WHERE: deadwood streets WHEN: 6:45 pm WHO: open.
by the time you rise high enough up in the ranks of the deadwood police department, it’s about the little nuances of the job. paperwork isn’t pleasant unless you’re a particular kind of deputy, and the politics aren’t really garrett’s favorite part of the job either. he likes being able to improve things - to fine tune the machine of the department as much as he can, underneath the weight of all the homicides, disappearances, and general crime rate in deadwood. he would prefer to never have to speak to the mayor again, for example, and to be able to just go on patrol.
so the solution is to sometimes go on patrol. garrett’s leaving work at a normal time. he’ll call in once he pulls into the garage, a final indication that he’s off call for the night, and he’ll be able to actually see his sons. they’ll put on a movie, or one of them (wyatt, probably) will be asleep. and on the rare early nights like these, he sometimes likes to do a little patrol work.
just a touch of it. speeding tickets and intervening in a few duis staggering out of heaven’s tavern at weird hours.
so when someone’s going seventy in a thirty-five zone, passing him by as he sits at a little past forty as a test, he debates it for a moment, and then flicks on the lights and siren, following them until they pull over to the roadside. he rattles off the plates and make and model to dispatch as they go, idle. not expecting a resposne right now.
flashlight, and stopping at that particular angle at the door so he can react if necessary. all the old tendencies, like clockwork. “okay,” he says. “i want to get home just as much as you probably do, so would you like to guess how fast you were going?”
“If it isn’t the town’s very own Superman.“ Felix has a sort of drawl he drags out just for authority. He doesn’t get to use it much, sitting high and pretty on his pedestal but when he dusts it off to throw Garrett’s way with his head cocked, mouth quirked--damn if he isn’t going to ham it up. “Still no spandex. You should think about it. Pretty sure the crime rate will drop because everyone’s busy staring at your--” A pause. “--arms. I guess.“
It’s a clear understatement that Felix fumbles when it comes to handling authority. His mouth gets smart, tongue honey-slick and flicking words he hopes gets the sheriff to slip because it’s not fair that Felix isn’t the one with the biggest dick energy in the space.
“Was I going too fast?“ Felix blinks twice, a poker face that he holds while pushing his luck. “My bad. I’ve always had trouble going slow.”
