It was a wonderful image, at that.
“Were you the butt of many jokes? Pardon the pun.”
He gave a deep laugh. “Hardy har har.”
I couldn’t help but giggle at his humorless tone. “Is this a touchy subject for you?”
“Not so much now. It wasn’t funny at the time – that day, I was mortified.”
“Really?”
“It seems police women hold a grudge. They were pretty unforgiving.”
“Surely not all police women hold grudges and are unforgiving?”
“Well the ones that were there showering that day teased me about it for weeks. As did everyone else we work with.”
We went down another hallway, where a janitor was mopping the street grime up from the floor.
“Be careful, man…floor’s wet,” said the thin man, pausing to let us pass by.
“Thanks. And G’night Ed,” Neal added on our way out of the doorway.
“Goodnight,” said Ed, returning to his duties.
I opened the door wide and cold winter air rushed in. “God, it’s freezing out here.”
“Don’t worry. Yamato Sushi is only a short walk away.”
We walked in silence for a few moments as I tried to think of something to say.
“So,” I began, “What made you pick sushi? I mean, you could have asked me out for a drink.”
He smiled at me. “You seemed like the kind o’girl that would respond better to the invitation of an exotic meal than for an alcoholic outing.”
“Do you make a habit of asking strange women out for sushi?” I teased him.
“Only the pretty ones,” he teased back.
“Are you calling me pretty?” I laughed, feeling a little self-conscious.
“As unprofessional as it likely is - yes, I am.” He relented, rubbing his bare hands together to keep them warm. “Man, is it ever a cold one tonight.”
“So exactly how did a country boy like you come to like sushi?”
“When I first moved into the city, my cousin, she took me out to a Japanese restaurant to try something new. At first, I thought sushi, raw fish – no way. But she convinced me that some of it was cooked, so I finally worked up the courage to try it and I liked it so much, I kept coming back for more.”
“Well it’s so good, I mean how could you not?”
He grinned at me. “Now I pretty much live on sushi, steak and Chinese food. And beer,” he added, as an afterthought. “Nice, cold beer.”
“Now there is something we have in common.” I gave him as warm a smile as I could manage in the harsh cold of January.
“So how did you know I’m from the country?” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Am I really that transparent?”
No, I thought, you’re actually a pleasant enigma.
“I could tell by your accent.”
“Is it that bad?”
“No, it’s not that noticeable at all.”
“So you’ve got a good set of ears, then?”
I thought of my supernatural sense of hearing. “You could say that…”
We walked a few steps in silence. “So Neal, where’s your hometown? I’d say you’re from upstate, somewhere.”
“Then you’d be right. I come from a small town – Crayton – of about a thousand people.”
He slowed his gait and pointed out a neon sign over our heads that read Yamato in orange and blue.
“This is it,” he gestured at the red metal door.
“That really was a short walk.”
“Told you so.”
He opened the door for me and I brushed past him. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” he followed me into the warm building.
A slender Asian girl stepped through the split curtains just beyond the doorway, greeting us almost immediately. “Good evening. For two?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Neal replied for us.
“Would you like traditional seating, or regular seating?” She asked us, politely.
I looked at Neal for an answer.
“Regular is fine,” he answered, unzipping his winter coat.
“Right this way.” The hostess grabbed two sets of menus from behind the front desk.
We followed her into a dining area that was surprisingly large, for the narrow exterior of the building. The tables were decorated with dark burgundy tablecloths and had small chic lights in frosted blue orbs hanging over each, from the ceiling.
“This is a pretty nice place,” I said finally, as we took our seats at the corner table designated by the hostess. “I wasn’t expecting this kind of atmosphere from the way it looked on the outside.”
“Can’t judge a book by its cover.” Neal flipped open his colorful menu. “You know that.”
“So, what’s good here?” I asked him, as I perused the menu myself.
“Just about everything. They’ve got the best dynamite rolls I’ve ever had, with tobiko on top. Pretty good California rolls, too – simple, but good.”
“That’s crab, right?”
“…and cucumber, avocado and tobiko.” He replied. “They have some combination specials, if you’d like an assortment of different maki.”
My stomach growled in anticipation.
I had not eaten anything since about two o’clock, before we responded to the Motor Vehicle Accident call.
Phil had been right.
We took our breaks when we could and ended up missing our afternoon coffee break altogether.
“I think I’m going to have to try their green dragon roll.” I said, of the photo image of the shrimp, smoked salmon and tuna sushi that was wrapped in thin slices of avocado and cucumber. “It looks really good.”
“It is good. I think I’ll have the red dragon roll myself.” Neal flipped his menu over to reveal the other choices. “It’s pretty much the same thing, only spicier, with barbeque river eel.”
“River eel?” I had never been adventurous enough to try that. “I’ve never eaten river eel.”
He smiled warmly at me, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “Then it’s decided. I’ll order it and you can try some.”
“Seriously. Eel? As in river snake?”
“Pretend it’s chicken.”
“I don’t know…”
“C’mon. Live dangerously.”
He had no idea just how dangerously I lived.
“I’m a cop now. That’s dangerous enough for me.”
“Be adventurous.”
Again, he had no idea just how adventurous things got for me in the dark of night, in the company of evil men…and evil women.
“Sure.” I surrendered. “Why not?”
“That a girl.” He smiled at me over his menu.
I smiled back at him, enjoying the nearness of him, the intimacy of our small table. It was strange, really, the way my attention focused almost entirely on him, as though her were the focal point of all of my senses.
I was so distracted from reading the menu, I kept reading the words, all right, but it seemed like nothing was really sinking into my brain.
I cleared my throat and looked at my sexy date for guidance. “So, you say that their dynamite rolls are good, huh?”
“Best in the city,” he promised. “But don’t take my word for it. Tasting is believing.”
I closed my menu. “You were right about the tomato and bacon at Bernie’s, so I’ll take your word for it.”
He closed his menu with finality and set it atop mine. “Here she comes.”
It was the girl who had seated us. “Ready to order?”
“I think we are.” Neal looked to me for confirmation. I nodded. “Go ahead,” he bid me.
“I’ll have an order of tekka maki, an order of agedashi tofu, two of your dynamite rolls and the green dragon roll.”
“And to drink?” she asked.
“Green tea.” I replied. “Thank you.”
“And for you?” She turned to Neal.
I wondered if he made her feel the way
that I felt…if she was attracted to him at all. Strangely enough, I felt a small pang of jealousy. She was younger than I was, more slender and had that delicate exotic quality that was common in Asian girls as pretty as she was.
I found myself wondering whom he was more attracted to—her, or me.
They were strange—almost possessive—thoughts to be having about a guy that I had just met.
Strange thoughts indeed.
Neal handed her our menus. “I’ll have the red dragon roll, a killer bakudan roll, a Philadelphia roll, a dynamite roll and tea, please.”
“Very well.” She took the menus from Neal and gave him the slightest bow. “Thank you.”
“A killer bakudan roll?” I asked. “What’s that?”
“It’s sort of like a bakudan roll,” he replied, “But made with surf clam, covered in tempura flakes and hot sauce.”
“I can’t believe how hungry I am.” I smoothed my hands over my flat stomach. “My stomach’s been growling all evening.”
“I know,” he chuckled. “I could hear it from the other side of the bullpen. When’s the last time that you ate?”
“Around two, at Bernie’s, with you,” I confessed, feeling a little embarrassed that he had heard my stomach growling.
“You’ll learn to stash snacks in your desk or locker, just like the rest of us.” He grinned at me. “It’s like Phil said – with this job, you never know when you’ll get the next chance to eat.”
“So how long have you been on the force?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Four months now.”
“Just four months?”
“I graduated in August, no doubt right before you started at the Academy.”
So he really was a Rookie, with just a few months under his belt.
“Yet you seem so comfortable in the role. So capable.”
“Capable?” He smiled sheepishly. “Thanks. To be honest with you, there are a lot of calls that leave me wishing it was still just a drill back at the academy. It gets a little sketchy sometimes. I’m lucky to have Dawson as a Training Officer and partner. He’s reliable to the core.”
“He seems like a battle scarred cop.”
“He’s kind of stern, too. Less so around Phil.” He looked thoughtful. “If you’re new to the force, you must have been in the batch that started in September, right?”
“Right.”
I couldn’t help but stare at his mouth when he talked. He had awfully luscious looking lips, for a guy. His top lip was almost as full as the bottom. They were the kind of lips that fantasies were made of.
And he smelled so good…Like the musk of the forest on a humid summer day. His spicy scent made me long to taste him, his lips, his mouth, his flesh.
It was a very distracting series of thoughts.
“So, I have to ask…what’s it like working with Phil? How is he, as a Training Officer?”
“He’s okay.” I laughed, remembering the psychic comments.
“What’s so funny?”
How could I put it into words, without giving too much away and without painting my TO as a complete and utter flake?
“Well…” I sighed. “He’s got a really strange sense of humor, that’s all.”
“So I noticed.” Neal grinned at me. “It’s the whole I don’t trust newspapers, I read tabloids thing, right?”
“Oh, there’s more.”
“Did he lay the whole I’m psychic, everyone knows that line on you yet?”
I couldn’t help but laugh and it was so loud and sudden that it startled the couple at the table across from us.
“As a matter of fact, he did. I think he was trying to make a joke of some kind, to settle my Rookie nerves.”
Neal’s blue eyes darkened a shade. “From what I hear, it’s no joke.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. They say that he can find things, find people. That he reads auras, that sort of thing.”
“No kidding?”
All of a sudden my stomach wasn’t just feeling hungry or nervous, it became heavy with dread.
Both the police force and the feds were hunting for the Wild Animal Killer.
If there was any truth to Phil’s claim – and now Neal’s - it wouldn’t do me any good if my partner on the force could see me for what I really was with his extrasensory perception.
“No kidding.” Neal shrugged. “That’s what they say, anyway.”
“Who says this?”
“People on the force. His wife. I don’t know if there’s anything to it, but Dawson seems to believe it and he’s not a bullshitter in any way, shape, or form.” He gave me a wry smile. “Lucky you, working with the human tracking device.”
“Yeah, lucky me.”
Suddenly, I didn’t feel so lucky…
“So besides the whole psychic thing, what’s he like?”
“I think he’s a pretty good TO. He seems really patient and doesn’t mind answering all of my stupid Rookie questions.” I found myself glancing again at Neal’s lips and wondering what it would be like to kiss him… “What’s it like, working with Dawson?”
“He’s a pretty solid TO. He’s patient enough and attentive enough, though I have to admit I get a little frustrated working with him because he expects me to remember everything he’s said to me, like I should be a human recording device, or something.”
“That’s what our log books are for.”
He laughed and the sound of it made me warmer somehow. “I learned early on to make as many notes as possible when he was talking to me.”
“Do you find that you’re learning a lot from him?”
“Something new, every day.” He paused and considered what he had just said. “There’s a lot that I can learn from him, on top of what I’ve learned already.”
The waitress returned with a teapot and two small cups without handles and set them on the table before us.
“Here’s your tea,” she left us as quickly and quietly as she had returned.
“Thank you,” we said, in unison.
“So have you always lived here, in the city?” His intelligent blue eyes searched my face for the answer.
“I spent most of my life in the suburbs, which doesn’t really count. Now I live in the North end, part of the downtown area of the 64th Division, in an apartment above this bar where I used to work, called Charlie Friday’s.”
“Must be difficult to get a decent night’s sleep.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Living above a bar like that.”
I thought of the outings with the Dark Thing that I had been making every other night for the last week.
“No, not really.” I decided aloud.
“The patrons, they don’t get too noisy?”
“It’s not that rowdy of a bar,” I explained, feeling a bit pressured at having to explain my logic to him. “Plus, they shut down around two o’clock in the morning, which is when I tend to fall asleep anyway.”
“So, you have difficulty sleeping at night?” He seemed genuinely concerned.
“Sometimes,” I admitted, thinking again of the Dark Thing and how it sometimes kept me from sleeping at all.
“I have a lot of sleepless nights too.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“Well, believe it.”
“You strike me as having the boundless energy of a teenager.”
“Trust me, it isn’t boundless energy.” He proved it to me with a sudden yawn.
“So these sleepless nights…what’s the deal? A lot on your mind?”
“Not really. It’s just been that way ever since I was a kid. Doc says that it’s insomnia, plain and simple. When I was in college, I learned to make a friend out o’sleeping pills. I seem to need them now more than ever, especially with this job.”
“More than ever?” Did this handsome devil of a man have a habit of some kind?
“If I haven’t fallen asleep by midnight on a day shift, I take a sleeping pill t
o be sure that I get five or six hours o’sleep in. That sort o’thing. I don’t like ‘em. Make me groggy in the morning.”
It was a reasonable enough explanation, I supposed.
“So what brings you to the big city?” I asked, curious to know how he had gone from a town of a thousand people to a city of seven million. “Why did you become a cop?”
“Once upon a time,” he began, pouring us both a cup of the tea, “I was just a simple country boy, living out on my parents’ farm, tending to the cows, making hay in the summer, that sort o’thing. One day, a biker gang decided to set up a marijuana grow-op on a farm near my parents’.”
“Trouble, then?”
“Oh yeah, big time. Though little did we know it at the start. See, there was nothing out o’ the ordinary at first. They had bought the farm and property under a false pretense, o’course.”
“But one night,” he continued, “I woke to the sound of a helicopter flying over the house, headed for the grow-op. The area was crawling with police by daybreak. One of the men they were after had gotten away, run off into the bush somewhere. I really got to see law enforcement in action. They had the sheriff’s office, the Drug Enforcement Agency, that helicopter, the police dogs unit…the whole nine yards. The excitement of the whole thing kind of stuck with me and I went into the tenth grade wanting to become a police officer, wanting more of that excitement.”
He paused. “Am I boring you yet?” He asked, taking a sip of his tea.
“No, no,” I reassured him. I was enjoying the story and the sound of his voice. I could have listened to him talk all night long. I found that he had my undivided attention. It didn’t matter what the topic was. I just wanted to hear more… “You’re anything but boring. Carry on.”
Obliging me, he went on to say, “So yes, I wanted to become a cop, wanted to put away the poisoners and the murderers, the thieves and the rapists.”
“A noble cause.” I sniffed my fragrant tea. “Then what?”
“Well, I figured I’d be o’more use to society here in the city than back at home, where the biggest concern is keeping cattle in their fences. I was twenty-one when I finally made the move to the city. My brother was then old enough and wise enough to take on the responsibilities back home on the farm. Now, being twenty-one meant I made the age requirement, but I had no college or university credits, which is, as you know, necessary to become a candidate for the Police Academy. So I went to school right here, in the City – got my Bachelor’s in Sociology, with a minor in Criminal Psychology. Then I reapplied to the force and this time, I got in.”
Reaper III: Rookies Page 5
