Chapter Two

An Arctic blast of air greeted me at Police Force Headquarters. Instantly, my wet clothes turned cold and shivers passed through my body. No one said a word to me when I arrived but I stopped caring what they thought of me after the first few months. I wasn't there to make friends or even give the illusion of friendship.It was a workplace, not a social gathering.

I headed straight to the personnel records cage in the back of the building. The locked hallway required both a key and biometric access. As an Intel agent, I had both. The air conditioning could not keep up, so it felt hotter and more humid than outside. I stood outside the cage and flicked the light switch on.

My eyes stung as the smell of burning dust filled the air. The unlocked cage door was arduous to open. The partially rusted hinges squeaked like a den of mice. Filing cabinets drawers lined the walls with several open drawers. Piles of folders and papers covered the middle of the table. Dust bunnies danced away from my feet. I sneezed. Was it really too much to ask for someone to do their job and clean back here? 2085073, its rightful drawer and only a meager three pages. Reynolds. Ten years with no incidents reported. I sneezed again, put the folder back, and walked out. The sound from hinges pierced my ears as the door closed.

The main lobby was quiet except for the Church advertisement video. "Life is better with God," it claimed.  Various monitors circled the walls with security feeds around the city. A couple people slouched in the chairs. One woman hunched over with her head on her arms.

I grabbed a clipboard and waited for the secretary to give me a personnel report. She was busy gossiping with two other women. Don't their jaws tire from talking fast? I didn't understand the behavior and forced myself to stay at the counter, hoping I didn't get sucked into their conversation. Pressure gradually built in my forehead, which happened exponentially often at the office. With my elbows on the counter, I rubbed my fingers over my eyebrows to ease my developing headache.

"Hello ladies," a voice said next to me.

I groaned as a hand rested on the small of my back. I turned my head to the right to Brent's smiling face. He was uncharacteristically unkempt. A shadow of stubble covered his usually smooth face. Strands of hair stuck out the side of his head.

"You're looking a little rough today. Long night?" I asked.

"Overslept.” He pulled his arms in and rested them on the counter. “You would be the one to notice. And to think I dreaded coming in today because I thought you wouldn't be here."

"I won't be here long."

He nodded. "First day of recruit training. Important to make a good impression." He paused. "Are you feeling OK?"

"Yeah, a bit of a headache from the heat."

He wrinkled his brow and reached up and tucked some loose strands of hair behind my ear. "I can go to the infirmary for you."

I straightened my posture and shifted my weight away from him. "Don't worry about it."

"Did you know a fresh shipment of seafood arrived this morning? The Market is going to be slammed, but I can reserve a table."

"Uh, no, thanks. It's going to be a hectic day and I'll just want to go home tonight. You should take Beverly."

His shoulders slumped upon hearing his girlfriend's name. "OK. Offer is open if you change your mind. I am glad I came in for the Intel meeting. It was good to see you."

I nodded and forced a smile. Through the glass behind the counter, I watched as he slapped people on the shoulder and excitedly shook everyone’s hand. He really was everyone's buddy. I wondered who he would take out since I refused him again.

One of the women behind the counter glared at me. I didn't recognize her, but I would place a strong bet Brent had taken her out once. That's all he gave them. One night. I put my head back in my hands. That was one club I didn't want to be a part of.

A paper slid under my face. I lifted my head and the secretary flashed an apologetic smile. With a short nod, I thanked her, careful to hide any hint of annoyance.

Waves of officers came in for lunchtime. Every rowdy and boisterous voice intensified my headache. I made my way to the central office to find Reynolds. Smaller offices encircled the large, wide-open floor plan, with six rows of six desks and windows instead of the walls.

Reynolds sat slumped with his head down, at the desk farthest from the door. I picked up a chair and plunked it down next to him. He leaped about six inches out of the chair and then settled back down when he saw me.

I crossed my legs and placed the clipboard on my lap. "Tell me. Do you have a family?"

"What?" he retorted.

"Are you married with kids?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes, I am married. We have a son and a daughter."

I shook my head slightly and started filling out the report. "How old?"

"My son is ten. My daughter is seven."

"And how would you react if someone dragged your ten-year-old son down the street by his arm?"

He did not answer so I lifted my eyebrows at him. "Would you assume he deserved it or would you be angry?"

"I...guess I'd be pretty angry."

"I guess I'd be pretty angry," I repeated, void of emotion. "The boy told me what happened. Additionally, so did the woman who lives across the street from the school. We have been working diligently to keep the citizens' trust of the Police Force. When you hit children that is a huge step backward. Do you understand the gravity of this situation?"

"He...he resisted. I need to be able to do my job."

Heat flushed my face again. Reynolds flinched when I slammed my fist on the desk. His hands clutched the arms of his chair so hard his knuckles turned white. The room fell silent.

Quietly, through clenched teeth, I said, "I don't know if you've never gotten caught before or if you're just having an off day. But don't lie to me. When the Chief gets the report, do not lie to him. Since this is your first incident, you should receive only a two-day suspension. Hitting children is never the proper course of action. If you lie, or if I ever find out you do something like this again, I will find you and I will break your hands. I will gladly accept the repercussions for my actions. Do you understand what I am telling you?"

His face went pale. He gulped and nodded slowly.

I pushed off the chair to get up, causing it to teeter and crash to the floor. He would tell the Chief that I threatened him, but I did not care. No one hurt those kids. Especially Blake. The past couple years had been difficult getting through to him. However, it was finally working since I received no more reports of theft or fights at school.

After the morning's events, I just wanted to go home. At least I had a change of clothes in the locker room. The day's heat had left sweat spots on my uniform. Surely, a cool shower would be refreshing and help ease the dull aching in my head. I avoided eye contact with everyone as I put the report in the Chief's mailbox and headed downstairs.

I turned the corner to the locker rooms and face-planted into someone's chest. The wall jammed my shoulder and I lost my balance. Pain shot through my body as I landed on the floor.

I growled. "Watch it." In a quick glance, I recognized Chandler, one of the other Intel agents, with a young officer who held his chest.

"Geez, Andrews. In a hurry?" Chandler snapped.

Before I could answer, the other guy knelt next to me and held my hand next to his chest, stroking it. "Are you OK, miss?"

My jaw clenched as I glared at him. Who is this and how dare he touch me? But before I could utter a word, Chandler yanked him to his feet.

"Not that one. Just... go upstairs. I'll meet you in ten."

Once the young man was out of sight, he held his hand out to help me up.

"If looks could kill, that guy would be dead. Bright kid, he has Intel potential."

I took his hand and got to my feet. "I don't care who he is. Teach your protege's to keep to themselves. I'm not here to hold hands." I brushed off my pants.

"I know. What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be at the training center?"

"Something came up. I'm going to change and head over there now."

"Alright. I'll be upstairs for the briefing on the distillery raid."

My jaw clenched, causing my headache to intensify. "Chief assigned it to you?" I asked in a sharp tone.

"Yeah. Why do you say it like that? Have you lost faith in my abilities?"

I don't trust that you won't mess up. "I don't know. Maybe since your last two raids were botched, he should have given someone else a chance."

He crossed his arms across his chest and squinted his eyes. "Someone tipped them off and they moved the merchandise before we arrived."

"Yeah, you told me. I don't want to argue. I need to go. Sounds like you do too."

"Yeah." He huffed and eyes darted to the end of the hall. "Have you been in those abandoned neighborhoods on the west side?"

"No. And if I were you, keep a low profile and don't scout it first. You'll stick out like a goldfish in a guppy pool." There weren't many people with orange hair like his. Even though he kept it shaved, it was still noticeable.

His face flushed a brilliant shade of crimson. "Noted."

"You have my number in case you need some help."

He waved me off and I continued to the locker room. He didn't want to hear it, but it needed to be said. A lot of people could get hurt in an illegal distillery. It was not like the book and music house raids the Police Force was infamous for. The last thing I wanted was to catch wind of more death in the city. 

Author's Note

Here is another glimpse of Brent. What do you think about Lily's relationship with him and her coworkers? Is there enough to make you feel like her attitude is justified or unjustified?

Reviews

[C.R. Fritz]

you may not be Stephen King, but you are much better! I like the emotion and dialogue. I can't think of much to change, except the make the type larger, as it's really small on my screen. But that could be my problem.

[SybilMelton]

I'll go back and increase it. It was the default when I pasted it in, so I didn't think about that. Thanks.