Chapter Seven: The Girl from the Capital
1329 Words
Police Department headquarters. First Team interrogation room.
Julian twirled a pen in his right hand and spoke softly to the girl across the table. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah,” she murmured.
She brushed a strand of hair from her face. Her eyes were still distant, the shock lingering in her expression. It took her a moment to nod.
Julian noted her state, stood, and poured hot water from the dispenser. He placed the cup in front of her. “Drink. If anything hurts, we can get you checked at the hospital.”
“Thank you… no need. No external injuries,” she said politely, taking the cup. She drew a deep breath. “Go ahead—ask.”
“Alright.” Julian sat again, pen poised over the report form. “Name?”
“Evelyn Moore.”
“Age?”
“Twenty.”
“Gender?”
“???” She blinked, confused. “Can’t you tell?”
“Camera’s recording. Procedure,” Julian said with a small smile.
“Female.”
“Registered residency?”
She hesitated visibly. “Las Vegas.”
“The district capital?” Julian raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“So what brings you here—work or just passing through?”
Julian had never handled an interrogation before, but the form was straightforward. He asked thoroughly, careful not to miss anything on his first try.
“Work.”
Once basics were down, he moved to the incident. “You were kidn*pped. Where did it start? Do you know who they were?”
“I’m not sure. I had just arrived when—”
The door opened. Chief Elliot Vaughn walked in with Victor and a few others.
Julian glanced back and stood quickly. “Chief.”
“Still questioning?” Elliot asked, hands clasped behind his back.
“Yes—just confirming basics.”
“Hello, Miss Moore.” Elliot nodded to Julian, then extended a courteous hand to the girl. “I’m the Chief of Police. Last name Vaughn.”
“Hello.” She shook his hand.
“Someone from the Salt Lake City Municipal Administration is here to pick you up,” Elliot said with a warm smile after a brief pause. “We’ll handle the case. The two remaining suspects won’t get far.”
Julian’s curiosity spiked. Elliot hadn’t been in the room—yet he knew her name and seemed ready to release her without further questioning. Julian studied her more closely.
She was about five-foot-seven, slender but poised. Dirt smudged her face, hair tangled, but it couldn’t hide refined, striking features—large, expressive eyes, flawless pale skin that seemed almost luminous, like porcelain. In this era, who could maintain skin like that? Who didn’t have to work the dirt?
Clearly, the chief’s sudden appearance—and the rush to release her—meant something.
After a brief exchange, the group escorted her downstairs.
Five minutes later, a pure-electric sedan with official plates pulled up. Several middle-aged men stepped out, exchanging pleasantries with Elliot before ushering Evelyn Moore away. Julian caught the insignia on the door—Salt Lake City Municipal Administration.
As the car vanished, Elliot stepped aside to make calls, then called back, “You two—my office.”
“What’s up?” Julian asked Victor quietly.
Victor scratched his nose. “Kid, you stepped in premium s**t. New guy, and the brass already noticed. Though… makes sense. Talent shines anywhere.”
Julian smiled inwardly—he had a pretty good idea now.
…
Minutes later, in the office.
Elliot clapped Julian on the shoulder. “I knew you had something. Didn’t expect you to shine this fast.”
“Pure luck,” Julian grinned.
“Face—real face!” Elliot paced, unable to hide his satisfaction. “Matsushita had major cases on him—headquarters wanted him bad. He vanished into the wasteland years ago; no way to touch him. Comes back—and you drop him. Tomorrow’s meeting, I’ll brag at the hall. You’ve boosted me right out the gate. Well earned praise.”
Julian listened quietly.
Elliot sighed, sat, lit one of the Marlboros Julian had gifted him. Regret tinged his voice. “If this were anyone else, straight jump from third-class to first—squad leader, no question. But you’re tricky. Your file’s been in the system less than twenty-four hours. Push too hard, tongues wag.”
Victor jumped in. “Merit isn’t handed out—it’s earned with your life. Who chased Matsushita? Who killed him? Who saved the hostage? It’s clear as day. Fear gossip? Might as well not take a shit.”
“Watch your mouth with me,” Elliot shot back, embarrassed in front of Julian.
Victor shut up.
“Julian—the credit’s yours, no one steals it. But department politics are complicated. You’re new; forcing promotion looks bad.” Elliot met his eyes. “We take it slow.”
“I’m grateful for what you’ve done, Chief,” Julian said sincerely. “It’s enough.”
“Within a month, I’ll bump you from probationary to third-class officer. Tomorrow I’ll have the report written and sent to headquarters—personal third-class merit’s likely. Once the commendation comes, second-class by year-end is natural.” Elliot leaned forward. “Right now, squad leader’s impossible—you’re too new, no one knows you, no one would follow. I’ll talk to Vale—make you deputy squad leader. Internal appointment, off-system, no official title. Get familiar, and when a slot opens, I’ll make it permanent. Plus—this case, 3000 bonus for you personally. End-of-month review, outstanding individual award.”
“Thank you, Chief.” Julian saluted, genuinely pleased.
“That’s it.” Elliot waved them out. “Go rest.”
“Take care, Chief.”
They left.
Elliot sipped water, ready to head home—phone rang.
“Yeah?”
“Chief—about the report. How do we handle Dominic’s side? Consider Captain Vale…?”
Elliot paused. “I heard some of it. He wasn’t there for the case. Write it to highlight…”
…
Next day, noon. Hospital.
“What’d the brass say?” Dominic asked from his bed.
“Medical covered. They’ll push for team third-class commendation with headquarters. Rewards—besides Julian—heavy injuries get five grand each, light injuries three.” The colleague mumbled.
Dominic stared. “Julian and Old Cat?”
“No word on Old Cat.” The colleague shrugged. “But Julian—Chief promised second-class by year-end, personal third-class merit. Office notified the team—he’s deputy squad leader.”
Dominic’s head buzzed. “Where’s the justice? I put in the most bodies, took the worst hit—thought we’d all meet in the cemetery after that grenade. And the new punk scoops the prize? Why? Personal merit for him, team merit for us? Five grand for this?” He gestured at his bandaged ass. “Bullet nearly hit my gut. What’s that say?”
“Ask me like I decide,” the colleague rolled his eyes. “Some spoke up for you—Chief shut it down. Matsushita was priority. Dead by whose hand—that’s whose merit. Julian chased and finished him. And why we were at the tavern… brass knows.”
“Stop.” Dominic turned away, exhausted. “Mom always said… bad luck follows me…”
Dominic fumed—felt Julian stole his glory. But Julian wasn’t the biggest winner.
Victor—barely mentioned—jumped straight from first-class officer to third-class sergeant. Quiet internal shuffle made him deputy captain in Team Three. Personal third-class merit approved in a day.
Few knew. Those who did whispered about Victor’s connection to the chief—including Julian. And sighed: those who risked their lives couldn’t beat the lucky; the lucky couldn’t beat those who shaped fate.
Two days after the dust settled, Dominic’s backer Marcus Vale boarded a car back to Salt Lake City.
- Writer
