Chapter 10“Yo’ don’t rush off into some harebrained high-speed chase wif someone who stole fum yo’, Mr. Coleman,” said the chubby police officer. He was in his sixties and had a long Southern drawl that put even Grady’s back at the Wicked Scallop to shame. “Yo’ pick up thet dang phone an’ yo’ call th’ po-lice.”
Sean eyeballed the back of the officer’s rippled bald head through a steel grill from his seat at the back of the moving police cruiser. He couldn’t make out much of what the man had just said, other than the term “high-speed chase,” which was pretty clear.
“Who said I was speeding?” Sean asked, wincing at the strong stench of mildew in his wet clothes.
“Pfftt!” the officer blurted out, shaking his head. “Oh po-lease. Yo’ turned thet rental of yours into a dang submarine, yo’ wer
