple. That’s very popular in Hawaii. We can grind it up, add mayonaise and call it Spam salad, even add red pepper and call it Deviled Spam. We can put it in the shredded potatoes and call ‘em, Spam Hash Browns.”

“But, I don’t like Spam.” says Cliff.

“You don’t like Spam!” she says. She stands there shaking her pencil at him. “We’ve been setting this café up for three days and all that time, I’ve eaten nothing but Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, baked beans, Spam, Spam, Spam and Spam!”

The other patrons join in with the chant of, “Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam…”

The waitress turns and threatens them with her pencil, “SHADDUP!! I’ve had enough of you lot!” She turns back to us, “Bloody Vikings! Are you going to order or not.”

I shake my head and say, “No, because I can’t think of a single food I would hate more than Spam.” Sgt. Hanger and I both stand in agreement. We head for the door.

One of the Vikings at a nearby table turns to me and says, “A wise choice, Sir. Perhaps next time, you should order the Lutefisk.”

(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum. Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum DAHH!!)

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. I walk the comic strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their artists. Most cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet (Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum).

Over the course of one day, two Fey creatures and three humans went missing. Four witnesses reported a giant fly asking an SA man for his clothes in front of Five Hammond Street at six PM on the Seventh of August. Eight of us followed up on the nine leads provided. I was almost given a ten count after nearly being squished by a fly that weighed as least eleven tons. Twelve hours later I woke up in a hospital. With thirteen drugs coursing through my veins, I felt like I was fourteen again. It took fifteen minuntes to fill out the sixteen pages of paperwork to get me out of there. It was seventeen blocks back to my office and eighteen people asked if I was alright. That’s when I realized that I was still wearing the hospital gown.

(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum. Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum DAHH!!)

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. Most cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum). I work the comic strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their creators.

Monday morning rolled around. With the world turning, it looked as if the skies the limit.

I passed a street angel on my way to the Narnia Police Department. She was clad in leather and lace. She looked to be on the edge of seventeen.

“Talk to me.” she said as I neared. Her voice was like that of a songbird. In her hands she held a blue lamp. I could feel the storm coming.

‘Don’t stop.’ I told myself, but I was free fallin’. This gypsy had to be full of little lies. She was second hand news, a gold dust woman. If I didn’t stand back, I’d be in over my head. Finally I said, “I can’t wait.”

This Bella Donna steps into my path and says, “Think you will go insane? Rock a little, Detective. The fly you seek is everywhere. As long as you follow it, you will only find a whole lotta trouble. What makes you think you’re the one to solve the missing persons’ case?”

“Everyone needs their dreams.” I say. “If anyone falls, a victim of this fly, my wild heart will be like rooms on fire. The sisters of the moon will not be able to hide it. I will search everywhere. Outside the rain will fall on you, my desert angel. I will find those people, you can hold me to that.”

“I know where you can find the fly.” she says like a nightbird singing.

“Tell me where,” I demand, “or you can go your own way.”

“Tusk, Tusk, Detective. It’s near a rose garden.” she says as she pulls the chain from my heart. “In Fleetwood… Mac.”

(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum. Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum DAHH!!!)

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. Most cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum). I work the comic strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their creators.

While I was concentrating on locating two missing children, an adult male, a Dryad and a Succubus, reports continued to come in about a huge fly casting its shadow over the city. Fishing for it was out of the question. There wasn’t a net big enough to catch it. The Mayor as usual, was worried about the poles, I mean, Polls. I knew if this went on for much longer, I was going to be on the hook. It was as if the fly was baiting me. Hoping for another chance to strike. Personally, I’d rather be frying.

Our only choice was to lure it away from the city. We needed something it couldn’t resist. The fly was intercepting trash trucks before they reached the barges or landfill. We decided to pick up the papers and the trash with moving trucks instead. If we could just get enough to fill one barge, we might tease it into following as we trolled down river. The plan was to take the barge out to sea and release it, hoping the fly would stay with it. Both the tug and the barge were the biggest we could find.

“Detective?” asks Sgt. Hanger. “The barge is full and ready to go.”

“Well done, Sergeant.” I say. “The wind is shifting.” I could see the rising stench arcing through the air. Soon, it was wafting its way into the city. Cliff and I were on the tugboat pushing the barge. I turned to the pilot. “Let’s go Captain.”

The pilot’s name was Oly Svensen, his first mate was his wife, Lena. “Ya, fer sure, Detective. Okay Lena, cast offa.”

“You betcha, Oly.” she replied. Moring lines were thrown from the pier and brought on the tug. The barge is attached to the front of the tug by a tow cable.

The pilot eased the tug and barge into the center of the river and maintained control. Soon, a huge shadowy figure appears in the skyline of the city.

“Here it comes, Detective.” shouts Cliff.

I nod to the pilot. He bumps up the throttles on the tug to increase speed. The tug and barge throw up sprays of water. All other traffic has been banned from the river to give us room to maneuver. Now the fly can be seen rising up, following our scent trail. To keep us from being swamped, the captain slows the tug and the tow cable plays out as the barge continues to increase its distance from us. 200…, 300… 400 yards of line played out. The huge fly decended on the barge and picked it up without any trouble. Its wings beat furiously against the weight of the barge. The line went tight and the tug lurched ahead. The winch brake strained to slow down the line feeding out. 600…, 700 yards and more. The huge fly yanked on the barge. The line was whipping around like a schoolgirl playing jump rope. The line snapped and the fly/barge faded over the horizon. The tug soon settled back into the water.

Cliff put his hand to my back. “Sir?”

“Don’t worry, Sergeant.” I say. “He got away and nobody will believe our story.”

(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum. Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum, DAHH!)