Parelli covered his face with a hand, trying to be shy. “I didn’t suck all of them.”
They laughed. A patrol car approached.
Their sergeant, Tom Anderson, got out, wearing a scowl. He strode up to Parelli with his 6’4”, two hundred fifty-pound frame. “I want this duck shit to stop as of yesterday.” He held his hand out. “Give me that fucking duck call.”
“Tom, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have no duck call.”
He crossed his arms. “If I have to search you, your car, and equipment bags, I’ll do it. I know it’s you doing it.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because you’re a fucking wise-ass prankster. The rumors of your stunts in the academy made it to the PD before you graduated, and you almost didn’t graduate. Plus, you’re always pulling some joke. Where is it?”
Parelli puckered his lips. “I shoved it down the front of Bander’s pants.”
The sergeant shot around to face him. Bander made his eyes large, opened his mouth, and floated his upturned hands in the air and looked at his crotch, shaking his head.
The sarge took a step toward Bander, glared at Parelli, and stabbed a finger at him. “Knock it off.” He got in his car and sped off.
The guys laughed, again clutching each other, giving Parelli a half hard-on.
Parelli held his hand out. “Give it to me.”
“Come and take it.”
“You’d like that.” They laughed again, and Parelli shoved his hand deep, found Bander’s cock, and extracted the duck call.
“Seriously, Dino, you’ve taken this joke as far it can go. Give it a rest.”
“Yes, Dad.” He pouted. “Did you like my hand in there?”
Bander smirked, “Hey, skin is skin. Gave me a boner.”
“Oh, at first, I thought that this was your dick, small and thin.”
“You won’t say that when I decide to shove it up your ass.” He grabbed the duck call. “I’m keeping this for a while.”
“You tease but never follow throw.”
Bander shook his head, and they drove off to patrol the night, with Parelli wishing their sexual banter would come true.
An hour later, Dino spotted an old yellow Plymouth driving quietly. He pulled in behind it and picked up the microphone. “Dispatch, Unit seven-one-seven, run California plate 842 DGG.”
“Copy.”
Dino’s mind jumped, and he cackled aloud to himself, “Got it! Robbery suspect from two months ago.”
The dispatcher called, “Seven-one-seven, that plate is related to an armed robbery; use caution.”
“Copy, gonna stop it.” He turned the revolving red and blue lights on to pull the car over. “Stopping at Blossom Road and Winfield. Code Three back up.” Adrenaline coursed through his body, as he knew anyone remotely close would be flying with balls to the wall with lights and sirens.
The dispatcher barked, “All nearby units respond Code Three for seven-one-seven with an armed robbery suspect.”
A cacophony of voices flooded the police radio, answering the call with sirens in the backgrounds. The adrenaline made Dino’s heart pound. He tensed his jaw as he drew his .41 Magnum revolver from his holster. He stayed behind his open door for cover.
“Driver! Out of the car; hands up.”
The Plymouth’s car door opened, and a skinny, scruffy guy, looking totally like a meth head about Dino’s age of twenty-five, stepped out. He glanced around with his hands down.
“Hands up!” Dino glanced around for innocent bystanders, in case they shot it out, and saw none, a benefit of the night shift. He sighted his handgun in on the driver’s chest.
The driver slowly lifted his hands as he looked around. Sirens sounded in the distance.
Dino barked, “Back up is coming; if you’re going to run, do it now, but I won gold medals in track and field in college.” Dino licked his dry lips, and he reminded himself to stay focused. “Walk to the front of my car, and then get on your knees.”
The man complied.
“Hands on top of your head.”
He did it. “I don’t have a gun. On me. It’s in the car.”
Dino waited. A patrol car with lights and sirens activated lurched over the cement road divider, skidding to a stop. Bander jumped out with a shotgun aimed at the crook. More sirens, more cars with cops and pointed guns. Dino holstered his pistol and cuffed the driver, searched him for weapons, and put him in the back of his caged police car.
The cops settled, and guns were holstered. Accolades circled with pats on the back.
“Hope you got the right guy.”
“Damn, that wanted bulletin was two months ago. I can’t remember them from last night.”
Dino’s sergeant walked up with the bulletin. “Dino, you found gold. Everything matches, descriptions on the driver and car. Search it, tow it, and take the guy to the PD. Good work!”
“Uh, thanks, Sarge, but I want to get consent to search the car. You know that US Supreme Court decision that limits searches.”
“Damn it. Do what I say. Why do you always have to argue? Why? Why?”
Bander joined in, “Uh, Sarge, I hate to say it, but Parelli’s right. Consent is best. We don’t want the search to be thrown out as illegal when we get to court.”
The sergeant threw his hands in the air.
Two plain-clothes detectives sauntered up to the trio. “Who made the stop?”
Parelli lifted his hand.
One detective, a moose of a man, towered over Dino and thumped him on the back. “We’ve been looking for this guy. He’s responsible for robberies in four other jurisdictions, plus some in San Jose.”
The other detective, black, tall, and athletic, shook Dino’s hand. “Good police work. If you don’t mind, we’ll get consent to search the car, tow it, and take the guy in. Okay?”
Bander croaked, “Why get consent to search?”
The first detective advised, “That fucking Supreme Court decision makes everything muddy. Consent is best.”
Bander and Parelli laughed; the sergeant escaped to his car. Parelli held his hand out. Bander passed the duck call to him. Parelli and Bander went to the sergeant, and Parelli handed it to him.
“I
