Adolf Sanchez: The Teriyaki Bandit
by Rob Lichter, inspired by a title by Russ Lichter


“Another one, detective,” said the beat cop to Detective Elwood Yunk. Yunk surveyed the scene. The sticky dollops on the floor, the sweet smell permeating his every nostril…oh yeah, this was another Teriyaki Bandit job. The crime spree had been going on for weeks, now. Every time it was the same: valuables missing and the crime scene coated in thick, delicious teriyaki sauce. It was baffling, not mention just plain nutso.
Detective Yunk pulled a rubber glove out of his pocket and squatted down. He lowered his gloved finger into the dark goo and pulled it out. Still warm, he though to himself. He held the glob up and touched it with the tip of his tongue. He closed his eyes and rolled the taste around in his mouth for a few seconds before spitting it out. He stood up again, taking control of the room.
“Eddie, Halifax, Warsh, go back to the station and wait for my instructions,” Yunk ordered. The three men marched out of the room. He pointed a teriyaki-smeared finger at the two remaining officers.
“You two, you’re with me. Meet me in my car. It’s the black one in front of the building, “ said Yunk, getting his car key out of his coat pocket. He threw the keys in a graceful arc across the room. Officer Brighton caught it and the two men left the room.
“Ms. Barbara,” said the detective, turning his attention to the victim, a matronly older woman with white, curly hair and a string of pearls around her neck. She interrupted him.
“Please, call me Hannah,” she said sweetly.
“Yes, Ma’am. Hannah, did you hear anything before you noticed the jewelry was missing?”
“No,” she replied, “It’s like I told the other officer. I was home all afternoon until I went to the fruit market downstairs to get some plums. When I came back to the apartment, the window was open and there was…” she began sobbing, “teriyaki sauce everywhere!”
“It’s OK, Ms. Barba- I mean, Hannah, we’ll get this guy. I’ve got my best men on thi-“ Officer Brighton appeared at the door. He was out of breath.
“Chief…” He held up the car key, “this key don’t fit!”
Yunk fished in his pocket and pulled out another key.
“That one’s my wife’s. Here, give it back.”
They tossed their keys to each other and Brighton was gone again.
“Anyway, Ms…Hannah, we’ll get this guy,” said Yunk, buttoning his coat. He tipped his hat at Hannah and swept out of the room.

Mr. Yomishi was whipping that chicken in that wok so fast you’d think it was oiled up. Which it was. But that didn’t stop the customers from gasping with delight at the culinary pyrotechnics of Japanese deliciousness that Yomishi put on display each and every day at his restaurant, Yomishi’s.
Yunk watched through the window for a few seconds, then strode in, took a seat against the wall, and put his feet up. Mr. Yomishi saluted him with a graceful flip of his knife. Yunk returned the salute and waited.
When all the customers had left and the busboys were vacuuming the floors and upturning the chairs, Yomishi appeared from the back room, wiping his hands on his stained apron.
“Detective! What bring you here? Why don’t you eat? You scare my customers away!” Mr. Yomishi said, taking a seat across from the detective.
“Missing any teriyaki, Yomishi?” asked Yunk, not blinking.
Yomishi’s eyes darted around the room. “What? Hahah, you joking, right? I keep all my sauce locked up, you know that!” babbled Yomishi.
Yunk pulled out a small, plastic bag. The rubber glove from Mrs. Bar- I mean, Hannah’s apartment was in it. He opened it up, pulled out the glove and pushed into Mr. Yomishi’s face.
“Where did it come from, Mr. Yomishi?” Yunk yelled, “Where’s he getting it from?!” Yomishi swatted the glove away.
“Alright! Alright! Leave me alone already! Man! Some Hispanic kid comes by once a week and buys my extra sauce jugs that I usually recycle. He pays me only if I don’t clean them. So I don’t have to clean them and I don’t have to recycle them? Win, win, am I right? So what, you gonna arrest me now cause I don’t recycle? Here,” Mr. Yomishi put his wrists out. “Go ahead, arrest me for environmental crime against nature! Put me in tree-hugger jail!”
Yunk tucked the glove back in the bag and the bag back in his pocket and his pocket back into his jacket. His jacket stayed where it was.
“Where can I find this…Hispanic kid?” he growled.
“He come around on Tuesday nights. That’s tomorrow. He come tomorrow night at 10:00, right when I’m closing,” said Yomishi.
Yunk stood up and walked to the exit. “Then I’ll be here tomorrow. At ten.” He reached the door and opened it. The little bell dinged. “I’ll be here…with bells on!” and he strode out into the night. As soon as he did this, he regretted saying the whole “with bells on” thing. It made sense in his mind, but saying it, it sounded kinda fruity.

Nevertheless, the following evening, Yunk was hunkered down next to a dumpster in the alley behind Mr. Yomishi’s. He checked his watch. It was 9:59. Just then, someone came down the alley. He was looking around nervously. He was also pushing an empty shopping cart. Which was weird. He stopped at the back door to the restaurant and knocked once, then three times, then five more times. The door finally swung open and the mystery man spoke to Mr. Yomishi, but Yunk couldn’t hear them. Mr. Yomishi disappeared and the reappeared with a 10 gallon tub. El Mysterioso put the tub in the cart. They repeated this illicit, yet non-sexual dance three more times until the cart was full. The door closed and the cart-wielding weirdo headed back to the street. Yunk made his move.
“Freeze, scuzzbag! Detective Yunk, NYPD!”
“¡Caray!” the mystery muchacho grunted and put his hands up in the air. Yunk cuffed the man and called for some black and whites. Not the cookies, police cars. Detective Yunk was not fond of sweets. Not at all. One car came and took away the suspect and a police van took the tubs as evidence.

In the interrogation room, the man in the alley revealed himself to be none other than Paco Sanchez, brother of shadowy suspected gang leader, Adolf Sanchez.
“What’s with the salsa, Paco? Gonna make some Japanese burritos?” Questioned Yunk, circling Paco.
“That's racist, man," whined Paco, "I don’t have to tell you nothing. I want to see my lawyer.” Detective Yunk deflated. Why did they always DO that? He groaned and pulled out his cell phone.
“Fine. What’s his number?” Yunk asked, poised to dial.
“I don’t know, my brother Adolf has it. I call him, OK?” asked Paco.
“Fine, what’s his number?” asked Yunk. Paco told him the number and the detective dialed.
“Hola?” answered a voice on the other line.
“Yeah, uh..hola. Mr. Sanchez, this is Detective Yunk at the po-“ and then the line went dead. Yunk looked it the phone uncomprehendingly. Then his years of detective training kicked in.
“That was Adolf Sanchez! I have his number on the phone!” He hit an intercom button on the wall.
“Billingsly! Get in here!” he yelled into the speaker. Ten seconds later, Officer Billingsly entered the room. Yunk gingerly put the phone into Billingsly’s hand. “Get this to forensics right away and find out what the last number dialed on this phone was. Then find the address it’s attached to! Go!”
Billingsly left the room, waited for the door to close behind him and then sat down at his desk. He opened the phone, hit REDIAL and copied the number down. Then he opened Google on his computer and searched the phone number and copied that down, too. He gathered the paper and the phone and walked back into the interrogation room. Yunk was threatening Paco.
“…by tomorrow, we’ll know EXACTLY how to call your brother and a week after that, well have his address! You’d better squeal, little man! You're brother's dirty. In my book that makes YOU dirty.”
Billingsly tapped Yunk on the shoulder, which made him jump and make a little “YIP!” sound. “Don’t DO that, Billingsly! What do you want?” barked Yunk. Billingsly held out the phone and paper.
“Outstanding! Let Freihoffer in forensics know I’m recommending him for a promotion!”

The cruisers pulled up in front of the little house. It was small, but kept up. You could tell the owner took pride in the place. Its lawn was well-manicured and there was a small vegetable garden on the side.
“Come out, Adolf,” called Yunk from his megaphone from behind his crusier. We know you’re in there. Plus, we think you might be the Teriyaki Bandit!” The other officers nodded to each other, knowingly.
The front door opened slowly. The sound of cocking guns filled the still, afternoon air. A man with a Hitler moustache opened the door. The sweet smell of soy permeated the area. The officers used their sleeves to filter the air. Adolf walked out slowly, his arms raised. Two officers ran in and tackled him. Adolf put up no fight. He was brought in and arraigned.
Yunk went to his cell. It was the first time he’d ever seen Adolf Sanchez up close. His moustache was painted on.
“What’s with the ‘stache, Adolf?” Yunk asked.
“Que?” answered Sanchez.
“The face, Sanchez. This thing,” Yunk pointed to his philtrum (look it up). Sanchez wiped his lip, looked at his finger and seemed genuinely surprised and amused. He sucked his finger, wiped the rest of the moustache off and sucked that, too.
“Eez Teriyaki, Detectivo,” explained Sanchez. “I joos love it so much, sometime I get it on my face and I don’t notice!”
“So…” fumfered Yunk, “Why are you called Adolf?”
“My parents. They had issues,” answered Sanchez.
"Why, Sanchez? Why the burglaries? Gang warfare not enough for you?" taunted Yunk.
"Gang warfare? Que demonios! Ok, I did the robbing, but I never did no gang stuff, man!" said Sanchez, defiantly.
Back in the squad room, Yunk sat at his desk, opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a small flask. He unscrewed it and was about take a drink when Billingsly poked his head out from behind his computer monitor.
"Detective, nice work on the teriyaki bandit collar! Funny thing though. I was poking around here and found something funny." He spun the monitor around so Yunk could see it. "I have two listings for Adolf Sanchez here. One is the place we raided and the other is the middle of New Little Gangville. You think maybe there's two fellas names Adolf Sanchez and this other fella might be the notorious shadowy gang leader and we just, by sheer coincidence caught the teriyaki bandit who happens to have the same name as this other guy?"
Yunk let this sink in. The room was quiet for an uncomfortably long time. Yunk put the flask down, stood up and walked over to Billingsly's desk. He leaned down, his face near the monitor. His hand reached down and pulled the plug out of the wall and the monitor went black instantly. Yunk snatched his flask off his desk and swept out of the room.
Sanchez was found guilty of 13 robberies and sentenced to six months minimum security prison. He was not found guilty of buying the teriyaki tubs because apparently, that’s not illegal.
The other Adolf Sanchez is still at large.