13. This is going to be a disaster. #3
“Cops are hot,” I informed him. I pointed at Perkette. “Just ask her.”
“Cops are hot,” she agreed.
“I see where you ladies stand. We’ll make sure your marriage isn’t hampered by Nevada’s rules, Chief Quinn.”
“I’m going to need to either go by Gardener or add something to the front or use my full name, or everyone will look for my husband,” I complained.
“Sam will not be happy if you go by Gardener. He’s a bit territorial,” Perkette announced.
I snorted. “A bit? And anyway, I think he secretly misses growling Gardener at me.”
“He would. He’s almost as hopeless as you are.”
As I lacked a sufficient rebuttal, I rolled up Nevada’s form and smacked her with it before making a note about the exemption and tossing it into the pile. I blitzed through the rest of the forms and slid the stack across the table to Alfred. “What else do I need to do?”
“Sign the actual forms and fill out the exemption forms as needed. I’ll send you a copy of the list, issue your firearms, and obtain—”
Sylvester popped into the room with a flash of golden light and set a pile of blue uniforms and a box on the table. “I have two sets of your uniform, Bailey, your badge and firearms, and some other permits the NYPD printed out for you.”
Alfred sighed. “Firearms is plural.”
“My grandson has more issues than sense. It seems he has picked three firearms for his lovely bride. They are, rather like him, ridiculous.” Sylvester removed a holster from the box and offered it to me. “This is a Beretta M9, and it is your primary firearm.”
I took the gun, and as I was annoyed everyone felt I was completely useless with weapons, I put on a show of checking the chamber, ejecting the magazine and checking the clip, and doing a full inspection of the weapon.
“For the record, for the assholes at this table who presume I’ve never handled a firearm, the CDC made me qualify as part of my bomb squad activities.
Apparently, they somehow assumed I would be capable of operating a firearm while sporting hooves. I’m proficient.”
“You should compete,” Alfred replied. “Your qualification results are in your file. You could use some work in motion, but if you’re standing still, you don’t miss.” Alfred checked his phone again. “And your adjustments for environmental conditions are excellent.”
“The qualification test was a bear, I hated it, and I wanted to light the ranges on fire, especially the outdoor range.”
“Chief Quinn, you qualified for a full Federal license. That qualification test is much more difficult than the one standard law enforcement use.”
I blinked. “What? I didn’t take the standard test?”
“No. You took the Federal test.”
I slumped in my seat. “The CDC played me again?”
Perkette blinked. “She qualified for a Federal permit?”
“Yes. The note here says her handler made the request for additional education with firearms and explosives.”
I wanted to find out who that handler was and shove my M9 right up his ass crosswise. “Which handler?”
“Marshal Clemmends. He seems to have taken an unusual interest in your safety.”
“In my safety? He tries to blow me up several times a week, and then he transferred me to the NYPD!” I hesitated. “I’m not complaining about the transfer.”
Alfred humored me with a smile. “I figured as much. It’s a compliment, really. Marshal Clemmends has a reputation.”
“As what? An asshole?”
“That, but he does work to ensure his staff is equipped for everything they need. Looking over your supplementary training, he’s been planning to move you into law enforcement for a while. The contract also seems to indicate an intent to transfer you.”
I frowned. “Really?”
“I’ll be back. I’ll print something for you to review that may help clarify the matter. I’ll also make a note about the serial numbers of your weapons, if you could give them to me?”
I read off the serial number of my M9 and Sylvester read off the numbers for a Glock and a SIG.
Alfred frowned. “That’s not a Glock 18, is it?”
“It’s a Glock 18. Do not ask me why the NYPD wants her to have a fully automatic gun. I’m just delivering the packages.”
I perked up. “My baby!” Setting the Beretta aside, I grabbed the Glock and set it on the table in front of me, stroking its sleek, lethal lines. “I got to use this one at the range. I had to qualify with fully automatics in the entire range. I like this one even more than the Browning.”
“Browning?” Perkette’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean a machine gun, do you?”
“Yes. They brought out a military trainer for one week of my range lessons, and I had to use a bunch of different weapons.”
“She’s gotten a very extensive weapons education through the CDC.
As I said, Marshal Clemmends took special interest in your general education.
There’s a note you’ll particularly like.
Excuse me for a few minutes, and you’ll understand when you see it.
” Alfred left with the serial numbers and forms.
I frowned. “This is so weird. This is more than just weird, it’s freaky. Clemmends hates me.”
“Don’t judge him so readily, Bailey,” Sylvester scolded.
“Certainly, he holds a certain amount of dislike for you, but he doesn’t willfully endanger those he’s responsible for.
While he certainly views getting rid of you to the NYPD as directly beneficial to him, he takes his job seriously, and that means preparing you for the work.
Did it not occur to you that you have a far more extensive education than basic CDC contractors? ”
“Well, no. It hadn’t. I mean, sure, I know some rules and regulations, but I need to know them for my work. All contractors know the regulations associated with their work. We need to stay legal.”
“Bailey.” The angel sighed. “Once again, you underestimate yourself and your education.”
“I do not!”
Perkette jabbed me with her elbow. “You learned how to fluently read bomb schematics in a week.”
“I didn’t want to be turned into unicorn goop.”
“A week, Bailey.”
“I really didn’t want to be turned into unicorn goop.”
“It’s typically a two year Master’s degree program, Bailey. You picked it up in a week.”
“Really. Didn’t. Want. To. Be. Turned. Into. Unicorn. Goop.”
“Yes, we heard you the first two times. What we’re saying is you have a ridiculous capacity for learning, and once you’ve digested the basics of a subject, you assimilate it.
You learned a complicated schematic in a week.
Not only did you learn a singular schematic, you were then able to apply what you learned to other bombs.
It’s only when you find a new type that you get confused and fall to the urge to just eat the fucking payload rather than disarming it properly! With your fucking claws.”
“I don’t understand why you’re upset over this issue.”
“You disarm bombs with your claws and teeth.”
“What else am I supposed to use? I don’t have the option of using my hands! I’m not impervious to bombs when a human.” I pointed at my face. “See? See these little scars? These little scars say I’m not impervious to bombs when I’m a human.”
“You should just have those removed,” Perkette grumbled.
“Quinn likes them.”
“He likes that you’re his because of them. He doesn’t actually like that you were hurt by his ex-wife. It reminds him of that every time he sees them.”
I turned to my grandfather-in-law and pointed at my scars. “Can you remove these for me for Christmas?”
“I could remove them for you right now. There’s no need to wait until Christmas.”
“Would you please remove them now? If Sam doesn’t like them, I don’t want them. I thought he liked them. I could get the creams, but those take weeks to work.”
Perkette’s eyes widened. “You called him Sam.”
“I call him Sam!” I scowled.
“You usually call him Quinn.”
“She saves Sam for the special occasions because my little grandson loves when she calls him Sam or Samuel that much,” the traitor angel announced.
Asshole angel. “That,” I admitted, as there was no point in trying to hide the truth with a pesky angel around.
Perkette grinned. “You’re absolutely unbelievable, Bailey.”
I sighed. “No matter what I say, I just can’t win, can I?”
“Nope,” she replied. “You really can’t.”