“Oh, you know, that kind that abused their power of authority by being all intimidating and shit,” he joked. “The one’s that were no fun.” Not that any of his run-ins with cops had ever been fun. If someone had told teenage Silas that two of his closest friends were going to be former police officers, he probably would have laughed in their face.
He laughed at Brandon’s gesture and Regan’s words. “Hell, I’ve seen women go after guys with rings, man. It was the face, definitely the face.” If that got him another middle finger, he didn’t care. It was nice being back in the rhythm of their friendship; and it wasn’t like they didn’t give each other hell on their best days. “Women can’t resist those looks.”
There wasn’t a lot of agreement on his part, no matter how much Brandon thought he’d have been an okay cop; Silas didn’t have a lot of faith in that. “Nah. I made a better car thief,” he countered. “Would been the kind of cop that got his badge taken away, or whatever the hell they do.” He hadn’t had his act together as long as Brandon or Regan. Eight years, tops.
“I could freak the hell out of kids pretty good without the uniform too.” Intimidation had been something he’d known to do, not just with street kids, with the rest of his gang too. They’d all come from rougher backgrounds than him; he’d had to prove himself a lot more because of that. He barked a laugh at Regan’s observation. “Didn’t think that good cop, bad cop shit was legit.”
“Yeah, but you probably made it worse,” Silas reasoned. He didn’t give Regan a day when he’d get what he’d offered up; Reg knew he was good for it. “Kid probably thinks he’s living in a damn video game.” He’d noticed, and maybe it was just him, but some of the younger people, because they weren’t exposed to it as often, didn’t seem to have the same kind of healthy fear for the undead that most of the adults carried.