"Schanke-Panky, or...In the Nick of Time" 01/02
by Nancy Kaminski and Julia Kocich

Time: Sunday evening about 9 pm. through dawn on Monday
Place: The Caddy, the precinct, and Nick's loft

All characters used with permission.




"Get your butts into the office! War or no war, you've got a job to
do!" Captain Stonetree hung up his phone after a rather confusing
conversation with one half of his best detective team. He had no idea
what an "FK war" was, and he didn't care. He had a precinct to run,
and by golly, those two had to do their part in running it.

==============

Sighing, Schanke put down the phone and started getting dressed for
work. "Geeze, Myra, after all the business FK has generated for the
Metro Toronto Police Gifte Shoppe, not to mention polishing the
reputation of the force in general, you'd think they'd allow us more
vacation time for an FK war. But noooo," he complained, "we hafta go
to work tonight! And the war's just started! This just majorly
stinks."

Myra draped a tie around her husband's neck and kissed him fondly.
"Now, now, Don. Remember who signs the paycheck. We don't get any
money from the fans, you know that. It's just for tonight."

Schanke tied his tie and kissed Myra back. "Yeah, I know. And with the
car in the shop, we need that paycheck. Okay, I'm off to serve and
protect--as soon as Nick gets here in the Land Cruiser." He trudged
down the stairs to the living room to wait for his partner. He had
been feeling weird all day, flashes of angst, sudden aversions to
patches of sunshine, and strangest of all, a loss of apetite. He hoped
he wasn't coming down with the flu--that would make helping out in the
war even harder than ever.

================

Nick slammed the phone down and frowned. Damn, called into work! He
hoped the odd feelings he'd been experiencing all day weren't the
harbinger of another confusing out-of-body experience, especially if
he was going to be at work. They'd been trying to get him to take
vacation days for the last two years, he grumped,  and now that he
needed them, he had to work. Life just wasn't fair! And now he even
had to pick up Schanke because his car was on the fritz, yet again.

War was hell, he decided. "I'm outta here, ladies," he announced to
the Knighties sitting in his living room. "Duty calls."

Amid general calls of "Bye, Nick," and "Don't get shot," he descended
the stairs to the garage and his faithful Caddy, At least he always
had the Caddy, the one constant in his sometimes confusing life. He
drove into the night to pick up his partner and go to work.

================

There was a sort of blurring in front of Nick's eyes, a peculiar
wrenching sort of feeling in his stomach, and then all was still
again. But wait---why was he on the passenger side of the car? He
looked down at himself. Why was he wearing a brown polyester suit? Why
did he have a wedding ring on his left hand? He raised a hand to his
head. WHY DIDN'T HE HAVE ANY HAIR? The realization dawned on him---IT
HAD HAPPENED AGAIN. Those weird feelings he had had during the day had
been the onset of the switch, just like they had been when he briefly
occupied Natalie's oh-so-lovely body. Only this time, he was...

Donald G. Schanke.

The Caddy swerved suddenly. Nick clutched the dashboard, painfully
aware of his now-mortal status. He steeled himself to look to the
left, and there he was, that is, there his body was, with a
particularly klewless look on his face.

Yup. Schanke had just realized he wasn't in Kansas any more.

========

Donald G. Schanke managed to bring the Caddy lurching to a halt more
or less by the curb. He stared down at himself. Instead of his
favorite brown suit he was wearing black trousers, a rather smartly
tailored gray sportcoat, and a black silk shirt with no collar. He was
sitting behind the wheel of the Caddy. He reached up and felt his
face---he needed a shave. He added two and two and reached the
inevitable four; he was...

Nicholas B. Knight.

His world whirled momentarily, then settled down into what might
possibly be considered normal if he were in his own body. He forced
himself to look to his right, and saw said body sitting where it ought
to be, where *he* ought to be. "Man oh man oh man..." he moaned.
"What...?"

"Schank, don't panic," he heard his own voice say. "It's me, Nick,
over here, and you're in me. I mean, I'm me and you're you, we just
traded bodies. Take a deep breath. It'll be okay."

"Niiick," Schanke wailed, "What's happening????" An unfamiliar feeling
of angst washed over him.

"I don't know, Schank, but this happened to me before, and it fixed
itself in about 24 hours. Hopefully this'll work out the same way. In
the meantime, you've got to be me, and I've got to be you. Don't let
anyone know we've switched, okay?"

Schanke said suspiciously, "Whaddaya mean, it happened to you before?
Who'd you switch with?"

Nick, or rather Schanke's body, blushed. "Um, just someone I know. No
need to go into details."

There's one thing you can say about Schanke--he adapts quickly to
weird situations. Once the initial shock wore off, he started testing
his new equipment. "Geeze, Nick, you've got good eyes. And ears. I
feel like a million bucks!" He smoothed his hands over Nick's unruly
locks. "And I've got hair again! This is great!"

"Don't get too used to it, partner, it isn't permanent," Nick
cautioned, mentally crossing his fingers. "In the meantime, let me
tell you a few things..."

But Schanke wasn't listening. "I just thought of something -- everyone
at work is gonna be treating me like they treat you! Fear and
admiration on all sides! Anything I want to do, they'll just put it
down to your investigative genius and let me do it! I can park
anywhere I want and won't get a ticket! This is gonna be sooooo neat!"

"Schank! Snap out of it and listen to me! THIS IS IMPORTANT!" The
final yell got through to Schanke's newly sensitive ears and he
finally turned his attention to his partner.

"What?"

"While you're, um, using *my* body, you've gotta keep out of the sun.
That's Rule Number One. Rule Number Two is, don't eat or drink
anything! You'll get sick--believe me, been there, done that. Rule
Number Three is, don't get mad. If someone irritates you, get the heck
out of there! Think you can remember that?" Nick really wished the
whammy had traveled with him on his metaphysical journey--it would
sure come in handy right now. He could only hope that his mostly
sensible partner would cooperate. The last thing he needed was a
vamped-out Schanke terrorizing the squadroom if someone stepped on his
foot. He started imagining all the trouble that could happen if
Schanke got carried away, and shuddered. He was only thankful that he
had drunk a full bottle just before he started out for work. At least
Schanke was operating on a full tank, and wouldn't be getting hungry
anytime soon. Probably.

Schanke was frowning. "Yeah, yeah, the ol' allergy thing. I'll
remember." The frown deepened. "I suppose I'll have to drink one of
those spartan-diet-megashakes, or whatever the heck it is you eat.
Yucko."

Nick said quickly, "Hopefully we'll be back to normal before it's
dinnertime." This time he crossed his toes. Schanke was remarkably
prehensile.

Schanke poked a finger at Nick. "Now here're MY rules. Rule Number
One---no fooling around with Myra! She's a hot babe, and she's MY hot
babe. Rule Number Two---don't get me in trouble! If you act like you,
I'll be in hot water faster than you can say 'souvlaki.' And Rule
Number Three---" He floundered for a bit, "---Rule Number Three is, no
fooling around with Myra!"

Nick said, "That's Rule Number One."

"Well, it's important enough to be listed twice."

"Not to worry, Schank, I'll be good." He pointed to the road. "Let's
go to work."

=================

Continued in Part 2"Schanke-Panky, or...In the Nick of Time" 02/02
by Nancy Kaminski and Julia Kocich

Time: Sunday evening about 9 pm. through dawn on Monday
Place: The Caddy, the precinct, and Nick's loft

All characters used with permission.




When the two detectives entered the squadroom, there was a moment of
confusion as Nick tried to sit in his desk, and Schanke in his. They
danced around each other as they belatedly remembered their masquerade
and maneuvered for the correct desk. There was a smattering of
applause as they disentangled and made it to the appropriate seats.
Nick blushed again, and tried to look like his partner. What would
Schanke be doing now?

Getting a coffee and donut, of course. His brain cringed, but his stomach
growled. Conflicted, he stood up and went to the coffee urn, pouring a
cup of the most evil-smelling liquid---no, wait, it didn't smell half
bad...and the donuts looked sorta good, too. He sipped and nibbled,
and returned to his desk with a beatific smile on his face.

This might not be so bad, after all.

Captain Stonetree poked his head out of his office. "Schanke!"

In unison, the two detectives raised their heads and said, "Yeah,
Cap?" then looked at each other in confusion. "Yeah, Cap?" Nick said
again, making a furtive gesture to Schanke to shut up.

"In my office! Now!"

In due course, Nick found out what it was like to be his partner. He
spent the next ten minutes being lectured by his irate captain about
his, or rather, Schanke's, recent tardiness and the extra shift he was
going to have to put in to make it up. Nick tried to exert his usual
boyish charm to calm Stonetree down, but to no avail. Much to his
chagrin that particular gift had apparently been left in his former
abode, along with his whammy and his intolerance for bad office
coffee.

When he finally made his escape by muttering promises to be on time in
the future (HA! Like Schanke could ever be on time, unlike Nick, who
was pathologically punctual) he found his very-married partner
chatting up the new clerk, a particularly winsome redhead named Bambi.
Horrified, not only for Schanke's marriage vows but for his own
untouchable-man-of-mystery reputation, he hurried to intervene.
"Nick--c'mon, we've got to, uh, do some interviews on the, uh, the
Smith case."

Schanke smiled Nick's most engaging and boyish smile. Never taking his
eyes off the curvaceous clerk, he said, "I don't remember the Smith
case."

Nick grabbed his arm. "Yes you do--it's the SMITH CASE," he hissed.
"Now!"

Schanke sighed. "Oh, okay, whatever you say, Ni--uh, Schanke." To the
girl he said, "Ciao, baby!" and winked.

Nick shuddered. He was never going to live that one down. He would
have to be twice as remote and mysterious as usual for at least a
month to blot it out. Or maybe whammy the entire precinct.

Schanke started towards the coffee urn. "Let me just get a coffee and
a..."

"Rule Number Two!" Nick warned.

"Oh, okay," Schanke grumped, allowing himself to be led towards the
parking lot. "It does smell pretty bad today--they must need to clean
the pot or something." He cocked his head. "Do you hear something
thumping, Nick? Man, that's weird..."

"Pay no attention to it," Nick gritted as he hustled Schanke to the
Caddy. There was another dance as they both headed for the driver's
seat. "I drive," Nick announced.

"But Nick, aren't we supposed to act like each other? I should drive,"
Schanke said persuasively. "It wouldn't look right for Schanke to be
driving the Caddy."

Nick parked his now-ample rump against the driver's side door. "No. I
drive. You may have my body, but there's no way you're getting my
car." He held out his hand. "Give me the keys."

His partner held them up out of reach. "Nope. I drive."

Nick made an abortive jump for the keys, and discovered the true
meaning of the saying, 'white men can't jump.' At least, Schanke's
body couldn't. He landed, wheezing a bit, and threatened, "I'll tell
Myra you were flirting with that new clerk."

Schanke said smugly, "It wasn't me, it was you. I was just trying to
help your social life, ol' bud o' mine. Bambi's all set to go out with
you. You can thank me later."

"Grrrr," Nick growled, and gave up. "Okay, you drive. But if you wreck
the car again..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You'll kill me." Grinning (Nick was beginning to
really hate his own smug face), Schanke climbed behind the wheel and
said, "Where to? And what the heck is the Smith case?"

"There *is* no Smith case---I made that up to get you out of there and
save my reputation! We are going to drive around Toronto until our
shift is over, or until the Caddy runs out of gas, or until we're back
in our own bodies again--whichever comes first. Anything to avoid
running into anyone we know, or having to do any actual police work."

"Shoot, Nick, I wanted to get my chance at being the Golden Boy for a
change," Schanke complained as he threw the Caddy in gear. "Can't we
at least interrogate someone? So I can try to be scary or something?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Schank---too much chance of us
being found out. Heck, we couldn't even remember to answer to the
right name back there. I think we need to be somewhere a little bit
less exposed."

"How about going to the Happy Souvlaki? Or the loft? I'm sure our
factions can help out. Maybe someone's got some ideas on what's
happening here."

Nick thought back to the bedlam that ensued when he was Natalie, and,
all things considered, decided he'd rather face this crisis in the
privacy of his own car, even if he couldn't drive it. Besides, Schanke
still didn't know about the whole vampire thing. Keeping Schanke here
in the car with him gave Nick a slightly better chance of keeping that
secret.

"Hey, how about dropping in at the Raven?" Schanke said suddenly as
they passed Richmond Street.

"Aughgh! No! Drive!" Nick slumped in his seat. It was going to be a
long night.

============

Picture, if you will, Gentle Readers, our two brave but mismatched
detectives endlessly circling the vast metropolis of Toronto on the
401 beltway. Picture Nick, in the corporeal aspect of Donald G.
Schanke, trying to divert his hapless partner from discovering the
more unusual properties of his borrowed body. Picture Schanke, in the
corporeal aspect of Nicholas B. Knight, finally getting to sit in the
driver's seat, glorying in his unusually acute night vision, more-
than-adequate hair, and occasionally bothered by odd thumping noises
and snatches of conversations in passing vehicles.

Picture Nick getting more and more desperate as dawn approaches
without having his mind shuffled back into its proper container. It is
a dire situation, indeed, Gentle Reader, and getting direr all the
time.

============

After the fifth circuit of the city and the imminent approach of dawn,
Nick finally gave in. "Schanke, we've got to get to the loft."

Schanke answered, "I thought you wanted to keep this all under wraps."

"Yeah, well, we've got to get you--*my body*--under wraps soon, or
I'll have the unique privilege of seeing myself burn to a crisp
without actually participating in the event. The loft is the best
place to see to your, er, special needs."

"Yeah, yeah, special needs," Schanke grumbled, but he steered the
Caddy towards the next exit and Gateway Lane. "I still think you
exaggerate that whole deal, Nick."

"You won't if you don't step on it a bit," Nick answered, getting
nervous as a tiny streak of pink decorated the eastern horizon.
"Besides, I've gotta get out of this car. My back's killing me!"

"Welcome to my world," Schanke retorted. "Remember that the next time
you make me stay in the car while you go and shmooze with Janette in
the Raven."

Finally the loft loomed before the Caddy's nose, and they were safely
inside the garage. When Schanke shut the engine off, he could have
sworn he heard a *lot* of random thumping coming from somewhere above
his head. "Nick, you've got to get these ears checked. I hear that
thumping stuff again."

"Ignore it!" Nick advised for the umpteenth time.  He started
improvising. "It's, uh, like tinnitus, you know, some people hear
whining noises all the time? I hear thumping. It's nothing, really."
He wondered how long Schanke would buy that explanation.

"Man oh man, how do you stand it?" Schanke complained as they climbed
the stairs. He threw open the door to the loft. "Honey, I'm home,"
Schanke yelled. Nick winced as every Knightie's eyes riveted on his
partner.

"Hi, guys," Nick said weakly as they stared at them. "We've got a
problem..."

THE END