Читать книгу Allied Zombies for Peace - Craig Nybo - Страница 19

Chapter 12

Sergeant Bixbie sat in his cruiser, working a crossword puzzle. An old captain back in the academy had once told him that, to stay sharp, he completed at least one crossword puzzle a week. The man had been over sixty and, though partially retired, took Bixbie down regularly to the matt every time they sparred. Seven across, a seven-letter word for devastating storm, starting with T. He thought for a few seconds then smiled and licked the tip of his chewed up number 2 pencil. He filled in the seven squares with the word tsunami.

Something caught his eye out the windshield of his cruiser. He pushed his moon-shaped glasses down around the tip of his nose and squinted to get a better look. A half-dozen men, hippies, moved from the sidewalk towards the middle of the street. Those damn hippies were making trouble again. They had been chanting their idiot slogans for the past few minutes but Bixbie had tuned them out. Hippies were usually all bark, no bite. They had the soothing effects of that loco weed they smoked to keep them docile.

One of the group, a kid wearing a pair of pants made out of an American flag, shouted something at the Nam veterans. Bixbie couldn’t make out the words. The aging Sergeant hissed to himself. Pretty soon those kids would be burning old glory right in front of everyone on the street, just like those damn Arabs.

Just as Bixbie went back to his crossword puzzle, a spat broke out between the hippie and some of the Nam vets. Bixbie swore to himself, a series of words he would never dream of repeating in front of his wife or grand kids. He dropped the crossword puzzle on the seat next to him. He folded his moon-shaped specs and put them into his breast pocket protector. He pushed open his cruiser door and worked his bulky frame out of the car. He squashed his eight-point hat down to his brow and watched the little scrap in the distance escalate as other veterans jumped into the fight.

Bixbie spotted Smash and Fern leaning against their squad car. Fern lay back, the top two buttons of his uniform undone, catching rays from the sun. “Williams, Lenoy!” Bixbie shouted. The two officers snapped to attention. Fern hurriedly buttoned up his uniform. “Get down there and see if you can break up that little brouhaha those hippies have pitched up.”

The two officers glanced down the parade route and spotted the altercation. Both their faces cracked into grins. “Sure thing, Serge,” Smash said. The two officers began to trot away.

“And Williams,” Bixbie shouted.

Smash turned back toward sergeant Bixbie.

“Do not, under any circumstances, draw your side arms. Last thing we need is another officer Greer on our hands.”

“Roger that,” Smash said.

Smash and Fern headed down route, loping at a good clip. As they made their way, Smash shouted at the parade spectators, “To one side; please, to one side; we have a situation; to one side please.” The parade spectators, mostly comprised of good American families, backed away to let the policemen run by.

Fern smiled to himself as he ran behind his partner. There was nothing like a little tussle to spice up the day. Now he would have the chance to be a hero; he liked that. Only the price he would pay for that heroism far outweighed anything he could have expected.