to change into his police uniform.
The deep‐fried dough, the size of a dinner plate, was sweet and delicious and instantly addictive. If he didn’t want to become morbidly obese, he’d have to start doing his patrols on foot.
Wade was back downstairs within a few minutes, and at the front counter working on the rest of the fry bread, when a blue 1968 Chevy Impala convertible pulled up to the curb. The white soft top was torn, the paint was oxidized, and rust was eating away at some of the grill.
Officer Billy Hagen emerged in uniform, a smile on his face that only got bigger once he came through the door and looked around his new station. There was a freckle‐faced boyishness and natural exuberance to him that made it hard for Wade to imagine Billy projecting much authority on the street.
Billy offered his hand to Wade. “Officer Billy Hagen, sir, reporting for duty.”
They shook hands. Billy had a firm grip and pumped his arm enthusiastically.
“Sergeant Tom Wade. Welcome aboard.”
“Damn glad to be here, sir.”
“Really?”
“This is not at all what I was expecting,” Billy said.
“What were you expecting?”
“After what I heard about you, I figured you’d be some moralistic, by‐the‐book, hard‐ass shit kicker.”
“What makes you think that I’m not?”
Billy gestured to the walls. “We’ve got the same taste in decorating and movies, though I prefer Asscrack Bandits 3 way more than Asscrack Bandits 4 .”
Wade had forgotten all about the porno posters. “Those posters aren’t mine. They were left over from the adult DVD store that used to be here.”
“Did they leave any DVDs behind?”
“I don’t think so,” Wade said.
“Did you look?”
“No,” Wade said.
“So there’s still hope,” Billy said.
“You mentioned that you’d heard about me.”
“They’ve got your face on one of the targets in the academy shooting range, mixed in with the civilians, cops, and perps,” Billy said. “You counted as a perp.”
“Do you have an opinion about what I did?”
Billy gestured to the fry bread. “Can I have a bite?”
“Help yourself,” Wade said.
Billy tore a piece of the bread off and popped it into his mouth. “It’s not my problem.”
“You’re a cop, aren’t you?”
“Out there.” Billy tipped his head to street. “Not in here.”
“So it’s a matter of loyalty to you.”
“It’s common sense.” Billy took another piece of fry bread. “Even a dog doesn’t shit where it sleeps.”
“I see,” Wade said.
“No offense meant,” Billy said with a grin.
“None taken.” Wade took another piece of fry bread before Billy ate it all. “Do you mind if I ask why you became a cop?”
“I didn’t want to spend my life in retail, which is where I knew I was heading,” Billy said. “I thought being a cop would be more exciting. You’re on the move, you never know what’s going to happen, and the pay is pretty good.”
“What about enforcing the law? Protecting and serving your community? How do you feel about that?”
“It’s my job. It isn’t my religion.”
Wade studied Billy, trying to figure out if his good‐natured boyishness was real or a persona he adopted either to get away with things or to get people to underestimate him.
“Is this one of those Indian doughnuts?” Billy asked, licking his fingers.
“It’s called fry bread,” Wade said.
“Think where the tribes would be today if only they’d learned a couple hundred years ago to make ’em smaller and stick a hole in the center,” Billy said. “Every Winchell’s, Krispy Kreme, and Dunkin’s on earth would belong to them. They’d be huge.”
A Toyota Camry pulled up to the curb outside. The car was an older model, but it looked like it had just rolled off the assembly line that morning.
Officer Charlotte Greene got out of the car, an angry scowl on her face. She wore a perfectly pressed uniform, the Kevlar vest underneath it smoothing away whatever natural
The deep‐fried dough, the size of a dinner plate, was sweet and delicious and instantly addictive. If he didn’t want to become morbidly obese, he’d have to start doing his patrols on foot.
Wade was back downstairs within a few minutes, and at the front counter working on the rest of the fry bread, when a blue 1968 Chevy Impala convertible pulled up to the curb. The white soft top was torn, the paint was oxidized, and rust was eating away at some of the grill.
Officer Billy Hagen emerged in uniform, a smile on his face that only got bigger once he came through the door and looked around his new station. There was a freckle‐faced boyishness and natural exuberance to him that made it hard for Wade to imagine Billy projecting much authority on the street.
Billy offered his hand to Wade. “Officer Billy Hagen, sir, reporting for duty.”
They shook hands. Billy had a firm grip and pumped his arm enthusiastically.
“Sergeant Tom Wade. Welcome aboard.”
“Damn glad to be here, sir.”
“Really?”
“This is not at all what I was expecting,” Billy said.
“What were you expecting?”
“After what I heard about you, I figured you’d be some moralistic, by‐the‐book, hard‐ass shit kicker.”
“What makes you think that I’m not?”
Billy gestured to the walls. “We’ve got the same taste in decorating and movies, though I prefer Asscrack Bandits 3 way more than Asscrack Bandits 4 .”
Wade had forgotten all about the porno posters. “Those posters aren’t mine. They were left over from the adult DVD store that used to be here.”
“Did they leave any DVDs behind?”
“I don’t think so,” Wade said.
“Did you look?”
“No,” Wade said.
“So there’s still hope,” Billy said.
“You mentioned that you’d heard about me.”
“They’ve got your face on one of the targets in the academy shooting range, mixed in with the civilians, cops, and perps,” Billy said. “You counted as a perp.”
“Do you have an opinion about what I did?”
Billy gestured to the fry bread. “Can I have a bite?”
“Help yourself,” Wade said.
Billy tore a piece of the bread off and popped it into his mouth. “It’s not my problem.”
“You’re a cop, aren’t you?”
“Out there.” Billy tipped his head to street. “Not in here.”
“So it’s a matter of loyalty to you.”
“It’s common sense.” Billy took another piece of fry bread. “Even a dog doesn’t shit where it sleeps.”
“I see,” Wade said.
“No offense meant,” Billy said with a grin.
“None taken.” Wade took another piece of fry bread before Billy ate it all. “Do you mind if I ask why you became a cop?”
“I didn’t want to spend my life in retail, which is where I knew I was heading,” Billy said. “I thought being a cop would be more exciting. You’re on the move, you never know what’s going to happen, and the pay is pretty good.”
“What about enforcing the law? Protecting and serving your community? How do you feel about that?”
“It’s my job. It isn’t my religion.”
Wade studied Billy, trying to figure out if his good‐natured boyishness was real or a persona he adopted either to get away with things or to get people to underestimate him.
“Is this one of those Indian doughnuts?” Billy asked, licking his fingers.
“It’s called fry bread,” Wade said.
“Think where the tribes would be today if only they’d learned a couple hundred years ago to make ’em smaller and stick a hole in the center,” Billy said. “Every Winchell’s, Krispy Kreme, and Dunkin’s on earth would belong to them. They’d be huge.”
A Toyota Camry pulled up to the curb outside. The car was an older model, but it looked like it had just rolled off the assembly line that morning.
Officer Charlotte Greene got out of the car, an angry scowl on her face. She wore a perfectly pressed uniform, the Kevlar vest underneath it smoothing away whatever natural
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