by R. Lee Moore
Martinez scowled. She didn't like where this was going, and had a sudden sinking feeling about who Ramirez was talking about. There had to be other people, more qualified people that the captain could foist this on, and she said as much. Ramirez just sat back and gave that sadistic devious little smile and shook her head. Like she knew something that Martinez didn't know, and wasn't particularly interested in sharing. Aggravating is what it was, Martinez thought.
“We're not talking a quick fix here,” Ramirez continued. “They don't want small changes. They want to take a sledgehammer to the whole system and knock it on its ass. Can't think of anyone more qualified in that regard than you. Give me some peace and quiet at the very least.”
“Yeah well,” Martinez started. “What if I ain't interested? Which I'm not by the way. Nah, you gotta find somebody else for this one. I ain't doing it.”
Ramirez shook her head.
“You don't have a choice,” she stated. “Neither of us do. Brass wants someone from here, and you're it. I'd actually prefer it if I could send someone else, but I can't.”
“The hell not?” Martinez demanded.
Ramirez reached forward, picked up the file folder from her desk and tossed it into Martinez' lap.
“You are everything they want,” she said. “Violent. Trigger-happy. You do things your own way regardless of what anyone else thinks. It's all there in that file. You're a hammer, and that's what they're looking for. Now I'm not going to sit here and tell you it's going to be easy, because it won't be. You're going to have everyone who's got a vested interest in keeping things status quo working against you and making your life harder. Just waiting for you to fall on your ass, so they can kick you to the curb.”
Martinez groaned and fought to stave off the migraine beginning to spear through her eyes.
“Sounds like all sorts of fun,” she said. Being set up for failure and taking the fall for some bureaucrat's barely thought out pet project wasn't something she had even the slightest interest in. “No. Not doing it. Find someone else.”
Ramirez' expression hardened, and she leaned into the desk fixing her steel-eyed gaze directly into the woman across from her.
“Orders are orders. You're going, and that's final,” Ramirez said. “It's either this or you're out, and there's nothing I can do about it. On top of that, you screw this up, and I'm right there with you because I put you out there. We'll both be out on the street. You understand that?”
“Say that last part again?” she demanded blinking I surprise. She couldn't have heard that right, she thought. They wouldn't do that. “What you mean we'll both be out on the street.”
Ramirez gave short humorless laugh. It confirmed what Martinez was thinking.
“Yeah, my ass is on the line too,” Ramirez stated. “You screw this up, I get kicked to the curb just like you. So, I kinda have a vested interest in sending someone who's got the best chance of going out there and accomplishing the mission. Your job, my job, probably even Lieutenant Jackson's job since you're in his section, is all on the chopping block. Are you understanding the seriousness here yet Sergeant? You screw this up, you give what I don't doubt a whole hell of a lot of them are gonna want and are going to do everything they can to get, and it's all over. You get me?”
The weight of it all hit her all at once. So that was it, Martinez thought. She was being railroaded not only out of the Strike Teams, but into what was starting to sound like a no win situation. No one was going to be happy with this, least of all the people who she was going to be working with. Strikers and the rest of the Supernatural Affairs really didn't mix. It was two different mindsets. Two different cultures. Because of that, it was likely that she was going to be all on her own surrounded by people who were likely to be doing everything they could to make sure she failed just on general principle.
It was like the captain had just tossed a live grenade at her feet, and there wasn't anything she could do about it. It wasn't just her job on the line, it was Ramirez' too. Sure, she thought, she could quit and give up six long years in the Department, but they'd just throw someone else into the fire in her place if she did that. There was no way in hell she wasn't going to let someone else, someone from her team take the fall like that. She was still responsible for them even if she'd just had her team leader spot yanked out from under her.
“Damn it,” she swore. “Fine, I'll do it.”
“I think it's funny you're still acting like you have a choice, but alright,” Ramirez said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Go home and get some sleep. Captain Harris is expecting you downtown tomorrow morning.”
Martinez scowled and shot up to her feet. Sleep was the last thing on her mind at the moment. Too much anger and frustration inside her. Only way she was going to get any sleep was the bottle of vodka rolling around in the cabinet at home.
She turned without a word and flung the door open and stepped out angrily into the hallway.
“Tamina,” Ramirez called after her. “Counting on you. Don't make us look bad out there. You go and do what you do best. Give them hell and get it done.”
CHAPTER THREE
There was far too much frustration and resentment welling up inside her when she got home to allow any kind of sleep. The tight ball of barely controlled rage down in the pit of her stomach wouldn't allow it. Six years in the Teams and now it was all over. She felt like she'd been cast out and exiled to spend the rest of her days behind a desk. That wasn't her, and she hated even the thought of it.
So she did the only thing she could think of. There was one tried and true method that always calmed her down and let her work out the unchecked aggression boiling over inside her. There was a bottle of vodka in her freezer, a stereo with loud heavy metal queued up, and a heavy worn and abused boxing bag hanging by a length of chain in the corner of her little second story apartment.
It wasn't the most elegant solution, but it never failed to kick her out of whatever dark mood she was in. It took several hours, and several nearly violent arguments with the building manager and her neighbors about the noise to get the job done. By the time she collapsed in a worn out heap onto her couch, she'd managed to drown out the rage and misery inside her enough that when the vodka induced darkness consumed her, she was mostly at peace.
Several hours later when Tamina had finally woken up with an angered bleary-eyed glare at the first rays of the sun bursting uncomfortably through her windows, the previous day and the whole of the night had passed her by in a foggy haze. She had the beginnings of a migraine clawing at the back of her mind, but the newfound determination she'd awoken with aided her in pushing past any discomfort she might have felt. Besides that, all the pain did was cement her the contrariness in her mood. She was going to show them. She was going to show them all.
After a quick ice-cold shower to chase away the last vestiges of the previous nights binge, she dug through all the piles of clothes all over her floor for something to wear. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, she laced up her boots and scooped up a leather jacket and a pair of sunglasses to round out the outfit. On her way out the door, she could see the neighbors and the building manager peeking out their windows as she made her way down the balcony stairs. Probably still pissed about last night, she thought. Either that or terrified. She might have made a few vodka induced threats. She couldn't remember.
“Morning,” she called out with a bright smile that she didn't really feel. All the while giving them a one-fingered salute on her way out to her car.
She paused at the bottom of the steps just long enough to throw a glare up at the sun burning bright and cheerful overhead.
“If you're going to keep doing this, it's going to get old real fast,” she called out to the sky with a scowl. “God, I already miss the night shift.”
Her black 1980 Firebird purred like a kitten when Tamina cranked her up. She closed her eyes and tapped the steering wheel with her fingers to the heavy thumping bass of the radio. She waited for ju
st the right moment, right when the music blaring out over her speakers reached its crescendo to rev up the engine and tear out of the little parking lot. Her tires screeched and left a long trail of smoke out behind her as she sped out into the street weaving in and out of traffic like all of hell itself was chasing after her.
Forty-five minutes on the 5-FWY, another fifteen on the 2, a quick stop to get the largest cup of coffee she could find, and she was roaring up to an armed checkpoint just off Santa Monica Boulevard at full speed. The fortified Department of Supernatural Affairs building was bigger than she remembered. It was a hell of a lot more heavily armed than it was the last time she'd been here going on seven years ago when she first signed up too for that matter. Sign of the changing times, she thought.
Her tires screeched and left a long trail of black behind her as she came to a sudden dead stop in front of the gate. A large brick wall of a man in a black uniform and Security Forces insignia stormed out of the booth and scowled darkly down into the Firebird's open window. Tamina kept herself as still as possible while she did her best to read the man's demeanor and how he held himself. His hand hovered close to and never strayed from the heavy pistol belted to his hip. Tamina may not have known who he was, but she recognized what he was all the same. If you knew what you were looking for, people like the two of them were easy to pick out of a crowd. The patches they both wore did help, though.
They exchanged intent searching looks at each other, sizing up and taking measure of each other before the man spoke in a deep a rumbling voice.
“Would have thought a grunt would know enough not to come speeding up to a checkpoint like that,” he growled out. “What are you doing here?”
Straight and to the point, Tamina thought. She liked that.
“Massive crayon shortage. We ran out, and we're all starting to go through withdrawals,” she said with an expression as serious as she could manage. She decided not to challenge the man. This was his territory, not hers. Besides, humor worked wonders with the boots on the ground. “Hook me up with a 24 pack or something. I'm good for it.”
The man snorted in amusement, and more importantly to Martinez, he relaxed just a little. Just enough that she felt more at ease with his hand still hovering next to the weapon on his hip.
“Supposed to report to Captain Harris,” she continued. “Got the paperwork here somewhere.”
“You going to shoot him?” the man asked.
“Not on the first day,” Tamina said as she rifled through her glove compartment for the paperwork. “Gotta give a day or two before you do something like that. It's just good manners.”
The Security Forces officer snorted again, but held himself together enough to snatch the paperwork from Tamina's hands when she offered them.
“Best turn in that Hardballer on the seat there at the front desk when you get in then,” the man said without taking his eyes off the paperwork. He flipped through the pages, poring through the information critically. “Until you got authorization, can't bring that in there. Rules.”
Martinez had to stop and think for a moment to figure out what he was talking about. When she turned over to look at the passenger seat and the heavy pistol jammed into the combat gunslinger holster laying there, she groaned. Had she really left the damn thing in the car all night out in the open? Damn it.
“Yeah no problem,” she said rubbing the bridge of her nose . It was way to bright outside for her comfort. “Fucking hate mornings.”
The man chuckled and handed the paperwork back.
“Things must be getting desperate around here if they're bringing in grunts like you,” he said.
“Either that or they figured they had too many people straight out of college with no experience making dumb-ass decisions, and not enough people with actual trigger time who actually know what their doing,” Tamina replied.
The man chuckled and gave Tamina a look that told her he both understood and agreed with everything she'd just said. Things like that were usually the problem, and everyone knew it. It was just that people rarely did anything to fix it. The gate raised up and the big man stepped out the way and waved her through.
““Looks like I'll be seeing a lot of you for a while sergeant,” he observed. “Have fun. Take the main elevators to the 5th floor. Don't shoot anybody up there. Got enough I have to worry about“
“Yeah, thanks,” Tamina said shooting the man an unpleasant look. “No promises though.”
“Wish I could see their faces,” the man said shaking his head with a smirk.
“No problem,” Martinez replied smirking. “I'll record it on my phone and show ya on the way out. Make sure to zoom in a few times just to get every detail I can.”
She didn't wait for a reply before gunning the engine and streaking off past the gate and down the road towards the parking structure nestled next to the looming glass and concrete tower. When she found a spot hidden away in the corner, she stripped off her jacket, grabbed a shoulder rig from behind the passenger seat and strapped it on. Jamming her weapon into the holster and slipping her jacket back on to cover it, she shut and locked the door, and strode with purpose and intent towards the doors that led into the main building.
The man at the front desk rose up to his feet and started shouting at her when she breezed past him with a cheerful wave of her middle finger, but she didn't pay him any attention. She was already in the elevator and heading up to the fifth floor before he could even get around his desk.
She did the same thing at the desk at the fifth floor lobby. Walked right past the woman behind it without a word or even acknowledging her existence. No time for pleasantries, she thought to herself. Besides, she needed to see and figure things out for herself. The woman at the desk would just get in the way of that.
She wove her way through the cubicles and workstations heading towards the back of the open office. Captain Harris shouldn't be too hard to find, she told herself. Office types were predictable in how they arranged things. His office would be in the back somewhere where he could look over the bullpen through shaded windows. Sounded like something these people would do.
When Tamina found the office she was looking for, she pounded once on the door and pushed her way in without waiting for a reply. The thin red-headed bespectacled man behind the desk looked so startled at her sudden arrival that he nearly dropped the phone receiver from his hands. He jumped in his seat again when she slammed the paperwork down in front of him and then stepped back with an expectant look in his direction.
“That's-That's Okay Marilyn,” he said into the receiver. “She's right here. Yes, thank you. Could you tell Bill down in the lobby everything is all clear up here for me? Thank you.”
He set the phone down into the cradle and looked up at Tamina with a bright and friendly smile that caused her to take a step or two back away from him. That was just weird and unnatural in her opinion.
“You must be-” he started.
“Sergeant Tamina Martinez,” Tamina said cutting him off. “18th Strike Group.”
His smile faded just a little.
“Yes,” he said. “I was expecting-well I was expecting you an hour ago actually.”
Tamina shrugged her shoulders.
“Yeah, well, Had to stop and get coffee,” she said holding up her cup with a light meaningful shake. “No way in hell I'm doing mornings without caffeine unless people are willing to get shot over it. You're Captain Harris right?”
“Oh,” he said. It looked as if he was puzzling out her reasoning, then his smile immediately brightened, and he rose to his feet and extended his hand.
“Call me Leo,” he said. “No reason to be all formal right now. It's just the two of us.”
“Okay,” Tamina replied suspiciously.
Harris waved his extended hand in a greeting and held it in place until she finally relented and shook his hand. The man looked far too happy to see her, she thought. Something was definitely wrong. Either with the situation, or with the
man himself. She couldn't decide which was the worse option.
“Please have a seat Sergeant Martinez,” Harris said as he sat himself back in his seat. “Can I call you Tamina? Don't like using rank and last names unless I have to. It's so impersonal and makes it so much harder to form meaningful bonds with everyone.”
“Okay,” Tamina said cautiously. She slid down into a chair and gave the man across from her a confused look. She had this sudden feeling that someone was playing a joke on her. This couldn't be real. Nobody acted like this. At least not to her. “You do know why I'm here? Right?”
This had to be a mistake she thought. This man was far too nice and far too friendly. Something wasn't right. How did someone get to be a captain in Supernatural Affairs with that kind of attitude. It was unnatural.
“Oh yes I've been fully briefed,” Harris replied with a bright smile lighting up his face. “I'm really looking forward to working with you actually. When I first heard about Director Pine's initiative, I just knew this was going to be the start of a new day, Tamina. The beginning of a new future. It's all very exciting.”
Tamina narrowed her eyes. Yeah, she thought, this guy was either out of his mind or he was trying to play her. She'd prefer it if he was crazy. She couldn't see herself shooting him for being crazy.
“Are you fucking with me?” she demanded. “Cause seriously. You are starting to creep me out!“
Harris looked confused, and gave his head a vigorous shake back and forth.
“Oh no,” he said. “I assure you I'm quite serious. I am 100 percent on board with the Director's plans. We need people like you. New blood to shake things up and bring a fresh new perspective to how we do things around here. Outside the box thinking like they taught us at Annapolis. Problem-solving. Improvise, adapt, and overcome.”
Tamina blinked several times. She had to still be drunk or something, she thought. People like this didn't really exist, did they?