Judging Joshua. Mary Wilson Anne

      That drew the lines completely. He was the cop, she was the crook. “Your job stinks.”

      He didn’t take offense. “More times than not,” he said as he stood.

      She crooked her neck to look up at him, her soup all but forgotten. “Then why do you do it?”

      He flexed his shoulders, as if to ease his muscles, and didn’t answer her for a moment. At first she thought he was just going to ignore her, then she realized he was thinking. “Good question,” was all he said. He looked down at the cup of soup in her hands. “Anything else you need?”