Sandy pulled up to the mouth of the driveway, working at putting it all out of her head. Nothing she could do about the armchair police in town. And it wasn’t like that was a shock; she understood the scrutiny before she’d even publicly announced she’d run for the position. And in many ways, Meredith was easier to take than other folks. At least Meredith let you know exactly what she thought; the others were happy to smile in Sandy’s face and tell her what a great job she was doing while calling her Chief Bitch when she was out of the room.
Albert came out onto the porch, holding his hand. Albert was a nice enough guy, but had the cognitive abilities of a bag of hammers. Sandy was close enough to hear Meredith yell at one of the kids inside, “Bring me a bandage. And some rubbing alcohol.” Then, to her husband, “Quit your whining.”
Sandy called out, “Everything okay?”
“Possum bit me!” Albert said.
“Shush,” Meredith said. To Sandy, she called back, “He’s fine. We certainly don’t need help from the likes of someone like you.” Meredith ushered her husband inside and shut the door.
Sandy wanted to remind them about the risks of rabies, but knew her effort would be wasted. So she pulled onto Highway 17 and rolled down the window for a deep breath of summer air. It was late enough that the heat had finally worn off, and a slight breeze tickled the corn that surrounded both farmhouses. She pulled up and stopped at the four-way stop at the intersection of Highway 17 and Road G and used her cell to call the office. A 10-21 code meant that the dispatcher had information that wasn’t ready for the open frequency on the radio. Too many people got their kicks listening to the police scanner.
Liz answered it on the first ring, which didn’t surprise Sandy. Parker’s Mill wasn’t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity. “Got a call from the Whistle Stop. Greg says Purcell Fitzgimmon’s boys are awfully tuned up, causing a ruckus. Says he’s heard your name mentioned a few times. Sounded like they were looking for a face-to-face. Thought you might like to hear about it first, before everybody else.”
“Thanks, Liz.”
“Thing is, it’s all three. Guess the middle one is on leave or something. You want me to call Hendricks? He’s still up north on 67, keeping an eye out for the drunks.”
“Let Hendricks keep an eye on the drunks. Just finished at the Einhorns’. Heading over to the Whistle now.”
Hendricks was a good cop, a guy who was good at talking folks out of heated moments. He went out of his way to avoid trouble when he was off-duty if at all possible, but had a knack for calming other folks down when he was on the clock. He had the patience to put up with hideous abuse from a drunk, then go and pick up the same guy on a Sunday morning for church service. Hendricks didn’t care a whole lot which church he ended up at. They all told pretty much the same story anyway, he reasoned.
And despite lacking any discernible skill whatsoever, he was the kind of cop who truly believed riding a unicycle in the Fourth of July parade would help gain him a little more respect from the residents. At least he had eventually listened to her when Sandy had talked him out of juggling bowling pins, but he wasn’t somebody she’d want backing her when she said howdy to hard cases like the Fitzgimmon brothers.
Sandy knew something like this would happen. Somebody was bound to test her. Somebody exactly like those boys. They had been raised not only to question every authority on earth except for their father, but to defy that authority as well, and thanks to Charlie’s arrest, their grudge against Sandy and the rest of the Parker’s Mill police department had gotten personal.
Back in November when she was only Deputy Chisel, Sandy had arrested Charlie Fitzgimmon for drunk driving and property destruction after he’d knocked over half of the stop signs in the county and was hauling them around in the back of his truck. This was the night before he was to report for basic training in either the Army or the Marines. She’d heard both versions.
Sandy had come upon his truck on the median, engine dead. Charlie was slumped over the wheel, snoring violently. She knocked on the roof.
Charlie blinked at her and eventually worked out that she was wearing a badge. He opened the door and got out all apologetic. “Thank you so much, Officer. I’m on my way, see, to an appointment with the government.” He tried his damndest to walk a straight line over to her and instead stumbled and fell. He wound up on his back, shoulders and arms in the gutter, legs on the sidewalk, pissing on himself.
She hauled him in and didn’t let him make a phone call until seven the next morning, making him almost late for his deployment. He’d never forgiven her.
A pair of headlights popped into view, way down the gentle curve to the west, moving fast. Sandy hesitated before pulling out. She squinted out of her window as the headlights grew brighter and brighter, eating up the darkness. The night was quiet enough that she could hear the diesel engine, straining and howling as the driver put the gas pedal on the floor and kept it there.
The truck blasted through the intersection as if the four stop signs never existed. The backwash rocked Sandy’s cruiser. If the driver had seen her, he didn’t react beyond pushing his vehicle as fast as possible. She automatically reached for the lights and siren, but stopped just short of clicking them on.
She recognized the truck. It was Bob Morton’s. Latest model, all the bells and whistles. He was about the only one in the county that could afford a new truck, each and every year. He either owned or leased every damn cornfield in the county, and Sandy couldn’t see any immediate reason why he would be driving so fast.
She knew she should go after him. The man deserved a ticket. He probably deserved a lot more than that. On the other hand, the Fitzgimmon boys were no doubt getting drunker and rowdier. Liz’s tone suggested that things weren’t out of hand yet, but serious trouble wasn’t far off.
Behind her, Morton’s taillights grew faint. At least he was heading east, where the roads dead-ended in yet more of his cornfields, so at least it wasn’t likely he would hit anyone else.
Ahead, she knew the Fitzgimmons were waiting for her at the Whistle Stop. And the more time she gave them, the meaner they’d get. They’d been waiting seven months for something to happen.
She promised herself she’d have a talk with Bob the next day and headed to the Whistle Stop.
A year ago, if you asked people in Parker’s Mill who they’d vote for in the upcoming Police Chief election, Sandy’s name wouldn’t even have been on the ballot. They knew her name, certainly. Knew her mostly as that teen mom who fucked up her life. She was no more than an example that mothers would use to remind their daughters of the inevitable consequences of fooling around with boys.
For a while, Sandy was inclined to agree with them. Once Kevin had been born, she started applying for jobs and discovered how very few qualifications she actually possessed. Getting her G.E.D. was the first step. Then she saw an ad for earning her Basic Officer certification. The pay was worse than stripping, but the health insurance was better. She applied and was accepted. This news was met with less-than-enthusiastic applause within Manchester County. She graduated with honors, which made everything worse.