Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work.
–Aristotle
Gemma
If the screaming coming from the locker room is any indication, my rookie partner and I are going to have a hell of a night.
We have about ten more minutes until our shift starts, and hopefully whatever the guys are putting O’Connor through will be over by then.
“Tony.” I sit on the corner of his desk while he taps away on his keyboard.
“Yeah?” he asks, his eyes not leaving the glowing screen. Tony was my partner before I inherited the rookie.
“What are they doing to O’Connor?”
“The real question is what aren’t they doing to O’Connor?” he returns.
I groan. “Not the trifecta. Don’t they have anything better to do?”
“You really want me to answer that question?”
“Good point.”
The trifecta is a combination of pranks, starting with the simple—changing out their patrol pants with a pair that’s a size too small, removing the badge from their hat and supergluing it back on upside down—and ending with the big guns, “borrowing” dime bags from the evidence room and putting them in the rookie’s locker.
I sigh.
Even though it’s early evening, the precinct is fairly active and noisy. There are people chatting and moving about, phones ringing, and a copy machine groaning in the background.
“Hey,” I ask, peering at the file open on Tony’s computer. “Are you reviewing the Rosco case files?” He hates it when I look over his shoulder, which just makes me want to do it even more.
“Yeah. Larry’s court date is coming up.”
I grimace. “Don’t I know it, I’m supposed to testify.”
Larry Rosco is the ex-mayor’s son and a total piece of crap. I got involved in his latest drama when he was pulled over one night by another patrol car. Jimmy—one of our friends who has been a cop longer than Tony and I combined—called me to the scene for backup when he realized there were multiples in the car and he would probably be arresting someone.
Tony’s eyes sharpen on my face. “Are you going to tell them what he said to you?”
I roll my eyes and stand, shifting my bulky attire around as I move. The weight of my bulletproof vest under my uniform and the belt full of weapons around my waist is always digging into my curves.
“Not unless they ask, and I doubt it’ll come up under cross-examination that the defendant said ‘sucky sucky fifty cents’ while I was arresting him.” I raise my eyebrows.
Tony grins. “Do you think he realized you were a cop?”
“He was so hopped up on drugs I wouldn’t have been surprised if he thought I was a unicorn and tried to ride me over the rainbow.”
Tony chuckles, sitting back in his chair and rubbing his chin, which doesn’t look like it’s seen a razor in a few days. “I heard Rosco Senior is putting in a bid for the governor’s office next year.”
I grimace. Those Roscos definitely don’t need to be in a position of authority. The whole family is surrounded by scandal.
“Hey, remember that guy you told me about, the one with Larry that night who took off?”
“Yeah, tall dark and handsome.”
“Did you write him into your report?” Tony asks.
“Of course. It should be in there.”
He frowns at the screen, a dent appearing between his brows. “Well, it’s not.”
“My report’s missing?” I ask.
“It’s there, but there’s nothing about the mystery man.”
“Let me see that.” I shift around the desk so I can read over his shoulder. My eyes run down the familiar text until it stops. “That’s weird,” I murmur. “I specifically remember writing it up. I only saw him for a minute, but he looked sort of familiar. Jimmy ran after him but lost him about two blocks away.” I turn and face Tony. “Was he in Jimmy’s statement?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s a good question, though, I’ll ask him. He hasn’t uploaded his information yet.”
I step back from his desk. “It makes me want to go through all my other reports just to make sure no one’s tampering with my files.”
“That would be weird. I mean, the guys like to mess around, but never with anything that might affect a case.”
“Yeah.” I wave my hand dismissively. “It’s okay. I always save a copy on my hard drive before I upload it to the server. I’m sure it’s some kind of glitch or something.”
Tony nods. “I’ll tell IT. I’m sure they can look into it.”
I glance at the clock. I have less than five minutes until my shift starts. “I better go check in on my new guy. Make sure they didn’t glue his gun to the holster. I’ll see you later.” I squeeze Tony on the shoulder as I pass, heading toward where I last heard the screaming.
My rookie, O’Connor, is fresh out of the academy and the newest and youngest person on the force. He’s a few years younger than me, a rather attractive dark-haired recruit who still has stars in his eyes and a mind to change the world.
It’s only slightly annoying.
I find him near the front doors, waiting for me. He’s adjusting his pants, which are obviously too tight and at least two inches too short, exposing his bright white socks.
I try to hide a laugh and fail.
“Dude,” I say, “you couldn’t find pants that fit?”
“I’m scared to try my regular pants. There was some white stuff in the legs, and I’m hoping it was itching powder and not something worse.”
“That’s probably a wise decision. Come on.” I nod in the direction of the car. “Let’s go.”
“Can I drive?” O’Connor asks when we stop by the patrol vehicle.
“You haven’t passed the test yet,” I tell him, walking around to the driver’s side and climbing in.
The unofficial rule is that rookies can’t drive until they’ve run down a perp on foot. And they have to catch them. Getaways don’t count.
After he climbs in the passenger seat next to me, I turn the ignition and say, “But maybe tonight will be your lucky night.”
He groans.
It’s an ongoing joke. Our town is fairly safe, and most nights are slow and boring. It took me almost two years to get to drive the patrol car, and that was only because old Mr. Knight escaped the nursing home and I tracked him down in his walker a block away.
There was a string of murders at the local university, years ago. The crimes were tied to some drug use, but that’s the biggest case we’ve had in the past decade.
A few hours into our shift and it’s been a wondrously normal tedious evening. So far, we’ve had a few traffic violations and a couple noise-disturbance calls. When there’s a lull in the excitement, somewhere around eleven p.m. we find ourselves a midnight meal and park in an old empty lot.
“So you and Tony never hooked up on patrol?” O’Connor asks.
“We never hooked up, period.” I take a giant bite of my burger, hoping he’ll take the hint and stop asking questions.
It’s not the first time I’ve gotten that question. Tony and I are both single.
“I don’t hook up with other cops.” Anymore. “So get your dick back in your pants, Romeo.” I smile over at him, giving him a hard time since I know he wouldn’t try anything with me.
Even though O’Connor is practically a baby, he has a wife and a kid of his own.
“I’m just saying,” O’Connor continues, “it would be kind of hot to get it on in a cop car.”
“Or kind of uncomfortable. There are like fourteen layers of clothing and a bulletproof vest to get through to make anything happen.”
He shakes his head at me. “No wonder you’re still single.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“No need to get defensive.”
My voice escalates. “I’m not getting—” I cut myself off and take a breath to moderate my tone. “I’m not being defensive,” I say as calmly as I can. “I don’t have time for dates, and when I do, the guy usually ends up being a giant fucktrumpet.”
“When was the last time you went on a date?” he asks before shoving a fry in his mouth.
“Not that long ago.” I take another smaller bite of my burger and chew slowly, thinking. “It was just, like, a couple months ago.”
If months could be considered years.
Wow. I didn’t realize it had been so long.
We both stuff our faces in silence, accustomed to eating quickly in case we get a call.
“So you would never even consider getting drinks with Pauly?” O’Connor asks.
There’s a pause while I pretend to consider his question, and then I punch him, hard, right in the arm.
“Ow!” he yells, as the impact of my fist causes what’s left of his sandwich to go flying out the window. “What’d you do that for?”
“That’s for working Pauly’s agenda on me. You won’t do it again. Tell that little weasel that I will cut his nuts off before I’ll share a meal with him.”
O’Connor rubs his arm, pretending to pout for a minute before asking, “So are you a lesbian, then?”
This makes me stop shoving food into my face. I turn and give him the look my mother always gave me when I ruined my church dress or said something inappropriate. It’s frightening. I know from experience.
“Don’t make me punch your junk, O’Connor.”
“I’m just asking! You know, there’s a lot of speculation around the office. I’m looking out for your best interest. I’ll tell them you’ve got a boyfriend or something.”
“Don’t tell them anything. I swear to god, for a group of grown men, they are the worst gossips I’ve ever met.”
When Tony and I were partners and became friends, everyone expected us to hook up. Then it never happened, and the rumor mill started that I preferred girls. I didn’t really mind, since it took the heat away from Tony. Unfortunately, it’s more acceptable on a police force to be a lesbian than it is to be a gay male. I would like to think that the guys on the force wouldn’t change their opinion of Tony and all the work he’s done simply because of his sexual preference, but . . . well. You just never know. If this conversation is indicative of anything, Tony’s right to be cautious.
I don’t have a chance to lecture the rookie on not being like the rest of the douchebags, though, because we get a call over the radio.
“Potential ten-sixteen with shots fired over on Grove, nearest cross street is Madison. Unit ninety-one, are you in the area?”
O’Connor and I share a glance, and then he picks up the radio. We’re less than a mile away.
“This is unit ninety-one, and that’s an affirmative, en route, with an estimated arrival time of less than five minutes, over.”
The dispatcher rattles off the exact address before clicking off.
A few minutes later, we’re driving into a lower-middle-class neighborhood, and I kill the siren. We park in front of the house where the alleged domestic disturbance is taking place, but all signs point to dark and abandoned. Normally on calls like this, there are people outside. Neighbors love to know what’s happening next-door, or they’re the ones who called so we can get a statement. Usually there’s at least some lights or something going on somewhere nearby. But here . . . nothing. The entire street is dark.
I shrug at O’Connor’s questioning face, and we get out of the vehicle.
A brisk rap and yell at the door yields no results. I pull out my radio and call dispatch to confirm the address. Once that’s verified, I try to open the door, but it’s locked.
“I’m going to check in the windows and around back,” I tell O’Connor. “You stay here. Holler if you see or hear anything.”
I walk around the side of the house, my boots crunching over dried grass that once used to be a lawn. The summer heat wave isn’t helping. The shrubs surrounding the property look like skeletal clumps of esoteric art.
This is one of the few neighborhoods that are still suffering the fallout from when the housing bubble burst.
When I shine my flashlight into a side window, all I see is an empty bathroom that could use a few rounds with some scrubbing bubbles.
There’s a tall wooden fence surrounding the back of the property, and after a quick recon, I discover there’s no door or gate that will allow easy access.
“Dammit.”
It takes me a couple of minutes, but I manage to find a foothold near a tall rock, hoist myself over the fence, and drop awkwardly onto the other side. The backyard is as silent and dead as the front. There’s a patch of dry grass, a cracked concrete patio with one rickety chair in the center, and a French door that leads into the house. I walk over to the door and shine my light inside. There’s another folding chair to match the one on the patio in the middle of the living room. It’s covered in a thin blanket. Nothing else, no other furniture or signs of life.
“Creepy,” I mutter.
I shift my flashlight through the windows, trying to see farther into the house. Suddenly, I see movement, right on the edge of where my light is shining.
Someone’s in there.
I knock on the glass-covered French door and move my light in the direction of the movement, yelling out, “Police! Open up!”
Almost immediately, shots ring out, but they don’t sound like they’re coming from inside the house. The crack and resulting echo reverberate from the front yard.
“Dammit! O’Connor!” At this point, I have no choice. I shoot out the lock in the door and swing it open, holding my gun and flashlight together in front of me.
There’s silence.
At least, I think there’s silence, but it’s hard to tell because my ears are still ringing from the shots I fired at the door.
“O’Connor!” I yell again. “Where are you?”
I head toward the front of the house, shining my light in all directions as I move, praying that he’s all right. Before I reach the door, it bursts in on me.
My first thought is that it must be O’Connor coming inside, but instead of a smallish dude in an ill-fitting police uniform, it’s a huge man, at least six foot five. He’s all in black, there’s even a black ski mask covering his face. He has the element of surprise, and before I can do anything other than freak out in my head, he lunges toward me, reaching for the gun in my hand.
My training kicks in, and I dodge his attack, but not quickly enough. We fall to the floor, and he collapses heavily on top of me. I struggle against him. He uses his weight to hold me down while he tries to wrest my gun from me. I hold on to both the gun and my flashlight for dear life, but eventually he knocks both items out of my hands, making the room flash a little crazily before it comes to a stop.
His hands reach for my neck, but I knee him in the groin, which makes him grunt again and say in a gravelly voice, “You bitch!”
The next few minutes are a blur of fists—some of which make contact with my ribs. I can’t get away with the heavy body on my chest. I squirm enough to get leverage and elbow my attacker in the nose. I hear a crack and know I’ve struck gold. He gets up before the blood can start leaking through the cotton mask and makes a run for it. I reach for him and manage to snag a bit of his ski mask, ripping a section off as he’s running for the door, exposing part of a bald head.
My gun is somewhere across the room with the flashlight. I don’t have time to find them. I chase after him.
Once outside, I see him leap over the high fence with the agility of a cat.
I race after him and over the fence, but I overestimate my momentum, adrenaline fueling my movements, and end up going over much easier and quicker than I anticipate. There’s no time to slow my descent. Instinctively, I reach out to block my fall. I hear a pop and crack on impact, and a searing pain flares in both of my wrists.
“Motherfucker,” I can’t help but yell from where I’m collapsed on the ground.
I think I pass out, but I’m not sure. I don’t know if minutes pass or longer than that. All I know is when I blink open my eyes, I see lights flashing across the front lawn. The cavalry has arrived.
And just my luck, it’s Pauly I see first, coming toward me in the dark, shining his flashlight right in my eyes.
“Did you see him?” I ask from my position on the ground. The words come out a bit breathless. I can’t help it, my wrists feel like needles are grinding into them.
“Are you all right?” He crouches down next to me, and I’m eye level with his beer gut.
“I’m fine.”
“We’ve got the paramedics here, they’re with O’Connor. Just lay still for now,” he says. His eyes leave mine, and he roams his flashlight around the property.
More cop cars pull up in the street, and I can make out dark figures as they exit vehicles and begin searching around me.
“Where is he?” I ask, not giving a rat’s ass about the damn paramedics.
“O’Connor’s okay,” Pauly says, misinterpreting my question. “He was shot, but he got it in the ass, and he’s gonna be just fine. How many jokes do you think we can make of that little gem?” he snickers.
I groan. “Goddammit, Pauly, did you see where the perp went?”
“The perp?” He scratches his head. “Nah. I didn’t see anyone.”
The adrenaline rush is exiting my system swiftly, and the pain in my wrists is increasing exponentially.
“They’re taking O’Connor to the hospital. I’ll go make sure we get more medics over here. You don’t look so good, McDougall. You’re a bit green, and your wrist is about the size of my head, and I don’t mean the small one.” He chuckles before getting up and walking away.
I groan and flop my head down onto the dead grass underneath me. How the hell did that guy get a job here?
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