Smoke Signals (A John Tall Wolf Novel Book 4) Read Free Page A

and said, “She approached the speeder’s car alone; she should have had her partner, the senior man in the car, Corporal McKee, with her. She might have been hurt handling things the way she did. I went off on her when I heard the details, harder than I should have. I went over to her at Tommy’s to say I was sorry, but also to tell her she had to be more careful in the future.”
    Marchand was about to continue his story, but DC Murphy held up a hand.
    “Please be seated, Sergeant. We’ll let Lieutenant Bramley pick up the narrative from here.”
    Rebecca got to her feet. “I was sitting with my back to the sergeant, but I saw him coming.”
    “How did you manage that, Lieutenant?”
    “I was watching him in a mirror, a Moosehead Beer mirror.”
    Winton Royce raised his hand, wanting to be heard.
    “Yes, Mr. Royce?”
    “Deputy Commissioner, I checked that mirror under the same lighting conditions that existed on the night in question. I could barely see my secretary, whom I positioned at the bar where Sergeant Marchand was standing.”
    DC Murphy turned to Rebecca. “Lieutenant?”
    “I have 20-10 vision, ma’am. Perhaps Mr. Royce doesn’t see quite so well. I saw Sergeant Marchand quite clearly. We could do a comparative test of visual acuity, Mr. Royce’s and mine, right now, if you like.”
    “Mr. Royce?” the deputy commissioner asked.
    The lawyer declined the opportunity, losing the point he’d tried to make.
    “Proceed with your account, Lieutenant,” the DC said.
    “Sergeant Marchand approached our table and stood approximately one foot behind me. Constable Dorland was on the far side of the table. Sergeant Marchand began to address Constable Dorland in a crude and provocative manner.”
    “In what way crude, Lieutenant?”
    “He said, ‘Puck bunny, you’re in more trouble than you know. You better change your story fast or you’ll be well and truly fucked.’”
    Puck bunny was a common variation on the slur puck slut.
    A hockey player groupie who put out for the guys.
    District Commissioner Murphy, from the grim expression on her face, was all too familiar with the term, but she asked Rebecca, “How did you know the comment wasn’t directed at you, Lieutenant?”
    “I had no story to change, ma’am, and the sergeant told me to get lost or I’d find out whose family was really wired into the powers that be on the force.”
    The DC directed a brief, evil look at Marchand before turning back to Rebecca.
    “You weren’t intimidated by this threat, Lieutenant?”
    Rebecca smiled. “In the best Monty Python fashion, ma’am, I farted in his general direction.”
    The deputy commissioner rocked with silent laughter, as if she’d staged the whole informal inquiry just to hear that comment. Nonetheless, she continued: “And how did Sergeant Marchand react to that?”
    “He took it in shocked silence for a moment, but when my niece, Constable Dorland, started to laugh at him, he clapped an open hand on my right shoulder. Hard enough to leave a bruise. That was when he told me, ‘Get out of here now, Bramley, or I’m going to bend you over that table and ram all my nine inches right up your ass.’”
    Royce thought about objecting, but the look on the deputy commissioner’s face told him he’d only be making a bad situation worse. He held his tongue. So did Marchand.
    “How did you respond, Lieutenant?”
    “I got out of my chair, shoved it aside and bent over the table … because that made it easier to execute a mule-kick into the sergeant’s crotch. Caught him a good one, too, from what I hear.”
    Royce and both of the captains had to get to their feet when Marchand popped out of his chair. It took the sergeant only a second to realize he’d made a mistake, but by then it was too late. He’d shown himself to be a hothead.
    Deputy Commissioner Murphy pointed him back to his seat and he took it.
    “Do you have anything else to say, Lieutenant Bramley?” she asked.
    “I know