“Glory to fill the world…”
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental. However, some of the names of lesser characters are the names of real people I have worked with on the streets of Hartford. I use their names to honor them. They are unsung heroes and deserve recognition.
“Four eighty-two. One forty Scarborough Street. Shooting to the head. On a one.”
“Scarborough Street?” Troy said. “No gang-bangers in that neighborhood.”
“Take Broad down to Asylum, bang a left. I’ll show you.”
I hit the lights and sirens on. Our red and white ambulance surged north on Broad, then swung west up Asylum.
“It’s got to be a barrel for breakfast job,” Troy said.
Troy was twenty-eight, a broad-shouldered six-foot-three, wearing a New York Yankees hat, and smiling like he owned the world, or at least could have his way with it. I hadn’t known him an hour.
“Four-oh-four to dispatch,” a voice on the company radio said, “I’m turning onto Scarborough now. I’ll be there in one.”