"How am I supposed to take it easy?" Lee slammed the steering wheel. "We're nowhere. That many bullets flying and we're nowhere."
"You being upset and making the both of us miserable isn't going to make it any better. Things are what they are."
"Practicing for your television appearance?"
Their lieutenant had tapped Octavia to do the press conference updating the good citizens of Indianapolis on their lack of progress on the case. Not that Lee was jealous, since public relations wasn't his area of expertise. It would have been nice, however, to have been considered.
"Now you're going to break bad on me?" she asked.
"I'm just saying. I don't want to slow you down, have you slumming with us actual investigators when promotions come around."
"Why don't you calm your ass down. Just because a captain's slot opened up doesn't mean they're going to offer it to me. Or that I'd take it."
"Bull and shit. Bet you can't wait to be a bigger boss. Go to all those lunches, rub elbows with the politicos. Sure beats actual police work. Don't open your mouth to me."
Octavia tired of always having to nursemaid her partner, tip-toeing around whatever latest snit he wound himself into. His provocative tone was the last straw. "I'm sorry. I mistook myself for your superior officer. But I guess I'm not a boss, but a black boss to you, so you can talk to me any way you see fit."
"There we go. What'd that take, fifteen seconds, to make this a racial thing?"
"With you it's always a racial thing. A black thing. Black junkies. Black skels. Black police. All dirtying up your Leave it to Beaver world."
"You can kiss my Leave it to Beaver ass."
"Sure, I'm just your black boss."
"You can kiss my Leave it to Beaver ass, ma'am. Feel free to jam me up any way you feel."
"Yeah, cause we're all out to get you. Watch out now. One of my 'homies' is coming up behind you. He may want to screw you out of a promotion." Octavia turned to study the passing cityscape through her window, feeling the onset of yet another headache. Part of her understood his frustration, shared it, though now it was impossible to commiserate about it. They drove back to the station in complete silence, both their thoughts drifting to what it would take to break the grip that silenced so many tongues. Maybe it boiled down to who folks feared more: the police or the predators.
Most good police work amounted to waiting and paperwork, so one had to learn how to wait. Patience was her gift. Unlike her partner. Reading between the lines of his risky jacket, and listening to the gossipy sewing circle known as the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department, rumors of suspected corruption dogged him. The rumor mill gave him too much credit. Lee was more of a soldier, not bright enough to pull off true corruption, though he occasionally found extra money from a drug dealer. Nothing serious, little more than keeping the change found between couch cushions. Still, it was nice to be married to a city councilwoman's daughter, even better, a councilwoman on the budget committee. He would die "100% po-lice" long before he'd ever be fired, no matter how badly he screwed up.
"Traffic stops or domestics?"
"Domestics. Doesn't matter who's in the wrong, you never know when your victim will turn on you once you threaten to lock up the other." Lee sighed, letting his anger go along with the silence. "Going through the door or clearing the attic?"
"Attic. I seen too many horror movies, so sticking my head through a dark hole? No thanks."
"Come on, now. These days a black woman in a horror movie has to make it to the end. It's affirmative-action Hollywood these days." Lee lived to push her buttons. Octavia did three years of patrol work, moved to vice, prostitution decoy, and then moved to Gang Crimes. After the Pyrcioch case, she was promoted to detective. He could read a jacket, too. All that and she still walked as if she had to prove her worth on the job.
"I see your diversity training has paid off." Octavia coolly glanced at him sideways.
"I've learned a heightened respect for others. An appreciation for other cultures and worldviews. I can only hope to use my newfound…" He stumbled for the right word.
"Sensitivity?"
"Yes, thank you," he continued in his faux-polite manner. "My newfound sensitivity in order to facilitate others in moving forward in the job."
In the end, she tolerated her partner's half-acracka antics. Too often a cop's prejudice got the better of him, aimed at the poorest community in which he served. Today it was blacks. Tomorrow he'd forget about blacks and hate Hispanics. "You're full of shit. And you shouldn't burn through so much coffee. You'll be up and down to piss all night."
"That's why God created partners. And," Lee pointed to a man approaching the corner in order to cop, "why He created junkies too stupid to pick out cops obviously sitting on a corner."
"Lookie here, lookie here. Poor dumbass Tavon."
They had set up on Night's crew and had the beginnings of an outline of his organization worked out. They knew about Night who operated out of the Phoenix (all they had on him was a name, which was more than they had on his rival). One of Night's operations, Green's actually, was a red, two-story house known as The Shack, a pea shake house offering neighborhood games similar to Hoosier Lottery's Pick Three or Pick Four games. Since the money didn't flow to the state, they were illegal. Everyone knew it, hustlers, cops, citizens, and politicians, but that activity never led to bodies dropping and lined too many pockets, so a convenient blind eye was turned.
The police currently attempted to get up on Night's lieutenant Green – as high up on the food chain as they had worked – and, right now, Green's boys were doing sloppy work. Probably the reason Green was on the streets as much as he was. The detectives waited because before long someone had to pick up the count. However, Tavon Little provided them an opportunity they couldn't pass up.
Tavon paused on the corner with an eye on the car parked in front of a nearby house. The trunk, left agape while the owner ran stuff into the house, called to him with a sultry seduction, open and inviting. Wiping his mouth, he double-checked to make sure the coast was clear, Tavon hitched up his pants and nonchalantly strode toward the car.
The pair of detectives skulked from their car to intercept him. He veered off his beeline to the trunk like a gazelle who'd picked up the scent of hyenas. Half-throwing his hands up in a "why me/why now?" declaration, he moved out of sight of his would-be suppliers. The last thing he needed was to be seen with black police old enough to be his mother, and worse, this redneck fool who'd love to see him dangling from a noose. Or a bumper.
"Tay-Von Little." Octavia started in, emphasizing his name. Conversations were a finesse game and she hoped she had at least imparted that much to her erstwhile colleague. "Tavon, Tavon, Tavon."
"Officer Burke." Tavon shrank against the tall wooden fence separating the prying eyes of neighbors. Burke and McCarrell crowded him. He chewed on a black-tipped fingernail, his bony body retreating further into his grim-stained, one-time-gray hoodie.
"Detective," she corrected.
"My bad. De-Tec-Tive Burke." Tavon addressed only her. "What can I do for you?"
"Just looking for some information. A name really. Someone in Baylon's crew."
"Baylon's crew? They ain't around here."
"We know that, Tae. We didn't want to put you in the awkward position of dealing out your hook-up. Every organization has a weak link and if anyone knows about spotting a weak link, it'd be you."
"I don't know if I can help you, Detective Burke."
"Tavon, you watch Bugs Bunny cartoons?" Lee grabbed the man's jaw and turned his face to meet his, having grown a little hot about the casual disrespect shown by this bit of junkie trash. He decided he needed to get his attention.