Coup De Grâce by Lani Lynn Vale

head.
    “Saint,” Miller said, nodding his head.
    I nodded back, choosing not to call him on the use of the nickname that I hated.
    I was not a saint.
    Far from it, in fact.
    Now wasn’t the time or place for it, though.
    “What’cha got, Saint?” Miller asked, taking in the scene.
    “Fifteen or sixteen year old male stealing candy from the 7-11. I caught him red handed, and he ran. Tried to get away fast by taking my truck, but he didn’t make it far. And here we are now. He was just about to tell us his name,” I explained lightly.
    Miller nodded. “What’s your name, boy?”
    The boy glared at Miller with all the heat and venom a fifteen year old could muster.
    I could’ve told him that he was wasting his time, but teenagers didn’t seem to have that comprehension when they were mad.
    When the boy refused, I shrugged and told him to stand.
    He didn’t.
    “You know, this can go one of two ways. One,” I said holding up a finger. “You can just cooperate. Stand up, tell us your name, let us check you, and we’ll get you booked downtown. Or two, you can refuse to do all of those things, we can force you to do them, and you still go down town.”
    The boy glared at me, and then moved his gaze to a car at the far corner of the parking lot.
    Following his gaze, I narrowed my eyes when I saw what he was looking at.
    “Who’s in that car?” I asked, glancing back at the boy.
    He closed his lips tightly, then looked down at his feet.
    A shared glance with Miller had me walking over the pile of candy bars and milk to the car that was parked underneath the 7-11 sign.
    The closer I got, the more worried I became.
    Because I could see a car seat in the car.
    Two car seats.
    Holy shit .
    I opened the door with suddenly shaking hands, scared to death at what I’d find.
    I’d seen some bad shit in my time, but the moment I opened that door, I knew nothing could be worse.
    Two starving children looked up at me from hollowed eyes.
    Neither was crying, and neither looked particularly scared of me.
    Interested. Hopeful, maybe. Scared? No.
    “Miller,” I called loudly. “Put him in your car and get over here.”
    Miller tossed a l ook over his shoulder at me. I stepped back to allow him to see the closest car seat, and his eyes widened.
    His mouth dropped open and he turned back to the kid that looked defeated.
    Now I understood why he’d stolen the candy bars.
    And the milk.
    I had no doubt in my mind now as to the character of the kid.
    Desperation makes a man do funny things.
    I picked up the smaller baby first.
    She felt extremely tiny in my hands.
    So tiny I couldn’t even gauge how old she was.
    Miller joined me as soon as I fit the baby into the crook of my arm, sidling up to my side.
    “What the fuck?” He asked in denial at what he was seeing.
    I nodded. “Yeah.”
    It was more than obvious that the children hadn’t been well cared for.
    Their clothes were dirty.
    The car itself smelled horrid.
    The little boy in the car seat looked at the two of us with a smile, but that smile didn’t meet his eyes.
    The deep circles under his eyes, as well as the hollowness to them, showed that he was anything but healthy.
    “Get the other one,” I ordered.
    Miller circled around the car and picked up the boy from his car seat.
    The boy wrapped his skinny fingers around Miller’s mic cord, and smiled so brightly that it hurt my heart.
    The little girl in my arms cooed and I looked down in awe.
    As a police officer, there are times that you’re not going to experience nice things.
    Although this wasn’t the ideal situation, they were both alive, and had a fighting chance that they didn’t have before.
    Something I counted as a check in my win column.
    I felt like I was carrying air as I walked back to the police cruiser.
    Miller didn’t look like he was carrying much more as he got on the mic.
    “I’ll need a bus here. Got two babies in need of some medical attention,” he said quietly, smiling down at the