***PLEASE NOTE: Police language has been modified for the website!

Chapter One

The stink of burnt rubber and sound of squealing tires continued to linger as the white and green patrol car raced from the alley. Sidney kept his mind on his driving. Mark kept his eyes fixed on Junior. Stopping momentarily for pedestrian traffic, Sidney could see no vehicles on the street as the police car moved into the traffic lane.

"Partner, that's probably the most excitement we'll have today. God, I miss being around Junior. He's so much fun to harass. I'm glad Freddie introduced us to that east-side touch hog. Gives us something to do during the slow times." Pausing for a moment, Mark turned sideways to stare at his ally.

"And what exactly got into you Sidney? Why didn't you let me intimidate him a little longer? If you'd given me another minute, I'd have found some reason to put him in the slammer. You know we could have found something illegal inside his joint, like maybe a joint."

"Mark, you can't put everyone in jail for P.o.P.

"Arff, arff, grrrrr," was Mark's response.

"Pissing off po'lice, sure you can, especially McCorkle. Hell, he's used to it. Matter of fact, Partner, I think he expects it from us. And you know, I wouldn't want to disappoint him!" Glancing at Mark, Sidney asked, "When did you start charging at people? Have you forgotten the procedures the Old Master taught us?" You remind me of a junk yard dog!"

Lazily driving through the small adult entertainment center of Olustee County, Sidney and Mark watched for the slightest sign of illegal activity. A juvenile driving a new car with a missing window could indicate a stolen car. The bad kids in Olustee lacked sophisticated skills.

Rarely did they do more than break the steering column and hot wire a vehicle for a short joy ride. Sometimes, an ordinary "John Doe" conversing with one of the evening ladies working day hours for an extra buck, may signal a party pending between a body buyer and a sex seller.

To relieve the boredom, they sometimes looked for vehicles parked at expired parking meters. It was better to relieve the dullness than to get butt bruises from sitting inside a cramped police car. So far, crime and criminality had eluded the two deputies who considered themselves consummate caretakers of the community.

"Ohhh my, ooh my," her excited voice shrilled out loud while hurrying to get dressed. Her distress was heightened by the frustrating delay she encountered while trying to find her fat feline, Trixie.

"See here, Trixie, your silliness has caused me to run late. I don't like being late, you know. From now on, no more hiding in the house." A petite lady with the disposition of a saint, Mildred Longwood was know as Millie to her friends. She spoke to the orca colored cat lying on the bed as though it was capable of understanding her every word. Looking briefly in her direction, the copious cat went back to sleep, indifferent to Millie's tardiness.

Shaking her hips, she wiggled into the new green and blue flowered dress. The blue leather flats and matching purse coordinated her ensemble. Hurrying outside the house, she searched her purse for the keys to her new Dodge mini-van. Pausing five minutes after starting the van, a routine the late Mr. Longwood practiced to thoroughly lubricate the idling engine, she placed the gear lever in drive.

The air was crisp with autumn's change-her favorite time of the year. She drove exactly 32 miles per hour, three less than posted. Her state driving record was cleaner than a shiny floor. Rolling down the tinted window, Millie enjoyed the cool air passing through her white hair. The drive to pick up her grandchildren would not take long.

"Thank you dear." Kissing Georgette on the cheek, Millie held onto the girls with both hands. "Sorry I can't stay Georgette, but I'm late. Ohh my, I'm supposed to be there by 11 o'clock to set up everything. Ooh my, it's almost 11 now."

"No trouble, Mom. Take the short cut through Jackson City. The one I showed you last week, remember?"

"Yes dear, yes," she said nodding her head to Georgette.

Straining to lift the girls she fastened the straps, pulling on them to guarantee their tightness. Millie closed the van's side door. Using short, choppy steps, she hurried to the driver seat and buckled herself inside.

Repeatedly waving good-bye to her daughter, Millie headed off to Jackson City.

Turning around to smile at the twins, she spoke briefly, "I hope I don't get lost. All the ladies at the women's auxiliary luncheon are waiting to see you." Satisfied with their well being, Millie focused on her driving. Periodically, she used the rearview mirror to check on the girls.

"Get out of my way," snarled C. Edward Snodgrass to an innocent pedestrian who accidentally bumped into the bum from the lower east side. A criminal opportunist, C. Edward had tried it all, larceny, drugs, violence and high habotchery. He was not the brightest light on the porch. His failures were more constant than sunrise and sunset. His tenacity for stupidity kept him sociably distant. Even crime practitioners avoided C. Edward Snodgrass.

Aggravated at the most recent turn of events, he was out of luck and out of money. Walking through the lower east side, he scanned the horizon looking for lucky breaks and easy dollars.

"My, ohh my, ooh my," Millie said to herself. She didn't remember seeing this side of Jackson City when Georgette had showed her the short cut to the Methodist church. She was uncomfortable in this neighborhood, filled with vice activity, loitering loafers and prying eyes.

"Ooh, thank you Lord," she said out loud in appreciation of the red signal that provided her with a moment to find her cellular telephone. All she needed to do was telephone Georgette. She would be able to tell Millie how to get back on track to the church.

The screaming began almost as soon as the door slammed open "Get out, get out," commanded the assailant. Before she could react, a nasty, brawny hand grabbed her left arm,flung her to the asphalt and took her seat inside the new van. Momentarily stunned by his swiftness, she found herself kneeling on the pavement. Clinging to the cell phone, Millie's thoughts were on the grandchildren. A trembling finger pushed the digits 911

Her voice crackling from fear, she cried out through the receiver, "Help. Lord have mercy. He's got my babies!"

"Calm down ma'am so I can help you. Tell me where you are and what happened?"

Deputy Randy Bruce covered the beat next to Mark and Sidney. Calling him into action, the police dispatcher sent him in the direction of the carjacking on Exeter Road near Parkside Boulevard. The wail of the police siren could be heard in the background when Deputy Bruce responded, "10-4 HQ."

"We're backup," Mark reported to the dispatcher.

Sharply turning a street comer, Mark commented. "How many green vans driven by white males do you think we'll see in the next 15 minutes?"

C. Edward's joy at his easy prey was quickly diminished by the panicky screams from the back seat. Stunned and almost speechless, he bellowed, 'Where in hell did you come from?" The shrieks grew louder. He had not seen the satin blonde-haired four year old girls sitting in the back seat. The tinted windows hid them from view.

"Shhh, I'm Uncle Edward," he blurted.

C. Edward looked around the van for something to amuse the little screamers. "Look, look here's a book. Why don't y'all look at the pictures?" They cried even louder.

Near the Dairy Queen was the library, thought C. Edward. After getting them ice cream he'd leave them in front of the library. That way he'd avoid a kidnapping charge. Easing down the window, Snodgrass stuck his head out to listen for police sirens. Not hearing any, he pulled into the Dairy Queen.

Prowling the side roads like cats looking for prey, Mark and Sidney looked forward, backward, and sideways into parking lots, side streets and traffic lanes. They knew the driver hadn't gotten far. There was no thoroughfares or expressways nearby-only local roads with signal lights and mid-day traffic. Randy Bruce had broadcast the best description he could obtain from Millie.

"Stop, Partner, I just saw a green van at the Dairy Queen. It's at the drive-in window. I swear I saw the attendant pass two ice cream cones to a white male driver." Stopping quickly, yet not too quick to cause the tires to speak, Sidney turned the cruiser onto the DQ parking lot.

Searching the ash tray for loose coins to pay for his purchase, C. Edward looked up in time to see the Olustee deputies turning the corner. They were headed right for him. Throwing the cones to the girls, he floored the accelerator. The car roared into traffic as the ice cream splattered the twins. They screamed even louder. With emergency lights rotating, the police siren sounded its warning to other motorists.

"Get next to him, Partner." Sidney knew Mark's intentions. They couldn't fire at the fleeing vehicle for fear of harming the passengers. They also needed to stop this race before it escalated into a deadly chase. Reaching inside the locking mechanism, Mark released the latch holding the pump shotgun to the dashboard. Sliding the five-shot weapon across his chest, he placed the business end outside the window. Sidney positioned the police car. With a single blast, the left rear tire of the van deflated like a burst balloon.

Pulling the police car in front of the van, Sidney worked the accelerator and the brake to force the driver to stop by banging the front of the stolen van with the rear of the police car. The thumps of metal crashing together caused Mark and Sidney to fall forward at each impact, but the strategy was working. Each time the police car slowed, the van slowed. Close to stopping, Mark cracked open the passenger door, ready for action.

"He's going to bolt," warned Sidney

Bailing out the driver's side, C. Edward hit the ground running. The van continued forward repeatedly bumping the police car. Mark tumbled out, rolled on the ground onto his feet, never stopping his forward motion. Sidney jammed the slow moving police car into park with the help of the emergency brake. Leaping out, he raced to the van, jumped into the driver's seat, floored the brake, and forced the gears into park. Turning back to look at the passengers, he smiled at the stunned faces covered in chocolate and vanilla ice cream.

Using his portable radio, Sidney announced to other deputies, "Mark's on foot chasing the suspect who is wearing blue jeans and a black tank top."

The hard life had aged the bum beyond his twenty-nine years. Too many cigarettes, too much wine, and too few exercises made him slower than thick molasses. He didn't have a chance against Mark.

"The more you resist, the more it's gonna hurt. Stay still while I put these cuffs on you" demanded Mark while twisting his arm.

"Ok, ok, man, just stop hurtin' me."

Sidney reached down to help his friend. "Why didn't you bust a cap at him? It's unlike you to chase fleeing felons."

"There are kids over there," pointed Mark. "I was afraid if I missed him,--well ya know."

"Yeah, I know."

Reaching down to the suspect Mark and Sidney grabbed him under the arms and lifted him to his feet. Grimacing at their strength, Snodgrass was escorted to the battered police cruiser. Placing him into the back seat, they heard sobs of joy. Deputy Bruce had brought Millie to the scene. Hugging the girls, she turned to the deputies.

"Where are the officers who caught him and saved my twins?"

Deputy Bruce pointed toward the crashed cruiser.

Mildred Longwood approached the two men leaning against the side of the car. "How do I thank you for what you've done?"

"Ya can't," blurted Mark. "We were glad to do it."

"What he means," added Sidney, "it's part of the. job. That's what we do, save young damsels in distress."

Never happier or more grateful, she softly kissed the cheeks of the deputies before returning to the twins.

"We do what we do to make it a better place, don't we Partner?"

"Yeah. That's what we do," he said as the unlucky partner began groaning his way through the required paperwork.

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