He looked her over and frowned, “You look tired and sweaty. You all right?”
She clutched her stomach and said, “No. I’m gonna go. Take care.”
“You need to stop hanging out with junkies all the time, you’re starting to look like one of them,” he called out as she hurried down the hall. He pulled out his keys and let himself into the office, tossing the bundle of heroin and eightball of cocaine onto his desk as he sat down. It was five minutes past seven. Overtime was paid in half hour increments only. If he left before seven thirty, it was working for free. His phone rang. He opened it and said, “Hey, hon. I’m almost finished, I swear.”
“You said you’d be home on time tonight, Vic,” Danni said.
“It’s not my fault the drug dealer was late to the meet. You know how these guys are.”
“I had dinner ready at five.”
“Good, because I’m starving,” he said.
She sighed and said, “I’ll put it in the refrigerator for you. When will you be home?”
“I’m leaving here by seven thirty. Guaranteed.”
There was no answer.
“I promise.”
“All right. See you soon,” she said.
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Vic hung up the phone and put it away, then pulled a pair of blue rubber gloves out of the box on his desk. He photographed the bundle of heroin and the eightball separately, then placed a small ruler next to each piece and photographed them again.
He opened up the report on his computer and wrote:
1900 Hours: Undercover Officer (UC) provided me with one bundle (fourteen bags) of Heroin and one plastic baggie of Cocaine. Per the UC, the Cocaine is an “eightball,” which based on my training and experience I know to mean 1/8th of an Ounce or 3.5 grams.
Vic picked up the cocaine and placed it on the small digital scale on his desk. The numbers spun on the display and landed on 3.54 grams. “Perfect,” Vic said.
He dropped the eightball into a small paper envelope and sealed it with evidence tape. He picked up the bundle of Heroin bags and was about to drop them into a separate envelope, when he decided to photograph them again. A shot of them spread out individually would look better in court. Vic undid the tight rubber bands holding the bundle together and spread the baggies across his desk. He picked up his camera and paused.
Two of the bags in the center were empty. Bags he never would have seen if he hadn’t taken the bundle apart.
He looked at Aprille’s desk and cursed under his breath.
FALL
2
The leaves formed a canopy of crimson and gold over the back roads Frank navigated toward the police department. He massaged his knee as he drove, trying to rub away the throbbing ache deep within his reconstructed knee. He stopped using the cane a month before. The doctors said he could return to light duty. The doctors said he could walk with his full weight on it and the pain would be manageable with the proper medication.
He glanced at his watch. Just two hours since his last Percocet. He looked at his watch again, eager for another dose.
Officer Jim Iolaus came around the side of his patrol car, inspecting the bumpers. He made notes of all of the dents and scratches, checking off his list, absolving himself of responsibility for anything he found before the start of his shift. His uniform fit him tighter than spandex and the short sleeves of his shirt were tailored to be extra tight. Better to show off his biceps. Iolaus was one of the guys who shaved his forearms. It gave Frank the heebie-jeebies.
Iolaus looked up as Frank limped across the lot and said, “You back already?”
“Got tired of sitting around the house. You’d think my wife would have some sympathy for me, but her honey-do list tripled when she realized I was a captive.”
“How’s the leg?”
“Hurts like hell.”
“Sissy. You talked to Andi?”
“Not since Joe’s funeral. Has anybody here been keeping in touch with her?”
“Not really. I sent her some pictures of the car, but she never responded.” Iolaus pointed at the police vehicle away from the others, a large ornamental badge decal emblazoned on the hood. A thick black stripe ran through the center of the badge, and decorative banners both above and below it read In Memory of Sergeant Joseph Hector, Badge 214. “Looks good though, don’t it?” Iolaus said.
Frank looked at the car briefly, then looked away. “Sure does. Be safe out there.”
Photographs lined the walls outside of the office. One showed an old man with bushy white hair looking out over a horizon of flat top mountains, sitting atop a horse. Another showed him leaning up against a wooden fence in front of a herd of cattle. Frank looked up at the horseshoe hung over the Chief’s door and wondered if he was supposed to touch it.
Chief Midas smiled broadly from behind his enormous pedestal desk as Frank came to the door and saluted. He didn’t stand up to return the salute. “Come on in. How’s the leg?”
“It’s fine,” Frank said.
“What do they have you on?”
“A very small dosage of Percocet. Nothing I can’t handle though, and it will not affect my ability to do police work, Chief.”
The Chief shrugged and said, “I was popping them like candy last year when I broke my shoulder riding Patriot.” The Chief cocked his head at a picture of a horse sitting on his desk. “You should have asked them for OxyContin. That’s the good stuff.”
Frank looked at his watch. One hour and forty-five minutes until it was time for another pill. His stomach hurt. Sweat gathered around his brow and he quickly swiped it away. “So how have things been around here?”
The Chief held up a handful of legal documents. “That scumbag’s family is suing us. Can you believe that? He killed Heck and tried to blow your leg off and now his family is suing us in federal court. What a world.”
“Us?” Frank said. “Am I being sued too?”
The Chief went through the stack and pulled out a group of pages bound together by a thick clip. “Here’s your copy. The department is paying for both of our legal defenses, so you don’t have anything to worry about. Unless we lose, of course. Then they can come after us personally. But that probably won’t happen.”
“Jesus,” Frank said. His name was listed above everyone else’s as a defendant. Criminal Negligence, Gross Misconduct, and Improper Application of Force were written in parentheses beside his name. “What happens if we lose? I don’t have any money to begin with.”
“They can take your house and pension. Listen, when you shoot someone, they sue. If you kill them, their family sues. All of a sudden a high-school dropout with a six page rap sheet becomes a Mensa candidate who was about to devote his life to the seminary.” The Chief folded his hands behind his head and sat back, “I’ve got good news though. You are going into detectives for a little while.”
“I am?”
“Ever since Aprille went on leave, Vic’s been flying solo. He’s buried with work, so I need you to go downstairs and help him get caught up. It’s only temporary, but you know how things go. Christ, Vic’s been there in a ‘temporary’ capacity for over five years.”
The Chief’s smile stayed glued to his face even as Frank did not return it. “I was kind of looking forward to getting back on the street, Chief. Not that I don’t appreciate the offer.”
“Everybody’s afraid of something new, Frank.”