Tin City Tinder (A Boone Childress Mystery) Read Free

registration.”
    I opened my wallet. Handed them over.
    The deputy clicked his ballpoint pen. “Where’s the fire?”  
    “Box 425 Route 9, Tin City, North Carolina.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “The fire, Route 9 in Tin City, sir. I’m a firefighter.”
    “I know all the firemen in town. You ain’t one of them.”
      “I’m new, and I’m a fire fighter . That’s why my license plate says firefighter and why there’s a flasher on the roof.” I patted the seat. “And why I have turnouts and a hooligan tool next to me.”
    “Don’t get smart with me.”
    “Can I get a rain check on the ticket? This is my first fire, and I’d like to respond before the owners put it out with a garden hose.”
    The deputy’s lip started to jump. He unclipped his Taser. “Get out of the vehicle.”  
    “A Taser? Come on!”
    The deputy pulled the door opened. He signaled me out with an officious wave.  
    I slid to the rocky clay of the shoulder. My boots sank a half-inch in the soil, but I still towered over the deputy, being six-four with hands wide enough to palm a medicine ball.
    The deputy waved the Taser. “You’ve got an attitude problem, boy.”
    Judging by his dentition and light facial hair, the deputy was less than twenty-five, probably in his first couple of months on the job. It was obvious he cared more about me respecting the badge than doing what was right.
    “Face the vehicle. Hands on the hood.”
    “We’re on the same side,” I protested. “I was only speeding to respond to a call.”
    “Don’t sass me!”
    A second siren sounded, and a smile slowly formed on my face.  
    Down the highway, behind the deputy’s car, I saw the familiar sight of Sheriff Hoyt’s gold and white cruiser pulling off the pavement.
    Paul Davis Hoyt was an ex-state trooper, a box of a man sporting a plush gray-brown flattop and jowls dappled with ancient acne scars. He hitched his britches over a hickory-hard gut and stuck out a wide, flat hand. The palm was so red, it looked like he had been picking blueberries. He wore a dark blue uniform and a thick, leather belt that creaked when he walked alongside the empty highway. He was also a vet, just like me.  
    As Hoyt reached the truck, I noted that I smelled of aftershave and starch and a touch of body odor.
    “What in blue blazes is going on here?” The sheriff spat a stream of tobacco juice. “Deputy Mercer, why’re you frisking a Navy Medal recipient?”
    The deputy jumped back like he had been zapped. “A what?”  
    “You heard me. This boy’s a war hero.”
    Mercer bobbled the Taser, and it bounced from hand to hand.  
    I snatched it out of the air with my big mitts an handed it over. “You dropped this.”
    The deputy snatched it back. “Sheriff Hoyt, I apprehended this hoodlum traveling at a high rate of speed. While writing his citation, he became agitated and aggressive.”
    Hoyt pointed at the Taser. “Looks like you’re the one got agitated, Pete. Didn’t you see the cherry top on the boy’s car? He’s on a call.”
    “Which I tried to explain to him,” I interjected.
    “Thought it was fake.”
    The sheriff raised his hand.”Tell you what, Pete, you head on back into town, and I’ll take care of the ticket on this one. Stop by the Red Fox Java and get yourself a slice of pie. My treat.”
    The deputy rubbed his neck. “My shift ain’t over for another two hours.”
    Hoyt took the ticket book from him. “I’ll take care of it.”
    The deputy grimaced, but there was nothing he could do but return to his cruiser.  
    Hoyt and I silently watched as he hit the siren, made a sharp U-turn in the highway, and roared back toward Galax.
    Hoyt whapped my arm with his ticket book. “That Pete, I tell you what. Two months on the job, and he’s written more tickets than the other deputies combined. Now, about that fire.”
    “Yes sir,” I said, “that.” I’d given up being first responder. All I wanted was to respond at all.
    Hoyt nodded for me to