The Heat of Angels

by Lisa Girolami

  Chris kept talking about problems and handling things, but it sounded like she was almost talking to herself. Sarah studied her as she rambled on. A drunk person’s face hung on their skull in a certain way, as if the stitching in their muscles had just begun to fray and come apart. She’d seen it so many times before and hated it even more now.

  “And I know who you are,” Chris said. “I see who you are and—”

  “That’s the thing, Chris.” Sarah’s calm had imploded. “You don’t see who I am. I don’t think anyone can, really.” Something deep and disturbing was surfacing, and she raised her voice because she couldn’t stop the words from exploding out of the recesses of her mind.

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re saying that you know who I am, but Chris, no one does. And that’s because I don’t know who the fuck I am. All I do know is that I’m a faceless person whose only definitive belief is that what I can’t quite remember is the thing I can’t forget.” She stopped talking and gritted her teeth until it hurt. This was no time to get into a conversation about her life. It wasn’t the focus of the issue of Chris’s drinking. “We can talk about this later, Chris.”

  “I think I’m getting the blow-off now.” Chris’s head swayed as she frowned. “Do you know how hard it is to toe the line?”

  “I know how easy it is to pour a drink and pretend to forget. I watched my parents do that my whole life.”

  Chris held up two fingers as if pinching something that was an inch thick. “I have to live in this much space. All the time. You step out of it and you’re fucked. If I make a mistake during an arrest, or send Abel to bite when I shouldn’t, or even forget to Mirandize someone, I’m up shit creek. I can’t screw up. Because if I do, I’m no better than the bad guys. Don’t you see? There’s no room for errors.”

  “I think those are your father’s words, not yours.”

  Chris blinked as if Sarah had just sprayed her with water. “There’s no other way to be.”

  “Yes, there is, Chris. There’s the spirit of the law instead of the letter of the law. It’s discretionary decision making. You can say fuck it to following strict convention and draw your own lines.”

  “I wouldn’t have the career I have and the stability I have if it wasn’t for living within the lines.”

  “At what price?”

  “What price?! I’m not homeless, I have a roof over my head, and I have a pension for retirement. There’s always a price for being responsible. I don’t come from wealthy parents, Sarah. I need to work.”

  “I understand that, but there’s a lot of space between right and wrong.”

  “That’s a whole lot of bullshit.”

  Sarah ignored her snipe. “There’s more to life than the extremes, Chris. You can’t just cram everyone and everything into either all good or all bad. Including yourself. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “It does in my job. There’s no room for a mushy, vague middle ground. A criminal might be an okay person most of the time, but if he commits a crime, there’s no gray area to muck around in. He gets arrested. That’s my job.”

  “I’m not talking about your job. I’m talking about us.”

  “Am I supposed to change who I am when I’m off the clock? I was raised to live a certain way, and it can’t just stop when I park my squad car.”

  “You’re not understanding me, Chris.”

  “What am I not understanding?”

  “If things go exactly by your rules, you’re great. But if they don’t, you’re a bad person who grabs a bottle and punishes herself. It’s like your job puts you in the impossible position of having to be perfect. And if you step just a little out of line, you’re a piece of shit.”

  “That’s the way it’s always been.”

  “That’s no excuse, Chris.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. I have to work. And I risk my life for my paycheck. What do you do, walk to the mailbox?”

  Even through her well-oiled brain, Chris obviously knew what she’d said had hurt Sarah. And it had. Terribly.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah—”

  “Just stop.” The one woman who she thought would never use such sharp words had stabbed Sarah’s heart. She held up her hand as if she could shield herself from any more. “You’ve had enough to drink and you’ve said enough.”

  A taxi pulled up and flashed its lights.

  “There’s your ride.” Sarah didn’t trust her voice to long sentences. Hot tears were building quickly.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah. I really am.”

  “Go home, Chris.”

  “Please let me stay.”

  “Go. Now.” She turned and went back into the house. Chris was still talking as she closed the door and locked it. She needed to get to her room before she broke down but only made it to the hallway, where she slid to the carpet and crumpled into a ball of despair.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chris had two hours left in her shift when she got a call to assist two of her partners at a bar in Hollywood. They were arresting a female for a warrant and needed Chris to search her.

  It had been a crap-filled day. Call after call was filled with stupid people dealing drugs and beating their spouses. She’d had it with the dregs of society. The hot sun that afternoon had done nothing but poke her repeatedly, like the schoolyard brat that you weren’t allowed to smack. The nausea from drinking the night before, too many cups of acidic coffee, and no lunch had disintegrated whatever stomach lining she had left, and her guts surged every time she turned a corner.

  She’d been a complete ass to Sarah. Why had she gone over there anyway? She’d clearly been too drunk to drive, and stupidly, she had anyway. That was a huge fuck-up on her part. She’d never gotten into a car during one of her “events.” She was angry with herself for being so reckless and irresponsible.

  But she was completely disgusted by what she’d said to Sarah. She’d basically called her a jobless nobody. She winced at the memory of Sarah’s face and suddenly felt like she was going to puke again.

  How could she have been so cruel? Her own problems were so stuck up her ass that she had to lash out at a woman she was…what? Falling in love with?

  She stopped at a light and glared at the crossing traffic ambling by so carefree and happy. A dark, broiling cloud of a notion to pull those people over just to ruin their day made her even more appalled at herself.

  Was she really falling in love? She’d let her guard down with Jen, and that had led to a lot of pain. She remembered a conversation she’d had with Paige. It had been about her ex.

  “Jen used to rub my back when I came home. I miss that.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “No. I just miss the caretaking. Our relationship never really went anywhere, you know? And there was a reason I never asked her to move in. It just didn’t feel right. Except for the back rubs.”

  She’d supported Jen financially and then got stomped on. Was she afraid she’d end up taking care of Sarah as well?

  That was such an idiotic notion. Hell, Sarah came from money and didn’t need her for anything like that.

  So what the hell had made her say those things to her?

  Chris rolled up to the bar where Billings and Davidson were standing outside with a short, rather large Hispanic woman.

  “What’s up?” she said when Billings stepped over to her.

  “Ran her. She’s got a warrant and I think she’s holding.”

  “Meth?”

  “What else? We cuffed her but wanted you to search her.”

  Chris walked back to where Davidson was watching the woman and noticed she was standing right at the bar entrance. A few men were on the other side of the doorway, a little too close for safety, so she said, “Step over here so we can talk.”

  The woman became tense and scrunched her face up. She was drunk, and it was obvious that alcohol brought out the belligerence in her. She took a few steps away, but not enough for Chris’s liking. She motioned
to Billings and Davidson to stand in front of the door and turned back to the woman. “What’s your name?”

  “Madonna.” Spittle came out of her mouth.

  Nice. “What’s your name?”

  “Lady Gaga.”

  With the last scrap of politeness she could muster, she said, “Okay. I’m going to search you and then we can talk some more.”

  Chris reached for her cuffed hands to secure her, and as soon as she did, the woman tried to jerk away. One foot came back and kicked Chris in the shin. Chris grabbed her hair and forced her to the ground. As they hit the pavement, Chris felt a sharp pain across her kneecap and quickly rolled her body around so she had her full weight on the suspect.

  The woman kept struggling, so Chris wrenched the woman’s arms backward and up into a very unnatural position, which would hurt enough to get her attention.

  “Stop resisting,” Chris yelled. Finally she complied and Chris pushed herself off the woman. She picked her up and took her to the car, while Billings and Davidson dissuaded the crowd at the door from joining them outside.

  “Do you have anything illegal on you?”

  “Bitch, no.”

  Chris patted her down, and the typical aroma of sweat and too much perfume stung her nose. She didn’t find anything in her pants pockets.

  There was, however, a slight bulge in her front shirt pocket, so Chris reached in and pulled out a small piece of wrapped plastic that contained about a half gram of meth.

  “I’m going to ask you again. Do you have anything illegal on you?”

  “Fuck you, you cunt.”

  Chris actually heard her brain snap. It was a split-second noise, like a fresh carrot being broken in half.

  “Fuck me?” Chris screamed. “No, fuck you, you bitch! You fight with me and cause me to rip my pants, and then you call me a cunt?”

  Davidson looked at her and hastily shook his head.

  The woman started to tell her to fuck off, and Chris thwacked her on the forehead with her fingertips. “Shut up.”

  She spun the woman around and rifled through her remaining pockets, finding a few condoms, which she immediately dropped on the ground, and two more small baggies of meth.

  When Chris was satisfied that she had nothing else hidden on her, she took her arm and led her over to Billings and Davidson.

  She handed them the contraband and said, “This little princess is all yours.”

  Billings dropped his chin and looked at her through his eyebrows. “You good?”

  “Yeah. Just peachy.”

  *

  Chris drove away and found a church parking lot that was as empty as a golf course on Mother’s Day. She didn’t want anyone to bother her while she got herself together.

  It was stupid to go off on that woman. How many drunks and drug dealers did she deal with nightly? How often had she been called the C-word or been told to fuck off? Probably as regularly as a convenience-store clerk rings up a six-pack of beer. It was a standard transaction for her, but she’d let that woman get under her skin.

  You idiot, she said to herself, and hit her steering wheel.

  Abel whined from the back of the car.

  You’re losing it and you need to get your shit together.

  She looked at her phone. No messages from Sarah. She hadn’t called either, because she’d been ashamed, and nothing about the crap-hole day had allowed her a moment of respite to think of something halfway decent to say to her.

  She put her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Just calm down for a second. Think about how you feel about her.

  Flashes of her words to Sarah and even that meth-toting woman poked at her, provoking her relentlessly, like bratty kids taunting a feeble babysitter.

  Fuck me? No, fuck you!

  Easy for you to say. I risk my life for my paycheck. What do you do, walk to the mailbox?

  And you call me a cunt?

  She was too pissed at herself to clear her head.

  “Aagghhh,” she yelled and threw the car door open. Abel barked, ready to jump into whatever confrontation had his alpha so agitated.

  She paced the parking lot, breathing in deeply and expelling the air like a Spanish bull facing a smug matador. Her heart pounded and her jaw cramped from clenching her teeth. She was angry, looking for something, anything, to lash out at. She picked up a stick and hurled it toward a row of trees.

  Nothing was going right. She wished she could just log out of her computer, take Abel home, and crawl into bed. She found a number of other sticks and larger branches and sent them toward the trees as well.

  After some time, her feet grew heavy and she slowed her pace, as if something had gouged her fuel tank and she was rapidly running out of gas. She stopped and felt her body swaying, vulnerable to anything stronger than a gust of wind. She dropped to a squat and covered her head with her arms.

  “Today went south because of the way you acted last night,” Chris muttered. “Sarah’s right about your Achilles’s heel. Every time you go on a binge, you aim an arrow right at the back of your ankle and shoot to maim.”

  She looked up at the sky. It was dark, but she could no longer see a trace of soot or ashes from the recent blazes. Like the current fire season in Los Angeles, things had flared up between them, but now they needed to get back to normal.

  “You love her,” she said as she stood slowly. “You fucked up and you need to make it right.”

  She sat back down in the car, feeling alone and miserable. Abel had quieted down, leaving just the chatter over the police radio reverberating around the squad car. There was a lot of activity that afternoon, more than usual. She could tune a lot of it out because cops trained their ears to pick up the transmission intended for them. She supposed it was a lot like a mother who could pick out her children’s voices in a playground full of kids. The crackly dialogues from license-plate runs to robberies and assaults and suspect descriptions were just buzzes and hums until she was called. Then, every detail was recorded in her memory way before she was able to jot it down on a pad of paper.

  Sure enough, her ears suddenly tuned in to the varied exchanges.

  “Frank K9, Frank one-fifty-six.”

  Her shift lieutenant was calling out her designator.

  “Frank K9, go ahead.”

  “I need you to hold over for six hours.”

  The K9 handler for the next shift must have called in sick. She needed to see Sarah and now she couldn’t. At least not right away. This was going to be a long, tedious night.

  “Copy that, sir.

  “Fuck.” She glanced down to make sure she was off the air.

  On the heels of that transmission, a burglary call came in, and within a few minutes, the responding officers called her to assist them in a search. As she headed toward the address, she called Sarah. If she could at least start a conversation over the phone, maybe it would ease things until she could see her.

  Sarah’s voice mail picked up, but Chris hung up before leaving an answer. She wasn’t really ready to leave a message. Then again, she didn’t even know exactly what she wanted to say if Sarah answered. All she knew was that if she heard her voice, she’d find the courage to talk.

  Chris pulled up to an adult clothing store on La Cienega. The responding officers told her they believed the suspect was still inside. The front window was smashed and the alarm still screamed its distress.

  She got Abel out, hooked up his leash, and took him to the broken front window. Abel barked a few times, ready for work.

  A few lights were on inside the store, and Chris could see displays of clothing, mostly lingerie, on mannequins and on circular racks. Areas of the store had been ransacked, and a pile of clothing and other items lay in the middle of the store. Close by, someone had toppled a mannequin over.

  A mass of small, shiny pebbles lying on the ground just inside the store told her the window was made of safety glass, which was good. With her nightstick, she cleared the remaining glass away fr
om the bottom sill to minimize the chance of Abel sustaining foot cuts.

  Abel was straining on his leash, barking hysterically when she made her announcement.

  “Los Angeles Police K9. Come out with your hands up, or I’ll send my dog in and he will bite you.”

  Nobody moved inside.

  She repeated her announcement, louder this time, to be heard over the alarm.

  “Los Angeles Police K9. If you’re hiding in there, you’re gonna get bit.”

  Abel jumped and pulled at the leash, barking constantly now.

  With no response, Chris unhooked Abel and he dove through the window. Chris hurriedly jumped in right behind him.

  Abel went right for a downed mannequin that lay on the floor. Dogs weren’t perfect and sometimes the frenzy of the moment would make them bypass their sense of smell and go after anything that looked human.

  Chris began to call Abel off when the mannequin started to scream.

  In the few seconds it took for the two officers to cuff the man and for her to command Abel to release his bite, she could tell that the suspect had taken off his clothes and put on a short skirt and halter top. He obviously thought it would be a good plan to lie down on the ground and pretend to be a mannequin that had fallen over.

  Chris spared the man the same laughter that the other officers now showered upon him, but it was a pretty funny sight.

  Back in her car, she made notes that would be part of the bite report required of each incident. Every sentence or two, she stopped, feeling as if a vacuum whose label read REMORSE, THE BEST BRAND IN GUILT SUCKING HAD DRAWN OUT HER ENERGY.

  She’d hurt Sarah and needed so desperately to see her. Her drunkenness and callousness had screwed everything up. Their relationship had been so exciting and enjoyable, flowing as gently as a slow river in summer. Now, she was standing alone in the middle of a torrent of white water. She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, try to swim away from the strong current of regret that crashed unforgivingly against her. She would withstand anything, especially in penance of her own dreadful mistakes, if it would help fix things with Sarah.