Chapter 5
Weeks later, Sean drove bleary-eyed through the streets of his beat. He cursed aloud at the rainy, quiet night, the second in a row. Damn, who wrote the rule that crooks can’t come out in the rain? Hell, I’m out in it, right? He laughed at himself because he’d contracted the habit to say “right” at the end of a sentence like Nash did. He’d denied it when Debbie first mentioned it, but had to admit it when she caught him red-handed several times.
Sean drove his patrol car from block to block. His mind raced over a variety of thoughts with frequent visits of the shooting. Gee, this is the modern world, 1977, the twentieth century. Everybody thinks it’s no big deal to be in a shooting. It hurts. There’s so much stress. I’m not a crybaby, but damn, it’s rough to go through this cra
