Retired and rusticating Pete McLean, former policeman, sees something new in crime-fighting in a rural setting!
ve forgotten their guns and taken a poke at them if they'd come near Effie.
"Easy!" I warned. "Let it ride, Bert."
One of the young crooks laughed. "Grandpop's right. Safety first."
All that grandpop stuff riled me. After all, I'm not senile.
"Listen, you young squirt," I said, "I've had many a one like you sniveling in front of me with the guts scared out of him. Put away that gun and I'll take you on with my fists, man to man."
Maybe I could have done it, too, but I didn't get the chance. They kept us covered as they backed
toward their car, turned and jumped into it. Then the headlights flashed on and the car roared away, around the bend in the direction of Hewlett Corners. In a few seconds they were gone.
"Well I'll be darned," I said.
"Where's the nearest police?" Bert asked. "Let's give 'em a ring. Not Hewlett Corners?"
"No, no." Hewlett Corners had nothing. "Call Little Creek Junction."
Captain MacKenzie made the four miles in about
Not a sci-fi story, rather, it's a pulp crime story. A big-city cop retires to Vermont and opens a gas station with his daughter, and things go swell until he gets a suspicion that a carload of city kids are planning to rob him.
The characters are generic, the description is okay, the plotting nothing special--there's no violence or gore. It won't hurt to read it, just don't expect to remember it next week.
Enjoyable enough read in a 1940s noir kind of mould, but nothing spectacular.