He just stared at us with wide eyes as we spilled into the living room and surrounded him. It took him a second to process the situation. When he did, he launched from the couch and darted to the balcony. But in his panicked stupor, he forgot the glass door was closed and smacked right into it, face-first. It warbled and knocked his dumb ass to the ground.
By that time, JD and I lorded over him, the barrels of our pistols staring him in the face.
"What the fuck, man!?"
"You're under arrest for armed robbery," I said. "You have the right to remain silent…"
Jack slapped the cuffs around his wrists and yanked him to his feet.
He escorted Evan out of the apartment and down the steps, heading back to a patrol car.
The tray of weed on the coffee table and the bong were reasonable suspicion that there were more drugs in the apartment. He’d be charged for the robbery, but we figured we might as well add as much to it as possible.
In the bedroom closet, I found a trash bag full of weed, which was enough to put the guy away for a considerable amount of time, even if he didn't get convicted on the armed robbery bit. At this point, it was his word against his accomplice.
Evan had sat in the parking lot during the entire robbery, then took off when things went south. The valet had gotten a partial plate and the make of his car. It wasn't too hard to track down. His accomplice ratting him out sealed the deal.
Evan was taken down to the station, processed, printed, and put into an interrogation room. We didn't have to lean on him too hard to get him to crack.
That was case closed.
We filled out after-action reports in the conference room, and the day started to feel somewhat productive.
By the look on his face, Jack's tooth was still bothering him.
"You really ought to call and see about that," I said.
He frowned. “I’m considering it.”
The sheriff poked his head into the conference room. "I've got a job for you two.”
"Sorry. I’m all jobbed up about now," JD said. "Thank you."
The sheriff scowled at him. "This isn't optional."
3
“Ineed you two knuckleheads to run security at the charity gala tonight,” Daniels said. “They’re going to have $40 million in jewels in that place, and they want real cops around.” The sheriff thought for an instant, then muttered, “Maybe I shouldn’t send you two.”
We both flashed him lighthearted scowls.
“It’s black tie, so dress nice, if that’s even possible.”
“I always look nice,” Jack said.
Daniels gave him a doubtful look.
Jack, in his natural habitat, could often be found wearing a Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and Vans sneakers. With his long blond hair and casual vibe, he looked like a beach bum. But when need be, Jack had style. Outrageous and eye-catching, but stylish.
“I don’t expect any trouble,” the sheriff said. “But with that kind of money floating around, be on your ‘A’ game.”
“We’re always on our ‘A’ game,” Jack said.
Daniels scoffed.
“What time is this thing going down?” I asked.
Daniels looked at his watch. “They want you there at 7:00 PM. Better get on it.”
