Page 3 of A Small Town Risk

I fire up the cruiser and flip the switch. Lights, sirens, adrenaline surge––these situations can turn hairy.

The driver of the ’65 GTO sees me coming and pulls over. I call it in to dispatch.

“The car’s registered to Hank Thomas, out on County Road C.”

“Okay, Peg. Thanks.”

Hank’s a good guy who doesn’t cause trouble, so this is a surprise.

I slide out of my vehicle with the ticket book and stroll up; he already has his window down.

“Sheriff.”

“Hank. Nice car you have here.”

“Thank you, Sheriff. Picked it up this morning.”

“I see. You know you were speeding?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Just got away from me.”

“That can happen.”

He eyes the ticket book in my hand. “You’re gonna write me up, ain’t ya?”

I’ve been sheriff long enough that people around here understand that I take things seriously. The law is the law. “Have to.”

“Figured.”

I write and give him the citation. “Any faster, and I’d be taking you in for reckless driving.”

He lowers his gaze.

“Keep it under the speed limit, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

I tap the roof of his new ride, stroll to the cruiser, and slide in, watching Hank drive off.That is one cool automobile.

I inform Peg that all is well and head back into town. Manning Falls isn’t the most exciting place in the world, but it’s a nice change of pace after eight years in the military police—a really nice change.

The car radio squawks. “Ryan, Mrs. Kramer locked her keys in her car again. Can you help her out?”

“Be there in ten minutes.”

“Okay.”

Mrs. Kramer is eighty years old and locks her keys in her car at least once a week. We all know she does it on purpose—nobody minds.

I pull into the driveway of the one-level craftsman, park, and get out. I trot up the front steps, gripping the Slim Jim. Knock on her door.

“It’s open!”

I figured it might be.

I enter and head to the kitchen, where I’m confident she’s waiting with a table full of goodies.

“Hello, Mrs. Kramer.” I eagerly examine the buffet while the buttery aroma of freshly baked goods fills my nostrils. There’s enough to feed an army.

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