just putting the moves on a woman.
He put the book aside. This was something he’d noticed about the class already. A lot of the poems they read seemed complicated, but all they were saying was stuff that regular people said all the time. It was the way they said it that made it literature rather than just some guy talking to his girlfriend.
Tim Quinn had been enrolled in his beginning English literature class for a couple of weeks now, and it still gave him a thrill to open up the textbook and see all those words covering the thin pages. It was like they had crammed as much literature into that book as they could, and somehow it made him feel that anything was possible, that he had all these words at his disposal and that he could read them all, if he wanted. It was the same … what was the word?
Openness
, maybe, the same openness he felt when he walked into class on Tuesday nights, assuming he wasn’t out on a case and Patience, his daughter’s babysitter, was available that night. He came in and sat down and felt the bigness of the future. Of his future.
“So what, are you going to be an English teacher now?” Havrilek had asked him when Quinn had told him about the class. Quinn didn’t think he wanted to be an English teacher, but even the possibility of it was exciting to him. It made him think about all the other things he could be: a chef, a lawyer, a ship’s captain. He wasn’t sure why he was thinking this way. He loved being a cop. But there was something about considering other possibilities that made you feel free, he decided. That was how his class made him feel: free.
The door of his Honda opened and Detective Ellie Lindquist poked her head in. “You ready?” she asked. She and Quinn had been taking a lunch break, Quinn getting homework done in the car and Ellie reading the papers at a Starbucks in Central Square. But lunchtime was over and they were back on duty. Quinn tossed his textbook into the backseat, and Ellie got in and stuck a huge paper cup into Quinn’s cup holder. She liked the Starbucks concoctions that tasted more like candy than coffee, and he could smell the sweetnesssteaming out of the cup, vanilla and caramel and milk. It was hot out, too hot for coffee, and he wanted to ask her how she could stand to drink it, but she saw him looking at it and smiled. “Hey, you want me to go get you one?”
Quinn suppressed the urge to snap at her. “No, no. That’s okay. We should get back.” She pushed a strand of dirty blond hair behind her ear and looked away as though he’d hurt her feelings. Ellie had a sharp little face that emotions couldn’t hide on, happiness and anger and discomfort broadcasting across her wide blue eyes and thin lips as though she didn’t have any control over them.
He wasn’t sure why she irritated him so much. Ever since Marino had wrecked his back and taken early retirement, he’d been without a partner, and he’d happily worked with a bunch of different guys while they did some kind of internal restructuring of the department. When Havrilek had told him that Ellie was going to be his new partner, he’d had to stop himself from protesting. She was about twelve years old, for Christ’s sake, or at least she looked it, and she’d been a detective for only a couple of months, since coming to Boston from somewhere out in Ohio. Even her accent irritated him, with its nasally vowels, “kyen” instead of “can.” It drove him crazy.
“That’s the point, Quinny,” Havrilek had said when Quinn politely mentioned that she seemed awfully young. “You’re a more experienced detective and she’s a less experienced detective. She’s smart as shit, though, and I want you to help her out.”
Quinn pulled out and was heading back to headquarters when the radio in the car came to life and the dispatcher’s voice came on. “We’ve got a suspected homicide. Young female.” The voice gave a location in east Cambridge. “Quinn and Lindquist? You
He put the book aside. This was something he’d noticed about the class already. A lot of the poems they read seemed complicated, but all they were saying was stuff that regular people said all the time. It was the way they said it that made it literature rather than just some guy talking to his girlfriend.
Tim Quinn had been enrolled in his beginning English literature class for a couple of weeks now, and it still gave him a thrill to open up the textbook and see all those words covering the thin pages. It was like they had crammed as much literature into that book as they could, and somehow it made him feel that anything was possible, that he had all these words at his disposal and that he could read them all, if he wanted. It was the same … what was the word?
Openness
, maybe, the same openness he felt when he walked into class on Tuesday nights, assuming he wasn’t out on a case and Patience, his daughter’s babysitter, was available that night. He came in and sat down and felt the bigness of the future. Of his future.
“So what, are you going to be an English teacher now?” Havrilek had asked him when Quinn had told him about the class. Quinn didn’t think he wanted to be an English teacher, but even the possibility of it was exciting to him. It made him think about all the other things he could be: a chef, a lawyer, a ship’s captain. He wasn’t sure why he was thinking this way. He loved being a cop. But there was something about considering other possibilities that made you feel free, he decided. That was how his class made him feel: free.
The door of his Honda opened and Detective Ellie Lindquist poked her head in. “You ready?” she asked. She and Quinn had been taking a lunch break, Quinn getting homework done in the car and Ellie reading the papers at a Starbucks in Central Square. But lunchtime was over and they were back on duty. Quinn tossed his textbook into the backseat, and Ellie got in and stuck a huge paper cup into Quinn’s cup holder. She liked the Starbucks concoctions that tasted more like candy than coffee, and he could smell the sweetnesssteaming out of the cup, vanilla and caramel and milk. It was hot out, too hot for coffee, and he wanted to ask her how she could stand to drink it, but she saw him looking at it and smiled. “Hey, you want me to go get you one?”
Quinn suppressed the urge to snap at her. “No, no. That’s okay. We should get back.” She pushed a strand of dirty blond hair behind her ear and looked away as though he’d hurt her feelings. Ellie had a sharp little face that emotions couldn’t hide on, happiness and anger and discomfort broadcasting across her wide blue eyes and thin lips as though she didn’t have any control over them.
He wasn’t sure why she irritated him so much. Ever since Marino had wrecked his back and taken early retirement, he’d been without a partner, and he’d happily worked with a bunch of different guys while they did some kind of internal restructuring of the department. When Havrilek had told him that Ellie was going to be his new partner, he’d had to stop himself from protesting. She was about twelve years old, for Christ’s sake, or at least she looked it, and she’d been a detective for only a couple of months, since coming to Boston from somewhere out in Ohio. Even her accent irritated him, with its nasally vowels, “kyen” instead of “can.” It drove him crazy.
“That’s the point, Quinny,” Havrilek had said when Quinn politely mentioned that she seemed awfully young. “You’re a more experienced detective and she’s a less experienced detective. She’s smart as shit, though, and I want you to help her out.”
Quinn pulled out and was heading back to headquarters when the radio in the car came to life and the dispatcher’s voice came on. “We’ve got a suspected homicide. Young female.” The voice gave a location in east Cambridge. “Quinn and Lindquist? You
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