Halstead was in back. Two of the other officers, Ernie and Gulager, were upstairs with Senator Jeff Cullen. “Voorhees.” Halstead’s voice came over the radio. “You asleep yet?” “Nope, just freezing.” “Just you and me on this channel. Wanna talk dirty?” He smiled and answered, “If you don’t mind my chattering teeth.” “Kinky,” Halstead laughed. “You’re what, Voorhees, sixty?” That was a mood killer. “Somewhere up there. I forget,” he cracked. “I suppose it’s still a crime to ask a woman’s age.” “You’ve got about fifteen years on me, old timer. Be glad—you’re that much closer to retirement.” “I plan to die on the job,” he said. “Where would I retire to?” “I used to live in a town called Tucson. A little hot, but beautiful.” “I’ve seen about enough of this great land of ours, thanks.” “But you’re not happy here, are you?” “Where else is there but here?” “I’d like to go back to Tucson someday. See if my house is still there.
