Twenty-Four
SINCE IT’S MY CAR, Helen lets me drive.
“Besides,” she says, “you drive slowly enough he won’t get spooked.”
“Thanks, honey.”
As I round the corner onto Helen’s street, someone runs in front of my car. I manage to slam on breaks just as a young woman in camouflage gear dashes across the street in front of me.
“What the hell!” I exclaim as Helen jumps out of the car.
“Stay here. Call 911. Identify yourself. Officer needs assistance,” she shouts, pulling her weapon from her calf holster and joining the pursuit.
I fumble for my phone and press the emergency call button.
“911, what is your emergency?” the efficient female voice on the other end says.
“This is Police Chaplain Greer,” I shout into my phone. “Officer needs assistance at 411 Elm Street, the Royal Apartment com
