Wade turned his attention back to his hands. The classic 'it's-not-my-problem' treatment. He had dealt with it before, plenty of times.
“So what happens to me now?” Wade asked.
“You're going to be transferred back to prison, and you'll serve the remainder of your time until you're 21. You'll no longer be eligible for parole.”
Wade nodded, his heart sinking. That was it. No more free passes. It would be another three years. If he could even last that long.
If he even wanted to...
“Look, Wade, I don't know exactly what's going on, but I look at you and I see a good kid,” said Palmer. “A kid that knows right from wrong. A kid that deserved another chance, and when you got it, you threw it away. How come?”
It was a fair question. Why had he thrown everything away? Why, instead of living on a leash of freedom, did he choose to simply end it all? Was he really that miserable? His life was indeed at a low point, but had he really hit rock bottom?
After a while, Wade looked up and stared at the wall behind Palmer. Then he spoke.
“When you grow up like me...you live the life that I lived...you don't have many friends. And when you get thrown in the pen, you've got no one.”
Wade felt tears coming, but held them back.
“...And when you spend three years by yourself, waiting for that second chance...hoping and praying, and you finally get it, you can feel...new.”
Wade's eyes burned.
“But when you get back home...you come back to where it all started...you realize that everyone else has left, and moved on, and you're just as alone in the big wide world as you were in that tiny little cell. And you find yourself wanting everything to go back to the way it was before, even though 'before' it was nothing but pain every day, because in truth, feeling pain...”
Wade refocused on Palmer, staring directly at him.
“...it's better than feeling nothing.”
Palmer and Wade sat there, looking at each other for a few moments. Wade couldn't read Palmer's expression, and didn't know for sure what to say next. Finally, Palmer blinked, as if pulling himself out of a train of thought.
“...I've got to go contact your supervisor, and let him know that you're being transferred.”
Palmer got up from the table, making for the door.
“When?” Wade asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“…Detective?” Wade called.
The question had been burning in him for several hours, and he had to know the answer. Palmer turned around.
“...How is she?”
Palmer lifted an eyebrow, confused at the question.
“...The girl,” Wade clarified. “How's she doing?”
Palmer closed the folder and tucked it under his arm as the buzzer sounded.
“Grateful,” he answered, heading out the door.
CHAPTER 10
As the door to the holding cells shut behind him, Palmer made his way to the lobby. To say that today had been ‘a long day’ would have been quite the understatement. What was supposed to be a routine drug bust ended up becoming the biggest headache Palmer had dealt with in at least the past six months.
He felt bad for the kid. The girl would have most likely ended up in the hospital or even dead if he hadn't come to her rescue, and now he was being sent to prison. Palmer had seen firsthand what a doubleedged sword the legal system could be, and it didn't feel right letting a kid like that get cut down.
Palmer reached the end of the hallway and stood in front of the door to the lobby. He could only imagine what kind of whirlwind was awaiting him from Franks.
Deputy Commissioner Franks and he had butted heads on a continual basis. While it was true that Franks was technically his superior, Palmer had far more experience and skill (though Franks would never admit to it). Palmer had been enlisted at the Federal Bureau of Investigations, spending a good five years in service to the Department of Justice. He had been a special liaison with the Central Intelligence Agency, and had lived in over four different countries. After a decade of service to his country, he had decided to retire from federal work and try his hand at being a detective.
He had never forgotten his first day, walking into an interview at the Munich Police Department. Franks had questioned him for over an hour about almost everything under the sun. Being an ambitious man himself, Franks just couldn't wrap his mind around Palmer's wish to essentially 'climb down the totem pole'.
Still, he had enlisted Palmer regardless, but Palmer never could quite shake the feeling that Franks saw him as a threat. Franks took great joy in reminding him on a daily basis who was in charge, and this had led to several rather 'heated discussions'.
To make matters worse, Palmer was facing his yearly performance review, run by none other than Franks himself, and if Palmer didn't perform well, he could risk losing his job.
“How's he doing?” Franks asked as Palmer walked into the lobby.
Morgan and Franks had been waiting for him to return from questioning.
Palmer sighed, saying, “…Kid's got a record. He's being transferred back to his parole site tomorrow.”
Franks furrowed his brow in a classic expression of frustration.
“I was referring to our dealer, Detective Palmer,” he said hotly.
Palmer lifted his hand up and rubbed his head. Right. Him. The real issue.
“Oh. Sorry,” Palmer apologized. “He's...in custody, facing three to five. His hearing's in a week.”
Franks snatched the files out of Palmer's hand.
“Well, that is wonderful,” he quipped, lifting the folder up to Palmer's face. “And I hope you'll be there at the hearing to explain exactly why the Munich Police Department has to rely on 'innocentfugitive' bystanders in order to catch its drug dealers!”
“Look, the guy got away,” Palmer fought back. “It wasn't the first time something like that had happened. It was a routine mistake, and we fixed it.”
Palmer knew he had no real excuse, and Franks clearly picked up on this. He opened up the file, lazily scribbled his signature, and tossed the folder back to Palmer.
“Oh, detective... keep in mind that your performance review is still ongoing,” he said with a great deal of arrogance.
Palmer took a breath, careful not to lose his cool, answering, “I'm fully aware of that, sir, and believe me, I'll make sure that nothing like this ever happens again.”
“I certainly hope it doesn’t, Detective Palmer,” Franks said, leaving the lobby and heading toward his office.
Finally able to let out some steam, Palmer stepped over to his filing cabinet, opened it up, placed the file in its proper place, and slammed it shut roughly. Morgan turned a blind eye and made for his desk, which was located directly behind Palmer's.
“Thanks for running point back there…” Palmer called to him.
Morgan sat in his chair and leaned back, making eye contact with him.
“Hey, listen Dan; don't let him get to you. I'm sure the review will ”
“I know, I know, it'll go just fine,” Palmer finished for him, taking a seat at his own work area.
“It still doesn't change the fact that he's right, though,” Palmer continued. “I messed up. It was a rookie mistake, and it put a lot of people at risk. It was stupid of me to let things get that far out of hand, and I deserve the punishment that Franks will inevitably reward me with.”
Morgan gave him a slap on the shoulder, trying to cheer him up.
“Hey, let me take you out for a drink tonight.”
Palmer shook his head. “Can't. I promised Sherry I'd be home for dinner.”
Morgan stacked a few papers together and shut the light off on his desk.
“Suit yourself!” he said, standing up to leave. “Have a good night.”
“You too, Morgan,” Palmer responded as he headed out the door.
Palmer was left to himself, giving him some much needed quiet to think about the day.
Morgan w
as a good cop. Palmer had first started working with him around eight months ago, and he was picking up the work routine faster than Palmer himself had. He was the best driver on the force, and he knew how to handle himself in the field. Palmer had regularly been impressed with how cool Morgan managed to stay throughout the day. He never got into an argument, and he seemed to always know how to keep everyone calm, and situations under control.
Would Morgan have made the same mistake he did?
Somehow Palmer knew in his heart that Morgan would have checked the wire. Double checked, in fact. Morgan was a perfectionist, and he always made sure that everything was in working order. He was the kind of guy who would wake up every morning to clean and check his firearm to see if everything was in abovesatisfactory conditions.
Palmer then thought about himself. Was he that committed? That much of a perfectionist? Did he show as much care and concern for his job?
Was he getting lazy? There had to be some explanation of why he had slipped up so many times in a rather simple procedure. He had done far more complicated and far more dangerous things in his past while working in the field. What was the reason for his sudden drop in proficiency? Was he getting too old? The thought of retirement hadn't even occurred to him before.
Palmer rubbed his forehead and let out a yawn.
He was just having a bad day. Everyone did every now and then. He just needed to get home and unwind. Sherry would be able to cheer him up. And the thought of a long night's rest wasn't that bad, either.
Palmer switched off his computer and turned off the desk lamp. He stood up, packed his things and clocked out.
Heading out to the parking lot, the feeling of the early evening wind calmed his nerves and he took a deep breath. He would put the thoughts of the drug bust, of Franks, and Wade aside for now. He could tackle all of those issues in the morning.
The thoughts of family, dinner, and sleep filled his mind, and Palmer walked up to his car eager to face them.
CHAPTER 11
Wade sat on the ground of his small cell in Munich, staring up at the ceiling. Tomorrow he would be transferred back to New York, and quite a great deal of punishment would be waiting for him. Wade turned himself around and lay on his back. The cold ground of his cell pushed against his body and made it feel like he was lying on ice.
Wade rubbed his side. It felt like he had cracked a rib, but he wasn't going to let the police know it. He needed the pain. The cuts and bruises on his face, chest, and back made him feel alive. He had helped someone. He had seen a problem, and he had fixed it. And for some reason, being part of the solution made him feel as if he was worth something again.
He had tried to end it all, but Wade was starting to see things differently. There were still things that he could do. There were still people out there who needed help. And for today, he had managed to help one of them.
Could he have found a reason to be free?
“I'm home!” Palmer walked through the front door of his single-story home and hung his jacket up. His house was the kind that was always unspeakably clean, with fresh flowers decorating almost every room. His wife Sherry liked it that way, and had made it a rule to make sure everything was as tidy as possible throughout the day.
She walked into the front room and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. “How was work, honey?”
Palmer loosened his tie and unbuttoned the upper section of his shirt. “No worse than usual,” he said wit hout a hint of worry traceable. “...Yours?”
“Just peachy!” Sherry said, smiling.
“Peachy, huh? Well, I like the sound of that,” Palmer answered, chuckling to himself.
Palmer walked into the living room and looked around. The TV, as usual, was turned on with the volume going full blast, and his son Collin sat playing a video game.
“Collin, how was school?” Palmer shouted over the television.
Collin put a hand through his thick blond hair in an attempt to imitate his mother.
“...Just peachy!” he answered sarcastically.
Palmer looked at his son in amusement. He turned to his wife, pointing at the television.
“How long has he been in front of that thing today?” he asked.
“About an hour,” Sherry responded, giving a small smile.
“Yeah, an hour my foot,” Palmer said, making his way toward the kitchen. “...He knows he's got you to cover for him.”
“What are mothers for?”
“Yeah, yeah...” Palmer mumbled, heading to the kitchen counter. “We get anything in the mail?”
“Just bills.”
“Let's see...” Palmer said to himself, picking up the stack of letters and skimming through it. He pulled out the electrical bill and tore it open.
“...Whoa.”
Palmer craned his head around the doorway and called to his son in the living room.
“Collin, buddy, turn that thing off before you bankrupt us!” he said.
“That'll be the day,” Collin responded as he continued playing.
“...I'm serious, kiddo. This bill is through the roof. Why not turn off half of those computers you've got running upstairs, and save us a few trips to the soup kitchen?”
“I'm on it,” Collin answered as he sat doing absolutely nothing.
Palmer furrowed his brow and looked back down at the bill. He would never admit it to Sherry or Collin, but things weren't exactly easy to pay for. More and more recently, he had been pulling in overtime shifts at the station to cover the cost of the house. He didn't know for sure how much longer he would be able to hold everything together. Ironically, his line of work was one of the lowest paying around, yet Palmer never felt like he fit anywhere else. He had tried different jobs, sure, but he always found himself returning to what he did best. He was in his element when fighting crime, and he had learned a long time ago that just because one excels at something, doesn't mean they'll always be rewarded handsomely for it.
Sherry walked up behind him and began to rub his back gently.
“What is it, honey?” she asked, concerned.
He never could hide his thoughts from her.
“Oh, it's nothing,” he answered.
“Dan, tell me...”
“Oh, alright. I...messed up in the field today, during a performance review. I almost let a guy get away. It was a stupid mistake, and I can't seem to shake it off.”
Sherry looked at him.
“Should I be worried?” she questioned.
Palmer shook his head.
“What? No! Of course not. Don't worry about it!” he turned his attention to the dining room table. “Fixed dinner?”
“Your favorite!” she smiled.
“Dark chocolate?”
“...Steak.”
“Even better,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.
“...Excuse me, there's a minor in the house!” Collin shouted from the living room.
Palmer shrugged him off and looked at his wife.
“I'm gonna go hop in the shower and get the smell of convicts off me, okay?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Palmer headed towards his bedroom, messing with Collin's hair as he walked by.
“...Not necessary,” Collin said.
“Neither is the game,” Palmer said playfully. “Go help your mom with the table.”
Things were starting to look up. And more importantly, he had just thought up a solution to the problem that was nagging at him.
CHAPTER 12
Harmony sat in her day care room the next afternoon acting as if everything was normal. On the outside, she tried her best to seem as natural as possible for the kids, but on the inside she was screaming.
She had almost died yesterday. She would have been in a body bag if it weren't for the help of a guy that was now sitting in a jail cell. It wasn't fair. She didn't even get to know his name. The police had come to scoop her up after he had done all the dirty work for them.
He had put his own life at
risk. That was bothering Harmony the most out of everything. The guy had never met her, and she had never met him, yet he was willing to run head first towards the barrel of a gun for her?
Who was he? And more importantly, who was she, that she deserved such a protector?
Harmony looked at the clock. In an hour, she would be able to get off of work, and she would go directly to the police station to get all of her questions answered. Harmony hoped that she could find some type of closure to the whole mess and put it behind her.
Despite every suggestion of her conscious, she hadn't told anyone what had happened yesterday. The police had kept the event to themselves, and she hadn't shared the episode with anyone else. Not even her parents.
It had been a strange feeling, coming home and keeping it all a secret. She knew she would eventually have to tell them, but they didn't need all of the added worry just yet.
“Harmony?” She looked up from the group of kids and saw a coworker standing in the doorway, looking concerned.
“...Yes?” Harmony answered cautiously.
“Mrs. Fredericks needs to see you.” Mrs. Fredericks was the sole owner of the day care, and was quite the character. She reminded Harmony of an exceptionally mean Math teacher she had studied under in the 3rd Grade. As a boss, she was almost impossible to get along with, and she always had a negative comment or critique that she wouldn't shy away from sharing. If ever there was a reason to leave the day care and find another job, the existence of Mrs. Fredericks would have been it. But, needing the money, Harmony stuck with it as best she could.
Harmony looked to her coworker and motioned to the group of kids.
“Mind watching them while I'm gone?”
“Of course.”
Harmony turned to the group of children and smiled as politely as she could.
“Kids, I'll be right back, okay?”
“Okay, Ms. Wallace!” they all returned.
Harmony got up and made her way to Mrs. Fredericks' office, fully expecting bad news.
Fallen Angels - Book 1: Welcome To Munich Page 5