all.
Which led him to a surprising and happy thought. Maybe the jackpot would even work in his favor. Because after the phonies
and the scavengers start to cluster around, wouldn’t she come to appreciate the one guy who had always cared for her? The
one guy she could trust? And then, the money that he had made or hadn’t made, or his rank in the police department, or whether
he was slow-witted or not, or bald and jowly or not: all that wouldn’t matter so much, would it?
If Nell could just hear what her heart was telling her.
At Rt. 17 he turned north. Pursuing his usual counterclockwise patrol route around the city. The sunlight faltered, and he
glanced up and saw a bank of black stormcloud coming from the west. Its shadow rolling over the marsh. He thought, well, we
could use some rain here. He took a right onto Riverside Road, which was a long causeway that wound through the marsh toward
an enclave of wealthy houses. Some of the city commissioners lived out here, so no amount of patrolling was too much.
A brown Toyota Tercel was parked on the shoulder, in the grass —’91 or ’92. The tag said Ohio. The driver, a white male, was
taking a black garbage bag from the trunk.
Burris pulled up behind. The driver had a slight build, dark hair. He was somewhat meek of posture. But he had a friendly
face.
Burris told the radio, “43, dispatch?”
Rose, sounding bored as usual, probably painting her nails, said, “Go ahead, 43.”
“Out on Riverside past the first curve. Gimme a 29 on a ’91 or ’92 Tercel, Ohio tag JBX-681?”
The driver was waiting patiently, holding that bag. Burris didn’t feel he needed the tag run, so he got out of the cruiser
and approached the man and said, “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon.”
“Can I ask what you got there?”
“Animal I found.”
“A live animal?”
“Uh-uh. I found it up in my wheel well. I want to bury it.”
“Sir, may I see your license and proof of insurance?”
The driver took out his wallet and handed over the license. Funny name. Burris puzzled over it while the guy went to the glove
compartment and fished for his insurance card. When he came back, Burris asked “Sir, how do you pronounce your last name?”
“Zuh-DER-ko.”
“First name Romeo?”
“Mama knew what a lover I’d be.”
Sounded like a joke, though Burris didn’t get it. “And your current address is Piqua, Ohio?”
“Yes.”
“And what brings you here to Brunswick?”
“Um. Vacation.”
Burris took the documents back to the cruiser and called Rose again, who told him the Tercel was registered in Zderko’s name.
He had her run a 27 on the OLN. Came back clean. No warrants. Everything good. He returned the papers to Zderko, and said,
“Sir, may I see the animal?”
“Sure. But it’ll be, well, when I open this bag, the smell will be powerful, OK? Just warning you.”
“I’ll try to be ready.”
“All right then.”
Zderko undid the tie.
Burris looked in and saw a lump of fur and cartilage and bones. The smell slapped him across the face, and brought tears to
his eyes. “Whoa.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s
ripe.
”
“That’s what I been living with.”
“You can close it now.”
Zderko retied the bag.
Burris asked, “How long’s it been dead?”
“About forty-eight hours. What’s today, Friday? Well, Wednesday night, I was coming down through North Carolina? And I hit
this thing and it must have been thrown up into the wheel well somehow, but I didn’t even know it till a little while ago.”
“I see.”
“But I smelled it, you know? I mean, God. It happens quick, doesn’t it?”
“Sir?”
“I mean the way things rot.”
“Yes sir.”
“But I didn’t know what I was smelling till I looked up in there.”
“You’re planning to bury it, sir?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where?”
“Just, I don’t know. Here, I guess.”
“Not a good idea.”
“Is it illegal?”
“Unless you got permission from
Which led him to a surprising and happy thought. Maybe the jackpot would even work in his favor. Because after the phonies
and the scavengers start to cluster around, wouldn’t she come to appreciate the one guy who had always cared for her? The
one guy she could trust? And then, the money that he had made or hadn’t made, or his rank in the police department, or whether
he was slow-witted or not, or bald and jowly or not: all that wouldn’t matter so much, would it?
If Nell could just hear what her heart was telling her.
At Rt. 17 he turned north. Pursuing his usual counterclockwise patrol route around the city. The sunlight faltered, and he
glanced up and saw a bank of black stormcloud coming from the west. Its shadow rolling over the marsh. He thought, well, we
could use some rain here. He took a right onto Riverside Road, which was a long causeway that wound through the marsh toward
an enclave of wealthy houses. Some of the city commissioners lived out here, so no amount of patrolling was too much.
A brown Toyota Tercel was parked on the shoulder, in the grass —’91 or ’92. The tag said Ohio. The driver, a white male, was
taking a black garbage bag from the trunk.
Burris pulled up behind. The driver had a slight build, dark hair. He was somewhat meek of posture. But he had a friendly
face.
Burris told the radio, “43, dispatch?”
Rose, sounding bored as usual, probably painting her nails, said, “Go ahead, 43.”
“Out on Riverside past the first curve. Gimme a 29 on a ’91 or ’92 Tercel, Ohio tag JBX-681?”
The driver was waiting patiently, holding that bag. Burris didn’t feel he needed the tag run, so he got out of the cruiser
and approached the man and said, “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon.”
“Can I ask what you got there?”
“Animal I found.”
“A live animal?”
“Uh-uh. I found it up in my wheel well. I want to bury it.”
“Sir, may I see your license and proof of insurance?”
The driver took out his wallet and handed over the license. Funny name. Burris puzzled over it while the guy went to the glove
compartment and fished for his insurance card. When he came back, Burris asked “Sir, how do you pronounce your last name?”
“Zuh-DER-ko.”
“First name Romeo?”
“Mama knew what a lover I’d be.”
Sounded like a joke, though Burris didn’t get it. “And your current address is Piqua, Ohio?”
“Yes.”
“And what brings you here to Brunswick?”
“Um. Vacation.”
Burris took the documents back to the cruiser and called Rose again, who told him the Tercel was registered in Zderko’s name.
He had her run a 27 on the OLN. Came back clean. No warrants. Everything good. He returned the papers to Zderko, and said,
“Sir, may I see the animal?”
“Sure. But it’ll be, well, when I open this bag, the smell will be powerful, OK? Just warning you.”
“I’ll try to be ready.”
“All right then.”
Zderko undid the tie.
Burris looked in and saw a lump of fur and cartilage and bones. The smell slapped him across the face, and brought tears to
his eyes. “Whoa.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s
ripe.
”
“That’s what I been living with.”
“You can close it now.”
Zderko retied the bag.
Burris asked, “How long’s it been dead?”
“About forty-eight hours. What’s today, Friday? Well, Wednesday night, I was coming down through North Carolina? And I hit
this thing and it must have been thrown up into the wheel well somehow, but I didn’t even know it till a little while ago.”
“I see.”
“But I smelled it, you know? I mean, God. It happens quick, doesn’t it?”
“Sir?”
“I mean the way things rot.”
“Yes sir.”
“But I didn’t know what I was smelling till I looked up in there.”
“You’re planning to bury it, sir?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where?”
“Just, I don’t know. Here, I guess.”
“Not a good idea.”
“Is it illegal?”
“Unless you got permission from
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