Pheasant Lane
He felt Edward tugging at his leg. “Get your hands off,” he kicked, and Edward fell from the lower branch. Tumbled to the ground.
Darryl knew that climbing the Oak might not solve his problem. Still, he scrambled higher.
“You won’t get away with this,” Edward shouted. “I’ll just wait until you come down, idiot.”
The police siren was faint at first, then louder. Darryl saw Edward freeze, then bolt toward the river. He smoothed the wad of bills in his pocket, then climbed down as the sergeant got out of his squad car.
“What’s going on son,” Officer Kopinski said.
Darryl rubbed his arm where he’d scraped the bark. “Some kid was harassing me.”
“Harassing? How?”
“Yeah, like, you know, pushing. Calling me names.”
The officer nodded, got out a notebook and pen. He scribbled names and ages, jotted a physical description of Edward.
It made Darryl feel important. Like he was on a TV show or something. “You came at the perfect time, officer.”
Kapinski squinted his eyes. “You know anything about the break-in over on Pheasant Lane?”
Darryl looked down. Shook his head no. He’d never been good at lying.
