“Advise radio we are en route to jail with one and our mileage is reset.” Kopriva punched the trip odometer reset. “And get our time of stop and a report number.” Travis advised radio and carefully noted the time and report number. “Wow,” he said. “That was cool.” “That is the way the game is played. That suspended ticket we wrote Rousse? He most likely won’t appear in court for it, so it’ll go to warrant. Next time he gets stopped, he gets arrested again and we get into his car and find his drugs again. Ba-daboom, ba-da-bing.” Travis nodded his head, smiling. “See,” Kopriva continued, “some officers act like traffic enforcement is beneath them. But traffic is one of our best tools. Just because you stop someone doesn’t mean you have to write them. I let people off all the time. Decent people. Sometimes even shitheads. But look what happened tonight. We stopped Rousse on a piddly traffic stop for defective equipment. Now we have a misdemeanor, a warrant, and two felonies. Plus about three misdemeanors we threw away, if you count the pipe and obstructing charges.” “Great,” Travis said. “This is great.” He nodded his head to the music and grinned. The two were quiet the rest of the way to jail. Kopriva thought about how he would like to catch Morris again. Cream’s Sunshine of Your Love came on the radio. Kopriva turned it up. “I’ve been waiting so long...” Maxwell leaned forward and yelled over the din. “At least you guys got good tunes.” “To be where I’m going…” “Rock-n-roll,” Kopriva yelled back and flashed a grin at Travis. Pete Maxwell might be a doper maggot but now he thought they were buddies. You never knew when that might come in handy. “In the sunshine of your luuhh-uuuhhve!” They drove into the sally port at jail and secured their weapons in the lock-box outside the door. Kopriva walked
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