by brett hicks
Damn males!
“Yes, had I known we were linked via the job, I would have insisted on buying you a few more scoops.” Jimmy said, his rough masculine voice was smooth as it was scratchy. He was every inch the rocker man, less the detective in my perception. Still, I noticed an air of authority to his firm masculine tone.
Our boss nodded and grumbled something undiscernible to himself, and he clapped each of us on the shoulder with a hand. His eyes flashed red again for a moment, and I pretended not to notice.
“See that she is settled in properly, Jimmy. Keep the wolves at bay, if you know what I mean?” He said cryptically.
“Aye Boss, I had planned to do just that.” Jimmy said, and I felt a flicker of something cool and smooth as a surging brook of water in the depths of winter. Something dank and dark, something every inch as cryptic as the previous verbal transaction. I felt something lurking beneath the surface of my awareness, as though I were being stalked from the shadows at night. My arm hairs stood on end, as I fought to remain impassive at the feel of the preternatural of my new partner’s aura. He was strong, something I had never felt before and I was stuck with him!
This felt like the beginnings of some cheesy romance novel gone wrong! I was dumb stricken of speech for several long moments. Not that I had any designs on this hot sup of unknown origins!
I gave his firm male form a perusal as I thought this. I took my time enjoying the muscular curves of his body and the way his leather jacket snugly fit his body. Everything about him exuded confidence, a cool calm and a sense of easy grace. He was something like a shifter, if I was not mistaken, but he was like nothing I had ever felt before. Not a wolf, and not another ursine. I was not sure what to make of him and I forced my gaze to part from his incredible assets, and to keep myself closer to the “innocent” spectrum in this new cluster-fuck of a partnership.
“Well, get the feck out already. Dismissed!” Our boss thundered, and I felt almost as if the air expelled in his roaring tone had punched me in the gut. Not for the first time, I was glad that he did not seem like he wanted to maul my face off!
Jimmy held the door open for me like some old-school gentleman. I spared him a slight tug on my lips which I called a smile. I move past him and I feel the darkness and the chilly air of a deep winter night as we brush in passing. Aside for the goosebumps along my skin, I kept my expression neutral.
“So, what are you working on Detective Jim?” I ask him in an inquisitive tone. He regards me for a long moment and then he clears his throat.
“Got some dealers up in the Kip, making a right go of it. They hospitalized several university students for sampling their products. The boss wants a pair of armed detectives to go with the arrest team, see that everything is nice and tidy.”
He told me, and I felt myself groaning before I could stop it. Kipper Hams was once a prominent business back in the day, so much so that some genius made an estate to the honor of the local legend who owned the business. Now, those flats, the Kipper Hamilton Estate, were called “the Kip.” For those of you too American or otherwise, kip is another way of saying shit here. So, like I said, genius naming!
I lived about two blocks up from the Kip. My estate is called Iron Briar Place. It has held that name for several generations, which was surprising. With so many fae around, I half expected them to protest the name or to silently force the town council to change it. Considering their loathing for iron, including just the concept and principle of the poisonous substance.
Jimmy seemed to be attentive to the road, even though I caught a stray look directed at me occasionally. I looked at him mainly out of the corner of my vision. I did not feel any need to bring some sober talk about the previous night to a head right now. The tension in the air was palpable, yet we both seemed to do our best not to open our gobs.
I watched the coastal city of Dublin unfold around me. The old-world wonders of Ireland were hardly possible to explain in mere words. There was a sense of depth, majesty, magic, and aged beauty around me. In the USA, I had never seen or experienced this feeling quite the same way, aside from a few ancient Native American tribal sites.
Though the Celtic peoples were a world apart in customs, I could recall many similarities between tribal US and tribal Ireland back at the time of the Roman invasion. Druids once ruled the peoples of these islands, if you can believe the hidden histories of the fae and the other various immortal species.
Magical history is one of my favorite guilty pleasures. That and studying runes and magical rituals, and my ghost and demon busting hobby. I am a very active book nerd I guess you could say. Comparable to a warrior monk of the old world.
“You think we should discuss the pink elephant between us?” Jimmy asked me in a firm tone and snapped my head towards him at the sudden shattering of my deeply contemplative mind. He seemed to notice belatedly that something had distracted me.
“Sorry, thinking of something?” He asked, and I could almost read the sub-text of the unasked question, (or are you just trying to avoid contact with me?)
I cleared my throat, and I huffed in a sassy sounding manner. I probably threw more venom behind my words than needed.
“Let’s just get this straight right now. I am not a badge bunny. I will not shag you and anything that might have happened, well I am young and single, so it is my god given womanly prerogative to snog rando blokes as I see fit!”
Jim met my eyes for longer than a driver probably should have. He seemed to search for the truth in my words. He sniffed mildly, and I could see some layers of disappointment in his expressive eyes. He hid it well, but not well enough. He looked more confounded than angry with me.
“So, fresh start, yeah?” He asked, letting the previous night and this conversation run off his back like a duck’s.
I met his expressive eyes for a long moment, sousing his truth. Jim seemed to be a decent enough man or whatever type of sup he was. He was my partner, so I could neither avoid him, nor should I feel compelled to alienate him.
“Received and understood.” I said in a firm tone of no-nonsense. Jim seemed to deflate a bit and relax more into his driver’s seat. He did not seem to feel a need to fill the empty airways. He was a man of meaningful words. I tried to limit my admiration for my partner and the positive attributes of his character.
“Should we expect these guys to be armed? Tell me more about the dealer we’re busting.” I asked Jim, and he made a small noise, then he began.
“Alan O’Day, residential bad guy and all-around pox scum.” He said, beginning my introduction to Alan O’Day.
“He started out running for a local when he was a lad, then moved his way up the big bad scumbag chain. Got no conscious to stop him from flooding poisonous muck into the streets. It’s all fair play to him so long as he makes some Euros.”
Jimmy said, and I muttered in a slightly irritable tone, “So typical ge-bag.”
Jimmy sniffed mildly in amusement and conceded to my point.
“Aye, typical in every way, predictable as the tides, and as set in his ways as an old dog. Alan will either get bumped off by some young lad coming up in the scum circle, or he will build himself a drug empire.”
“Circle of life in a big city with ambitious drug dealing scum.”
I said, and Jimmy hummed in agreement as we parked a moment later. I was staring out at the withered sight of the Kip.
Seven:
The Kiperman Estate was almost an exact match for the old-style small townhomes that filled my block, minus the spiral illogical patterned yard at the epicenter where mine stood. I felt feint traces of magic on the air, but largely my senses told me this was a human residential area. The dark presence I felt was off in the distance, something like a shadow enveloping it.
With a careful eye towards the epicenter of this darkness, I began to follow my partner. I noticed that he showed no sign that he registered anything untoward. I had to hope his senses were keen enough that I could trust them.
/> The problem with playing it safe, was that I never got to ask anyone about all the weird things I could see. It always left me to wonder if I saw things that were not there and made me question my sanity. Isolation and potentially loopy visions were hardly comforting for a girl. All that I was, based itself upon my heightened perception. The fear that I was craven like my father was never further from me than a turn around the bend.
***
Jimmy led me through the well-lined maze of aging townhomes. This was a beat he was very well acquainted with. I watched my new partner, weary with a sense of foreboding. He was a sup of some alien variety. While he seemed very similar to me in some respects, I felt a profound sense of caution. My instincts had been sharpened to a razor’s edge over the years, starting in my childhood. Even if only for a split second, I had bested my father. Surviving a conflict with a powerful possessed entity had been nothing short of miraculous.
So, part of me screamed not to completely trust my partner. No logic held sway, and no evidence presented itself to me. Never-the-less, my instincts were incessant. Much the same had been the only reason for me not going home with Jimmy the night before. Sometimes, you perfect the art of listening to the small voice, and it becomes your only true beacon in the night.
I was out of time; my contemplations were shattered in the next instant by the cracks of gunfire. I felt something smash into my left shoulder and I swore in a string. My runes swirled and glowed faintly as I registered the sensation of a bullet piercing my flesh. The burn of the wound was made other-worldly by the molten blaze of pain as the runes forced my body into over-drive. I felt the slug being forced out by the tissue forming rapidly.
I had tattooed in an experimental regeneration glyph, and aside from the pain accompanying it, it was working! I had no time to allow the pain of my sudden injury to mar my focus. I had a partner to hood-wink, and I had a bad guy to catch.
Jim had hit the ground on his belly and was now turning to look in my direction. I wiped the stray tears of the agony from my face. I grit my chattering teeth and I struggled not to howl in the torment of my rapid regeneration. I felt as if lava-constructed surgical tools were working along the wound. I felt every blisteringly grotesque moment of the fiery regeneration.
“We need armed back up at the Kiperman Estate. Shots fired, Garda detectives under fire!” Jimmy roared into his smooth shiny black smartphone. He looked me over head-to-toe and he frowned for a moment. I realized that he had seen some stray traces of blood.
I could allow his mind to fill with questions, further poking holes in my human identity, or I could put on my big detective girl pants, and work through the pain.
I stood on shaky legs and my head felt dizzy in a way I had hardly felt since my second major physical trauma when I killed a minor demon loose on the town as a teenager. That had also been the night I was forced to own my truth and tell my granny about my double life. I had little choice, considering she was about to rush me to the ER, and I had less than a zero interest in explaining how a fifteen-year-old was nearly disemboweled with what looked like a massive serrated claymore.
I hit the pavement at a dead burst of speed. I held nothing back, using my slightly more agile movement to augment my pain-addled mind. I trusted in my well-trained muscle-memory to keep my legs from betraying me.
My gun cleared the holster next to my hip on instinct. I had the weapon trained down and forward as I sprinted towards the thundering cacophony of the lone gunman. I felt the acceleration of my heart’s tempo as my body exploded into action. It was like feeling a powerful old-school muscle car coming alive around you. I had only ridden in such a car a few times as a girl, and I still vividly remembered each sensation to this day.
I juked and dodged at random intervals, as I changed up my pace and my trajectory to muck up the shooter’s aim. First rule of running at a gunman, don’t present an easy target. Well, the first rule would be, not to tempt fate and charge a drug selling lunatic with a loaded firearm, but we are well past sane, reasonable, and cautious.
My prevalent fear was that some child in the estate might get caught in the firing line. To me, I would sooner allow my body to become swiss cheese filled with bullets, than to aimlessly watch some poor innocent to take my place! I have seen far too many innocents die in my short life. I have witnessed many atrocities committed by criminals. The sups did not have a corner on the market for scumbags.
I caught sight of the perp for a slit-second. I saw the shot lining up, and I followed the path of the aiming arm. My eyes connected with a woman in my path, a woman who had just opened her door as the gun lined up for me again.
I swore to every cosmic power know to man and then some I fabricated on the spot! I dove for her like a prize linebacker from an American football team, and I tackled her back into her house just as the wood of her door splintered behind me.
My ears were burning from the noise of the gunman’s weapon now. I heard another shot, but the caliber and the pitch of the sound was different. I recognized the sound for what it was, a garda standard issue detective’s firearm. I heard another echoing sound of gunfire, followed by the sound of a muffled roaring masculine voice.
I felt dizzy, and I felt the agony of the regeneration knitting my tissue together. I groaned a few times, and I looked my human female civilian over thoroughly, before I stood to my feet. I felt like I was on a fast-moving ride at an amusement park. My balance was off kilter slightly and I felt like my head was filling with water.
“Madam, are you hurt anywhere? Did a bullet strike you?” I asked her carefully, and I finished searching her for any crimson bloody wounds. It relieved me to discover that she was completely unharmed.
I smiled at her and I slumped against her entry hall wall for a protracted moment, collecting my thoughts and allowing my head to recover as much as possible. I didn’t want to stagger out like a drunk for my partner to notice me. I sheepishly smiled at the young red-headed woman and asked her, “Where’s the jax?”
She looked at me for a moment, and I repeated, “Jax, please, madam?” Her comprehension seemed to catch up with my words finally. She dumbly pointed off towards the back of the front hallway. I saw two doors and followed her finger towards the second door.
I flicked on the light once inside and I shut the door behind me. I cut on the faucet and I quickly began to splash water along the bullet wound on my left shoulder. It was tender and bloody sore, but it was freshly knitted together. I vigorously scrubbed away all trace of blood. I had to just excuse away the slight discoloration of my blouse to some random accident.
I heard my partner come storming through the door as I opened the jax door. I came eye-to-eye with Jimmy and he looked me over with a fine-toothed comb. I held his searching gaze.
“You ok Jim?” I asked him as casually as I could manage.
He looked slightly perplexed with me, but he soon huffed out a breath and said, “Yes, bugger missed me by a narrow finger. I returned fire and, well as you can guess, one less scumbag now.”
Jim said this, but I could see the weight of his words in his expression. I did not call him out on it, men hated to have their feelings thrust upon them. He could bullshit himself all he wanted, so long as he did not note what happened to me. I was sure any inconsistencies on my appearance were so minor that I could brush this all off. I was lucky he had not seen the wound directly after they had winged me.
You certainly know how to go into a new posting with a very literal bang, don’t ye, Avery!
I swore to myself and I mentally reprimanded myself for using such a conspicuous spell without testing it first. My runes trigger automatically, if the pre-conditions for the ink are ever met. So, I could heal if I were knocked unconscious or left in a coma. I mean these spells to save my life, not to be used in front of hundreds of civvies.
“Were you hit?” Jim asked me and I shook my head. I felt bad to lie to him bold face, but I had no other choice, besides outing myself. I still did not know hi
s exact relationship with the shifters around here, and I was not in the leap-of-faith mood now.
“Missed me by inches as well partner. He was a bloody decent shot but thank the gods he was not a marksman.” I said to him, and Jim seemed to slowly accept this as fact. He seemed like he was ready to call me on my shit, but the last dregs of his doubts about my being sup and not human held him back. Hopefully, they would continue to for a while.
His eyes spotted the fresh pattern on my shoulder. It was several ancient Celtic runes with a triple knot patterned in blue behind them.
“How long’s that been there?” He asked me, and he frowned noticing my ink for the first time. I huffed and smiled cheekily at him.
“Was my third one, got it after my seventeenth.” I lied smoothly. There was a trace of truth to it, however. I had gotten this first spelled ink done after my granny showed me the runes. She was trying to scrape together fragments of information about our family history. The runes had been her gift for my birthday.
Often the best lies hold some truth in them. The deception is sometimes convincing yourself that the past unfolded slightly different than it actually did. This was one of those cases and I am a fairly good liar when I have to be, thankfully in this case.
“Right then, didn’t notice it the night before.” Jim said, and I bit my lip and rolled my eyes, barely holding my facade of innocence together.
I had a new partner to keep in the dark, a bloody dead suspect to clean up behind, and a literal bear of a boss to answer to. All in all, this was shaping up to be a train wreck of a first day!
Eight:
“Not even an hour into your first shift and you are involved in a shootout!” The thundering and growly tone of my DI can be heard across the Atlantic. I stiffen in my tracks and I prepare myself for the tirades I could expect coming.