inches had fallen since to ruin their hard work.
Price finally let go of me and marched up to the front door. He stabbed the doorbell a couple of times and then banged the knocker. After a few minutes, a stout redheaded man carrying a mug of coffee opened the door.
“I’m Detective Clay Price from Diamond City PD.” Price flashed his badge and ID. “Are you Barney Peltier?” The man nodded, looking worried. “There’s been an emergency and I need to requisition two of your snowmobiles. They’ll be returned to you.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Peltier stepped into the doorway and glanced at me and then around the yard. “Kelvin put you up to this, didn’t he? Where is the bastard?”
“It’s not a prank, sir,” Price said, his voice turning cool and hard. It was his don’t-fuck-with-me cop voice, and enough to make Peltier jerk to attention. “Please show me where you keep them.”
“Uh—you’re really serious? But—you’re just going to take them?”
“Yes, sir. It’s an emergency. Federal, state, and local law all grant that in an emergency, an officer of the law may requisition civilian goods, subject to return or reimbursement.” He rattled off some code numbers.
Peltier wilted. “Gimme a minute.” He set his mug down inside and disappeared. He came back a minute later. He’d grabbed a jacket and shoved his feet into a pair of boots. He stomped down the walk, protesting all the while. But the words bounced off Price like he was teflon.
Outside the garage, Peltier typed in a code on an electronic pad, and the door rolled up. Inside was a candy store of boy toys. Quads, snowmobiles, boats—you name it and he had it. Price looked a little glassy-eyed as he took inventory.
“They’re over here,” Peltier said, pressing a button.
A rack rotated downward. He actually had seven snowmobiles. I couldn’t tell one from another, but apparently Price could. He let the rack rotate around until he could offload one he wanted. The key was in the ignition. He started it and guided it down the runners built into the floor and out onto the snow.
He looked at me. “You can ride one of these, can’t you?”
Not even. “Sure, why not? Just like riding a bicycle, right?”
I think it took every ounce of strength he had not to roll his eyes. He turned back to Peltier. “We’ll just need the one then.” He pulled a pad of paper and a pen out of his pocket and scribbled out a quick note. “This is a receipt. Take it to the impound lot on Sixth and Dutch in a couple of days. It will be gassed up and waiting for you.”
He grabbed a couple helmets off another rack and jammed one on my head before pulling his on. Mine was pink. Seriously, sparkly pink. I looked like a Barbie matchstick. His was a midnight blue. On the rack were a wide variety of helmets in dark colors. Mine was the only ridiculous one.
Jerk.
He climbed on and beckoned me to get on behind. Snuggle up with him? Crap. I should have pretended harder that I could drive one of these things. On the other hand, I didn’t like the idea of accidentally driving off the edge of the crater, and as deep as the snow was, the guardrails weren’t going to be much help in preventing my accidental suicide.
With a sigh, I flung my leg over the seat and slid on behind him.
“Hold on,” Price said, and gunned the motor.
The snowmobile leaped forward, and I lurched back. I snatched wildly at his coat, pulling myself back up and locking my arms around his waist. His chest jerked like he was laughing. I resisted the urge to bite him. Hard.
He took us back out to the road. Cold air and snowflakes nipped my skin. After a few minutes I was forced to tuck down behind his shoulder to keep my face from freezing off.
We got to Josh’s place way too fast. I itched to try driving. I know, we were on a dangerous mission that was likely to get me killed, but it was a hell of a fun way to go. I was sorry when Price started to pull up in front of
Price finally let go of me and marched up to the front door. He stabbed the doorbell a couple of times and then banged the knocker. After a few minutes, a stout redheaded man carrying a mug of coffee opened the door.
“I’m Detective Clay Price from Diamond City PD.” Price flashed his badge and ID. “Are you Barney Peltier?” The man nodded, looking worried. “There’s been an emergency and I need to requisition two of your snowmobiles. They’ll be returned to you.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Peltier stepped into the doorway and glanced at me and then around the yard. “Kelvin put you up to this, didn’t he? Where is the bastard?”
“It’s not a prank, sir,” Price said, his voice turning cool and hard. It was his don’t-fuck-with-me cop voice, and enough to make Peltier jerk to attention. “Please show me where you keep them.”
“Uh—you’re really serious? But—you’re just going to take them?”
“Yes, sir. It’s an emergency. Federal, state, and local law all grant that in an emergency, an officer of the law may requisition civilian goods, subject to return or reimbursement.” He rattled off some code numbers.
Peltier wilted. “Gimme a minute.” He set his mug down inside and disappeared. He came back a minute later. He’d grabbed a jacket and shoved his feet into a pair of boots. He stomped down the walk, protesting all the while. But the words bounced off Price like he was teflon.
Outside the garage, Peltier typed in a code on an electronic pad, and the door rolled up. Inside was a candy store of boy toys. Quads, snowmobiles, boats—you name it and he had it. Price looked a little glassy-eyed as he took inventory.
“They’re over here,” Peltier said, pressing a button.
A rack rotated downward. He actually had seven snowmobiles. I couldn’t tell one from another, but apparently Price could. He let the rack rotate around until he could offload one he wanted. The key was in the ignition. He started it and guided it down the runners built into the floor and out onto the snow.
He looked at me. “You can ride one of these, can’t you?”
Not even. “Sure, why not? Just like riding a bicycle, right?”
I think it took every ounce of strength he had not to roll his eyes. He turned back to Peltier. “We’ll just need the one then.” He pulled a pad of paper and a pen out of his pocket and scribbled out a quick note. “This is a receipt. Take it to the impound lot on Sixth and Dutch in a couple of days. It will be gassed up and waiting for you.”
He grabbed a couple helmets off another rack and jammed one on my head before pulling his on. Mine was pink. Seriously, sparkly pink. I looked like a Barbie matchstick. His was a midnight blue. On the rack were a wide variety of helmets in dark colors. Mine was the only ridiculous one.
Jerk.
He climbed on and beckoned me to get on behind. Snuggle up with him? Crap. I should have pretended harder that I could drive one of these things. On the other hand, I didn’t like the idea of accidentally driving off the edge of the crater, and as deep as the snow was, the guardrails weren’t going to be much help in preventing my accidental suicide.
With a sigh, I flung my leg over the seat and slid on behind him.
“Hold on,” Price said, and gunned the motor.
The snowmobile leaped forward, and I lurched back. I snatched wildly at his coat, pulling myself back up and locking my arms around his waist. His chest jerked like he was laughing. I resisted the urge to bite him. Hard.
He took us back out to the road. Cold air and snowflakes nipped my skin. After a few minutes I was forced to tuck down behind his shoulder to keep my face from freezing off.
We got to Josh’s place way too fast. I itched to try driving. I know, we were on a dangerous mission that was likely to get me killed, but it was a hell of a fun way to go. I was sorry when Price started to pull up in front of
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