As his partner snapped the outdated cell phone shut Herb Melcher flinched. It was a tiny noise in the midst of the spattering rain and passing cars. All the same, he knew what it meant.
“Herb,” the younger detective pronounced, “We’re golden. Warrant’s good. We kick in this door, charge upstairs and catch half a dozen of the city’s most wanted red handed. Epic, my man!”
Bleary eyes rolled to acknowledge the news. Overcoat scratching across the rough bricks, Herb turned to snort, hack, and gag up more phlegm than he thought one person could produce in a 5 minute interval. An unholy mess ejected to the wet, dirty sidewalk, he turned to offer his partner a shrug.
“Herb,” the younger persisted, “Aren’t you stoked? This is huge!”
“Frankly, Glen, I don’t give a crap.” All the same, Herb unholstered his .45 and chambered a round, “But I know in a week or so I will give a crap. So let’s do this. Wait, one sec.”
It was his partner’s turn to flinch as Herb expelled more glop onto the unyielding brick.