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impact. Then, just as I was closing in, the bearded freaks spotted me and took off running through an off-limits wildlife preserve. Well, hell’s bells, what was I supposed to do? Department policy on hot pursuits through areas such as these has become damned strict in the last several years, gung-ho young officers looking to make a name for themselves have damaged too much native foliage. Anyway, the perps are still at large, although I was of course still keeping a sharp eye out—thought maybe they’d show up at Yosemite, rock climbing El Capitan or something. What a fricking world. A week later I get a call from my cousin Jimmy up in Washington State. He works for the CBC and lives on one of the islands just off Seattle—I forget the name—and, anyway, he invites me to come up and stay in his new beach house. Jimmy was doing pretty well—I think the wife inherited money, from a great uncle or maybe her stepfather. The house was on a small knoll that overlooked a long sandy beach and on sunny days it was all right. The view that is. The house was a little too modern for my taste. I would have gone with more of a Martha’s Vineyard look. Anyway, while I was staying at Jimmy’s I somehow got involved with a case the CBC was working 24

The Metric Issue 08 - Literary Magazine  
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