“I’m in charge of patrol,” Goode announced inside the Carpe Diem, as if the restaurant’s name applied to her.
“And he’s not riding with us.
God only knows what will end up in the newspaper. You’re so hot on him, let him ride with your people. ”
Hammer got out her compact and glanced at her watch.
“Investigations doesn’t have ride-alongs. Ever,” West replied.
“It’s against department policy and always has been.”
“And what you’re proposing isn’t?” Goode demanded.
“Ride-alongs, volunteers, have been riding with patrol for as long as I’ve been here,” West reminded her in a strained voice.
Hammer got out her wallet, and studied the bill. Tm wondering if there’s some personal agenda here,” Goode went on.
West knew exactly what the bitch was implying. It had been duly noted around the department that Andy Brazil was rather good to look at, and West had never been famous for dating. The current theory circulating was that she had found a boy toy because she couldn’t get a man. Long ago, she had learned to ignore such gossip.
“The bigger issue,” Goode was saying, ‘is that volunteers don’t routinely ride with a deputy chief who hasn’t made an arrest or written a ticket in fifty years.
He’s probably not even safe out there with someone like you. ”
“We’ve handled some situations a lot better than patrol did,” West let her know.
Hammer had heard enough.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she spoke.
“Virginia, I’m going to approve your riding patrol with him. It’s an interesting idea. We might learn something new. I probably should have done the same thing a long time ago.”
She put money on the table. West and Goode did the same. Hammer nailed Goode with a look.
“You’ll do everything you can to help,” Hammer said to her.
Goode was cold as she got up and turned to West for one last remark.
“Hope there’s no problem. Remember, your rank is unclassified.”
“As is yours,” Hammer said to Goode.
“I can fire you without cause.
Just like that. ” She snapped her fingers. She wished Goode had gone into some other profession. Maybe undertaking.
Chapter Nine.
Chad Tiny could have used another undertaker at exactly that moment.
He had brilliantly outmaneuvered the Dodge Dart with its kamikaze old man rocking to country western. That round the funeral director had won without effort, but it had also been Tiny’s experience that when he was relaxed and not looking, he usually got his butt kicked. Tiny was creeping along again when he decided to light a cigar and fiddle with the radio at the same time.
Tiny did not notice the blond kid in uniform, and no gun, suddenly halting the procession as, of all things, a Fourth of July-looking float appeared on the horizon, running the lead limo off the road.
This was amazing. Sweet Jesus, this could not be so. Tiny slammed on brakes at the same moment his assistant’s inability to completely shut the hearse’s tailgate became known. The copper-tinted casket with deep satin lining slammed one way and ricocheted out the other like a lightweight alloy bullet. The casket and its occupant skittered over pavement and kept going, for, as luck would have it, the procession was momentarily on a slight hill.
X? Brazil had not been trained to handle such a situation and was on his radio in a flash as yet a second float glided into view. This was awful. It was his intersection. He would be blamed. His armpits were soaked and his heart was out of control as he tried to contain the disaster of the world. Men in dark suits with lots of rings and gold crowns on their teeth were flying out of stretch limousines, and chasing a run-away gaudy electroplated casket down the boulevard. Oh God. No. Brazil blew his whistle and stopped all traffic, including floats. He raced after the casket as it continued its lonely journey.
People stared at the cop chasing it. They cheered.
“I’ll get it,” Brazil called out to men in suits, as he sprinted.
The foot pursuit was brief, order restored, and a dapper man who identified himself as Mr. Tiny formally thanked Brazil for all to hear.