“All units, APB,” crackled the dispatcher. “Be on the lookout for a 10.66 at Cherry and Park, suspicious person punching cars as they go by. The suspect is an older woman wearing a flower sundress and blue scarf.”

“10-4, we’re on it,” answered Officer Walters in Unit 13, scratching his stubble. “We’re a couple blocks away. Be there in two.”

Walters sat back and sighed at his rookie partner Ellis behind the wheel. “Oh, man. I knew this day was going too easy. No need to hurry.”

“Roger that,” said Ellis and eased off the gas.

When they got to Cherry and Park, the late afternoon sun glared off the stop sign and big white condos. There was no one in sight.

“Dispatch,” said Walters into the mic. “Any update on location?”

There was a hiss of static then a click. “Suspect is heading down Park toward Lincoln.”

“Still punching?”

“You know it,” she answered. “Good luck with that.”

Ellis pulled a hard ralph toward Lincoln and hit the siren’s whoop whoop. He couldn’t help but smile as he raised his sunglasses.

Up ahead they saw the woman standing in the middle of the street. When a Jeep swerved around her, she took a swing at it, wobbling on her feet. She looked drunk, screaming something at the vehicle as it sped off. She nursed the knuckles of her right hand in her mouth.

Ellis parked and they got out. “You handle it,” said Walters. “It’ll be good practice for you.”

They approached the woman but gave her plenty of leeway.

“You got a problem with cars, m’am?” asked Ellis.

“Leave me the fuck alone!” she slurred. “Mind your own fucking business.”

“I’d sure like to do that, but we got reports you’ve been hitting cars as they go by.”

She slumped to the curb, exhausted, and wiped her face with her scarf. “Yeah, so what? Those fuckers are speeding down residential streets and mowing down bunnies.”

“Bunnies?”

“It’s May, there are baby bunnies everywhere, or haven’t you noticed?”

“I can’t say I have.”

She hauled herself up to face them. “Well, slow down and you’ll see them hopping around in gardens and backyards and trying to cross the street. Those fuckers deserve it.”

“The bunnies?”

“The speedsters, why don’t you and Miami Vice here do something about it?”

Walters grinned and stepped forward. “We’re going to have to ask you to come with us.”

“Fuck off!”

“Like my partner said, I’m afraid we can’t do that, not as long as you’re assaulting moving vehicles.”

“Who’s assaulting whom, officers? It’s a bunny massacre out here.”

While Walters had her attention, Ellis slipped behind her and snapped cuffs on her wrists.

She whipped around and thrashed wildly. “You can’t do this, you fucking fascists! I know my rights!” She spit at them but missed.

Walters lunged forward and tackled her legs; Ellis caught her shoulders as she fell backward.

Suspended between them, she twisted her body and screamed. “I’ll sue you, you bastards!

I’ll tell Bob, and he’ll take care of you. You better lock your doors at night!”

A few neighbors had gathered in their front yards. A young runner in a tracksuit had started to record with his cellphone.

“Go ahead and tell Bob,” said Walters, gasping for breath. “You tell him I’ll be waiting for him.”

“Tell him yourself!” she hissed, suddenly gone rigid as they lowered her onto the grass.

Ellis frowned at something, and Walters turned his head to look. A huge white bunny was loping down the street toward them, its fuzzy ears flopping with each step. Everyone went quiet.

The bunny stopped ten feet away and took a crunch out of the big carrot in his right paw. In a surprisingly deep voice he uttered, “Eh, what’s up, cops?”

“Drop the carrot!” shouted Ellis, reaching for his pistol.

“What, you crazy?” said Walters, knocking Ellis’ hand away. “Let’s talk to the nice bunny and assess the situation.”

“Fuck the situation,” the woman grunted from the ground. “Sic ’em, Bob!”

Bob flipped the top of his bunny suit backwards like a hoodie. The head of an aging rocker appeared, his face creased from the sun, blond hair stringy with sweat. “I’ll do no such thing, Myrna. What I think we have here is a failure to communicate.”

“Ok, communicate,” said Walters. He noticed how Bob’s eyes were soft and black, like, well, a bunny’s.

Bob gave Myrna a hand to sit up. “My old lady Mynra here gets overexcited. She means no harm.”

“No harm?” said a male driver who suddenly appeared. “She dented my Explorer!”

“I’m sure the insurance will cover it,” said Bob. He helped Myrna stand up, who was quietly whimpering now. Walters uncuffed her. Then Bob reached out two paws to Walters and Ellis. “What I think we all need is a big bunny hug.”

“We’re not at fucking Macy’s now, Bob!” rasped Myrna.

“My part-time gig,” explained Bob to the officers. “Now come here and get some bunny love.” He moved in to hug the officers and Myrna.

“This ain’t protocol,” Ellis protested.

“Relax and find your inner bunny,” said Walters. “Nobody’s perfect.”

As the officers and Myrna collapsed in a furry embrace, the sun set with an orange glow over the rooftops. Out of someone’s car, Meatloaf’s “I’d Do Anything for Love” blasted.

The neighbors applauded. The runner with the cellphone came in for a closeup. Grinning, he announced to everyone: “This is going to slay on TikTok.”