"Well, you got me now buddy-boy. We're partners."

"Cool. Good cop, bad cop," John said, trying to sound as jokingly as possible.

"I'm the good cop."

John could not help but notice her black skirt and darkly tanned legs. She was wearing a skin-tight cream-colored shirt with a paisley print faintly embroidered into the fabric. It was not the best attire for investigative work, but she looked incredible.

Keep it business, he reminded himself.

"Where is this place?" Tammy asked after a few traffic signals rolled by.

John turned down the radio. "Not far. Down Battlefield Boulevard to Cedar Road just behind the city hall building."

"That's Chesapeake."

"That's right. It's where the accident happened," John answered. "Plus they have a good sized yard and all of the surrounding cities use it."

John toyed with the thought of a partner as he drove. He liked working on his own more than anything, though. Brad would make a good partner, he thought. He was a good listener and could probably get more information out of people.

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As usual the bridge was up. The famous Great Bridge bridge that tied traffic up for miles. Four lanes went down into two to accommodate the out of date bridge. City officials promised to have a newer, four lane high rise started by the turn of the century, but John would believe it when he saw it. He could never understand the bridge system. They'd open them up to let a few boats go by, probably filled with vacationers and retirees with plenty of time on their hands, and while doing this holding up hundreds of hard working folks from getting on with their lives. John had heard that it was due to a law from a long time ago that water traffic was far more important than land traffic. Well, laws can change, John thought after hearing that one. They change all the time.

After the bridge finally went down and traffic started moving again, they made their way to the impound yard. John parked the wounded Jeep and they walked across the street to a wooden white shack where a guard checked people it.

"John Farris," he told the plump man sitting behind a table in the shack. The title over the door gave the man's name and department: J. Thomas Castle, Chesapeake Police Impound. And under that: Employees Only.

"Just a second," the big man said, scratching his ear.

"I think Lt. Grimm called ahead for us."

The man got up to consult a filing cabinet behind him.