Derailed Read Free

“Yeah . . . I’m still certified, but that was before I joined Fagan’s unit.”
    â€œGreat, then you know how to handle dogs. We’re trying to expand our K-9 unit. Had a young officer complete her training with the smartest dog I’ve ever seen, but now she’s on maternity leave and not likely to return since her baby has severe birth defects. So we have a dog—cost us thousands—without a handler. How ’bout that?”
    I frowned. “How ’bout what? You wanna team me with someone else’s dog?”
    â€œCorky’s young and like I said, smart, very smart. She could make the transition.”
    â€œWait a minute. Handlers are what? Officers? Sergeants? You’d bust me down from a detective?”
    â€œOh, c’mon. We can work somethin’ out. Meet me halfway here, Harry. I’m tryin’ to reel you in. I’m sure we could—”
    â€œGilson! Would you shut up a minute?” The man sounded like he was on too much Vicodin, and it felt good to tell him to shut up. I was a private citizen now who didn’t have to kowtow to anyone.
    There was silence . . . for five seconds. “Sorry, Harry. Just gettin’ into my creative mode. I’m a creative guy, ya know? That’s what I love about this job. But seriously, we’d like you to come on board . . . like
all aboard
.” He laughed at his stupid joke. “It doesn’t have to be K-9, but I’m puttin’ together a team, and they have to have integrity. That’s why I thought of you. You proved yourself when you stepped up to nail Fagan.”
    Matty Fagan had been my boss, corrupt as they come, shakin’ down drug dealers and stealing their guns and dope to resell . . . until I blew the whistle on him.
    â€œHey,” Gilson continued, “how much were you makin’ before we asked you to take early retirement?”
    â€œDoesn’t matter. I’m not interested.” Of course I could use the money, but . . . “Sorry, Gilson. Don’t think I’m up to travelin’ all over the country. I like trains and all, but I’m a family man now.”
    â€œAh, but that’s the thing! Sure, you go out on runs, but then you’re home for several days where you can focus on—hey, I didn’t know you were married! And kids too? Man, you work fast. But you’ll actually get more time with the family. Plus the benefits are great, free rail privileges for you and the family. Think about that.”
    â€œHarry!” It was Estelle, twenty feet ahead of me with a gallon of milk in her hand. “What good’s the cart if I gotta hold this?”
    â€œSorry, Gilson. But I
really
can’t talk now. I’m in the store helpin’ my wife with shopping. Like I said, family man!”
    I shut the phone off and hurried to catch up.

    I can hoof it with the best of ’em when walkin’ or even joggin’, but slow shoppin’ is worse than snow shovelin’ as far as my back is concerned. So when we finally got home, I flopped down on the couch beside my thirteen-year-old grandson, DaShawn, who was celebrating no homework over a five-day weekend by watching nonstop TV. The holidays hadn’t been triggered by the huge storm, but for the kids it was as good as a “snow week.” Thursday they were off for staff development, Friday for Lincoln’s Birthday, then the weekend, and Monday for President’s Day. You’d think they could have combined Lincoln with the other presidents, but not in Illinois.
    Estelle was standing at the kitchen counter opening mail. “Harry . . . here’s one for you.” She flipped an envelope my way, and I caught it like a Frisbee, glancing at the return address. From my son? Rodney’s name was followed by a long inmate number and the address of the county jail on Memorial Drive in