Ordinary Angels by John Micek

Author:John Micek [Micek, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Harrisburg, journalists, Pennsylvania politics, money-laundering
ISBN: 9781620061329
Publisher: Milford House Press
Published: 2019-09-01T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 21

Four hours later, I was sitting in a conference room of a Pennsylvania State Police substation in Chester County. It was the nearest station to the rest stop. And they’d taken me there after my face-off with the Thug Twins.

The trooper who’d cuffed me, the nametag on his uniform blouse read “Bettini,” thrust me into the back of his cruiser. Thugs One and Two were taken away in handcuffs by the two troopers that Bettini had radioed for back-up.

Bettini had thick, curly hair and a five o’clock shadow. He was about my height and probably a few years older than me. There was a platinum wedding band on his left hand and the polished black of his boots matched the butt of the gun that sat on his left hip.

My little stunt at the rest stop had worked. Sure, it had gotten me arrested, but it had worked. Phil, Thug 1, had first degree burns on his face, and his buddy probably wouldn’t be dating for a while.

On the other hand, as bad as things were for them, they could have come out far worse for me.

The rest stop had emptied out quickly while the state cops interviewed witnesses – including the Starbucks barista who had sold me my life-saving cup of joe.

“You all right back there?” Bettini asked over his shoulder

when he pulled the cruiser into traffic.

“As well as can be expected, I guess,” I told him.

He grunted and nodded and then we drove in silence with only the pop and crackle of the police radio to keep us company.

At the station, I was booked, photographed and finger-printed.

To my eternal relief, my insurance and registration were up-to-date, and I didn’t have any outstanding warrants. On the other hand, the state cops did take some glee from the mountain of unpaid parking tickets I owed to the city of Harrisburg.

“You’ll really need to pay those,” Bettini said, as he led me, with my hands cuffed behind my back, down the hall to a conference room.

I passed the two thugs in the hallway. Phil had bandages on his face, and he glared at me through angry eyes.

His partner scowled and looked away.

Bettini led me through two or three turns, deep into the bowels of the station, past secretaries sitting at their desks and past an assembly room where troopers gathered at the beginning of their shifts.

Taking an electronic card key from his pocket, Bettini opened a heavy, wooden door marked “Conference Room A,” and led me inside.

At the end of the conference table nearest to the door, a plainclothes investigator who introduced himself later as “LaCaprucia” looked up as Bettini led me to the other end of the table and dropped me, just gently enough, into a chair.

“Are you enjoying that?” I asked him, as my butt collided

with the cold metal of a folding chair.

“Enjoying what?” he asked, the corners of his mouth

turned up with mirth.

“Playing the hard-case cop,” I returned.

“Just trying to give you the authentic law-enforcement experience,” Bettini said.

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