“Is that going to be a problem?”
“It could be,” Biggs acknowledged. “I don’t have to explain how unique your circumstances are. The fact that you have no history might prevent you from entering the police academy in Yaegerton. Even if they accepted you?—”
“I’ve already promised I’d come back here to work,” G8 hastily reassured him.
The man nodded. “I know that, but that’s not the issue. Don’t forget you have a transportation problem, as well. Have you thought about how you’re going to get over there and back? Yaegerton’s a good hundred plus miles from here. The academy has facilities to house some recruits, but those spots go fast. On top of that?—”
G8 waved him off, not caring if the guy saw the disappointment on his face. “I get what you’re trying to tell me, Sheriff. I might as well forget about it.” He sighed loudly. “Thanks for considering me, though.”
Biggs continued. “On top of that, there’s the tuition fee.”
G8 frowned. “Tuition fee?”
“Attending the academy isn’t free, G8. And we both know you don’t have the funds.”
“What if I got a loan and paid it back?”
“With your non history?” The sheriff shook his head. “I seriously doubt it.”
“Well, it was worth a try.” G8 started to get to his feet when Biggs stopped him.
“Sit down. I might have an answer.”
Too surprised to argue, G8 parked his butt back in the seat as the man closed the folder.
“What you and your friends can do is nothing short of… Hell, it’s almost like you have superpowers.”
“Superpowers?” That made G8 snort. “We’re no Superman.”
“No, but no one else has the abilities you have. You’re not only unique, you’re one of a kind.” Biggs waved a hand at him. “Look at yourself. You’re a big hulking black guy when just a few days ago you were a big hulking Hispanic-looking man. I take it you’ve also been Caucasian?”
“I’ve been just about every color spectrum in the book.”
“Does that also go for the shape of your face? Your nose? Eyes? Cheeks and chin?”
G8 ran a hand over his bald head. “My eye color doesn’t change, but everything else does. Hell, I don’t even know what color my hair’s going to be until it grows out.”
Leaning back in his chair, Sheriff Biggs ran a finger in the cleft between his lower lip and chin. “Here’s what I propose. How do you feel about on-the-job training?”
3STR8
“Ingrid! Can you come here a minute?”
Hearing her father calling for her, she put down the tiny shirt she’d been folding from the pile she’d removed from the dryer and went looking for him. “Coming! Where are you?”
“In the kitchen!” her mother responded.
Her mother and father in the kitchen requesting her presence? She immediately knew this wasn’t going to end well. Never, in all her years growing up in this house, had a “family meeting in the kitchen” been beneficial to her cause. On the other hand, she was due for a change of luck. And right now, she would bet her life’s savings on what the topic of discussion might be about.
She paused at the closed door to her bedroom. Carefully opening it, she glanced inside at the two little bundles lying on the pallet on the floor next to her bed. Satisfied that the infants were still asleep, she shut the door and continued down the hall.
Her parents were sitting in their usual seats at the table, waiting for her, their cups of coffee in front of them. The expressions on their faces confirmed her trepidation. Regardless, she pulled a smile over her lips.
“Hey, guys. What’s up?”
“Would you care for some coffee?” her mother first offered.
“No, thanks. I’m good.” Ingrid turned to her father. “Well?”
