Shadows in the Night

Chapter 7

Chapter 7The drive to work is bumper to bumper because of the neighboring closed streets and ongoing construction.

I think about calling the police station, but I don’t want to talk to Chief Barnaby.

Hanging halfway out the driver’s side window, the heat of July dampens the dark, coarse hair on my arms. I close my eyes to Steve’s last words, still resoundingly fresh in my mind. We’re different people living different lives.

“Not that different,” I say aloud, cranking the volume up on the radio to drown out the slaughtering of white noise in my head. I feel a connection to the melancholy lyrics and wish I could tell Steve that everything is going to be all right.

I slam the steering wheel over and over with an open palm, irritated at my current situation. As the traffic crawls slowly, I sit back, masking my thoughts in the bubblegum song and overlooking the heartbreaking aftermath of Steve walking out of my life. Forever.

* * * *

When I enter Black Falls police station downtown, I check in at the front desk. I wait for the new receptionist, a woman in her fifties, to buzz me in. She is pleasant enough, her small, smile fleeting. Her fake eyelashes and exaggerated makeup remind me of Steve. She can use help with her raccoon-dark eyeliner, he’d say.

I walk quickly to the restroom to use the facilities. I splash warm water over my hands as I struggle to make out the man staring back at me in the mirror.

Sallow skin and crescent moon-shaped shadows highlight the skin beneath my red eyes. Lips pouty, downturned, clownish.

I manage a lopsided grin at the man into the dirty restroom mirror, remembering what I’ve lost, the kindest, gentlest man on the face of the earth. Drying my hands under the blowers gives me pause to think. My musings are interrupted when the door swings open, its hinges groaning against the weight of Officer Ben Keller’s strong thrust.

Tattooed from his neck down and across his burly arms, Ben is a jokester, likes to ruffle peoples’ feathers, tell dirty jokes, and have too much fun on the job. Not a lot of the officers like him because of his animated behavior. Because he is new to the department, many higher-ranked officers have less patience for his deadpan delivery and smart-alecky attitude.

I like him. The grave atmosphere of the police station could use new blood, I tell him. Shake up the f*****g system.

He catches me staring at his muscular backside as he unzips himself and stands in front of a urinal on the far wall, grunting as a long stream of urine splashes on the back of the urinal. “You look like my dog’s ass, man,” he says as he stares over his shoulder at me and winks. His lips curl a certain way as though he is snarling. It’s kind of sexy.

I tear a sheet of paper towel from the dispenser to dry my hands and use it to grip the door handle. I stop, turn, and say, “It was a long night.”

He flushes, shakes himself, tucks his d**k back into plain white boxers, pulls on his zipper, and saunters over to me instead of washing his hands. He slaps me on the shoulder. “Prepare yourself. The chief isn’t in a good mood.”

“When is he?”

Ben opens the door and gestures me out into the hallway. “Some days, I wish Chief Barton was back, even though we’d never met.”

I shoot him a hard stare.

He holds up a meaty hand. “I’m kidding. But no joke about Barnaby. Hide if you can.”

Ben goes his way when we step out into the main corridor, which smells of harsh disinfectants and aerosols. Sweat. Maleness.

The main office is abuzz with loud voices and ringing phones.

I dash to the employee room for coffee and a glazed cruller.

I sip the station’s brew. My nausea returns. I spit out the battery acid and turn to the gunfire laughter of the other officers behind me. Officer Terry Wallace and Shana Givens huddle in the corner, waiting for my reaction. I hear Wallace bragging to Givens about his gun use. “My aim is perfect,” he says. “You know it. I know it. Everyone in this f*****g department knows it. When I fire, I don’t miss.”

Givens grunts and laughs and changes the subject about last night’s argument she’d had with her husband. “He challenged my authority and let the kids stay up late, way past their bedtime. He and I fought for hours after they fell asleep.”

I am annoyed at the loose banter of my fellow officers, but I brush it off and bite a generous chunk off the greasy donut, my satisfaction piqued. “Who the hell made the coffee?” I ask, swallowing the sugary dough.

Officer Givens ties her long black hair into a ponytail and smiles. “Wallace. I told him it was a bad idea.”

I raise my half-eaten cruller to Terry, the seven-foot bald giant of a man. His massive arms would give The Rock a run for his money. Wallace is holding his stomach and cannot stop laughing. “You look like s**t, bro,” he says.

The consensus from my constituents. “I know. I know. I don’t need to be reminded.”

“Better to laugh and joke about it before the big man shows up and ruins everyone’s f*****g day,” Wallace says.

“Officer Keller has already warned me,” I say, licking my fingers.

Givens is readjusting her utility belt and tying her boots when Chief Barnaby lumbers into the room, surprising us and filling the doorway with his bulky frame.

Givens stares down at her boots, retying her laces, buying herself time. Officer Wallace turns and rummages inside his locker for a ballistic vest.

I am left staring at the police chief, all three hundred pounds of him. I lick my sticky fingers, looking for support from my team.

Fat f*****g chance.

“Nice of you to join us, Ballinger,” Barnaby says.

I make minimal eye contact with Barnaby, whose body I can smell across the room. His expanding waist is disconcerting. He is bigger than a house and growing. He wheezes when he talks, and the ghostly sounds remind me of Steve’s cough.

Barnaby gulps a soda as he addresses our unit. “Wallace, you’re with Keller today.”

Wallace sighs and shakes his head, looks disgruntled, his nose sharp and pointy, taking up most of his acne-pocked face.

Chief Barnaby jabs a sausage-like finger at him. “I’m putting you with Ben because he could use some extra help.”

“Boot would fare better with, say, Givens or Ballinger,” Wallace retorts, slightly peeved.

“I give the orders around here, Wallace. Not you.”

I look to where Givens is bent over on the bench, continuing to pretend to tie her boots. She keeps her head down. I have a nagging feeling she doesn’t want to drive around town with me either.

“Get out there,” the chief orders, lifting his soda can to his mouth and emptying the yellowish-orange liquid in a quick chug. “Before you head out, I want to talk to you, Ballinger.” Sweat pops out on my neck at the sound of my name.

I nod curtly, feeling sweat trickling under my uniform, down my spine.

When he leaves the room, Givens whispers, “It all goes downhill from here.” She stares at Officer Wallace as she addresses the room, her gaze fixed on him. Wallace’s shoulders roll forward as he leans into his locker and laughs.

“You got a problem working with me?” I ask her. “When I stop in at the chief’s office, I can arrange for you to ride with somebody else.”

Shana tosses me a smartass retort, laughing. “Chill out, bro. I’m good. And I’ll be driving, just so we’re clear.”

Both of them are still laughing like school kids when I leave the room, as I pitch the last bite of cruller into the garbage. I can still hear Wallace and Givens joking at the end of the hall as I head to the police chief’s corner office, my gut clenching as I knock on the door.