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TEN

SERGEANT KYLE JANOWSKI ROLLS his cruiser alongside another squad car on Prairie Drive, aimed in the opposite direction. In the car are two patrol officers, Blatt and Stevens.

“How’s diaper training?” Kyle asks Blatt, a senior patrol officer now, who was assigned to Stevens, the rookie. “You let him drive, I see. Has he killed anyone yet?”

“No, but the day ain’t over.” Blatt works the toothpick in his mouth. Mark Blatt always viewed himself as a cowboy, Kyle thinks. Always hoping today will be the day he pulls his service weapon in the line of duty. He should have picked a different town to serve and protect.

“Stevens,” Kyle says. “Has Blatt told you the story of when he chased the streaker across the high school football field?”

“Not yet, Sergeant.”

“Well, he will. If you wanna know what really happened, buy me a beer sometime.”

“He was resisting,” says Blatt.

“Yeah, sure.” Kyle smirks at the memory and nods at Blatt. “Tell him the one about the guy we curbed the night before Easter, the Range Rover. Think it was 2018.”

Blatt chuckles. “Yeah, Kyle and I see this car that’s weaving on Old Anna Road. It’s, like, two in the morning. So we curb him, and Kyle has the driver’s side, asks the guy where he’s going. Guy says, ‘I’m going to a lecture about the dangers of alcohol abuse, smoking, and staying out late.’ Kyle says, ‘Who’s giving a lecture at two in the morning?’ The guy says, ‘My wife.’”

Kyle is laughing at the memory before the story’s over. “All right, ladies, go serve and protect. And Stevens, don’t let Blatt give you shit about your sideburns.”

Stevens touches the side of his face. “My … sideburns?” He looks at Blatt. “What about my sideburns?”

A call cackles through the radio. “All units, we have a home-alarm distress signal at 343 Cedar, patio door. 343 Cedar.”

Kyle looks at the officers. “I know that address.”

“That’s two blocks away,” says Stevens.

“Unit 12 responding,” says Blatt to dispatch.

343 Cedar is Marcie’s house.

“Unit 19 responding,” Kyle says.