Pastries on Patrol

Pastries on Patrol


Sitting astride his motorcycle, Jeff idly munched a doughnut as he watched eastbound cars and trucks appear on the highway running under the overpass.  These Crisp 'N Creamys sure are good, he thought as he shoved the last bit into his mouth.  Too bad they're so pricy, though; makes it a double shame about Duncan's Doughboys going out of business.  Rotten economy.

Just then, a red Corvette shot into view, and his radar receiver chirped.  Quickly pulling on a pair of gloves, Jeff checked the display: eighty!  With a speed half again as fast as the posted limit, the driver had just sped right past "a friendly warning" and into the area the Patrol Division's Lieutenant liked to call "the ticket zone."

In a smooth series of motions, he pressed the starter, raised the kickstand, accelerated down the ramp, and turned on his lights and siren.  Two miles later, he was stopped behind the 'vette.  After Dispatch ran the plates, he walked up to the driver's door, ticket book in hand.  He was actually happy about the stop.  The driver would be temporarily motivated to drive a little closer to the speed limit, the guys would quit razzing him about letting everyone off with a warning (his last citation had been over a week ago), and he could finally ditch the paper clip he'd been using to hold the currently blank citation in place.  He had accidentally torn it out last week and had wanted to just toss it, but they were accountable items; so, he'd used the clip.

Jeff handed over the citation with a polite nod, then mounted his bike and crossed over to the westbound lane.  He faced the setting sun as he waited for his shift to end, and wished for another doughnut.