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?”








