Free Rolling Thunder by Chris Grabenstein

that, I am quite certain, sir. However, I won’t see you again until our court date. If I do, I will arrest you.”
    â€œMe, too,” I toss in.
    â€œDanny?” says Ceepak.
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œMuch as we all like you, you are not a family member.”
    â€œTrue. But if I see him near Rita or T.J. and you’re not around …”
    â€œAh! Then you may indeed arrest him.”
    â€œThought so.”
    Mr. Ceepak squints at us hard. Guess he doesn’t like to see everybody in a room smiling except him.
    â€œFine. All I want is to find my wife. Work things out between us. But, no—you have to blow everything out of proportion, don’t you, Johnny? Fine. I’ll see you in court, son.” He does a finger salute off his greasy forehead to Rita, tries to put a little of the ol’ Joe Sixpack twinkle back in his foggy eyes. “Nice meeting you, ma’am. Who knew Johnny would grow up to marry a Polack beauty queen. I’m serious. I always thought he was a fucking faggot like his little brother.”
    And with that fatherly pearl of wisdom, Mr. Ceepak leaves the building.
    â€œSorry for the unanticipated intrusion,” Ceepak says to Skip.
    â€œThat’s okay. I love watching you work, sir. I’m hoping to re-enter the police academy in the fall.”
    Ceepak just nods. Because if he said something encouraging like, “good for you,” he’d be lying. Plus, no way are they letting Skippy O’Malley back in. They caught him cheating. That’s a “one strike and you’re out” deal.
    Mr. O’Malley, wearing a black suit, bursts into the office.
    â€œSkippy?”
    â€œYes, sir?”
    â€œWhy the hell are there children crying in my parking lot?”
    â€œWe, uh, we …”
    â€œI’m afraid that’s our fault, Mr. O’Malley,” says Ceepak.
    O’Malley is a big, blustery man. He looks Ceepak up and down. Checks me out, too.
    â€œYou’re the cops. The ones who …”
    â€œYes, sir,” says Ceepak.
    Mr. O’Malley nods. Puckers up his lips to fight down his feelings.
    â€œThank you. For all you did. For all you tried to do.”
    Behind the counter, I see Skippy hanging his head. Maybe he’s sobbing again.
    â€œI only wish we could have reached your wife sooner,” says Ceepak.
    â€œDon’t beat yourself up, son. Dr. Kurth, the medical examiner, was kind enough to call me. Said Jackie suffered a massive coronary. Most likely died instantaneously. Didn’t feel any pain.”
    Ceepak nods. He’s heard the same thing.
    â€œSkippy?”
    â€œSir?”
    â€œWhere’s my other cell phone?”
    Skippy turns and fumbles around on the top of a credenza, where there are buckets of colored balls and about a dozen cell phones sitting in charger bases.
    He grabs one.
    â€œHere you go, dad. Fully charged.”
    Mr. O’Malley takes it, hands Skippy another phone, which looks just like the one he just took. “Charge it. Died on me during mass.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œWhy weren’t you there?”
    â€œChurch?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œI had to open at ten.”
    â€œRight. Good. I’ll be upstairs in the office.”
    â€œOkay, Dad.”
    â€œAnd Skippy?”
    â€œYes, sir?”
    â€œI thought I told you to take that damn cat to the shelter.”
    Skippy picks the cat up out of its bed. “I don’t mind looking after him.”
    â€œYour brother Kevin is allergic. Mary, too.”
    â€œBut Mom loved Gizmo.”
    â€œSouth Shore will find it a new home.”
    â€œI could keep him in my room.”
    â€œSkippy?”
    â€œYes, sir. I’ll take him in first thing tomorrow.”
    â€œAren’t you working here tomorrow morning?”
    â€œSouth Shore Animal Shelter opens at nine. I used to go out there sometimes with Mom, when she volunteered.”
    â€œFine. Whatever. Just take