Tommy Sallow is onto better and brighter things. After working a small hometown beat in upstate New York, he's finally in sunny California. As expected, it's the same shit in a different town. Except, you know, now he's near the ocean and miserable...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Not a damn call all shift so far and I've been on the clock for five hours. For being a full moon, this night is fucking lame.
Where are the crazies? Let me at 'em. Give me something to do for crying out loud. Shit, send me to Main Street. Let me get into a fist fight with Old Man Fitzgerald. It's been too long since I've gotten a shiner and left with a Motown song stuck in my head for 48 hours.
The static on the radio fills the car. Finally. Something to do besides drink obscene amounts of coffee, play games on my phone, and pretend I don't have a shit ton of paperwork I should be working on instead.
"Five-ninety-four."
Okay, no. When I said I wanted something to do, I didn't mean that.
"Water Street."
Please no. Not the fucking Bay Park Bridge again.
"Bay Park Bridge."
A grumbling sigh spills from my mouth as I jerk the gear shift and drive off in the direction of Water Street, irritated that I jinxed myself. What was I thinking begging for a call? The last thing I want to do tonight is catch another group of unruly kids being careless on that stupid fucking bridge.
To be fair though, it is a full moon and they do love to howl off of that rickety, old thing. I should have known malicious mischief on the bridge would be the call I'd get.
Such a tired, dumb activity.
Oh hell, who am I kidding? This is the most Oakwood thing I've experienced here in California and I can't deny the little part of this routine call that always brings on a healthy dose of homesickness, makes me pine for those troublemaking Adler brothers and the stupid shenanigans they used to put me through back in the day. Before one of them went on to marry my sister, I might add.
I miss those days. And this mission always brings me right back, not only to those early cop adventures in my hometown but to my own rambunctious youth, the one I scraped together when things got better at home. Kind of makes me feel bad whenever I have to crack down on a group of teens, knowing I was just like them once. But whatever, the world must keep turning. It's only fair that everyone takes their turn getting busted.
And here's the best part, ever since I discovered the secret trail off the main road and through the woods, arriving at the bridge for a bust is more than a little satisfying. Those kids never see me coming.
On a good sprint, it takes almost no extra time to get there on foot but gives me the advantage of a noiseless arrival, as opposed to driving up on that gravel road and giving myself away, watching them all escape into the woods. They're too quick. I'm in shape but fuck, kids are fast. They used to get away every time, almost without fail.
Not anymore though. Not when I know about their little secret trail.
I park the patrol car at the far end of Water Street, shut the door with care, and make my way to the next street over. Picking up my speed, I zip right along the path that's been paved by the onslaught of endless foot traffic over the years, only slowing down about three yards from the landing of the old bridge. From there, I slow to a creeping pace and stay as quiet as possible.
