Free King City by Lee Goldberg Page B

“How quickly can backup get here if we need it?”
    He didn’t want to tell her that backup wouldn’t come until it was way too late, if it ever came at all.
    “Not quickly enough,” Wade said. “So we’re going have to act as if the entire department is just the three of us, which is why I’ve adjusted the traditional shift schedule.”
    He explained that he was creating two twelve‐hour shifts, 8:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. and 8:00 p.m. to 8:00 a.m. The officers could flip a coin to decide who got days or nights to start off with. Then they could switch shifts each month. He’d work a 9:00 p.m. to 9:00 a.m. shift so that he could ride with them during the most dangerous hours of their shifts, but he’d remain on call at all times during his off‐duty hours as their backup.
    “Are we going to get paid for the overtime?” Billy asked.
    “I wouldn’t count on it,” Wade said.
    “That’s against union rules,” Charlotte said.
    “I know. But I also know the department won’t approve these shifts or authorize the overtime. They’d rather each of us went out there with only God and the dispatcher for company.”
    “That sounds good to me,” Billy said.
    “It sounds like suicide,” Charlotte said, then turned to Wade. “Your plan doesn’t sound much better. If I’ve got to call for backup while you’re off duty, how are you going to get to me fast enough to save my ass?”
    Wade pointed to the ceiling. “I live upstairs.”
    Both officers stared at him.
    “You’re kidding me,” Charlotte said.
    He shook his head. “I moved in this morning. I’ll keep the radio with me at all times.”
    “You are hard‐core,” Billy said. “But not in an Asscrack Bandits way. More like Walker, Texas Ranger .”
    “You’re willing to live here just for us?” Charlotte asked.
    “Who says it’s for you?” Wade asked.
    “I don’t see any days off in your schedule,” Billy said.
    “Because there aren’t any,” Wade said.
    “How long are we going to work like that?” Billy asked.
    “Until I feel you’re ready to handle a shift on your own or we get some additional manpower.”
    “When are you expecting those new guys to arrive?”
    “I’m not,” Wade said.
    Charlotte mulled it over for a long moment, then surrendered with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll take nights to start, if that’s OK with you, Billy.”
    “OK by me,” Billy said.
    “Your first shift is tonight,” Wade said. “That’s it for me. Any questions?”
    “You aren’t wearing Kevlar, are you?” Billy asked, knocking on his own underneath his shirt as if it were a suit of armor.
    “Nope,” Wade said.
    “Why not?” Billy asked.
    “Because they’re itchy and make you sweat,” Charlotte said, unconsciously scratching at hers. “Especially if you’re wearing a bra.”
    “Don’t wear a bra,” Billy said. “We won’t mind.”
    “It’s not about the discomfort,” Wade said. “It’s a personal choice. I believe that the vest tells people that you’re weak, that you’re afraid to get hurt.”
    “So does a gun,” Charlotte said.
    Wade shook his head. “That’s different. A gun tells people that you’re prepared to do whatever is necessary to enforce the law and maintain the peace.”
    “So does a vest,” Charlotte said.
    Wade shook his head again. “It undercuts you before you even walk into a situation. All you need is a badge.”
    “A badge doesn’t cover your body,” Billy said.
    “It represents something,” Wade said.
    “But it’s not bulletproof. You may not have noticed, Sarge, but there are ten‐year‐olds out there carrying more firepower than us. You can empty your gun into this”—Billy knocked on his chest again—“and I’ll sit right up and blow your head off.”
    “That’s the other problem with the vest,” Wade said. “It gives you a sense of invincibility that you don’t have. It makes you stupid.”
    “You’re calling me stupid?” Billy asked with a cocky swagger. “With all due