4. The Block
The Block
ANDY
It took me a couple of weeks to find the right place. I wanted a fresh start. Somewhere Elliot Handler had never touched.
I found a duplex on a block off West Ashmont. It was bigger than my old apartment, more space than I needed, but I liked that about it. It sat in a quiet neighborhood with older homes, wide porches, and trees that had been there longer than anyone on the street.
"Where do you want this one?"
One of the movers had my father's bookshelf balanced against the dolly.
"Long wall. Living room."
I lined up my father's books on the shelf and set my parents' photo in the middle.
"We're home."
I spent the next few days walking around the neighborhood.
The old man down the street watered his lawn at six every evening regardless of whether it needed it.
The couple at the vintage shop a block over propped their door open and let music drift out onto the sidewalk.
The kids walked home from school in a pack and scattered at the stop sign.
I stopped at the flower shop two blocks over. The door was propped open, which let the smell of fresh-cut flowers drift out onto the sidewalk. Buckets lined the floor and small arrangements crowded a wooden table near the register.
"Hi there. Are you looking for something, or just browsing?"
A woman behind the counter looked up from a bundle of sunflowers she was wrapping in brown paper.
"Just walking around. I moved in down the street a few days ago."
"You're new!" She set the sunflowers down and came around the counter, wiping her hands on her apron before holding one out. "I'm Daphne. Welcome to the neighborhood."
I shook it. "Andy."
"Andy. How are you settling in?"
"Getting there."
"It's a good neighborhood. Quiet, but there's enough going on that you won't go crazy. I close the shop around six, and a few nights a week I do cleaning at one of the casinos. I walk home after and I've never had any trouble."
"That's good to hear. I see enough trouble at work."
"Where do you work?"
"LVMPD. I'm a patrol officer."
"Really? That makes me feel a lot better." She smiled. "It's nice to know there's a cop just around the block."
She told me which streets were best for walking, where to get coffee in the morning, and who on the block would wave back if I waved first. Before I left, she reached into one of the buckets by the door, pulled out a single pink carnation, and held it out to me.
"Housewarming gift."
"You don't have to do that."
"I own a flower shop. I absolutely do."
I walked the block because I wanted to know it. I considered it due diligence to learn every face, every door, every business in the neighborhood where I was going to live. I'd done the same at my last apartment, and every beat I'd ever worked.
The point wasn't to make friends. Establishing rapport with civilians made the job easier.
People talked to you, flagged things that felt off, trusted you when it mattered.
But there was a line between rapport and attachment, and I stayed behind it.
I couldn't let personal opinions color the job.
Daphne was offering me a flower. Technically, cops aren't supposed to accept gifts, but it wasn't like Daphne was bribing me.
I took the carnation with a smile. "Thank you, Daphne."
"It was nice to meet you, Officer."
The first night, I couldn't stay home.
Everything was unpacked. Shelves organized, bed made, kitchen stocked. The place was ready but I wasn't ready to sit in it yet.
I walked the block looking for somewhere to eat. There was a bar on the next street over that looked like it had been there longer than most of the buildings around it. I pulled the door open and walked in.
Inside, the place was lived-in. A long counter, tables near the windows with small flower arrangements on them, framed photos covering one wall. A young man was wiping down the counter when I came in. He had glasses and a steady calm about him that made him seem older than he probably was.
"Welcome to The Lantern!" He tossed the rag over his shoulder and grabbed a menu. "Are you sitting at the bar or do you want a booth?"
"The bar's fine."
He set the menu and a glass of water in front of me. "I'm Terrence. Just call me when you're ready to order."
"Thanks, Terrence."
The older man at the other end of the bar put down the glass he'd been drying and walked over. He was maybe sixty, stocky, with the face of someone who'd been greeting people for years and hadn't run out of warmth yet.
"New face." He set a napkin in front of me. "I'm Gus. This is my place."
"It's nice to meet you, Gus. I'm Andy."
"Andy. You're new to the neighborhood."
"How can you tell?"
"I know everyone on this block." He picked up the glass he'd set down and went back to drying it.
"Does the whole neighborhood come to your bar?"
"Not everyone. But most of them do." He smiled. "The ones that matter."
I laughed. I didn't mean to, but it came out before I could catch it.
"We open at eleven, close at one on weeknights, later on weekends." He leaned on the counter. "Do you work late?"
"Depends on the shift."
"Ah, shift work." He nodded. "Let me guess what you do."
"Alright, take a shot at it."
He studied me for a second. "First responder. I'd put money on it." He put a finger to his chin. "Nurse?"
"No."
"Dispatcher?"
"No."
"…Firefighter?"
"No, I'm a patrol officer."
"A cop!" His face lit up. "Isn't that a difficult job? In Las Vegas, no less?"
"Most days. But I like what I do. I'm hoping to make detective, so I'm putting in the time in patrol for the qualifications."
"How many more years do you need?"
"I'm in my fifth year. Just putting together everything I need for the transfer."
"Good for you." He meant it. "I'll be able to say I knew you when. About time I had a cop in here."
"I appreciate that, Gus."
"That's Selena running the floor." He nodded toward her. "Between her and Terrence, you're in good hands."
I stayed longer than I'd planned. He brought me a plate of fish tacos without asking. "New neighbor special," he said with a wink.
The bar had the weight of a place that had stopped counting the years a long time ago. It was warm without trying to be. It felt like somewhere I could bring a book whenever it got too quiet at the duplex.
When I was done, Terrence came over to clear my plate.
"Get home safe, Andy," Gus said as I stood to leave.
I thanked him and walked out into the night.
The street was quieter now, settled into something close to still. I walked toward home feeling lighter than I had in weeks. Somewhere between the fish tacos and the walk home, the knot I'd been carrying since I found the lace in Elliot's closet had loosened by a fraction.
I was almost to my front door when I heard it.
"Officer Walsh!"
I knew that voice before I turned around.
Wyatt Brooks was standing on the sidewalk across the street, keys in hand, like he'd been about to head inside when he spotted me. Grin already at full capacity.
"Been meaning to come say hi to the new neighbor. Didn't know the new neighbor was you."
I stared at him. "You live here?"
"Six years." I thought the grin couldn't get any wider. "Welcome to the block."
This was supposed to be my clean start. My reset.
I chose this block with every cop instinct I had. I checked the grid, the sight lines, the foot traffic, the proximity to the precinct. Every variable my training told me mattered. I did not check whether the most annoying firefighter in Las Vegas lived twenty feet from my front door.
"Delightful."
He laughed. I didn't.