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.
Ts there anything else I can do to help? ” replied Brazil, the community-oriented cop.
“Yeah,” the funeral home director boomed.
“Get them mother-fucking floats outa my way.”
Floats were pulled over to make room, and none moved an inch for an hour. Not one
spectator went home, and others came as word traveled around. This was the best
Freedom Day in the history of Charlotte.
mA Goode, head of patrol, did not share quite the same enthusiasm, since traffic control
was her responsibility, and a runaway casket was not something she wanted to hear about
on the evening news. It was a matter she intended to resolve in person, but not until it
was dark out. Then she packed up her slim, soft leather satchel and headed to the parking
deck, where the city paid nineteen dollars a month for her reserved parking space. She
preferred driving her personal car back and forth to work, and got inside her black Miata.
Goode opened her satchel, dug for Obsession, and strategically sprayed. She dry-brushed
her teeth. She worked on her hair a bit, and threw the car in reverse, loving the engine