Minka #2
“Makes you a leader worth following.” She sits up with a huff, straightening in her chair, then she hits me with a penetrating stare.
“You work harder than anyone I know, you respect your team, which allows them space to respect you, and you give a shit—about those who work for you, and about those who end up on the cold steel tables in our autopsy suites. The city would be insane to fire you, and if they were to judge your value based on an outdated, dumb nine-to-five workday, then they’d lose the best chief M.E.
they could ever know. You weren’t here before.
” She slumps back again, rolling her head left, then right.
“You weren’t here when Chant was the captain of this ship, which means you have nothing to compare it to.
And you weren’t the chief at your old post either, so you’re flying blind.
But I assure you, you’re doing just fine, and if you ever considered leaving, or if Lawrence had a stroke and considered tossing you, your entire team would riot. ”
I scroll through my emails, a faux aww bubbling along my throat. “For me, Doctor Emeri? Really?”
“At the risk of being saddled with another Doctor Chant?” She bounds up from her chair, turning toward my door. “Absolutely.”
“You making coffee?”
“No. I’m making green tea.” She snags my door handle and tugs it open. “I’ll get you one, too.”
“I’m good.” I wrinkle my nose, pre-disgusted. “I don’t want one.”
“I’ll make you one, anyway.”
“No, Aubree—” I swing my eyes away from my emails. “No!”
“Chief.” Doctor Raquel strides through my door in sexy black leather shorts and a sequin tank top. Lose the white lab coat, and she’d be ready to hit the clubs.
“Going out after work, Doctor Raquel?”
“Hmm?” She takes Aubree’s seat and extends her legs, studying the boots at the end. “No. I just like to look nice. Unlike…” She gestures my way. “Well…”
“Shut up. I look fine.” I shove up from my chair and cross to the rack by the door, whipping my white coat off the peg and stabbing my arms into my sleeves. “Need something? I’m quite certain you have enough work to keep you in the basement for years.”
“I, too, am certain. Fortunately for me, there are labor laws saving me from that fate, and seeing the sun is my God-given right. Caught you on the news last night.”
“Yeah?” I head back to my desk. “How? You live down here with the peasants, don’t you? Was your apartment exempt from the blackout?”
“No, I am a peasant, after all. But I stayed at Taylor’s place last night, which is in the nicer part of town.
Good sex, good company, air conditioning, and a flat-screen television, all so I could comfortably watch my boss try to resus a dead guy in the hundred-something degree heat… in a ballgown.”
“It wasn’t a ballgown! It was just a…” I drag my chair around and plop onto the cushioned seat. “A dress. A bridesmaid thing. And who the hell is Taylor?”
She rolls her eyes, but then she glances to the right, staring through my glass wall. “Which reminds me. I need to ask Aubs for a plus one for the wedding. Two plus ones, actually.”
“Two?” I open my emails from yesterday, reports sent upstairs from the very woman sitting in front of me, and when I deem them delegable, I forward them to the appropriate medical examiners and clear them from my to-do list. “Pretty sure you can’t ask for one plus one this close to a wedding. Asking for two is akin to suicide.”
“Nah, Emeri’s cool. She’s not one of those uptight bridezillas who control everything.
Case in point,” she gestures toward Aubree, who walks this way with two steaming mugs.
Ew. “She’s supposed to be on leave, no? Final wedding preparations.
Makeup trials. Salon days. All the fun things girls like to do. Instead, she’s here.”
“Stop talking about me.” Aubree pushes through my door and cruelly plops a mug on my desk. “Drink it. It’s good for you.” Then she looks at Raquel and lifts a single, questioning brow. “What do you want?”
“Two plus ones for the wedding. I double booked and don’t wanna break any hearts.”
“Sure.” Aubree sips her tea, swallowing the disgusting liquid with an obnoxious ahhh. “Though I accept no responsibility for whatever drama comes from your situation. Only a truly disorganized hoe would bring two dates to one event.”
“One is for my sister.” She purses glinting, red lips.
“Eliza’s in town for the weekend, and since I hardly ever get to see her, there’s no chance in hell I’ll tell her not to come, nor am I going out for the night and leaving her at my apartment alone.
But I’m also not dipping out on your wedding.
Thus…” She flashes two fingers. “I’ll bring her and Taylor and call it an excellent weekend spent. ”
“Normal, sensible human beings visit their siblings so they can spend time with them,” I argue. “Quality time. Quiet time. Tossing a formal event in her face at the eleventh hour when she probably doesn’t have a dress and doesn’t want to socialize will ensure she never visits again.”
“That’s a you thing, Chief.” Raquel pushes off the chair and shakes platinum blonde hair back, so the ends tickle her white coat and stretch almost as far as her shoulder blades.
“Some of us actually enjoy putting on a pretty dress and slapping on a bit of makeup. Eliza’s entire job and personality are wrapped up in sweat, boys, and weird testosterone competitions.
She lives in a town smaller than this street.
This one.” She gestures toward my windows.
“Plainview has fewer residents than five Copeland City blocks. She’s quite thrilled at the idea of going out, hoeing up, and meeting new people. ”
“Runs in the family,” Aubree quips playfully. “Hoes are gonna hoe.”
Raquel makes a face, childish and silly.
“Taylor and I have been in a committed relationship for, like…” She counts on her fingers.
“I don’t even know! Six months? Eight? Sadly, my hoe days have come to an end.
” Beaming, she turns on her heels and strides across my office. “We’re good with the plus two?”
Aubree hums, inhaling the scent of her tea. “Mmhm.”
“Great. And Chief?” She grabs my door and swings it wide. “Anything you need from me? You’ve had a shitty couple of days, so if there’s anything I can do to help…?”
“You already helped by closing out rounds yesterday and doing them again this morning.” I slide my tea away, knowing I won’t bring the filth anywhere near my mouth.
“You did well. Keep working your list and whip Doctor Xavier into the next gear if he has one. The faster we work, the sooner we can sign them off and finalize a bunch of pended cases. Other than that—”
“Keep you from killing reporters and documentary makers.” She brings her hand up and salutes.
“Got it, Chief. You know where to find me.” She strides through the door and makes a beeline for the elevator, and while she walks, she shouts something a little unintelligible and definitely inappropriate across the entirety of the ninth floor, eliciting a giggle from our boyish Doctor Kirk.
The cops have Clay. We have James Kirk—not of the Star Trek fandom.
“She’s a lot.” Aubree turns and sits back in her chair, eyeing my untouched tea unhappily. “You should drink that.”
“Tastes like ass.”
Her lips curl, taunting and playful, behind the lip of her mug. “The fact you know what that tastes like surprises me. But you do you, Chief. Freak on. Still, drink it.”
“No.” When my desk phone trills, I snatch it up and bring it to my ear. “This is Chief Mayet.”
“Seraphina Lewis is on line three, Chief.”
Frowning, I swing my gaze to Aubree’s. “I’ll take it, thanks.” I press my finger over the phone cradle and end our call, then I select line three and connect the next. “Fifi?”
“Justin Lawrence, actually.” The mayor chuckles, relaxing back at his desk—probably—and unbuttoning his suit coat to get comfortable—I assume. “Figured I’d increase my chances of speaking to you if you thought it was her.”
Jackass. “I would’ve answered if you’d said it was you.” Probably. Slumping back in my chair, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I wasn’t ignoring you earlier, by the way. I only just walked into my office five minutes ago. What’s up? And why haven’t you fired me yet?”
“Why haven’t I…” He stumbles over his words. “Fired you? Why would I?”
“I’m belligerent at best. Unkind at a base level. Besides, it’s nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, and I just admitted to only just getting to the office. Those are sackable offenses.”
“You want me to fire you?”
“I—”
“Oh, I see. You know I won’t accept your resignation, I won’t let you brush me off, and I won’t allow you to avoid me.
So now you figure if you suck bad enough, I might boot you.
Tell me, Chief. Have you considered discussing your rampant self-sabotaging behaviors with a therapist?
Is that why you pushed my daughter off a building? ”
“I didn’t push her! She fell. And those stitches in her leg? That was her own fault, too.”
“Stitches?” he snaps. “What stitches?”
“Hmm…?” I reach for my tea and drag it forward, muscle memory, surely, as my body craves caffeine, and a mug is a mug. My brain is tricking me. “I don’t know what stitches you’re talking about. So if you’re not calling to fire me, I ask again: what’s up?”
“Just checking in, mostly.” He settles back in his chair, curling the ends of his evil-man mustache.
He doesn’t actually have a mustache. “Yesterday was rough for you, and I already received word that you were at the hospital earlier—which flies in the face of your just got to work story, by the way. I heard Steve Morris is doing okay-ish. He’s coming along. ”