by Brian Parker
“Wow. I’ve never heard it explained like that.”
“It’s shitty, but it is what it is. We simply don’t have the resources to go after everyone, and like it or not, this guy is cleaning up the streets of Easytown.”
“So you condone what he does?” she asked.
“No. No I don’t. We have two homicide detectives and two deputy detectives who can assist on cases, but are not authorized to operate independently and unsupervised like a detective is. It’s a capacity issue. If I could bust the guy, I would. He’s damn good at making himself scarce when he doesn’t want to be found.”
“You found him a couple of months ago,” she persisted.
“He found me. Why are you suddenly so interested in this guy?”
“Hmm? Oh, no reason,” she said. I could tell she was lying, even though she was very good at it. It made me pay closer attention to what she said. “I’m just trying to learn all I can about being a cop before I go to the academy.”
I laughed. “Don’t try to emulate me. They want everything by the book at the academy. There may be a million ways to skin a cat, but by God, you’ll use the way they teach you while you’re there or they’ll fail you.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“That was free,” I said, picking up my glass of bourbon. “The next one will cost you.”
She picked up her own glass of prosecco and tilted it in my direction, answering my small gesture before taking a sip. She looked left and then right before leaning in to whisper, “What will it cost me?”
“I, ah… Well, that backfired on me,” I confessed.
She laughed heartily, obviously amused at my dismay, and took another sip from her champagne flute. Her tongue darted out to lick a drop of the sparkling wine off her red lips and I noticed how perfectly her low-cut dress matched the shade of her lipstick. Katheryn was obviously a woman who paid attention to details.
She leaned back, smiling deviously. “Detective, we’re supposed to keep it professional, remember?”
“Touché,” I replied, taking another long pull from my drink. Before I realized it, our glasses were empty, and we’d ordered another round.
“So tell me about you, Zach. What makes you tick?”
“There’s not much to tell,” I said, warming to the moment. I had a good drink, good company, and I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, so the alcohol was moving quickly through my system. “My parents died when I was seventeen—No, it’s okay,” I said, waiving off her sympathetic look. “It’s been a long time.
“Since I was a minor, the city tried to put me in foster care. I sued the city to become an emancipated minor and won. By the time the judge ruled in my favor, I’d already spent six months in a foster home and was only two months away from turning eighteen anyways. It was the principle of the thing at that point, you know?”
“Sure.”
“Then I went to college at Loyola here in town on a baseball scholarship, got my degree in criminal justice and became a cop. A few years of stumbling around Easytown as a beat cop and I was ready to quit. Decided to study up and take the exams to become a detective and the rest is history.”
“That’s fascinating,” Katheryn replied. Another lie. “But what I mean is, why do you do what you do? Why are you a cop?”
“Why do you keep telling me those little white lies?” I asked.
A moment of panic flashed across her face, then she composed herself. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You did it a few moments ago when we were talking about the Paladin,” I said, affecting a lopsided grin to try and soften my delivery. “You said you didn’t have a reason for asking about him, but you do. Same way with just now, you asked about my past and then when I told you, you lied about being interested in it. What gives?”
“I don’t know how to answer those allegations, Detective. I’m not lying to you. I do need to go to the restroom though, so please excuse me.”
I pushed my chair back away from the table and stood with her, wincing slightly at the pain in my calf. She placed her napkin on the table and slunk away. The dress she wore left absolutely nothing to the imagination, clinging tightly to her athletic frame. Interestingly, she had matching tattoos on the back of her thighs. Each was of a bow made of red ribbon and I wondered about my dining partner’s past. Typically those kind of tattoos were for girls who wanted to show the world that beneath their cool and collected surface, they were ready for anything in their heart. Was that a permanent reminder of a rebellious youth or was she still wild at heart?
I continued to sip my drink and by the time she returned, my glass was empty. “Looks like I need to catch up,” she murmured, sitting lightly in her chair.
“Don’t feel obliged to go dink-for-drink,” I said. “I have a very high tolerance for alcohol.”
“Don’t worry about me, Zach. I can hold my own.” She downed her prosecco and raised a small, dainty hand to call the droid over for another round.
I watched her movements with interest. I was telling the truth about a high tolerance, but it only took a couple of drinks to help me relax from the stress of all the shit going on in my life. That second drink helped me realize just how beautiful Katheryn really was. The chin-length bob haircut, while normally not my preference, fit her perfectly and brought to mind a woman with a youthful exuberance for life, which matched her upbeat personality.
I could see myself becoming good friends with her. Then, a dark thought surfaced that she was just a replacement for the camaraderie I’d lost with Teagan’s betrayal. I crushed the negative feeling and simply tried to enjoy living in the moment.
“Katheryn, I want you to answer me honestly.”
“Okay,” she replied guardedly.
“I’m gonna turn the tables on you. You’ve been asking all the questions until now. So, what’s your story? A week ago, I didn’t know you existed—not counting when I met you at the investigation years ago,” I amended. “Now, this is the second night in a row that you showed up at my apartment, which is a minor feat just by itself since very few people know where I live, and it looks like we’re well on the way to being drunk together again. When you met me Friday, I had a live-in girlfriend, my health was better than it had been in years, and I was, in my mind, beginning to finally settle down. By the end of the day, all of that was gone. Is it truly coincidental timing or did you arrange it to meet me somehow?”
Again, I saw a quick flash of alarm in her eyes before she hid it. “Okay, Zach. You got me. I already told you that I followed your career and that I wanted to be a cop.” She leaned back from the table and took another sip of her wine. The added distance made it that much harder to see in the dim restaurant lighting. “And, yes, I did arrange to be the tech who managed your evidence. I told all my coworkers that if you came in, they had to come get me.”
She leaned forward and laughed. “God, that makes me sound like a stalker, doesn’t it?” I shrugged, but didn’t say anything, choosing to let her continue on her own.
“But I had no idea that your girlfriend was leaving, that was simply good timing on my part—I mean… Not that I’m trying to swoop in and take her place or something.” The color rose in her cheeks. “I just mean that you probably wouldn’t be out to dinner with me now and I likely wouldn’t have stayed for dinner with Amir and Amanda last night if your girlfriend was there.”
As far as I could tell, everything she said was true. “Okay, I can see that. Truth be told, I usually get along with women easier than men.” I smirked again. “I suck when things move beyond friendship, but at least I don’t feel like I’m constantly competing against women.”
“Is that because you think males are at the top of the food chain and a woman can’t do the same things as a man?”
I laughed, taking a pull from my drink. “Not at all. Women are simply easier for me to get along with; I don’t know why.”
She inclined her chin. “Alright. What’s next?”
“You say you want to become a cop and possibly a detective one day after you save up enough money to supplement the abysmal wages they pay cadets… Why?”
“I don’t know. Probably the same reasons as everyone else. I believe that the average person deserves to go about their lives without being bothered by society’s less desirables. Unfortunately, those kinds of people are everywhere, so somebody’s got to stop them.”
“So, you’re a do-gooder at heart,” I teased.
“Something like that, yeah,” she replied, grabbing my hand. “Zach, I like you.”
“Okay,” I replied, leaving my hand uncomfortably where it was. “But we already know that we can’t move forward with anything like that.”
“I know. You’re not willing to risk violating the department’s regulations.”
“And you’d do well to do the same,” I said. “You may be a contractor now, but don’t think everything you do isn’t being catalogued and saved for future examination. Keep your nose clean and you’ll get into the academy.”
She squeezed my fingers together and muttered, “Why are you making this so hard on me?”
“Hmm?” I asked. “What am I doing?”
“Nothing, Zach. I just want you to know that I genuinely care for you. No matter what happens.”
“Maybe it’s the alcohol,” I grinned, “but I really don’t know what you mean.”
“Nothing. I said something that I shouldn’t have.”
I wanted to ask her about what she said, but to be honest, I was feeling good enough that I probably wouldn’t remember her answers.
We ate dinner and had a few more drinks. By the time we were ready to go, it was nearing midnight and my teeth were numb. I was feeling good and ignored the stares of the restaurant staff as Katheryn and I may or may not have kissed several times across the table.
We walked to the Jeep, hand-in-hand. There were a few minutes of hot, clothed rubbing against one another, alongside the car. Finally, we separated and I took a step back.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed.
“Don’t be. I want this too.”
Every fiber in my body wanted to scream in protest to what my mind imposed. “It can’t happen,” I finally managed to say.
“Why?” she whispered huskily. “We’re both consenting adults.”
“It’s against the department’s regulations,” I replied. “I want to take this further, but you’re a contracted employee. I can’t.”
She turned, stepping until she faced away from me, and accidentally dropped her clutch purse. “Oops,” she said.
Her dress lifted high along the back of her thighs as she bent at the waist to collect her clutch. The curve of her ass was no longer a promise of what might be as it was exposed and both of her bow tattoos stood out starkly in the streetlights. I knew it wouldn’t take but a word and she’d come back to my apartment.
I wanted to bring her back. Wanted to feel good for the night. Wanted to forget Teagan. But most of all, I just wanted to move on.
I also wanted a job.
“Here,” I said. “Let me help you up.” I offered her my hand and when she straightened, I led her around to the passenger side door.
“Don’t you want to go in back?” she asked, glancing longingly at the back seat.
“No,” I replied. “We can’t take that step. I love being a cop, I don’t think my career could handle another violation of the city’s regulations.”
“No one would ever know,” she whispered.
“I would know, Katheryn,” I replied. Damn my sensibilities.
I opened the door for her, let her into the Jeep, and then walked around to the other side to get in.
By the time I got in, there was a line of tears down her cheek. Jesus, this is getting annoying, I thought. Out loud, I said, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just feel like I’m throwing myself at you and you keep sidestepping me. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s something about me that makes you not want to be with me.”
“Katheryn, it’s not you. Well, I mean, it is you, but it’s because of your job, not who you are. You seem to be a great person, but we can’t get involved romantically because of NOPD regulations. We’ve gone over this.”
“I know… I just thought that maybe tonight would be different.”
“It won’t be. And we never will be as long as you’re a contractor. It is what it is.”
“But you had sex with—I mean the rumor is that you had sex with a droid and didn’t get fired. You’ve violated the rules before and nobody got hurt. I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“I didn’t know she was a droid. Dammit!” I slapped the steering wheel, causing my passenger to jump. “I don’t think I can continue to see you, even in a social way, if you can’t come to grips that we will never be together until you are either a cop or a private citizen.”
“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered.
“Do what?” I asked in confusion.
“Stop recording,” she said.
“I’m not recording anything,” I said, confused.
“I was talking to my phone,” Katheryn replied.
My eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?
“I can’t do this, Zach,” she repeated. “You are a legitimately good man. I’ve tried every trick I know.”
“Do what, Katheryn?” I asked, more forcefully this time.
She opened the car door and stepped back out, walking toward the restaurant.
“Mother—” I stopped myself; no sense in getting upset if I didn’t even know what was going on.
I met her under the lights of the Pharaoh’s entryway. There were few people outside, most having already gone inside or left as the evening grew late. “What’s this all about?” I asked. “Why were you recording our conversation?”
Katheryn dug into her purse, bringing out a tissue to wipe her eyes. Then, she reached inside once more and brought out a small leather wallet, which she flipped open. A familiar star and crescent badge, gold like mine, rested inside the wallet.
“What the fuck?” I hissed. “You’re a cop?”
She slipped the badge into her purse and continued wiping her eyes. “I’m Internal Affairs, Zach. I’m assigned to your case to get dirt on you, possibly even coerce you into breaking more department regulations.”
“Mother fucker!” I shouted, not caring who heard, or if I caused a scene. My anger was palpable. I could feel it growing inside me. I needed to get away from here before I did something stupid, which would only validate IA’s reasoning for assigning an undercover detective against me.
I turned on my heel, storming down the sidewalk toward—hell, I don’t know where I was headed, but it was sure as fuck away from that lying bitch.
“Zach, please!” she called after me. “They want you gone. You need to watch your back.”
By the time I realized where I was, my leg throbbed from overuse. I’d walked several miles toward the heart of New Orleans, through good neighborhoods and bad. Besides Easytown, which was almost entirely shitty, the neighborhoods in New Orleans were strange. Most big cities had warning signs and indicators to tourists that they were gradually moving into the bad part of town. Not here in the Big Easy. Levels of safety varied street-by-street. Dangerous, run-down areas were immediately beside expensive, updated homes. Even the city itself was as fucked up as the people living here.
I continued walking, but had the distinct feeling that I was being watched—by more than the street cameras. The neighborhood I’d wandered into was unfamiliar to me. It looked a lot like the residential areas of Easytown with run-down shacks and people sitting on their porches, simply existing instead of working or socializing. I hadn’t seen a cop in probably twenty minutes, and the last drone I’d seen was four or five blocks behind me.
“Andi, send the Jeep to my location.”
“You got it. Expect arrival in six minutes.”
The feeling that I was walking into something bad intensifi
ed. Standing in one place invited its own set of problems, so it was best to keep moving.
Shadows darted between homes on my right; whether they were human or animal, I couldn’t tell. “Andi, I need drone support to my location.”
“Denied. Dispatch says you are not acting in an official capacity, therefore a drone will not be sent to you.”
“ETA on the Jeep?”
“Three minutes.”
Several people emerged from the narrow alleyway between two dilapidated homes that may have been built pre-century and then left to rot. I stopped and put my hand on the grip of my service pistol in its shoulder holster. This wasn’t going to be easy.
“The Jeep needs to come in hot, separating me and the group of people to my front.”
“Understood. I’m already integrated with the car’s A/V system to assist control. Two minutes—you will receive a traffic violation in two-to-three days; we just sped through a red light.”
“Fine.”
“You’re out of place here, man,” a voice called from the group of people to my front.
“Just out for a walk,” I replied.
“Well you done walked into the wrong neighborhood, ginger root,” a different person said.
I grimaced at the racist term the group used. It was made popular by a song a few months ago and only the worst kind of people used it. At least I knew what I was dealing with.
“We don’t need any trouble,” I stated.
“Too late for that.” I couldn’t tell which one of them spoke this time.
“I’m a cop.” Better to get that out there so they know I’m armed.
One of the men stepped forward, holding his penis as he walked. “You ain’t got no backup and there ain’t no drones up. Looks like you’re alone, piggy.”
Ahh, the traditional insults. Gotta love ’em.
“One minute,” Andi’s voice drifted over my earpiece.
