by John F. Carr
Grohe seemed at least a little embarrassed, but Wilson was completely unruffled.
“No offense taken.” Wilson said. He returned to his desk and picked up his comm, speaking quietly to the front desk.
Grohe shook his head. “Chief, I’m sorry about my behavior.”
“Don’t tell me,” Burek answered, “Tell Wilson.”
“Yeah, okay, I get he’s got forty years, but he’s completely out of his depth with this perp. You said yourself we’ve got a Fourth Crèche genius on our hands, plus we know from his record he’s a sociopath to boot. He’s young, he’s dangerous and he’s brilliant, not to mention incredibly resourceful. And to think this dying dinosaur—” Grohe gestured toward Wilson, who was still on a commcall, the fone in one hand, the ridiculous orange dinosaur in the other, idly twirling, twirling—“can contribute anything to this case but a few cheesy old ‘there I was’ yarns is, with all due respect, a waste of our time. We just need more uniforms on station and we will catch this guy.”
“Would you like me to mobilize the Army so we can bring in one exceptionally bright sixteen-year old?” Burek asked. “Would that be enough manpower?”
Grohe’s jaw clenched. “No, sir.”
Burek nodded. “Good. We’ll keep at it with the resources at hand, Detective.” Burek seemed fascinated by Wilson, and Grohe, First Crèche himself, wondered for a moment if his Third Crèche Chief’s hearing was so genetically enhanced that his boss was able to eavesdrop on the old coot’s call from across the room.
Anything is possible, Grohe thought. Bad as this Fourth Crèche perp is, what’s it going to be like three more breeding cycles down the road? When are the Breeding Mastery Councils going to lock down those behavioral genes and… his train of thought abruptly switched rails: Put me out of a job?
“In any case, Detective Grohe,” Burek continued, “However you feel about Detective Wilson, I would advise you never to kick a dying dinosaur.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“Well, because they are a dinosaur. And with their dying breath, they might simply roll over on you and crush you.” Burek turned to Wilson who was returning to The Board. “Was there something else you wanted to add, Detective Wilson?”
And Wilson told him.
* * *
On the afternoon of his last day on the job, Jack Wilson’s daughter came to pick him up from work. She had insisted on that, too.
Donna was standing by the car, looking up at her father on the steps of the Police Station. A group of detectives stood gathered around him, shaking his hand, apparently sending him off with well-wishing remarks. All of them turned briefly to watch two uniformed officers leave with a young boy. Donna thought he couldn’t be more than sixteen years old, but he was wearing heavy restraints on his ankles and wrists and a dumbfounded expression of utter incredulity.
Poor kid, she thought. Wonder what that’s all about…
Mindy was in her mother’s arms, holding a drawing she’d made in school. She looked up, saw her grandfather, waved, then went back to the fascinating piece of imaginary lint or diamond chip dust or fairy dust in her five-year-old fingers.
Grohe shook Wilson’s hand with an honest grip and a very different attitude. “Gonna miss you around here, Old Man.” For the first time, the phrase was one of respect.
Wilson acknowledged the compliment, saying nothing. What was there to say?
Chief Burek was the last to take his hand. “You know, I was joking about the teaching job,” he said, “But after this, I’d like you to seriously consider a position at the Academy. Being smart only counts for so much. Knowing more is a very different thing.”
“I’ll think about it, sir,” Wilson said, but he wouldn’t.
No matter how brilliant a person was, no matter how talented, insightful, or even driven they might be, through accident of birth or design, there were, he knew, some things that simply could not be taught.
And the single greatest thing that could not be taught was that there were some things that could not be taught.
Wilson came down the steps and held out Buttons to his granddaughter.
“Grandpa, we did dinosaurs in school today. I drew you a picture.” She held out a classic interpretation of the child’s eternal favorite, Tyrannosaur in Blue.
“Wow, that’s beautiful, honey, thank you.”
“Was Buttons a good girl?” Mindy asked. Wilson looked at his daughter and mouthed the words Now Buttons is a girl?
Donna shrugged helplessly.
“Yes, Buttons was a perfect little lady,” Wilson added. With kids, you just had to roll with it.
“Kal’s made reservations for all of us for dinner at that Japanese restaurant you like,” Donna said as she settled Mindy in her car seat.
“That was nice of him,” Wilson said, and meant it. He loved his son-in-law who loved the daughter he adored and gave him a grandchild he worshipped. Life was good, occasional recent episodes of numbness in his left arm notwithstanding.
“Grandpa, we talked about dinosaurs today,” Mindy repeated in a tone that announced she required discussion of the subject.
“Yeah, what did you talk about?” Wilson asked.
“The teacher said they had tiny little brains and couldn’t have been very smart at all.” Mindy sounded offended at the notion.
“Well, honey, they lasted for two hundred and fifty million years on old Earth, and they’re still around here on Sauron,” he said, letting the safety harness secure itself over his chest. “They must have known something.”
Mindy squealed in delight. “That’s what I said!”
Donna smiled; she loved her father, who always knew the right thing to say.
“So,” she said, “Anything exciting happen on your last day? Looks like everyone turned out to see you off. Did you have a party or something?”
Wilson shrugged. “Sort of, I guess. I ordered pizza.”
“Mm, pizza sounds good,” Donna said as she pulled the car out into the street and drove away.
The End