The years had passed and it was now June 2008 in the tinsel town of Remakewood.
Carter Remake was now forty-two years old and had been a detective for the Remakewood police department for the past twenty years. The pay wasn’t that great, hence the reason he lived in Room Number 3 on the second floor of the Bates Boarding House.
It was seven that morning and Carter tossed in turned in bed while he had a nightmare. This was a reoccurring nightmare that had haunted Carter for the past three years.
The alarm clock on the bedside table blared that annoying sound everybody loathes in the morning.
Carter woke up from his nightmare dazed and scared and it took a few seconds for him to realize that that annoying sound was his alarm.
He reached and tapped the snooze button of the alarm but the alarm kept blaring. Carter got pissed and grabbed the clock; yanked it and sparks exploded out of the wall. He threw the clock where it smacked and got impeded into the drywall joining eight other alarms from previous mornings.
Carter got up and sat on the edge of the bed. He yawned and scratched the top of his head while he woke up.
He slowly stood, walked to his bathroom while he scratched his ass and went inside to get ready for work.
Carter lived in a one-room apartment in the Bates Boarding House that contained a bed, dresser, closet, lazy boy chair, a small kitchenette, and a tiny bathroom.
The room looked old, run down, and the walls were in dire need of a fresh coat of paint. The floor was messy with clothes, pizza boxes and other food containers scattered all over the place. It was a dump.
Twenty minutes later, Carter walked out of his bathroom wearing his trademark outfit, which consisted of a tee shirt, blue jeans, sneakers, and a green Army field jacket with a “Remake” name tag.
He walked over to his dresser and shoved his 9mm Glock pistol into his holster tucked under his field jacket. He grabbed his detective’s gold shield and clipped it on his belt.
He grabbed a check off the dresser and shoved it into his left field jacket pocket.
He opened up the top drawer and removed a wad of cash and shoved it in his other field jacket pocket.
He looked at himself in the mirror at the dresser and thought he was the best detective in the world.
He strutted out of his apartment.
Carter walked down the hallway of the boarding house that where the old dirty wallpaper was peeling off the wall and the wooden floors creaked. And some of the wooden planks were rotten and ready for a foot to smash through.
He walked past Room 2 where a weird evil laugh echoed from inside. Carter always had the chills when he walked past that room and never saw the occupant.
Carter creaked down the hallway to Room 1. He removed the check from his left field jacket pocket. “Here’s my rent Misses Bates,” he said while he knocked on the door. He waited for a response from inside her apartment.
After a few seconds, the door didn’t open so Carter slid the check under the door.
“Stuck up old hag,” he said while he walked down the hallway and headed to the creaky stairs.
Carter walked out of the Bates Boarding House, which resembled the Psycho house where the outside was also in dire need of numerous fresh coats of paint.
The Bates Boarding House was once a beautiful home way back in 1918 but the years took its toll on the wooden structure.
He walked down the dirty concrete steps.
He headed over to a 1975 Ford Torino with a Starsky and Hutch red with white strip paint scheme parked by the curb.
He got inside his Torino, started it up with a varoom, shoved it into drive and sped away with back tires screeching leaving a trail of white smoke.
He raced his Torino down the street, as this was his usual style for leaving for work.
It was now eight fifty that morning.
Carter lay on the couch of Doctor Ernie Schwartz his psychiatrist.
Dr. Schwartz was bald and sported a white goatee. He sat in his chair and doodled some notes down on his notepad.
“Let's see Carter, last week you mentioned having the same repeated nightmares as a young boy on vacation with your aunt and uncle to Texas. You ran out of gas, went into a dilapidated house where a family of psychopaths with chain saws, tried to kill and eat you. Talk to me,” Dr. Schwartz said in a thick German accent.
“Well, my Aunt Rita and Uncle Wilbur adopted me after my parents were killed when the Poseidon cruise ship was tipped over by the tidal wave. They already had eleven children, but for some strange reason, Aunt Rita thought that raising kids would be cheaper by the dozen, so they adopted me,” Carter told him while he stared at the ceiling.
“Well Carter, your repeating nightmares might indicate you might be a freaking nut job afraid of new ideas,” Dr. Schwartz replied while he jotted down some more notes.
“Whew! Thanks doctor. I was starting to believe I was crazy,” Carter responded and looked relieved.
“All you need to do is stop having these repeating nightmares, have some fresh new nightmares, and you'll be fine. Just fine,” Dr. Schwartz said then stood up to indicate their session was now over.
“That's easy for you to say,” Carter responded while he got off the couch.
Dr. Schwartz held out his hand itching for his payment.
Carter reached inside his right field jacket pocket and removed the wad of cash. He dropped the cash into the doctor’s waiting hand.
Doctor Schwartz’s eyes lit up while he counted the wad of cash.
Carter headed to the door and left the office.
A little while later that morning, Carter raced his Torino down the streets of Remakewood. He weaved around traffic, and ran a few red lights where cars crashed into each other avoiding Carter.
Precinct 13 looked quiet where eight police cruisers were parked in front of the building.
Three police officers stood by a cruiser, which had four boxes of donuts on the trunk. They sipped their coffee from Styrofoam cups while they chatted and munched on a donut.
Carter’s Torino came flying over the incline at the end of the street. Sparks shot out from the front end when it smacked back down onto the street.
Carter raced his Torino at Precinct 13 then his back tires screeched and smoked while he did a half circle turn when he got to the parked police cruisers.
The three police officers jumped up on the trunk of the cruiser to avoid being crushed by the Torino. They plopped down on the boxes of donuts, and spilled coffee on their crotches. They all cringed in pain while the boiling hot coffee soaked through their pants.
They jumped off the cruiser and danced around in excruciating pain from their hot crotches.
Carter’s Torino stopped inches from the police officers and they were pissed they smashed their boxes of donuts.
Carter turned off his engine and got out of the car. He glanced at the three officers standing by the trunk of the police cruiser.
“Quit goofing off. We have criminals to catch,” Carter scolded them while he strutted off to the front entrance of the Precinct.
The three officers looked at Carter and they all gave him the one finger salute.
The donuts dropped off the butts of the officers and plopped to the street. The officers hurriedly picked up the donuts in accordance to the five second rule. They dropped the donuts back in the boxes.
Inside Precinct 13, Carter strutted through the opened office area like he was God’s gift to detectives.
Two police officers walked toward Carter drinking coffee and munching on a donut. “Quit goofing off. We have criminals to catch,” Carter scolded when he passed by them.
The two officers turned around and gave Carter the one finger salute.
Carter walked over and opened a glass door with “Government Corruption Dragnet” lettering and stepped inside the room.
Inside the Government Corruption Dragnet, there were hundreds of desks with detectives that were busy answering the ringing phones, and interviewing people.
There were other detectives that walked around and dropped off papers into the “In” boxes of other detective’s desks. This dragnet division had a annual budget of $4 million dollars and they were years away from stopping government corruption with our elected leaders in Washington D.C.
On one of the walls hung numerous pictures of Congressmen that were the targets of this dragnet division.
Carter always referred to Washington D.C as being the Washington District of Crooks.
Carter looked around at his detective colleagues while he walked through the bee hive of chaotic activity.
Carter looked at another wall and saw a digital sign with the “1,209,684 “Leads…0 Arrests” message that scrolled across the screen.
One of the detectives at his desk spotted Carter and shook his head in disapproval. “That loser always wears that same stupid outfit every day,” the detective muttered under his breath.
Carter walked to another wall where there was “Repeat Cases Dragnet” lettering on a glass door.
Carter opened the door and went inside his office.
Carter entered his twelve foot by twelve foot office that had a desk and two filing cabinets full of old repeat criminal cases.
On the wall by his desk, was a framed picture of Uncle Wilbur who was a retired Remakewood detective with his three brothers who were Remakewood police officers. It was Wilbur that got Carter a job in the Remakewood police department after he got his honorable discharge from the Army.
Carter walked over and sat behind his desk.
He picked up a file folder on the Ocean’s Eleven gang and started reading the facts about the heist.
Carter’s office door opened. “You did it again, Remake!” Chief Hightower, a fifty-three year old African-American midget yelled while he stormed into Carter’s office.
Carter got startled over the sound of Chief Hightower’s irritating voice. He looked around his office and didn’t see anybody. He shrugged it off and went back to reading his file folder.
“Remake! Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Chief Hightower yelled out.
Carter looked around and still didn’t see anybody. He stood up and saw Chief Hightower standing by his desk.
“Sorry Chief Hightower. I didn't see you,” Carter replied with a smirk as he intended his response to be an attack on the Chief’s small size.
“How am I going to explain to the Mayor of Remakewood, that you wasted his tax dollars by ruining the morning donuts?” Chief Hightower yelled at Carter.
“I’m sorry sir.”
Chief Hightower jumped up, and slammed two file folders down on Carter's desk. “Here’s more cases,” he said then walked away, stopped, turned around and looked pissed. “I'm sick of you! I hated you the first day I saw you. I said - Crap! Not another Remake! - I hated your uncle. I hated your uncle’s brothers. I hated all the Remakes that worked in Remakewood,” Chief Hightower yelled out.
Carter glanced down at the folders his boss slammed on his desk. “Sir, can I get a transfer into the Government Corruption Dragnet?”
“No!” Chief Hightower snapped back then left the office.
Carter sat down at his desk then picked up the two new case file folders. He looked at one with the Ladykillers Again folders then looked at The Italian Job Again file folders. “This cases should be easy as I already know how these cases will end,” Remake mumbled under his breath.
Carter looked extremely unhappy with his career when he heard the phones ringing and detectives talking in the Government Corruption Dragnet office.
He got up from his desk, walked over to his glass door and jealously stared at the detectives hard at work.
“I could really save America if I stopped government corruption,” Carter quietly muttered while he watched the bee hive of chaotic activity in the other room.