droplet of sweat sting his eye. He blinked twice. In his peripheral vision, he thought he saw a figure at the end of the cedar deck, and he shot up from the water. Called out in warning. Armed himself with a beer bottle and prowled the planks till he was convinced he was alone. Whatever it was, it had vanished.
9
Scars and Stripes
“Oh, brother,” Chief Braddock chided. “Not this story again.”
Turney bristled. His superior had arrived with measured strides, keys swinging in rhythm from his belt. Although white hair showed at his red temples and wrinkles carved his rawhide cheeks, he moved like a younger man. Turney stood and let his sleeve drop back over his arm. “Hello, Chief.”
“Tell me, Sarge, whose ears are you twisting this time?”
Shoving in his shirt, Turney felt his cheeks grow hot. He’d faced ridicule before, learned to keep his trap shut, but with Josee at his side he felt an urge to defend himself—an urge he hadn’t experienced this strongly since before his fiancée’s passing.
Milly. Josee. Different in lots of ways, but both had that feisty streak.
Time to speak up. He opened his mouth. Stood there like a confounded fool.
“Full of the usual wit, I see.” Braddock turned. “And you must be Josee.” His eyes flashed reproach, then dalliance as they roved from her attire to cheekbones to upturned eyes. “Josee Walker?”
“Maybe. Who are you?”
“Don’t tell me you’re buying Sarge’s drivel.”
“You know, we were having a private conversation here.”
Sergeant Turney gave a silent hurrah. He knew what it was like to be on the other side of Josee’s attitude.
Let him have it, kiddo
.
The chief rested his hand on a belt buckle where shiny flint letters spelled
Big Juan
. “I’m Chief Braddock. You know what that means? It means I come and go as I see fit. I’ve been around this area a long time, and nothing’s private, not to me, not in this city.” He spun a chair and straddled it.
Turney said, “Josee and I were just finishin’ up a report.”
“That so? Looked to me like you were about to launch into one of your stories. Let me guess, the one about the snake?”
“Actually, she—”
“Listen, he’s yanking your chain, Josee.” Braddock wagged a censuring finger. “Sarge tells a good story. Don’t get me wrong. But he’d be better off saving his ideas for some campy late night TV show,
X-Files
or somethin’.”
“TV?” Josee gibed. “I yanked the plug on the great surrogate mother years ago.”
“Surrogate mother?”
“Yep. Baby-sitting America’s kids, telling them how to look, how to act, how to—”
“As I was saying …” Careful to leave his badge visible and gleaming, the chief folded his arms and flicked aside her interruption like lint from his starched uniform. “Years ago the famous Thunder Turney met his match in a hospital corridor. This very place, in fact. He was just a kid, you understand, but he couldn’t hold his own. Ever since, he’s fabricated these stories to salve his conscience. Truth be told, a woman was shot, and her newborn baby was lost. Unfortunate. Wasn’t his responsibility though. You’d think he’d move on and let it rest, but, oh no, not our boy Vince.”
Josee said, “Bet you just love belittling people.”
Braddock’s laughter was a stone skipping over the cafeteria tables.
Turney bit his lip. Jabbed at the crust of his hamburger bun.
The chief said, “Now don’t get your shorts in a wad, Sarge. We’ve got work to do. I’ve just come from the Rotary Club, and I’m meeting with the hospital administrator shortly, but in the meantime I’ll keep Miss Walker here company. As for you—”
“Josee hasn’t seen her friend, sir. She’s worried. I was plannin’ to take her—”
“Just told you the plan. I’ll make sure she gets her visitation time. Now you’ve got paperwork to go through at the station. Need you to set up next week’s swing-shift schedule and have Rita post it
9
Scars and Stripes
“Oh, brother,” Chief Braddock chided. “Not this story again.”
Turney bristled. His superior had arrived with measured strides, keys swinging in rhythm from his belt. Although white hair showed at his red temples and wrinkles carved his rawhide cheeks, he moved like a younger man. Turney stood and let his sleeve drop back over his arm. “Hello, Chief.”
“Tell me, Sarge, whose ears are you twisting this time?”
Shoving in his shirt, Turney felt his cheeks grow hot. He’d faced ridicule before, learned to keep his trap shut, but with Josee at his side he felt an urge to defend himself—an urge he hadn’t experienced this strongly since before his fiancée’s passing.
Milly. Josee. Different in lots of ways, but both had that feisty streak.
Time to speak up. He opened his mouth. Stood there like a confounded fool.
“Full of the usual wit, I see.” Braddock turned. “And you must be Josee.” His eyes flashed reproach, then dalliance as they roved from her attire to cheekbones to upturned eyes. “Josee Walker?”
“Maybe. Who are you?”
“Don’t tell me you’re buying Sarge’s drivel.”
“You know, we were having a private conversation here.”
Sergeant Turney gave a silent hurrah. He knew what it was like to be on the other side of Josee’s attitude.
Let him have it, kiddo
.
The chief rested his hand on a belt buckle where shiny flint letters spelled
Big Juan
. “I’m Chief Braddock. You know what that means? It means I come and go as I see fit. I’ve been around this area a long time, and nothing’s private, not to me, not in this city.” He spun a chair and straddled it.
Turney said, “Josee and I were just finishin’ up a report.”
“That so? Looked to me like you were about to launch into one of your stories. Let me guess, the one about the snake?”
“Actually, she—”
“Listen, he’s yanking your chain, Josee.” Braddock wagged a censuring finger. “Sarge tells a good story. Don’t get me wrong. But he’d be better off saving his ideas for some campy late night TV show,
X-Files
or somethin’.”
“TV?” Josee gibed. “I yanked the plug on the great surrogate mother years ago.”
“Surrogate mother?”
“Yep. Baby-sitting America’s kids, telling them how to look, how to act, how to—”
“As I was saying …” Careful to leave his badge visible and gleaming, the chief folded his arms and flicked aside her interruption like lint from his starched uniform. “Years ago the famous Thunder Turney met his match in a hospital corridor. This very place, in fact. He was just a kid, you understand, but he couldn’t hold his own. Ever since, he’s fabricated these stories to salve his conscience. Truth be told, a woman was shot, and her newborn baby was lost. Unfortunate. Wasn’t his responsibility though. You’d think he’d move on and let it rest, but, oh no, not our boy Vince.”
Josee said, “Bet you just love belittling people.”
Braddock’s laughter was a stone skipping over the cafeteria tables.
Turney bit his lip. Jabbed at the crust of his hamburger bun.
The chief said, “Now don’t get your shorts in a wad, Sarge. We’ve got work to do. I’ve just come from the Rotary Club, and I’m meeting with the hospital administrator shortly, but in the meantime I’ll keep Miss Walker here company. As for you—”
“Josee hasn’t seen her friend, sir. She’s worried. I was plannin’ to take her—”
“Just told you the plan. I’ll make sure she gets her visitation time. Now you’ve got paperwork to go through at the station. Need you to set up next week’s swing-shift schedule and have Rita post it
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