King City by Lee Goldberg Page A

you wearing a collar?” Billy asked through the open window.
    “To show my faith. I used to be one of them,” Friar Ted said, gesturing to the row of transients. “Until I was saved two years ago.”
    “By Jesus,” Billy said.
    “By a 2003 GMC Yukon,” Friar Ted said. “I was high, staggered into the street, and got run over. I broke every bone in my body. It’s hard to score any crack when you’re in traction.”
    “Bet I could do it,” Terrill said.
    “I was also a captive audience for the bored hospital pastor. He read aloud to me from the Bible for hours every day. It led me to God.”
    “It would have led me to drugs,” Billy said.
    Ted looked back at the line. “I tried to lead them to him, but some just can’t be saved. But I know he loves them anyway.”
    Wade nodded toward Terrill. “Does the guy in the backseat live here? Is that why you thought we were bringing him back?”
    Friar Ted glanced at Terrill. “I’ve seen him around. He’s come inside a few times for a hot meal, but he doesn’t live here. I saw the police car and a drug addict in the backseat and jumped to the wrong conclusion. I apologize.”
    “You must have had a good reason,” Wade said.
    “The only time I see the police is at night as they are speeding away.”
    “Away from what?” Wade asked.
    “The vagrants and junkies that they’ve removed from another neighborhood and dumped like trash on our doorstep,” Friar Ted said. “That’s how I got here.”
    “The police dropped you off?”
    “The hospital did,” Friar Ted said.
    Wade took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “How often does this happen?”
    “Pick a night,” Friar Ted said.
    “I will,” Wade said.
    ____
    They took Terrill back to the station. Wade filled out the necessary paperwork while Billy photographed and fingerprinted Terrill. Billy asked the drug addict if he wanted to make a call, but he didn’t, so he was placed in one of the holding cells.
    “What now?” Billy asked, sitting down in a chair beside Wade’s desk.
    “We call the dispatcher and request that a unit pick up Terrill and transport him to jail to await arraignment.”
    “How long is that going to take?”
    “I don’t know,” Wade said. “It will be interesting to find out.”
    “You’re easily interested,” Billy said.
    Wade radioed the dispatcher. He spent the next few hours patching all the holes in the wall with the exception of the one left by the fire. That hole would take more than Spackle to fill, and he didn’t feel like cutting lumber yet.
    Billy killed the time by searching every nook and cranny in the station for forgotten porn DVDs. Much to Wade’s surprise, and Billy’s delight, he found one. Billy was as giddy as kid after an Easter egg hunt.
    By 6:00 p.m., it was getting dark and the car for Terrill still hadn’t come. Wade doubted that it ever would.
    “Tell you what, Billy. Why don’t you take one of the squad cars, drop off Mr. Curtis at the jail, see him through processing, and go on home.”
    “What about my car?”
    “You can leave it here overnight,” he said.
    “In this neighborhood?”
    “It’s parked at a police station,” Wade said. “How much safer could it be?”
    There was only one correct answer to that question and Billy knew it. And if he didn’t, Wade’s glare told him so.
    “Right, of course,” Billy said, gathering up his DVD and posters. “We’re the King City Police. What was I thinking?”
    He might have put up a stronger argument if he’d known what had happened to Wade’s Mustang. But he didn’t. And Wade wasn’t about to tell him.
    “It was a good first day, Billy.”
    “It sure was,” Billy said with a grin. “I got shot and I’m leaving with free porn. It doesn’t get much better than that.”
    There wasn’t the slightest trace of bitterness or sarcasm in the remark. When Wade looked at Billy’s face, what he saw was genuine delight.
    At least someone was happy to be in Darwin Gardens—or