Thirty and Two

Chapter 3

  I saw the mystery woman get into a cherry red Mustang GT, show-room new and spotless. I heard the 302 roar to life as the car passed me. I must have looked like the typical male, drooling at a hot car but I couldn’t keep my eyes or my mind off her.

  I couldn’t explain why a girl I couldn’t remember ever even meeting made me feel so suddenly cold and empty inside as I watched her leave.

  I’m a cop. In my line of work, protecting the sheep of the world from the wolves who want nothing more than a delicious lamb chop dinner (hold the mint jelly), I quickly learned to grab any detail that will make identifying the wolf easier, so of course, I subconsciously remembered the license plate of the Mustang.

  I got into my pickup, a beat up S-10 with its best days in its rear view mirror and headed home, the girl circling my mind like the refrain of an old song that had no ending.

  The rest of the night was quiet, a little TV, some puttering in my workshop and then, party animal that I am, bed.

  I’ve dated a couple of girls but no one seemed special enough to go farther. No wife, no kids. I love my job and I’ve devoted considerable time to being the best cop I could be.

  I had a quiet house and I never seemed to mind the tranquility, until tonight.

  My friends with mortgages, soccer and ballet practices, dentist bills, they routinely gave me grief about being footloose and free to spend my money on whatever I choose but I always had that nagging feeling something was missing.

  As I lay there in bed, thinking of the girl, that feeling weighed heavily on my mind.

  The alarm buzzed and I swatted it. “Hey!” whispered in my head and I sat bolt upright.

  “What the…who wa…shit,” I mumbled.

  I hadn’t heard a voice in months. It was like that, nothing for days or weeks and then Bam! I knew from experience that I’d hear more voices today and I wasn’t looking forward to it.

  I’d talked to a couple of psychologists and psychiatrists; been through extensive medical tests and still, the voices remained.

  The voices were friendly and non-threatening, but they still scared the hell out of me when I heard them. Imagine you’re sitting in a quiet room, by yourself and suddenly, you hear your name called in a booming voice. At least the voices were infrequent.

  I stopped telling people about the voices because when someone says they hear voices, there’s always someone with a net waiting to help them find the speaker.

  A little time in the hotel with the rubber-lined rooms, courtesy of the local judge, in cooperation with a friendly shrink from the local mental health unit and you’ll be fine, they say.

  I prefer to spend my vacations in regular hotel rooms without a jacket with arms that tie in back.

  Remember, when someone from the government says, “I’m here to help,” a couple of sessions of electroshock therapy would probably be the most pleasant part of the experience.

  I grabbed a quick cup of coffee, a piece of peanut butter and jelly-smothered toast, opened my gun safe, charged and holstered my duty weapon, set the alarm and I was out the door.

  I headed off to work, thoroughly unexcited at the thought of a visitor in my head.