“Hey
there.”
“Hi.”
“You’re
out late, son.”
“I
… felt like a doughnut, I guess.”
“Yeah?
Which kind? You feelin’ plain, dipped, or sprinkled?” The
white-haired beat cop had a friendly gleam in his eye.
Jake
smiled. “The kind they have here, I guess.”
“Well,
you’ve come to the right place for those. Your parents know you’re
here?”
“I
don’t think they have a problem with it.”
“No?
Even so, I think it would be a good idea for you to head right home
after you have your doughnut; like I said, it's awful late. I’ll
even treat. Fair enough?”
“I
guess so,” Jake said.
“What’ll
it be?” asked the woman behind the counter.
“Give
him a plain, and dipped, and a sprinkled,” the cop said. “He’s
still sorting out his feelings.”
Jake
grinned.
“And
a refill on the coffee, please.”
“Absolutely,”
she said, as she went about her work.
“You
know,” the cop said to Jake, “these streets aren’t as safe as
they used to be. Crime’s been kicking up the last few weeks.”
“Really?”
“Don’t
you read the papers, kid?”
“Not
usually.”
“I
guess I shouldn’t be surprised. They’re keeping most of it out
of the papers anyway.”
“They
are? Why would they be doing that?”
“So
as not to upset the public.” The cop’s voice grew hushed as he
spoke. “The higher-ups don’t want a panic on their hands.”
“A
panic?”
The
cop’s look told Jake he’d spoken too loud.
“I
mean, a panic?”
he repeated, more discreetly. “Why would there be a panic?”
“Because,
the things that are going on—the theft, the destruction—they’re
really over the top. And so far, we don’t have a single suspect.”
“Wow.
Not a single suspect … hey, what do you mean by over the top?”
“I’m
not really at liberty to get into the specifics, kid.” The cop took
a sip of his coffee. “Just trust me, you’d be better off at
home.”
###
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