by JR Wondra

Created on: January 08, 2009

We'd been on Dale Clark's ass for years. Clark and his girlfriend lived with two other addicts in a dump on the South side. We'd busted them for the petty thefts and shoplifting that supported their habits. They weren't bad people; Dale was actually sort of funny, in a Southside trash kind of way.

But there'd been a string of Coke machine robberies for the past six months and they'd all been convicted; they were dumb-ass dopers after all. But you don't get much in Texas for stealing 20 bucks, and they'd always got "time served."

"I'm tired of this shit; someone's gonna get hurt soon," I groused to my partner as we drove to the latest break-in. "Isn't there anything we can do to get these guys off the street?" We'd been assigned the "Coca Cola Bandits" because Tommy and I knew the gang, their haunts, and had absolutely no seniority. "What a crock."

I knew Tommy was pissed, too. But he was glad to have made detective on his first try, and wasn't going to bitch. He was just glad to be off patrol and in plainclothes. "Look," he said, "Walker's son is in Special Crimes now, and I know Jim's partners have taken some real shitty cases there to get worked up."

"They get him to try some real crap, but he comes through . The other guys in the office don't want to even look at the files. Let's get this done, make our case and go see J.R."

We took pictures, dusted, found a couple witnesses and the tools they'd left behind. They must have been high as kites to be so stupid.

The prints matched. Same m. o.' as before, and the witnesses gave adequate descriptions. Still, it felt like wasted effort as we returned headquarters.

We had the "Coke Bandits" again, but I didn't see any use in going over to see a prosecutor, when all he'd do was throw the file back at us or plead them out. They'd be back on the streets before Court recessed.

J. R. Walker was visiting with a couple other lawyers when we got to the D. A.'s office. Tommy knew him from his days on the Southside; they'd both been cops' kids, went to the same schools.

"Tom Doyle, what are you bringin' me? Who sent you?" Walker was a young, prosecutor in Special Crimes. He'd tried some strange cases, so we spelled it out for him.

"I'm not even givin' you the file if you're gonna reject it or let these pricks out. They're getting to be a pain in the ass, not to mention a menace to machinery," Tommy laughed.

"What've you got, vandalism? Theft of a mower?" Walker seemed amused.

We explained; well Tommy did most of it, because I thought

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