Read Online Wrapped Up in Crosswords by Nero Blanc - Free Book Online

began angling the van over to the breakdown lane. “I don’t see either one of you clowns with a wallet, either.”
    â€œHuh,” Abe said with a laugh. “We can’t even bribe this guy.”
    â€œDon’t worry, I can talk our way out of this,” Lever announced with a bit of false bravado. “I know how to handle these guys.” He brought the van to stop as the trooper’s cruiser pulled up and idled thirty feet behind them. Al opened the door, but before he could step out, the state trooper was on his bullhorn with a commanding order.
    â€œSir, stay in the van. Do not exit the vehicle.”
    Lever looked at Abe and Rosco, and shrugged. Then, ignoring the trooper’s request, he popped out of the van, his red plush trouser legs flapping in the icy wind.
    The cruiser’s door flew open. The trooper leapt out and crouched behind the open window, his gun drawn and pointed straight at the lieutenant. “Get back in the van, fat man. You’ve got five seconds.”
    Lever instinctively raised his hands, then did as he was told. “Fat man?” he said incredulously as he slid back into the driver’s seat. “Fat man? Who’s this guy think he is? Where’s he get off with this ‘fat man’ stuff?” Abe and Rosco were now chortling, which prompted Al to add, “Hey, he’s twenty-three years old, max, and he has his weapon drawn. This is no laughing matter. We’d better find out what he’s up to.” He reached down and turned on the police radio. “What’s the Statie’s frequency?”
    Jones raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking me? I’m the lab guy, remember. That’s your department.”
    Rosco reached down and moved the receiver’s dial to the Massachusetts State Police frequency. “How do you guys get anything done?” he said, still chuckling.
    The radio crackled, and the young trooper’s voice echoed through the van’s speaker system. He was calling for backup. “I have the suspects … locked stationary … I-195 at the thirty-eight-mile marker. Canine present in vehicle. I.D. positive. Two Caucasians. One heavyset. One African-American. All dressed as Santa Claus.” A burst of static was followed by, “Backup on the way. Sit tight.”
    Then the radio barked out further orders. “All units, switch to isolation frequency. Delta-Blue.”
    â€œSo much for our eavesdropping.” Al turned off the radio. “Who comes up with these names? Delta-Blue; sounds like a stripper, if you ask me.”
    â€œMr. Heavyset weighs in,” Abe gibed.
    â€œHo, ho … At least the guy didn’t refer to you as a buff African-American.”
    Within thirty seconds, all traffic on both sides of I-195 had been shunted off the roadway, making the busy interstate resemble a deserted airport runway. After another thirty seconds, four more state police cruisers appeared in the southbound lane and came to a lurching stop beyond the separating guardrail. Two troopers jumped from each of the vehicles and positioned themselves behind the front and rear fenders, guns drawn and ready for action. Three more cruisers had joined the officer behind the van.
    â€œWhat do we look like, Bonnie and Clyde?” Lever complained. “I’m going to get out and talk to these guys. Whoever they think we are, they’re wrong.”
    â€œHold on, Al,” Rosco said, reaching across Abe and placing a hand on the lieutenant’s red sleeve. “These guys look serious. Drawn weapons isn’t about doing seventy in a fifty-five zone. I’d hate to see someone get nervous and make a mistake. Let’s wait them out. Sooner or later they’ll run our plates through their computer and realize they’ve got the wrong guys.”
    Abe Jones shook his head. “The Staties don’t have any record on these being NPD plates—just like we don’t