16. Sergeant Hollywood
Sergeant Hollywood
WYATT
There are calls I don't talk about.
There are things I've seen on this job that don't leave. They sit in the back of my head and wait for a quiet moment. When they find one, they play the whole thing back whether I asked for it or not. The sounds. The smells. The face of someone who already knows what you're about to tell them.
Most of us deal with it the same way. Dark humor.
The worse the call, the darker the joke.
If other people heard the things we said to each other on the ride back, they would think we were broken.
Maybe we are. But the jokes keep the call at arm's length long enough for us to eat dinner, go to sleep, and show up to work the next shift.
And then there are the calls that don't get jokes.
The ones where nobody says anything on the ride back.
The ones that send me home wanting to hold my daughter so tight she complains.
I'm not going to tell you what happened on this one.
I'm just going to tell you that I went home and held Birdie while she told me about a caterpillar she saw at recess.
I listened to every word like it was the most important thing anyone had ever said to me.
"Bad call?"
Andy was on her porch across the street, staring at the steps in front of her, her hands in her lap. I'd told Barb I needed to step outside for some air. The house had gotten quiet. So quiet that it gave the call room to come back, and I didn't want Birdie or Barb to see me carrying it.
She looked up. "Sort of."
"Can I join you?"
She studied me for a second. "Bad call too?"
I sat down next to her on the steps. "Yeah."
I told her about the call. The scene, what we found when we got there, the part I couldn't shake on the drive home.
"That's fucked up," she said without flinching.
"It is." I let it sit for a second. I didn't realize how much I needed to talk about it with someone who understood, who could hear all of that and just call it what it was. "What about you?"
Andy sighed. She looked at the ground and kept her eyes there. "I'm working toward detective. I've finished most of the requirements. Just got approved for my ride-along with patrol investigations."
"That's a big deal."
"Yeah. I'm really looking forward to it." She paused. "But the other day, a colleague took credit for my read on a scene. He dismissed it to my face then turned around and said the exact same thing to the detective like it was his own."
She was quiet for a second.
"It's not even the credit. I helped that guy get where he is. Gave him reads, fed him observations. Made him look good to the detectives. And it just hit me that he's never once gone out of his way to help me get where I'm trying to go."
I already knew who it was. There was only one sergeant at that precinct who treated everyone like furniture.
"Let me guess. Sergeant Handler."
Andy looked at me. "How did you know?"
"We hate him."
"You do?"
"He's an asshole to the crew." I shrugged. "The guys can't stand him. We call him Hollywood."
"Hollywood?"
"Because of the sunglasses."
She laughed, long and loud.
"Hollywood." She said it again under her breath. "He is the worst."
The line between her eyebrows smoothed out, and for a second she looked almost lighter. She shook her head.
"But also… Detective Walsh?" I leaned back on my palms. "Sounds very good to me."
She smiled.
"Unless you prefer Detective… Christina?"
She shoved my arm. "Shut up."
"Come on. What's the C?"
"I'm never gonna tell you."
"Fine." I looked at her. "Andy's already a pretty name anyway."
"Are you always this annoying?"
"I just like seeing you smile."
Her eyes narrowed and her mouth flattened into a line.
"See? You forgot all about that asshole for a while."
She laughed again. Her eyes creased at the corners and the sound came from somewhere deep in her chest. I watched her face change. I wanted to kiss her right there on that porch. She smelled like vanilla and I wanted to know if she tasted like it.
Then my phone buzzed.
I pulled it out.
KNOX
At The Lantern if you want to swing by.
"The crew's at the bar. Do you want to come?"
She took a breath. "Yeah. Sure."
We stood up and walked to the bar together.
The crew was at their usual spot, squeezed into the corner booth. Knox had his back to the wall, Greene and Carl on the other side, Travis talking with his hands about something nobody looked like they believed.
Andy walked in behind me and Travis abandoned the story.
"Walsh! Someone get this woman a drink."
"Coming right up," Terrence called from behind the bar.
The conversation jumped around. Shift stories, someone's car trouble, Greene's wife and the thing with the dryer. The call was still in the back of my head, but the noise was doing what it was supposed to do.
"Officer Walsh." Travis leaned back in his chair and pointed at Andy. "I've been thinking."
He set his beer down with ceremony. "Does it bother you being the only female cop in a room full of big guys at the precinct?"
"Not at all."
"What about when you're up against someone bigger than you? Does that scare you?"
"Sometimes. But my partner and I have a system. I let him handle the tackling when it comes to that." She took a sip. "I'm also a black belt in jiu-jitsu, so if I have to, I'm a little more confident about it than most."
Travis's eyes went wide. "Can you try tackling me?"
"Do you have some sort of embarrassment kink or something?" Knox leaned forward.
Travis ignored him.
Andy set her glass down. "Fine, Travis. But this is on you."
The crew cleared space by the pool table. Travis squared up with his chest puffed, feet apart, grinning like he was about to make history. Andy stood in front of him, calm, balanced, her weight centered.
It was over in seconds. One shift of her hips, one grip on his arm, and Travis was on his back staring at the ceiling. She took him down so cleanly it looked choreographed.
"That was awesome." Travis sat up grinning.
The guys were howling. Andy reached down and pulled Travis to his feet.
"Are you bad at anything?"
"I'm bad at many things. But unlike you, Travis, I just know how to pick my battles."
The table erupted as Travis took a bow.
The crew started filtering out a little past midnight. Travis backed toward the door with his jacket half on, pointing at Andy the whole way. "Same time next week, Walsh." Knox left with a nod to Gus and a hand on my shoulder on his way past.
Andy and I walked home together. The block was dark, the porch lights on, and neither of us was talking.
The noise from The Lantern had thinned out somewhere behind us, and I was back to being aware of how close she was.
About a foot and a half of sidewalk separated us, and the only sound was her boots on concrete.
"Travis really is something, huh?"
"He seems like an idiot, but he's actually really good at his job."
"Somehow I don't doubt that."
We walked for a bit. A few months ago she wouldn't have given any of us the time of day. Tonight she was one of us.
"I'll be honest. I didn't think you'd fold into the crew like that. I was almost convinced you hated us." I paused. "Or at least me."
"That's because you always flirt with me on scene, Brooks. There I am trying to do my job and you're treating me like I'm a girl at a bar."
"I don't flirt with girls at the bar."
"Well, you're not supposed to be flirting at work either."
"Fair. I'll keep it off the clock."
"You'll keep it to yourself."
"Noted. What about flirting on porches?"
She gave me a look that could've stopped traffic.
"I'll take that as a yes."
She tried to hold the frown but it cracked. Her mouth couldn't decide between annoyed and amused, and what came out was somewhere in between. Lips pursed, eyes narrowed, fighting a smile she refused to give me. She had no idea how cute she looked, and I wasn't stupid enough to tell her.
We were a block from our houses when it happened.
A car took the corner too fast, headlights sweeping across the pavement, tires barking against the curb.
Andy stepped back. I reached for her without thinking, my hand on her arm, pulling her in.
Then she was against my chest. The car was already gone.
Neither of us moved.
Her hand was on my arm. My arm was around her. I could feel her breathing. Her ribs expanded against my forearm, her breath warm against my collarbone. The car had passed ten seconds ago and we were still standing like this, and I wasn't letting go first.
Andy stepped back. "Thanks."
I let go. "Yeah."
We walked the rest of the way without mentioning it. Twenty feet of sidewalk, her porch on the right, mine on the left. She went up her steps. I went up mine.
"Good night, Brooks."
"Good night, Walsh."
I went inside and leaned against the door. My arm still felt warm where she'd been pressed against it.