The Tin Man Read Online Free PDF Page A

his glass as well: 111 teach you, bro.
    “Paul, you’re carrying on a tradition of McLanahan cops in the city or county of Sacramento that dates back almost a hundred and fifty years,” Patrick began proudly. “Back in 1850, our great-great-great-great-grandfather Shane traded in his gold pan, pickax, and pack mule for a lawman’s star because he saw his town sliding into lawlessness. He knew he had to do something about it—or maybe he found out that the gold nuggets weren’t just lying around in the streets the way everyone back in the old country said. We don’t really know.
    “Anyway, Grandpa Shane could have kept on panning and maybe would have made enough to buy himself a big ranch in the valley that he could have handed down to us so we’d all be stinking rich today, but he didn’t …” Patrick paused, then added, “So why in the heck am I even mentioning
him?”
When the laughter died down, Patrick went on, “But since Grandpa Shane pinned on that star and became the ninth sworn lawman in the city’s history, there have been six consecutive generations of McLanahan lawmen or women in Sacramento. Paul, you represent the first of the seventh generation to join them.
    “We all realize, grudgingly, that with your brains or skills or good looks or dumb luck or whatever it is you’ve got, you could have gone into business, or law, or anything else you desired,” Patrick went on. “Instead, you decided to go into law enforcement. Someone not as charitable as I am could accuse you of pulling another Grandpa Shane, that if you went into business or law you’d make enough of thereally big bucks to support your mother and your dear loving siblings.” His face and tone turned serious: “We also know the dangers of your decision. The names of two McLanahans, Uncle Mick and Grandpa Kelly, are on the Sacramento Peace Officers Memorial, and we all know the McLanahan families that have had troubles, or have even been destroyed, because of the stresses of the job.
    “But we all know that you’re following a dream that’s been twenty-two years in the making, ever since Dad first let you hit the siren on his old squad car,” Patrick went on proudly. “We are here to celebrate your decision and wish you the very best. Congratulations for graduating, and congratulations for being awarded the City’s Finest Recruit Award for being first in your graduating class in all areas, and for being chosen Most Inspirational Recruit by your fellow grads. Good luck, good hunting, and thanks for making this commitment to your city and your neighbors. Cheers.” The rest of the invited guests and many of the patrons at surrounding tables shouted, “Cheers!” and they took a deep sip of the champagne.
    “And now, with all due respect to our gracious and beautiful hostess, Miss Biba, we will adjourn this social gathering and reconvene at a
proper
establishment, the Shamrock Pub on the waterfront, for the
real
celebration,” Patrick said with a grin. The owner, Biba Caggiano, tried with her generous smile to persuade the partisan crowd to stay, but it was no use. Biba’s and the Shamrock were both longtime Sacramento landmarks, but for entirely different reasons—Bibb’s meant fine food, fine atmosphere, and elegance, and the Shamrock—informally known as McLanahan’s—
didn’t.
    “The rule at McLanahan’s tonight is, as I’m sure every cop in town is well aware,” Patrick remindedthem, “that if you carry a badge, your money’s no good—except maybe for the chief, that is.” That remark earned Patrick a raucous round of applause. “The primary purpose of reconvening this gathering at the Shamrock is to get young Probationary Officer McLanahan accustomed to working the graveyard shift, since that’s where he will most likely be for the next several months on the force. So we must all do our part and stay up until dawn with Officer McLanahan and his buddies so they can get a good idea of what it’s like to