Drive the Charger at crazy speeds or go home to Naomi and Shanti? The latter every time.
“DB’s thinking about making it mandatory training,” Garrett murmured as he joined us. “We were lucky to get the Cruisers from when they shut Ashville P.D. shut down, and it’s not like we needed to be taught how to drive them because they were the same model as our old ones, only twelve years newer. The Chargers are very different to the Cruisers, though.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Reid snickered. “What gave it away?”
Ignoring him, Garrett began making his way toward the entrance, where the manager and five staff members were waiting.
“I’m getting sick of being called out here,” Alex hissed. “Look at them all standing doing nothing. You’d think they’d be inside trying to talk them down.”
“I think it’s gotten to the point they’ve exhausted all of their options, so now they call us to do it because the women either stare or listen to us,” Reid shrugged. “I don’t think it’s such a bad call out. I’d rather get this than a domestic violence one.”
“Hello, Officers,” the manager greeted with a smile before spinning around and beginning to walk toward the lounge area. “Thanks for coming.”
The sound of yelling would have just drowned out any response we gave.
“You sent me one of those phone messages saying you were bored but spelled it b-o-a-r-d,” Mrs. Bane screeched.
“Ah, shit,” Raoul groaned behind us, having caught up with us after attending a call out with Logan.
The scene that greeted us was the same as always—Mrs. Keating in a chair, sipping from a teacup and looking like she didn’t have a care in the world, while Mrs. Bane lost her mind. Judging by the chunks of cookies and scones scattered on the ground around Mrs. Keating’s chair and the broken cup on the table, it’d been going on for a while.
“It’s like the worst Groundhog Day ever,” Logan added.
“It really isn’t that big of a deal,” Mrs. Keating sighed before taking another sip from her cup. “You got what I meant.”
“Oh, yes, I got it, but there’s absolutely no need for you to have such a weak grasp of the English language,” Mrs. Bane clipped back.
Mrs. Keating cocked her head to the side. “American English, or English-English? I feel you should be more specific when you throw accusations around like that.”
Ignoring the question, Mrs. Bane picked up her phone. “There’s no need to misspell anything nowadays, thanks to the handy correction thing on our phones. You just type in the word.”
“I did just type in the word. Look.” She held up her phone and showed her. “I put in ‘I’m board’ and wa la, it didn’t change it.”
Mrs. Bane’s face changed colors. “Wa la? What the hell is that? Do you mean voila?”
“Uh, if I may,” a new voice interjected, sounding confident.
“Oh, shit,” Logan whispered. “That’s Mrs. Dalry, the old English teacher from Piersville High School.”
“If you’re going to lecture someone on their usage of ‘wa la’ versus ‘voila,’ you should probably do it correctly,” Mrs. Dalry shrugged. “Due to the progression of the English language, you can technically get away with using ‘wa la’ as that’s how we tend to pronounce it. However, if you say ‘voila,’ you should use the full French version of ‘et voila,’ especially if you’re lecturing people on their correct usage of it.”
“Uh oh,” Reid said under his breath. “Mrs. Bane’s about to go full-force-Bane on her.”
Sure enough, the woman sucked in a breath, but it was Mrs. Keating who spoke. “See? And it’s the same thing with the word ‘whom.’ In the days of old, you’d have said ‘to whom are you referring,’ but nowadays we phrase it less formally as, ‘who are you talking about.’”
“Uh, not quite,” Mrs. Dalry said, shaking her head. “Yes, we speak less formally, but the word ‘whom’ is still necessary.”
None of us could have foreseen what any of the women would do, so when Mrs. Bane picked up a scone and launched it at Mrs. Dalry’s head, it took a moment for it to register. Once it did, all four of us straightened and took a step forward but were stopped in our tracks by Mrs. Dalry shooting a glare at us.
“Oh, no you don’t. The First Amendment allows me the right to reply to this pain in the ass.” Then, she casually raised a hand and swept a hand through her hair, grimacing when she encountered the sticky jam in it.
“You insist on bullying people for their grammar. However, we are allowed to interact with our friends, peers, and associates in a less formal and grammatically correct manner. It’s called conversation. There have been many conversations in which you’ve used incorrect English, and none of us have corrected you, so it would be decent of you if you would grant us the same respect as we show you.”