Conrad Guster was, for the first time in twelve years, sitting in a patrol car nestled just outside the middle of nowhere, just past a snow-covered hill where oncoming traffic could never see him.   For the first time in twelve years he, along with his smarmy partner, was watching a beat up black box and its dull readout made of flickering LED lights, waiting for some car, truck, or other variation of man made vehicle to rocket across fast enough to warrant a quick chase and a quick ticket.

Conrad's slack jaw slowly ground a cold pretzel, dribbling soupy cheese down his unkempt beard and scattering flaky crumbs across his NPD uniform.   For the first time in twelve years Conrad Guster had a belly, and it shelved the pretzel crumbs as they bounced down the length of his shirt.   That belly, which Conrad used to try and hide when he was a kid, seemed to erode over the past twelve years while Conrad relentlessly searched through the Esper Union for one criminal with a surprisingly terse criminal record.   It was an addiction that left little room for food. Actually it left little room for other interests, other people, and other things in general.   It turned out to be a fruitless compulsion, and after twelve years and a stack of demotions Conrad came home and the woman who was once Barbara Guster wasn't there, leaving only a short letter and a single misplaced sock as proof she had ever been.   That was the day a haggard Conrad finally gave up and numbly accepted his new role as a highway patrolman.   He had only started a couple of months ago, and already his recessed belly was growing back.

And it was winter.   Conrad hated winter.

"Hey, chief."

Conrad's eyes slowly travelled from the box to his partner.   He numbly stared at the slip of a rookie named Edward Sheff, who insisted on being called Eddy.   He looked more like the kind of punks Conrad was usually busting: his head was shaved clean, his uniform was always in a state of wrinkled disarray, and he never went anywhere without a disc player strapped to his side, and earbuds pressed into his head.   The kid was trying to talk with a mouthful of candy bar, and the usual drawl he passed off for speech was garbled nearly to the point of stupidity.   He tapped one of his earbuds.   "Batteries are running low.   Mind if I turn on the radio?"

"Yes."   Conrad said simply, and then returned his attention to the black box.

Eddy sighed and threw his disc player into the back seat.   Just then a car passed by and as the driver spotted the patrol car it suddenly braked.

Eddy chortled a laugh.   "God, I love seeing that.   We gonna pick him up?"

"Wasn't even speeding."   Conrad replied blankly.

Eddy snorted, and like that, another twenty minutes passed.   Another twenty minutes for Eddy to struggle against his boredom, and another twenty minutes where Conrad could draw into himself, his body and mind numbly staring at a black box, avoiding the sight of the remorseful white snow outside.   Not another vehicle passed on the lonely road.   Then from over the crest of the hill a car approached.   It was a beat up jalopy, barely in running condition.   The rust bucket had plastic wrap over the broken passenger window, was missing the hood entirely, and if asked Eddy would have sworn one of the tires was on the verge of simply falling off.   It weaved down the road erratically and twice nearly wound up in the ditch.

Eddy watched as the car passed and whistled.   "We gonna go after him?"

"He wasn't speeding."

"Yeah, but he's probably drunk or.. something."

Conrad merely grunted.   Eddy sighed.   "Look, I'm tired of getting my ass chewed by O'Connell because we never pull anyone over.   I know we're pretty much in buttfuck, but let's just nab this guy to get the brass of us for a while, okay?"

Conrad grunted again, but started the car.       The ancient patrol car, now well settled with winter cold, protested at first, but after a few pumps of the gas pedal the vehicle roared to life.   Conrad flicked the sirens on and they were soon out of their hiding spot and on the slick surface of the highway.   Perhaps because the jalopy driver saw this, or perhaps because he finally dived into the oblivion he stood at the edge of, the junker of a car slipped off the road and into the deep snow lining the bottom of the ditch.

"Shit." Eddy cursed, though it nearly ended in a laugh.   "This guy is blitzed all right."

Conrad pulled the car to the side of the road and turned it back off -- he didn't need to drive much further than a couple hundred yards to get to the other car.   Both officers zipped up their coats and stepped out of their vehicle.   The driver of the now derelict car was pathetically flailing through the snow, leaving driblets of green colored vomit in his wake.   He was an old man with practically no teeth and a beard that went down to his chest, and as it dropped in the snow it picked up clumps of snow like velcro.

"Wow." Eddy said simply.

Conrad shook his head.   He really didn't feel like this.   "Grab the old man and get him in the back seat."

Eddy looked at the older man, tilting his head slightly.   He winced visibly as a large, flashy semi-truck, complete with flames panted on the door, went roaring by.   Conrad turned to watch the semi as it raced away, while Eddie continued looking over the scrambling old man nervously. "That's it?"

"You think he's going to be able to answer any questions now?   Just get him in."

Conrad was already back in the driver's seat and sat motionless while Eddy arranged the knotted, unresisting old man into the back.   The older officer grimaced when he heard the new passenger empty his stomach again.   The smell was overwhelming.

"God damn... guess we're taking this little winter bunny back home."

Conrad grunted and turned the key.   The engine turned once and then clicked loudly.   Conrad tried the key again and this time was greeted by a loud snap.

"Fuck."   Eddy said.   "That didn't sound good.   Want me to take a look?"

"You know anything about cars?" Conrad asked dryly.

"Well.. no."

Conrad didn't react but instead reached for the radio transceiver and began speaking into it.   "Conrad here.   Does anyone copy?"

No reply.   Conrad turned the radio volume up slightly.   Still nothing.

"Conrad here.   I have an emergency, does anyone read me?"

Nothing.

Eddy swore loudly.   "Great.   It's cold as fuck, we've got Pukey McPukenstein in the back, and now we're stuck."

Conrad pressed the button the on the transceiver for a moment, and then placed it back on its cradle.   "What was the last place you remember passing?"

"Probably the gas station where we got our grubs, Chief.   Because we're in buttfuck, like I said.   And that was..."

Suddenly, the radio came to life.   "Hey, you guys okay?"

Conrad picked up the transceiver with slight hesitation.   "Who's this?"

"Name's Mack, least that's what they call me.   I reckon I just passed you fellas."

"You were driving the truck?"

"Yeah, that's me.   Got my shortwave on, and I guess I picked you up. Thought I'd offer to help, if you need it."

A look of discomfort flashed across Eddy's face, but Conrad seemed unfazed. "Yeah, we'd appreciate that.   Just a ride to somewhere with a phone."

"I'll do you one better and pull you. I'll be right there, sit tight."

The radio went silent again and Conrad quietly placed the transceiver on the armrest.   "You sure this is a good idea?" Eddy asked.

Conrad leaned his seat back and tucked his arms behind his head and closed his eyes.   "You have a better one?"

"Well.. no."

As Conrad's eyes closed he was thankful to once again avert his eyes from the snow.

He hated winter.

-------------------------------------------------------

As the car entered another skid, Conrad braced the handle to the car door, half-certain that this time, this time they were leaving the road.   Colin, grasping the driver's wheel with a white knuckle grip, turned into the skid and managed to pull out.   Conrad looked over to his son: it was barely above freezing temperatures in the car, but sweat dripped off the rookie cop in streams.   Conrad had begged his stubborn son for years not to follow in his father's footsteps. Maybe today, after his first real police chase, he'd agree to find a safer career.

"You can do this, Colin." Conrad said.   "Just stay focused on the road."   Conrad doubted Colin understood his father's words over the blare of the sirens.

Conrad looked back to their target: an old green pickup truck.   The driver was an absolute bear of an Xsian man who Conrad thought was trying too hard to look the part of a hardened criminal: he wore torn up blue jeans, a stained white shirt, and a black leather eyepatch with rhinestones tracing the shape of a skull on it.   He was the newest entry to the NPD's wanted list:   Twenty minutes ago he had robbed, of all places, an office supply store, and when the sirens started blaring he made that old green pick-up truck move like a mongoose.   On any other day, a NPD patrol car would have taken him easily, but the roads were slick with ice today and the truck had weight on its side.

"Step on it." Conrad said.   There was still no way of knowing if Colin understood his father's words, but he slammed on the accelerator nonetheless.   The tires spun on the ice for a few moments and then the car started gliding over the road.  

The patrol car kept its grip on the road and rocketed forward towards the retreating truck.   The robber braked and the truck started to fishtail violently, spinning the truck in a half circle so that the grill was bearing down on its pursuer.  

Conrad remembered the following moments with agonizing clarity.   The cacophony of grinding metal and breaking glass, of watching the driver side door fold in on itself onto his son, of feeling the car castaway like a broken toy.   He remembers the world turning upside down as the car left the road.   When the hood of the car gave in to the weight, the windshield shattered, sprinkling snowflakes of sparkling glass over the mauled body of Colin Guster.

The world snapped back into its usual speed, and the quiet was deafening.   The engine of the patrol car was still running, the engine humming from under the hood as though it was unaware anything had happened.       Then, the roar of a pickup truck noisily accelerating away.

Colin Guster would survive, but without one arm and both of his legs.   He never spoke after that day, choosing just to sit in front of the television day in and day out.   One day while taking Conrad found his son in the bathroom, up to his eyes in a tub full of water that was still running and long since overflown.

The day after his funeral twelve years ago, Conrad began his obsessive search for the man with the rhinestone eyepatch.

---------------------------------------------

"Hey, wake up chief."

Conrad's eyes snapped open, and he was glad, for once, to be torn from his thoughts.   "What?"

Eddy pointed towards the front of the car.   Conrad peered past the windshield and found that not only was the car now tied to the back of a semi-truck, it was moving.   "Mack says we're almost to a gas station.   Thought you might want to be awake."

Conrad blinked.   Had he really been asleep?   Feeling suddenly awkward, he picked up the transceiver and after a moment's hesitation, spoke with a voice that was still dusty with sleep.   "Mack?"

"Yes, officer?"

"Thanks."

"Don't worry about it.   I got stranded once in a run across the Veldt.   Was on the way back home to the family and POP!   Radiator threw its cap off so hard it dented my hood.   Damn near died out there."

"We'll be sure to compensate."

"Compensate?   For a twenty minute drive? Don't worry about it.   Not so far that I'll lose any real time.   Wants to get back to my kid, ya see.   It's his thirteenth birthday today."

Mack seemed to be ready to make conversation over the shortwave, but Conrad certainly wasn't in the mood.   He placed the transceiver back in its cradle and leaned back into his seat, avoiding the sight of snow by locking his eyes on the semi that was leading them down the highway.   Conrad couldn't help breathing a sight of relief when the gas station drew in sight.   Mack slowly brought the truck to a stop in a lot designated for trucks.

"Quite a day, huh chief?"

Conrad didn't reply but instead got out of the car.   He turned towards the semi and watched as its driver came down the metal steps that lead to the truck's cab.   He was dressed in torn up jeans and an unbuttoned plaid shirt draped over a stained white t-shirt.   Conrad's mind suddenly froze with remembrance, but it completely reeled when the man turned towards him.

His right eye was covered by a cracked leather eyepatch, decorated with rhinestones outlining the shape of a skull.

The man known as Mack grinned a greasy toothy grin, and walked towards Conrad.   When he was within three paces, he held out one hand for a shake.   Conrad stared back at the trucker blankly for a few moments, until the trucker's honest smile slowly started dissolving.   Eddy suddenly appeared from around the corner and grabbed Mack's offered hand, shaking it earnestly.   "Don't mind the chief, pal, he's got some sleepdust in his eyes."

"Ah."   Mack said, his smile returning.   "That's fine, I unnerstand."   Mack gave Conrad a firm slap on the shoulder.   "Well, here's we are, and with plenty of time to spare.   If you want to make that call, go right ahead, but I can take a look at your car in the meantime.   I have a head for things like that."

"Oh, that'd be great..."   Eddy looked towards Conrad.   "Chief, you want to make that call, or should I?"

Conrad simply nodded and looked over his shoulder -- there was an ice covered payphone against the wall of the gas station.   Without saying another word his numbed legs began carrying him towards the station.   He picked up the freezing cold phone, but instead of dialing he simply looked towards Eddy and the man called Mack.   Mack already had his head under the hood, and Eddy was sitting in the car, arm slung over the headrest, one leg out of the car, looking towards Mack like he just made a new best friend.

"What's that smell?" Mack asked.

"Ah... the guy in the back."

"Smells like... booze and puke."

"I imagine you're right on both counts."

"Lovely.   So you had a fine day, I take it."

"Yeah.   Well.. heh... not as bad as this guy in the back, I think.   Uh.. just a sec.. I think our prisoner is gargling on his own vomit."   Eddy turned towards the back and started readjusting the whisper of a man.   "I bet this louse is gonna wish he could take last night back."

"Regret's part of living, so my mom said."

"Bah, life's too short for regrets."

"Nah it ain't.   Probably shouldn't be telling a cop about this, but I've had days I regret.   Did some things I shouldn't have when the little missus went and dropped an urchin in our lap.   Never was a rich man to begin with.   But I wasn't gonna let the little poopbox starve."

"No problem, boss.   All water under the bridge, right?"

"I hope so.   Got honest work doing the only thing I know how to.. driving.   Trying to lead the honest life... try again."

Eddy nodded and turned the key.   This time the engine turned and, after a little coaxing, it sputtered to life.   Eddy laughed; Mack clapped his hands and slammed the hood down.   "Had a belt slip off, nothing to it."

"Thanks... you're a life saver, man."   Eddy got up and shook Mack's hand energetically.

"Think nothing of it.   Been there, friend, been there.   But I gotta get going.   Like I said, kid's birthday, and all that."   Mack turned to Conrad and waved, grinning like an idiot, and Conrad, to his surprise, waved back.   Eddy gave a quick "see ya" and then motion for Conrad to hurry up, since they didn't need to make a call anymore.

Conrad, the phone still in his right hand, reached into his back pocket with his left.   He pulled from it a folded piece of notebook paper, worn and wrinkled from months of abuse.   He unfolded it slowly and ran his eyes up and down the words, scrawled in beautifully elegant, smudged ink.   Slowly and methodically, he began to dial a number into the phone and listened as it started to ring, half hoping someone would pick up, half hoping it would be an answering machine.

After three rings, though, someone did pick up.   It was a tired voice, and all it said was "Hello", but suddenly Conrad felt like a man dying of thirst who was allowed to drink one single glass of water.

"Barbara?   We.. need to talk."