Nude Beach Patrol

Chief O’Callahan slammed the file down on his cluttered desk as he roared, “You’re a loose cannon, O’Doyle!”

“What did I do this time, Chief?” John O’Doyle asked nonplussed.

“You shot the mayor’s kid!” the Chief retaliated.

“He had it coming. That little fucker looked me straight in the eye and told me he’d never steal again, and I knew that son of a bitch was lying to me.”

“He was a seven-year-old kid who stole a candy bar!” the Chief blasted.

“The law’s the law, and I am the law. Law.” John retorted.

“What? You shot him in the eye!” the Chief pointed to his own bloodshot eye. “He’s lucky to be alive!”

“You want me to finish the job?” John asked eagerly.

“The only thing that’s finished around here is you, O’Doyle! It’s bad enough you shot the mayor himself last month.”

“Nobody parks in a designated handicapped zone without a permit on my watch,” O’Doyle insisted.

“He has a permit. He’s in a wheelchair!”

“Sure… Now.”

“Goddamnit O’Doyle, hand in your uniform!”

“You think this town is going to be safe without me?” John took off his badge and threw it on the desk.

“I said your uniform,” the Chief picked up his badge and tossed it back to him. “Not your badge. I’m putting you on a new beat. The N.B.P.”

“The N.B.P.?” O’Doyle was confused.

“The Nude Beach Patrol! You’re going in commando-style. You’re going to be so deep undercover you won’t even have any cover. You get my drift, O’Doyle?”

“This is bullshit, Chief!” O’Doyle insisted. “Is this because I shot your wife?”

“I mean it, O’Doyle, this is your last chance. You fuck this up and you’re off the force, so I hope you wanted an all-over tan.”

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