Storm Lines

by Jessica L. Webb

  “I gave you the real story.” Cole smirked.

  Marley’s anger surged again. “And yet we’ve got some people who say otherwise.”

  Marley saw a flash of uncertainty, he tried to hide with a fake smile. Marley wanted to tell him he wasn’t very good at this and likely had no real future in crime. Not by a long shot.

  “So? They’re lying.”

  Marley sighed audibly, Simms shooting her a cut it out look. She supposed she wasn’t being very professional. She was so sick of this game. We ask, they lie, catch them in the lie, repeat. Forever.

  “We talked to your supposed source. They say they don’t know you.” Simms made a show of flipping through his notes. “And I quote, ‘Never heard of him. Must be some pissant from up the mountain’.”

  An insult, apparently, in the drug world, as Cole’s eyes flashed with anger and indignation. The hurt pride of a young kid.

  “Fuck them, I’m not from up the mountain.”

  Simms said nothing.

  “And I know people, right?”

  Simms gave him a bland, indulgent smile, like he was trying to make the kid feel better about himself. Marley considered taking notes. Simms was good at this.

  “You lose nothing by giving us the name,” Marley said. “You’re saying it’s someone big in the drug world, that means we already know about him. We only care about finding out how the drugs filtered down to the streets. Your name’s already on our radar, just tell us who to link it to.”

  Your standing in the street drug hierarchy was an odd thing to be proud of, but Marley was willing to bet Cole Rogers needed to hear some validation about his life.

  “Terry Russo.”

  Simms’s eyes lit up but Marley watched him cool his expression and give a low whistle. The kid tried and failed not to look pleased with himself.

  “Russo must trust you,” Marley said. “We hear he talked to you about this drug.”

  “Not him,” Cole admitted, seeming like he was enjoying this. “But yeah, the guys trust me.” He paused, like caution had recently occurred to him. Marley jumped in.

  “They told you something about this drug, the new opioid.”

  “EZ? Yeah. Said it was mellow, like weed but a million times more intense. The guys said it was made to hook people in, you know? But none of the opioid overdose shit. They wanted customers for life.”

  Customers for life. The phrase made Marley cold. She thought about drinking tea with Mikayla yesterday. A customer with a drug wrapped around her brain, hooked into her body somehow. She felt sick.

  Simms, however, had never lost his neutral, vaguely interested look. “Did they tell you anything more about the hook?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t really listen. Something about chickenpox and vaccinations? Sounded stupid to me. And I didn’t need to know, as long as I could sell the shit as safe with a kickass buzz.”

  “You must have sold a lot if you were with Russo’s guys.”

  Cole shifted in his seat. “I do well.”

  “Can I offer you some advice, kid?”

  Cole bristled at the word, eyebrows drawing down in anger.

  “Sure, old man.”

  Simms laughed. “You seem smart. Smart enough to be running a business, not hanging on to someone else’s coattails. Get out of the drug trade. Because I don’t want to be the one arresting you. Waste of a life.”

  Marley watched the words bounce off Cole’s cool, cocky exterior. She could only hope something was absorbed, or at least anchored somewhere in his memory.

  “You can go,” Simms said, for the first time sounding tired. “I don’t want to see you again.”

  Cole took his time standing up, smirk firmly in place as he left the room, a junior officer waiting outside to have him sign paperwork and escort him out of the building.

  “Jesus fuck, kids are dumb,” Simms said after Cole was out of sight. “It’s all a game to them.”

  Marley rubbed her eyes. She worked to put Cole, the drug trade, and the never-ending stream of poverty and bad life choices out of her mind.

  “What are you thinking about the chickenpox thing?” she said. “The vaccinations.”

  “I’ll send the info to the lab and follow up with Public Health. I’m not sure what we can do with it, though.”

  Marley sat back in her chair, somehow exhausted and energized all at once. Details from this case circled and buzzed, a cacophony of noise that refused to settle.

  “Customers for life,” Simms snorted, sounding disgusted. “It’s a solid business plan. But Jesus.”

  It was, Marley had to admit.

  “Any thoughts?”

  “A few,” Marley said, willing the buzz in her head to focus. She rubbed her forehead, which did nothing to clarify her thoughts. “I guess I’m less interested in the drug guys with the business plan. We still don’t know who masterminded this drug. We haven’t talked to or heard of anyone capable of that. That worries me.”

  “We’re missing something.”

  “That’s the byline for our jobs,” Marley said. “Who was researching Mace?” Marley said suddenly, the name dropping down through the chaos of details.

  “Arnie’s taking the lead on background searches.”

  “Mind if I talk with him?”

  Simms waved his hand, clearly unconvinced it would go anywhere but too tired to do anything about it.

  Marley wound her way through the noisy cubicles—laptops banging, doors closing, filing cabinets rumbling, and phones pinging. Police stations were an odd mix of old school and new school, a clashing more than a melding.

  Marley found Constable Eric Arnold—Arnie—in the back corner, his cubicle dominated by two desks and three monitors, all the equipment set up like a wall between him and everyone else. Marley knocked on the edge of the fabric cubicle dividers.

  “Hey, can I interrupt?”

  Arnie glanced over from his monitors, his purple plastic-framed glasses catching the light. He was quiet, prematurely gray, and the only other out police officer on the force. Marley had tried to connect with him when she’d first started, but he’d seemed most content behind his monitors. Arnie was a friendly guy but distant.

  “Mission accomplished.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You asked if you could interrupt,” Arnie said, without any real rancor in his tone. “I said mission accomplished.”

  “Ah,” Marley said sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

  “Not a problem. How can I help? You’re still working on the opioid Z investigation?”

  “Yes, and I’m stuck on this unknown woman, handle of Mace. Simms said the search for her real name came up blank, but I’ve got some other information. I’m wondering if we could cross-check it or whatever.” Marley waved her hands at the monitors.

  Arnie blinked. “Mace is a woman? My search didn’t know that.”

  Marley remembered Aimee’s reaction to the name, the blankness in her face. Then the tears.

  “Randolph West’s daughter identified Mace as a woman.”

  Arnie started typing, an intense sort of gleam in his eye that matched the glare from his monitors.

  “Do you know where this identification was made? In Hamilton?”

  “No, Windsor.”

  “Date?”

  “Unknown. But likely between November and April this year.”

  Arnie kept typing. “Any data points are helpful. With three details, we narrowed the search by fifty percent of the population and pinpointed this person in time and space.”

  Marley let him work, feigning patience. She lasted three minutes. “Any luck?”

  “Not yet,” Arnie said. “But we’ll get there.”

  “I like your confidence,” Marley said, and Arnie flashed her a quiet smile.

  “You said you had more information you wanted me to cross-reference?”

  “Right. Yes. We just interviewed a low-level drug runner, and he mentioned hearing something about vaccines and chickenpox being a
ssociated with opioid Z.”

  Arnie blinked again, and Marley got the sudden impression of a computer server–like brain running at a constant, high level in this officer’s head.

  “Okay. So the search for Mace and drugs or chemical compounds came up negative. But you’d like me to see if Mace’s handle comes up in connection with vaccines and communicable diseases. Is that right?”

  “Dude, yes. You don’t mind?”

  Arnie shook his head. “This is my kind of fun. Give me this overnight, and I should have something by the morning. Email the best way to send you a summary?”

  “Perfect,” Marley said. “And copy Simms, if you could.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Marley walked back to her cubicle, feeling like maybe there was movement on this case. Maybe by tomorrow, they’d have more answers.

  * * *

  Devon walked out of the hospital with Leo and Gloria, shift change coinciding with the end of her meeting. They all groaned when they exited the frigid hospital and the full weight of the three-day heat wave pressed on them.

  “Brutal,” Gloria muttered. “I mean, I love me some sun, but these temperatures are unbearable. What’s a menopausal woman supposed to do?”

  “It’s seven o’clock at night, and it’s still this hot,” Leo said, pulling his bike helmet off his backpack. “I thought I’d get some kind of reprieve, but nope.”

  “Rest, stay hydrated, limit exertion during peak hours,” Devon said, knowing they’d both said this multiple times to multiple people coming in with heat stroke today. Part of Devon’s meeting about her transition back to work had been about emergency community outreach, heat waves included. “And make friends with someone with a pool,” Devon added.

  “Amen, sister,” Gloria said, waving as she headed off to her car. Leo waved and angled toward the bike racks.

  Devon watched them go, thinking about her earlier meeting with her boss. She had suggested they use this pause in service while Devon had been away as an opportunity to reevaluate the programs and services and what they wanted to continue. Devon suddenly saw this as the parallel to her mental pause, the chance to take a step back and breathe. Put a halt to what wasn’t working and carry on with what was. She still felt the zing of energy and purpose, and she wanted to nurture that without losing herself in it. The task was enormous, but Devon felt up to it.

  Devon closed her eyes for a moment. Sweat collected along her hairline. She could smell Tim Hortons and the ash of countless cigarettes. Traffic blared around the hospital, and a service vehicle beeped its intention to back up. The sounds and smells of being outside her home were invasive and sometimes unwelcome, but it was all a part of being out in the world again.

  Without thinking, Devon picked up her phone. Marley had been busy today but not too busy to check in with Devon, making her laugh with a few texts. Devon thumbed out a text as she walked to her car.

  I feel like burger and a beer. If not tonight, then soon?

  Marley returned the text just as Devon was sliding into her way-too-hot car, parked for the last few hours in the sun.

  Date night! Now? Please say now.

  Devon laughed as she turned on her car, rolled down her windows, and blasted the AC.

  Now. Name the place.

  Beer Haus. Twenty minutes. Race ya.

  Devon sent her a grinning emoji as her only reply and pulled out of the parking lot.

  Eighteen minutes to get to the pub and six minutes to find parking made Devon late. Marley was leaning against the stairs leading up to the bar. She was wearing light, loose khakis and a blue sleeveless shirt. She looked golden and glorious, and Devon’s pulse thudded with a deep reverberation of attraction and connection.

  “You’re tardy, Devon Wolfe,” Marley said, her grin seductive and mischievous. She clucked her tongue. “And for our first date.”

  Devon considered apologizing but instead she leaned in and kissed Marley, tasting heat and smelling sunscreen on Marley’s skin before she pulled away.

  “I’m here.”

  Marley’s eyes sparkled with surprise and satisfaction. “Yeah, you are.”

  Devon laughed, and Marley grabbed her hand and took her inside. The bar was dark and noisy and smelled like yeast and hops and good food. She followed Marley up two flights of stairs as they searched for a table for two, finally finding one on the middle patio. They slid on to the high barstools, voices and traffic creating a wall of noise around them. They shifted their barstools until their knees touched.

  “Okay day at the hospital?” Marley said as they scanned the chalkboard list of local beers on tap.

  “Better than okay,” Devon said. “It felt good.”

  Marley reached over and squeezed Devon’s hand. “That’s great news.”

  “How about you?”

  Marley shrugged. “Maybe some movement on the case? It’s slow. And frustrating. And boring. And heartbreaking.”

  “That might be the worst combination ever for a job.”

  Marley tilted her head like she was considering it. “Sometimes it also smells bad. And people yell. But free coffee, so…?”

  Devon laughed. She knew Marley had some deep-seated questions about her job and her choice of career, but tonight didn’t feel like the night to pull it all apart.

  Marley picked up the plastic menu.

  “You’re for sure going for the burger?”

  “House burger and sweet potato fries.”

  Marley made a face. “I suppose you needed one flaw.”

  Devon shoved Marley with her shoulder. “Liking sweet potato fries is not a character flaw.”

  “What would you consider a character flaw, Dr. Wolfe?”

  “Not hanging up wet towels after a shower.”

  Marley tilted her head back and laughed. “Some would call that criminal,” she said, eyes shining.

  The waitress came by, leaning in to take their orders. Marley stressed her desire for real French fried potatoes as her side for the chicken finger BLT and Devon rolled her eyes. Devon already loved this date. The way their legs tangled together under the table, the smell of Marley’s skin, the warm breeze and the clink of their glasses and long, cold sips of beer when the waitress brought their drinks.

  “This feels like it should have happened a month ago,” Marley said.

  “A lot has happened since the day I met you,” Devon said. For a moment, the smell of the alley intruded, wet pavement against her knees, Marley’s pale face, shirt streaked with blood.

  Marley drew her fingers along the inside of Devon’s wrist, bringing her back.

  “Would you change anything?” Marley said, leaning in to be heard until their foreheads were almost touching.

  “I didn’t like you being hurt,” Devon said. “But I wouldn’t change anything else.”

  “Me neither.”

  They twined their fingers together, condensation from their glasses of beer making them slippery. Marley looked like she wanted to say something but was hesitating.

  “What is it?” Devon said.

  “I keep thinking there’s one thing I would change. Time alone together.” She looked up at Devon, like she was gauging her reaction. “But I don’t regret having Carla and Aimee in my life.”

  Devon heard the layer of uncertainty, but she understood the tension Marley was feeling.

  “I feel the same way, if that means anything,” Devon said. “We hung out a fair bit together while you were unconscious,” Devon said. “Does that count?”

  Marley laughed, clearing the doubt from her expression. “It definitely counts toward our weird getting to know you phase.”

  “True. I learned you have tricky veins for IVs, and you look cute in a hospital gown.”

  Marley shook her head. “And I learned you hum almost constantly and have a mild addiction to Tim Hortons.” She squeezed Devon’s hands. “And you’re always there when it counts the most.”

  “I’ll always try,” Devon said. The promise surfac
ed so easily, Devon forgot to feel nervous, She wasn’t panicked by tying herself to someone else that could weigh her down. This didn’t feel like a burden.

  They pulled apart as the waitress brought their food to the table. Twilight descended as they ate and talked and drank, part of the noisy bar scene but also cocooned together. It was a night of sharing the pieces of their lives that had been overlooked in the intensity of their meeting and the ongoing drama playing out around them. Mundane, hilarious, and sweet stories shared over salty fries and sips of beer. Bouncing back in time, projecting into the future and landing solidly back in the present as the waitress dropped off the bill, leaving them to argue over it.

  “I’ve got a list of things to pay you back for,” Marley said, clutching the bill and pulling out her credit card. “This will help me sleep at night.”

  Devon felt the good-natured teasing in Marley’s words and let it go. They had time to even the score. Moments later they were back on the street, the heat of the day still trapped by the pavement and the buildings even though the sun was down.

  “Will you come over for a while?” Marley said. “I know we both have early mornings.”

  “Yes. Please.”

  The drive to Marley’s felt long and quiet and oddly lonely. Devon tried to sort through the feeling and categorize it into something that made sense. After months of solitude, hiding away from the burden of others and what she thought was the proof of her failure, these last few weeks had been forging connections. Deep connections. And this first date night with Marley, she felt the connection like a live fuse in her chest. She wanted more, craved more of her laugh, the touch of her fingers, and even her uncertainty. Devon wanted more.

  Marley was waiting for her at the top of the stairs down to her apartment. “You drive too slow,” she said.

  Devon laughed and followed Marley down the stairs. “I was texting Carla to say I’d be out late.”

  Marley looked over her shoulder as she unlocked her door. “Please tell me she swore at you.”

  “Close enough. I definitely got called ‘young lady’ when she made it clear I didn’t need to check in.”