Holding Out for a Fairy Tale

by A. J. Thomas

  Either way, fantasizing about it here and now was not a good idea.

  “I know I’ve seen you before.” The woman beside him was staring at him. There hadn’t been time for introductions since most of the fighters were already sparring when they arrived, and there was nothing flirtatious in her expression. “Do you compete?”

  Ray looked at the woman carefully, trying to place her face. She was pretty and short, with silky dark hair pulled back in a tight braid. Her face was makeup free, but she was flushed from the sparring matches, giving her cheeks a soft glow. She was also so muscular, she qualified as butch. In her midthirties, she had muscle definition not only around her arms and shoulders but around her abs as well. Ray hadn’t met many women who could pull that off. Impressive as it was in terms of fitness, it had never been something that turned Ray on. He ran through as many memories of all the brunette lovers as he could call to mind, just in case. The last thing women he’d slept with liked to hear was How nice to meet you. Ray shook his head fast. “No. No, I don’t do any of this. You look kind of familiar to me, too, though.”

  “How do you know Belkamp? He hasn’t been assigned here long enough to meet many people outside of work and the club.”

  “Work,” said Ray, and then immediately regretted it. A friend would call him Elliot, not Belkamp, so this woman was probably a colleague. Ray must have run into her professionally, too.

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Bullshit. You don’t work with him.”

  “I’ve run into him on the job. I’m with the San Diego Police Department.”

  On the mat, Elliot grunted. “He’s the detective who kicked Hathaway’s ass….”

  The woman’s eyes widened and a huge smile lit her face. “You’re Captain Jenkins’ poster boy?”

  “Poster boy?” Ray was too exhausted to figure out what his captain, who was still furious with him over his less than professional rant about the intelligence, civility, and decorum of Special Agent Hathaway, had to do with anything.

  “You’re the officer who handed Hathaway’s ass to him in front of the downtown district office with fifty other officers watching? You’re Raymond Delgado?”

  “I am Ray Delgado, yes. I don’t think we had that big of an audience, though.”

  “The same Raymond Delgado with a seventy-one percent resolution rate for your cases?”

  Ray leaned back, confused. “Seventy-three. And are they publishing this shit now? That’s supposed to be internal data.”

  The woman grinned. “Everybody talks about it. You’re Captain Jenkins’ golden boy, the one who can get away with anything because they can’t afford to lose you.”

  “You make that sound so dirty.” Ray shifted nervously, panicking about just how much this woman might know about him. “And I can’t get away with anything. I was suspended for two weeks over that little spat with Special Agent Hathaway.”

  “When anyone else would have faced felony charges. Shit, I’m glad he didn’t show up tonight.”

  “Hathaway?” Ray smirked. He was tired, but he could still deal with an idiotic twit like Hathaway. “He trains here? I’m tired, but that could be fun.”

  “Don’t you dare! Don’t you even think about it!” The woman’s smile was fixed in place, but her eyes were hard and serious.

  “It’s all just sparring, isn’t it? It’s not like either of us would actually hurt each other. Much.”

  “I’m still dealing with paperwork from the last time. Hathaway might not be able to kick your ass, but I assure you detective, I can. If I have to do another disciplinary report because of you, I will. I’m Penelope St. Claire. Special Agent in Charge, Penelope St. Claire.”

  Ray took a deep breath and shifted away from the woman, his memory sufficiently jogged that he was ready to bolt. “You’re Hathaway’s boss.”

  “I was on the phone with Captain Jenkins for part of your debriefing.”

  “I am so sorry, I was….” He sighed and shook his head. “You know, I’m too tired to make up an excuse. I’m not sorry. Not for what happened with Hathaway or for my choice of words in the captain’s office. I stand by what I said.”

  “What was it you said?” She giggled. The feminine sound seemed so very out of place it struck Ray as odd. “You said he was ‘an imbecilic dick who was abusing a position of power for…’. You know, I don’t remember the rest.”

  “I said he was a sadistic, imbecilic dick who thinks abusing a position of power is the equivalent of exercising control over a situation. I might have said something about him being too caught up in his own power trip to practice basic mindfulness or be aware of his situation and surroundings, and that even a patrol officer is professional enough to engage in a dialogue to sort out situations rather than making stupid assumptions.”

  “You called him a gorilla.”

  “I did not. I said a gorilla in a suit could behave with more professionalism. I’ve hung out at the zoo, and gorillas are awesome, so I refuse to retract a statement that is fundamentally true. I don’t know how he passed whatever mental health evaluation the FBI requires, but whatever doctor cleared him for federal law enforcement should lose his license. The guy’s the type who gets a kick out of hurting people.”

  “Hathaway might not be the most tactful agent when he’s angry, but that’s kind of extreme. I heard you were an asshole, too.”

  “I’ve never claimed to be anything but what I am. I form opinions of people based on first impressions, and I don’t change them without a logical reason. His behavior confirmed my first impression of him. I don’t tolerate incompetence in my coworkers, and I don’t appreciate it in others.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard you’re pleasant to work with. So what is your first impression of me?”

  Ray huffed. This could get him into a lot of trouble, but lying to this woman wasn’t the way to go. Lying and being tactful weren’t quite the same thing, though. “You’re intelligent, dedicated, tactful, and an efficient supervisor. You’re a mother, married but not inclined to put sentimentality above practicality, which I respect and admire. And you’re scary.”

  “How’d you figure?” she laughed.

  “Intelligent…. You recalled my approximate success rate from memory after two weeks. Dedicated…. Look at you,” Ray gestured to her body. “I have no idea how many hours of training it takes to look like you. I bet it’s a lot. Tactful is obvious, since you didn’t press charges against me. Thank you for that, by the way.”

  She smiled sweetly.

  “And you defused the thing with Hathaway, so you’ve got to be a hell of a boss.”

  “And my family?”

  Ray leaned close. “Stretch marks,” he whispered. “They’re a pretty specific scar pattern. I noticed them when your tank top rose up during your last match. And you’ve got a tan-line from your wedding ring. You wear it, but not when it would get caught on things, like now.”

  “And how am I scary?”

  Ray looked at her as if she were insane. “Seriously? Combine all of that into a woman with no reason whatsoever to like me and give her power over my career. The entire equation adds up to scary.”

  “All right, I get it now.”

  “Get what?”

  “Why the SDPD puts up with an officer with your reputation, which Captain Jenkins assured me, is entirely deserved. You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.”

  Ray relaxed and smiled. This he could handle. “He is prone to exaggeration. I have decent observational skills, and I don’t have the most appropriate sense of humor, but I’m not a bad guy.”

  “Your captain said I should ask the bomb squad volunteers what they think of you.”

  “Don’t believe a word they say about me. The bomb squad guys overreact to everything.” Ray leaned back and chuckled to himself, remembering the paint bomb that had splattered most of the bomb squad’s tactical gear with permanent neon green paint. None of them had succeeded in getting the paint out yet. “I swear I’ve only blown up one or two things, bu
t they’re always on my case about it.”

  “One or two things?”

  “I don’t count the dry-ice bombs,” Ray explained. “Those really just make a lot of noise, but nothing actually explodes. Unless you drop a piece of dry ice into a gallon of neon green paint. Then paint explodes, so I guess that one has to count. Two or three things, then.”

  On the mat, both men cracked up laughing. “I can’t go anymore,” Elliot gasped. He released his grip, shifted his hips, and collapsed beside the other man, finally exhausted. He tilted his head up and smiled. “I am never bringing you to a real match.”

  “I’ve totally behaved myself.” Ray pouted. “Nothing caught on fire, nothing has been reprogrammed or formatted, nothing has been replaced with adult novelty toys, and I haven’t hit on anybody.” He counted on his fingers, ticking off all the things his fellow detectives tended to complain about.

  Elliot dropped his head back down to the mat, shaking as he tried not to laugh.

  Ray tried to wipe as much of the dried sweat off his skin as possible in the tiny bathroom sink. Once he couldn’t feel the salt and grime on his face and neck, he changed back into his rumpled suit again. He checked the holster on his belt, making sure the leather top strap was unsnapped, then replaced the small single-shot Ruger pistol he wore in an ankle holster on his right leg. Once he was armed and reasonably grime-free, he felt better.

  When he came out of the bathroom, he saw Elliot talking quietly to Penelope St. Claire. From the serious expression on both agents’ faces, Ray knew he shouldn’t interrupt. Instead he made small talk with the few lingering fighters and wandered outside to enjoy the cool winter air. The weather downtown was always moderate, but this far inland it tended to get cold in the winter months. January was the worst, and Ray knew the temperature would get down into the thirties just a few hours after sunset. He was still hot from the sparring session, so walking out into the cold was a relief. Elliot, gulping the last of a bottle of water, shuffled out after him, carrying the duffel bag from his locker. He was still wearing his thin workout clothes.

  “Am I going to be stuck driving you home again?” Ray asked, noticing the way Elliot was dragging his feet.

  “No. I’m tired, but my blood sugar’s okay, and I haven’t had any caffeine, so no headaches. I’ll drive you back to your car.”

  “All right.”

  On Saturday nights, rush hour into the university district tended to last until two in the morning, so it was forty minutes before they made it back to La Jolla. Ray wasn’t looking forward to traffic tonight, when getting back to his downtown apartment would take over an hour. Still, as much as he didn’t want to make the drive, he needed to eat real food, take a long shower, and sleep in his own bed.

  “Where’d you park?” Elliot asked, as they turned into the enormous parking lot. It was packed with student vehicles, all bearing the UCSD student parking decal.

  “Right there.” Ray pointed to a spot in front of a light pole. “But that truck isn’t mine.”

  “Hmm?”

  “That truck’s not mine. I drive a little Nissan.”

  “So you parked somewhere else. Farther down, maybe?” Elliot continued through the parking lot. “What model? What color?”

  “A black Nissan 370Z, and it’s not here.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I made a point of parking across from that coffee cart back there.” Ray motioned back toward the small trailer that was locked up tight for the night. “And now I’m feeling like a fucking idiot.”

  “You think someone stole your car?”

  “No. It’s been a long time since I went to school here, and I forgot about parking decals….” He dropped his head back against the seat and groaned. “Stop for a second.”

  Elliot pulled to a stop between two long rows of cars. A small white sign announced, in small nondescript letters, that parking was by permit only. It listed the name and number of a towing company, followed by an announcement that violators would be towed at their own expense. “Can I borrow your phone?” Ray groaned.

  Elliot leaned across his lap so he could see the sign. He cracked a half smile and held his cell phone out to Ray. “Your car got impounded?”

  “That or stolen.”

  “What’s wrong with your phone, I thought you had it surgically attached to your hand.”

  Ray rolled his eyes. “The battery died. When I came here yesterday I wasn’t expecting to follow a hot FBI agent home.” Ray dialed the number, listened to a recorded voice announce that the impound office was closed, then groaned as the recording rattled off different phone numbers to call for immediate roadside assistance. Overhead, the streetlights flickered. Elliot fumbled with a cell phone car charger, plugged it into the cigarette port by his radio, and pointed at the dead cell phone in Ray’s other hand. Ray handed it over without a word. When the recording ended with a beep, he ended the call and passed Elliot back his phone. “Closed.”

  “Okay, give me directions to your place.”

  “Take the I-5 south.”

  Traffic was just as bad as he knew it would be. Once the highway snaked its way into downtown, traffic slowed down and finally stopped. It took an hour for them to inch along the highway to Ray’s exit. Once they got into the narrow city streets, the mass of cars, buses, people, and sedan chairs pulled by bicycles kept the pace slow.

  “There’s never parking out front.” He pointed to a turn as they drove past the front of his building. “Turn right here, then there’s a garage entrance about halfway down the block.” Ray told Elliot the code for the ornate gate and began to fidget as the other man pulled in to a guest parking spot. “You’ve got to be starving,” he whispered, with a calm he didn’t feel. “Since you bought me lunch, why don’t I repay you by making you dinner?”

  “You want to make me dinner?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been told I’m an incredible cook, and it’ll give traffic out there a chance to sort itself out. I’ll make some pork chops, we can have a drink.” He watched Elliot’s eyes widen slightly, caught the way he licked his lips. Elliot Belkamp had fewer tells than most people Ray seduced, but Ray knew what to look for. He knew Elliot wanted to say yes.

  Elliot turned his gaze forward and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I think I’m going to pass.”

  Ray had been expecting that. “Just dinner, then? I’m starving, and you did a lot more sparring than I did.”

  “It’s a no.”

  “You sure about that? It didn’t seem like an automatic no this morning when you kissed me.”

  “I didn’t kiss you. You kissed me. And kissing someone turns every guy on.”

  “Definitely if tongues are involved,” Ray agreed. “Yours was practically down my throat.”

  “It still doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you again. You should go.”

  “I get that you’re looking for somebody special.” Ray heard the sarcasm in his own voice and instantly regretted it. He took a deep breath, determined not to fuck this up. “But we could have fun together. You can’t tell me that the idea of never having sex until that somebody special turns up is appealing.”

  “You think I’m going to hide at home and just hope that somebody pops out of thin air? You make dating sound like living in a monastery.”

  “Not if you date the right type of people, but….” Ray shrugged and tried to sound casual, even though his heart was thudding like a jackhammer.

  “I’m not actually opposed to fucking around with someone, but I don’t fuck around with people who don’t respect me.”

  “What did I do that made you think I don’t respect you?”

  “Are you that dense?” Elliot laughed. “You all but said that men who bottom aren’t men at all. You said it was demeaning and went on and on about how you could never do it. You think it’s something to be ashamed of, that it makes me less of a man that I let you do it.”

  Ray stared at him, trying to catch up.

>   “And when I heard that, I figured out pretty damn quick why you sleep around as much as you do. It’s not that you can’t find somebody to be with, or even that you don’t want to. You don’t respect anybody you sleep with. Not a single one of them, including me, has ever been a real person in your head. You might as well be fucking blow-up dolls each night. No lover is going to hang around someone who treats them the way you do.”

  “That isn’t what I meant! I wasn’t talking about you. I was trying to explain why I didn’t feel like I could let you do me, too. I was trying to ask if you’d be okay giving me time.” Ray clenched his fingers in the air.

  “Don’t give me that bullshit,” Elliot snapped. “Just because you’re too self-centered to think about how your insults might come across to other people doesn’t make them any less insulting. You think anyone who lets someone else fuck them is weak and pathetic.”

  “I never thought less of you for what we did in bed. Jesus, I was hoping we could…. But it doesn’t fucking matter because you’re looking for someone special. Even though it never happens, it’s a fucking statistical impossibility, you’re holding out for a goddamn fairy tale! That’s about as naive and pathetic as it gets!”

  Elliot face softened a little. “Hoping to find someone you can build a life with isn’t naive. It’s what everyone wants, including you.”

  “Like hell I do! It never happens! Not for anyone! I’ve never seen a single relationship where people have actually stayed together. It might be good for a year or two, or even ten, but it always fails.”

  “So why are you still waiting for Superman?” asked Elliot, his voice cold and even. “I’m not counting on some kind of happily ever after falling into my lap. I know things aren’t that easy. But I also know relationships can last, if both people are willing to work at it. Falling in love with someone is the easy part. When making it last gets hard, people quit trying, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying anyway. You’re still texting Superman, hoping he’s going to come back. So which of us is more pathetic, Delgado?”