Soft Launch (Hazardverse: Sidetracks #6)

Chapter 1

Sam

You just have to get him to see you, I tell myself as I open my locker. That’s all. That’s easy. You can do that.

And then, about five seconds later, I decide I’m not even going to try.

It’s been like that all day. Some days in a patrol car, you get a lot of time to think.

You sit there, and nothing’s happening, and there isn’t anything you can do but think.

So, I think yeah, I’m going to do it. I’m going to walk right up to him and ask.

And then I think, no, it’s not worth the risk.

So here I am, in the locker room, end of shift, and I’m still thinking about it.

Well, trying to think about it. It’s not like you can think real clearly with everybody else jackassing around.

The locker room isn’t like what you see on TV. Nobody’s singing in the shower. And it’s not like the guys are always in a good mood. Some days, everybody’s on edge. Some days, you know from how hard Foley closes his locker that you’d better zip your lips.

But some days—like today—they can’t stop horsin’ around.

McGown snaps his towel and misses me by an inch.

“Hit me with that,” I say as I pull out my civvies, “and see what happens.”

“I hit a kid once so hard in college—” McGown says. He’s standing there naked as a jaybird, twirling the towel. “—I made him bleed.”

He snaps the towel again. If anything, this time it’s even closer.

“Watch it,” Foley says as he pushes past McGown. Over his shoulder, he says, “You gonna stand there all day with your dick in the wind?”

“Course he is,” Norman says. Norman’s one of the guys who showers end of shift, no matter what. He comes out of the shower like a barrel. A wet barrel. Wrapped in a towel that’s not big enough. “He can’t jerk off until Mommy and Daddy go to bed.”

“Fuck you,” McGown says, but he laughs as he moves over to his locker. “I get more pussy than I know what to do with.”

“I bet,” Foley says.

“You got that right,” Norman says.

By this point, I’m pulling on a pair of khakis. And now I’m back to calling it quits on the whole thing. Dad says you stick your neck out, and you’re asking to get your head cut off. So, that’s that. I’m not going to stick my neck out. I’ll go home and forget the whole thing.

McGown won’t give up. “What the fuck do a pair of old fucks like you two know? You shoulda seen the ass I got last weekend. Biggest titties you ever seen.”

Norman snorts. He’s buck-ass now, not that it bothers him. Some guys, it doesn’t. He’s standing there, hand on his locker door, one foot up on the bench. It’s a lot to take in. He looks kind of like a statue if they took its pants off. “I saw her. Her tits weren’t that big.”

Foley’s sitting on the bench, but he stands up now and circles behind Norman.

He wraps the older man in a bear hug. Norman grunts.

“That’s because you got these big old beauties,” Foley says, grabbing at Norman’s chest. Norman’s laughing and swearing and trying to elbow him off.

Foley hangs on tighter. Mr. Hazard calls him an Irish fuck, but most of the time, Foley’s like a kid whose body got too big.

He’s pretending to kiss Norman’s neck, and Norman’s really swearing now.

“What about it, mama?” Foley asks, grabbing Norman’s chest again. “You and me.”

The whole locker room is cracking up now, but I’m lacing my shoes because this is sexual harassment and if I weren’t trying to make an even bigger decision, I’d probably have to say something.

I’m back to yes now. I mean, why not? Gran says the worst anyone can do is say no, and I’ve heard no before. Why not ask? What’s it going to hurt?

You just have to make him see you.

“You got my sciatica going,” Norman is shouting, but you can tell he’s not really mad. He and Gross don’t always talk to the young guys, but sometimes they do, and I think they miss it, the old days, back when they were friends with everyone.

“What the fuck is going on out here?” Gross asks.

He looks about the same as Norman, although he’s still got his towel on, and he always walks carefully in the locker room like he doesn’t want to put his feet down the whole way.

Not that I blame him; the linoleum is probably as old as I am, and even though I know they clean in here every night, it never feels clean, if you know what I mean.

“Bunch of jackasses,” Norman says as he bends over to get something out of his locker.

“Look at that beauty,” Foley says, and now he’s holding his hands like a camera frame centered on Norman’s ass. “Like a fucking black hole, drawing me in.”

McGown’s laughing so hard he’s leaning against the lockers.

He’s still naked. He’s young. He’s in pretty good shape.

You can tell he likes beer more than he likes running, but he’s still got some definition to his chest, dark hair between his pecs that runs down to his belly button.

He keeps himself trimmed. Down there, I mean.

He says it makes his dick look bigger, and I guess it does. Not that I look or anything.

“Fuck you,” Norman snaps over his shoulder at Foley.

“Hard to choose,” Foley says, “hard to choose. What about you, Yarmark? You see something you like?”

“You gotta watch what you say.” I’m pulling a polo over my head now. And I’m back to no. What’s the point? He’s going to say no, and all I’m going to do is make an idiot out of myself. “Somebody’s gonna report all of you for sexual harassment.”

Foley grins, which is proof that he really is nothing but a big kid, but McGown boos.

“Fuck that noise,” he says. “Fucking goody fucking two-shoes over here.”

“You waiting for somebody to pull on your pecker?” Foley says as he moves back to his locker. “Put that thing away before I cut it off.”

McGown finally does start pulling his civvies out of his locker, but he gives me another look. “Where the fuck are you going?”

I ignore him as I throw my uniform in my bag.

“Why are you dressed like that?” McGown says. And then “Holy shit. You got a date or something?”

I check my hair in the little mirror inside the locker. It’s always a little messy now, but that’s okay; that’s how it’s supposed to be.

“Fuck,” McGown says, raising his voice. “Yarmark’s got a date.”

“Fuck yeah he does,” Foley calls. “Tap that ass, Sammy.”

“I don’t have a date,” I say as I swing the locker shut.

“How are her tits?” Norman asks. He’s tucking his undershirt into his tighty-whities.

“I always thought Yarmark was an ass man,” Gross says. He’s hanging dick like there’s no tomorrow, reading something on his phone. Let me tell you: you work around enough guys that age, and it starts making you think about gravity.

“Come on,” Norman says as I move toward the door. “She got big tits?”

And I know I shouldn’t. I’m supposed to be better than this. I’ve done a lot of work not to be that guy.

But I can’t help it sometimes.

As Gran says, you are who you are.

“Not as big as yours,” I say as I duck out of the locker room.

Foley and Norman are laughing harder than anybody else as I make my way through the station, and for about three-point-zero seconds, I forget I’m still trying to talk myself into this.

That’s how I end up outside Chief Peterson’s door.

It’s not like the station is quiet. It’s not like it’s empty.

Nickels is picking over the pastries that Ruthie brought in that morning, and the fax machine is going.

Phones are ringing, and people are talking, and out in the lobby, somebody’s asking about a permit for a howitzer.

Detective Palomo is at her desk, typing so hard on her keyboard that the keys are about to pop off.

But for a moment, it’s like this hole opens in my head, and all that sound tips over and slides down into the dark spot.

Don’t trip over your own dick, I tell myself as I raise a hand to knock. Please, God, let me not trip over my own dick.

A moment later, Chief Peterson calls out, “Come in.”

The office looks different than it did when Chief—when Mr. Somerset had it.

The same desk. The same computer. The same padded chairs with their pilled upholstery.

But now there are photos of Chief Peterson’s family: his wife, his two daughters.

No plants anymore. Only the photos. His desk has several stacks of paper on it, everything neat and organized.

He’s got a little air freshener plugged in somewhere.

Let me tell you: it smells a lot better than the locker room.

“Officer Yarmark,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, Chief, I was wondering if you had a moment to talk.”

Chief Peterson nods. He motions to a chair, and I close the door behind me.

“What’s up?”

“Well, sir, I was wondering—I mean, I know I’m not—I mean, I understand if it’s not even an option—” Chief Peterson’s just looking at me, and that’s even worse. All the stuff I memorized goes sliding down into that same dark place in my head, and I hear myself blurt, “I want the detective job.”

Chief Peterson doesn’t say anything.

So, somehow, I say, “Detective Carmichael’s job.” My face is warming, but I still can’t keep my trap shut, and I add, “The open one.”

Chief Peterson nods. “All right. The position is posted, and we’re accepting applications. The deadline isn’t for a few weeks.”