Megan
Monday morning I showered, dressed, and ate my standard breakfast of organic oatmeal and fair-trade coffee. Brigit gobbled a bowl of canned beef by-products, probably mostly ears and feet and icky innards, not exactly gourmet fare but she didn’t seem to mind.
We stepped out of the apartment to find that yesterday’s pleasant weather had moved on, leaving north Texas cold and miserable once again. Blah.
Thanks to budget cuts, officers were not allowed to drive their patrol cars home and Brigit and I were forced to make our commute crowded into my metallic blue Smart Car. Thankfully, our drive was a relatively short one. At five till eight, my partner and I rolled into the lot at the W1 station. I lifted a hand to wave to Summer, a bubbly, curly-haired blonde officer who, like me, had joined the force right out of college. She had three years’ experience on me, though. She and I had gone out for drinks a time or two after the Fort Worth Police Officers’ Association meetings. She responded to my wave by aiming two finger guns at me and pretending to squeeze off a couple of shots. Bang-bang.
As my partner and I climbed out of my car, Derek “The Big Dick” Mackey, my former partner, slid down from his black pickup a couple of spots down. Derek wore his flaming red hair in a short buzz cut, and sported a larger than average build. He also had excrement for brains and a personality that stunk just as bad.
He snorted derisively as Brigit and I walked past. “’Mornin’, bitches.”
As was my morning ritual, I whipped out my baton, extended it with a flick of my wrist—Snap!—and gave the rubber testicles hanging from his truck’s trailer hitch a solid whack.
Derek snorted again, this time with laughter. “I can see that anger management class did you a world of good.”
Okay, yes, I’d been forced to take an anger management class after Tasering Derek in the testicles a while back. And, okay, yes, I had an Irish temper, courtesy of my mother, whose maiden name was O’Keefe. But who among us doesn’t have some type of flaw? At least I’d decided to put my anger to good use as a cop. Not that I harassed people, mind you. I was more than fair. But when push came to shove and some jackass needed to be brought down to size, I could summon the ire to do it. Anger was like a source of fuel for me.
I reached my specially equipped K-9 cruiser and opened the back door, reaching in to unlock the door to the metal mesh enclosure for Brigit. “In you go, girl. Another day, another dog biscuit.”
My partner’s tags jingled as she hopped up onto the platform that had been installed where the backseat would be in regular cruisers. She wagged her tail and woofed once, ready to go out on patrol.
My furry partner now situated, I climbed into the front and turned on the car’s radio, the laptop mounted to the dash, and the shoulder-mounted radio affixed to my uniform. I cranked the engine and headed out, turning west out of the lot. Another day, another dollar. Also, another day, another day closer to making detective.
I’d studied criminal justice and become a cop for a number of reasons. My stutter had rendered me a quiet yet observant child, and I’d realized early on that the world could be a harsh, unfair, and dangerous place. If there was anything I could do to make it less harsh, more just, and safer, I wanted to do it. Around the same time, I’d stumbled upon mystery books in the elementary school library. I’d devoured them like candy, making notes and puzzling out the clues, thrilled when I could solve the mystery before the author’s big reveal. I hoped one day to make detective so I could put my investigative skills to work to solve crimes.
I’d previously had the good fortune of working under a couple of FWPD detectives who’d recognized my abilities and dedication and allowed me to be involved in their investigations. I’d helped them take down a bomber and violent pickpocket. But who knew when I’d have the chance to work such a case again? In the meantime, I’d have to bide my time as a street cop, fighting for truth and justice as I racked up the minimum four years of police work required to apply for detective.
A mere twenty minutes into my shift and a dispatcher’s voice came over the speaker. “Noise complaint near TCU.” She rattled off an address on Shirley Avenue. “Who can respond?”
I was currently cruising down Park Hill, not far from the location. I slid the car’s mic out of its holder and pressed the talk button. “Officers Luz and Brigit responding.”
I waited on the light, then crossed University, making my way into the older neighborhood that contained a mixture of pretty, restored owner-occupied residences and slightly rundown rentals. As we made our way up Shirley, there was no need for me to check addresses. My window was down and the raunchy rap music blaring from a stone house with a gable over the front door let me know this was the place. The purple and white flag featuring the horned frog mascot further informed me that students lived here.
I climbed out of the cruiser and stepped away from the car, intending to leave Brigit inside, when she emitted a soft whine. Looked like she might need a potty break already. I returned to the cruiser and let her out, giving her the order to stay close to me.
I waited while she crouched in the dry winter grass and relieved herself. When she was done, I headed up the three steps to the porch and pushed the doorbell. The music was so loud neither the ding nor the dong was audible. I tried again to get the occupants’ attention, this time banging on the front door with the outside of my fist. Bam-bam-bam.
Still no response from within.
I stepped to one of the front windows and rapped on the glass. Rap-rap-rap. “Fort Worth police!” I hollered. “Come to the door!”
Still nothing.
I cupped my hands around my eyes and put my face to the glass. I caught a glimpse of a twentyish guy walking down a hallway in nothing but a pair of tightie whities with a quarter-sized hole in the left butt cheek. “Hey, you!” I yelled. It was of no use.
Both irritated and out of ideas, I stepped back to survey the house. The window on the end was open an inch or two. Young guys didn’t tend to be as careful about home security as they should be. Not as concerned about their utility bills, either.
I moved down to the open window and took another look inside. Judging from the empty pizza boxes littering the floor and the overflowing ashtrays on the coffee table, the tenants had had a party last weekend.
I could not only hear the music now, but I could also hear the guy singing along with it, belting out the four-letter words as if his life depended on it. I removed the screen, leaned it up against the outside wall, and pushed the window open a few more inches.
“Hey!” I yelled again through the open window. “Fort Worth PD! Come out here!”
Nothing but more singing.
I pushed the window all the way up, leaned against the windowsill, and stuck my head inside, scanning the room. Enormous speakers at least four feet tall sat in each corner of the room. The stereo itself sat only a few feet from the window. Maybe I could reach in and unplug it.
Nope.
Try as I might, my fingers could not quite reach the cord. Dang. Whipping my baton from my belt once again, I extended it with another snap! Amazing how often the metal stick came in handy. Sticking it through the window, it easily reached the cord. One quick upward jerk and the cord came out of the plug. Instant silence.
“What the hell?” came the boy’s voice from somewhere down the hall. A moment later he appeared in the doorway and spotted me at the window. “Shit!” he shrieked, his hands instinctively moving to cover his crotch. As if there was anything there I wanted to see. “What are you doing?”
“Putting an end to this cacophony.” I placed the end of my baton against the stone wall outside and pushed it closed. I angled my head to indicate the front door. “Come out on the porch. We need to talk.”
“Can I put on pants first?”
“Please do.” Justice may be blind, but I wasn’t.
A moment later, the boy opened the front door, now dressed in a pair of tan shorts so wrinkled they appeared to be made from Shar-Pei skin.
Though I’d been a college kid myself only a couple of years ago, I nonetheless gave him a stern look. Might as well nip this in the bud. I knew how these things went. If I went easy on him, FWPD would be called out here a dozen more times before he’d get the message. “I rang the bell,” I told him, “and knocked, and called to you through the window. We received a noise complaint. You can’t play your music so loud.”
“But it’s my getting-ready-for-class music!” he said, as if that excused his behavior. “I need it to get me going.”
“Use headphones,” I suggested.
As I wrote him up a quick warning, Brigit squeezed past me in the doorway and went as far inside as the leash would allow. She used her snout to push aside a pizza box, found a piece of rock-hard crust, and snatched it up.
The form completed, I ripped it from the pad and held it out to the boy. “You’re on the record now. If officers are called out here again, you’ll get an expensive citation. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he spat, yanking the warning paper out of my hand.
Ma’am. Nice touch.
Without further adieu, Brigit and I headed back to the cruiser, where she hopped into the back, positioned the pizza crust between her front paws, and began working it.
No sooner had I started the engine and pulled away from the curb than dispatch came over the radio again. “We’ve got a report of a body found in Forest Park near the zoo. Who can respond?”
A body?
Holy crap!
Every sphincter in my body puckered. I was less than a minute’s drive away. But the last thing I wanted to do was take this call. I hesitated, waiting to see if another officer would take it.
Several seconds went by with no response.
The dispatcher tried again. “Who can respond?”
Please. Please, someone, anyone, respond!
No one did.
Instead, the Big Dick’s voice came over the radio. “Your last call was right near there, Luz. Ain’t you still around?”
I could hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. When we’d been partners, we’d responded to a call involving an assault and robbery at an ATM. One look at the victim’s bloody, broken nose and I’d tossed my cookies in the bank’s sage bushes. Derek had found my squeamishness nothing short of hilarious.
“C’mon, Luz,” he said, when I failed to respond. “Don’t be a puss.”
Lest I look like said “puss” to my fellow officers, I squeezed my shoulder mic in resignation. “Officers Luz and Brigit responding.”
Blurgh.