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the light is out, I pull her door half shut and flop onto my bed. I’m fortunate enough to pull day shift at work. Bill loves to remind me that if they fire me they don’t meet the quota, so I get what he calls preferential treatment. I can get up with Carrie unless I’m called to cover a shift.
    Okay, I need to clock out of reality. I grab my e-reader and open a book. I’m halfway through a Vanessa Waltz novel, Dirty Prince . The premise is a little odd, but it’s a really fun book and it gets my motor revved up.
    As soon as I try to take care of things, the prince in the book morphs into Alexander, and I set it aside for a moment, then keep reading it for the plot.
    I end up waking to my alarm with the e-reader lying on my chest and drool on my cheek. At least I remembered to set it. I guess I should be happy I didn’t dream about my jackass neighbor.
    I’m dressed and geared up before Carrie is awake. After I rouse her from sleep, she plods down the stairs, yawning and droopy until she gets some Pop Tart and milk in her. By the time she climbs into the Tahoe to ride to school, she’s wide awake and chattering excitedly about the school day.
    I give her a pat on the head and send her off, then drive to work. When I arrive, Bill is the only one in the station. “Once more into the breach,” he says, looking up from his newspaper.
    “Yeah, yeah.”
    “Good job on the tickets yesterday. Keep it up.”
    “Yeah, yeah.”
    “You’re a superstar now.”
    “What?”
    “Look.” He holds out the newspaper. I walk over and my jaw drops.
    What am I doing on the front page?
    He’s not reading the Sylvester Register, our weekly small-town mostly-a-joke newspaper. It’s freaking USA Today. My picture is on the front page next to Alexander’s.
    “What’s this?” I ask.
    “Story about you busting Broadside.” I shudder at that stupid nickname. Broadside. Because Corsairs are pirate ships and pirate ships have cannons.
    It’s not funny if you have to explain it.
    “Yeah, what about it?”
    “Nothing negative,” he says, in a sarcastic tone. “It really shows off your investigative prowess. The FBI will be knocking down your door in no time at all, I’m sure. When do you finish your degree again?”
    “I’m working on it.”
    Taking a class here and there has not exactly sped me toward my criminal justice degree. I frown when I think about it. I need to schedule the upcoming semester and it’s going to be hard. They want me to take a morning class on Saturday. That means day care for Carrie. I can’t send her off to my sister like I do for emergencies, not every week for eight weeks. I can afford it but…
    I only get so much time. As I tie my hair back tightly, Bill looks up.
    “On a serious note, doll face. No interviews, got it?”
    “Yeah. No comment, yada yada. Our counsel will respond to any inquiries.”
    He snorts. “Our counsel. Like we can afford a counsel. We can’t afford a new coffee pot. I hope you did everything by the book. We’re up shit creek if Broadside decides to sue us.”
    “Can we stop using his affectionate nickname? It’s getting irritating.”
    Bill snorts. “Whatever.”
    At least he didn’t call me doll face again. I have to tolerate all these people treating me like a joke if I want to keep my job. I really need to get that degree. Once I have that plus four years’ experience at the department here, I can apply for a better one.
    I shake all that out of my head and get set up.
    Setting up consists of the same daily routine. I drive to the spot half a mile past the speed limit sign, back into a well-worn patch of grass, set up the radar gun, open up the computer, and sit there.
    And sit there.
    And sit there.
    And sit there some more.
    Traffic picks up around eleven a.m. I get my first speeder not long after that. He races past me going sixty in a thirty five. That’s a good one.
    I pull out after him and flip on my lights. He weaves to the shoulder and I pull up