The Guys at the local Geek Squad were able to not only fix the software issue (a corrupted file during a windows update that basically wiped my computer) they were able to save all of my work. My photos and the 40 gigs of music I have collected over the last decade or so. So with much joy I return to the internet world a non-broken man. And with everything intact. As a reward to you, and to myself, I am posting the first chapter of the first book of the Werewolves of Portland series. Just so you can enjoy it. This is raw format, very little proof reading or editing has been done. Just roll with it!
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As
a child I was never afraid of the dark. I never slept with a night
light. I never feared the things that go bump in the night. I know
better now…
Chapter 1: Training Day
I
don’t know if apprehensive is the right word for what I was
feeling. Standing in the middle of a new squad room, staring at desk
after desk, arranged two by two facing one another. I was out of
place. The people around me were in suits, ties, the occasional
skirt, but their clothes are rumpled, there are stains on the shirts
and awkward creases in the pants. I look down at my clean pressed
pants, and the crisp new shirt I bought the night before for my first
day: my first day as a detective. My hair is brushed, and clipped
back, and washed. Making me stand out even further.
“I
don’t belong here.” I murmur to myself, brushing a spec of dirt
from my neatly pressed pants. I had worked hard to get here, but it
didn’t feel like I had imagined.
“You
Roberts?” A gruff voice said behind me.
I
squared my shoulders and turned to face him. He was taller than me,
but came up short for the average man. He had hard lines on his face,
and a leathery quality to his skin suggesting he’d spent too much
time outside and at the bottom of a carton of cigarettes.
I
put on my best professional smile and offered him my hand. “Yes,
Sir. You are Detective Lloyd I assume?”
“Don’t
assume anything.” He stated, staring at me with out bothering to
look at my out stretched hand.
I
took it back, and rubbed my palm against my pant leg. “Right, could
you point in the direction of ---“
“I’m
Detective Lloyd.” He said it the same way he’d said everything
else, as if he shouldn’t have had to say anything at all.
He
rubbed his hand against he jacket, it was rumpled and there was a day
old ketchup stain on the cuff. As his hand passed over his breast
pocket, searching for something, I could make out the line of a
package of cigarettes tucked there. There was yellowing on his
fingertips and the smell of day old smoke wafted from his clothing.
“You
got a pen?” He asked eyeing me sharply from an untrimmed brow. His
hair was a bit too long to fit with in regulation, but he had the
look of someone who hadn’t cared what the regs said in quite a
while.
“Oh,
uh, yes, Sir.” I fumbled into my pocket and fished out a pen,
offering it out to him.
He
took it from me and eyed it , almost as if he was studying it.
“What
is this?”
“A…pen,
Sir…” I said, looking around me. I wondered if any one else was
seeing the exchange.
“No.
This is some cheap dime store version of a pen. Costs what ten cents
for a hundred of these?” He tossed the pen at me.
I
caught it, but not before it bounced off my chest.
“Get
yourself a real pen. Something that will write on anything. Never
want to be with out a good pen, got it? Spend more then ten cents.”
He grabbed something out of his pocket and handed it out towards me.
It was a sleek, black pen, with a gold clip and engraved lettering on
the side. J.L. “Here. Use this one till you can get your own.”
I
took the pen and felt the weight of it. I had known paperweights that
were lighter. When I uncapped it the point was two prongs of jointed
metal that flowed ink between them. The tiny engraved plate on the
underside of the pen said it was made by an Italian company and
imported. It looked and felt expensive.
“Yes,
Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
“Stop
with the sir, Detective. I am your senior officer, not your boss and
not your drill sergeant. Besides it makes me feel old, and I am not
that old. You can call me Jack, let’s go.” He motioned for me to
follow him as I saw his hands remove the package of smokes from his
breast pocket. He had a cigarette tucked between his lips so quickly
I didn’t even see him shake it from the pack.
“Yes
S—Jack.” I hurried after him, tucking the weighted pen into my
pocket. I dropped the other one off in a cup full of like-minded pens
and half broken pencils sitting on someone’s desk. I had to
lengthen my stride to catch up to him. “Si—Jack, where exactly
are we going?”
“Caught
a case, Roberts. Robbery-homicide on a hundred and twenty first.”
Jack answered me, as he pushed past double doors that fed into a
stairwell.
I
grunted as the door swung back, and I caught it with my elbow. It was
heavier then I expected. I shot Jack’s back a dirty look as I
followed him down the stairs. He didn’t look back at me, just kept
going. He took the stairs rapidly, his feet moving quickly enough I
struggled to keep up with him.
“Shouldn’t
we tell someone where we’re going?” I asked, catching some air as
we rounded the last corner to the bottom floor of the division.
“You
got a babysitter I don’t know about, Roberts? They told me you were
young, but I thought for sure you could at least go out with out your
mommy’s permission.” Jack paused as he exited the building,
tucking his head against cupped hands. A lighter had appeared out of
seemingly nowhere, and he was lighting up as he sheltered the flame
from the wind.
“My
mother’s dead.”
Jack
paused, he looked at me; I was two steps behind him on the carved
front staircase of the building, which put me over eye level. I
looked down at him with my jaw set firmly. I was prepared for the
ribbing, the harassment even. I knew it was the price I would pay
being the new guy in the bull pen. But I hadn’t been prepared for
my new partner to start dishing it out so quickly. Christ, we hadn’t
even made it to the car.
“Well,
damn. I’m sorry about that, Detective. Rough break.” I couldn’t
tell if he was being sincere, his face didn’t look any different to
me. His eyes stared at me clear, crisp in color that didn’t match
the faded grays showing up in his unevenly cut hair.
“Yeah.
It was.” I picked up a steady pace down the remaining steps to the
sidewalk. I stared at the row of unmarked police cars in front of me.
“Which one?”
Jack
cleared his throat, and I could smell the smoke of cigarette approach
from behind me. He pointed around me so I could see his hand indicate
a dark colored Dodge Charger from the 70’s. I glanced over my
shoulder at him.
“Your
car?”
“My
car.” Jack exhaled a puff of smoke and headed for the vehicle.
I
followed him the dark color turned out to be a deep shade of blue
that unless the light was on it directly would probably turn up black
by most eyes. The interior was aged, but the leather was in decent
condition. I had to kick aside several paper wrappers from fast food
joints as I settled in the passenger seat.
“You
clearly maintain a very healthy lifestyle.” I flicked a balled up
wrapper from some place with a smiling hamburger as the logo at him.
“It’s
part of my religion.” Jack turned the car over and the engine
roared loudly, settling into a low-pitched purr as he put it into
gear and pulled out onto the busy New York streets.
“What
religion is that? Die from heart failure before you’re 50?” I
pulled out a small notebook I kept in my pocket and glanced over the
notes I’d made for myself on the front page. I was three weeks out
of Detective training, and couldn’t afford any mistakes.
“Eat
what I want, drink what I want, smoke what I want, fuck what I want.
Die happy.” Jack flipped on his sirens once we were squarely in a
driving lane.
“Does
that include being an ass to your new partner?” I glanced at him
briefly before turning my head back to my notes. “You knew about my
mother.”
“What
makes you so sure I did?” He asked, twisting the big car around a
corner fast enough I had to brace my hand against the dashboard.
“Because
no cop with a record like yours gets there with out doing his
homework. You’re too good at what you do to let some new comer like
me get the better of you. My guess is you heard you were being
partnered with me, heard about my record and decided to check for
yourself. So that means not only did you know about my mother, you
brought it up just to see what I would do.” I closed my notebook
and pocketed it. “So, did I pass?”
“Mmm?”
Jack grunted taking another sharp turn.
“Whatever
test it was you were giving me, did I pass?” I braced my hand
against the dash as he suddenly whipped the car over to the side of
the street, double-parking in front of a small bodega that was
flooded with uniformed cops.
“Time
to get to work, Detective. Put your game face on.” Jack got out of
the car and spat the remainder of his cigarette onto the pavement,
crushing it with the toe of his work boots. He then bent and picked
it up; pinching it between two fingers he deposited it carefully
inside his pocket.
We
ducked under the crime scene tape and headed for the front door of
the corner shop.
Inside
the bodega was as stuffed with police personnel as the outside.
They
were milling around taking pictures of just about everything,
and
stepping carefully to avoid messing up anything that could
possibly
turn out to be evidence. The crime scene techs were bent over
themselves
picking at pieces of glass and debris, plucking this piece
and
leaving that one. I did not envy them their jobs.
“Detectives!”
A young voice said. I was surprised when the man who waved us over
didn’t look much older than I was, but there was a deep scar on the
side of his face that looked like he’d come up on the wrong side of
a knife fight a few years ago.
“Ben.”
Jack greeted him, holding his hand out to shake the younger man’s.
Ben
smiled at Jack, the greeting warm and familiar. Jack turned to point
me out, and I stepped up closer to the two men.
“Officer
Benjamin Kessler this is Detective Amy Roberts. She’s new.”
Jack’s fingers slid down the front of his suit jacket, and fumbled
with something in his pockets.
I
pulled out the pen he had given me earlier and held it in such a way
he could opt to take it or not while I studied the younger Officer
Kessler. He was taller than Jack, which made him considerably taller
than I was. His hair was a light sandy blonde that was tamed only by
virtue of the close military crop. He had the build of someone who
spent had spent his high school years playing football. He didn’t
look old enough to have been legally drinking long, so he probably
still played with his friends when off duty. His uniform fit him
well, and it didn’t have any permanent wrinkles in it yet,
suggesting he was new to the job. Sort of like me.
“It’s
nice to meet you, Officer.” I said shaking his hand. His grip
wasn’t firm, given I had seen his shake be firm and lasting with
Jack, I suspected he was taking it easy on me. I squeezed his hand
firmly, just to make a point.
“A
pleasure, Detective. I see Jack hasn’t run you off yet.” Kessler
said with a lopsided grin that formed dimples in his cheeks. I was
willing to bet his charm worked on more than one woman in the
department.
“It’s
still morning.” I pulled my hand back and reached into my pocket to
pull out my notebook. Jack hadn’t taken his pen back.
“Enough
with the small talk.” Jack grumbled from over near the heart of the
scene.
I
smiled politely at Ben and headed to heel Jack as he looked at the
victims.
There
were two, both young men. They looked to be in their mid-twenties,
putting them at not much younger then myself, or older than Officer
Kessler. One was on his stomach, the other his back, legs tangled
through one another. There was blood pooling around both of them, and
spreading towards the further interior of the store. One man had a
package of donoughts clutched in his fist as he lay belly down on the
floor. There was debris all around them, broken glass from the
display case near the register that had spread across the floor. And
bits from the end cap displays of the three aisles in the tiny store.
They were arranged in a sort of Y shape where their legs met over
one another amongst the mess.
“What’s
your diagnosis, Roberts?” Jack said, crouching down near the head
of one of the victims.
I
raised my head from staring at the death before me. This wasn’t the
first time I had seen a dead body, but it never sat right with me.
There was something about a lifeless body that was unnatural, deeply.
It didn’t look right, nothing about a body with out life in it was
natural, or something you get used to. I’ve heard tales about cops
getting hardened to that image, I think that’s what Hollywood says
to justify not spending any time showing their cops in therapy. In
reality any one with a soul never gets hardened to the image of a
corpse.
But
I knew that as much as a body could tell you, the rest of the scene
could tell you as much if not more. I glanced around me, squaring my
shoulders and stretching my neck to see around a few uniforms.
What
caught my attention was the register at the front of the store. I
stepped away from the bodies to study it up closer. I dodged a puddle
of something green and sticky looking on the floor as I rounded the
edge of the register counter. On the floor sat the register, over
turned and looking as if it had been kicked and beaten open. The lose
change was scattered around it and a couple of stray ones were stuck
in the open drawer.
“Robbery
wasn’t the motive here.” I said after taking a deep breath.
“What
makes you so sure of that, Detective?” Jack was standing behind me;
I hadn’t realized he’d followed me. My back stiffened a little as
I felt him breathing down my neck to stare over my shoulder at what I
was seeing.
“Well,
wouldn’t it be easier to get into the cash register with a cashier?
Rather than busting it open with probably the end of the shot gun
used on the two vics.” I pointed at the way the register was
sitting on the ground, on it’s side with the drawer open but off
it’s hinges. “It was obviously pushed off, but there is no
evidence from the debris that any one was standing there when it
happened. And the first vic, the guy on his belly. He’s holding a
package of donuts, when’s the last time you saw someone grab a
hostess snack when begging for their lives?”
Jack
glanced back at the man with the donoughts and raised one of his
thick eyebrows. He swept a hand through his shaggy hair and I noticed
a streak of grey starting just above his temple.
“Huh.”
Was his only comment.
“The
perp—“ I started, but Jack interrupted.
“What
makes you think it’s not one?” He had both hands hooked in the
loops of his pants, which were a dark washed pair of jeans that I had
mistaken for dirty slacks earlier.
“If
there were was more than one he wouldn’t have let the teller escape
out the back. More control, less mayhem. No reason to come in
shooting, which is exactly what he did…” I stepped past Jack back
around the counter, pointing towards the door we had come in through
with the end of the pen he had given me. “He came right through
that door and shot Mr. Snack Attack in the back, the second guy
dropped what he had in his hand and begged for his life. As there are
no other victims, I’m guessing he was the actual target.”
“Why
do you assume it was a man?” Jack was behind me again, he smelled
vaguely of stale cigarettes and some kind of cologne, it wasn’t
strong; it had a mild, even pleasant smell.
“Shot
gun. They tend to have a pretty rough kick, and this guy had enough
control to fire it twice with out losing his victim…suggests a lot
of upper body strength and familiarity with the fire arm. Generally
speaking women have lower upper body strength, and don’t make a
habit of a familiarity with shot guns. Also violent crime of this
nature is generally committed by a male perp, women who shoot men
typically shoot their lovers, or someone close usually in close
quarters… I could be wrong.” I shrugged both of my shoulders and
glanced at Jack. “But I doubt it.”
“Confident.
They told me that about you.” Jack almost looked like he wanted to
smile; the expression seemed to tug at the hard lines of his face.
But his lips never moved.
I
momentarily felt a sense of self congratulation, but quickly wondered
exactly who had told Jack about me. I studied him for half a breath,
taking in the sly way he looked at me from the corner of his eyes.
The way his dark shaggy hair rebelliously fell across his face, and
the lines suggested age and hard living. He was more Dirty Harry than
he was highly decorated cop.
“Who
told you about me?” I asked as Jack motioned to Officer Kessler to
come closer.
“Think
I agreed to work with you with out doing a little digging first?
Beyond your personnel file.” Jack turned his attention to the tall,
lean Kessler. “Get the CSI guys to see what they can get from the
insides of the pockets on vic number 2 there.” Jack indicated the
victim who lay on his back partially atop the first one.
“Why
the pockets?” I asked. The officers had pulled current driver’s
licenses from both bodies, both wallets had been in the pockets of
the victims when the police arrived.
“Well
the pockets have been riffled through, see here—“ He crouched
down between the heads of the two victims, and pointed at the pockets
on the thin, dark haired man who had been shot in the chest. “But
far as we can tell robbery wasn’t a motive, wallets were untouched
credit cards, cash all right where it should have been. So what was
the gunman looking for if not for the wallet?”
I
frowned. I thumped the heavy pen against the edge of my thigh as I
considered what Jack had said. I had missed the pockets being
disturbed; now that he had pointed it out I could see the mistake
glaring me in the face.
I
clenched my jaw and wrapped the pen against my thigh with an agitated
pace.
When
we left the crime scene, Jack set a rapid pace back to the unmarked
cruiser. He managed to some how both light and smoke while walking
fast enough I almost had to jog to keep up. I didn’t know how he
could maintain a pace like that, show no signs of being winded, but
maintain what was obviously a two pack or more a day habit. I had
known plenty of smokers in my life, and none of them had that kind of
stamina.
I
settled into my side of the car, kicking the fast food graveyard out
from under my feet. I used to grind my teeth at night when I was a
kid, it got bad enough I had to wear a mouth guard through most of
high school. It was a habit I had managed to out grow, but in times
of stress or irritation I would unconsciously revert. I knew I had
been doing it since leaving the bodega because I was aware that my
jaw was beginning to ache.
I
reached a hand up to rub at the point where my jawbone cut up sharply
to join the rest of my face. I could feel the hard bone under my
fingers and I flexed my jaw and tried to work out some of the
stiffness. I thought about where I had last scene my mouth-guard,
because I would regret it tomorrow if I didn’t wear it tonight.
“You
want some gum or something?” Jack said suddenly, causing my
thoughts to derail.
“Huh?”
I looked at him, fingers still on my face. “What? Oh! No, I’m
good…” I wasn’t entirely certain I would trust any food type
item stored in this car. Some of the wrappers at my feet looked a
couple of weeks old; there was no telling how long a pack of gum had
been lying around. Perhaps since the car was new.
“If
you’re sure. I figured it might help.” Jack dropped some of the
ash from his cigarette into a tray protruding from under the center
of the dash.
I
turned away from him to crack my windows, ensuring fresh air mingled
with the smell of tobacco and whatever cologne could be caught
faintly behind it. “Help with what?”
“You’re
grinding your teeth. Had a buddy of mine in school that used to do
that, said chewing gum helped him. Figured I’d offer.” Jack
barely glanced into the side mirror before gunning the big metal
beast of a car into traffic.
I
took a breath and grabbed at the bitch handle over my seat, holding
tightly. I wasn’t the praying sort, I wasn’t sure where I stood
on the God debate and after my mother’s recent death, I wasn’t
sure I wanted to pick a side. But I found myself in that moment about
ready to send up a prayer, if only to ensure we didn’t die between
the crime scene and the precinct.
“How
did you know I was grinding my teeth?” I asked taking a sharp
breath as Jack sped around a slower taxi cab by almost veering into
oncoming traffic.
“I’ve
got really good hearing?” Jack offered, the only reason I could
tell it was a joke was because of the expression on his face. It was
something near enough a smile I thought it was evidence he could
actually grin if he wanted to. “Nah, I saw your jaw muscles
flexing. I’ve been a cop a long time, I’ve learned a few things
about reading people.”
“Oh,
suppose that makes sense…” I felt a resurgence of the self-doubt
and frustration I had when realizing I had miss something at the
crime scene.
I
closed my eyes as I saw a light turn yellow ahead of us. To my
surprise Jack stopped rather than push his Detroit tank through it.
“You’ll
get there, Roberts. It’s not easy being the new guy, and you’re
fresh from training camp. But you’ll get there.” Jack’s fingers
drummed on the steering wheel to no conceivable pattern or beat.
I
looked over at him, my mouth agape. I wasn’t sure what to say, a
thank you seemed like it might be brushed off. To say anything else
might have seemed like I doubted myself, maybe questioning my
abilities. I knew better then to miss something as obvious as the
pockets having been searched, I should have thought of that first
with a suspected robbery motive. I had also read up on Jack before
today, and everything in his file indicated he wasn’t the type to
hand out compliments easily, or to consider them worth addressing
once spoken. So I closed my mouth and looked ahead at the traffic on
the mid morning streets.
“You
hungry?” Jack said after a prolonged silence. He pulled one foot
off the break as the other engaged the gas. Next thing I knew we were
lurching forward.
“It’s
only 10am…” I said glancing at the watch on my wrist.
“Yeah,
haven’t eaten since breakfast. Feeling peckish. I’m gunna grab
something on the way in...”
I
looked down between my feet. I could count at least half a dozen
different fast food chains on the labels of the trash gathered there.
Not for the first time I wondered what Jack’s doctor thought of his
lifestyle: between the smoking, the eating and the driving it stood
to reason he was either the luckiest man alive, or a miracle of
science.
I
was about to ask if his digestive tract had been grown in a lab when
my cell phone buzzed sharply at my hip. I blinked not recognizing the
plain ring tone I had set that morning. I had changed my usual ring
tone, a classic rock song from the Clash, earlier in an effort to
appear more professional and less like a beat cop. I glanced at the
caller ID but did not recognize the number.
“Detective
Roberts.” I answered. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the side of
Jack’s mouth twitch. “Yes, Ma’am…No, she said she was taking
the bus…I’ll look into it. Thank you for calling.”
I
pressed the end button on the phone and pocketed it. I took a deep
breath, slowly, and counted to five before I exhaled.
“What
was that all about?” Jack asked, whipping the big old car around
stalled traffic in the outside lane.
“That
was Emily’s school secretary.” I had to consciously tell myself
to stop clenching my teeth as I spoke. “Seems my sister decided not
to show pup for school today. Again.”
I
didn’t know what I was going to do with Emily. This was the third
time in the past two weeks I had received that exact phone call. It
was usually the same story; I found Emily some where other than
school, and doing something she shouldn’t be doing. She had been
acting out, having trouble in school and spending, by my estimate,
too much time with an older boy. It wasn’t that I didn’t know
why, our mother’s death hit her hard. But what I couldn’t
understand was why she was willing to throw away school and a future
to act like a complete stranger. She had even dyed her hair a color I
know our mother would have never let her out of the house with.
“Where
do you think she is?” Jack asked slowing the car, finally. I
noticed we were turning into the drive-thru of a particular fast food
joint.
“Honestly?
With a boy. Scratch that. With an eighteen year old delinquent with
the maturity of a 10 year old boy.” I couldn’t do anything to
disguise the distaste in my voice, not that my opinion wasn’t
already fairly obvious. I had met Skylar on two separate occasions,
and neither one impressed me. He was both too old and too dumb to be
dating Emily. And what kind of name was Skylar for a boy anyway?
“Think
that well of him, huh?” Jack’s mouth didn’t twitch, but there
was something in his eyes as I looked at him; something mischievous
and humorous. He glanced over at me, and could tell I wasn’t amused
by his particular brand of humor. “Come on, you never had a
boyfriend when you were a teenager your parents didn’t approve of?”
“No.
Did you?” I fired back.
“Alright,
that’s fair. But seriously, you must have at some point done
something as a teenager that pissed your parents off, every one
does.” Jack stopped the car in front of the first menu on the
drive-thru, and pursed his lips as he studied it. I was surprised he
even needed to bother, judging by the contents of his car, he should
have had all the menus for every fast food joint in town committed to
memory.
“No,
I didn’t. I was too focused on my school work, and going to
college.” I straightened my shoulders a little.
“Oh
you were THAT girl.” Jack glanced at me briefly, raising his brows
at me and then looking forward as he pulled forward into the cue.
“What
is that supposed to mean? What girl?”
“The
good girl. The girl who never did anything wrong, got good grades.
You know, you used study hall for actual studying.”
“It’s
called study
hall.” I snapped, and rolled my eyes. I shook my head as I Looked
out the side window, staring at the world outside.
Portland
has two seasons; rainy and humid. Because of all the rain however the
trade off is that the whole city is coated in layers upon layers of
lush greenery. I know they call Seattle the Emerald City, but I
always thought that name would better suit Portland. Everywhere you
turned there was green, even the walls on the freeway were covered
with over grown strands of ivy. The whole city was lush, and just a
few miles outside of town were some of the largest mountain range
forests in the country.
“I
didn’t mean anything by it.” Jack eased off the break and some
how managed to get the hulking beast of a car moving forward with out
actually putting it into gear. I only knew how to drive a stick from
a book, which meant in actual practice I probably couldn’t.
“Look,
I just need to get back to the station, and I’ll take some personal
time to go deal with this…” I felt a little defeated. My first
official day as a detective, and I have to spend more then my lunch
hour figuring out where my teenage sister had gotten off to. The only
thing I knew for sure was that she wasn’t at school. I puffed a few
lose strands of my hair from my face. My hair was pin straight and
brown, in other words: entirely ordinary. But as long as I could
remember, I had never been able to keep my hair in any particular
style, everything was flat on it, and even a ponytail failed
eventually. Try as I might, no matter the hair style I couldn’t get
it to stay more then a few hours.
“Welcome
to Happy Burger, what’s your order?” A mechanical, nasal sounding
voice asked over the loud speaker affixed beneath another sign
featuring colorful photos of the menu items available.
“Uhh,
never mind. Thanks though.” Jack said, and backed the car a few
spaces before pulling it out of the line.
“Where
are you going? I thought you were hungry?” I reflexively reached
for the ‘bitch handle’ on the roof of the car, near the window.
Less then a day driving with my new partner, and I already had
developed new survival skills.
“Where
do you live?”
“No,
I’ll just drive myself…it’s fine.” I protested, with a
sinking sensation in my gut. The last thing I wanted was for Jack to
have any part in this, his job was to train me, mentor me and make
sure I didn’t kill any one on my first day. Not to drive me to a
different side off town so I could search Emily’s bedroom for clues
to where she might be.
“Look,
the best thing we can do is start at your house; search her bedroom
for any clues to where this boyfriend of hers lives, or what she
might be doing instead of going to school. Two sets of eyes are
better than one.” Jack looked over at me. He was leaning back in
his seat, which I realized made him seem relaxed. But I would never
mistake him for the kind of guy who was off his guard.
“You
don’t have to help me.” I said it softly, not sure if I was
apologizing or letting him off the hook. Probably both if I gave it
more time to settle.
“You’re
my partner. So which way?” He pointed forward; we were paused at
the parking lots’ main entrance. Ahead of us was the main road we
had come in on.
“Right.
My apartment is in Beaverton.” I tucked a stray strand of my hair
behind my ear, and chewed on my lower lip. I let out a breath as Jack
managed to swing his car into traffic with half an inch to spare from
the opposing lane. I tried to remember if I had cleaned up my laundry
from the night before, or if I had left my bras hanging over the
dryer. As Jack passed a slower vehicle in front of us, and narrowly
missed a collision with an oncoming pickup, I made a mental note that
it wouldn’t matter where my underwear was hanging if we never made
it to the apartment.
We
reached my apartment, located in one of the many suburbs swallowed by
Portland proper, in record time. Considering Jack hadn't once used
the sirens, and we had managed to some how avoid being involved in,
or causing a wreck, I felt that was fair evidence of a higher power.
I hadn't lived in this building very long. I had moved my sister and
I in a few weeks before, shortly after everything was finalized on
the sale of my mother's home. When she had passed I was forced to
sell the house in order cover some of her debts, the cost of the
funeral. I looked in the same school district, but couldn't find
anything big enough in my price range and was forced to move Emily
across town to the cramped two bedroom we now shared.
It
was an open air building, with the stairwells exposed to the diagnal
wind so prominent in Oregon. I dodged a puddle of what was most
likely rain water and fished my keys from the pocket of my coat. Jack
was thumping up the stairs behind me, he didn't dodge the puddle.
“You
wear impractical shoes.” He said filling in the awkward silence as
we climbed four flights of stairs to the fifth story.
“They're
comfortable.” I retorted rounding a small landing to start up the
final set of stairs.
“You're
lying.” There was no accusation in his voice, just a simple
statement of fact.
I
found myself grinding my teeth. I paused half a flight ahead of him
and pivoted on a stair. This left me taller than Jack and I stared
down at him, certain my face reflected my annoyance.
“My
shoes are fine.” I purposefully stomped my feet as I finished
climbing the stairs, turning my back to him.
“You
have a faint hitch in your step, your right foot is being pinched.
That's not unusual people's feet are usually a bit different in
sizes. You should wear comfortable shoes. Something you can run it,
that'll protect your feet.” Jack continued to lecture as we
finished the last flight and headed down the walkway between doors to
the apartment I had rented just a few weeks ago. I felt more
conscious of my gait then I had ever felt before, the extra
concentration seemed to make the pinching in my toes worse instead of
better.
As
I reached my door I glanced over my shoulder at Jack, who was
patiently following behind me. I glowered at him, wishing I could
blame the increase in my discomfort on him. I knew better, but it
didn't stop the thought. He looked back at me with that smug little
smirk on his face. I rolled my eyes and brought my attention to the
door that fed into the apartment.
The
apartment was a two bedroom, two bathroom set up with a small kitchen
and equally cramped living room. But it gave Emily the privacy she
needed, and was affordable with out leaving my budget so tight I
couldn't afford groceries. It forced Emily to move from the school
she had been attending, and the adjustment was clearly becoming
problematic for her. But it was the best I could do, a detective's
salary wasn't much when they were fresh on the force, and my mother
had had a lot of debt to pay off. This cramped space as the best I
could do and not wind up in a neighborhood where car alarms and
sirens were common place.
Jack
leaned against the wall as I stared at the door. I knew she was in
there, I could hear the music. It was some heavy rock band that only
teenagers thought sounded good, blaring loudly enough I'm sure all
the neighbors would be furious if they were home. But it was the
middle of the day, most people were at work, thankfully. I could
almost feel the bass echoing my pulse as I mentally geared myself up
for the fight that was coming. The all out screaming matches were
becoming all too common as of late.
Jack
sniffed and looked at me. “Smells like pot.”
I
couldn't smell anything but the damp air of Portland that permeated
every corner of the city. Some people had sensitive noses.
“Great.
Just great.” I grumbled under my breath as I shoved the key into
the deadbolt lock. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes before
shoving the front door open. I opened my eyes once I had stepped
inside the apartment.
The
site that greeted me was a young man sitting on my couch with his
shirt off and pants half undone. There was the faint smell of smoke
in the air and that sickly, sweet scent that came with marijuana. The
man on my couch jerked and twisted so he could see who was charging
in the front door, he peered over the back of the couch at me with a
look that didn't show much recognition.
“Where
is she?” I demanded, shouting to be heard over the loud music.
“Uhh...Uh,..bathroom, dude...”
He stammered out, trying to get to his feet. His over sized jeans
slipped off his hips as he did so and he stumbled a little trying to
grab them before they hit the floor.
I dismissed him with a disgusted
wave and headed for the main bathroom. I had designated that bathroom
for Emily, I had one attached to my own master bedroom. She had
quickly taken it over with a variety of products and perfumes most of
which when used made me want to light a match to kill the over
whelming flowery scent of them. The door was closed and slammed my
fist against the wood. It was flimsy and rattled as I banged on the
painted ply-board.
“Emily!” I shouted over the
music. “Get your ass out here!”
Jack had moved across the room
and by the time I was issuing the second round of pounding to get my
sister's attention, he had killed the stereo. I glanced over at him
he was standing close enough to the young man it was apparent Jack
was attempting to loom. The young man was tall, but slender enough I
thought even I could break his bones pretty easily. Jack, while not
as tall, looked to have a good 80 pounds of rough muscle on the boy,
and was staring at him in a way that suggested he was looking for an
excuse to hurt him.
“Hey! Who the hell--” The
bathroom door swung open and Emily was on the other side, she was
angry as she came out into the main room. She paused when she noticed
me, and glanced side ways at Jack. “What the hell do you want?”
“What the hell do you mean
'what do I want'? Why aren't you at school?” I demanded,
straightening myself out. I was taller than Emily. I had a good four
or five inches of height on her. But she had all the feminine
attributes in the family, where my hair was stick straight and a
plain dull brown, Emily had full, wavey blonde hair the color
actresses pay a lot of money to recreate. She had come home two days
ago with blue and pink streaks in it, and they were still there, only
she had cut some bangs for herself in an uneven choppy way that was
clearly the end result of an unsteady hand. She had round hips that
filled out her jeans nicely, and breasts that were bordering on too
large for a teenager, especially one who was just past 15 years old.
She cut all of her tee shirts to better show them off. And her blue
eyes stared at me with daggers in them.
“I don't like that school.”
She snapped and moved towards the boy in the living room. I stepped
in front of her, arms folded across my chest. “Get out of my way,
Amy.”
“Hey, uhh maybe I should go...”
The young man said, shifting his weight nervously as all eyes were on
him.
“No, Skylar...” Emily said
looking around me at him with a pleading expression.
“Skylar? What the hell kind of
a name is Skylar?” Jack spoke up for the first time since entering
the apartment. His light colored eyes were staring at Skylar,
studying him with the same expression he had given the dead men in
the bodega earlier. “Pull your pants up.”
“Go to your room, Emily. Get
your shit together and I'm taking you to school.” I pointed at the
closed door, complete with various signs indicating I was supposed to
stay the hell out, of her bedroom.
She looked for a moment like she
was going to protest, but another look at Jack and she decided she
was outvoted. She stormed into her bedroom and slammed the door to it
behind her hard enough a picture frame fell off the wall and cracked
as it slammed into the floor. I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly
as I tried to remember to remain calm.
I turned around to deal with
Skylar and get him out of my house, but found him with Jack. Jack was
standing very close to Skylar, leaning in close to speak quietly to
the boy.
“How old are you, boy?” Jack
asked, his voice calm, sereen in a way that suggested he was merely
waiting, passing the time.
“Eighteen, pops. What's it to
ya?” Skylar copped that same attitude I seen a thousand times as a
beat cop, the one that was all about the bullshit and nothing behind
it.
“That's bad news for you,
Skylar. Bad news. See she's only 15...” Jack's voice kept that same
tone, steady, even. It was bordering on documentary informative. Jack
hadn't just read my file, he'd memorized it. “That isn't good for
you. That's jailbait, boy.”
“What the fuck do you care,
gramps?” Skylar had moved half a step away from Jack, but that was
all the further he got.
Jack's arm moved and his hand
latched onto the back of Skylar's neck, so fast I wasn't sure it had
happened until I saw Skylar scrunch up. His shoulders shot upwars and
his head forward as he tried to escape the grip, but wasn't able to.
His shaggy greasey dyed-black hair fell in front of his face as he
tried to duck away from Jack. Jack held strong and Skylar was
trapped.
Jack's expression had changed
from calm and sareen, to predatory. “I'm a cop, son.”
“I ain't afraid of you!”
Skylar threw up some more of that false bravado, but his voice was
quivering.
“Do you know what they call
eunuchs in prison, Skylar?” Jack's voice rumbled with a dangerous
edge. “Bitch. So if I hear you've so much as been seen walking down
the same street as Emily – And I will hear about it – you and I
are going to have another conversation. You don't want that, do you,
Skylar?”
Skylar looked for half a second
like he was going to attempt to keep up the act, but it caved and he
hurriedly shook his head. “N-No...”
“No what?” Jack asked, given
Skylar a little shake, his hand squeezing on the back of his neck.
“No, sir.” Skylar said,
licking his lips nervously.
“Good. No get.” Jack released
Skylar with a shove towards the still open front door.
Skylar stumbled a few steps
before righting himself. He paused and looked at the small baggy of
pot still sitting on my coffee table. He reached for it, sliding his
gaze over at Jack. Jack shook his head, and Skylar's hand recoiled.
He rushed out of the apartment and from the sounds of his foot steps
on the walk and the heavy cinder-block stairs he was in a hurry.
I stared at Jack. He stood in my
living room looking strangely comfortable as he looked around at the
things I had sitting out. When he caught my eye briefly he just
shrugged his shoulders and turned to face another direction, giving
me some privacy.
I turned to face Emily as he
emerged from her room, backpack slung over one shoulder and clothing
barely acceptable per the school's dress code. Sometimes I wondered
if she did it to piss me off, or she was out to piss off the entire
world. I rubbed at my right temple briefly before speaking.
“We need to have a talk about
this--” I stared but was cut off.
“No we don't. We have nothing
to discuss.” She snapped, adjusting the way her backpack sat on her
one shoulder. She tugged some of her blonde hair from under the strap
and rolled her eyes.
“Yes we do. You're supposed to
be at school. I get a call on my first day back at work that you
didn't show up. So I have to come down here, taking personal time on
my FIRST day, Emily!” I wanted her to understand, I wanted her to
see how embaressing and unprofessional this all was, but she just
stared at the wall like it was the most interesting thing she'd ever
seen. “I come home and find you with a boy in my apartment! And
with pot! I'm a COP, Emily! You can't have drugs in this apartment do
you have any idea how much trouble I could be in?!”
I suddenly realized Jack had an
easy out if he decided he didn't want to work with me. One call to
the right people about what he'd seen in here and he could easily
have me transferred or worse, demoted. I glanced over my shoulder at
him, but he was staring at the television, examining it far too
closely. He didn't strike me as the type who cared much about such
things, but for my benefit he pretended to be engrossed. This was the
last conversation I wanted to have in front of my new partner.
“Are you having sex with that
kid?!” I demanded as I looked back at her. Suddenly replying a
thousand television shows I'd seen covering the exact same argument.
I felt like a cliché as I stood in front of her.
“What the hell do you care?”
She retorted.
My hands curled into fists, and I
felt them trembling. I knew my face was flushing with red anger as I
tried to remember to breathe. All I wanted to do was punch something,
hard. I wanted to scream, shout and yell at her about how selfish she
was, how annoying, that she was behaving like a child, and was going
to cost me everything if she kept it.
“You're fifteen!” I shouted,
much louder than I intended.
“Aren't you supposed to be
escorting me to school?” She cocked one hip out and put both hands
on her hips. She looked me right in the eye, defiance all over her
face.
I felt my anger like a white hot
knife in my stomach and opened my mouth to let the flood gates down
and speak my mind for once, but was cut off.
Jack spoke up to keep me from
unloading. “Yep. Let's go, clocks ticking.”
He pointed towards the exit.
Emily cast me one more glare before marching for the door. I exhaled
a deep breath I had been holding to keep from exploding. I looked
over at Jack, and he met my eyes. I wasn't sure what the expression
was on his face, but there was an understanding in his eyes that in
that moment I was so grateful for I couldn't speak.
“Come'n, Roberts. Sooner we get
Punky Brewster here to school, the sooner we get back to catching bad
guys.” Jack motioned for me to get moving. For a moment I couldn't
get my feet to move, my anger was still like a hot blade in my gut,
but I eventually got my feet moving.
“My name is Emily.” My sister
snapped, snide and unconcerned with polite conversation as ever.
“Uh huh.” Jack said closing
the door behind him as he helped guide me into the hall with his hand
at the small of my back.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hope you enjoyed And why yes, I don't just right M/M Romance. Though let's face it, that's a lot more fun!
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