knows before she goes off shift. I thought I should send someone to the Sheets to talk to her. That’s what I do. You’re the one who needs to go talk to her. That’s what you do. You’re the lucky guy.”
“Man, I don’t believe this shit.” Washington turned away, not before Nick saw the exaggerated roll of his eyes. At the desk behind Washington, Vasquez smirked. Malron picked up her jacket and walked off without a word.
“And, Jojo, I want that data compiled by end of shift.” Nick waited a long moment for an acknowledgement that finally came as a grunt, then he went out the door with Hank. They took the stairs, six floors. Nick nearly ran down. The movement, the impact with each stair, shook Nick, jostling the irritation around his brain. He was very careful not to treat those three unfairly. Who wouldn’t be, with department affirmative action lawyers breathing down his neck? Sometimes he really wondered if all the hard work he’d put into that promotion was worth the hassle of dealing with whiny crybabies.
Hank lagged back, finishing the descent two flights behind.
“What’s got into you, Nick? You can’t let them under your skin.” Hank limped over, breathing hard. “They’re just blowing smoke, like young guys do. You keep your cool, give your orders, they’ll come around.”
“Maybe.” Nick held the door for Hank, and they walked several blocks to Peppi’s.
“No maybe about it. If they don’t straighten up and fly right, kick ’em to the curb,” Hank scolded as they got a table. The waitress had long experience with this pair and showed up with two iced teas, no sugar, no waiting.
Hank passed up The Roethlisburger, number seven on the menu, which Nick knew he dearly loved, but the sausage and burger topped with egg and cheese was off his diet list. He ordered a salad, disappointment practically dripping off his long face. Nick took one, too, to keep Hank company. After the waitress gifted them with her flirty smile and a little flip of her skirt, she headed back to the kitchen. Hank returned to his lecture. “Have you talked to Reickert about it?”
Nick shook his head, watching out the window for wrongdoers, his vigilance built of long habit. “What’s he going to do? No sense in my complaining. I wanted to be the lieutenant, so now I’ve got to handle the situation.”
All the same, Nick realized, Reickert might have handed him the solution to his problem. His request for extra men might separate the rabblerousers long enough to defuse the situation. Indeed it might.
He had his plan in mind before the meal hit their table.
Chapter Seven
Suzanne didn’t hear from Maddie Morgan for nearly a week.
With the papers prepared and ready for signature, she’d nearly written the case off as one of those that so often resulted in reluctant reconciliation when she found a bruised and battered Maddie Morgan waiting on her office doorstep.
“What happened?” Suzanne demanded, herding Maddie inside after a quick look to make sure the assailant wasn’t lurking in the hall. If Morgan had followed his wife, they could have a brawl right in her lobby before the police could ever arrive. But no one was there.
Maddie didn’t speak until they were settled in Suzanne's office. She trembled as she sat in the chair, chewing on her lip, a scarf tied over hair she hadn’t bothered to comb. Her blouse and slacks didn’t match each other or her shoes.
“I don't care where I go,” she said, her affect and tone flat. “I'm done with him.” An emptiness in her eyes said more than her words.
“I was concerned when you didn’t call,” Suzanne said. Maddie’s blotchy purple cheek, the eye nearly closed from the swelling, turned Suzanne’s stomach. She could imagine the force necessary to cause such injuries, the blinding pain Maddie must have felt at the hands of a man who professed to love her.
“I’m so sorry. I should have. The first few days after he got back, he didn't bother me.
“Man, I don’t believe this shit.” Washington turned away, not before Nick saw the exaggerated roll of his eyes. At the desk behind Washington, Vasquez smirked. Malron picked up her jacket and walked off without a word.
“And, Jojo, I want that data compiled by end of shift.” Nick waited a long moment for an acknowledgement that finally came as a grunt, then he went out the door with Hank. They took the stairs, six floors. Nick nearly ran down. The movement, the impact with each stair, shook Nick, jostling the irritation around his brain. He was very careful not to treat those three unfairly. Who wouldn’t be, with department affirmative action lawyers breathing down his neck? Sometimes he really wondered if all the hard work he’d put into that promotion was worth the hassle of dealing with whiny crybabies.
Hank lagged back, finishing the descent two flights behind.
“What’s got into you, Nick? You can’t let them under your skin.” Hank limped over, breathing hard. “They’re just blowing smoke, like young guys do. You keep your cool, give your orders, they’ll come around.”
“Maybe.” Nick held the door for Hank, and they walked several blocks to Peppi’s.
“No maybe about it. If they don’t straighten up and fly right, kick ’em to the curb,” Hank scolded as they got a table. The waitress had long experience with this pair and showed up with two iced teas, no sugar, no waiting.
Hank passed up The Roethlisburger, number seven on the menu, which Nick knew he dearly loved, but the sausage and burger topped with egg and cheese was off his diet list. He ordered a salad, disappointment practically dripping off his long face. Nick took one, too, to keep Hank company. After the waitress gifted them with her flirty smile and a little flip of her skirt, she headed back to the kitchen. Hank returned to his lecture. “Have you talked to Reickert about it?”
Nick shook his head, watching out the window for wrongdoers, his vigilance built of long habit. “What’s he going to do? No sense in my complaining. I wanted to be the lieutenant, so now I’ve got to handle the situation.”
All the same, Nick realized, Reickert might have handed him the solution to his problem. His request for extra men might separate the rabblerousers long enough to defuse the situation. Indeed it might.
He had his plan in mind before the meal hit their table.
Chapter Seven
Suzanne didn’t hear from Maddie Morgan for nearly a week.
With the papers prepared and ready for signature, she’d nearly written the case off as one of those that so often resulted in reluctant reconciliation when she found a bruised and battered Maddie Morgan waiting on her office doorstep.
“What happened?” Suzanne demanded, herding Maddie inside after a quick look to make sure the assailant wasn’t lurking in the hall. If Morgan had followed his wife, they could have a brawl right in her lobby before the police could ever arrive. But no one was there.
Maddie didn’t speak until they were settled in Suzanne's office. She trembled as she sat in the chair, chewing on her lip, a scarf tied over hair she hadn’t bothered to comb. Her blouse and slacks didn’t match each other or her shoes.
“I don't care where I go,” she said, her affect and tone flat. “I'm done with him.” An emptiness in her eyes said more than her words.
“I was concerned when you didn’t call,” Suzanne said. Maddie’s blotchy purple cheek, the eye nearly closed from the swelling, turned Suzanne’s stomach. She could imagine the force necessary to cause such injuries, the blinding pain Maddie must have felt at the hands of a man who professed to love her.
“I’m so sorry. I should have. The first few days after he got back, he didn't bother me.
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