Page 137 of Holding on to Chaos
“Leather-wearer!”
And the kids were running amuck and stealing candy from other spectators. There was another shove down the line, another insulted bellow, and the entire block erupted.
With the man under his arm swinging wildly at the air around them, Donovan whipped out his phone and dialed.
“Mom, I need help. Bring every able-minded adult you can get and split ‘em between the park and the parade route.”
“On it,” Hazel responded before hanging up.
The head-locked dad got in a lucky elbow to Donovan’s gut, and the phone went flying into the storm drain.
“All right. You’re gonna pay for that one,” Donovan gritted out.
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By the time Donovan made it to the town square, all hell had broken loose and was barely being contained. He’d managed to break up two more fights, find a lost toddler who had climbed a goddamn tree, and put out an accidental fire that had started with a pile of leaves and a dropped bong on Bruce Oakleigh’s lawn.
Deputy Colby had caught up with him a block from the park, and together they’d caught two nursing home escapees as they tried to break into the farm supply store. Mrs. McCafferty had just turned the garden hose on them when Donovan and Colby came on the scene.
In the park, Hazel was showing off her law enforcement background by corralling suspects of full moon rage in the funnel cake stand. “You sit your ass down, Melvin, or I’ll kick it,” she threatened a middle-aged man dressed as Gandalf.
Donovan’s dad was attaching a hose to the fire hydrant to put out a bonfire lit by some enterprising junior high schoolers who were roasting marshmallows on the middle of the sidewalk.
Jax and Carter Pierce were busy breaking up a dance off between the high school football team and the marching band. The crowd parted as Charisma Champion jogged past shouting “Don’t worry! The end is near!”
Beckett was performing his mayoral duties by dragging looters out of OJs by Julia. Because Blue Moon was the type of town that stole fresh juice when they rioted.
Joey had confiscated Deputy Layla’s bullhorn and was shouting “Calm the fuck down” from the gazebo. He saw her narrow in on a reed-slim hippie working hard to overturn a park bench.
“Oh, shit,” Donovan muttered.
Joey dropped the bullhorn and jumped from the gazebo onto the hippie’s back. They went down in a tangle of limbs. Donovan reached Joey’s side just as she let her hand fly. He’d been hoping to save the guy from a broken nose.
Fortunately, Joey went with the bitch slap instead. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Winston? Go the hell home!” She slapped him again for good measure and then helped him to his feet.
“Hey, Sheriff!” Niko, a sleeve torn off his Frankenstein jacket, held two women by the scruff of their necks. “Funnel cake jail is at capacity. Where do you want these two?”
“Bring ‘em over here,” Summer called from the knitted sock stand. “I’ve got room for two more!”
Three buck naked Mooners sprinted past singing a rousing version of “Free Bird.”
“Hazel!” Donovan shouted.
“We need a bigger jail,” she called back.
He ducked as a woman darted around him wielding a pool noodle like it was a saber. She was chased by Enid the dog walker who held a pair of knitting needles.
Donovan grabbed the needles out of Enid’s hands and sent her on her way. He spotted Layla talking two Mooners out of a tree and borrowed her phone.
“Hello?”
“Eva?”
“Donovan, what the hell is going on?”
“I need help. We’re out of jail space. Can you find me a place big enough to hold at least fifty people?” A trombone player blasted the quarterback in the ear with a sharp note, and the quarterback retaliated with an epic wedgie. “Shit. Maybe more like sixty.”
“Absolutely. I’m on it. I’ll call you back at this number.”
