CHAPTER 14

I never thought Jimmy looked particularly threatening when he swung his wallet chain around his hand as he walked. It was something he'd done as long as my memory spanned, or at least since he'd had that particular wallet chain.

But apparently the police thought so or at least the cop that always seemed to be the one who nabbed Jimmy. Officer Dunlop was the proprietor's victim of a joke at the police station that as soon as Jimmy went up in need of another foster home, he would be the one who adopted him. Knowing Dunlop as well as he did (from being put in the back of his car so many times) Jimmy wasn't sure if this could be the reality.

Jimmy and I were walking across the Golden Gate Bridge sometime around 9 o'clock, a few nights after Whatsername had ditched us. I was trying to cheer him up, though neither of us felt like being very happy, but at least I seemed to be succeeding. Jimmy laughed weakly at something I said just as Dunlop's car rounded the corner and drove onto the bridge.

Jimmy frowned, still swinging his chain, but it was strikingly easy to see that nervousness was visible in his dark eyes, especially when the car slowed to a stop.

We started walking towards the black and white police car as Dunlop motioned us forward. Jimmy was still swinging his chain, but now it was from being tense, not boredom.

"Hey, whatcha' kids up to, huh?" The cop asked. I inwardly scowled. All cops think they can get bad kids to fess up if they act cool.

"Just walking around, Dunlop," Jimmy told him honestly.

"Yeah? Whatcha' got yer chain out for, huh?" Dunlop demanded in a voice he considered to be cool.

Jimmy glanced down at his chain and showed the cop. "This? I always whip this around."

"Whatcha' doin' out so late, huh?"

He uses 'huh' too much. It sounds like he has a throat problem.

"It's only 9:13," I said, checking my watch.

"Don't you kids got homes? Where's your homes, huh?"

Another huh.

"I'm property of the Coleman's, dude," Jimmy said, raising his hand innocently.

"Well, 'dude', why aren't you there?" Dunlop stepped closer, his policeman bulk almost, but not quite, dwarfing my skinny, underfed friend, therefore the intended effect was lost. Dunlop glared down his nose at him. "Why are you really out here? Spray-painting 'St. Jimmy Forever!' on the Circle-K, or perhaps stealing cars?"

"We aren't doing anything wrong, sir!" Jimmy defended. We really weren't. "And I've never painted 'St. Jimmy Forever' on a wall, that's gay."

Dunlop narrowed his piggy eyes, thoroughly convinced that Jimmy was guilty of... something. "Oh, yeah, dude? C'mon, show me the paint cans."

"I don't have any!" Jimmy cried. "How many times do I have to tell you I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING!"

Dunlop laughed a big, bark-like laugh. "Very funny, Jimster."

Jimmy scowled at the misuse of his beloved name.

"I know you're hiding something," Dunlop finished. "Can't I just handcuff you now and save time?"

"You know what? I'm getting fucking sick of you." Jimmy said suddenly. I was shocked, sure Jimmy's talked back nearly everyone in town, but he's polite to cops. "I'm getting fucking sick of how you act like I'm no good, that I'm always doing something wrong, you pig! Why do you think everyone calls you guys pigs!"

Dunlop tried to angrily retort, but Jimmy was nowhere near finished. Little did any of us know how far he would go with this.

"Somebody needs to fucking stop you jackasses!" Jimmy fingered something in his pocket.

"You—" Dunlop started.

"Aw, fuck this!" Jimmy yelled. He yanked something from his pocket, and the last thing he said before aiming his pistol was "You dirty fuckers!"

"GET AGAINST THE CAR, NOW!" Dunlop yelled, grabbing his handcuffs.

I tried to stop Jimmy, a gunshot rang out the still city night and a bloody body fell off the bridge before I could.