We got in the cruiser, and we eased out of the lot, tires biting into the gravel.I waited as long as I could.But there were so many buttons.And smells.And a computer screen.
“There was a discussion,” I said, “about revisiting the question of the siren.”
Deputy Bobby sighed.
2
The first callout took us to Fog Belt Ladies Wear.It was a storefront in a single-story building with a flat roof and shake siding and enormous display windows.In one of them, a mannequin was giving Cruella de Vil vibes—it was dressed in a shoulder-padded-to-the-max polka-dot suit, and it was holding one of those invisible dog leashes.Located a couple of blocks off Main Street, in peak tourist season, the store would have been thronged with shoppers looking for either something new and exciting or, just as often, some necessity that they’d forgotten.Today, though, with tourist season in the rearview mirror, the sidewalks were empty, and the store looked quiet.
“Maybe you should wait here,” Deputy Bobby said as he unbuckled himself.
“It’s not a private residence,” I said.
“I really think you should wait here.”
“I’m supposed to observe, aren’t I?That’s the whole point of doing a ride-along: so I can see how real law enforcement do their jobs, so my writing will be more vivid and powerful and, uh, vivid.”
Deputy Bobby looked at me.
“Normally, I have a thesaurus,” I said.
He got out of the car, and since he hadn’t technically ordered me to stay in the vehicle, I followed.
When we stepped inside, a bell chimed.Racks of clothing stretched the length of the shop, broken up by displays and, yes, more mannequins.A blast of a floral air freshener hit us, and I fought the urge to gag.Deputy Bobby was already moving deeper into the store, so I went after him; his boots thumped on the worn floorboards.Then a voice screamed, “Bobby!”and a man appeared.
I chose that word purposefully, understand.One moment, the store appeared to be empty.And then, in a dramatic—highly dramatic—fluttering of the curtain at the back, the man arrived like a magician’s trick.I almost clapped.
He was probably in his fifties, his thinning hair buzzed, his face carefully toned and moisturized.He wore a leopard-print shirt, some sort of frilly trousers that made me think of a swashbuckler, and thigh-high boots with what had to be four-inch heels.When he appeared, he scanned the room, and his eyes locked onto Deputy Bobby.I’d seen that look before.That was the same look the Terminator used with his auto-targeting system.
“Bobby,” the man purred as he stalked toward us.“Bobby, Bobby, Bobby, where have you been all my life?”
“Hello, Mr.Cheek,” Deputy Bobby said.“You reported a burglary?”
Mr.Cheek made a sound like he’d tasted something delicious.The boots were definitely slowing him down as he crossed the store, but the plus side was that it gave him plenty of extra time to take Deputy Bobby’s clothes off with his eyes.He was still a few feet away when he noticed me, but if an audience gave him any pause, he didn’t show it.When he got closer, he said, “Bobby, thank God.I’ve been so scared.I’ve been terrified.I can’t eat.I can’t sleep.I’m all alone in this world, and I need a big, strong man to take care of me.”
He reached out with a finger like he intended to run it down Bobby’s admittedly, uh, developed biceps, but Deputy Bobby said first, “We talked about touching.”
Mr.Cheek’s eyes cut to me.“He said he’d arrest me!Me!Can you imagine?He’s a savage!He’s a brute!”
“And he’s not very grateful either,” I said.“I bought him a dozen cupcakes from the Cakery, and the first thing he said was ‘Why are there only six cupcakes?’”
For a moment, a different grin flashed out from under Mr.Cheek’s mask—an authentic one.Then, turning back to Bobby, he said, “You beast!”
“The burglary,” Deputy Bobby said.
“You have perfect timing,” Mr.Cheek said, “because I just put some tea on, and I can tell you the whole story.”
Deputy Bobby shook his head.
“It’s always like this,” Mr.Cheek confided to me.“The push and pull.The give and take.He’s the yin to my yang.We can’t be together.We can’t stay away from each other.”
“I’m going to take that,” Deputy Bobby said, “to mean that there wasn’t actually a burglary.”
“Of course there was a burglary!Someone broke into my mailbox and stole my mail.”
Instead of going to check the mailbox, though, Deputy Bobby stood there, giving Mr.Cheek an unwavering look.
Mr.Cheek shrank down a little.
