large chocolate milkshake. He leaned forward. The seat squeaked as he shifted his weight; the thick gun belt around his waist creaked. Light from a lamp pole shined a ghostly hue through the windshield, filling the dashboard and front seat with a stomach-turning piss-yellow haze. Dave keyed the radio mike, his heart thumping hard. He squeezed his hand tight to keep it from shaking. “Dispatch, this is patrol supervisor Powell. Cancel that call out for unit twelve. Four is closer. Kip, you copy?”
A burst of static. “Copy, Dave. Rolling.” All full of youthful enthusiasm.
“Roger.” Dave gave it a minute, then keyed the mike again. “It’s probably a false alarm. We’ve had a few from that location lately. I’ll roll backup. I’m a few miles away, up on 107. That puts me three minutes out.”
“Roger,” Kip said.
“You got all that, dispatch?” Dave released the transmit button.
“Unit four is responding. Unit supervisor to roll backup with an ETA of three minutes.”
Dave sat back and waited. From his position behind the McDonald’s he watched as unit four sped by, barreling down the two-lane road at top speed. Dave began a countdown in his head, even as he beat away the doubt knocking at his brain, trying to ignore the taste of bile burning in the back of his throat.
Three weeks earlier
“I’m telling you, Gil. She’s having an affair.”
He and Dave sat at the mahogany bar running the length of the Canyon Inn Bar & Grill, their hands clutching the handles of warm beers in heavy glass mugs. The Canyon Inn was neither an inn nor did it have a grill. It did have a bar. A large one, and behind it stood a carpeted stage and a mirrored wall: two dancing poles: loud, pounding music and two naked women, dancing. At least that’s what they called it.
This wasn’t the first time Gil Halley and Dave found themselves here nursing warm beers and having this same conversation. Gil sighed, doubting it would be the last time either. He took a slug of his beer and grimaced, hating warm beer.
“What makes you say so?” Gil asked.
“I don’t know. I can just tell.”
“Hey, sweetie,” Gil called out to the barmaid. “You got anything cold under there? This is like drinking pee.” To Dave, he said, “Tell how?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t know. Not married, remember.” Gil took a sip from his new beer then hoisted the mug toward the barmaid. “Much better, thanks.”
She was already back to drying bar glasses, her mind elsewhere.
“She’s all moody, you know.”
“The bartender?”
“No,” Dave said. “Karin.”
Gil shrugged. “Maybe it’s PMS. She still gets her period, right?”
Dave ignored the poke at their ages. Gil was a year older than Dave himself. “She doesn’t answer her cell phone when I call. She’s not where she says she’ll be when I check up on her.”
“You’re paranoid.”
Dave considered that, and every other thing in his unremarkable life.
Once upon a time he was going to be an engineer—design stuff—build things: skyscrapers or bridges, maybe. He dreamed of making a ton of money and living in a big house, with lots of kids. He’d had big plans. And even though he’d achieved only so-so grades in high school, he managed to get into a decent college, one that had a good reputation for its engineering program. But the first year in, he was forced to drop two classes so he wouldn’t flunk. Even after that, his GPA came up at a dismal two-point nothing. Discouraged, Dave dropped out.
Nineteen and a college dropout, he had no idea what to do after that. When he returned home, he worked construction for a while, hated it and got himself laid off. A few months later, while at the unemployment office, he saw a flyer announcing the upcoming civil service police exam. With nothing to lose, he took the test, passed it and found himself at the police academy almost before he knew what he’d done. It was there that he met Gil.
Gil Halley was
A burst of static. “Copy, Dave. Rolling.” All full of youthful enthusiasm.
“Roger.” Dave gave it a minute, then keyed the mike again. “It’s probably a false alarm. We’ve had a few from that location lately. I’ll roll backup. I’m a few miles away, up on 107. That puts me three minutes out.”
“Roger,” Kip said.
“You got all that, dispatch?” Dave released the transmit button.
“Unit four is responding. Unit supervisor to roll backup with an ETA of three minutes.”
Dave sat back and waited. From his position behind the McDonald’s he watched as unit four sped by, barreling down the two-lane road at top speed. Dave began a countdown in his head, even as he beat away the doubt knocking at his brain, trying to ignore the taste of bile burning in the back of his throat.
Three weeks earlier
“I’m telling you, Gil. She’s having an affair.”
He and Dave sat at the mahogany bar running the length of the Canyon Inn Bar & Grill, their hands clutching the handles of warm beers in heavy glass mugs. The Canyon Inn was neither an inn nor did it have a grill. It did have a bar. A large one, and behind it stood a carpeted stage and a mirrored wall: two dancing poles: loud, pounding music and two naked women, dancing. At least that’s what they called it.
This wasn’t the first time Gil Halley and Dave found themselves here nursing warm beers and having this same conversation. Gil sighed, doubting it would be the last time either. He took a slug of his beer and grimaced, hating warm beer.
“What makes you say so?” Gil asked.
“I don’t know. I can just tell.”
“Hey, sweetie,” Gil called out to the barmaid. “You got anything cold under there? This is like drinking pee.” To Dave, he said, “Tell how?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t know. Not married, remember.” Gil took a sip from his new beer then hoisted the mug toward the barmaid. “Much better, thanks.”
She was already back to drying bar glasses, her mind elsewhere.
“She’s all moody, you know.”
“The bartender?”
“No,” Dave said. “Karin.”
Gil shrugged. “Maybe it’s PMS. She still gets her period, right?”
Dave ignored the poke at their ages. Gil was a year older than Dave himself. “She doesn’t answer her cell phone when I call. She’s not where she says she’ll be when I check up on her.”
“You’re paranoid.”
Dave considered that, and every other thing in his unremarkable life.
Once upon a time he was going to be an engineer—design stuff—build things: skyscrapers or bridges, maybe. He dreamed of making a ton of money and living in a big house, with lots of kids. He’d had big plans. And even though he’d achieved only so-so grades in high school, he managed to get into a decent college, one that had a good reputation for its engineering program. But the first year in, he was forced to drop two classes so he wouldn’t flunk. Even after that, his GPA came up at a dismal two-point nothing. Discouraged, Dave dropped out.
Nineteen and a college dropout, he had no idea what to do after that. When he returned home, he worked construction for a while, hated it and got himself laid off. A few months later, while at the unemployment office, he saw a flyer announcing the upcoming civil service police exam. With nothing to lose, he took the test, passed it and found himself at the police academy almost before he knew what he’d done. It was there that he met Gil.
Gil Halley was
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