Free Mangrove Bayou by Stephen Morrill

outfits. There’s a matching wide-brim safari hat with the police logo on it. Use the duty belts you already have. We’ll hand out the uniforms after the meeting. We’ll start wearing them next Monday. Give you time to get them pressed and starched.
    “Now, when you’re not cleaning your uniforms, you’re cleaning your equipment. I want those Suburbans looking spotless and waxed. Whoever is on the Saturday day shift can run them through the car wash up on Bay Street. I’ve spoken to them and they’ll bill the department direct. We’re going to practice with the weapons, once per month or more often if you wish and, frankly, I prefer that you wish.”
    Some of the officers sat up and looked interested. “Yeah, Chief,” Calvin said. “Boom-boom.”
    “Right. I usually practice once a week,” Troy continued. “Anyone wants to join me is welcome. I’ve asked the public works people to bulldoze up a practice range out on Government Key. After practice we’ll clean those weapons and keep them clean. If you have a personal piece for a backup gun I need to know about it and it needs to be clean too. I’ll be checking.”
    “You ever actually shoot someone, Chief?” Calvin Smith asked.
    Troy stared at him, then looked around the table. “Day and evening shifts there’s just two of you on duty, three on weekends. Plus, June here handling dispatch. Plus, me on call. If there’s anyone in a jail cell, one of you must stay here in the stationhouse. We never leave a person locked up alone who can’t get out if there’s a fire or if he or she has some medical emergency. If you need to, call me and I’ll come down and be here.”
    “Bob Redmond never needed to keep someone in the station,” Angel Watson said.
    “And how did his career work out for him?” Troy looked around. No one had an answer to that. He made a mental note to get a large couch for his office if he was going to be sleeping in the station too many nights.
    “And from now on we’re going to look good physically.” Troy pointed at the doughnut boxes. “These make fine cop food but we need to work that off too. I want cops who are neat looking, polite and in fighting shape. There’s a bunch of weights in the back storeroom now and I’m having a used treadmill delivered later today. We will all use those. You and I will spend an hour a day working out. Personally, I find treadmills boring. I already run every morning before I come in here and any of you who want to run with me are more than welcome. But it’s one or the other. Bring your own sweats or whatever for the workout, take a shower after, put on your uniform and hit the streets on patrol.”
    “And don’t leave old, sweaty clothes in your lockers,” Angel Watson said.
    “Do as she says,” Troy said.
    “Don’t need none of that anyway,” Calvin Smith said. “Car can’t outrun a radio. Man can’t outrun a bullet.”
    “Calvin, you can’t outrun June, here,” Angel said. There were a few chuckles. Calvin was, in fact, the only fat officer Troy had.
    “What about me?” June asked. “I’m not an officer. I’m a dispatcher. I mean, I wear my own clothes.”
    “Not any more. You’re a member of the department. You’ll wear the same uniform, minus the duty belt and gun. I, or a patrol officer, will cover the front desk for you while you work out each morning.”
    “I’m sixty years old, Troy.”
    “Then the good news is you don’t have to do as many workouts before you die.”
    “How do we do all this with our schedule?” Juan Valdez asked. “I mean, there’s not any flexibility here.” Valdez was five-seven and light brown, with black eyes and hair, thin but strong.
    “How would you do it, Juan?”
    Valdez thought a moment. Troy waited. Finally Valdez spoke again. “Right now, the arriving shift people show up at the same time. Eight a.m. to four p.m. for the day shift and so on. If we changed those times to seven to three and eight to four, we could have one