Cindy and Lorraine had kept me sane through a lot of ups and downs with my parents over the years, including when I came out. My parents hadn’t been awful, but they hadn’t been the most supportive either, and Cindy and Lorraine became confidantes over the years. That’s why when I finished law school, instead of going with the family business, I joined Cindy in the DA’s office. That still didn’t mean that she got to pry into every inch of my sex life.
After engaging in a stare-off Cindy shook her head and grinned as she patted her bag. “I’m just dropping this off. I’ll leave...as soon as you tell me who that was.”
I sighed as we walked into the county courthouse where our offices were located, resigned to the fact I was not going to get her to go home. “We had a thing last summer when he was out here helping Nesto with the truck. We just hooked up a few times, which was nowhere near enough for me.” I was very focused on not making eye contact with Cindy as I spoke. “He took a faculty job at Cornell. I was hoping we could pick up where we’d left off.”
I lifted a shoulder, trying for a lightness I did not feel. “I ran into him last night and he didn’t seem interested in me in the slightest.”
She clicked her tongue, genuinely sad my hopes for a booty call had gone up in flames. “That’s too bad, hon. I’ve never seen you look at someone like that. You know you’re the kid Lorraine and I never got around to having.” She paused, holding up a finger and winking at me. “Actually, no, more like you’re the kid Lorraine always wanted, but you grew on me.” I laughed as she came closer to squeeze my arm. When she spoke she sounded wistful though. “We’d like to see you happy, with someone that can appreciate that big heart of yours, no matter how hard you work to keep it hidden underneath the ‘too busy for love’ facade. I think I failed you as a mentor in the work and life balance department.”
I gave her a rueful smile and turned around. “Now I really am worried you need to be in bed,” I teased. “You were an excellent mentor. As for Patrice, it doesn’t matter, because he’s just not that into me.” I hoped that my comment didn’t get her thinking of some scheme to get Patrice and me together. Cindy had a tendency of pushing me when she thought I needed a nudge. I knew it came from a good place, but it got old fast.
She opened her mouth with what I was sure was another question when Ron Vogler, our investigator, walked up to us. “Did you hear about last night?” he asked, and I noticed his usually relaxed demeanor was replaced with a somber expression.
Ron had been with the Ithaca Police Department for over twenty years before coming to work with us, and he was in the know about everything happening in the county when it came to law enforcement. He usually wasn’t the type to gossip, so whatever this was, it wasn’t good.
I shook my head at his question, already pulling my phone out of my pocket to see if there was anything I’d missed. “Amber was on last night, so I didn’t hear.” The ADAs took turns being on call, so that there would always be someone available to handle whatever came up in the middle of the night or the weekends. I’d been off, so had no idea about whatever fresh hell had Ron brooding.
He pursed his lips before answering as I braced myself. “One of the new deputies from the sheriff’s department stopped two Ithaca College students on Route 79. They were black, of course. Going maybe five miles over the limit. One of them recorded the whole thing and posted it on Facebook and it does not look good. The deputy was so fucking overzealous and his tone was, frankly, offensive.”
I bit out a curse as I walked through the metal detector, Ron on my heels, continuing his recount of the incident. “Neither of them got hurt, but he did make them get out of the car and made a big show of patting them down. I saw in the Ithaca Star that they’re filing a complaint claiming he was excessively aggressive.”
I heard Cindy sigh heavily from behind me as we made our way to the elevator. “Cindy you really need to go home, this is going to get you worked up, seriously.” She waved me off as I turned to Ron, who was looking more pissed by the second.
“Which deputy was it?”
Ron just shook his head, his face grim. “Chief Cooker’s youngest.” My heart sank.
“Fuck.” Cindy’s curse rang out in the hallway outside the DA’s office.
Cooker had been the head of the Ithaca Police Department for almost twenty years, and had only recently retired. For the most part he had run his department well, and was respected... Unfortunately, his children seemed to only be interested in ruining their father’s legacy.
I shook my head in disgust as we walked into my office, because no matter what, this was going to be a shit show. “Awesome,” I said, my voice heavy with sarcasm. “I went to elementary school with his brothers and they were assholes even back then. Seems like the youngest one is trying to emulate his older siblings. I’m going to call Sheriff Day.”
Cindy’s eyes widened at that and I held up my hand. “Cindy, I know that it’s hard for you to be hands off, but I am interim DA and you need to be resting. I will handle this.” I took my phone out and sighed.
Ron scoffed as I fiddled with it. “Cooker’s kids are not the only ones that could use a talking to in that department,” Ron said, frustrated.
Ron’s wife was black and they were raising two biracial teenage boys. Of course this type of bullshit was going to rattle him. “Nothing is going to change until people start being held accountable and there’s an honest conversation about biases in that department.”
“Agreed,” I said, wondering how Day was taking this. He was a friend, but since he’d barely secured his last run for sheriff after coming out as gay during the campaign, I knew he’d been walking a very thin line. “Day’s a reasonable guy, we can talk to him about this frankly, but we need to know how to approach it.”
Ron shoved his hands in his pockets and looked between Cindy and me. “I want to burn shit down.” Cindy balked at that and Ron shook his head. “But I know my role here, and I will defer to you.” His conciliatory tone did little to mask how distressed he was. “Stuff like this is becoming a common occurrence again, and I don’t like it.”
Cindy groaned as I called Day’s personal number. This was not the first time I’d checked in with him about issues happening in our jurisdiction, so when he practically barked that he couldn’t talk right, I was taken aback.
I was still trying to figure out how to respond, when he exhaled, and spoke again, this time not as aggressive, but no less distressed. “I know why you’re calling and I’m going to take care of it.”
I was about to ask how exactly he’d deal with it, but before I had a chance he ended the call.
When I glanced up, Cindy was looking at me expectantly. “Day said he would ‘handle it,’” I used air quotes, unimpressed by my exchange with the sheriff. “He sounded pretty panicked, so I hope that means he’s taking it seriously.”
Ron shook his head and pressed his back against the wall. “I hope it means they’re not just going to yell at the deputy and call it a day.”
At this Cindy’s face hardened. “It is not our job to tell the sheriff’s department how to deal with an isolated issue.” She really stressed the word isolated, as she looked between Ron and me. “I am telling you, as your boss that you need to let Day do his job and when it’s appropriate for us to get involved, we will. I am not looking to piss off Day. His special crimes investigators are some of our best partners in the highly sensitive cases.”
Like Ron and I didn’t know that.
I stood there with the tension suddenly heavy and uncomfortable, taking in what Cindy was saying.
Ron spoke first. “So this office’s position is that we wait until there’s a crime to prosecute?”
Once again, Cindy spoke over me. “No, this office’s position is that we’re not going to overstep and possibly burn a bridge with a department that we have worked hard to build a relationship with, unless we absolu
tely have to. We are not there yet.”
I was in no uncertain terms being told to mind my business. “Whatever you say, boss.” I tried to sound cordial, because in the end, she had the last word. If I was being honest with myself, I had no idea how to deal with any of it either.
Cindy left without responding to what I’d said, which was probably something I’d have to deal with later. The frustration was rolling off Ron, but we’d gotten our marching orders. I sighed and sat down at my desk, closing my eyes for a moment. “Cindy’s right. At this point there isn’t much we can do other than keep an eye on it.”
Ron opened his mouth and then closed it, as if he knew he’d just hit a wall. “These things escalate and they are never ever a one-time thing. You know that, Easton. I mean you watch the news, you read. You pay attention.”
I glanced at the pile of folders I needed to review for court later and wanted to curse. None of us needed this shit right now. “I do, I also know, as you do, that we can’t just make demands from the sheriff’s department, especially when not much has happened.”
As soon as I said it, Ron’s face went stony. Then I realized how flippant I’d just sounded.
Fuck.
“I know this is not nothing, and that it’s going to scare a lot of people in the community, Ron. I know that. I’m not saying we should ignore it. I’m saying you and I can’t take this on, no matter how much we’d like to.”
I kept the “not that I have any ideas” part to myself and thought of Patrice.
This was the kind of thing he would pick up on and go off on Twitter about. Just one more reason for him to not want to have anything to do with me. And that unhelpful and self-involved line of thinking needed to be cut off immediately anyway, because I was a lot of things, but I would not be fucking callous.
Ron’s silence told me that he was probably stuck too, or at least giving up for now. I gestured to the untouched files on my desk and looked up. “Sorry, man, I need to be in court in an hour, let’s talk about this later. Can you check in to ask exactly what happened and if this was the same officer who’s been getting other complaints?”
Ron looked annoyed but seemed to be on the same page as me. “I’ll see what I can find out. Not that the boss is going to let us move on any of it.”
I had a sinking feeling he was not far off. Cindy liked to keep all her ducks in a row when it came to our community and law enforcement partnerships. But this was not exactly something we could ignore. At least I wanted to believe we wouldn’t.
When I looked at Ron his expression told me he was probably onto what I was thinking. “We’ll figure it out. I’m not going to let you down on this.” Ron looked about as confident as I felt about my statement, but it seemed like for now he was letting it go.
I took a few deep breaths and tried to push away the stress of the past half hour. There was nothing more I could do with this, and I had cases to work on. Just as I was settling down to look at the docket for the day, I saw my phone buzz with a message. I smiled when I saw it was from Nesto.
Hey, man. Jude and I are having a little thing at our place on Friday, sevenish.
I’m making a Dominican Sancocho (it’s a stew thing with mad meat in it) because only for Jude would I cook on my day off. Come thru, if you’re free.
The way the heaviness from moments before seemed to lift—at least in part—when I thought about running into Patrice was pretty pathetic. Before I talked myself out of it, I picked up the phone and texted back.
I’ll be there. Should I bring anything?
He replied almost immediately.
Nah man, just yourself. See you then.
Great. Thanks for the invite.
I got a fist emoji as a response.
The prospect of seeing Patrice was exciting and unnerving. This was all new territory for me, this level of anticipation to see someone... I wasn’t sure what to do with any of it, especially since Patrice was clearly not in the same place as me, but I didn’t succeed at my job by taking things sitting down. I wasn’t going to push if Patrice didn’t want to play, but I wasn’t going to hide away either.
Patrice
I was still digesting the conversation I’d had with Nesto about Easton when I walked into my office. I didn’t expect much human interaction until I headed to class later in the morning, and was checking my email when Brad Gunham, one of the associate professors in the economics department walked into the office.
“Professor Denis.”
Brad was the reason people thought all academics were insufferable assholes. He went out of his way to let people know all the ways in which he was smarter than them, and could not have a conversation without repeatedly attempting to throw shade or just outright offend. The first time he ever talked to me, he let me know we needed to “band together” since we were the only two minorities in the department.
Brad was white and both his parents were world-famous economists. I came to the States with my mom as a refugee from Haiti in the nineties, and she literally had to work three jobs to support us. But to Brad the fact that we were both gay apparently made us homies, and brothers in the “the struggle.” It would’ve been funny if he wasn’t literally the master of micro-aggressions. I sighed internally and tried my best not to sound as weary as I felt when I finally answered.
“Hey, Brad.”
He had his usual sneer in place, indicating he was on that bullshit again, and I had literally zero patience for it right now. I had to play nice though. Brad had just gotten tenure and would most likely be on the committee that decided on mine when it came up. The chair of the department was also, from what I’d seen at least, very much a Brad fan, so I had to keep it polite, no matter how much this dude annoyed me.
He raked his eyes over me as he leaned against the door. “Patrice, you’re on brand, as always.”
What the fuck did that mean?
He waved a hand in my general direction, which I guess was his way of presenting me with the evidence. “You’ve got the dapper thing down to a T.” His eyes were literally glomming me, and I tried my best to suppress the shudder coursing through my body.
He was so fucking greasy.
“Can I help you with anything, Brad? I’m in the middle of office hours right now, and may have a couple of students coming by to talk about the midterm assignment.”
He ignored my attempt to get him out of my office, and walked in, parking his skinny ass in one of the chairs. “Oh I won’t take long, just wanted to check in how you’re getting on. I know that your research topics can be a little controversial and was wondering how it had gone over in your sessions.”
This was one hundred percent not his business, and the controversy he was talking about was my research focusing on how people of color experienced discrimination through government sanctioned public policy. It was apparently a little too real for Brad’s brand of academia. He also knew I was teaching Statistics 101 like the fucking grunt I was, and that my research was not likely to come up in those classes. He still had to ask, to be an asshole.
“They’re handling the class fine, thanks.”
“Oh good,” he said, sounding fake as hell, and shifted on the seat like he was getting comfy for a long chat.
Fuck. My. Life.
“Have you had time to get around town, get to know some folks?” He stressed the word folks, and it was very hard to control the eye roll itching to come out.
“Actually yes, my best friend lives here. He’s one of the owners of OuNYe, the new restaurant downtown, and his partner has been here for a few years. We hang out a lot.”
He nodded with interest, crossing his arms over his usual cardigan and button-down combo.
“Oh nice, I love that place. It’s very popular.” He cocked his head to the side, and gave me another assessing look. At this point I couldn’t even guess what was going through Brad�
�s head. “I’ve seen the owner, he’s very handsome. Are you sure you’re not up here because there’s a little more than friendship going on there?”
Of course he’d go there. For Brad nothing was ever lacking nefariousness.
How did this person think it was okay to ask that when I’d just mentioned Nesto had a partner, and why did he think I was interested in having a conversation with him about anything?
“Nesto and I have been friends since we were like eight years old, Brad. Also like I said, he has a partner. They live together and are in a committed monogamous relationship.”
Not that it’s any of your motherfucking business, my guy.
He didn’t respond and took his time running a hand over his heather-gray sweater, as I sat there fidgeting. “So, I actually stopped by to let you know that you were being ‘discussed’ at a dinner I was at yesterday, with some of the more senior faculty.” The smug-ass look on his face told me this was probably the reason why he’d come in here in the first place.
“Okay.” It was hard not to glare.
“They were talking about your social media persona.” I would’ve loved to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face. “Departments have to pay attention to that sort of thing, in case a faculty member says something inappropriate that could hurt the school.” He was loving this little bullshit power play, but I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing my even slightly fazed.
When he realized I was not going to respond, he opened his mouth again. “You certainly have a following and seem very focused on hot-button issues.”
I tried not to cut my eyes at him, but it was so fucking hard. “I’m not sure I follow.”
He lifted a shoulder, and I could tell he was about to say something that would infuriate me and for the millionth time I asked myself why I was willing to work in a field that was full of people like this.
“Well social justice is important and certainly something this department aims to look at closely. It just seems like you’re so heated in your tweets.”
American Love Story (Dreamers) Page 3
