Free RCC03 - Beneath a Weeping Sky by Frank Zafiro

clock.
    Great.
    Now she was going to be late.
    Katie turned and walked away.
     
    2237 hours
     
    “Adam-122?”
    Battaglia reached for the mike. “Twenty-two, go ahead.”
    “Respond on a vehicle theft report.”
    “Great,” Battaglia said sarcastically, ignoring the dispatcher’s description of the call. “A real challenge.”
    O’Sullivan didn’t reply.
    The dispatcher relayed the address and Battaglia copied the call. Then he turned to Sully. “So I guess there’s no RPW to be done tonight.”
    Sully made a U-turn. “Since when are stolen cars not real police work?”
    “Stolen cars are real police work. They can even lead to pursuits. Which is fun.” Battaglia replaced the radio mike on the hook. “But stolen vehicle reports suck . There’s no challenge to them.”
    “A call is a call.”
    “ A call is a call ,” Battaglia mimicked. “Well, these calls suck. Every one is the same. And that’s if it is even actually a real stolen.” Battaglia mimed removing his notepad and flipping it open. He poised an invisible pen above his open palm. “Do you own the car? When did you see it last? Do you know who took it? What color is it? What do you want us to do with when we find it? Blah, blah, blah, boring.”
    “Sometimes life is not all about every call being exciting,” Sully said.
    “Oh, aren’t we just the philosopher tonight?” Battaglia observed. He paused to look through the windshield, then left and right. “What the hell?”
    “What the hell what? That there’s actually a world out there?”
    “Screw you, Soh-crayts.”
    “Soh-crayts?” Sully shook his head. “It’s Socrates, you idiot. Sock-Ruh-Tease.”
    “Like you know,” Battaglia said, waving his hand. “And the what the hell is, where are you going?”
    “To the call.”
    “Not the way you’re headed. Take Wall. It’s quicker.”
    Sully snorted. “I’m driving, Guido. So don’t worry about it.”
    “I’m telling you, Wall is quicker than Monroe.”
    “It’s the same.”
    “It’s quicker.”
    “Shut up. Like you know this town.”
    Battaglia raised his eyebrows in indignation. “I know this town like the back of my hand.”
    “Bullshit. You can barely find the station on a good day. That’s why you always ride with me and that’s why I always drive.”
    “I ride with you because no one else will and Sarge wants me to keep an eye on you.” Battaglia sniffed dramatically and rubbed his nose. “And I let you drive so I don’t offend your Irish sensibilities.”
    “ My sensibilities? Coming from Captain Sensitivo over here, that really hurts.”
    “I know this town,” Battaglia insisted.
    “Not only do you not know this town, you don’t even know anything about this town. You’re ignorant of your own city’s history.”
    “Oh really? And what are you? The River City History Channel?”
    “No,” Sully said, “but I know a few things.”
    “So do I.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like it’s called River City because it was founded by a river.”
    “Oh, that’s good. Don’t stretch your brain.”
    Battaglia shrugged. “It’s true. Deal with it.”
    “So why’s Mount Joseph called by that name?” Sully asked.
    “It’s named after some guy named Joseph.”
    Sully slapped the steering wheel. “Another brilliant insight. Okay, Mensa boy, who was Joseph?”
    Battaglia paused. “Some Indian, right?”
    “Good guess. Yeah, some Indian. A chief, actually.”
    Battaglia snapped his fingers and pointed. “That’s it. Mount Joseph was named after Chief Joseph.”
    Sully sighed. “No kidding. So what tribe did he belong to?”
    “Sioux?”
    “No.”
    “Pawnee?”
    Sully shook his head. “Uh-uh.”
    “Apache?”
    “Oh, come on. The Apache live down in the desert.”
    “We’ve got deserts around here. You ever been to Yakima?”
    “ Real deserts,” Sully said. “As in New Mexico and Arizona?”
    Battaglia shrugged. “A desert’s a desert.”
    “It’s Nez Perce,” Sully told him. “Chief