‘God ain’t gonna help you, bitch!’ Bruno growled. ‘Nobody’s gonna help you. You belong to us.’ ‘Operations to L-15,’ the dispatcher’... voice said over the radio in Greg’s patrol unit. ‘L-15, go ahead, Operations,’ he replied. ‘Lincoln County and the Patrol have units enroute Code Three to back you up,’ the dispatcher advised, ‘but their ETA is about the same as yours.’ ‘Damn!’ Greg exclaimed. He pressed down harder on the accelerator, which was already flat on the floor. For once, he wished he’d. However, it's also my arian tendencies that allow me to have faith in it all working out without stressing too much. Famished and a bit jet-lagged, I stop in for a bite at Gallagher's Pub on E Broadway. I sit at a table and set my bag down on the chair beside me. I order a Celtic Caesar salad with Cajun chicken and a pint of Craft beer. As I eat my lunch I ponder my next step, I wonder how far I am from the beach. It’s 2PM and the only other person in the pub is the bartender. He's good. More

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