Chapter 30

word count 880

Trudy went back to work in a snit. Still reeling from Buzz's neglect, she was in no humor to suffer fools. She took orders without so much as a “hello” to her customers, and later slammed the food down with such violence, diners ducked from french fry missiles and coffee torpedoes launching on impact.

She heard about Buzz's mishap. It made the 6:00 news and the newspapers. “Officer mugged by unknown assailant” --the newspaper headlines read. Little did she know the “assailant” was a woman. No one knew because Buzz had guarded the secret with his life. But Trudy did feel sorry he was hurt. For now, however, she was miserable and mad. She went about her job speaking to no one.

It was a welcome relief on late Friday afternoon when finally the diner emptied out, leaving only one or two customers. She leaned against the counter and sighed. The peace and quiet was like a tall, icy glass of water on a sweltering day.

“You look exhausted.” The words came from a woman who sat a few seats down. She had been smoking and sipping coffee.

“Yeah,” Trudy replied, keeping it short, not wishing to prolong the conversation.

“Could I have a refill, please?” the woman asked, leaning forward to push her cup closer.

“Sure.” Trudy reached for coffee pot behind her. When the lady pushed the cup over, she spied a police badge attached to the woman's belt. “Excuse me for asking, hon, but are you a cop?”

“Oh, yeah,” the lady noticed her coat was open and badge showing. She smiled.

Thoughts swirled in Trudy's head—did the lady know Buzz? Did she work with him? How was he doing after being attacked? The waitress ignored her inner voice screaming. Don't think about him! He's not worth it! 

“So do ya know that cop who got mugged the other day? Buzz, I think his name was...” Trudy waited with bated breath for the answer.

“Yes, I do. That Buzz is quite a character.”

“Is he all right after the muggin'? I mean, he didn't get hurt too bad, did he?”

The lady shot her a glance. “Well, he's laid up for a while, broken bones. The word around the precinct is he'll be out for several weeks. Someone roughed him up pretty bad.”

“Do you know him, personally I mean?” What is wrong with you. Forget him!

The other lady took a long drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke in spirals up to the ceiling. “You could say we're personally acquainted,” she replied. “Quite personally,” she murmured. “How about yourself? Do you know him?”

Trudy's face turned every color of the rainbow. Her pulse quickened and she wrestled with what to say. “Yeah, I know him like the back of my hand. Ha!”

The other woman laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean alright.” She looked at her watch. “Look at the time. I've got to go. Nice with talking with you.”

After the lady left, Trudy wondered how well the woman really knew Buzz. She turned green with jealousy.



Adam looked at the drunken guy and flickers of recognition lit up in his eyes.

“Hi, mister!” he said.

“Hey kid!” Gil added an extra stumble before plopping down next to the boy. “I know you. I just saw you the other night! So wha...whas happening?”

Adam didn't answer and clutched the backpack closer to his chest, a fact not lost on Gil.

“Say, wacha got there? In the ba..backpack?” the cop asked.

“Nothing.”

“Ah, now I know whe..when someone sez nuttin', they really mean 'sumpin'...so wacha got?”

Adam froze. Afraid to speak, afraid to move. Gil could see he wasn't getting anywhere. Time to strike harder. He took a drunken lunge toward the boy and grabbed up the backpack before the kid knew what happened. He plopped it on his own lap. The boy watched, wide-eyed.

“Wellll, let's see...,” he murmured tearing open the pack. He peered inside. “Oh my G..ga..GAWD! You got a gun in there!”

“Keep your voice down!” Adam hissed.

“Where did you get this gun, du..dude?

The boy flushed red. “I bought it.”

“You bought it?” Gil couldn't believe what he was hearing. Who would sell a gun to a kid?

“Like from who, man?”

“Some kids.”

Oh, it was getting better...kids selling guns to kids. Gil forgot to stay in character. He leaned close and asked, “Who?”

“Kids in my school, Westfield Elementary.”

“Names, please.”

The no-nonsense approach worked. The boy answered quickly.

“Jack Bowman and Steve Learnagle.” He looked away, uncomfortable with snitching.

Gil made a mental note. The names and school should be enough to track them down. They'd pay for this.

“Well, ya know kid, you're too young to have a gu..gun. I'm gonna have to confi...confissss...CONFISCATE it from you.”

“WHAT? NOOOO!”

Gil crawled to his feet and started walking, clutching the backpack, not looking back. Intensifying his stumble to keep in character, he moved away as fast as he could. He could hear Adam screaming behind him.

“Stop! STOP! How else can I stop my Dad? Gimme it back, PLEASE!”

Gil stopped in his tracks. How else could he stop his dad? What in the hell did the kid mean by that?