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Chapter 1
Bently
Bently winced at the bitter aftertaste coating his mouth. He lifted his cup of coffee and swallowed again. Nope. Still terrible. “Should have stopped by Remy’s,” he said aloud to the empty truck cab as he set the brown sludge passing for java in the cupholder.
The radio crackled. “Squad one, what’s your twenty and status?”
Bently picked up the radio as he turned into a side street and pressed the speaker to his mouth. “This is squad one. I’m on Everton Street. Status ten-eight.”
“Unit one, take the suspicious person walking with a bike on Shell Ave.”
He pressed the button once more. “Ten-four.”
Bently put his blinker on and went left at the stop sign, scanning the sides of the road. After making a series of turns, he ended up on Shell Avenue. Slowing, his gaze focused on a kid pushing a bike on the side of the road. His blue school backpack was nearly bursting at the seams. Bently scanned the upscale neighborhood for any signs of a threat.
“He’s just a kid walking home from school.” He shook his head and notified dispatch that he was on the scene before pulling up beside the kid.
He hopped out. Squinting at the sun, he grabbed his aviators from his pocket and slipped them on as he greeted the kid. “Good afternoon.”
The teen kept walking with his head down, swaying slightly. The flapping of deflated rubber slapping against the cement sidewalk brought Bently’s attention to the tires of his bike.
Bently stepped next to the boy. White earbuds stuck out of his ears, contrasting with his light brown skin. He moved into the young man’s periphery to get his attention. “He—”
Wide frightened brown eyes stared up at him as the boy’s trembling hands flew towards the sky. The bike crashed to the ground. Bently swiveled around searching for the danger that had the guy so riled up, but they were alone on the street.
“Sir, I don’t want any trouble. I’m just walking home from school.” The young boy’s voice was steady. His eye was swollen and bruised.
Bently furrowed his brow. He’s scared of me? Smiling in hopes to set the boy at ease, Bently motioned to his headphones. “Can you take those out for a minute?”
Slowly, the boy plucked the headphones from his ears, the steady thump of hip-hop pouring from the tiny speakers.
“Nice tunes.” Smooth, Bently.
The young man remained silent. His eyes were glued on Bently. His shoulders nearly touched his ears with tension.
“I’m Sheriff Evans. What’s your name?”
“TJ . . . uh, Thomas Jones, sir.”
Bently nodded, looking over his bike. “What happened to your ride?”
TJ looked down for a moment before he shrugged. “Flat tire.”
“May I?” Bently asked, reaching towards one of the wheels.
“Okay?” TJ’s answer was more like a question.
“I know a thing or two about bikes. This is a nice one.”
“I didn’t steal it if that’s what you’re thinking,” TJ said, his jaw tense.
“I never assumed you did. You can put your hands down, you know.” Bently ran his palm around the outer tire, finding the source of the leakage—a long slice between the folds of black rubber.
“The person who slashed these tires the same one who gave you that black eye?” Bently asked, standing to his full height.
TJ shifted nervously. “Why do you care?”
Bently sighed. “Because this is my town and I care about the people in it. If someone is being harassed or assaulted, I want to know.”
