Sal’s head bobbed along as he chewed on his fat lower lip. “It’s all these damn college kids they’re hiring today, you know?” He sneered. “Wanna-be cops. By the time these rookies wake up and figure out what the hell they’re supposed to be doing out there on the streets, they pack up and bail for the FBI, or for some other god-damned federal job. It’s at the point where I can’t even be bothered to learn their names anymore, this place is such a revolving door!”
I nodded back, only half-listening to the rant as I passed the time by mentally rewriting my resume. I’d had a stretch a while back, when I’d been unexpectedly transferred to our Foot Patrol team, that I’d seriously considered making a clean break and leaving CPD once and for all. After I’d sat down to fill out some applications, though, it was clear that I was seriously lacking in marketable skills. Unless I wanted to go down the dead-end path of becoming a campus cop, or maybe even a mall security guard, I was pretty much unemployable outside of my current gig. Thankfully, I’d come to my senses and found enough fortitude to ride the tides. Over the years I’d managed to develop a toxic yet balanced relationship with my employer, and what’s more, there was no denying the satisfaction that came from scamming a paycheck. The way I saw it, as long as the city of Charleston kept laying a golden egg every two weeks, there was simply no need to rush for the door. “I hear ya, Sal” I finally answered, not because I had any interest in the conversation, but rather because some kind of response seemed appropriate. “Hey, did’ja happen to catch the news last night? What about your boy, ol’ Chief Greene, eh? Man, I was laughing so hard, I had to turn off the television set.”
Sal chuckled, and I spotted a smile starting to peek its way out from underneath his soup-strainer. That guy hated our Chief even more than I did, and he could never pass up an opportunity to take joy in somebody else’s misery. “Yeah, how about that, eh? Looks like old Rufus’ time has finally come! From what I heard, the mayor sent him out on paid leave within an hour of the wreck. Cops are even talking like he might not be coming back this time.” Sal leaned over, lowering his head uncomfortably close to mine. With the gap closed, I caught a distinct odor of bratwurst emanating from the hairs of his mustache... or I don’t know, it could just as easily been chorizo.
“Now all this is on the QT” he growled, “but when I came in this morning, some of the brass were talking openly, right there in the hallway, about how Chief Greene was going to get the axe. What with Lieutenant Colonel Hedleyson in charge of the show, it’s about to be open season around this place.”
I left the stack of incident reports laying untouched as I took a long, slow look around the room. Even though I barely recognized most of the other faces, the assembled cops all wore nearly identical expressions. Broken spirits, every one of them, disheartened souls with downcast eyes, as if their attendance at such a sorry gathering was reason enough to feel ashamed. Turning back to my partner in crime, I dismissed the lurid gossip with a shrug of indifference. “No way, Sal. Listen, man, I’ve heard it all before. If that little tyrant really was getting forced out, then tell me something, huh? Why in the world does every single cop here still look so damned downcast?”
He reached a hairy paw across the desk and snatched the Wanted flier I’d grabbed from the lobby. Licking the tips of his fingers with a swollen, purple tongue, he unfolded the paper and pressed its creases down flat on the tabletop. “I’ll bet you haven’t even read this, am I right? Probably just grabbed it to have something in your hand, make you look busy. Christ, Larsen, no wonder your mailbox is always overflowing. I’m beginning to think the only paperwork you care about are your timesheets and your paystubs.”
Not to be outdone, I reached over into Sal’s personal space and nicked an ink pen from his shirt pocket. Those early morning wakeups always made my dandruff flare up, so I used the implement to dig at my itchy scalp. “Well, what can I say? I guess I’ve just got my priorities in order, which is more than I can say for most of these losers.” A shower of tiny white specks fluttered onto my shoulder, so I reached up and brushed them discreetly down to the floor.
He shook his head in mock disgust, but I knew better. Now in all the time I’d been assigned to Team Four, I’d never been foolish enough to visit our office after five o’clock, but I’d have bet good money that I wouldn’t have caught Sal Brown manning a desk after hours. That dude was a jobber, plain and simple, an eight-to-four man who only worked cases as a way to kill time between his more lucrative off-duty security gigs. Come to think of it, that don’t-give-a-damn attitude of his was probably why the two of us made such a good team.
When the wall clock’s minute hand had finally pushed all the way up to seven-thirty, and not one second before, Chuck “Slipper” Johnson stood up and trudged to the front of the squad room. The man walked with his head down, clearly less than enthused at being the most junior supervisor present, and by default the one expected to brief the troops. Slipper wasn’t normally one to step forward unless he absolutely had to; like the rest of CPD’s leaders, his rightful place was in the rear. “Awright ladies, listen up” he called. The patrol rookies’ conversations petered out, and even the salty old veterans dropped their voices to a respectful whisper. “I’m not about to waste my time or yours by calling the damn roll, okay? Every last one of you should know your damn names by now. If you’re here and you for some damn reason you shouldn’t be, too fucking bad. Not my problem. And if you’re looking around and you happen to notice anybody who’s not here that damn well ought to be, how about you give them a call, tell them to pull their heads out of their damn asses and get with the damn program already.”
The older cops in attendance nodded in appreciation of Slipper’s brisk managerial style. Some of the younger rookies struggled to scribble down his words, but I hoped they also took note of how Slipper hadn’t bothered with taking a seat. He probably would’ve just gone ahead and wrapped up the briefing right then and there, but the squad room door suddenly burst open once again. It swung fast on its hinges, slamming into the concrete wall with a hard, ringing smack that echoed through the room, causing every slouching spine to snap upright. In walked Captain Tommy Russell, the head of CPD’s uniform division, a midget of a man who compensated for his slight stature by walking around on spit-shined tiptoes. At only five-foot-four the man cut a slight profile, although I think that stick shoved up his ass helped tack on at least a couple extra inches. The Captain surveyed the crowd with his narrow, beady eyes, scanning the group for any obvious uniform violations. Feeling unusually proud of myself, I sat up straight and tall, drew my folded-up necktie from my shirt pocket and set it down in plain view on the tabletop.
Slipper glanced up long enough to throw his boss a grudging acknowledgement. “Morning, Cap. We was just wrapping it up over here— got any words of wisdom to pass along to the men?”
Captain Russell had never been one to wait for a second invitation, so he strode purposefully up to the podium. “Yes, indeed I do. Thank you very much, Sergeant Johnson. That will be all.” Slipper shrugged off the dismissal, pivoting sharply on his heel and heading back to his comfort zone at the rear of the squad room. It had been a remarkably efficient briefing, but when I saw the Captain draw himself up to his full height, I knew we weren’t getting off so easily. He planted his tiny hands squarely on the sides of his gun belt, launching another steely gaze out at the assembled cops. The patrol rookies in attendance met the stare full-on, respectfully mirroring the man’s intensity, while all the career cops did our level best to stifle yawns of boredom.
“Morning, men. Now I’m sure that as dedicated law enforcement professionals, you’ve all developed a habit of following the daily news. And because of that, I’m sure you’re already aware of the negative media coverage following Chief Greene’s unfortunate traffic accident. I want you to know that I certainly didn’t come here to pile on to that topic.”
Sal leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Then why the fuck is this old bastard wasting our t
ime, huh? Christ, I’m late for breakfast.” His breath was hot and heavy, and as the spicy odor of that mystery sausage hit my nostrils, I was forced to reclaim my personal space with a rough shove.
Up at the front of the room, the Captain droned on. “As was noted last night, in accordance with the Mayor’s guidance, Chief Greene will be on a leave of absence until further notice. While he’s away, Lieutenant Colonel Hedleyson is serving as the acting Chief of Police.” He paused, rotating his head a full ninety degrees, staring angrily from one side of the room to the other. It was a slow, calculated gesture, one that gave him the opportunity to make eye contact with each of us in turn. I’m proud to say that I didn’t flinch— no, I just smiled back as the two of us locked eyes, patting my folded-up necktie as a show of professionalism.
“I don’t have to remind you all” he continued, “that you represent the Charleston Police Department both on-duty and off. That’s twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Your actions have a direct impact on the public image and the stellar reputation of this fine agency.”
Sal couldn’t hold back a chortle, and the unfortunate reaction earned him an instant, icy stare. I seized the opening to chasten my partner with a sharp shoulder check, earning a quick nod of gratitude from the Captain. Now I’ve never been one for brown-nosing, but hey, a man’s got to take his opportunities whenever they come up.
“But for those of you who happened to stay tuned in for some of the less... shall we say, sensational news yesterday, you also heard that the city of Charleston is facing a much more pressing issue. Based on the latest projections from the National Weather Service, Hurricane Tradd has grown into a Category 2 storm. It’s on track to make landfall within the next forty-eight hours, possibly increasing to Category 3 status between now and then, with sustained winds up to 129 miles per hour. Just an hour ago, the Governor issued a mandatory evacuation order for the Lowcountry. He specifically cited the severe risk of flooding for all low-lying areas.”
The Captain paused for a moment, aiming his laser-sharp glare around the room as the message sank in. I waited until he’d passed me by, then unleashed a powerful yawn once the coast was clear. Edging closer to Sal, I covered my mouth with my hand and whispered, “What the fuck, bro? So like, Russell’s a weatherman now or something? I’m with you, man, I’ve got other places I could be.”
He nodded in empathy. “Seriously, right? Like, hey, if I really cared about the weather, I’d of taken half a second to look out the window before I left the house this morning. Let me tell you something, when it’s sunny outside, I go to work and do my damn job. And when it’s raining, I go to work and do my best to spend the entire shift fucking off in the team office.”
He held out a fist, which I pounded in agreement. “For real, bro. Big storm or not, all this weather nonsense sounds like my favorite kind of problem: somebody else’s.”
Once fully satisfied that all of us had heard him, the Captain rolled right on along with his lecture. He paced back and forth behind the podium as he spoke, hands clasped behind his back as if he was delivering some kind of great oratory, rather than simply wasting our time. “So what might this impending hurricane mean for us, you may be asking yourselves? Quite simply, it means that the Charleston Police Department, along with nearly every other law enforcement agency in the state, will be standing up our emergency operations plan. Effective immediately, all previously approved leave requests are officially rescinded. Officers will start working in twelve-hour shifts from tomorrow morning, and we’ll maintain that rotation until further notice.”
Faced with such horrible news, I came dangerously close to losing my bearing entirely. My head dropped down to the desk, and judging by the muffled thumps I heard echoing around the room, at least a handful of other cops shared my feelings of despair. Even though my arms were wrapped up over my head, I still couldn’t manage to completely drown out the words that followed. It could have been my imagination, I guess, but Captain Russell’s voice seemed to take on a joyous note as he watched us suffer.
“All special units” he went on, “to include our esteemed Central detectives and team investigators, will be temporarily re-assigned to uniform patrol until after the storm has passed. The acting Chief’s most pressing concern is for us to beef up our operations, so it’s all hands on deck for the duration of the storm. Operation Cyclone Fury will kick off at 0400 tomorrow morning, so I’d suggest that all of you spend some time today getting your own households in order. As for your family members, make sure they’re evacuating while they still can. And while you’re preparing your duty gear, be sure to pack a few extra changes of clothing. We’ll be establishing smaller, scaled-down command posts within each of the patrol teams. No officers will be dismissed to return home until we’ve issued the all clear.”
While the room erupted in a fresh chorus of grumbles, Sal laid a big arm across my shoulder. “Damn, bro. I mean, when I heard the rumors last night I shot you a text,” he whispered, “but you never answered back. Looks like all the Team Four officers will be bunking up together at the Citadel Mall.” He squeezed his thick fingers along my collarbone, sending a shockwave of pain up the side of my neck. “So I guess we’ll be roomies, eh? Well, we’ll just have to make the best of it. Sure hope you aren’t bothered by a little bit of snoring.”
I groaned. Enduring Sal’s rank body odor during a normal, eight-hour work day was bad enough, but the thought of having to listen to him wheeze in and out all night long through that deviated septum of his was simply too much to bear. He chuckled at my misery, working to get in another dig while Captain Russell was still distracted by the low rumbling of impending mutiny. “Well, look on the bright side, hero. At least it’ll be a shorter commute, huh? And who knows, maybe you can even use the downtime to close out a couple of your cases. Those folders on your desk are beginning to stack up, you know— all that paper might be a fire hazard.”
No way, I thought to myself, shaking my head in abject denial as the Captain cleared his throat and called the room to order. “Obviously, gentlemen” he droned on, ignoring the small number of petite, ponytailed female officers present. “We recognize the sacrifice that you’ll all be making in order to serve our fair city. We plan to have all the necessary resources in place to support you, including a more than adequate supply of canned food. The alternate command centers in West Ashley, James Island and Daniel Island will also have temporary accommodations for each patrol team, which I’m sure will be quite comfortable. This way, you’ll be able to focus a hundred percent of your efforts on your work, rather than worrying about a dangerous commute back home, or even coming downtown to hand in your reports. Now there’ll be many more details forthcoming as this assignment takes shape, so please keep in touch with your supervisors and stand by for additional information. But for now, I’ve probably kept you long enough. So unless anyone has any questions, let’s get out there and hit the streets!”
I kept my head down on the desk, trying my best to block out the harsh sounds of chairs scraping against the linoleum floor and worn boots shuffling out into the hallway. I only dared to raise my eyes back up once it seemed as if the majority of cops had left for work, and when I finally did risk a sneak peek, I was dismayed to see Mark Hammer, staring right back down at me. His hands were planted on his hips, forearm muscles bulging out of those short uniform sleeves, and for some reason he was shaking his head from side to side with a sour look of disappointment. “Jesus Christ, Larsen” my boss groaned. “What gives? You went the extra mile this morning, actually setting your alarm clock and getting to work on time for once in your miserable damned life, but I guess all that effort left you too exhausted to work your cases, huh? Now I don’t suppose you’ve managed to make any progress yet on all those vandalisms we’ve had out in Shadowmoss? No? How about last week’s B&Es up there in Village Green?”
I sighed, but still pushed my chair back and stood up. Sure, Hammer was a genuine prick, the type of weig
htlifting meathead cop who made a point of getting all his uniform shirts tailored half a size too small, but to be fair, the guy did have longevity going for him. Lieutenant Hammer was one more member of CPD’s “retired-on-duty” club, those grey-haired cops who’d put in twenty-five years only to come right back to work and pad their pensions. Whenever the older guys hit that mark, though, any motivation they ever had on active duty seemed to disappear once those retirement checks started rolling in. And even though Hammer hadn’t been my boss for very long, it only took him a few days to realize there was simply no point in trying to ride me very hard. It looked as if Hammer had just lost all interest in the job, and as for me, I’d just never been inclined to do much work in the first place. But still, it never hurt to toss out a token display of respect every once in a while. “Working hard, L.T.” I grunted, tucking the still-folded-up necktie back into my shirt pocket before reaching down to give the tall stack of paperwork a quick shuffle. “Sal and I are closing in, and after so many months of this crap, we might finally be near an arrest. I mean, we have to be, right? This crime wave can’t go on forever.”
He snorted with laughter, the sudden influx of oxygen causing the veins along his temples to bulge against his trim grey crewcut. “So what is that supposed to mean? Don’t tell me you guys have found a suspect?”
He’d stumped me with that one. I had absolutely no idea how many incident reports might have been sitting on top of my desk, untouched and unread, so there was literally no way for me to forecast the probability of a collar. “Uh... of course, boss. We’re all over it. But listen, damn it, I left my notebook back in the car. Can I give you the rundown a little later on this morning?”
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