As the cops pulled him out of the car, Bill was indignant. He couldn’t argue with the facts. Bill was speeding, running red lights and treating the Boulevard like his own personal joyride. However, Bill kept yelling about how he had the right. Just look at the tattoo! He was the law and took an oath.
Finally, Officer Tom asked to see the tattoo. Sure enough, tattooed on Bill’s right bicep was a police badge that read Officer of the Peace.
“What is this?” Officer Tom asked.
“This is my police badge,” Bill said. “I took an oath. But this way, I don’t have to carry my badge.”
Officer Tom called over his colleague, Officer Beth, who looked at it for a long minute.
“Did a lawyer tell you to do this? Or a police officer?” Officer Beth asked.
“Of course not! You can’t trust a job like this to a lawyer or a police officer. I only confided in a professional—my tattoo artist.”
“Well, you spelled peace wrong,” Officer Beth said, grabbing Bill and taking him towards the police cruiser. “You spelled it P-I-E-C-E. Like a piece of cake.”