ROOKIES

Love That Makes You Stay

SHERIFF

"All rise the honourable Doc Hudson presiding. May Doc have Mercy on your soul."

I can see him push the doors open like he's a villain in one of those modernised movies about to slaughter the whole pack, which maybe he is.

He strolls in here like he's a God. Even at this age he looks Hellishly good. If I really wanted to throw him in the impound then now might be a perfect time to do it. His black eyeliner blazes under his eyes, his slicked black hair, his navy suit.

"All right, I wanna know who's responsible for wreckin' my town, Sheriff. I wanna his hood on a platter! I'm gonna put him in jail till he rots! No, check that. I'm gonna put him in jail till the jail rots on top of him, and then I'm gonna move him to a new jail and let that jail rot. I'm..." He's standing at the front of the stage now and he recognises him, our fatal foe. My heart drops to the bottom of my chest like a pebble to the river's bed.

The boy stands there, strawberry blonde hair, red jacket like Mr. Fabolous used to wear but with numbers running down one side. 95. He smells of grease and petrol. I watch as my husband's eyes darken and now I really am frightened of him.

"Throw him out of here, Sheriff. I want him out of my courtroom. I want him out of my town! Case dismissed," I shake my head but Mr. Fabolous isn't even looking at me. I can't believe you done that, I think, why did you have to do that?

And the doors open again. Sally walks in, blue suit, blonde hair. She looks straight at Doc but he flinches because he knows she's going to put him right back in his place.

I can't recall quite what she said, something about our town being the most beautiful town ever, which it is, something about it being needed, which it is, something about us being needed, which we are but Jesus, Sal, try not to overdo it. I only know that Doc's mind had been changed for him and the road hazard was going to work ploying Bessie to fix the roads.

And when it was all over, Mr. Fabolous turned and stormed away.

"I can't do this," He mutters, placing his hands over his eyes. The rookie's so tired, "He's a racecar. I don't want him here."

I reach out to comfort him, "I know," I say, "I know." But my comfort isn't what he needed, "You don't understand. I've been around his type. They're selfish. I don't want him wreckin' this town."

I stay there, wringing my hands together, "He'll just use Bessie to fix the road and be out of here."

My husband shakes his head, "Promise me that? Promise me he'll leave?"

It's love that keeps me here, it's love that makes me say it, "I promise."