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Officer Amber “Birdie” Farran was running steady in pace, but quite fast in pursuit of a young man suspected of bringing cocaine, among a long list of other things, into her quiet little hometown of Dagsboro. The fact that the kid was running spoke for itself. She’d simply approached him in Glata’s Diner, where she happened upon him drinking a cup of black coffee at the bar. As soon as he’d seen her uniform and the fact that she was obviously approaching his direction, he scurried off as if he was a garden rabbit who’d just been spotted by a house cat.

Artie Finkle. That was the kid’s name. Or at least that’s what the high school boys told Birdie when they approached her with the information. He went by “Ice King” now (though the boys referred to him as ‘Icing’, which apparently was more acceptable for the kid’s personality), and it was deftly obvious that he, himself, was using his product, to have come up with such a ridiculous nick name. Although his given wasn’t much better.

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