Sergeant Palmer knocked on the door of the apartment. He had to do it twice before he received a response. 'Who's there?' said a voice inside the apartment.
'This is the police, Ma'am. We need you to open the door. We need to see that you're alright,' he said.
'Please wait a minute. I need to put on some clothes,' said the voice.
Sergeant Palmer gave his companion, Constable Conner, a look. This was the thirty-second apartment in this block. Most of the tenants were retired and this was the tenth time they had had to wait so the occupant could put on some clothes.
'Do you see a pattern developing here, Constable,' asked the sergeant with a smile. 'Either these people run around in the raw most of the time or, they were expecting someone else!'
Constable Conner, who had his clipboard ready to take another notation, gave a chuckle. 'Yes. I see the pattern. It seems to be just sex and frolicking, day after day!'
'Makes you look forward to retirement, doesn't it?'
The constable didn't get the chance to answer because a little old lady in her 60s opened the door. She had her dress on inside out. 'Hello, Ma'am. I'm Sergeant Palmer and this is Constable Connor. Your caretaker reported that an intruder has been seen somewhere in the block, You are ---?' He waited until she gave him her name, then he asked for proof of identity. Constable Connor jotted all this information down on his clipboard and checked against his list. The sergeant, on his quick look through the apartment opened the door to the balcony. There he found, a man, dressed only in a woman's floral dressing gown, trying to hide himself behind a large pot plant in a corner.
'There's a man on the balcony pretending to be a pot plant,' said the sergeant when he came back inside. 'Does he belong to you?'
'Yes,' said the old lady. 'He's my brother!'
'Your brother! Well, you had better get your brother back inside before he gets frostbite,' suggested the sergeant.
'Oh I will, thank you.' She showed them out and closed the door.
'Want to bet me five dollars these ones do have clothes on?' asked Sergeant Palmer as he knocked on the next door down the hall.
'You're on,' said Constable Connor.
'Who's there?' said a woman's voice within.
'This is the police, Ma'am. Would you please open the door?'
There was no immediate response. Then they heard whispering. Someone giggled. 'Please wait a minute,' said the voice.
The door crashed open and standing there was this curvaceous woman in her early 40s. Except for a long Collingwood scarf wound around her neck, she was naked. The mouths of both policemen dropped wide open in surprise. 'Please don't arrest me, Mr Policeman,' said the woman in a breathless, little girl voice. 'I'll be good, very good, I promise!'
Then she removed the scarf slowly, seductively. They watched, mesmerized. She took an end of scarf in each hand, and threw the loop over The Sergeant's head, pulled him into the apartment and slammed the door.
Outside the constable waited patiently. He heard the sergeant splutter, indignantly: 'Take your hands off me, woman. I'm a real policeman and if you don't stop, I'll arrest you for solicitation!' There was a complete silence for a minute or so then bedlam, as if everyone decided to talk at the same time. The door opened and a ruffled Sergeant Palmer emerged, his cap askew. His face was red with embarrassment. 'Write down Frank and Eileen James on your clipboard,' he said as if nothing had happened. He straightened his clothes.
'You owe me five dollars,' said Constable Connor.
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