Read Online Happy Policeman by Patricia Anthony - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patricia Anthony
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murder investigation. Everybody’s nerves are bound to get strained. What if your temper gets out of hand again? What if—? Where are you going?”
“The bathroom.”
When the officer left, DeWitt went to a nearby table. Incongruous clutter was piled next to a Norfolk Island pine: an incense holder and a blue bead necklace. A necklace appropriate for a Winter.
Footsteps clicked on the polished hardwood floor. DeWitt quickly sat again.
Bo was rubbing his hands together. “Okay. All right, DeWitt. I’ll help you, but then the slate’s clean.”
“Agreed.”
Bo turned off the TV. They walked out of the house and across the lawn. When they climbed into the squad car, Bo took his sunglasses from his pocket.
“Leave the glasses off. If we’re going to work together, I want to see your eyes. I want to be able to tell what you’re thinking.”
Slowly, Bo put back the glasses.
“When we get to the school, you take half the kids.” DeWitt fastened his seatbelt. “I want to know if anybody saw Billy Junior and . . . and . . .”
“Jason,” Bo said in a tight voice.
“Yeah. Jason.”
DeWitt accelerated up a hill. When he crested the rise, his eyes widened. Speeding head-on toward them was a huge shape. A dented grille; the round, alarmed eyes of headlights; holes where a car emblem had once been.
DeWitt wrenched the wheel right, stood on the brakes. Tires squealed as the squad car slewed and came to a stop at a ninety-degree angle to the road. The pickup nosed into a roadside ditch with a crunch of foliage. The door opened, and Curtis emerged, laughing.
Bo got out and marched across the asphalt. “License and registration!”
“Hey, Bo. How’s it going?”
An icy, clipped reply: “Hands on the hood! Spread ‘em!”
Curtis leaned over the Dodge’s hood. Bo kicked his legs back farther and ran his palms over Curtis’s jeans, groping the top of the inseam so resolutely that DeWitt, in sympathy, winced.
Curtis went tiptoe. “Whoa! Kiss me first!”
“Where’d you throw it?” Bo demanded, stepping back. “I saw you throw something down. Where’d you throw the dope?”
“I wouldn’t throw no dope away,” Curtis said. “Ask DeWitt if I would.”
On the dotted line in the center of the road, DeWitt halted, pinned by Bo’s accusing glare.
“Mr. Mayor,” Bo said, “I’m arresting you for driving without a license, for reckless endangerment, and for suspicion of DWI. Chief, search the vehicle for any controlled substances.”
After a moment’s exasperation, DeWitt obeyed. The Dodge’s rusted door shrieked as it opened. Glancing into the cab, he saw that the floorboard was awash with Bo’s pink traffic violations. “Found something.”
“What?” The triumph in Bos voice was like trumpets.
“Inspection sticker’s six years out of date.” “Everybody’s sticker’s six years out of date.”
“Now you get the picture.”
Bo frowned.
Curtis asked, “Where you all headed, anyways?”
“We’re investigating the murder,” DeWitt told him.
Curtis clapped his palm to his forehead. “Oh! That’s why I was looking for you! I couldn’t find Loretta’s road.”
“Why did you want to go to Loretta’s?” Bo’s voice was thick with suspicion.
But Curtis was oblivious. “Wasn’t going to Loretta’s, just by Loretta’s. And then I seen the Torku done peeled up her road. They already planted grass and everything. Come on and look. You ain’t gonna believe it.”
Curtis walked to the squad car. With stereo sighs DeWitt and Bo followed.
“I want the siren.” Curtis planted his elbows on the back of the front seat.
“No siren,” DeWitt said.
Curtis reached so far into the front that he nearly fell in Bo’s lap. He turned on the bubble lights and sat back. A few minutes later DeWitt was stunned to smell the burning-alfalfa odor of marijuana. “Want a joint, DeWitt?”
DeWitt pointedly rolled down his window. “No.”
“You, Bo?”
Bo’s no was, brittle.
An
“The bathroom.”
When the officer left, DeWitt went to a nearby table. Incongruous clutter was piled next to a Norfolk Island pine: an incense holder and a blue bead necklace. A necklace appropriate for a Winter.
Footsteps clicked on the polished hardwood floor. DeWitt quickly sat again.
Bo was rubbing his hands together. “Okay. All right, DeWitt. I’ll help you, but then the slate’s clean.”
“Agreed.”
Bo turned off the TV. They walked out of the house and across the lawn. When they climbed into the squad car, Bo took his sunglasses from his pocket.
“Leave the glasses off. If we’re going to work together, I want to see your eyes. I want to be able to tell what you’re thinking.”
Slowly, Bo put back the glasses.
“When we get to the school, you take half the kids.” DeWitt fastened his seatbelt. “I want to know if anybody saw Billy Junior and . . . and . . .”
“Jason,” Bo said in a tight voice.
“Yeah. Jason.”
DeWitt accelerated up a hill. When he crested the rise, his eyes widened. Speeding head-on toward them was a huge shape. A dented grille; the round, alarmed eyes of headlights; holes where a car emblem had once been.
DeWitt wrenched the wheel right, stood on the brakes. Tires squealed as the squad car slewed and came to a stop at a ninety-degree angle to the road. The pickup nosed into a roadside ditch with a crunch of foliage. The door opened, and Curtis emerged, laughing.
Bo got out and marched across the asphalt. “License and registration!”
“Hey, Bo. How’s it going?”
An icy, clipped reply: “Hands on the hood! Spread ‘em!”
Curtis leaned over the Dodge’s hood. Bo kicked his legs back farther and ran his palms over Curtis’s jeans, groping the top of the inseam so resolutely that DeWitt, in sympathy, winced.
Curtis went tiptoe. “Whoa! Kiss me first!”
“Where’d you throw it?” Bo demanded, stepping back. “I saw you throw something down. Where’d you throw the dope?”
“I wouldn’t throw no dope away,” Curtis said. “Ask DeWitt if I would.”
On the dotted line in the center of the road, DeWitt halted, pinned by Bo’s accusing glare.
“Mr. Mayor,” Bo said, “I’m arresting you for driving without a license, for reckless endangerment, and for suspicion of DWI. Chief, search the vehicle for any controlled substances.”
After a moment’s exasperation, DeWitt obeyed. The Dodge’s rusted door shrieked as it opened. Glancing into the cab, he saw that the floorboard was awash with Bo’s pink traffic violations. “Found something.”
“What?” The triumph in Bos voice was like trumpets.
“Inspection sticker’s six years out of date.” “Everybody’s sticker’s six years out of date.”
“Now you get the picture.”
Bo frowned.
Curtis asked, “Where you all headed, anyways?”
“We’re investigating the murder,” DeWitt told him.
Curtis clapped his palm to his forehead. “Oh! That’s why I was looking for you! I couldn’t find Loretta’s road.”
“Why did you want to go to Loretta’s?” Bo’s voice was thick with suspicion.
But Curtis was oblivious. “Wasn’t going to Loretta’s, just by Loretta’s. And then I seen the Torku done peeled up her road. They already planted grass and everything. Come on and look. You ain’t gonna believe it.”
Curtis walked to the squad car. With stereo sighs DeWitt and Bo followed.
“I want the siren.” Curtis planted his elbows on the back of the front seat.
“No siren,” DeWitt said.
Curtis reached so far into the front that he nearly fell in Bo’s lap. He turned on the bubble lights and sat back. A few minutes later DeWitt was stunned to smell the burning-alfalfa odor of marijuana. “Want a joint, DeWitt?”
DeWitt pointedly rolled down his window. “No.”
“You, Bo?”
Bo’s no was, brittle.
An
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