Finding 52 by Len Norman Read Free Book Online Page A

to bring him on board after learning about his military experience. The Police Academy was a breeze for someone like him. The other cops soon sat up and took notice after Calvin and Quentin were working the bar district in the south end of Riverside. Last call was over and there were drunks galore. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel.
    They were conducting a field interview, which for Calvin and Quentin was simply a chance to start trouble. They heard a noise and looked up to see that a drunk driver had just bounced off a trash can on the sidewalk. Calvin ran to the squad car and yelled at Quentin, “Hop in, the sonofabitch is probably drunk. Let’s get him.”
    They pulled the driver over and couldn’t believe who was behind the wheel. Silas Jansen was clearly shitfaced and driving. Calvin immediately put on his sap gloves and said to him, “Get the fuck out of the car right now you dickhead. I think you’ve been drinking.”
    Silas got out of the car, all six feet and four inches, two hundred and sixty pounds of solid football-playing muscle. Silas Jansen was the biggest thing that ever embraced the Riverside Athletic Arena. He was All-American in his last three years of high school. He received a full ride to Illinois and led their football team to a national championship his junior year. He was selected in the first round of the draft at the number-three pick with the Washington Redskins. He didn’t deal well with fame and was a problem child from day one. The Redskins gave up on him and he was picked up by the Miami Dolphins. A year later he was earning $30,000 a year playing football in Italy. All of that was three years ago.
    And here they were. By the time Calvin told Silas to get out of his car, he’d managed to piss away everything; he was broke with no prospects in sight. He was able to freeload drinks and whatnot at Riverside’s Sports Bars, but that was the extent of his current portfolio. He believed he was only one more tryout from a Super Bowl ring. It would be fair to say he really was optimistic.
    Silas didn’t realize the cigarette he was smoking would soon lead to trouble. Quentin giggled when the tip of the cigarette was knocked off when Silas waved at a passerby. He figured it had to be one of his many fans when he heard the horn honking. As Silas was waving, the lit end sailed into the cuff of his trousers. He had no clue what was going on but Quentin nudged Calvin and looked down. Calvin immediately saw what had just occurred; he was very interested in how this might play out, thinking good times would soon commence.
    Calvin was holding a driver’s license that depicted a picture of Silas in better times. The information was radioed into the police station and the desk officer ran Silas on the teletype. While they were waiting, he started smoking. Not another cigarette—Silas actually began to smoke. Wispy plumes of smolder soon appeared from his fashion-conscious polyester trousers. Silas was one to dress for any occasion when cadging free drinks and telling stories of greater days when he was one of the NFL’s chosen.
    Calvin and Quentin let the scenario play out awhile longer until Quentin actually saw what appeared to be… flames. “Hey, Silas,” Quentin said. “Check it out. You look like a flaming asshole!”
    Silas screamed his fool head off and began to run.
    Calvin yelled after him, “Stop, drop, and roll, numbnuts. Just like the hose monkeys taught you to do in the fifth grade on career day.”
    Silas fell to the ground, and it wasn’t because he had learned anything from the firemen. He was just too goshdarn drunk to stand on his feet much longer. He rolled back and forth in the dirt and then tried to get back up. He looked down and actually vomited all over the ground, his shoes, and the flaming pant cuff.
    Calvin looked at Quentin and said, “Lucky for him he drank a lot of beer tonight. Right?”
    “Looks like it to me.”
    “You think we should run his sorry