Free Beginner's Luck by Richard Laymon Page A

expect every member of the police force to remember you."
    "Did you have any valuables in the car?" he asked.
    "I sure did. My dad's binoculars and camera were under the driver's seat." She remembered her father laughing when she'd asked to borrow them. "Let me guess," her father had said. "You want them handy just in case you run into a  crime." She had admitted it, and they had both laughed. As it turned out, however, Joyce could've done without the binoculars and camera. All the time she'd been carrying them around, she hadn't even used them once. "Some detective," she thought. "I should have left Dad's gear safe at home." "The thief," she asked. "Was he carrying anything?"
    "He appeared to have objects hidden under his jacket."
    "Oh, man," she muttered.
    At the end of the corridor, Officer Stevens pushed open the glass door and held it for Joyce. They entered the parking area.
    "Maybe we'll be in luck, Joyce. My partner's quick on his feet. He probably chased down the suspect."
    "I sure hope he did."
    They crossed the lane and walked past the rear bumpers of parked cars. Joyce's car was still out of sight, around the bend. But she scanned what she could see of the lot, looking for Stevens's partner. The few people she saw all looked like shoppers, either on their way into the mall or out.
    Stevens grabbed Joyce's arm and yanked her out of danger as a station wagon backed up. Its rear bumper brushed the front of her skirt.
    "Hey!" Stevens pounded its roof with his open hand. The car jerked to a stop. Bending over, he peered through the open passenger window. The tail end of his jacket slid up. Below its hem, Joyce saw a gleaming curve of metal---a rim of his handcuffs. "You almost ran this young lady down," Stevens told the driver in a stern voice. "I ought to run you in for reckless driving. But I have more important matters to deal with. In the future, be more careful."
    "Yes, sir," the driver said, sounding frightened.
    "Be on your way," Stevens ordered as he stepped back to let the car finish pulling out. He turned to Joyce. "Are you all right?"
    ''I'm fine," she said. "Thanks for stopping me."
    "My pleasure," he said. Smiling, he patted her arm. "You'd better watch where you're walking," he warned in a gentle voice. "I'd hate for anything bad to happen to a young lady as pretty as you."

H is compliment, plus the way he'd patted her arm, made Joyce uncomfortable. He was being a little too  friendly for a police officer, she thought. But he had, after all, just saved her from possibly being hit by a car. Because of that, maybe he felt especially protective.
    When they rounded the turn in the lane, she looked up and spotted her car. She half expected to find Stevens's partner standing near it, the suspect in custody. Instead there wasn't anybody there.
    "Where's your partner?" she asked.
    Frowning, Stevens shook his head. He didn't answer right away. As they walked toward her car, he finally answered, "Do you know what probably happened? Rick must've caught him. I can't imagine anyone getting away from Rick---he was a star sprinter in college. He must have caught the suspect and taken him in."
    "To the police station?" Joyce asked.
    "That's probably just what he did." Shaking his head as if amused by his partner, he said, "Rick's a real hot dog. He probably hauled the guy in, all by himself. Then he wouldn't have to share the collar with me."
    "Doesn't that make you mad?" Joyce asked.
    Stevens shrugged, then smiled in a carefree way. "I'm an easygoing guy. It takes a lot to make me mad."
    They stopped beside Joyce's car. She was glad to see that none of its windows were broken. The lock buttons all appeared to be in the down position. She sighed with relief. "It doesn't look like he got in."
    "We'd better make sure," Stevens said. Joyce took the key case from her purse.
    "Let me," he told her. She gave the leather case to him. Choosing the right key, he slid it into the door, turned it, and pulled the handle.
    Joyce