Not today.
“I'll be at the Center all day.”
Her voice startled Herb. She stood in the bedroom doorway, arms folded.
“I'd prefer if—”
“If I stay home? You go on with your life, and I have to hide in the house?”
Herb sighed.
“It's my job, Bernice.”
“I see. Volunteering doesn't count as a job because I'm not getting paid.”
“I didn't say that.”
Bernice walked away. Herb took a shirt from the hanger and put it on, wrinkles and all. He instructed the team outside to follow Bernice wherever she went, and then waited for his escorts to arrive to take him to work.
#
“It could be a thousand different people.”
Herb's partner, Lt. Jacqueline Daniels, looked up over the stack of printouts. Jack wore her brown hair up today, revealing gray roots. Her hands cradled a stained coffee mug.
“You only have yourself to blame, Herb. If you were a lousy cop, this pile would be a lot smaller.”
Herb blinked at the case files, a career's worth, propped on the desk. Though the amount was substantial, it didn't seem big enough. He opened another Twinkie and eased it in, wishing it was a Denver Omelet.
“I always wanted to be a cop. Even as a kid. I blame Dragnet. Joe Friday was my hero. I used to talk like him all the time. Drove my parents crazy.”
“You've got some Twinkie filling in your mustache, Mr. Friday.”
Herb wiped at his face. “Maybe I should transfer to Property Crimes. They never get death threats.”
“You just pushed it over two inches.”
Herb used his sleeve.
“What do you think, Jack?”
“Better, but now some of it is up your nose. Want to use my hand mirror?”
“I meant about the transfer.”
Jack set aside the report she'd been reading. “Seriously?”
“I'm a fin away from retirement. These are supposed to be my golden years. I should be golfing and taking cruises.”
“You hate golf. And the ocean.”
“I also hate getting shot at.”
Herb picked up a case file from a few years ago, gave it a token glance, and tossed it in the maybe pile. He could feel Jack staring at him, so he met her gaze.
“You think I'm crazy, don't you? You think after two weeks at Property Crimes I'll be going out of my mind with boredom.”
Jack smiled, sadly.
“Actually, I think Property Crimes will be very lucky to get you.”
Herb let her reply sink in. The more he thought it over, the more confident he felt. This was right.
“I'm going to tell Bernice.”
“Good idea. But before you do, wipe the sugar out of your nose.”
#
The Burketold Center was a dirty, crumbling building many years older than the senior citizens it catered to. Funded by tax dollars, the Center served as a game room/social area/singles mixer for the area's ten-plus nursing homes. Buses came several times a day, dropping off seniors for bingo, swing dancing, and craft classes.
The Center provided these services free of charge, the only condition being attendees had to be over sixty years old.
Herb walked through the automatic doors and took everything in.
To the left, four elderly men sat around a table as rickety as they were, noisily playing cards. In the pot, along with a pile of chips, were a set of dentures.
To the left, a solitary old woman twisted the knobs on a foosball table. She mumbled to herself, or perhaps to an imaginary opponent.
A TV blared in the corner, broadcasting the Food Network to three sleeping ladies. To the right, an ancient man with pants hiked up to his chest repeatedly kicked a Coke machine. Herb approached him.
“Did the machine take your money, sir?”
The old man squinted at Herb with yellow eyes.
“No, it did not take my money. But if you kick it in the right spot, it spits out free sodas. I've gotten six Mountain Dews so far today.”
Herb left the guy to his larceny. In just a few short years, Herb would be turning sixty. Then he, too, would be able to join the fun for free. The thought didn't comfort him.
He located the front desk and found a cheerful-looking man holding down the fort. The man wore a loose fitting sweater with a stag's head stitched into the pattern, and his smile was so wide it looked to crack his face. Herb placed him in his early fifties.
“May I help you?”
“I'm looking for Bernice Benedict.”
“Oh. And you are...?”
“Her husband, Herb.”
Smiling Guy hesitated, then extended a hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Herb. Bernice has told me a lot about you. I'm Phil Grabowski.”
Herb took the hand and found it plump and moist. He vaguely recalled Bernice mentioning the name Phil before.
“Hi, Phil. Great work you're doing here.”
“Thanks. We try to do our part. It's a real heartbreaker reaching the autumn years and finding there's no one to share them with.”
Phil chuckled, but it sounded painfully forced. Perhaps being around geriatrics all the time wrecked havoc on one's social skills.
“Is Bernice around?”
“She's calling bingo in room 1B, through that door and down the hall.”
“Thanks.” Herb nodded a good-bye and began to turn away.
“Bernice...she mentioned what happened last night. Terrible thing.”
Herb's first reaction was annoyance. Bernice shouldn't have been relating police matters. But shame quickly overcame irritation.
Of course Bernice would mention it to her friends at work. As she should. What other outlet did she have?
Herb could feel himself flush. Bernice had worked at the Center for seven years, and he'd never visited once. This man, Phil, was obviously a close friend of hers, and he didn't know a thing about him.
Herb wondered how much harm he'd done to his marriage by putting his job first.
He also wondered if it was too late to make it up to her.
“Yeah, well, that won't be happening anymore.”
Phil offered another face-splitting smile. “Really?”
It went against Herb's private nature to share his intentions with a stranger, but he thought it was a step in the right direction.
“I'm transferring to a different division.” He almost bit his tongue. “I'm also reducing my hours.”
“Why, that's wonderful. Bernice will be thrilled. She's...she's quite the trophy, you know.”
“Nice to meet you, Phil.”
Phil grinned wildly. Herb headed off in search of 1B, his wife's voice guiding him.
“G-15. That's G-15. You've got a G-15 on your card there, Mrs. Havensatch. Right under the G, dear. There it is.”
Herb paused in the doorway, watching her. Love, pride, and responsibility all balled-up together to form a big lump in his throat. He rapped his knuckle on the frame and walked in.
“Bernice?”
“Herb?” His wife appeared surprised, but the anger from this morning had gone from her face. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”
“Look, honey, can we talk for a second?”
“I'm in the middle of bingo.”
Herb felt a dozen pairs of eyes on him. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I'm transferring to Property Crimes. And reducing my hours.”
Bernice blinked.
“You're kidding.”
“I'm not.”
“When are you going to do this?”
“I already talked to Jack. Tomorrow morning, first thing.”
Herb had expected a dozen different reactions form his wife, but crying wasn't one of them. She took several quick steps to him, and folded herself into his arms.
“Oh, Herb. I've wanted this for so long.”
“So you're happy?”
“Yes.”
“Bingo!”
A geriatric in the front row held her card above her head and cackled madly.