Phyllis Bourne - Heated Moments

Police Chief Dylan Cooper hadn’t seen faces this unimpressed with what he had to say since dealing with his ex-wife.

“I hauled ten bad guys to jail last night,” someone yelled from the back of the room. “Didn’t even have to call for backup.”

“Is that all?” A snort accompanied the shouted question. “I made over fifty arrests this week, including Big Moe, from the top of the most-wanted list.”

Murmurs of approval echoed off the walls at the capture of the elusive Big Moe. They fueled the fervent bragging, each person who chimed in boasting bigger arrest statistics than the last.

“What about you, Chief? How many bad guys you take off the streets this week?”

Dylan had hauled the Henderson brothers to the county jail after they’d started a brawl at the sports bar to avoid making good on a wager. His efforts had earned him a sucker punch to the jaw from one of the lumberjack-sized brothers, while he’d been busy subduing the other two.

However, those arrests had been two weeks ago.

The metallic gleam of the badge pinned to his uniform caught Dylan’s eye as he glanced at the worn carpet. He raised his head slightly to meet the dozens of expectant faces awaiting his reply.

“None,” he said finally.

A chorus of gasps erupted, quickly followed by muffled giggles.

“However,” Dylan interjected over the din, “I run a small-town police department, not a video game controller.” He eyed the classroom of fourth and fifth grade Cooper’s Place Elementary School students gathered for his day-in-the-life career talk. “So those arrests you all made playing Cop Crackdown don’t count.”

“Not even nabbing Big Moe?” the boy in the back of the room asked.

Dylan took a moment to think it over. A few of his cop buddies back at his old precinct in Chicago played the popular video game, but none had managed to beat the last level and capture the slippery Big Moe.

Dylan stroked the shadow of beard clinging to his chin. “Well, maybe...”

“Dylan Cooper.” The sound of his name, spoken in an admonishing tone he rarely heard, grabbed his attention. He turned from the students seated crossed-legged on the floor to their teacher standing in a corner of the classroom with her arms folded over her chest.

“Yes, Mrs. Bartlett.” Dylan’s deep voice automatically adopted the singsong quality it had decades ago when she’d been his fifth-grade teacher.

She peered at him over the frames of cat-eye glasses that had slid past the bridge of her nose. Her lips were pursed into a frown, deepening the wrinkles around her mouth. Time had transformed the teacher’s once dark hair to salt and pepper. However, her expression was the same she’d worn the day a garter snake he’d encountered on the way to school had escaped his backpack and slithered onto her desk.

“These students are in my classroom on this sunny July day because they spent the school year trying to apprehend Big Moe instead of doing their homework.” She paused and gave the open window a pointed glance. As if on cue, the happy shrieks of children at the small town’s playground floated in on the mild breeze.

Dylan exhaled, shoving aside a twinge of empathy for the kids’ plight. It didn’t matter that he’d once missed a summer of Little League baseball sitting in this same classroom, with the same teacher. He was the adult now as well as an authority figure.

“No,” he said finally. “Nabbing Big Moe doesn’t count as a real arrest.”

Mrs. Bartlett rewarded the statement with an approving smile. But if the grumbles filling Dylan’s ears were any indication, his stock had dropped even further with his audience.

“Isn’t it your job to arrest people?” a kid seated in front asked. “That’s what the police do.”

“Not always,” Dylan replied. “My main duty is to keep everyone safe. In a town the size of ours that could mean anything from teaching you bicycle safety to helping Devon’s grandmother across Main Street.” He inclined his head toward one of the boys and then looked over at a set of identical twins. “Or even helping Natalie and Nicole look for their lost puppy.”

Dylan acknowledged the waving hand of a boy he recognized as an old high school classmate’s son. “Got a question, Ryan?”

“Where’s your gun?” the boy asked.

“At home,” Dylan replied. “I’m not on duty today. Besides, weapons don’t belong in a classroom. I didn’t bring one here today, and you should never, ever bring a gun or anything else that could be potentially dangerous to school either, right?”

Heads in the audience bobbed in agreement, and then he saw one kid raise his hand.

Dylan looked down at him. “What is it, Brandon?”

“Is a Swiss Army knife okay? I got one for my birthday. It’s so cool, I wanted to show all my friends.” The kid held out his hand. A shiny red utility knife rested in his small upturned palm.

“That is a very cool present. However, it’s not appropriate to bring it to school.” Dylan remembered having one just like it when he was the kid’s age. However, times had changed. “I don’t want you to get into trouble, so how about you give it to me for now. I’ll give it to your dad later, and he’ll return it to you.”

Dylan pocketed the small knife and stole a glance at the clock on the back wall. Although this was one of his rare days off, he had a meeting this afternoon at city hall about the upcoming mayoral election.

“Well, kids, from my early-morning drive around town to check out everything to my night rounds and beyond, that’s a typical day in the life of a small-town police chief,” he concluded.

“Sounds boring to me, Chief. Just like this hick town,” the boy who’d caught Big Moe yelled. “I can’t wait until I’m old enough to move away and live someplace fun.”

Another boy chimed in. “Me, too. When I grow up, I’m going to be a real cop like the ones on my mom’s favorite show, Law & Order , not hanging around here helping old ladies cross the street.”

Dylan took in stride the comments and ridiculing snickers that followed. After all, he’d felt the exact same way when he was their age. He’d also done exactly what they intended to do. The moment he graduated high school, he’d fled the town named for his ancestors, with big plans and his high school sweetheart on his arm.

He’d never planned to return to Cooper’s Place, but he was back in his hometown doing a job that most days held all the excitement of watching grass grow. Slowly. One blade at a time.

Still, dull was good, he reminded himself.

His stint as a beat cop and then two years as a homicide detective on Chicago’s south side had given him an appreciation for living in a place where the children he heard outside could play without fears of gunshots ringing out. Sure, he went on routine calls concerning shoplifters, noise disturbances, family and neighbor disputes, and the occasional burglary. However, there were no calls in the middle of the night to investigate homicides. No street gangs or armed robberies.

The biggest thing a person was likely to become a victim of here was local gossip.

Cooper’s Place, Ohio, was still a town where the residents were all on a first-name basis and could go to bed at night without double-checking to see if the doors were locked. Peace and quiet reigned here, and Dylan would do everything in his power to keep it that way.

After answering a few more questions, he eyed the exit sign above the classroom door. “It’s been a pleasure speaking with you today,” he said.

His former teacher gave the students a reading assignment and followed him into the corridor. “I’d like to have a word with you, Chief Cooper,” she said, closing the classroom door behind her.