Shane Scully's Tour of Duty - The Viking Funeral
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In The Viking Funeral, detective Shane Scully accidentally stumbles upon a "dead" police officer who is quite alive. The discovery draws Scully into international intrigue!
The waters of Venice, California, canals dappled late-afternoon sunlight across their features. Alexa was looking up at the six-foot-tall boy, who seemed intense and serious, nodding at whatever it was she was saying. As he watched them, he thought they seemed perfect together, standing, talking earnestly in the backyard of his little Venice canal house. He liked what he saw, what he felt - liked the sense of calm that all this laid against his once turbulent interior.
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Soon they were in the line of cars in front of Harvard Westlake. As they pulled up to the drop zone, Chooch grabbed his book bag from the backseat, then hesitated.
“Don’t screw up the proposal,” he said. “Get a good ring, no zirconias. And I wanna preview the pitch. I wanna hear how you’re gonna say it. You can practice on me, y’know, so you don’t boot it.”
“Come on, whatta I look like?”
“Like you’re in over your head,” Chooch grinned. “I don’t want you t’blow us out on some whack move.”
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A block from Parker Center was the Peking Duck, which was actually now called Kim Young’s. It had been sold by the original owners after an armed robbery attempt, but the old sign was still hanging out front. Kim Young has bought the restaurant from his cousin, who retired, giving up his American Dream after four dust bunnies in ski masks had tried to take the place, unaware that half the LAPD Glass House Day Watch lunched there.
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Moonshadows sat above the rocky beach in Malibu. Waves rolled under it in sets, crashing on the rocks below, throwing a fine sea mist up into the air that refracted in the setting sun. Buddy, the breakfast-food sales and marketing executive, was already there with Alexa and Chooch, telling a story. Buddy was round-shouldered and pear-shaped with a bushy head of hair, which salt-and-peppered his massive head.
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Mark Shepard’s office was on the sixth floor of Parker Center-the administrative floor. Shane and Alexa got off onto the seafoam-green carpet, then walked down the corridor, past the blond-paneled doors, where the four deputy chiefs and the super chief had their offices. The Detective Services Group, which Shephard commanded, was in the Office of Operations and supervised five detective divisions: Bunko-Forgery, Burglary-Auto Theft, Detective Headquarters, Robbery-Homicide, and the Detective Support Division, which included the controversial Special Investigations Section (SIS), where Jody had been assigned when he took his life.
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The Medal of Valor ceremony took place at three in the afternoon, in the Jack Webb Auditorium at the Police Academy, where the LAPD had their biannual graduation ceremonies. The academy was a cluster of Spanish-style buildings located in Elysian Park in the foothills, at the end of a long, two-lane drive. Shane always thought the Police Academy looked like a Spanish hotel or a Franciscan mission, sprawled on its ten-landscaped acres, including a full athletic field, swimming pool and shooting range. Shane and Chooch got there half an hour early and parked in the reserved-parking lot, already almost full with TV news vans.
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Los Angeles was in the middle of a horrible inversion layer that trapped the city’s smoggy pollutants like smoke under a blanket. The Citation landed at Van Nuys Airport at three-thirty in the afternoon, taxied up to the small Customs shack at the end of Runway 2-6, and shut down. Tony Filosiani was waiting for them beside the grandfather of the Crown Vics. The old beige and brown Ford fit the funky L.A. day. “I’m sorry about the way this went down, Sergeant,” the chief said as they deplaned.
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In less than twenty minutes they were in Century City, pulling up to a twenty-story high-rise with a huge marble monument sign out front that announced the building: CENTURY PARK WEST. The tall steel-and-glass tower poked up through the afternoon sky, its top-floor mirrored windows disappearing into the brown L.A. muck. They were met by Lieutenant Lincoln Heart, who was leading the team of jump-outs. Heart was ebony black, and his short-sleeved Class C uniform barely concealed a physique of rippling muscles.
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Read more of The Viking Funeral today!
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