Frank-3 Enroute: The Last Straw

By Rod Harris and Norma Hood

Rapid-fire action and humor burn hot in the fourth book of the Frank-3 Enroute series. Join Las Vegas street cop Rod Randel, aka The Hawk, his powerful partners, and raging rookies as they lead a blazing charge on the cliffhangers from book three, It Aint Finished. Solutions evolve! Rods long-time partner, Sam Sikes, aka Grumpy, quits after his family is threatened. Randel must triumph without him! Someone is eliminating the Drug Lords. Whos next? What happened to Officer Rileys abducted wife, Carrie? How will the sheriff solve the rash of burglaries that strike Vegas, escalating the stress on the already overloaded police department? Follow The Hawk, who remains #1 on the Cuban Cartels hit list, as he leaves a scorching trail on his prey. 124words

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496902900

Rod Harris

About the Authors Rod Harris: Rod Harris is a Veteran who served his Country in the U. S. Marine Corp in Vietnam. Semper Fi! He is also a twenty-six year plus Veteran of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department. His adventures have turned into the second of the delightful series of Frank-3 Enroute novels written by Rod Harris with Norma Hood. Norma Hood: Norma Hood, a retired business owner and a former New Mexico State Legislator, is the mother of four fantastic and successful children, and the grandmother of a baker’s dozen, plus one great-grand daughter. She is an accomplished writer of poetry and prose. Collaborating on their second novel together and developing a wonderful friendship has been an exciting experience for Norma with Rod Harris.

Book preview

THE BEGINNING

The City of Lights, Las Vegas, Nevada, begs a flashy vehicle. The red Camaro caught my eye; I bought it, licensed it, and changed my driver’s license like a good, new citizen. Crusin’ a little over the speed limit, I noticed the flashing light behind me. Easing to the curb, I watched as a dapper-looking motorcycle officer, high-topped black boots, rider-pants, helmet and sunglasses approached my open driver’s window.

Good afternoon sir, may I see your driver’s license, registration, and proof of insurance?

Yes sir, I replied.

Returning after running my ID and plates, and leaving me sweating the fact that I was goin’ way over the speed limit, he pleasantly asked, Have you ever considered becoming a police officer, Mr. Harris?

Surprised, I checked his badge, Presberry. No sir, Officer Presberry, I rejoined in my military tone.

You should consider it; we need good men in Vegas. You were a Marine!

Yes sir, I am. Once a Marine, always a Marine.

Opening his metal, ticket book, he responded, I have an application you can fill out. Are you sure you won’t consider becoming an officer of the law?

No sir, but thanks.

Thoughtfully, and slowly taking his pen from his pocket, he answered, Are you aware that you were going at least fifteen miles over the limit? That’s a two-hundred-dollar fine. Mr. Harris, you should consider filling out an application! I have one!

I didn’t need to be hit over the head with a brick to know that I had better fill out the application. In submission, I held out my hand. Sure, I’ll fill it out later.

No, I’ll wait, Mr. Harris. He spoke with authority and a definite smile of satisfaction. Patiently waiting, his giant six-foot-three showy-uniformed body hovering over my low-seated, red Camaro, he obliged me, as I quickly filled out his damned application.

Thank you, sir, he affably retorted. By the way, my cranky partner’s stationed about six blocks down, so obey the speed limit. Have a nice day!

Officer Presberry waited while I found egress to the street. It’s difficult driving with a motorcycle policeman right behind you. Officer Presberry veered to a stop beside his partner, and probably relayed the story of his catch for the Academy.

The letter of congratulations from the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department, advised me to report to testing in one week. Thus began my profession in my City of Lights. For twenty-six plus years, my response to control, ‘Frank-3 Enroute’.

Join me in the City of Lights, and read about my adventures, as Officer Rod Randel, ‘The Hawk’.

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AuthorHouse™ LLC

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© 2014 Rod Harris and Norma Hood. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/12/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-0292-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-0291-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-0290-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014906515

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue

in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

THE BEGINNING

1. AGAINST THE WALL

2. MOUTH TO MOUTH

3. OFF GUARD

4. BULLET PROOF

5. TOO MUCH TO HANDLE

6. DEVEREAUX’S DIARY

7. TOO SCARED TO TELL

8. TIGER ROOM

9. BULLARD’S BLUNDER

10. FBI PRIZE PACKAGE

11. ABELINE’S IN TEXAS

12. LIZARD LIPS

13. DUCKS

14. FIRST CALL

15. THE BOMB AND THE IDIOT

16. THE GAME IS A-FOOTE, WATSON

17. LITTLE EVIE’S LAWYER

18. BAGMAN

19. PURPLE SHORTS

20. SECOND CALL

21. GENERATOR

22. DOUBLE-D DIXIE

23. LAW SUITS

24. KNOT HOLE

25. ELEVATOR RIDE

26. WHITE OUT

27. I’M GOIN’ TO DIE

28. SACRAMENTO EXTRADITION

29. SAMSON AND DELILAH

30. MIDNIGHT LACE

31. JURISDICTION

32. STUPID

33. PILED HIGH

34. SORROW

35. MANGA’ MANGA’

36. RYDER’S RIDE

37. THE STRAWBERRY PATCH

38. THE GLOVE

39. LEGACY

40. BANG! YOU’RE DEAD!

41. THE ART-EEST

42. NO REDEMPTION

43. THE FENCE

44. HIGH TIDE

45. BYE-BYE BURG

46. RIGHT CHOICE

47. HOT SHOT

48. SURPRISE LIBERATION!

49. JUMPER

50. THE LAST STRAW

51. HEY OFFICER RANDEL!

52. RUSSIAN ROULETTE

53. HOT SEAT

54. FULL CIRCLE

AGAINST THE WALL

Time flies by when you’re having fun. However, when your back’s against the wall and treacherous circumstances exist, all your thoughts race through your head so fast that time stands still, passing slowly, with each second ticking away like an hour. Action is imperative; you will defend yourself, but how?

That was the situation I found myself in on New Year’s Eve. The Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department assigned my rookie partner, Officer Willy Wells, and me to the corners of First and Fremont and the surrounding area in the downtown corridor. On the festive New Year’s Eve, all the downtown streets were barricaded to automobile traffic, and were alive and packed with happy, celebrating, mostly heavily intoxicated citizens and visitors to the legendary, magical city. The temperature was in the mid-sixties, cold for residents, but warm to those from snow-blown winter wonderlands. As the evening wore on, the dazzling lights enthralled the merry makers, and the din of the music and loud voices made even the emergency sirens seem muted. As usual, it was crowded shoulder to shoulder. The pushing and shoving of cheerful partiers and their lack of caution or consideration caused some minor disturbances, and revelers considerable distress; the pickpockets, the prostitutes and their pimps worked the area, and many small skirmishes arose. It was our job to keep the peace on those four corners, up and down the sidewalks and on the pavement, to settle the fracases, or to send the combatants off to jail.

Wells, his tall frame allowing him to see above the milling crowd, called out, Hawk, over there in the middle of the street, one guy just hit another with a beer bottle, and he’s down. We pushed and shoved our way through the swarm of people to the scene.

You’ve got my back, Wells, I declared as I quickly swung my PR-24 baton, cracking the wrist of the suspect. BONG! Perfect hit, score one for the good guys, I deduced as I heard his bones snap. He immediately released the jagged, bloodied beer bottle and grabbed his wrist, cursing me as he did. In my calm, controlled, professional manner, I brought my PR-24 low, and deftly conked the suspect on the shin. That had to hurt! I concluded as he dropped to the street writhing in pain. I seized his good hand and twisting his arm behind his back, cuffed his wrist, and placed my foot squarely between his shoulders. Wells still had my back as I worked.

Looking toward the other man, I noticed that he was down on his knees, holding his throat, and raising one hand for help. Jerking the cuffed suspect, I literally dragged him along with me as he staggered to rise. Rushing to the second man as he collapsed, I saw that he was bleeding profusely from the neck, and quickly guessed that the sum-bitch in cuffs had slit the man’s throat.

Wells, I ordered, snatch that beer bottle. We’ll need it for evidence. Willy shoved the gory weapon, neck first, into his back pocket. Call for backup and an am-bo-lance! We have to get these guys to that wall now!

Lifting up on the suspect’s cuffs, I pushed him in front of me and the injured man, and handed him off to Willy. Limping badly, he headed for the curb. Raising the poor, drunk, bleeding bastard and dragging him by his belt as I grabbed his neck, I tried to stop the flow of blood.

From the crowd I heard, Did you see that cop, he’s choking that man.

Police brutality, called a woman.

Another man yelled, "Let’s take him out!"

Immediately turning, I looked into a sea of blurred faces. I was trying to watch my gun and my holster, and to protect my rookie and the victim at the same time. A rush of adrenalin surged through my body. Though time was of the essence for saving the bleeding victim, I moved as if in slow motion, my feet barely moving toward the wall. Every muscle felt the straining and stressing to convey me faster.

Cops can’t do that, shouted an angry bystander. Let’s help that poor guy!

I ordered the cuffed suspect, On the ground! I leaned the injured, semi-conscious man upright against the wall and placed my foot in the back of his assailant.

Oh sheee-it, shouted Wells, we’re gonna have a riot on our hands, Randel. What we gonna do?

In s.l.o.w m.o.t.i.o.n I answered, W i l l y, start swingin’ your PR-24 as hard and as fast as you can. Call for back up! We need help, or we’re gonna be trampled. Why weren’t the words coming out faster? My voice seemed garbled and distorted, even though I was shouting over all the commotion.

P.o.-l.i.c.e! B a c k, back! Get back! yelled Willy in half time. Control, Frank-3, we need backup and an am-bo-lance at First and Fremont, South side. The crowd’s getting out of control! We can see patrol car lights on South First, but we need help to clear for them. We’re about to be over run.

Frank-3, dispatch came back, we’ve got as many coming your way as we can, but they can’t get through. The streets are jammed with people and they aren’t moving. Code Red at First and Fremont! Any and all available officers would head our way, but could they get through? It sure as hell didn’t look like it!

Frank-3, this is Adam-2, Roscoe, we can’t get through. Gilmore and I are trying to get to you, Randel! I could hear the anxiety in her voice, but I couldn’t respond.

I cursed under my breath, sure could use some experienced help, but where the hell is my partner, Grumpy, when I need him? That’s when his loss really hit me. Damnit! I cursed aloud.

I felt the hot, heavy, angry bodies of the surging crowd as they came near me and then backed off as Wells violently swung his PR-24 to protect me; then they rushed me and Wells backed them off again. It was cold out, but I could feel the clammy sweat running down the back of my shirt and trickling down my face. Somehow, each decision I made and each movement it provoked came through lightning fast as if from nowhere. I am certain now that it was as if each action were calculated beforehand, years of experience leading and forcing each act to its precise end.

Wells was sweating from exerting his right arm with the baton as he stood about four feet in front of me. I had knelt with my knee on the suspects back, and was still holding his victim against the wall by the throat, with my gloved hand trying to stem the blood flow. He was now limp and only semi-conscious. Damnit, you stay with me buddy; you can’t die on me now, I exclaimed as I shook him.

There’s no telling what a crowd of drunks including men showing off for their dates, and women in high heels with pointed toes can do. All could be lethal. Mayor Pam Jones knows what I’m talking about, I thought, as I remembered her helping me retain a suspect with her high heeled shoes, kicking him in the head, not once but twice. I offered a prayer to the Man upstairs, "Lord it’s me, the ‘Hawk’! I need your help, NOW! I hope you’re listening!

M.i.s.t.e.r, I said still in slow motion to the injured man, if we’re gonna get out of here alive you’ve got to trust me. The man was gurgling blood and looked at me with bulging eyes.

Suddenly from out of nowhere, my mind was whirling, my senses alive and ready; I hollered loudly, at the cuffed suspect, You bastard, it was as if my forceful, virile voice was coming from a box, I ought to kill you for mo-lesting that little boy. I yelled, I know you’re wanted for mo-lesting little girls too. I ought to finish you right here. I gave the suspect a startling shove in the back with my knee for emphasis. A deep guttural sound exploded from his mouth.

My chest was rising and falling quickly as I drew deep breaths, exerting my strength to retain him and to hold my limp victim’s neck. Maybe I am choking him, I thought, like I did that damned Chihuahua. I relaxed my hold slightly. I watched for his breathing. He’s still alive.

No, no, pleaded the startled suspect. Don’t say that!

The closest drunk bystander yelled, The cop’s got a child molester. He ought to kill him and save us the money. Let’s help the cops!"

The suspect whimpered as spit drooled from his mouth, You’re gonna get me killed!

An onlooker hollered, Hey, that’s Officer Randel; get back! Get back!

Shut up, I bellowed at the suspect from some cavernous pit deep inside. You child mo-lesters are all alike. You piss and moan when we catch you. How do you think those little kids feel?

Wells and I were stuck right there; I thought, no place to go, can’t go up, can’t go down, ain’t got no help, and got an angry crowd. As suddenly as the sea of faces raged against us, the tide changed and the wave of people ebbed away from us.

Wells forcefully lifted the suspect, and shoved him forward at the crowd. He replaced his PR-24 and used his outstretched hand to stiff-arm his way and to bank the throng of on-lookers.

Here Officer, let us help you clear the crowd. COMIN’ THROUGH WITH A CHILD MOLESTER! Make way! Make way! Let the police through. Child molester! Everybody hates the idea of a child molester; people started shoving others back, clearing the way for us, the ambulance, and police vehicles. Everyone was on our side now, and actually trying to strike the two suspects. Thank you Lord!

Way to go, officer!

Look, it’s Officer Randel, he’s got a child molester! Good Work! reiterated another member of the throng.

Weaving their way through the crowd, the first police car arrived after the barricades were moved. I heard the patrol’s radio over the quieter crowd, We see them! They’re on the southeast wall! The first officer out of the car called, Are you all right, Officer Randel?

Yes, I’m not hurt. I’m bloody as hell, but I’m all right.

Approaching us directly behind the police unit was the ambulance that would transport my bleeding victim. Wells called in the Code 4 that cleared the airways, and then handed the suspect over to the other officers who read him his rights. As he was being placed in the patrol car, he called out, Thanks, Officer, I thought I was gonna be killed. But thanks to your quick thinking, you saved all our lives. I’ll never forget you! You’d better thank the good Lord above for saving us all, I thought.

The EMTs secured the victim with the cut neck on the gurney, and placed him safely in the ambulance. Cheers came from the crowd as the doors closed on the ambulance that carried away the victim, and the police car that took away the would-be-child-molester.

That’s ‘The Hawk’, called out one of the street people that was sitting on the curb, too intoxicated to move. Thanks for the anti-freeze, Offither Randel, he called out. It sure helps us on cold nights like this. Happy New Year!

I used my bloodstained sleeve to wipe the sweat off my brow before I thought that the victim could be HIV positive. I badgered myself, Aw damn it, Randel, what were you thinking? That’s what you wear your gloves for, to protect yourself. Dumb Ass! Well, at least you protected your rookie!

Roscoe, using Adam-2 as her call sign that night, approached me, closely followed by Gilmore. Both were also still rookies, but I couldn’t have asked for better back-up. Now that my partner, (damn his ornery hide) Sam Sikes, AKA Grumpy, was gone, I relied on them implicitly. I knew they would follow me through fire. Sikes and I had trained them well.

Damn those Cuban drug dealers for threatening Sam’s family and scaring him and Kate away. I don’t blame Sam for quitting the force; he had to protect his family, but damnit, I sure do miss that guy; we partnered for so many years I thought. We were as close as brothers. Well hell, as for me, I’ve got nothin’ to lose. It’s funny that as soon as you think that, you realize that you do!

Willy complained, You guys, I thought we were goners for sure. I’ve never been so damned scared in my life.

Randel, you had us all scared! exclaimed Roscoe, seeming relieved as did Gilly that we had escaped unscathed.

We thought you were gonna get slaughtered, ‘Hawk’, but you came out smellin’ like a rose again, Gilly lauded.

I think Willy and I left a little fertilizer back there, Gilmore, I touted laughing sarcastically. That was a close one!

"That’ll get you an ATTA Boy from Lt. ‘Mean Gene’ Germain for quick thinkin’ Randel, affirmed Willy. Man, I thought this was all happening in slow motion."

So did I, Willy, I replied, thankful that it was over. You deserve the ATTA Boy if anyone does!

Well, it’s back to our corner, Randel, asserted Roscoe. Call us again if you need us. Remember, we’ve got your back! Those magical words mean a million to any officer. Trusted partners that have your back and you know you can depend on to be a heartbeat away when you call, means they can save your life or that of your nearest partner. Roscoe and Gilly knew that we would be there to back them too.

Gilly stated, Yep! What you waitin’ for Wells? Grass’ll be growin’ under your feet. Get a move on, BOY! That’s what Grumpy would have said, I thought.

Willy called over his shoulder, Yeah, ‘Hawk’, why don’t you pick up an ice tea for both of us while you tiptoe back to our station? I’m already half-way there. He bounded for the corner of First and Fremont.

You piss ant; you fetch your own tea. I’ve got work to do!

Aw Randel, why do I always have to do it?

Because my uniform is all bloody, and besides that damnit, you’re still Willy! By the way, I’m leaving you on your own while I go change.

With Wells harassing me, it’s beginning to feel like I’m with Sikes again! Ha! It was only 11:00 p.m.; the night was still young.

MOUTH TO MOUTH

I changed my uniform and rejoined Wells at First and Freemont where we worked the streets in a more peaceful manner until about 5 a.m. Then we got a call from control, Frank-3, copy a call.

What you got for me, Cheri’?

"We have a possible 417, with a prostitute and her trick in the lobby at the Las Vegas Club.

"Copy, Cheri’. Frank-3 Enroute! By the way, Happy New Year!"

Thanks, Randel, you be safe out there.

I walked from Fremont Street through the gambling area of the Las Vegas Club to the lobby. I spotted a man in his early to mid-fifties, wearing a dark suit, sitting in a high-backed upholstered chair, and on his lap was Lollie the prostitute. She was about 5'3 tall, with dirty blonde hair, with an unattractive, no downright ugly countenance, and with her evening dress somewhat askew and well above her knees. She was wiggling around on his lap, and they were arguing, then kissing and then arguing again. Come on, Daddy, be nice, crooned Lollie. I just want to be your sweet Lollie Pop!"

No, I don’t even like you, mumbled the obviously inebriated man through her wet kisses.

I went to the desk and spoke with the clerk who advised me that Mr. Russell registered at the hotel as a single, but had come down with ‘Miss Lollie’ earlier, on the way to the hotel’s gala all night buffet. They had spent a considerable time at the buffet, apparently imbibing free champagne and celebrating the New Year. Now they had moved to the lobby where they had been sitting for ten to fifteen minutes. Mr. Russell was ready to call it a night and return to his quarters without ‘Miss Lollie’. However, Lollie was persistently rubbing him in his nether region, stimulating his passion as she whimpered soulfully that she wanted him to make love to her. Something had suddenly gone wrong when he called her a ‘bitch’ and shoved her from the chair. However, after telling Mr. Russell that he was a ‘no-good, two-time loser’, Lollie, in an effort to recuperate her fee for the evening, was once again wallowing passionately on his lap. The clerk, afraid that a distasteful scene was going to prevail in his elegant lobby, had called the police.

So here I was, Officer Rod Randel, the keeper of the peace. I turned toward the loving twosome and observed that ‘Miss Lollie’ had her tongue in Mr. Russell’s mouth. Then I heard a distinguishable noise, the one that lets you know that someone is retching. Sure enough, ‘Miss’ Lollie’s midsection convulsed, once and then again and without further warning, she vomited directly into Mr. Russell’s mouth. Russell, immediately spitting and regurgitating, jumped up, and shoved her onto the floor, spat and spat to clear his mouth and throat and through the vomit, called her a useless whore as he kicked her while she was down.

I bolted across the lobby, grabbed him by the wrist, knocked his feet out from under him, and as he lay on the floor, wrenched his arm behind him, cuffing him expeditiously. I explained, Sir, you are under arrest for disturbing the peace.

You can’t arrest me, he sputtered, still spitting champagne and caviar, crackers and cheese, crabmeat and other crap from his mouth. She just vomited in my mouth. There was vomit on his dark suit, on his tie, on the upholstered, straight-backed chair, on the floor, and on Lollie who was heaped in the middle of the lobby covered with her sickening mess.

Yeah, Officer Randel, she gurgled, hook that bastard. That SOB hit me and kicked me; go ahead, take him to jail. Lollie was still spitting residue from her mouth, directly onto the lobby carpet.

Everything and everyone except me was covered with the dregs from her stomach. Since she was already on the carpet, her head raised and facing me, I stepped into her and placed my boot on her neck. Up until that point, I was calm and collected. However, Lollie belched forth another raucous glob that landed on my pant’s leg. I was not pleased to say the least! Damn, I thought, I’ll have to hit Mrs. Chalmer’s cleaners tomorrow. That’s two uniforms tonight. But as for you Lollie and for Pop over there, you’re both going to jail tonight! Rolling her onto her stomach with my gloved hand, I quickly subdued her too, and cuffed her.

Randel, she blurted out helplessly, you can’t arrest me; I didn’t mean to throw up, not in his mouth. I just got sick. I couldn’t help it. Please don’t take me in.

In the meantime, Mr. Russell was still on the floor blathering like an idiot that didn’t have the good sense to keep his mouth shut. He continued to call Lollie every unfathomable word in his vocabulary. About that time, Officer Jacque came into the lobby to back me. Jacque as I have said before was just a little bit of a thing, but one helluva a good police officer that backed me every time she was in my area. She was cool and even wrote up most of my reports for me. Looking over the situation and smelling the distasteful stench, she wrinkled her nose and expounded, Man, Randel, you really know how to pick them. You’ve got a ripe pair tonight.

Jacque, knock it off. Just put on some gloves and take this woman off my hands.

Sorry, Randel, I don’t have gloves. I’ll have to get mine from the car. She left the scene and rushed to her vehicle. Lollie was kicking and screaming, and cursing me as we waited; she even tried to bite me through my leather glove. Mr. Russell had decided to bide his time and only observed as we waited for Jacque’s return.

Jacque scurried back into the lobby and with her latex gloves on, grabbed ‘Miss Lollie’ by the back of her hair, close to the neck, and lifting on both her hair and her handcuffs, forced a still fighting Lollie to her feet. Lollie was kicking and squirming, and tried to bite Jacque on the arm. I was making Mr. Russell rise to his feet when I heard a foot stomp and an audible crack of toes, and then a scream. It was Lollie that screamed and Jacque that inflicted the pain, breaking a couple of Lollie’s toes. Very politely, and being the tiny thing that she was, Jacque invited, Ma’am, would you like me to stomp on the other foot? I will be happy to oblige if you continue to struggle. Lollie made a quick decision that she would go peacefully.

Jacque marched Lollie to the patrol car, placed her in the front seat, and secured her with the seat belt. Then she slid the seat as far forward as possible, restraining Lollie from being able to reach across at the driver and kick. Jacque left the end of the seat belt hanging out the door as she shut it, further controlling her foul-smelling suspect.

Back inside, my suspect, Mr. Russell, was standing and turned his back to me expecting me to release him. You can let me go now, Officer Randel. I appreciate you taking that bitch off my hands. You did the right thing.

Thank you, sir, I politely replied. I’m glad that you appreciate the nature of my job. I had to arrest her, but I am also arresting you.

Why? I didn’t do anything!

Yes, sir, you did, and right in front of me. Not only did you shove her, you slapped her and kicked her. That is against the law. I am also arresting you for lewd behavior and harassment, and her for prostitution. I raised his handcuffs slightly and was about to usher him from the lobby.

The housecleaning lady with her ample cart of supplies came toward me and observed, Man, what kind of mess did they leave me here? It smells something awful.

If you check the buffet menu, ma’am, no telling what you’ll discover. I think I see chunks ham, and maybe eggs and bell peppers, maybe some champagne. I don’t know though, it could be Chinese.

Well, she said handing me a small bottle of club soda and a washcloth, you can take the smell out of your pants by rubbing it with the soda. It won’t get it all out, but it’ll help.

Thank you, ma’am. I’ll use it after I book this guy. I know he’s gonna stink up our car. He’s covered with vomit.

Here then, take this can of spray, and use it in your vehicle afterward. It neutralizes odors. We appreciate you helping us, Officer Randel.

And I appreciate you too, ma’am. Happy New Year! Come on Pops. I know that you are sick and that Lollie is sorry, but you are going to join your little Lollie at city. I marched Mr. Russell to Jacque’s vehicle and placed him in the back seat. I sat behind Jacque as we transported the loving couple, Lollie and Pop to city jail.

After I changed my trousers and returned to the intersection of First and Fremont, Wells looked as if he had everything under control. The milling crowd of partiers was dwindling and I could see the slightest ray of light rising from the sun. I thought, another day done, another year begun. Now that was rather poetic.

MDT

Revelers were still meandering from one curb to the other, upchucking, and then imbibing more of the dog that bit them. Finally, we could call it a day. After Wells and I approached our patrol car, he unlocked the door, slid behind the wheel, and started the engine. He unlocked the passenger door. I asked suspiciously, You don’t think you’re driving this morning, do you?

I thought I’d give you a break, Randel. You’ve had your hands full tonight, and I do mean full! Do you have any clean gloves left? I could give you a pair of my standard issues.

That’ll be the day! Come on around to the passenger side and let a real officer drive. Anyway, Willy, I want you to run the plate on that car over there. I really didn’t care at this point, but it was one way of making my rookie feel important. Wells reluctantly left the driver’s seat and I took his place. He parked his behind in the passenger seat, leaving the door open, with his legs out. Flipping on the screen to the MDT, he fiddled with the buttons trying to wake the little varmint so he could run the license. However, the machine was not responding to his efforts. While he contrived to make the apparatus react, I watched the dwindling crowd.

It was 6:45 a.m., time for Wells and me to pack it in, and time for all young people to be at home in their beds; it had been my experience that all kids liked to sleep in late whenever possible. I assumed the young man that I saw walking toward me was too young to want to be on the street willingly. Stepping out of my vehicle, I approached him and asked, Sir, what you are doing out this late at night?

Who, me, officer? he questioned, looking around and behind him, doubting that I was speaking to him.

Yes you. You’re Lonnie aren’t you?

Yes sir. Is that you Officer Randel?

That’d be me. Like I said, Lonnie, what you doin’ out so late?

It’s not late, ‘Hawk’, it’s early. My Pops threw a big party last night and everybody’s still there, mostly dead drunk and layin’ around. The house stinks like booze, cigarettes, bad breath, and drugs; I needed some fresh air. They’ll be out till noon, and I’m hungry; I’m gonna pan-handle for enough bread to get something to eat.

I couldn’t find fault with a kid that was just hungry, but I didn’t want a thirteen-year old getting into trouble.

Randel, called Wells, "I can’t