There!
Pretty now.
Now to put some random fiction in this sucker and make it official!
"10-68 ... Lieutenant, this is dispatch, we have a 920J reported on Coral, nine-ten?"
Lieutenant Samuel Weldyn winced and reached for his CB radio, setting down his half-eaten egg sandwich. "10-4, dispatch, on my way. Address?"
"That'd be 56 Coral, Sam."
"Thanks, Lila. Oughta be there in ten." Clipping the radio to his belt, he stood, wiping crumbs from his mouth before setting the napkin down on his plate. "Gotta go, Madie," he called out to the woman standing behind the counter.
"You gon' take that biscuit, Sam?" The fifty-something negress asked, taking a pencil out of her bun to tally up his bill.
"Eh, no, just cleaned the cruiser, but thank you. I may bring Barbara over for supper later, though, so you won't miss me for long. How much I owe you?"
"Four sixty-three, Sam," Madie replied, ringing it up on the register. "You want a coffee to go?"
"I should be good, Madie, thanks."
"On the house."
"It's arright. Please." He pulled a five and a single from his pocket and placed them on the counter. "You keep the change, now, Madie. I gotta run."
"You keep it safe, now, Sam."
He afforded her a genial smile and a wave as he strode out of the small diner, stepping out onto the commercial expanse that was Bryer Street, the hub of Aviario's West End. Taking his keys from the pocket of his navy blue police jacket, he slid into his cruiser and turned the engine. As he sat there, giving it a moment to warm up in the January air, his radio crackled once more. This time, he chose to pick it up from the dashboard.
"Lieutenant Weldyn..."
"Hey Sam. S' Sarah. You're not taking that 920J over on Coral, are you?"
"Matter of fact, I am, partner," he replied, buckling his seatbelt one-handed. "Finders keepers, sorry."
"Sam, let me take this one."
"Sarah," he sighed into the CB, "you know I take all the juvenile cases."
Sarah McCandless' displeasure was evident by the crackling of air that, through police dispatch lines, indicated a heavy sigh. "Sam," she said sternly, "I have a kid, too. I've got just as much right as you do to be watching out for them."
"And maybe more, is that what you were gonna say?" He snapped, pulling the cruiser out onto Bryer Street and towards Bloc Avenue - the quickest route to the South End.
"Sam, that wasn't --"
"Look, Sarah. Just because you still know where Amy is, because she still WANTS you to know where she is ..."
"SAM!"
He ground his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to take a deep breath before replying. ".... what, Sarah."
"I've told you. I'm sorry about Brandon. Really. But... if you want to stop stuff like that from happening again ... as much as you'd like it to be ... it's not a one-man job."
A pause, as Sam flipped down the visor of his window and glanced at the dog-eared, creased photograph that had been carefully taped there - he and his wife, Barbara, with their seventeen-year-old son, eight years ago - before he'd run away.
The weathered lieutenant sighed, then spoke once more into the CB.
"Meet you there, then. Give me five."
Setting the radio back into its holder, he got out of the car once more.
"Looks like I might need that coffee after all, Madie."
Thanks to Al for the prompt of "Hey. Write about Sam", and her assumed permission to use Sarah for all of six lines. :D
Now to put some random fiction in this sucker and make it official!
"10-68 ... Lieutenant, this is dispatch, we have a 920J reported on Coral, nine-ten?"
Lieutenant Samuel Weldyn winced and reached for his CB radio, setting down his half-eaten egg sandwich. "10-4, dispatch, on my way. Address?"
"That'd be 56 Coral, Sam."
"Thanks, Lila. Oughta be there in ten." Clipping the radio to his belt, he stood, wiping crumbs from his mouth before setting the napkin down on his plate. "Gotta go, Madie," he called out to the woman standing behind the counter.
"You gon' take that biscuit, Sam?" The fifty-something negress asked, taking a pencil out of her bun to tally up his bill.
"Eh, no, just cleaned the cruiser, but thank you. I may bring Barbara over for supper later, though, so you won't miss me for long. How much I owe you?"
"Four sixty-three, Sam," Madie replied, ringing it up on the register. "You want a coffee to go?"
"I should be good, Madie, thanks."
"On the house."
"It's arright. Please." He pulled a five and a single from his pocket and placed them on the counter. "You keep the change, now, Madie. I gotta run."
"You keep it safe, now, Sam."
He afforded her a genial smile and a wave as he strode out of the small diner, stepping out onto the commercial expanse that was Bryer Street, the hub of Aviario's West End. Taking his keys from the pocket of his navy blue police jacket, he slid into his cruiser and turned the engine. As he sat there, giving it a moment to warm up in the January air, his radio crackled once more. This time, he chose to pick it up from the dashboard.
"Lieutenant Weldyn..."
"Hey Sam. S' Sarah. You're not taking that 920J over on Coral, are you?"
"Matter of fact, I am, partner," he replied, buckling his seatbelt one-handed. "Finders keepers, sorry."
"Sam, let me take this one."
"Sarah," he sighed into the CB, "you know I take all the juvenile cases."
Sarah McCandless' displeasure was evident by the crackling of air that, through police dispatch lines, indicated a heavy sigh. "Sam," she said sternly, "I have a kid, too. I've got just as much right as you do to be watching out for them."
"And maybe more, is that what you were gonna say?" He snapped, pulling the cruiser out onto Bryer Street and towards Bloc Avenue - the quickest route to the South End.
"Sam, that wasn't --"
"Look, Sarah. Just because you still know where Amy is, because she still WANTS you to know where she is ..."
"SAM!"
He ground his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to take a deep breath before replying. ".... what, Sarah."
"I've told you. I'm sorry about Brandon. Really. But... if you want to stop stuff like that from happening again ... as much as you'd like it to be ... it's not a one-man job."
A pause, as Sam flipped down the visor of his window and glanced at the dog-eared, creased photograph that had been carefully taped there - he and his wife, Barbara, with their seventeen-year-old son, eight years ago - before he'd run away.
The weathered lieutenant sighed, then spoke once more into the CB.
"Meet you there, then. Give me five."
Setting the radio back into its holder, he got out of the car once more.
"Looks like I might need that coffee after all, Madie."
Thanks to Al for the prompt of "Hey. Write about Sam", and her assumed permission to use Sarah for all of six lines. :D