Chapter Two: Halloween Ride-Along
The next morning, Ed made sure Clark's morning Hot Pocket didn't wander off its plate, gave his son two twenties – apparently, cafeteria food was a lot more expensive than it had been when he was a kid – and walked him to the bus stop. He wasn't sure if Sophie walked their son to the bus stop, but Clark had asked and, well… He had let his Sarge know that Soph was out of town, so he might be a little late for his shifts until she came back.
Once Clark was safely on the bus, Ed hurried back home and swung into his car, which he'd left outside the garage the night before. Yeah, he was still gonna be late for his shift, but the earlier he could punch in, the better.
"I'm sorry, Ed, I really am," the man behind the precinct dispatcher desk said, expression and tone ringing with his sincerity. "Pierce, Bowers, and Olensky already put in for time off, several weeks ago."
Ed's shoulders slumped and he nodded to his Sarge. There were only so many time off slots when it came to patrol officers and holidays always drew fierce competition for those slots. If he had to guess, his fellow officers had won this year's Halloween raffle; he'd known it was going on, but hadn't applied because taking Clark out was Sophie's job.
"Is there anything you can do for me, Sarge?" he asked. "Clark's not old enough to trick or treat by himself and most of his school friends live too far away for me to drop him off with them." The last thing he wanted to do was look his son in the eye and tell him that he couldn't go out for Halloween, just because his mother was out of town.
The other man started to shake his head, only to pause, frowning. Slowly, he said, "I can't promise anything, Ed, but come and see me before you go home after shift."
"Yes, sir; thank you, sir." Internally, Ed exhaled relief. No, his Sarge couldn't promise, but the man had enough experience and pull that when he wanted to get something done, it usually got done.
Ed was careful to keep his focus on his job during the shift. He couldn't afford any slipups, especially when he was asking his Sergeant for a favor. Part of him was hoping the man came through while the other part was groaning and searching for a rock to hide under.
After all, the last time he'd taken Clark out for Halloween had been… Ed closed his eyes briefly, remembering that kindergarten Halloween party with his best friend and his best friend's son. The next Halloween, he'd been on-duty and Greg had been neck-deep in a nasty homicide, so the boys had gone with their mothers.
And the Halloween after that… Well, Ed had spent that Halloween with Greg, doing his best to keep the other man away from any alcohol. Christmas that year had been awkward, since he'd dragged Greg into his family's celebration rather than risking his friend's still fragile sobriety with an empty apartment.
Shaking his head, Ed dismissed the memories. Greg was doing better now, having traded Homicide for the Strategic Response Unit. He'd thought his friend was crazy for trying to get into a unit that practically defined high-stress, especially right out of rehab, but although the first couple months had been rough, Greg hadn't quit yet. Hadn't touched a drop, either, and he'd even started making noises about Ed joining the SRU.
Yeah, uh-uh – maybe Greg could make it in the SRU, but he had a very different outlook on life than Ed did. He'd always had that knack for looking at the worst of humanity and seeing the hurting souls underneath. He'd always taken the time to talk to people, listening to their stories as if they were anything other than ordinary. Most those stories, Ed could practically recite in his sleep, they were so ordinary. A dime a dozen, with not an ounce of originality among them.
Greg was a born talker, a born negotiator – he fit in the SRU, like a glove. But Ed? He was too plain and straightforward for a unit that was talk before tactics. Put him on a negotiation and he'd be liable to tell the bad guys exactly what he thought of 'em – with disastrous results. Sure there was a part of him that wanted to try out – to become one of the cool pants – but Ed knew better. He just wasn't SRU material, no matter what Greg thought.
The officer turned left at the next intersection and spied a car with one taillight out up ahead. With a huff, he tallied up his quota for the week and nodded to himself. Yep, that one was getting pulled over – a fixit ticket might not be much, but every little bit might buy him some extra goodwill.
Six tickets and four attempts to 'talk him out of it' later, Ed pulled into a café parking lot and turned off his patrol car after informing the dispatcher that he was stopping for lunch. Inside, he spared a glance at the menu before ordering a club sandwich and a coffee. The waitress had the coffee out to him in moments and he sipped at it while he snagged a newspaper laying on the barrier between his booth and the next one.
Idly, he flipped through the newspaper, pausing briefly on an article about a recent shooting that the SRU had stopped. The teenage shooter glared up from his mugshot at the veteran patrol cop and Ed found himself hoping Greg's team hadn't been on that call; while sparse on details, the article did say that the shooter hadn't survived the 'shootout' with police.
"You'd think people would raise their kids better," the waitress remarked.
Ed glanced up, the corner of his mouth quirking up at the sight of his club sandwich on the waitress's tray. "You'd think," he agreed. "Make my job a lot easier, too."
She nodded, deftly lowering the plate to his left, avoiding the newspaper. "Anything else you need, sir?"
"Not right now."
With a quick smile, she tucked the tray under her arm, leaving him to his sandwich and the newspaper.
His afternoon went much like the morning had. By the time he returned to the precinct, his tickets for the day stood at a solid fourteen. Even if some of the drivers squirmed out of 'em or fixed their cars before the court date, Ed was satisfied that he'd met his quota. A little bored – he hadn't signed up for the Academy to spend his life writing tickets – but every cop had to pay his dues and work his way up.
He parked, signed his patrol car back in, and headed inside to clock out. Best to clock out before he went and talked to his Sarge – his paycheck might not thank him, but if that won him just a few extra points, it would be worth it.
Before he could head for his timecard, though, his Sarge waved him over. Ed picked up his pace, covering the distance between himself and the other man in four long strides. "Sir?"
"Can't get you off," his Sarge informed him; he nodded. "How many tickets you got so far this week?"
Ed tilted his head. "Fourteen today," he replied, "Yesterday was kinda thin – only five – and some of 'em are fixits."
"Get yourself to thirty tomorrow and I'll put you on a neighborhood patrol." His Sarge flashed a quick grin at his surprise. "And if your car comes back a little on the full side, well… I'm sure that's just 'cause you filled it up before comin' back in."
"Thank you, sir," Ed said, shoulders slumping in a mix of relief and anticipatory dread. Then he blinked at the business card that appeared under his nose. "Pizza?"
The other man snorted. "Come on, Lane, don't tell me you're actually gonna cook for your kid."
Ah. Good point. Ed scooped up the business card with a nod, understanding that whoever owned the pizzeria was a friend or relative of his Sergeant's. And if the price of his Halloween patrol was thirty tickets and a pizza dinner, well… He'd had worse quid pro quos.
