'Radio'

Nathaniel Anacta                                                                                          Mr. Hannon

2-28-14                                                                                                              Period 9

Radio

         The car sped down the quiet street. Its wheels made a soft padding sound as it crunched over melting snow. It was a quiet night; and a cold morning where the only things breathing were the crows starting the dawn with reverberating squawks and the officers sitting inside the lone vehicle blaring heat from two old exhaust ports.

The motor hummed a pattern over the silent policemen- loudly but not disturbingly its whirling hum was punctuated by the occasional crackle of the radio.

Neither of them spoke.

For forty years, this has been their routine. Sheriff Sanders would drive while Deputy Lawton would keep a watch.

At least that's what they say they do in each night.

The Sheriff knew the County's streets well; well enough that he once found his way through each corner and crack on the pavement with a blindfold over a bet with his Deputy back when they were young. Nowadays, he would do the same thing while driving and simultaneously reliving his past.

Back in the 70's the streets of Antelope County were filled with methamphetamine using Biker gangs and rampant prostitution. The Law fought them hard with each 311, search warrant, bullet casing and Jury Verdict. "Perhaps too hard" thought the Sheriff.

In the small county, The Sheriff and the Deputy were at the lead of each case and award ceremony. They remember each case and medallion well as their aging minds constantly reminded them of the days when Antelope County was brimming with concealed weapons ready to fire at their windows.

Now the only thing to punctuate the silence was the crackling of the radio. It's hisses only sound on average about twice per hour and the officers learned over time that each one means nothing. Nowadays, they only ever keep it on out of routine and habit.

Hiss. Crack. Hiss. Crack.

Slowly, the deputy turned his head and reached for a knob in the center of the vehicle. Lazily he twisted it.

Sheriff Sanders slowly turned and looked at the stubby hands belonging to his deputy noting that over the years his once football captain of a partner had grown a meter around the hips.

" Durned thing's a makin' a more noise than usual" said the Sheriff.

"Pro'lly just a hunk of nothin' but wire and bug"-responded the Deputy Lawton.

"Pro'lly" agreed the Sheriff.

Suddenly- the exchange was pierced by a high squeal. Quickly cowering- Deputy Lawton twisted the knob the other way while grimacing at the disturbance.

"Unit 415- we's a have a 321 around de Pariah Street.  Two patrolees already responded- but a haven't gotten them's reports, over"

Swiftly but carefully, the Sheriff reached for a rectangular box wired to the radio and pressed the red button below it. "Ah's hear ye 'Trish- 415 responding".

Holding the radio phone in one hand and the wheel in the other, the Sheriff pushed the pedal slightly closer to the floor of the patrol car and turned his head to his grinning Deputy.

"Youse' realize that is a probably just another one o' 'em domestic cases right?" said the Deputy as he carefully noted the speed the patrol car was going.  "Likely, but is' good to have a hope in a while- try it- maybe you'll finally lose them bacon tarts you a callin hands'"

Without losing his smile, the Deputy chuckled before finally turning his head back towards the window: this time thinking of the possible week's worth of entertainment.

The car wheeled around a corner. Its momentum tilted the officers slightly towards the window.

Quickly, the Sheriff turned and smiled his brown eyes glowing: the years have not scarred him but even under the dark of dawn, it was clear to see the color that poured into them.

Briskly, as it quickly slowed down under an ice covered sign reading Pariah Street, the car doors shut simultaneously before two uniformed men jumped outwards in the night both with right hands behind worn holsters and beaming smiles.