6. SIX
SIX
GARRETT
We’d been nonstop all day. The city was buzzing with Fourth of July festivities, which to most people meant pool parties, cookouts and fireworks. To Hayes, me, and the rest of the Boston Police Department, it meant we were pretty much always on a call. Holidays seemed to bring out the stupid, and the dangerous, but the Fourth brought out the uniquely wonderful combo of the stupid dangerous. To top it off, it was the perfect day—sunny with a few clouds, a warm, but not sweltering eighty-two degrees, and the breeze coming in off the bay was cool. Better party conditions didn’t exist, which meant our day had been filled with drunk and disorderlies, domestics, and the classic fireworks being mistaken for gunshots.
It was a shit show and I was over it, which was saying something because I genuinely loved my job. I loved helping people in need, and protecting those who needed it. There were bad days, because unfortunately not everyone saw the good in what I and my coworkers did, but most days were good. Most days I felt fulfilled with my career.
Working with Hayes was another perk. In slow moments, like the miraculous one we were currently in, we would meet up, park our cruisers so our driver’s side windows were next to each other, and shoot the shit for a bit.
“Hey, do you know if all palm trees are coconut trees?”
I swallowed my coffee on a gulp, and shook my head. It was classic Hayes to come out with the most random shit. “Why the hell would I know that?”
He ignored my question completely. “Because Kinsley and I were driving around Florida when we were visiting my parents, and none of the palm trees had coconuts. And I was just thinking now like, what happens if our kids someday ask, ‘Hey, dad, are all palm trees coconut trees?’ and I don’t have the answer?”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and searched it. “No, not all palm trees are coconut trees. There’s only one kind of palm tree that grows coconuts.”
Hayes nodded. “Ah, so it’s like how all squares are rectangles, but not all rectangles are squares. Good to know.”
I laughed. This was what the day needed, some nonsensical humor. If I had to talk to one more twenty-something-year-old about why they couldn’t walk around the city with their alcohol I’d lose my mind.
“Better figure out which way that one goes too so you’re ready.” I took another sip of coffee, and then asked, “Speaking of, are you and Kins trying soon? ”
“Weird of you to ask if I’m screwing my wife, bro.” He faked offense, but smirked.
If there was one thing Hayes never was, it was serious. The man was a golden retriever in human form. He was goofy, outgoing, and fun, but he was also fiercely loyal and incredibly smart, even though his goofiness made him come across like a bit of an idiot.
“But to answer your question, yeah, Kins and I are officially in baby making mode. Did you know there are apps to track ovulation? Anyway, it’s pretty cool.” He leaned out his window so he could smack my arm with his hand. “You should try making a baby. It’s so much sex all of the time.”
“Okay, yeah, I’ll get right on that.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re on another level today, you know that?”
My gaze shifted out the windshield, observing the pedestrians and cars going past. The sidewalks were a sea of red, white, and blue, and country music blasted from cars sitting in traffic.
“It’s all the sex.”
I looked back at my friend and laughed.
“No, but seriously, man. When are you going to find someone to settle down with?” He spun around briefly to check on Tank, his German shepherd K-9 who was lounging in the back of the cruiser seemingly relaxed, but his eyes were wide and alert.
Sometimes I struggled even then to reconcile the two versions of Tank there were. At home, the dog was goofy and carefree, he loved belly rubs and playing fetch, but when he was at work with Hayes he was all business and every bit the weapon he’d been trained to be. Tank was a dog I wouldn’t mess with, and that was before seeing what he could do to someone’s calf, should they not follow orders.
I realized I hadn’t answered Hayes’s question when I caught him staring at me.
“Eventually. I just haven’t found anyone yet.”
That’s not true.
I shut that thought down fast. That was a thought I couldn’t have.
In hindsight, ding dong ditching Cory’s meal from our date on her doorstep with a love note on a napkin did come across a little like I might be a serial killer. Or at bare minimum a stalker, neither of which was a good look, but what was I supposed to do? She was all I could think about and I hated it. It was two years ago all over again, except this time, I hadn’t even gotten the chance to kiss her.
But I’d made the first move. I left my number on the bottom of the napkin, and she hadn’t texted back in the month and a half since our date. Clearly she wasn’t interested, and while my brain could accept that, my heart and body were not so easily persuaded. The damn woman had me in a chokehold I couldn’t tap out of.
The problem was, even if I could tap out, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
“Well, hurry up! I’ve got my best man speech down already.”
“Who said anything about you being my best man? I wasn’t even in your wedding party!”
Hayes pointed an aggressively accusatory finger at me. “Hey, that was on you! I asked you and you said no. I’m still a little broken up about it if I’m being honest.”
“You know why I couldn’t. I would’ve been no help to you with all of my mom’s doctor’s appointments and chemo sessions. Besides, I still showed up, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, and disappeared early with no explanation.” Hayes narrowed his gaze in mock suspicion. I knew Hayes didn’t actually care where I’d run off to, he was too wrapped up in Kinsley to actually care.
“Yeah, well, don’t hold your—” Our conversation was cut off by our radios.
“Dispatch to five-oh-two.”
I cleared my throat and then held down the button on the radio. “Five-oh-two.”
“Can you head down to one-one-five-six South Quincy Street for a noise complaint? The building is DelINKquent Tattoos. The caller said there’s been obnoxiously loud music playing since early this morning, along with shouting.”
“Received.” I threw Hayes an exasperated look and then waved. “Beers after shift?”
“Oh, for sure.” He threw me a half-ass salute, and then added, “Have fun with that call.” There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes that I wanted to question, but then the radio was going off again.
It would appear that was the end to the fifteen minutes of quiet.
** *
When I pulled in front of DelINKquent Tattoos, the first thing I noticed was that it looked new. The neon sign above the entrance was so pristine it was reflecting the city off it, and the door was sporting a fresh coat of paint. It could’ve been the combination of the tattoo sign, the door and the freshly cleaned window, but the outside of the building looked clean, too.
The second thing I noticed was that it was quiet.
The only noises I could hear from inside of my cruiser were the regular sounds of the city. Horns honking, engines running, people talking into their cell phones, crosswalks telling people to “walk”—the regular. Which meant either the owner had turned the music off and quieted down, or the more likely scenario, it was a bad call.
Regardless, it was my job to respond and check things out, so I got out of the car and walked inside the shop. It smelled earthy and fresh, and, not that I frequented tattoo shops often, but it wasn’t what I was expecting. There were plants, and an area rug with a coffee table on it, as well as comfortable couches and framed photos of various artwork I had to assume were done by the artists here. It felt like somewhere you could relax, which was the opposite of how needles made me feel.
I looked around and spotted an older gentleman sitting behind the front desk.
“Excuse me, are you the owner?” I approached the counter, but the man hadn’t looked up from where he was . . . drawing? On a receipt .
“Who’s asking?”
“Officer Adler of the BPD.”
The man’s head rose at that, and he stuck his hand out. “I’m sorry, sir. No, I’m not the owner, but I’ll go get her for you.”
“I’d appreciate it.” I slipped my thumbs between my chest and kevlar vest, and continued my perusal of the shop. There was music playing, but it was soft. The buzzing of the tattoo guns was louder, and from what I could tell, there didn’t seem to be too many people in here at the moment.
A few moments later, the man came back with the owner in tow.
An owner I was very familiar with.
Cory stopped dead in her tracks, her gaze locking with mine before running slowly down the length of me.
When her eyes returned, I tried to keep the knowing smirk off my face.
“You’re in uniform.”
All attempts at restraint failed me, and I laughed. “Well, I am at work.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then what are you doing here?”
Of all the ways I’d hoped seeing her again would go, visiting her on professional matters was not one. “We received a noise complaint.”
She dropped her arms, and looked over at the man who stood next to her. “Are you kidding me? We’ve been like this all day!”
I looked around again. “The caller mentioned loud music and shouting.”
She ran a hand through her hair, disheveling it to perfection. “Our music has been at this volume since I opened today. No one has so much as raised their voice.”
I nodded, pulling out my notebook and writing what she said down. “You can relax, Cory. You’re not in trouble.”
She let out a deep breath and stuffed her hands into her back pockets, but slowly relaxed.
I continued with my questions, gesturing around the room. “You never had the music any louder? No one else might’ve turned it up while you stepped out?”
She shook her head. “No, I told you, I haven’t touched the volume or station since I turned it on. I haven’t left the building since I opened.”
“Any excited yelling or shouting?”
“No. I don’t understand why someone would call in a noise complaint. We haven’t . . .” She trailed off and I watched the gears in her head start turning. She looked to the older man again when she spoke. “Wait, do you think it could’ve been Alex?”
“He was pretty pissed off.”
I interjected, “Who’s Alex?”
Cory moved behind the counter, shuffling some papers until she found a notebook. There was a name written at the top. Alex Barnes.
I jotted down the name.
“He came in here earlier wanting a tattoo from the owner, but when I told him I was Cory he turned into a sexist ass. He didn’t want to get tattooed by a chick. I called him out on it, and he stormed out. He was definitely not happy. Do you think it could’ve been him who called?”
I had the urge to find Alex and have a chat with him. Off duty.
I underlined his name where I’d written it.
“I can’t say for certain, but I wouldn’t be surprised. What time did he come in?”
“Probably like twenty or so minutes before you showed up.”
I wrote that information down under the guy’s name. “I’ll make sure I write it all up in my report, but regardless, there’s no noise problem here, so you’re fine.” I glanced back up at Cory. “I’m just going to need to get your phone number and some other information from you before I clear out.”
“My phone number? I thought I told you I’m not—”
I held up a hand, cutting her off. “For the report, Cory. I need your number for my report. And I’ll need your driver’s license too.”
Her cheeks turned bright red as she realized I wasn’t flirting with her. At least not in this moment I wasn’t.
“Right. Sorry, of course.” She rushed to the back room and returned a moment later with her wallet.
I wrote down her information, and then got the older man, Glen’s, too. With that, I started to the front door, only stopping when she called my name.
“Garrett, sorry, Officer Adler.” A flustered Cory was instantly my new favorite thing. The usual confidence was sexy as hell, but a raw, less guarded Cory? It was adorable. “What happens now?”
I flashed her a smile I knew showcased my dimples. As a younger man, I hated them because I thought they made me look childish. How wrong I had been. They were a secret weapon I should’ve been taking advantage of for years.
“Nothing. I’ll make sure headquarters knows it was a bad call. Just try not to make pissing people off a regular thing, yeah?” I threw a wink on the end of that question, and pushed through the door out into the heat.
When I was back in the cruiser, I radioed back.
“Five-oh-two to dispatch. Who did you say the reporting party for the noise complaint was at DelINKquent Tattoos?”
There was a brief pause before the dispatcher spoke. “The caller didn’t provide a name. The male hung up before we could get any of his information.”
“Received. We’re all clear here, you can put me back in service.”
The fact that the caller was a male didn’t prove anything, and it wasn’t my job to prove one way or another if this Alex dick was the reporting party, but the not knowing was bothering me.
And that right there was all the evidence I needed to know that Cory was far from out of my system, because if it were anyone else, I’d have already moved on, dismissing the call for the bogus it was. The fact that I was not only still thinking about who called it in, but also how I’d love to find them and rip into them on Cory’s behalf was a problem.
A big fucking problem.