about the damage done to Dub; it was worse than we’d seen, Farrow included.
This was turning into some kind of a single-nutjob case, to use a technical term, a possible killing spree by someone bent on taking out parts of the filth in the city’s sex-and-pain-for-hire racket. This went way beyond any normal on-call week in homicide. A killing spree meant talking it over with our lieutenant, Mike “the Knife” Bowen. If that went well, he’d start a separate detail to handle the case, take us off call to let us focus. He’d even give us some support, if he felt generous.
Any chance of me getting time to myself was fast disappearing. I’d be lucky to see Alan in two weeks.
But who was he? Just some guy I’d barely met. There was no reason for me to even be thinking about him when I had active profiles on Match and OkCupid. Was there? Tons of guys in this city, and I could go out with one any night of the week I could get free time.
Still, thoughts of a guy I’d barely played one game with kept tumbling back.
I tried to shake it off, physically shaking my head to clear it.
The coffee helped. I told Hendricks it wasn’t half bad, offered a toast.
“You and your high-priced lattes, Donner. You miss out on the quality of an old brewed pot of crappy French vanilla.” Hendricks tipped his cup. “Or hazelnut.”
“Awww. You’re such a sweet tooth at heart.”
“Exactly. Nothing wrong with a cruller now and then.” Hendricks held up his old-fashioned. “So long as the civilians don’t see. Can’t live down to our stereotype.”
“So what about this case? We need to go to Bowen.”
He took another bite, said through his mouthful, “I was just thinking: it’s the little things in life that make it all worthwhile. A little perk given all the caloric requirements of our work.”
“The little things.” Something I’d said a hundred times in the months we’d partnered. I tried to convince myself to have perspective each time, saying it for myself as much as for him. Now he turned it around. This reminder to keep up a healthy awareness of the present, life’s small offerings.
If I believed in anything, this was it. This was my faith.
At least, that’s what I tried to convince myself.
Maybe I could make it to the gym.
He drank more coffee. “Here’s to having stomachs like iron.”
We toasted. I had added two spoons of sugar, but the coffee still tasted bitter.
“So what do we do?”
“I say we step away for a minute. This freak’s out there doing his damnedest to make it a bad week in homicide, in the city, but maybe we miss something if we go rushing in half-cocked. Let’s let it all wash over us with a night’s rest, see what shakes out.”
To say this was an unconventional approach would be an understatement. But then, Hendricks had been accused of doing things his own way for years, since long before we became partners.
“So we don’t tell Bowen yet?”
“Let’s let Lund and Peters catch a few cases now. We focus on this ourselves without getting the big man involved.”
“What’s the benefit?”
He drank again, sucked anything extra off his upper lip. “I need to think a bit.”
“So now you’re getting all Zen-style on me?”
He lifted and dropped his shoulders. “Maybe I am.”
I stretched in my seat; I was on the passenger side, with the laptop bolted in front of me. Maybe Hendricks wanted me to read between the lines. If he was letting our guy have the night, wipe out another sleazebag maybe with some additional time, then why would I go against it.
But really I had no idea what to think.
I touched my lips, thought about smoking a cigarette. I’d given it up over a year ago, both at my own urging and Tim’s insistence that it left an awful smell on my hair and clothes, but all of a sudden, I missed it.
Even without Tim, I was glad I’d quit. I felt better and liked my new nonsmoking life—being a smoker had turned from a night-out anomaly into something I
This was turning into some kind of a single-nutjob case, to use a technical term, a possible killing spree by someone bent on taking out parts of the filth in the city’s sex-and-pain-for-hire racket. This went way beyond any normal on-call week in homicide. A killing spree meant talking it over with our lieutenant, Mike “the Knife” Bowen. If that went well, he’d start a separate detail to handle the case, take us off call to let us focus. He’d even give us some support, if he felt generous.
Any chance of me getting time to myself was fast disappearing. I’d be lucky to see Alan in two weeks.
But who was he? Just some guy I’d barely met. There was no reason for me to even be thinking about him when I had active profiles on Match and OkCupid. Was there? Tons of guys in this city, and I could go out with one any night of the week I could get free time.
Still, thoughts of a guy I’d barely played one game with kept tumbling back.
I tried to shake it off, physically shaking my head to clear it.
The coffee helped. I told Hendricks it wasn’t half bad, offered a toast.
“You and your high-priced lattes, Donner. You miss out on the quality of an old brewed pot of crappy French vanilla.” Hendricks tipped his cup. “Or hazelnut.”
“Awww. You’re such a sweet tooth at heart.”
“Exactly. Nothing wrong with a cruller now and then.” Hendricks held up his old-fashioned. “So long as the civilians don’t see. Can’t live down to our stereotype.”
“So what about this case? We need to go to Bowen.”
He took another bite, said through his mouthful, “I was just thinking: it’s the little things in life that make it all worthwhile. A little perk given all the caloric requirements of our work.”
“The little things.” Something I’d said a hundred times in the months we’d partnered. I tried to convince myself to have perspective each time, saying it for myself as much as for him. Now he turned it around. This reminder to keep up a healthy awareness of the present, life’s small offerings.
If I believed in anything, this was it. This was my faith.
At least, that’s what I tried to convince myself.
Maybe I could make it to the gym.
He drank more coffee. “Here’s to having stomachs like iron.”
We toasted. I had added two spoons of sugar, but the coffee still tasted bitter.
“So what do we do?”
“I say we step away for a minute. This freak’s out there doing his damnedest to make it a bad week in homicide, in the city, but maybe we miss something if we go rushing in half-cocked. Let’s let it all wash over us with a night’s rest, see what shakes out.”
To say this was an unconventional approach would be an understatement. But then, Hendricks had been accused of doing things his own way for years, since long before we became partners.
“So we don’t tell Bowen yet?”
“Let’s let Lund and Peters catch a few cases now. We focus on this ourselves without getting the big man involved.”
“What’s the benefit?”
He drank again, sucked anything extra off his upper lip. “I need to think a bit.”
“So now you’re getting all Zen-style on me?”
He lifted and dropped his shoulders. “Maybe I am.”
I stretched in my seat; I was on the passenger side, with the laptop bolted in front of me. Maybe Hendricks wanted me to read between the lines. If he was letting our guy have the night, wipe out another sleazebag maybe with some additional time, then why would I go against it.
But really I had no idea what to think.
I touched my lips, thought about smoking a cigarette. I’d given it up over a year ago, both at my own urging and Tim’s insistence that it left an awful smell on my hair and clothes, but all of a sudden, I missed it.
Even without Tim, I was glad I’d quit. I felt better and liked my new nonsmoking life—being a smoker had turned from a night-out anomaly into something I
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