|
FINALLY! AN UPDATE!
I've got a good plot in the works, but right now I'm still laying the building blocks. Bear with me (and also squirrel with me).
Dylan had pulled onto the freeway when his cell phone rang.
“Chief wants to see you,” was his greeting, in the tone of voice normally reserved for announcements like, “You have incurable colon cancer.”
“I’ll get there when I get there,” replied the lieutenant.
Bunter’s helpless sigh sounded as if Dirk was trapped inside Rhys’ cell phone. “He wants to see you now.”
“Tough nuts. Tell him he should’ve gotten out of bed earlier.”
“I’ll have to disregard that order, sir.”
“Understandable. Tell him I’m on my way.
“Yes, sir.”
******
Rhys re-entered the hive, sending an almost undetectable ripple through the place. This meant that something had happened in his absence, which had coupled with his earlier outburst to generate an undercurrent of severe nervousness.
Without even glancing at his desk, Dylan doggedly steered his body towards Chief Lupinworth’s office. Every visit felt like having teeth pulled, but duty is duty and Rhys took his job seriously.
If I can stare down a sword-waving meth-head, I can talk to the Chief, he reasoned. Seizing Lupinworth’s doorknob, Dylan steeled himself with one deep breath and walked in.
Ochre Lupinworth, a no-nonsense furman known for his adherence to procedural regulations and his unbeatable poker face, sat behind Chief Darcer’s desk.
Inwardly he slapped a hand to his face; Dylan still thought of it as Darcer’s desk, even though the previous Chief died in a hail of 9mm bullets almost a year ago. Dyson Darcer had been Rhys’ friend and mentor, almost like a father to him. He tried not to resent Lupinworth for sitting in Darcer’s place.
It didn’t work very well.
“Lieutenant.”
“Chief.”
A strained civility passed between them like taut wires.
Lupinworth motioned to the cushioned leather chair in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you, I prefer to stand.”
The Chief stared at Dylan’s blank expression, never blinking. All their conversations were reminiscent of two glaciers trying to avoid each other.
Lupinworth broke the silence at last. “My son has graduated from the academy.”
“Rexis?” Dylan raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment—it was the Acknowledgment Eyebrow, when facing the Chief. “Congratulations.”
“Indeed.”
“How does this concern me, sir?”
Lupinworth’s lips parted slightly, but Rhys was the picture of polite curiosity. “For reasons beyond my comprehension, he has been assigned to this precinct.”
The Acknowledgment Eyebrow briefly doubled as the Surprise Eyebrow. “Here?”
Lupinworth folded his hands on the polished woodwork, which still bore faint rings from Darcer’s coffee mug. The Chief had not replaced it yet; Dylan grudgingly admitted this was a concession on the orderly Lupinworth’s part. “You and I both know how that looks.”
“Do we, sir?”
The Chief’s face hardened. “Don’t be coy, lieutenant. This department has weathered charges of nepotism before, but it should not have to do so again.”
Rhys debated asking the Chief if those charges would be unfounded, but held his tongue—even Lupinworth had a limit.
“Thus,” Lupinworth continued, “to dispel such rumours… I am placing him in your charge.”
The new Surprise Eyebrow earned time-and-a-half, nearly launching itself from Dylan’s forehead onto Lupinworth’s desk. “My charge?” he burbled monosyllabically. “Your son?”
“Yes and yes,” sighed the Chief. “I have observed your marvellous handiwork with Officer McMillan, our first woman of my race on the force. Furman men are commonplace nowadays, but Rexis can be… reckless.”
“McMillan was never reckless.”
Chief Lupinworth conceded that point. “But she has acted impulsively, and I believe that Rexis would greatly benefit from your tutelage.”
“Respectfully,” Rhys replied (and there was an understanding between them that prefacing a statement with this word meant it would be poorly received), “this would be more up Dresden’s alley. As head of the Vice Squad I don’t have much time for mentoring greenhorns.”
“I’m taking you off Vice.”
The Acknowledgment/Surprise Eyebrow and his brother-in-arms took on dangerous angles.
“With all due respect,” (code for “I’m pissed off”) “I built the Vice unit.”
“And you have built it so well that it shall continue to function without you.”
“Sir, I must object!”
“Feel free to file a formal complaint with Internal Affairs.”
“Chief—”
“That will be all, lieutenant.” The Chief slipped some papers from the immaculate stack at his elbow and busied himself with them.
“I didn’t sign on to babysit—”
“That will be all!” Lupinworth cleared his throat and recomposed himself. “Lieutenant.”
Grinding his teeth together, Rhys headed for the door in one fierce move that turned the chair forty degrees, squeaking in protest. He had just reached his goal and was on the threshold when Lupinworth’s voice stopped him.
“And Rhys?”
“Yes, Chief Lupinworth?”
“Let’s leave the Norwegian affair to the politicians, shall we?” The razor-edge gleam in his eyes told Dylan the Chief was dead serious.
A brusque nod was all he could spare in his concentrated effort not to slam Lupinworth’s door right off the hinges.
Please comment!
|
Login
FAQ
Search
