13. This is going to be a disaster. #2
“I’m going to need a digital cheat sheet,” I muttered.
“Conveniently for you, we have one of those. Still, it’s protocol, so bear with it. We’ll be done in no time. It looks like a lot, but we can churn through this in an hour. That’s about how long it’ll take to get your firearm issued.”
Damn it. There was another secret about to fly right out of the window and strut its stuff for the world to see. I hadn’t told anyone I’d been practicing at the range at the start of most shifts. Perkette only knew about my bomb work because I’d needed her help with the schematics.
Perkette grabbed a seat and raised her hand. “I’ll need a firearm and carry permits.”
“You need tossed into the nearest jail, too,” Alfred muttered, taking a seat across the table from the stack of papers.
“So you’ve seen my file.”
“The first thing I did when security notified me was to check your files. You hold the record in the United States for most unique misdemeanors collected.”
“Have I hit the world record for them yet? I have ambitions. What sort of interesting misdemeanors could I collect here?”
“All crimes committed in an FBI building typically classify as a felony,” he replied.
“You’re ruining my fun,” Perkette complained.
“I’m going to need a firearm. Don’t give the fire-breathing unicorn one.
She’s useless with a gun. Her husband is going to have fun sharpening her skills.
She’s really not a chief because she’s handy with firearms. She’s great at demolition and explosives, though.
If you have a bomb you need defused, she’s your woman.
She’s also an excellent bodyguard for the other Chief Quinn. ”
I sighed and bowed my head. Once we were back in New York, I’d need to drag Perkette to the range and kick her ass in a marksmanship contest. She could shoot a gun; Perky had taught her.
I’d been practicing for at least three days a week for an hour a session, and I’d come prepackaged with, according to my instructors, a freakish amount of natural talent with a firearm.
“Please ignore everything she’s saying.”
“You’ve probably never touched a gun in your life, Bailey. It’s okay to be useless with a gun, but they’re dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
I was not useless with a gun. I could hit the target every time on a full clip. I understood why she had the opinion she did, however. I tended to glare at Quinn’s gun when he came home because mine usually made my hands and ears hurt after an hour of practicing at the range.
She likely assumed my general dislike for guns meant I couldn’t use one.
“I was unaware Chief Quinn needed a body guard.” Alfred checked his phone. “He has a very low number of incidents where it was deemed his life was at risk.”
“His predecessor was murdered, and the NYPD is targeted at a higher rate than typical law enforcement,” Perkette replied. She pulled out her phone to tap at the screen, and a few moments later, she slid the device across the table. “Statistics from your own agency’s website.”
“You’re an insufferable know-it-all, aren’t you?”
Sylvester set Avalanche on the table and sat beside her.
I didn’t blame him for sitting on the table, as I doubted he enjoyed cramming his wings against the back of a chair.
The angel chuckled and gestured to Perkette’s phone.
“She is a fountain of wisdom should you choose to listen to her. While she has opinions about Chief Quinn’s experience with a firearm, one should still be issued to her. Her officer might find it useful.”
Sneaky, tricky angel. I admired how he said nothing but the truth but allowed Perkette to maintain her beliefs.
“Noted. Can you handle the acquisition of her badge?”
“I will handle the acquisition of the badge and attire for her missing officer. I will return shortly.” Sylvester vanished in a flash of golden light.
“But I haven’t…” Alfred sighed. “Angels.”
“Angels are assholes,” I agreed. “He’ll do what needs done, and then he’ll return and be annoyingly smug over it. That’s what angels do. Let’s get through this, shall we? What specific jurisdiction issues will I have to worry about?”
“Due to your special circumstances, you’ll be considered a liaison between the FBI, police, and the CDC.
Your CDC ranking and certifications qualify you, and considering the nature of your situation, it’s best if you have joint jurisdiction in case there’s any destruction of property.
You, ma’am, are a master at destroying property.
Your jurisdiction allowances will let us avoid liability issues. ”
I groaned. “Burn down a building just once, and no one forgets it. It was a sanctioned destruction!”
“It was also exceptionally effective and minimized cleanup. Should we require a demolition due to gorgon dust or another toxin of its scale, we intend to repeat that method of demolition. The CDC has already begun attempts to negotiate with wild cindercorns. The plan is to offer suitable housing and environmental care for their species in exchange for igniting the highest grades of napalms. Phoenixes are far more inclined for mass destruction than cindercorns. It might even save them from extinction.”
“You mean they can’t fly and have to limit what they can reach by hoof,” I muttered. As I was well aware cindercorns were on a collision course with extinction, I kept my opinions on the downsides of bringing cindercorns among humans to myself.
They likely viewed humans as dinner.
“Precisely,” Alfred replied.
I regarded the man with narrowed eyes. “Okay. I’ll bite. How do you know about this?”
“I teleported in from Washington. This isn’t my agency building. I’m a visitor like you. Security called Washington, as is protocol on your file.”
Well, shit.
“If you’re in cahoots with Clemmends, I may be tempted to transform and light you on fire.”
He chuckled. “It’s also mentioned in your file that you have a rather turbulent relationship with your supervisor.”
“Which is why he sold my contract to the NYPD.”
“Yes, I expect he will be unhappy about this decision soon enough. The CDC is displeased they lost a key resource. The FBI wishes to play nice with you in hopes you’ll consider an official liaison position.”
I scowled. “For the first time in my life, I have a job with a salary and the same hours as my husband.”
“Translate to mean she will transform and incinerate anyone who screws with her ability to work with her husband and have her salary,” Perkette announced.
“How did you get here so quickly?” I considered how long we’d been at the security desk, which wouldn’t have been more than five or ten minutes.
“We have a devil in our employ, and he will teleport staff between agencies as needed. He brought me here.”
I sniffed for any signs of sulfur, the typical giveaway a devil had teleported into the area. “I don’t smell a devil.”
“He cleaned up after himself. Some humans have allergies to brimstone. I see you have an education on devils.”
If it could start a fire, I’d had information on it drilled into me. I shrugged. “The CDC invested in my education.”
“And then dumped you with the NYPD.”
“I never said my supervisor was smart or wise,” I countered.
“This is true. So, let’s start with Arkansas, shall we?”
I grabbed the stack and plucked the first two sheets off the pile, which were clipped together and had a sticky note with the state’s name.
After working with the CDC for so long, the form didn’t bother me as much as the list of special rules for law enforcement in the state.
One of the entries startled me. “Law enforcement officers must wear pants with their uniforms?”
“Yes.”
“What about shorts? Doesn’t it get hotter than hell here in the summer?”
“It’s not a law many appreciate, but some men made a fuss because women were wearing skirts to work and they weren’t allowed to wear shorts, so all uniformed law enforcement must wear pants. As a result, no one is happy now.”
Damn. “Perkette, remind me never to move to Arkansas unless that dress code changes. I’d also like an undercover rating for this state.”
Alfred chuckled. “As a chief, you can decide when you’re undercover.”
Score. “I don’t wear anything other than pants and I don’t even have a uniform right now, so I’m undercover effective now. Got a pen?”
The FBI agent slid one to me across the table, and I made a note on the form about having to declare my status as undercover.
The rest of the rules seemed simple enough, and I tossed Arkansas’s aside and picked up the next form, scanning over it.
When it seemed sensible enough, I put a checkmark on it and tossed it onto the pile.
“Effective,” Alfred said, watching me work. “You’re no stranger to paperwork.”
“The CDC just loves its red tape.” I went through most states before halting at Nevada. “Nevada has a flat out ban against law enforcement marrying each other on the state level?”
“Yes.”
“That’s stupid. I’m married to a cop, and I refuse to be unmarried to my cop. Exemption or Nevada can take its jurisdiction and shove it up its ass.”
“An exemption will be made. You just can’t actively marry a law enforcement officer in the state.”
“Exemption.”
“Pardon?”
“Ex-emp-tion.” I lifted the form and waved it in his face. “If my husband comes anywhere near Las Vegas, I’m paying an Elvis impersonator and renewing my vows. That counts as marrying take two, right?”
He laughed. “I’ll make a note in the file that you have plans to renew your vows while in Vegas. Figure you may as well enjoy the experience?”
“We had a courthouse wedding,” I admitted.
“Your marriage and vow renewal plans are safe. Exemptions are made for this one all the time. We have a special form for it. I’ll make sure you sign it before you leave, and your husband will also be required to sign.
We need the form any time our liaisons are married to cops, which is somewhat frequent.
Liaisons can’t seem to keep their hands off the local law enforcement. ”