Shadows in the Night

Chapter 8

Chapter 8Chief Barnaby sits behind a desk too small for him. The room smells of fast-food and onion rings. “Shut the door,” he orders when I am already standing in front of the two visitor’s seats posted in front of his desk.

I do as he asks, but a waving red flag flutters in the back of my thoughts like an SOS warning. He offers me one of the overstuffed visitor’s chairs. I decline and tell him I will stand.

“Sit down, Ballinger. I’ve got a few things to discuss.”

“Sir, if you don’t mind—”

“I do mind.” He gestures with a big hand at the hardback chair. “I’m taking roll call of my officers individually this morning instead of holding a group meeting. You can say this is our one-on-one briefing.”

“A lot different than Chief Barton’s briefings,” I mumble, primarily to myself, but I instantly want to retract my comment when Barnaby gives me a f**k-you gesture with his beady stare.

“I’m in no funny mood today.”

I sit.

Before the chief begins blasting me with a barrage of roundhouse rights, adding to my already bruised ego, he orders me to stand so he can inspect my uniform and notify me again about the upcoming shift with Shana.

I do not argue with his decision, but I’d prefer to work with Officer Keller. I hear through the proverbial grapevine that Ben pitches for the same team. I am not shopping for a new man, but my broken heart could benefit from being around the same s*x. A handsome coworker is precisely what the doctor ordered.

“Officer Givens is my best officer,” Barnaby says, patting me up and down and having me turn around for inspection. He nods for me to take a seat as he turns and hobbles back to his desk.

He stirs a heaping tablespoon of sugar into his coffee mug. He sips the steaming brown liquid and pats his beer belly as if satisfied. He reaches for another spoonful of sugar and stirs vigorously until the coffee sloshes over the rim and onto the mounting paperwork piled across his desk.

I am slightly content as he heaves himself out of his chair and limps around the room, searching for paper towels to clean his mess. “I’ll be right with you, Ballinger.” He is panting and moving at a snail’s pace to catch his next breath.

“Do you want some help?” I ask when seconds turn into minutes, and I check my watch. Shana must be wondering where the hell I am. When I turn and look out into the hallway, my suspicions are justified. She leans against the back wall, her arms crossed over her vest. I raise a finger to let her know I will join her shortly, but she doesn’t acknowledge me. She keeps staring, long and hard.

Chief Barnaby wheezes and coughs as he settles into his chair, blotting the spilled coffee with a thick napkin. “It’s always something,” he says, turning back to me and folding his hands atop the desk. “You and Givens work well together, and I know patrolling will not be a problem for either of you.”

“No argument,” I say, even though I want to complain about how annoying Officer Givens can be after working with her in the past. She loves talking about her kids during patrols as if bored with me. According to her, she praises her firefighter husband, Astor, although he slaps her around occasionally, sometimes in front of their children. I want to tell the chief I’d like to work with Officer Keller because there is no drama.

As the chief prattles on, I sit up, turn back around, and stare out into the hall. Officer Givens is gone. The corridor is empty, a maze of white walls stretching into dark, dead-end corners.

“Ballinger, are you hearing me? What the hell you looking at?”

Shadows flutter in the hall from the flickering fluorescent lights.

When I stare back across the desk at the chief stirring another tablespoon of sugar into his coffee, I think maybe I am seeing things. “I heard you,” I mumble.

“Good. Because I trust that you will have a productive day because you and Givens make a great team.”

Bullshit! I stand, hoping the chief won’t object to me leaving abruptly.

My hand on the doorknob, I stop at the chief’s booming voice. “Whatever is bothering you in your personal life, Ballinger, deal with it at home. Work is not the place for personal drama.” He sips his coffee. Swallows, and adds. “I expect you to be here pronto every day, ready to work. As the new chief of police, my motto is simple: No funny business on my watch.” When he nods, his double chin wobbles like pudding. “I expect a professional team and zero drama. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine.”

Halfway out of his office, he pulls me back in. “Oh, and Jack?”

I meet his grossly deformed stare. I shudder from the ample space between his eyes. I know I am staring too long, so I look away, over his shoulder, to the small map of Black Falls pegged to a corkboard behind him. “Chief?”

“Clean yourself up. You look unprofessional.”