So their Wednesday night bonding sessions weren’t dates, but a necessary element in this friendship they’d built.
“Clauds?” He knew in his gut she wasn’t here, but he called out again before making his way to the kitchen to scan the countertops for a note. She was as punctual as a former street person could be, but if she were going to be late for something like movie night, she would be courteous at the least. Setting the bag down, he sighed. Nothing. Dammit, Claudia. Where are you?
He stood and considered his options. Check her room first, and then…not a lot he could do. She didn’t carry a phone and didn’t follow a routine with even a passing acquaintance of repetitive, so if she wasn’t here, he didn’t have a lot of choices to predict where to find her. After ruling out her napping in either bedroom and verifying the bathroom was as empty as the rest of the space, he threw himself onto the couch with a sigh. Facing the door, he sat with boots on the floor, arms folded across his chest, and waited.
He must have dozed off at some point because the sound of a key in the lock woke him. Doug jerked back upright from an awkward and painful slump towards the arm of the couch. It had been bright outside when he sat down, and he hadn’t budged from his vigil as night fell, which meant the apartment was dark and shadowed. Light streaming through the doorway outlined Claudia and Doug found himself evaluating her critically. She’s lost weight. A lot of it, and he hadn’t noticed. Hell, the last time he remembered seeing her look like this was the night he’d rescued her the first time.
She stumbled clumsily, and he froze, because that wasn’t a trip from exhaustion; it had the tell-tale gait of someone who was inebriated, unsteady on their feet because of disorientation from something. Booze, or worse?
He didn’t want to startle her, so he let her come all the way into the apartment. When the door was closed behind her, and the chain was on the latch, from his position on the couch Doug said only her name, “Claudia.” She didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge him, but her head and shoulders dropped, an angled sloping to her posture that spoke of painful weight. “Clauds.” He stood and walked the short distance to stand in front of her. No smell of booze, which meant the something was infinitely worse. “What did you take?”
“Not my jailer, Dougie.” She was slurring badly, mouth and tongue rioting against the sounds she tried to force out. “Imma big girl.”
“I know you are.”
Claudia swayed, and he placed his palms on her shoulders, drawing her closer so she rested against his chest. She didn’t reach up, didn’t touch him except to turn her head until her cheek was flat against the fabric of his shirt.
Doug whispered, “I’m worried about you.” She made a noise, and he cast around for something she might believe. “I missed you. You weren’t here for movie night.”
“I’ll make it up to you.” She shuffled closer and Doug froze at the ice-cold sensation when her fingertips grazed the skin of his thigh. Claudia jerked, lifting one shoulder high as she pushed a hand between them. Doug grunted when her palm encountered his crotch, fingers gripping and cupping his flaccid cock. “Or, not.”
Carefully taking her wrist in his hand, he pulled her arm up so it was around his waist. “No, baby. That’s not us, Clauds.” She nodded. Circled around by his embrace, she leaned against him, long muscles in her arms and legs trembling and then she slowly straightened, pushing back. “Want to eat, or sleep it off?”
“Oblivion sounds good.” Still slurring, her motions were less coordinated than before, and he realized she was drifting down a path to unconsciousness. Doug bent and gripped her behind the knees and back, lifting a now unresponsive Claudia in his arms.
He tucked her into bed, leaving her clothing in place. After studying her sleeping form for a moment, he dragged a chair in from their kitchen. Poised on the uncomfortable wooden seat, he sat guard over her all night, her sleep deep and apparently dreamless, while he imagined all the horrors that normally plagued her. Can I blame her for looking for solace somewhere?
She must have woken while he was showering the next morning, because when he came out, ready to wake her with a cup of coffee so they could have the talk delayed from last night, she was already gone.
***
“You haven’t seen her, you’re certain?” Doug held the picture of Claudia up again, waiting until the shelter worker looked at it intently before shaking her head again. “Okay, thanks.” He knew asking her to call him if she saw Claudia was a futile exercise, but he still offered her his card. “Can you get in touch if she shows?”
The woman stared at him a moment then her expression softened, turning to pity as she nodded. “Sure thing, honey.”
He dipped his head in response and turned to head back out into the snowstorm. It had been snowing for a day and a half, and the temperatures were supposed to drop below zero later tonight. Windchill had been in the sub-zero range all day, and the frigid bite of wind on his cheeks burned as he trudged back out to his car.
Waiting for the vehicle to warm up was useless with as cold as it was, so Doug left his gloves on as he drove. Back at the apartment, he stared around the dark interior. Why would she give up this? It was warm and safe, and if she would just walk back through that fucking door, he’d feed her until she was ready to pop.
He sighed and checked her bedroom, just in case, leaving the door ajar on the empty room when he walked back to the kitchen. Standing at the sink, he rested his hands on the edge of the counter. “God, I hate feeling helpless.”
This was how he’d felt a lot of the time while undercover. At least there he’d had Joel to vent to, in those moments when they had privacy. He pulled his phone out, intending to call Joel and see how things were with him when he saw he’d missed a call from the precinct. Fuck. He’d been scheduled today but had called in sick. Again. The third day in a row, because it was the third day Claudia had been gone.
He hit redial and waited through the attendant until he got the switchboard. “Janice, it’s Doug Tatum. I missed a call.”
“Hey, Doug, yeah, let me put you through.” That couldn’t be good if she knew who had called him and why.
Silence on the line and then he recognized his captain’s voice. “Tatum. Where the fuck are you?”
“Sir, I’m out today. I called in.” He didn’t try to fake anything, didn’t offer any excuses. Sick days were supposed to be used for illness, but since vacations couldn’t be scheduled in anything less than one-week blocks, they wound up being used for unexpected absences.
“Heard you been making the rounds of the shelters.” Doug winced as the captain paused. “Again. The woman you’re looking for, she family?”
There it was, a lie he could spew, and the man would latch onto it, giving Doug enough room to do what he needed to do. Can’t do it. “No, sir. She’s a good friend. My roommate.”
“Why would you think your roommate would be in a homeless shelter?” The man sounded genuinely puzzled. “She’s got a goddamned apartment, right? Did you check the hospitals, too?”
“She was on the streets before she moved in with me. I thought she might go back to something familiar.” He had checked the hospitals. And morgues. Thankfully coming up as blank on those as he had the shelters. “I’m worried about her, sir.”
“On the streets? You’re risking your job for a fuckin’ hooker?” Doug’s spine snapped straight and he lifted his chin, assuming an unconsciously aggressive posture. “You call in sick, you better be fuckin’ sick. Don’t make me write you up.”
“She’s not a hooker, sir.” Doug’s tone was just this side of disrespectful and he struggled to keep it from crossing that line. “She’s my friend, and I’m gonna keep looking for her until I find her.”
“Tatum, don’t be a fool. Don’t fuck your life up over…someone like that. You’re on the schedule for tomorrow, and you need to have your ass in my office first thing. We’ll have a conversation about what’s appropriate when it comes to time off.” Doug opened his mouth, but
his captain filled the silence before he could. “We’ve got actual citizens who need our help. You are on duty for the councilman’s New Year's Eve party as of now. That’s as close to a demotion as you want to get, Tatum.”
“Yes, sir.” Doug swallowed the words he wanted to say, because the councilman in question was more corrupt than his captain, but he couldn’t let slip he knew either of those facts. His phone buzzed in his hand and he looked to see another call coming in. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.” Without waiting for a response, Doug disconnected and picked up the other call. “Hello?”
“Detective Tatum? This is Judy from the southside shelter. You were here earlier?” He recognized the voice; it was the woman with the kind face.
“Yes, I was. Have you seen Claudia?”
“Son,” her voice grew as soft as her expression had earlier, “you should come down. Hurry.” Judy took an unsteady breath before she continued, “She’s in a bad way.”
Making changes
Seated at his desk, Doug realized he’d been staring at the computer screen without seeing a thing. He glanced at the clock and sighed. Three hours had passed. When he’d sat down, his intent had been to concentrate on clearing his inbox before moving on to set up interviews for a burglary case that had come in overnight. But, all he could think of was the appointment he had after work tonight, picking up a cardboard box of ashes from the crematory. I’ll get her an urn. He hadn’t ordered one yet, wanted to see what the director recommended after all was said and done.
Claudia had been dead by the time he’d gotten to the shelter.
Judy told him Claudia had come in strung out and disoriented. She’d been settled into a cot, and Judy had gone to the office to call him. By the time Judy had made it back to where Claudia was lying, she was dead. Just that quick, her light had been snuffed out.
Even as he’d climbed out of a taxi, Doug had known it was too late. Knew as soon as he caught view of the ambulance at the curb in front of the shelter, lights out while it idled, driver leaning against the side as he sucked on a cigarette. They were clearly in no rush, and Doug knew it was because there was no urgency to their travel.
The next morning, as ordered, he’d been waiting outside the captain’s office when the man arrived at the precinct and Doug followed him inside, closing the door. Standing at attention, he’d stared over the man’s head and let the wash of words flow over him without leaving an impression. Nothing this man had to say would make a difference, because at some point between hanging up with him yesterday and that moment in the captain’s office, Doug had come to a decision.
If you aren’t living life the way you want to, you’re the only one who can change. It was something his grandfather had once told him in response to a teenaged outburst about the unfairness of school, probably about how the coach didn’t like him. So tiny in the overall scheme of things, Doug didn’t even remember what he’d complained about. But he’d never forgotten the strength in his grandfather’s voice as he’d given Doug the best advice he’d ever have.
The captain didn’t have any wisdom to impart, unless you wanted lessons in how to line your own pockets.
“Tatum, I asked if you found your friend.” Belatedly he realized the captain had finished yelling at him and had moved closer, catching Doug in his moment of introspection.
“Yes, sir.” I found her. Even the memory of a homeless Claudia as she’d been when he first saw her was preferable to his last glimpse, her body pale and motionless, carried away by a rattling gurney into the depths of the morgue. Or the ridiculous vision of Claudia in her apron and oversized house shoes. Anything except the slack muscles and empty shell left behind.
“She okay? You got her tucked in safe at home?” The man’s tone of voice implied what he thought of Doug and Claudia’s relationship. He leered, lifting both brows in a smirk.
Doug released a breath, feeling his chest sink, concave as he pushed it out to the end, then the stretch and burn of muscles when he pulled a huge breath back in before answering. “She’s dead.” He pushed out another breath, edges of his resolve to make a change weaving together around him, helping hold him together.
“Damn, sorry to hear that.”
He ignored the fake solicitous tone, disregarded any attempt of comfort the captain intended to convey. “Is that all, Captain?”
“It’s not like she was family.”
Gritting his teeth, Doug left the question behind the statement unaddressed, the captain’s wondering what she was to him if she wasn’t family or his woman, not believing she’d only been a friend and roommate. An anchor, that’s what Claudia had been, something he’d needed without knowing, finding out the truth only after he’d been cut adrift again. I need out of here. “Captain?”
Silence for a moment, then a gruff, “Yeah, dismissed,” sent him towards the door. He pulled it closed behind him and surveyed the bullpen for a moment. No friends among this group of men, not one he trusted to talk to about anything, much less share about someone who’d mattered like Claudia.
Every footfall a retreat, he made his way between the desks, weaving to leave broad spaces around the clusters of officers and detectives standing with cups of coffee in hand, their curious eyes tracking his progress. No allies here. It was at that moment he decided to make a change. With that choice came an overwhelming sense of relief as if a thousand pounds had fallen away.
When Doug was a kid, cops had seemed a beneficent presence, the profession unassailable. Perfect and something he had wanted for himself. But now, the day-to-day reality of being surrounded by corruption and vile attitudes was wearing at him, tearing at the ideals he’d carried for so long, and making it so every day was a slog. Not that he expected to live a life of comfort and ease. He’d been a hard worker all his life, and his ethics would never change. But he believed he could make a life he’d be proud of, even if it meant changing professions. If I’m not helping people as a cop, maybe I need to look elsewhere for that.
He pulled out his phone and dialed, holding his breath as he waited. It was early, but unless the number had been disconnected, he expected to get an answer. Because that’s the kind of person he needed right now. Someone who would pick up no matter the time, no matter if it was convenient or not. Someone to have his back, without taking even a moment to think if it was politically advantageous.
“Tatum, how the hell are you?”
“Hey. If I were thinking of making a visit to the West Coast soon, would I be welcome?”
From halfway across the continent, he heard certainty in Joel Graham’s voice. “Anytime, brother. You need me, I’m here.”
Rebel Wayfarers MC
Sometimes just knowing there was a single soul in the universe who understood was enough to get him through the day. Occasionally talking to Joel was a reminder to keep doing what resonated in his soul. As long as he did that, everything else would sort itself out.
Doug stared at the body of a woman lying in the alley behind a trendy coffee shop.
And sometimes it’s not.
After the fiasco that was his assignment in Chicago, Doug had picked up stakes and moved. Fort Wayne had been looking for seasoned detectives, and he happened to be one, so it seemed a good fit at the time. After six months in town, he was less certain of that fact.
Downtown revitalization, that’s what the political types called it. The rapid spread of new and revamped businesses combined with a growing presence of a new workforce meant pressure on established territory lines for the ones who’d owned the space before.
Hookers and pimps had to give way to loud, self-absorbed yuppies who laughed as they walked arm-in-arm up a street towards a restaurant which specialized in serving appetizers. No entrees, because a full meal was a commitment to a single something their clients wouldn’t appreciate. So they presented a menu filled with the idea of tiny bits of everything coming together to make a whole. Tapas? What the hell?
All the old hole-in-the-wall places had closed, t
heir footprints razed to make way for the new businesses, and unemployment lines were the only future their less sophisticated workers saw.
Desperation stank worse than fear, and this neighborhood reeked of it. Drug dealers who previously owned this area had been driven back to the shadows along the edges of the territory, which meant they were now butted up against yet another territory. More competition for a shrinking population. If that dealer pulled back to the next area…what you had was a contracting circle of misery, where the criminal element was helpless against the will of the wealthy.
The woman—girl really—looked to be a hooker, and where she’d come to rest was about nine blocks from where she should have been these days.
Doug glanced around and eyed the predictable crew of forensic investigators. The coroner’s minions waited next to the yellow tape separating the active crime scene from the sidewalk. He also noted something surprising because the man who served as the liaison between the PD and the city council was standing near the scene, but on this side, the wrong side of the tape, where he shouldn’t be unless invited—and since Doug was working this one and hadn’t extended an invitation, the man was out of place. He caught sight of two reporters out by the coroner’s van, also not something he expected because a hooker wasn’t something your normal folks worried about. In fact, they’d prefer to not hear news like that at all, which meant the journalist presence was unexpected. Marking it down as something to do with the everchanging political climate, Doug returned to staring at the body.
She’d been pretty, if you could see past the caked-on mask created out of makeup. Pretty and young, something that couldn’t be missed. Tiny breasts, tiny body, tiny face…everything leaned towards her being a young runaway turned to flesh trade to keep food in her belly. Probably underage. Such a waste.
Doug tensed at the sound of footsteps behind him. He turned, expecting to find one of the forensic techs, surprised to see his captain instead. “Sir.”
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