Detective Eggsby Quin is a masterful genius, but as he stood in front of the burned down motel, not even his quick brain could work out the clever trick before him.
“Chocheski, tell me again,” he said, eyes not moving from the ashen sight.
“Well, was ‘bout twenny minutes ago the fire started, an’ the body inside had prob’ly been dead, I dunno, 2 weeks a’ most. So it’s clear tha’ the fire didn’ kill him, yeah?”
Eggsby sniffed.
“Anyway, s’impossible to tell where the fire stared and s’nothing wrong wi’ the body an’ all. All we got is the balloon.”
Eggsby gazed at the bright yellow balloon floating in the middle of the wreckage and thought. 3rd balloon this week with a body under it and yet nothing. Suddenly he had a strange idea.
“Chocheski?”
“Yeah, Eggs?”
“Has there ever been anything in the balloons in previous cases?”
“Nothin’ but blank paper.”
“You sure?”
“Mhmm, checked them m’self.” He crossed his arms. “Why?”
“Give me your badge.” Eggsby held out his hand, narrowing his eyes at the taunting yellow balloon.
Chocheski sighed. “I dunno… won’ it look bad if I jus’ hand you my badge all willy nilly-”
“Joseph,” Eggsby interrupted. “The badge.”
Eggsby hopped over the rubble towards the balloon, a police badge in hand. He had no idea if popping the balloon would make a difference this time around, but he had to do something lest idleness drove him insane.
Reaching the balloon, Eggsby pressed in the pin and hardly flinched when it popped, for he was more engrossed in the small slip of paper that fluttered from it. He was pleased to see that this paper had writing on it, but less pleased to see what it read:
Tick Tock, Eggsby
And everything exploded around him.
mediocrity 
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