Becoming Quinn

2

Jake Oliver waited in the passenger seat of the patrol car while his partner, Tony Haywood, went into Di’s Diner.

It was part of their routine — get the brief at the station, drive around for a few hours, then stop at the diner. The main reason wasn’t Di’s mediocre coffee or a sudden need to use their restrooms. It was Maria, one of the waitresses who worked the swing shift.

More and more Jake had taken to staying outside while his partner went in, sure Haywood liked it better that way. Jake’s training officer had made it clear that they were not friends now nor would they ever be.

Jake could see the veteran cop leaning against the counter, two to-go cups of coffee in front of him, and Maria on the other side, smiling.

Suddenly a dispatcher’s voice broke over the radio. “All units in vicinity of Goodman Ranch Road and Tyler Way, report of shots fired with possible injuries.”

Jake brought up a mental map of the city in his mind. He’d only been in Phoenix for a little over nine months, but he’d made it a priority to know it as well as he could. That included memorizing as much of the layout as possible. In just seconds, he narrowed in on the location. It was in a nearly deserted part of town, about three and a half miles away from their current location.

He was just about to hop out and get Haywood when he saw his partner exit the diner with the two cups in his hand, undoubtedly hearing the call on his radio. He handed the cups to Jake through the open window, climbed in, then grabbed the radio mic. “9-82 Adam, in route Goodman Ranch Road.”

“Copy, 9-82 Adam,” the dispatcher said.

The moment they hit the street, Haywood flipped on the emergency lights and the siren.

“Coffee,” he said, holding out his hand.

Jake gave him the cup with the X on the top. That was the one topped off with cream and sugar. Jake liked his black.

Haywood took a sip, then smiled. “When we get there, slow and cautious. Understand?”

“Yes,” Jake said.

Neither man spoke again until they turned onto Goodman Ranch Road.

Haywood nodded at the radio. “Call in and see if they’ve narrowed down the location.”

Jake did.

“Caller disconnected,” dispatch reported. “Reported on Goodman near Tyler Way. Nothing further.”

A minute later, they pulled to a stop at the corner of the two streets.

“Would have been nice if he had at least told us which side of Goodman he was on.” Haywood stared out the windshield for a moment, then opened his door.

“What are you doing?” Jake asked.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Haywood said as he climbed out.

Jake hesitated a moment, then did the same.

Haywood stood next to the car, his head swiveling slowly as he surveyed the surrounding area. Jake turned his gaze outward, but there really wasn’t much to see. Only a few lights pierced the darkness, revealing a handful of small ranches, but that was it. Mostly it was just open desert.

“I see three places over there,” Haywood said, pointing across Tyler Way. “And two more behind us. You?”

“I counted three behind us,” Jake said.

“Three?”

Jake pointed each of them out. There were two homes across the street from each other, and one large building on another piece of property, set far back from the road.

Haywood frowned. “Yeah. Three.”

Jake opened his mouth, hesitated, then decided he should say it anyway. “Do you think maybe it was a prank?”

His partner studied the desert some more. “Won’t know until we check. We’ll start with the houses on the other side of Tyler, and work our way back.”