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replied. “Plenty of
them around here.”
     
    “You should come to church with me
sometime,” Price said. “You’ll see where all the good people in
this town are hiding.”
     
    “Price,” Helms said, “my mom was a Baptist
and my dad was a Bastard. Neither would want me anywhere near your
church.”
     
    “Ah,” Price chuckled, “I’ll make a convert
out of you someday. If only for the free coffee.”
     
    They fell quiet for a moment.
     
    “So…” Helms said, eager to switch subjects.
“The other one told you the same thing about the music guy? Just
walked in, hit play, then left and the clerk went ballistic?”
     
    “Basically, yeah.” Price looked around the
parking lot, saw nobody was watching, and pulled out a cigarette.
“Kid got any priors?”
     
    Helms made a face at him as he lit it, and
took two steps upwind.
     
    “Zip,” she said, “just out of high school.
Solid B student. Likes band, according to the manager.”
     
    “A band geek nearly tore my throat
out?” Price said, gesturing to the three gouges on the side of his
neck.
     
    “Quit being dramatic,” Helms said, “he
barely grazed you. Besides, you always got me to save your
ass.”
     
    Price laughed.
     
    “You see him in the back of the cruiser when
Jackson pulled away? He was trying to bite through the damn window.
What turns a pudding of a kid like that into a feral maniac all of
a sudden? Drugs?”
     
    “Maybe,” Helms scuffed at the pavement with
her shoe, knocking cigarette butts towards the drain in the middle
of the parking lot. “Seems like there’s something new coming out
every day.”
     
    “Yeah, maybe…” Price blew smoke from the
side of his mouth, angling it away from Helms.
     
    She smiled at him.
     
    ***
     
    “We’ve got reports of a 708 at the Bowl N
Chug. Two officers on scene requesting backup.”
     
    “Price and Helms responding,” Price said,
then set the handset back in its cradle.
     
    Helms hit the sirens and flipped a U-turn,
cutting off a bright yellow Porsche. Price watched the mirrors and
saw a hand slide out its window, giving them the bird.
     
    “Ten to one it’s Joe Greene again,” Price
said.
     
    “Probably decked some guy because his toe
was over the line,” Helms agreed.
     
    Price grabbed the oh-shit handle as Helms
cut a wide, fast, turn down Everett and floored it toward Center.
Engine roar filled the cabin. The cruiser crested the dip just
before the courthouse and went airborne for a split second.
     
    “Jesus!” Price laughed, “there’s no way the
call’s this urgent. You know that, right?”
     
    “When do I get to do this ?” Helms
grinned, but kept her eyes locked to the road.
     
    She swung the tail wide and power slid to a
stop in the parking lot of the Bowl N Chug.
     
    “Whoo,” Price let out the breath he forgot
he was holding, and shook his head as he stepped out of the car.
“Someday you’re gonna get us killed, driving like that.”
     
    “Nah,” Helms said, slamming her door.
“Cheese dogs and cigarettes’ll get you first.”
     
    Price thumbed the release on his holster and
let his hand rest on the grip of his pistol. He got to the door
first, checked his corners, stepped in and quickly moved to the
side. Helms did the same behind him. They spread out, each watching
half of the alley. There was nobody at the front desk, nobody in
any of the lanes, save the far one. Helms could see legs sticking
out from behind the ball delivery, and two males wrestling on the
ground between the benches. One of them was wearing blues – maybe
Jackson. Then she saw his partner, Hughes, backed up against the
rails, his pistol drawn and centered on the fighting men.
     
    She glanced at Price, who hadn’t yet spotted
it from his angle. But he caught the meaning in her eyes. He pulled
his service revolver and pointed it at the floor in front of him.
Helms followed suit. They covered the distance quickly, sticking to
their sides and watching the blind