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The park activities are in full swing when we arrive. Chief Finley is standing in the middle of some kids, handing out cotton candy. Across the lawn, Emma’s glaring hard enough to burn a hole through the chief’s head.
Don’t worry, babe, I’m going to give you satisfaction out of bed too.
“How about some football?” Frank bellows. He spins the ball in the air. A number of guys come running. I send the teens away.
“Whatever, old man,” a couple of them grumble as I tell them that they can have the field after us.
“He just doesn’t want to be embarrassed by us,” says his friend.
“Getting roasted by some teens,” Frank chortles. “Good going.”
“Can’t have minors become secondary victims in this fight.”
“Good point. Finley’s at three o’clock. Heading our way. Look sharp,” Frank murmurs.
“I see him.” I arrow in on the asshole with a bright, dumb smile. “Chief Finley, up for some ball or do the town tax dollars not allow you to do that?”
He bristles. “The town’s tax dollars are spent efficiently and for the good of the people, unlike the federal government that wastes it on worthless projects.”
“Field day is nice,” I reply. “But if you’re scared to play ball with us, just say that. I understand.” I give him a lazy once-over. “I know how you cops like your donuts.”
Finley’s jaw tightens, and the cotton candy stick breaks in his fist. “Neal, get over here and cover for me. I gotta teach these out-of-towners some manners.”
“I’m from here,” reminds Frank.
Finley ignores him and lets out a piercing whistle. Quickly, he gathers a team, including some of the teens we rejected. No one comes over to our side.
“Just you two old men,” crows one of the teens. “We’ll waste you.”
“Frank and I have been a team for longer than you’ve been able to do multiplication,” I reply.
“Make that three.” A new voice joins us.
I look over to see a man about my height and slightly less built stroll up. He holds out his hand.
“Ezra Jackson,” he introduces himself. “I’m Rosie Remington’s fiancé.”
I arch my eyebrow slightly. Is it a coincidence that the soon-to-be husband of Rosie, one of the women that may have tangled with Finley, turned up out of the blue to join this lopsided game?
“It might get physical,” I warn.
“I’ve been waiting for this opportunity.” He grins broadly.
No. I think it’s no coincidence at all. I nod and shake his hand. Frank does the same.
“We’ll be skin,” Frank says. The three of us tug off our shirts and toss them under a tree. Around us, the women are hollering.
Finley puts his hands on his hips in irritation. He doesn’t like that he’s not the center of this attention.
“We can be skins,” he says and gestures for his team to take their shirts off.
“Nah, you’ve got some minors there. We can’t encourage them to be stripping in front of their moms.” Frank and I exchange grins.
Over at the ambulance station, Emma is waving her hands. I trot over to her.
“What’s up, baby?” I lean down to give her a quick kiss.
“In front of everyone?” she gasps when I draw back.
