2

Chief Kenneth Danzig had the build of an ex-football player, and though, he was now in his forties and his waistline was trying to match his shoulders for width, he still looked capable of battering through a defensive line or a felon's door. His blood smelled warm and strong. Seated behind his desk in the office he shared with the padlocked evidence locker, he made the room seem even smaller than its actual limited dimensions. He fingered Garreth's application. "I take it you regret resigning?"

"Yes, sir." Garreth had stated the checkable facts of the resignation frankly. He wished he could read the chief, but small town cop though he was, Danzig wore a city cop's professional mask. "Law enforcement is my life. It's the only kind of job I know or want."

Danzig's face never moved. "Why apply here, though? Why not ask for reinstatement in San Francisco?"

Garreth had been expecting that question. He had a half-true answer ready. "I need a change and this is nice country. I like it more every day I'm here."

Danzig leaned back in his chair. "Do you think working in a small town means a soft job? Or that you'll never face a shoot/don't shoot choice again? Remember the Clutter murders in In Cold Blood? Those were here in Kansas. York and Latham were another pair of turkeys on a murder spree who came through here. We tried them just over in Russell. We're on the drug traffic pipeline and almost every year there's a hi-po trooper killed making a routine stop on I-70. You get into trouble out here and you're often on your own, with no backup close enough to do you any good."

He made the job sound as dangerous as any city. Garreth drew a deep breath. "I don't expect a soft job. Of course I hope I'll never have to draw my gun again—who doesn't—but I'm not running away from the possibility." I'm just running away from kicking in doors.

"We work semi-permanent shifts. As a new man, you'd have to work nights, and be stuck there until we have a daytime opening and you have enough seniority to claim it. Any objections?"

"No, sir." None at all! "I prefer nights."

Danzig leaned forward. "Considering your history, I wish I could send you to a shrink for a psychiatric evaluation, but the taxpayers of this town can't afford luxuries like that. We're lucky to find officers willing to work here at all. But I don't hire anyone without at least a physical exam. I'll set up an appointment for you with Dr. Staab at the medical center."

He had been expecting that, but cold still slid down Garreth's spine. A doctor he could probably handle, but . . . what about bloodwork? Using his powers, he had talked the doctor in San Francisco out of running bloodwork on that checkup before sending him back to work. The same trick could not work where it was required as part of the physical. He would have to think of something else. Are you crazy, man? Be safe; give it up.

He sat frozen in the chair while Danzig made the phone call and handed Garreth a memo sheet with the appointment time. "We'll contact San Francisco for your records while you're taking care of this. Now let's fingerprint you to make sure you're who you say you are."

Walking out of City Hall later, Garreth toyed with the memo slip and debated whether to forget the whole thing. Now you see why Lane keeps her head down. She's smart. You're courting disaster, Garreth Doyle Mikaelian. But perhaps he wanted to be found out, he mused, to be destroyed finally and for always.

He stared at the appointment slip for a long time, thoughts churning, before folding it and putting it in his pocket. He might be a total fool, but he wanted the job, and not just to kill time waiting for Lane. He wanted it for himself, wanted a badge again. He wanted to come home.