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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required After Bill got Brick’s emergency call about the new find under the Bywater bridge, he downed his coffee, shoved his files in a drawer, donned his 9mm w/shoulder holster, traded his Stetson for a NYPD ball cap, made for the squad car, punched the blue lights and headed to Brick’s destination. When he approached the bridge , the bus was already there and Brick was talking to the driver. His car was parked slanted into the traffic slow lane so all had to slow and go around the scene. He already had it cordoned off with tape. Bill pulled up behind Brick’s squad car adding blue lights to his. Brick spotted Bill getting out of his car and motioned him over. They both stepped towards each other after Brick finished his instructions to the bus driver. When Bill first got to NYC. He had no idea that the cops referred to the ambulance as the “bus” but it was just another colloquialism he had to pick up on after his stint in Texas. .and here it was on the scene again. It wasn’t usually a welcome site. Above the noise of the oncoming traffic, they shook hands heartily and Brick grinning, beat Bill to the punch saying “What the hell took you so long? You stop and kiss your horse good morning on the way over here or something?" “Nah, I just decided to take the scenic route. I figured you’d have this case all wrapped up by the time I got here. …How in the heck are ya, Brick. Seems like I ain’t seen you since back before the Alamo. What all this fuss about here? “Well let me show you, cowboy.” Bill followed Brick to the blanket laid on the cracked pavement roadside in the shadow of the bridge. Even before he got there Bill could see blood oozed out from under the cover in a stilled puddle. Brick slowly pulled the blanket back to inspect the victim while looking up to Bill to catch his reaction. “ Whaddya think?” The grimace on Bill’s face said it all. He had seen a lot of carnage in his time but never anything quite like this. He caught his breath and let it out slowly and quietly whispering the words “ Holy crap…. It’s a butcher job!... “ (continued on Richard Pickett poetry (Taz)
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