A Crying Shame (2 page)

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—Pedro Calderon de la Barca

Well, I've had about all of this I'm going to tolerate,” the woman said.
I'm going to call the police.” She walked to the telephone.

The police have no jurisdiction out here,” her brother informed her.
You know that. Have to be the sheriff's department.”

They're still cops, aren't they?” she asked, a slightly belligerent tone to her voice. But it was spoken to cover her fright. She looked at her brother.
Paul, damn it, I'm scared!”

He sighed, returned her gaze for a few seconds. Then he shrugged and returned to his evening paper. He looked at but was not really reading the print.

She punched out the numbers and spoke very firmly and rapidly. She abruptly slammed the phone back into its cradle.
As quickly as possible!” she said heatedly.
About forty-five minutes! What kind of sheriffs department do we have in this parish?”

A very overworked one,” her brother replied.
Also understaffed, underpaid, underequipped. They do the best they can, Linda.”

And I'm constantly bothering them with crank calls, huh? Go ahead, Paul, say it.”

He kept silent.

The woman glared at him. She took a light sweater from a hall closet, slipping it around her shoulders.
I'm cold. The air conditioning is too low.”

Her brother said,
Then adjust it to your liking, Sis.”