Walking down to the subway platform just reinforced my dislike for January weather. I was climbing the stairs to my 'office' on the third floor, when I heard the sound of my radio playing some jazzy tune I had not heard before. Slipping my .45out of my waistband and chambering a round, I crept forward as quietly as I could, expecting the worst. Slamming the door to my 'office' open only made things worse. The door crashed into the back of the office chair sending its occupant sprawling over my desk and spilling hot coffee everywhere!A cursing police sergeant was trying to get off of the desk and get to his feet. I pulled my roscoe out of his kidney and helped him up. "Hi Bricker, what brings you out of the clubhouse on such a fine January Morning? You didn't just come to brighten my day, did you?" Luckily for him none of the spilled coffee had landed on my radio.Bricker spent the next few seconds sputtering and wiping coffee off his suit. "What do you think you're doing, shoving a rod. He just knew it as surely as he knew his own name. Racing from the room, he took the stairs two at a time, flew down the hall and into his bedroom. He found Christine alone in their room, unconscious on the floor next to their bed. He raced to her side and scooped her up into his strong arms. Looking down onto the face of his beloved wife, he gasped in horror."Mon Dieu!"Her eyes were open, but unseeing, revealing only the whites of her eyes. Gently and carefully, he lay her limp body down on the bed. He brushed her curls from her face and ran to fetch a cloth from the bathroom, which he wetted. Dabbing the cool cloth to her forehead, his eyes ran along her form looking for evidence of any injuries. Finding none, he laid the cloth on her forehead then taking hold of her shoulders, he tenderly shook her."Christine? Ma chère? Christine? Please wake!"He lifted her hands into his and lovingly placed kisses on the inside of her wrists. Her pulse beat strong beneath his lips. He raised his.
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