By Jim Bartlett Originally published in Short-Story.me 2013 The van rolls through the stop sign, turning right without so much as a signal. Patrolman Kendle heaves a sigh and tips back his cup for a final sip of too-strong coffee that's long past anything resembling warm. He starts the motor and shoots out from under the shade of a tree, flicking on the lights and giving the siren a quick chirp. Or, as some of the snowbirds call 'um: Rhode Island rollers. Perfect fishing weather. "Oh. Sorry. No problem." "Sorry, officer. My mind musta been a thousand miles away." "I'd say so." But... Cop gut.