Chapter 2
CHIEF RONAN BANKS
The Monarch Bar was where I went to relax after work. It was nice enough that people kept to themselves, but not so fancy that my uniform felt out of place. Tonight, I just wanted to be Ronan Banks, not the man everyone saw on billboards.
“Starting without me?”
I looked up as Todd sat down next to me.
His salt and pepper hair and the lines on his face showed his thirty years on the force.
Captain Todd Jordan had been my mentor since I started and was now my right hand.
He’d turned down the chief job three times, but he was the only person in the department I trusted completely.
I gestured to the bartender. “Bourbon for my friend. Neat. I figured you weren’t coming.”
Todd ran his hand over his close-cropped hair. “Traffic was a mess on Fifth.”
The bartender put Todd’s drink in front of him and walked away without saying anything.
Todd leaned back on his stool, his usual serious look replaced by a relaxed grin. “You know, I’ve been thinking about your cabin. We should go for a weekend and get away from all this madness.”
I chuckled and sipped my bourbon. “So, you want me to join you and Sandra on a couple’s retreat? I’m not sure I can relax with all your romantic hooting and hollering at night.”
“Hey, it doesn’t have to be all candlelight and wine. We can fish, hike, and have some beers by the fire. Just good company.”
“You’re trying to sell me on my own cabin like it’s a timeshare,” I joked, though the idea of getting away from work sounded good.
“Come on, Ro. You need this. Just one night away from the bullshit. You spend too much time in your own head. How about it?”
I frowned and swirled the whiskey in my glass. “It’s not my thoughts that worry me. It’s what’s waiting for me when I get back.”
“Take a break. You’ve earned it. Plus, I’m tired of covering for you during those late-night paperwork marathons.”
I looked at him. “Exactly. I don’t see you taking breaks, either.”
“Yeah, well, Sandra’s been on me about that. I guess we both could use a little less work and a little more life. To unwinding.” He raised his glass, a lighthearted toast.
“To unwinding,” I said, clinking my glass with his.
The game on the TV caught my eye. The announcer’s voice got louder, and the crowd cheered as a player hit a buzzer-beater three-pointer. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” I pointed at the screen.
“Look at that shit, pure talent. You think you could have made that shot back in your glory days?” Todd asked, grinning.
I laughed. “Please. I was more of a defensive player. I’d guard the guy and hope he missed.”
“Right, because that’s what wins championships, defense. Seriously, should shoot some hoops. Get you back in the game.”
I smirked, picturing myself trying to keep up with him on the court. “You’d just end up carrying me.”
“Damn, I was thinking the same thing.”
I sipped my drink before changing the subject. “City council’s breathing down my neck. Mayor called twice today asking when we’re releasing a statement about the protest tomorrow.”
Todd took a long sip before answering. “What’d you tell him?”
“Same thing I always do. We respect the constitutional right to peaceful assembly, and we’re committed to protecting public safety.”
He chuckled without humor. “The standard bullshit. Think they ever tire of hearing it?”
I swirled my drink, watching the light play in the glass. “I’m as tired of saying it as they are of hearing it. The Feds called me today, too.”
Todd’s eyebrows shot up. “About what?”
“They’re monitoring things. Said they’d send help if the protest gets out of hand. Because nothing calms a protest like guys in tactical gear with government badges.” I couldn’t hide the bitterness in my voice.
“Shit. That’s all we need.”
“My thoughts exactly. In fact, I’d like to know who the fuck is in charge because it’s supposed to be me!”
We sat quietly for a moment, the things we didn’t say hanging between us. The soft jazz playing didn’t match the tension I felt.
“How’s planning for tomorrow looking?” I finally asked.
“We’re following the plan. Barricades will keep protesters in the park. Officers will stay back unless there’s trouble. I worry about the younger officers. We talk about trust and reform, but all they see out there is hostility.”
“Maybe there’s a reason for hostility,” I said quietly.
Todd gave me a long look. “Careful. That’s the talk that has the union wondering whose side you’re on.”
I motioned for another drink. “I just want to do the job right. If that makes some people uncomfortable, that’s on them.”
“It is your problem when you’re leading a divided department. Look, I didn’t come here to argue. I just wanted a drink with my friend, who’s carrying the weight of the city.”
The bartender set down my fresh bourbon, and I swiped a hand down my face. “Thanks. Man, it’s been a day.”
“Been a year, but you’re hanging in there better than most would.”
This was the Todd I needed, my friend, not my subordinate, questioning my leadership.
After his second drink, Todd rechecked his watch. “Alright, I’d better head out. Promised Sandra I’d be home in time to watch her show with her.”
“Happy wife, happy life,” I said with a smile more genuine than anything I’d managed all day.
“Twenty-two years and counting. You should try it sometime, instead of sleeping with that badge,” Todd replied, standing and straightening his uniform.
“Get out of here.” I chuckled, waving him off.
“See you tomorrow. Try not to stay too late.”
I watched him go and waited until he was out the door before I finally relaxed. My next breath let out not only today’s frustration, but weeks of it. With Todd gone, I didn’t have to juggle being both a boss and a friend.
Tomorrow, protesters would demand justice, with me caught in the middle, serving a system I doubted more every day. Though tonight, in this bar with soft jazz and no one watching, I had to admit the truth: I didn’t know if I was changing the system or if it was changing me.
I sipped my bourbon, thankful for a bit of peace. Most nights, a drink and some quiet were enough, but tonight, I felt restless. Maybe it was Todd’s talk about the department being divided or the upcoming protest.
I wasn’t sure. I glanced around the bar and noticed a woman sitting alone, writing in a notebook.
It only took a second to recognize her in the mirror, and my hand tightened on my glass.
Dr. Nia Price. She was the voice behind Truth to Power, the podcast that had taken apart my department’s reputation all year.
What were the chances? I’d heard enough of her podcast to know she was based in Atlanta, not Birmingham. Yet here she was, in my usual spot, looking like she was doing research right at the bar.
She stood out, and once I noticed her, I couldn’t look away.
She seemed sharp and focused as she wrote in her notebook.
Her skin was a deep brown with red undertones.
Her locs were pulled back with a few framing her face as she leaned over her notes.
Gold earrings caught the light when she tilted her head, thinking about what she’d written.
She hadn’t noticed me yet, which gave me the advantage.
I’d never met her in person before; I’d only seen her podcast clips on social media.
Her latest episode had taken my community policing initiative apart point by point, using arrest statistics I couldn’t even argue with.
“Performance without progress,” she’d called it.
The words stuck with me more than I cared to admit.
The bartender approached her with a fresh drink, a brown liquor with ice, and she looked up with a smile, transforming her face entirely. It was strange seeing warmth, knowing it would likely freeze over if she realized I was watching her. I wondered what brought her to Birmingham.
I should have looked away, minded my business, finished my drink, and left without engaging. Something about her focus and the intensity of her concentration held my attention. She wasn’t on her phone scrolling like most people sitting alone at bars. Her notebook was her distraction.
As if sensing my thoughts, she suddenly looked into the mirror before her eyes landed directly on me.
The recognition was immediate, mutual. Her eyes—sharp, intelligent, and unflinching—held mine.
There was no surprise in her expression, just an assessment so thorough I almost felt it on my skin.
No smile softened her lips. No polite nod acknowledged my position, though her steady gaze seemed to say, I see you, Chief Banks, and I know exactly what you are.
I didn’t smile either. I couldn’t have, even if I tried. Being seen by someone who had already judged me made me want to drop the mask I wore for a moment.
The moment dragged on. Neither of us looked away first. It wasn’t really a challenge, more like two opponents who respected the game, even if they didn’t respect each other.
What did she see when she looked at me? The uniform?
The badge? The man on billboards talking about community trust?
Or did she see past all that to the sleep I’d lost over Jaylen Harris’s death, the fights with the DA about body cam footage, and the thin line I walked every day between my department and my community?
Probably not. To her, I was another cop hiding behind a badge and a handsome face. She looked away first, dropping her eyes to her notebook and writing something down. It was a quiet but clear dismissal. I wasn’t worth more than a glance. I was just another data point in her story.
I took a bigger sip of bourbon than I meant to. The burn in my chest wasn’t anger, exactly, but close. Maybe it was defensiveness, or the discomfort of being judged by someone who only saw part of the truth and thought it was enough.
It shouldn’t matter what she thought of me or my department. I’d dealt with tougher critics and harder confrontations. Still, something about Dr. Price being here, her quiet focus, and her refusal to even fake a greeting, bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
I asked the bartender for my check. My safe place had been breached, not by force, but by the presence of a woman. As I signed the credit card slip, I glanced at her one more time. She was back to writing, lost in her work.
What I couldn’t figure out was why her dismissal left an empty feeling in my chest that another bourbon wouldn’t fix.