“You look delicious,” Gianna told Mimi in the brief moment they had alone outside the mosque. Gianna was waiting for Eric to pick her up and Mimi was waiting with her; her own car was in the lot.
“You look rather fetching yourself. I’m available to be arrested—”
Gianna was trying to control her laughter, and the effort was contorting her face in several odd ways. “You’ve really gotta stop reading those British mysteries. Nobody here says ‘fetching.’ At least not out loud.” She finally gave in to the laugh, and her face relaxed and she was beautiful. Mimi told her as much, only to discover that perhaps her woman preferred being fetching. “Beautiful is all right, I suppose, but lots of women get told they’re beautiful. Fetching, on the other hand, not so much.”
“You have lots of women telling you how beautiful you are?”
“What was Dee looking so serious about?” Gianna asked, artfully changing the subject.
Mimi shrugged. “She wants to talk to me about something. We’re meeting tomorrow morning at the Snatch. And she did look serious, now that you mention it. Sounded it, too.”
Gianna looked thoughtful. “When she and Darlene brought the food the other morning I had the sense that Dee had something on her mind, that she wanted to talk, but realized that it wasn’t the best time.”
“So maybe she’s going to tell me whatever she wanted to tell you?”
The answer was lost in the arrival of Eric Ashby, driving an unmarked cruiser. He got out of the car to open the door for his boss and threw Mimi a friendly wave.
“You’re awfully cute in that uniform, Sergeant,” she teased him, and he blushed almost as bright red as his hair. “See you later, Lieutenant,” she said to Gianna.
“Yes, you will,” Gianna said, and they drove off, followed by another unmarked car that held the rest of the Hate Crimes Unit: Detectives Alice Long, Bobby Gilliam and Kenny Chang, and Officers Linda Lopez and Tim McCreedy. They all waved at Mimi. She waved back. All of them heavily and painfully aware of the permanently empty space in the car where Officer Cassandra Ali should have been.
Mimi received a subdued welcome when she returned to the paper. Everyone knew where she’d been, and the newsroom televisions had been tuned to the channels that had carried as much of the day’s event as was allowed. A couple of cameras had followed the hearse to the cemetery but were stopped at the gate by a contingent of B-Moggers and D.C. cops, once again working together in aid of a common purpose. Mimi dumped her purse and scarf on her desk and went looking for Tyler. He’d texted her during the funeral service, asking that she find him as soon as she returned. He wasn’t at his desk, but signs of his presence were everywhere. He’d return soon and so would she, after a bathroom visit. She headed for the hallway.
“Patterson!”
She turned around to find Tyler standing at his desk, waving her over. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved in days or slept in a week. “I thought you were going home last night. If not to sleep, at least to shower and shave. And change clothes,” she added, giving him a top-to-bottom appraisal.
“So did I. Then we got the word that Papa Holton and the boys were being arraigned in federal court this morning.”
“Ah! Who’s on it, Joe?”
Tyler winced, then nodded. “And Ian.”
Mimi was about to ask who Ian was when she remembered that was Weasel Boy’s name. She made her face go neutral and stood looking at Tyler, hoping he’d say more before she had to speak. He didn’t, so she did. “Who’s writing the lead story?”
“Shared byline.” And Tyler almost smirked when he said the words.
“That’s a shitty thing to do to Zemekis. He’s a good reporter, and he’s done some really good work the last several days. He deserves better.”
“Yes he has and yes he does, but it wasn’t my call. After today, though—and this is what I wanted to tell you—after today, you and Zemekis belong to me, Ian stays with Wassily.”
Mimi wanted to do a happy dance all around the newsroom while shouting, free at last! Instead she just nodded, as if Tyler had told her what time it was or what he’d ordered from the Chinese carry-out, and thanked him. “Does Joe know?” she asked, keeping her face straight and her voice down. She was aware that many pairs of eyes now were on them. “Does the room know?”
“Joe does not know, but some in the room may know. Todd was not quiet in expressing his . . . shall we call it unhappiness?— with Ian’s performance over the last few days. When Ian found out you weren’t covering the funeral, he wanted it but Todd nixed that. He said—and he said it loud enough for the people in the next block to hear—that he didn’t want Ian anywhere near the Muslims. Then he—Ian—wanted the arraignment but Todd nixed that, too. Said it was Joe’s story, but Ian could work it with Joe and they’re to run it through him.”
Now Mimi understood the smirk. Ian still had his job, but Todd had him on a very short, very tight leash. And after today, he’d have no cover. “And here I thought Todd was just counting down until he could check out and collect his pension. Glad I was wrong.”
Tyler lost the battle to stifle a yawn and rubbed his badly-in-need-of-a-shave face. “Me, too.”
“You’ve really gotta get home tonight, Tyler.”
He nodded and let rip another yawn. “You, too, Patterson. I know you went home in the wee hours of this morning to shower and change—you look terrific, by the way; red suits you—but a small child could get lost in those bags under your eyes.”
She punched him in the chest, told him pomegranate was the color of her outfit, and turned toward her desk but he called her back. “Do you have anything going that I should know about?”
She started to tell him no, but then she remembered her meeting tomorrow morning with Dee Phillips. She told him about it, told him that she didn’t know what Dee wanted, but also that Dee wasn’t the kind of woman to overreact or waste another woman’s time.
“OK. After that, you and Joe and me. Noon. Lunch.”
She opened her mouth to confirm the appointment, but a huge, face-cracking yawn emerged instead of words. Tyler told her to go home, and she didn’t argue. She just hoped she could manage to stay awake until Gianna arrived. She turned to head toward her desk to collect her belongings; then her bladder reminded her that she needed to pee, so she turned back around— and there was the Weasel. Right in her face.
“A word please, Miss Patterson,” he snapped nastily at her.
Then Todd came barreling out of his office and snapped even nastier at the Weasel. “I told you I’d handle this, Stu.”
“I think I can ask what happened to the story,” the Weasel said, displaying more backbone than Mimi would have given him credit for. “That Eastern Shore story—” he began, with a sour look at Mimi, but Todd cut him off hard and fast.
Mimi hadn’t known the executive editor in his glory days, which occurred in Chicago when she was in high school, but he had one hell of a reputation. Nobody at this paper had seen it displayed before the last several days, and now they saw—and heard—a lot of it. “You’ll do what the fuck I tell you to do!” the Exec bellowed. “I told you I’d deal with Patterson regarding the Eastern Shore story and I will!” He looked at her and bellowed her name since he apparently was in a bellowing mood, even though she was standing next to him. “Where’s the damn Eastern Shore story! What happened to it?”
“Stu spiked it—” Mimi began, and got cut off equally hard and fast.
“I don’t give a goddamn what he did! I want to read it!”
“I’ll shoot it to you right now,” Mimi said, and headed for her desk, working hard to control the grin that wanted to spread out over her face. She woke up her computer, typed in her password, pulled up her story file folder, and sent the Eastern Shore story to the Exec. Then she closed the folder, locked it, and hurried to the toilet, a visit she no longer just wanted but very much needed to make. As she washed her hands, she peered at herself in the mirror and had to admit that Tyler wasn’
t too wrong about the bags under her eyes.
As she passed Todd’s office he called out to her and she stepped in. He peered at his computer screen. “I like this story a lot. I’ve got a couple of questions and a couple of suggestions but we’ll talk about them tomorrow. You look about ready to fall on your face. Really good work the last few days. It’s very much appreciated. Now go home.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” she said, and hurried out of his office and to her desk before he changed his mind or before anyone else called her name. Loudly or otherwise. She locked everything and grabbed her bag, hoping that Gianna wouldn’t have too long and too tough a day.
The Hate Crimes Unit was in the Think Tank eating turkey and Swiss cheese sandwiches on whole wheat bread with lettuce and tomato, at the insistence of their boss. Wonderful as po’ boy sandwiches and pizza were, they didn’t rank very high on the “good for you” scale. Chips were allowed, iced tea or lemonade or water were the beverages on offer. Nobody minded. The deli the sandwiches came from was the best in town. Also on the menu: the quarterly crime stats, and hate crimes were up a very uncomfortable—not to mention a very unacceptable—31 percent.
“Most of that increase came against members of the Jewish community and the transgender community, though given that stupid is as stupid does, I fully expect an uptick in crimes against Muslims,” Gianna said, and took another bite of her sandwich. “I don’t understand the Jewish thing, though, and it bothers the hell out of me.” She shook her head and glared at the report as if it were guilty of withholding the reason from her. She looked around the table, startled for an instant to find them all in uniform. “Anybody have any thoughts, ideas?”
“Only that hate crimes have been up everywhere, across the board, since the election,” Alice said. “Not to mention around the world.”
The scowls and dark mutterings that punctuated this remark spoke volumes about the sad, awful truth of Alice’s words. The only good news was that their archenemy on the city council had stopped talking about eliminating them from the budget. Hate crimes were big business again. “As true as that may be, it doesn’t help us deal with the problem,” Gianna said. “And we’ve got to be proactive and preventive. I don’t want to have to do any more after-the-fact cleaning up. And yes, I know that means we need more bodies. I plan to discuss that with the Chief tomorrow. In the meantime,” she said, and began outlining assignments: Tim and Alice to monitor the transgender community, working through Metro GALCO—the Metropolitan Gay and Lesbian Community Center; Bobby to outreach in the Muslim community and to take the opportunity to build on the relationship he’d recently established with the imam of Cassie’s mosque; Linda to be a presence in all segments of the Spanish-speaking community, making sure they remembered who the HCU was and what they did; Eric to strengthen ties already existing in the Jewish community; and Kenny to establish HCU creds in the Hindu, Sikh, and Buddhist communities. “Because I don’t think we have any,” she said.
Kenny looked comically aghast. “Do we even have Hindus and Sikhs? And why Buddhists?! They never bother anybody!”
“This is the nation’s capital, dude! We’ve got everybody!!” Bobby said energetically. Then he frowned. “I know where some Buddhists hang out. But Hindus and Sikhs? Not so much. Sorry, Kenny.” Then he looked at Gianna. “Hindus and Sikhs, Boss? Really?”
Gianna never minded when they got loose like this. It broke the tension that came with the work they did, but it also helped them focus more tightly on the work. Right about now, Cassie would have had something caustic or silly to say—she’d have made fun of Bobby or Kenny or both, but especially Bobby. (Dude! You know where Buddhists hang out?) Gianna knew they all were thinking and feeling the same absence. “Sikhs and Hindus, really. Listen, folks: As much as we don’t like it, we have to think like the perpetrators of hate crimes. (She heard Cassie: I don’t want to think like them, Boss.) Most of ’em don’t know what these different religions believe or how they practice. What they have in common is their dress. They look different. Not like us ‘real Americans.’” Gianna said the words and let them sink in. (And heard Cassie again: Nice to know I finally look like a real American, now that they have somebody else to hate.)
“Do we have a priority?” Eric asked.
Gianna nodded. “I’d say the transgender community, and if you get any pushback from Metro GALCO, let me know immediately.”
“Why would we get any pushback from them?” Alice and Tim asked almost simultaneously, both looking confused.
“Because like a lot of groups that serve a specific population, they don’t want anybody else telling them what to do or how to do it. And as far as I know, they don’t have any transgender people on staff though they do have a strong outreach effort.” Gianna finally tired of the stricture of the uniform and loosened the tie and removed the jacket. Everybody in the room sighed in relief and followed suit. They’d had enough formality for one day, apologies to Cassie. “So talk to Jose Cruz. He runs the hotline and he has a few transgender volunteers. Eric, a couple of rabbis who’ll be helpful to you: Annette Koppel and Henry Silver. Kenny: Samuel Hendricks, a professor of comparative religion at the Howard School of Divinity and Bill Kamal, professor of Middle Eastern Studies at GW. They can help with the Hindus, the Sikhs, and the Buddhists, though I know you’d rather rely on Bobby for help with the Buddhists—”
The hoots of laughter that produced once would have caused Bobby Gilliam deep embarrassment—the man did not like being in the spotlight—but now he just smiled and nodded, making Gianna think that perhaps he really did know where the Buddhists hung out. “But if it’s all right with you, Bobby, stick with Muslims—unless you have a direct line to the Dalai Lama, in which case the Buddhists are yours! And yes, everybody, I have contact info, so check with me after the meeting.”
Eric knew there was no point in wondering how she knew all these people. She was, after all, the Chief’s protégé and one of his favorite sayings was, “I know everybody.” The rest of the team just looked at her in amazement but nobody was brave enough to ask how she knew professors, rabbis, and hotline operators. Eric wished someone would ask so he could hear her say, “I know everybody.” Maybe one day he’d ask . . . just for the heck of it . . . so they all could hear her say it with her face a mask of innocent inscrutability, just like the Chief.
Gianna stood up and began to pace, a sure sign that she was about to unload. “I don’t want any of you stepping on any toes. That’s my job. And the Chief’s. Talk to people, reason with them. I think most of them understand that we’re dealing with a new normal. (Abnormal, Cassie interjected.) And I think most of them want to do whatever it takes to make certain that we never have a replay of the events of Friday night in this city.” She walked to the end of the room and turned her back to them as she struggled to get her emotions under control.
“How in the hell do we stop it, Lieutenant?” Alice was standing now, coldly angry. “Those women were walking to church! Are we supposed to tell people not to walk to church?” Alice was a South Carolina Gullah, and when she was emotional, the accent that she usually controlled was released, making it difficult to understand what she was saying, though her intention was never in doubt.
“Maybe, Alice. In fact, probably,” Gianna said, turning back to face them. “Just as Metro GALCO is going to have to hire some transgender staff. Just like we’re going to have to find out where transgendered people and Hindus and Sikhs hang out and suggest that they not be so open. Do I like this? I do not! It sucks! But we cannot stop the hate. We cannot stop people from wanting to harm those they hate. Therefore, those likely to be the victims of this stupidity will have to take steps to protect themselves, and they’d have to do this if we had sixty people in this unit instead of six.” Five, Cassie said in her head. Five, Boss.
“How many extra bodies do you think the Chief is gonna give us?” Eric asked, and Gianna laughed.
“Go home, you guys, and get some rest. I mean it. However
you wind down, whatever it takes—steam and a massage, two sets of tennis, a five-mile run, vodka, sex—wind down and get some sleep. It has been a god-awful few days. We will never get over losing Cassie. We will never stop missing her. But we have work to do, and people’s lives depend on how well we do it. Take the crime stats report home with you. Anybody having trouble getting to sleep, reading it might help.” They were laughing as they stood, and they cleaned up the remnants of their meal without her having to remind them.
“You’re going to get some rest, too, right, Boss?” Tim asked.
“I only hope I can stay awake until I get home,” Gianna said, and she was only half kidding. Mimi was already there; she’d texted when she left the paper, saying that she would stop at Tender Greens and pick up big salads. “I, for one, won’t be reading crime stats until tomorrow morning. Eight-thirty, everybody. Promptly.”
Mimi gave really good deep-tissue massages, and Gianna really needed one. Every muscle in her body was knotted and painful, from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. Mimi began by massaging her scalp, and just as Gianna was wondering whether there were muscles in the head, she swore she felt her brain loosen and relax. She was lying on a big beach towel on the bed so that the massage oil wouldn’t stain the sheets. Mimi’s hands moved smoothly over her skin, thanks to the oil, but their strength as they kneaded the muscles in her shoulders and back was as painful as it was welcome. She would gladly endure the physical pain if it would banish the emotional and mental pain of the last five days.
She groaned and Mimi’s hands ceased their work. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt?” she asked, concern heavy in her voice.
“Please don’t stop! I haven’t been this sore since I fell on the ice while chasing those Irish gun runners. And I hurt pretty much everywhere then, if you recall.”
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