9. Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Brandy
Hank McAllister loved his police station, like L-O-V-E-D his station. And to be fair, he should. However, I didn't need to love it that much. But that fact didn't deter Hank from wanting to tell me all about it at great length, with demonstrations.
“This,” he said, gesturing at a room that contained a coffee maker, a microwave, and a table with four chairs, “is the break room.”
“Looks like an efficient break room,” I said as enthusiastically as I could.
“We just got the new coffee maker.”
“I bet it's a good one.”
He puffed out his chest. “Twelve cups.”
“Very practical.”
He nodded with satisfaction. “Onward.”
In the dispatch section, I met two operators named Barb and Phyllis who both knew who I was before I introduced myself. They made sure to tell me no less than three times how much they loved working to protect the community.
Next was the evidence room, then the training room, then the equipment room, then the records room, and even the storage closet that, when Hank opened it, he looked at, said, “This is a, well, a closet,” and proceeded to close the door again.
That, hands down, might be my favorite moment of the tour. It's between that and him showing me the bathrooms.
“This is the men's,” he pointed. “And this is the women's.” He paused, then said in a quieter tone, “But you probably knew that.”
“I'm aware, yes,” I said, using every ounce of self-control I could muster not to laugh.
“Let's go upstairs.”
“Upstairs?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Ah, what’s upstairs?”
“The jail,” Hank announced.
Oh, goodie.
It was small, only four cells with zero occupants this morning, and I felt Hank might have been a tad saddened not to have anyone in the cells.
“Busy on weekends?” I asked.
“Loads busier,” Hank said, heading down the hallway. “You know Tom Briggs, and all.”
He turned and nodded to me.
Totally unaware of what he was referring to, I stood in place, blinking. Every cell of me pleaded not to ask what the hell Tom Briggs meant. I didn't ask, and I had to admit that I was proud of myself for not caving.
We saw the booking room, the room where the jailers worked, the showers, and a small central common area where I learned detainees could spend time, provided their attitudes were good.
Finally, FINALLY, we went back downstairs and he ushered me out to the vehicle bay, where there were two squad cars, one SUV, and what I figured was an unmarked sedan, all of which appeared to be wrapped in plastic.
“Ah, what's that about?” I pointed.
“Son of a—” Hank grabbed the microphone attached to his shirt. “If you're in the station, report to the garage. Everyone.”
Almost instantly, people began arriving, which is also when the laughter started.
“No one saw them come in?” Hank asked the group of officers and administrative people gathered.
The laughter stopped, and no one spoke up.
“Those crafty little shits.” Hank glared at the vehicles. “Tomorrow morning we're having a meeting to brainstorm ideas on retaliation.” He pointed to me. “You didn't hear that.”
“Hey.” I put my hands up. “I know nothing.”
“Good. Now you three get those cars unwrapped. And you two, go see what the Harris sisters saw. Offer them a case of Metamucil if you have to. I want information.”
Hank placed his hand on the small of my back.
“Come on.”
I was hoping that the wrapped cars would bring the tour to an end because, quite frankly, at this point my brain had not only checked out. It was heading home to have a nap.
I've never been so jealous of my brain, ever.
“Well,” Hank clapped his hands together when we reached the front door. “That's the tour. What do you think?”
I think I'm grateful I wore flats. In heels, my feet would have fallen off by now and I'd be touring the emergency room instead.
“I think,” I said honestly, “I think that Denture is very lucky to have this department.”
He beamed. Actually beamed, like a large lighthouse flipped its switch to on.
“That it is,” he agreed without a trace of modesty. “That it is.”
He walked me toward the front door, then stopped, hands in his pockets.
“So, are you settling in alright? Getting out and seeing things?”
“Slowly,” I said. “I'm still finding my feet.”
“It's a good town to explore.” He rocked back on his heels. “Fine restaurants. Nice people.”
A pause.
“Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner Saturday night.”
I looked at him.
He looked back at me.
He jumped on the Summerween bandwagon. And offered two of his vehicles. My inner voice pointed that out.
My head countered. Yeah, and he'd just spent the last hour and a half showing us every damn inch of his department, including a closet. Remember the closet? And the bathroom. Need I say more on how the date will go?
The question was, if I turn him down, how would he take it? I didn't want any negativism with our first event.
Fucking inner voice making sense.
“Sure,” I heard myself say. “Saturday sounds great.”
Hank's smile went up a notch.
“Seven o'clock. I'll pick you up.”
“Oh, you don't have to—”
“I'll pick you up,” he said pleasantly, in the tone of a man who was not opening this up for negotiation.
I thought briefly of Nick Carson and his intercom voice.
Were all the men in this town like this?
“Fine, seven o'clock,” I agreed. “I live at—”
“I know where you live.” He pointed to his badge. “It’s my job to know the people. Didn't you park out front? Do you want to go through the community center?”
“I did. No.” I wanted this to be done, and as much as my feet protested, I said, “It's a nice day. I'll walk around.”
“You need me to walk with you?” he asked, like I was heading into some sort of gang-owned and operated street and not the parking lot of the Denture police station and community center in the middle of the day.
“Thanks, but I'll be fine. Anyway, I have a call to make.”
I lied about the call, but I needed some fresh air and quiet.
“Alright.” He looked disappointed and maybe a little perturbed. “But be aware of your surroundings.”
He held the door open, and I walked out into the Denture sunshine, turned, and saluted him.
“Sound advice, thank you.”
I pivoted back around.
“See you on Saturday.”
I raised a hand in reply and kept walking, fully aware that he was still standing at the door watching my ass as I walked.
What had I done?