Chapter Thirteen
Julie snatched a set of keys off the pegboard and tossed me a radio. “Traffic duty, ugh.”
“It’s better than dead animal pickup.” I slid my Glock into its holster.
Sergeant Bergman stepped out of his office. “Keep complaining and you will be doing both.”
“Yes, sir.” Julie saluted him sharply.
I stared at her in horrified disbelief. What in the hell was wrong with her? “We love traffic duty, sir.” I elbowed Julie in the stomach.
“That’s right, sir. We love traffic duty.”
The sarge stared at Julie for a long moment. “Git, before I change my mind.”
“Yes, sir.” I grabbed the keys to my assigned vehicle off the pegboard and dragged Julie behind me. Once we were in the parking lot, I demanded, “What crawled up your butt and died.”
“Lucas kissed me.”
My jaw dropped. “He did?”
“Yes.”
“Did you kick his ass?”
“No,” Julie sniffed. “I liked it. A lot.”
I threw up my hands. “Then what’s the problem?”
“He doesn’t like me.”
Frank hurried up to us. “I left my lunch at home.”
I dug a ten-dollar bill out of my pocket and handed it to him. “Go away.”
“Okay.” He took one look at Julie’s face and asked, “Anything I can do to help?”
“No,” Julie snapped.
Frank backed away. “Just askin’.”
“What makes you think Lucas doesn’t like you?”
Her shoulders sagged. “After he kissed me, he shoved me away and puked.”
“Oh.” Damn.
Sergeant Bergman bellowed, “Quit gossiping and get to work.”
“Yes, sir.” I grabbed Julie’s hand before she could give the sarge a one-fingered salute. “Are you trying to get fired?”
Julie stormed over to her patrol car. “I made him puke. Am I that disgusting?”
“Not at all. I know Lucas likes you. I’m sure there’s a reason for him vomiting.”
Popping the trunk on her patrol car, Julie did her vehicle inspection. “Really? He looked at me in absolute horror and ran away.”
“Lucas ran?” Yikes!
Julie checked the back seat of her patrol car. “He did.”
“Hmmm. Maybe it was food poisoning. He did get sushi from Bitsie’s food truck.”
Wiping at the tears running down her face, Julie got into her car and started the engine. “I’ll run radar on Thunderbird.” She drove off.
“Damn.”
Sergeant Berman asked, “What upset Garza?”
I jumped about a foot. Geezus. I needed to put a bell on the sneaky bastard. “Lucas vomited after he kissed her.”
“So? Four deputies got sick from eating the sushi from Bitsie’s truck.”
A laugh broke from me. “Lucas must be mortified.”
“Probably. Send Julie a text, before she shoots someone.” Sergeant Bergman strolled off.
I quickly checked my patrol car for any contraband and sent Julie a text about the bad sushi.
My phone dinged. Seriously?
Yes.
Whew.
I will get the downlow.
A big smiley face emoji appeared on my screen.
Crisis averted. I hoped. I popped the trunk and checked my supplies. Good to go. I got in my patrol car and went to find some speeders.
Ten minutes later, I got my wish. A yellow, beat all to hell, truck blew through a red light, barely missing a woman in a blue minivan.
I flipped on the overheads and gave chase. Crap. The idiot wasn’t slowing down; I added the sirens. A mile down the road, the moron finally pulled over. I keyed my radio mic, “Charlie-23, show me out at 99th and Greenway with David Adam Nora four two four.”
“Copy, Charlie-23,” the dispatcher responded.
Opening my door, I stepped out and approached the truck cautiously. More officers got killed on simple traffic stops, than on armed robberies or domestic violence.
I blew out a long breath, the idiot hadn’t rolled the window down. If he wanted to play hardball, so be it. I knocked on the glass.
The driver, an older white male with a long gray beard, totally ignored me. “Did you know beards have been found to be dirtier than toilet seats?” I said loudly.
The driver’s head snapped around and the window rolled down. “You think you’re funny or what?”
“No, sir, but you do have some powdered sugar in your beard.”
He glared at me and licked the powdered sugar off his beard.
Ugh, that was totally gross.
“Why did you pull me over?”
“You were speeding; you ran a red light and almost hit a blue minivan. I need your license, registration and proof of insurance.”
Grumbling under his breath, he gave me his paperwork. “You are a fucking bitch.”
“Why thank you. Do you know how fast you were going, sir?”
“No.”
I smiled. “I guess that means I can write anything I want on the ticket.”
He stared at me in utter disbelief.
I raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“Fifty,” he snarled.
“The speed limit is forty, sir.”
The idiot’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Can’t you give me a warning?”
“A warning? Okay, I’m warning you to slow down and obey all the traffic laws or I will give you another ticket.”
“That’s not fair.”
My temper flared. “You want me to be fair? Fair is where you go to ride the Ferris wheel, eat cotton candy, and play ring toss.”
“Am I making your quota for the day?” He shot back.
I gave him my Debbie Sunshine smile. “You are. Now I can get the toaster oven I’ve been wanting.”
“Bitch!” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “I’m going to call the sheriff and get you fired.”
Enough was enough. In my best mean mother voice, I stated, “I’m going back to my car to run your name through the NCIC database. You will stay in the car. If you attempt to run, I will chase you down and arrest you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” As I walked back to my patrol car, I noticed Sergeant Bergman parked across the street. I held up four fingers.
He nodded and drove off.
Unfortunately, Dennis Johnson didn’t have any outstanding warrants. I wrote him a ticket for speeding and running a red light. An evil smile curved my mouth. Those tickets would cost him over eight hundred dollars.
I walked up to the truck and handed him the tickets. “You are scheduled to appear in court in three weeks. If you miss your court date, a warrant will be issued for your arrest. Have a nice day, sir.”
Glaring at me, Dennis drove off slowly.