Chapter 1
Friends on the Force
This story takes place before Doom Magnet.
“Can I do the siren?”
“No.”
“Can I kick in a door?”
Deputy Bobby’s eyebrows went up, and I took offense at the way he looked at my legs. “Can you?”
“Do I get to shoot your gun?”
His silence was deliberative. “We can talk about the siren.”
It was a perfect October day. The skies were clear, the sun was shining, and when the wind flattened out, it was warm enough that I didn’t need the jacket I’d brought along.
We stood in the gravel lot of the sheriff’s station.
I was excited. Deputy Bobby, in his distractingly well-fitting khaki uniform, was clearly reconsidering any number of life choices.
“Am I going to rescue a kitten out of a tree?”
“That doesn’t come up as often as you’d think.”
“Am I going to shout, ‘Stop! Police!’”
“Absolutely not.”
“If there’s a three-way standoff—”
“Just shoot me,” Deputy Bobby said. The tone suggested he might have meant to say it under his breath, but the sound carried on that clear, windless day.
“Okay, good, that’s exactly what I was going to ask.”
The thing about Deputy Bobby was that he could—on first impression—be a little terrifying.
He was so handsome, for one thing: the jawline, the shoulders, the biceps.
His eyes, too, which were a burnished bronze that made something funny happen in my stomach when I looked at him too long.
Basically, the overall face and body combo, head to toe.
And he wasn’t given to a lot of demonstrative smiling or chuckling or good-natured awkward rambling.
He said what he needed to say. Directly.
And if he didn’t need to say anything, he was perfectly comfortable with silence.
Right now, for example, he was clearly wishing for a little more silence.
“Before we get started,” he said, “I want to go over the rules.”
“I already know the rules. I had to sign the ride-along form, remember?”
“Let’s go over them anyway.”
“That’s a little rude—”
“I really don’t feel like I should have to stress this as strongly as I’m about to, but in case there’s any doubt in your mind: you’re an observer only.”
“Of course.”
“You’re not to become involved in any way.”
“I understand what observer means.”
“In fact, you probably shouldn’t do anything.”
“Deputy Bobby, it’s me, Dash. What could I possibly do?”
For some reason, that made him sigh. “In keeping with rule one—which was, in case you’ve already forgotten, that you are an observer only—rule two is no weapons.”
“Except these guns,” I said. “I mean my muscles. In my arms.” And then I remembered. “They’re called biceps.”
Deputy Bobby stared at me.
“And your gun,” I said.
He kept staring at me.
“That was a joke,” I said.
He drew a deep breath before he said, “Rule three—attire. I think you’re good to go.”
“Polo, check. Chinos, check. Closed-toed shoes, check. I look like a bona fide straight.”
“You look like someone who has a job.”
“Okay, in the first place, I’m a writer, so every moment of lived experience is me doing my job, and the whole world is my office.”
“How much lived experience do you have before eleven in the morning?”
“I cannot believe the treatment I’m getting. I’m going to talk to the sheriff.”
“Rule four goes along with rules one and two, so I really want to stress this one: no leaving the vehicle without permission from the supervising officer.”
“Wait, you’re my supervising officer? Does that mean I’m getting evaluated? How am I doing?”
“How do you think you’re doing?”
“Deputy Bobby!”
“Rule number five, another big one: no entering private residences.”
“Ah ha!” I even gave him a finger—not that way, just pointing at him. “How can I enter them if I’m still inside the car?”
“If anyone could find a way.”
“Unless maybe you’re inside the residence, and I’m inside the car, and you need help, so I drive straight into the living room. But I think I’d get a pass on that one because I’d be saving your life.”
“Take keys with me,” Deputy Bobby said to himself. “Check.”
My jaw dropped at this new outrage.
“This next one is very important,” Deputy Bobby said.
“You must keep all information from the ride-along confidential. That includes the personal information of people we interact with.” In a slightly different voice, he added, “It’s a small town, Dash.
The people you’re going to see are your neighbors, and some of them, well, you won’t see them at their best.”
“I understand.”
“And now we get to my favorite rule: the deputy may terminate the ride-along at any point.”
Again: jaw droppage.
Deputy Bobby looked far too pleased with himself. “These rules are for your safety—”
“How dare you?”
“—and for mine. Okay, are you ready to go?”
“Wait a minute. I believe there was another rule you didn’t cover.”
Deputy Bobby put his hands on his hips. It was, all things considered, a good look for him, although the glower he was giving me did put a damper on things.
“I believe I remember something about a meal.”
It must have been twenty or thirty seconds of total silence. And then Deputy Bobby said, “Here we go.”
We got in the cruiser, and we eased out of the lot, tires biting into the gravel. I waited as long as I could. But there were so many buttons. And smells. And a computer screen.
“There was a discussion,” I said, “about revisiting the question of the siren.”
Deputy Bobby sighed.