Chapter 8 Missing in Action #2
Amil appeared in the doorway with a mug in his hand. “Here,” he said, giving it to her with a small smile. His eyes lingered on her face for a fraction longer than necessary, and Johnny wondered if there was something to Taylor’s theory after all.
“Thank you.” She narrowed her eyes, studying Johnny over the rim of her cup. “What’s happened between you and Taylor?”
Johnny swallowed. “Um… nothing?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Nothing? Well, it doesn’t seem like nothing, and it’s creating an atmosphere in the office.”
Johnny gripped the fire extinguisher tighter. “Sorry. I’ll sort it out with him. We just… It’s complicated.”
“He’s upstairs,” Amil said, raising an eyebrow. “Do me a favour and eat the bacon elsewhere, yeah? Smells like burning bodies.”
“Sure,” Johnny replied, shaking the fire extinguisher. “Anyway, I’ll just…” Instead of finishing the sentence, he walked past them and into the report-writing room. He dropped the fire extinguisher into its holder and trudged up the stairs to the management corridor.
“Damn, girl, good for you,” came Taylor’s playful voice from one of the side offices.
He and Wendy looked up as Johnny pushed open the door. Wendy’s hand was splayed across the table and the smell of nail polish tickled Johnny’s nose as he eyed the brush pinched between Taylor’s fingers.
“Morning,” Wendy said, glancing down at her bright red nails then back up at Johnny.
Johnny’s mouth twitched.
“Well?” she said, wiggling her fingers. “Whaddya think?”
“Er, very nice,” Johnny said, shouldering his bag onto the table.
They weren’t nice, and in fact he was feeling some type of way about it.
Taylor didn’t look up. He was a little scratched up but otherwise looked normal.
“God, blokes are bloody useless,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes. “Can’t rely on either of you for a decent compliment.”
“Hey, paint your own nails next time,” Taylor muttered, dipping the brush back into the pot.
Johnny looked down at his own purple nails, sniffing.
Wendy smacked her lips at Taylor like a horny old cougar, and Taylor blew her a kiss.
“Wendy’s got a date,” Taylor mumbled, muscles tense across his shoulders.
“Uh-huh,” Johnny replied, dropping the bacon sandwich parcels onto the desk. “Anyone we should know about?”
Wendy laughed. “I appreciate the sentiment, darl’, but he’s an out of towner, shall we say.”
“He’s younger,” Taylor said, flashing a smile at Wendy. “A plumber, right, Wend?”
Wend?
Wendy nodded and gave him a salacious grin. “Hoping he’ll sort my plumbing right out.”
Taylor laughed, wrinkling his nose. “You dirty girl.”
Blinking, Johnny stepped back. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”
Wendy sucked her bottom lip and winked at him. “Why, you need Taylor to touch you up, hon?” When he didn’t answer, Wendy threw back her head and let out a filthy laugh. “Now there’s a porno I’d pay to watch.”
Johnny backed away, shoulder hitting the doorframe. “Just… eat the sandwiches,” he said. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
Wendy’s laughter bounced down the corridor as he took the stairs two at a time back to the report-writing room.
“Sickening, isn’t it?” Amil said, from behind his usual computer screen. “They found one wanderer together and now they’re best buds.”
“Please tell me they’ve painted her nails a neutral colour?” Isla sighed, flopping into a chair next to Amil. “I said they could do it so long as it was tasteful.”
“If you call the shade ‘really red’ neutral, then yeah, I guess,” Amil said, shaking his head.
Isla buried her head in her hands. “The boss will be on my arse about uniform regs next,” she said, leaning forwards to look at Amil’s computer screen. “Anyway, any update?”
“Not yet,” Amil replied. “But there’s over ten thousand signatures already.”
Johnny perched on the edge of the desk, the wood creaking beneath his weight. “On what?”
Amil leant back, crossing his arms. “Nothing an alpha needs to worry about.”
Isla let out a breath. “It’ll be everyone’s business if the laws are changed, Amil. How many do they need to get the sanction to parliament?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“Shit,” Isla said, getting out her phone. “I’m signing it now. You too, please, John-Paul.”
Johnny raised his eyebrows. “Tell me what I’m signing and I’ll sign it.”
“The Omega Rights Bill,” Amil replied, setting his jaw. “A petition’s been opened to change the laws around unwanted mating bites. It means omegas won’t have to get the giver’s permission before removing it. They’re calling it the Sally Maverick campaign after one of the omegas that—”
“Thank you, PC Dua,” Isla said, holding out a hand. Her eyes drifted cautiously to Johnny. “Don’t forget which station John-Paul came from, alright?”
Amil shrugged, looking back at the screen. “They probably won’t go for it. The name, I mean. Wouldn’t want to name a law after an alpha killer.”
“Amil!” Isla snapped.
Amil’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Sorry, Sarge. I’m just—”
“Passionate?” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know. We both are.”
They shared a look that felt private, so Johnny sloped off to the kitchen and busied himself with putting away the mugs that had piled up on the draining board.
As terrible as it sounded, he’d never really considered that particular part of their laws before.
Obviously, he was painfully aware of domestic abuse issues between alphas and omegas.
He’d locked up more alphas than he could count.
But he’d grown up in a happy home with parents who loved each other.
His mum was an omega and his father a beta, and whilst they’d done their best to educate him about what it meant to be an alpha, it hadn’t been until Martin was born that he’d seriously considered just how shitty things could really be for omegas.
So, after pulling out his phone, he found the petition and put his name to it.
“Right!” Wendy said, blowing on her nails as she glided into the kitchen. “Sarge wants us to take statements about the fight this morning.” She dropped her head in a conspiratorial manner, giving him a mischievous smile. “Then we’re off to the care home.”
“A mêlée? This morning?” the man at the pharmacy asked, scratching his chin.
Johnny nodded. “Yes, over some talcum powder?”
The man tipped his head and pondered the question for far longer than necessary. “I’d say it was somewhere between a ding-dong and a hoo-ha. Not quite a kerfuffle, and certainly not a mêlée.”
“Right,” Johnny sighed, tapping his pen against his chin. He wasn’t entirely sure he could use the words ‘ding-dong,’ ‘hoo-ha,’ or ‘kerfuffle’ in an official statement. “And was anything else damaged or stolen?”
The man crossed his arms and tilted his head towards a rack of empty shelves. “Just the bloody talcum powder. About eighty quid’s worth, all said.”
Johnny nodded, jotting it down in his notebook. “Right. And how many containers is that?”
The man shrugged. “Sixty, sixty-five?”
“And did you see who took them? Does the shop have CCTV?”
The man uncrossed his arms and laughed. “This is Dingly Heath, Officer. Of course not.” He dropped his head and covered his mouth. “Why are you asking so many questions? Am I being interrogated?”
Johnny frowned, tucking his notebook into his stab vest. “Of course not. But you’re saying your shop was robbed in the middle of a fight. That’s classed as looting under the Theft Act of 1968 and—”
“I never said a fight, Officer. I said it was a ding-dong.”
Johnny’s neck prickled and he couldn’t help but scratch at the bite mark. “No,” he said, sliding his fingers from his neck to his temple, “you said it was somewhere between a ding-dong and a hoo-ha, so by all accounts—”
A hand clapped across his shoulder as Wendy appeared at his side. “You’ll have to excuse him,” she said, giving the pharmacist a sympathetic smile. “He’s new. Keen to prove himself.”
Johnny shook her off. “I am not new.”
Wendy hummed. “You are. Anyway, let us know if you think of anything, alright, Ted?”
The pharmacist nodded enthusiastically. “Will do, PC Truelove!”
Wendy reached up and planted a hand on Johnny’s shoulder again, turning him towards the main entrance. She all but marched him across the car park and towards their car, which was waiting for them at the end of the road.
Ancient fucking thing.
“Listen here, Billy Big Bollocks,” she said once they were safely inside the vehicle. “This isn’t the city; we don’t interrogate the general public.”
Johnny scoffed. “You think that was an interrogation? I simply asked if the shop had CCTV.”
She nodded. “Aye, but it’s how you ask. These folk aren’t like you West Newtoners. You have to…” She waved a hand. “Go softly. Pink and fluffy. No big words, or quoting the Theft Act, or asking about CCTV. It freaks them out.”
Johnny scoffed. “The man had his shop robbed.”
“Sure, sure. And you might treat it like the crime of the century. Slap someone in cuffs and take ’em away.
But, in reality, all they want is a nice jolly bobby patrolling the town, keeping the peace and visiting the care homes every now and again.
You—” She flicked her hand up and down his body.
“—you’re a bit much. Too serious. Definitely too handsome.
Honest to God, boy, do you even shit like the rest of us? ”
Johnny stared at her, mouth hanging open. “Pardon?”
She nodded, seemingly to herself, before pulling her seat belt on. “That was probably too much. I apologise. I’m sure you do shit, but only once a year. On a full moon, right?”
Johnny spluttered. “I have regular bowel movements, thanks.”
“Sure, sure. Anyway, I think Taylor gets Dingly,” she continued, letting out a whimsical sigh. “Lovely lad. Does nice nails, too.” She nodded at Johnny’s own fingers as he gripped the steering wheel. “You’re lucky. Having a man like that.”
Well, they could agree on something, at least.