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Fog always covered Jamrock in the spring, and this April was no different. Visibility was low and the dark clouds overhead made an already uninviting district, bleak and empty. Yet at least a dozen officers of varying rank and job description were crowded around the windows facing the precinct’s parking lot.
Lieutenant Jean Vicquemare had finally lost it. He stood behind a patrol car, visible over the hood, and laughing so hard he had to brace his arms on the top of the vehicle to stay standing.
“Do we go out there to get him?” One deputy asked, hesitantly. Sergeant Mack Torson tapped absently on the window frame, “Volunteers?” The quiet returns. “I’ll go.”
Judith Minot, my wife, the light of my life, literally unparalleled as a police officer, spoke up from the furthest window. Torson looks at her in mild surprise and then nods, “Very good. We’ll be here…. Monitoring. If something happens, we’ll back you up.” The other officers part and make way for Minot, a couple offering encouraging nods, but most were just anticipating the confrontation.
The air outside was cold, and the loud laughter and the fog made her draw her coat tighter around her. “Lieutenant? Jean?” The laughter seemed to pause, but as Judith got closer she realized Jean had only passed the point of audible laughter in favor of silently wheezing. She tries again, “Lieutenant, it’s Patrolman Minot, are you alright?” To her relief Jean finally turns around to face her, but it’s tampered by the tears in his eyes. “Judy, Judy, come here and look at this!” He waves her over and points a shaking hand towards the asphalt in front of him.
The graffiti becomes visible as she approaches. “Do you know who did this?” Jean shakes his head, “Oh, some asshole kid, or some other anti-establishment vandal.” His tone is almost…. Fond. Judith looks over shoulder at the windows where her other colleagues are still standing. Jules gives her a thumbs up. She turns her attention back to Jean, who seems to be reeling back in his composure. “Love a good political message. Power to the people and all that. Do you think they’ll keep it? No… probably not. Shame.” He taps his foot against the ground, as if giving the thing a friendly pat. “Alright, Judy, let’s go back inside. It’s fucking cold out here.” FIN