Jughead twisted his lips up into a mean scowl. “See that you do, huh? Russell’s all over my ass about these cases. Just my damn luck, waiting all those years to get promoted, only to take charge of the patrol team where half of the command staff bought houses. Of course, that was back in the day when the suburbs were affordable, not this goddamned land bubble we’re stuck in right now.”
I did my best to pretend like I cared, nodding along in mock sympathy as I reflected on my own modest apartment. I’d learned very early on in my career that no good could come from taking my work seriously, which is why I’d developed a habit of misplacing my pager every night at five o’clock. I briefly pondered why either Captain Russell or Lieutenant Hammer might be concerned with a few piddling break-ins at the same time a natural disaster was heading our way, but in the end my discretion won out, and I responded with a simple “Will do.” Amazingly, the noncommittal answer seemed to satisfy Jughead, and he stomped out of the squad room without another word.
I hung back for another moment, using the tried-and-true guise of browsing all the handouts strewn across the podium. The encounter was a sure sign that I must have been mellowing in my old age, handling that confrontation with such tact, when only a few short years before my smart mouth might have bought me another three-day suspension for insubordination. But of course, nobody’s ever accused Jughead of being a rocket scientist. The way I heard some of the old-timers tell it, the only way Mark Hammer ever crossed The Citadel’s parade ground at graduation was by choosing a seat next to a nerd cadet during final exams, shamelessly copying from the kid’s paper with a complete disregard for the school’s honor code. After joining the ranks of CPD he’d managed to climb the ladder using the exact same strategy, at least until he slipped up and got those Lieutenant bars pinned on. Now policework isn’t exactly the same thing as splitting the atom, so it’s entirely possible that nobody ever noticed what a moron Hammer was, at least not until that guy tried to draw up a duty schedule. Of course his career had reached its peak by that point, and the Team Four beat cops who got stuck working rotating split shifts were the real victims. It seemed as if Lieutenant Hammer, a man who was genuinely incapable of grasping even the most basic mathematical concepts, expended the bulk of his mental muscle trying to keep his patrol squads staffed with warm bodies. The man struggled over the concept that each and every day had twenty-four hours to cover, and it didn’t take long for the overworked uniform cops to stick their leader with the nickname “Jughead.”
“That was pretty slick, young man” a hoarse voice rasped from behind. “What happened that you finally managed to land on Jughead’s good side? Did you two go and become gym buddies or something? I know you’ve been getting all slim and trim since you snagged a steady girlfriend, but I never thought you’d turn into a jock like Hammer.”
I turned around to see Lieutenant Jim Cobb, one of the crustiest old cops in the Central detectives bureau, still comfortably seated at the back of the room. Knowing Big Jim, it was entirely possible that he’d drifted off to sleep during the briefing, though it was much more likely that he just couldn’t manage to lift his huge body out of the chair. I’d spent several years working under Big Jim, and I knew the man well. He’d probably struggled for ten, maybe fifteen seconds, those tiny T-Rex forearms of his shaking with exertion, before throwing in the towel. His calculating mind would have reasoned that it was too much trouble to head upstairs to his office, so the only logical move was to remain seated until the afternoon roll call. Yeah, if that guy was going to move at all during the next eight hours, it would only be to reach for his radio and call some rookie for a coffee and a sandwich.
I flashed him a wicked grin, hitting Big Jim with the same charm that I used on all of my supervisors. “You like the way I played that? Don’t worry about me, Jim, I’ve got this.” I shot my mentor a sly wink. “I’ve handled my share of tough bosses— you of all people should know that.”
Jim let loose with a short chuckle, one which was quickly followed a long series of hacking wheezes. His breaths came in short gasps, the result of a lifetime spent smoking unfiltered Lucky Strikes. “I wouldn’t know anything about that, bub. Come to think of it, in all those years you spent hanging out in Central, I can’t remember you ever once closing a case.” He nodded a triple chin down towards the chair, where his scrawny, wrinkled limbs lay impotently atop the armrests. “Hey, give me a hand, whydoncha? Damn back’s gone on the fritz again.”
I reached out to offer a grip, a selfless gesture that Jim gratefully accepted. After a brief struggle, the two of us succeeded in getting the man back upright. “Don’t ever get old, kid” he grunted, reaching around his ample waist to massage his spine. “There’s no future in it.” While my old boss kneaded at his soft flesh, I took a step back to give him some room. Big Jim obviously needed a moment to compose himself, and as much as I hated to admit it, the exertion had left me winded too.
Finally, Jim stood upright with a wide grin across his liver-spotted lips. “See Goosey, there you go! All that iron you’ve been pumping over at the mall? It’s really starting to pay off!”
I felt my face flush with pride, but chose to walk a modest path. “No way, boss. The Planet Fitness might only be a couple doors down from the team office, but you’ll never catch me in that place... not unless there’s some kind of ‘suspicious activity’ call from the ladies’ locker room. But hey, I tell you what: if your back’s so wracked up, then why don’t you just punch out for a few days? Rest up, relax a little. If you push yourself too hard, you might make a small problem even worse. I know an old fox like you has to have a couple sick days on the books.”
Jim laughed again, rounding off the dose of good humor with a couple more hacking coughs. I watched, fascinated, while the dark bags of skin beneath his eyes wiggled up and down in time to each wheeze. “What, and miss out on this shitshow?” he choked. “Ain’t no way, dude! That’s the only reason I came into roll call this morning, and to be frank, it’s the only reason I haven’t popped smoke and retired for real yet. When you’ve got a front-row seat at the CPD circus, why would you ever want to miss all this free entertainment?”
Now it was my turn to laugh, since I suspected that by that late stage in his career, Big Jim Cobb must have been sitting a pretty fat bank account. What with his dual pensions from both CPD and the Navy before that, Jim Cobb was qualified to teach a graduate-level course in sucking off the government tit. The dude was pushing sixty and living in a paid-for condo just across the Ashley River, a perpetual bachelor without even a single kid that he knew about. But even with all that spare loot at his disposal, Jim was so cheap that he’d pinch a penny until Abe Lincoln screamed in pain. The guy was a master at touching restaurants for the old “police discount”, and it seemed to me like his only recurring expense was tobacco. No matter if he always smoked the cheapest brands, three packs a day adds up quick. “Yeah, I know what you mean, boss” I said. “So what’s the deal with this latest detail, huh? We’re forecasted to get a little wind and rain, so everybody in the city goes and loses their mind?”
He snorted. “Looks that way, Goosey. But if you think this little dog and pony show is something, you should’ve seen Charleston back in ’89, when we got nailed by Hurricane Hugo. That one was bad, real bad. Tons of property damage, and all the drama that comes with it. The initial forecasts showed the storm tracking out to sea, so people around here were taking, like, zero precautions, but a day or two later? When that squall turned full circle out in the Atlantic all of a sudden, then doubled back on us? WHAM! I mean, we got floored, dude!” Jim flailed an arm towards me to emphasize his point. “Of course back in those days, CPD still expected me to work for a living, so I think I must have pulled, like, ten straight days on post. Real work, too, none of this sitting in front of a computer bullshit they’ve got me doing now. Ol’ Rufus had me park my cruiser out in front of the Food Lion grocery store on King Street, just to make sure none of those Romney Street spooks bro
ke in and helped themselves to all the King Cobra and Wonder Bread they could carry.” He rubbed one hand across the back of the other, a wordless signal cops used to describe an offender’s skin color. “You know how those people get when you deprive them of their fried chicken and orange soda, right? Act all crazy, start breaking windows and looting everything in sight, even the black-owned businesses on their own damn block.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I heard that storm was pretty rough. Didn’t Chief Greene get in some kind of hot water that time too? Telling you guys to beat any looters and leave them in the streets, instead of hauling their sorry asses down to jail?”
“That’s the way it was reported, at least.” Jim rubbed a weathered finger along his forearm, picking at a sore scab. “But really though, that mess was just ‘cause we didn’t have enough room at the jail to hold them all. Let me tell you what, it got so bad out there, at one point I even had to get up out of the car and bust a few skulls myself. That was way back in the day, a good coupla years before I misplaced my nightstick and never got around to replacing it. And you know, kid, all that action shit might look cool on the TV, but it isn’t nearly as much fun in real life. You put a jig in the hospital, you gotta do paperwork, hurricane or no. And I’m talking about a full report, now— two paragraphs, minimum. And that’s single spaced, Goosey... single spaced.”
“Huh. But you don’t seriously think this week’s storm is going to be anything close to that, do you? I mean, I hadn’t even heard about it until Russell dropped that bomb.”
Jim raised a single, bushy eyebrow. “Dude, don’t you ever watch the news? Even if you don’t, the shift supervisors have been giving updates on Hurricane Tradd every morning this week. Where the hell have you been?”
I raised a shoulder, indifferent to his argument. Just because my job required me to show up for roll call, that didn’t necessarily mean I was required to pay attention. And out of all the supervisors at our department, Jim Cobb should’ve realized just how little I cared about my work. “But look here, boss” I said, “aren’t we supposed to be past hurricane season already?” I glanced down at my wristwatch, one of those flashy digital Timex jobs. It was an Ironman model, a gag birthday gift from Katie, as if either one of us would ever put in the work to train for a triathlon. “November 16th? For Chrissakes, it’s almost Thanksgiving now! I should be out getting a jump on my Christmas shopping, not hanging around 75 dealing with this bullshit.”
“You never can tell with these storms, man. I mean, look out the window today, right? It’s all nice and sunny, yeah? Seventy-five degrees, not a cloud in sight, a perfect day to be anywhere besides work. But tomorrow? Who knows? Shit, it could be pouring buckets by then. Let me give you one piece of advice, though: if you’re going to be posted on this detail indefinitely, you should go ahead and clear off your desk now. I mean like today, this morning, right now. All the usual BS can wait, man. See, the beautiful thing about a crisis is, it gives you an excuse to dump all your shit cases into the shredder. No one’s going to ask about any of those routine investigations during the heat of an emergency. And if we’re really lucky, and the city actually does get creamed? Well then, it’ll be weeks— months, even— before everything gets back to normal.” Jim took a deep breath and began waddling towards the door, though I suspect the sudden burst of motivation simply meant he was overdue for his first coffee break of the morning.
“But hey, keep your fingers crossed for a big storm” he called out, the conspicuously-empty nightstick holder clacking against his leather holster with every rotation of the man’s wide hips. “If Hurricane Tradd does turn out to be a doozy, you might not have to do any casework for a good long while. It’ll be just like a vacation, only better— you’ll be getting paid to do nothing!”
I allowed myself the smallest of smiles as Jim staggered out the door. Storm or no storm, it was entirely possible that I might make it through the rest of the year, and maybe even the rest of my career, without closing any more cases.
4.
My back sung out in pain as it slammed against the door. I was struggling beneath the heavy load, panting for breath, and I had to crane my neck up at an awkward angle just to see out ahead of me. Of course Lieutenant Hammer, that worthless meathead, was tucked safely away in his cubicle, so I flashed him a pleading expression through the glass. Instead of actually standing up and walking over to help us with the job, however, that jerk just shook his thick neck from side to side before going back to his notes. Judging by the stressed look on his face, he must’ve been poring over the patrol rosters and trying in vain to stretch our staffing across all of Team Four. Clearly, some poor rookie was about to get shafted with a two-AM-to-noon shift.
In front of me, Sal grunted as he blindly reached for the door handle. “Sorry about that, Goosey. Lost my grip. Got this goddamn pine sap all over my hands, gonna be hell to wash off.”
I bent over and set the tree’s trunk gently down on the mall’s tile floor, hoping to catch my breath while Sal’s shaking hands struggled to fit a key in the lock. “You know what, bro? It serves you right. You got me out here carrying this whole damn tree across the mall, while all you’re doing in toting those tiny little branches at the top. Sap on your hands, man? Really? Hell, this is my best shirt! Tell me something, who in their right mind goes and buys a Christmas tree in November, anyway? There’s an entire damn month left when you could’ve gotten this done.”
Sal sniffed in disdain as the key slipped into place with a soft click. “Mock me if you want to, son, but this ain’t my first rodeo. You dig? You’ve been with Team Four for nearly six months now, right? You mean to tell me that in all that time, you still haven’t gotten wise to how our idiot boss works?”
I sneered. “Please, Sal, enlighten me. I’d love to hear more about how things really work out here in the suburbs.”
Sal scowled as he reached up to pluck a few pine needles from his mustache. “See, Goosey, it’s like this. If that big, dumb moose was ever allowed to go off on his own program, he’d probably forget about the holiday season altogether, or at least until December 24th. And whenever Jughead finally did remember that he needed to get the team office spruced up before Captain Russell stopped by for his annual Christmas morning visit with the troops, you know what he’d do? Huh? Well, he’d throw a hundred bucks at you, kick you out of this nice warm mall and send you out cruising the parking lots in search of whatever skinny shrub hadn’t been snatched up yet. You think I want to deal with all those last-minute holiday shoppers?” He smiled and tapped a thick finger against his forehead. “No sir, not me. That’s why I used the old noodle and signed a couple bills out of petty cash last week. Even though all that loot will just be going towards my lunch fund, it’s still above board, seeing as how I scored this beauty for free.” He stood tall on his toes, stretched his back, then reached back down to secure his grip on the tree. “Got it from my mom’s neighbor’s front yard. That old bird’s pushing eighty, half-blind. She’ll never miss it.”
I looked at Sal with a newfound sense of admiration. “Seriously, man? You mean to tell me you actually boosted our tree? As in, like, we’re about to decorate the office with a hot pine?”
“Yup. Only took me ten minutes of work with a bow saw. Easiest money I ever made.” He flashed a wide grin, and a row of thick white teeth peeked out from beneath that wild facial hair. “Gotta think ahead if you want to last in this game, you hear? Learn to manage up.”
I nodded, hefting the trunk once more, and the two of us backed gingerly through the open door. Even though it wasn’t in my nature to embrace such a proactive mindset, I had to admit that Sal had a point. Now that the holiday season was coming up quick, it was beginning to dawn on me that Katie might be expecting some sort of gift, especially since we’d been an exclusive couple for so long. We were quickly closing in on our first anniversary, and the most shocking part of the relationship wasn’t necessarily our longevity as a couple, but rather how comfortable I’d grown with
the arrangement. Having a steady girlfriend was super convenient, another set of hands to take care of all the cooking and cleaning and laundry, things I hated to do for myself. But even beyond the domestic chores and the manual labor, having that girl around just felt kind of... nice.
Sal and I struggled against the load for a few more feet before finally dropping the big tree down into an ancient stand, one that could only have come from the depths of our dusty storage closet. I did my best to look as if I was holding the tree upright with a firm, solid grip, while Sal lowered himself down onto all fours. His gut hung low, brushing against the floor as he crawled his way around the stand, tightening each of the screws in turn. And then, after most of the heavy lifting was over, Jughead pushed aside his papers and walked up to join us. “So now I know how you two elves spend your shifts” he laughed. “It’s no wonder we can’t get any of these vandalism cases closed— both of my investigators are too busy spreading Christmas cheer.”
I grinned and wrung my hands. The sticky pine sap left an irritating glaze across my palms, and I just couldn’t seem to keep a firm grip. “You can depend on us, L.T. We’re the worker bees, we keep the hive running. Let us worry about all the minor details— you should be focusing on big picture stuff, like staffing, or crime stats. Shit like that.”
Jughead didn’t reply to the brush-off, but shot me a look of skepticism.
“But what’s on your mind, boss?” I prompted, trying to project a picture of concentration, as if the task at hand was demanding most of my attention. “If you’ve got something brewing, I’d be happy to jump on it— just as soon as we’re done here.” Down at my feet, Sal grunted as he strained to tighten all the screws into place. “Say, you don’t want to lend a hand, do you? It’d probably make the job go quicker.”
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