Justice(15)

“Jesus Christ, you are a sight for sore fucking eyes,” he says as we step into the office.

Harry’s office is cramped with only a desk, three chairs, a map of the city on the wall, and a gold desk lamp. The only window looks out onto the bullpen but the gray, vertical blinds are drawn for privacy. The desk is covered with files, pink message slips, and loose papers. When Harry gets in and sees this mess, he’ll flip. Unlike me, he’s a neat freak almost to the point of anal retention. Makes him great at paperwork but a lousy roommate. Not that we’re even close to that point. Hell, we just exchanged keys two weeks ago.

“What the hell is all this?” I ask as Kowalski shuts the door. The inane chattering outside is cut in half.

“Messages from the press, city hall, supers offering their help,” Kowalski answers as he falls into Harry’s chair. “I haven’t done jack-shit since last night but answer telephone calls and fill out requisition forms. At least now you’re here.”

I start gathering up all the pink slips, but raise an eyebrow. “Do I look like a secretary?”

“I need rack time Fallon or I’ll pass out right on the floor,” he pleads.

I sigh. “Fine. Go. I’m sure Harry will get here soon anyway.”

He smiles. “Thanks. I have a uni handling the calls now, so it should be a little quieter. Get me if you need me.” He rushes out before I can change my mind.

First things first, clean up this mess. As I am a trained multi-tasker, I gather up the notes, files, and forms while calling Justin. He picks up on the fifth ring.

“Pendergast,” he says, out of breath.

“It’s Jo. Bad time?”

“No. No, I was just…working out.”

“Well, I’m alive. Exhausted, but alive.” There is no way in hell I’m telling him I got into a car chase with a psychopath last night. I’d never hear the end of it.

“You’re on the Alkaline case, aren’t you?” he asks, not at all thrilled by the prospect.

“Yep. Cam and I are the leads.”

Justin’s end remains silent for a moment. “And there’s no way I can talk you into taking an extended vacation starting today, is there?”

I roll my eyes. “You know, most best friends would be happy and supportive that I’m heading up the biggest manhunt this city has ever seen.”

“The man shoots acid, Jo. He’s a cold-blooded psychopath. Forgive me if the prospect of my best friend attempting to bring him into custody doesn’t inspire enthusiasm.”

“Whatever. Killjoy. You’ll be eating those words when you’re at my commendation ceremony.”

“Joanna, I’m serious. I know I can come off as overprotective, and I know you hate that.”

“Both true.”

“But in this case…I’m scared for you. I’m begging you, please, ask to be taken off this one. Please.”

The fear and desperation in his voice gives me pause. He’s never sounded like this before, not even on the bridge. I hate to admit it, but my body temperature rises and a huge grin forms. He cares. He really cares. I quickly quash it. “I promise I’ll be careful. And I’ll be surrounded by half the force and God knows how many supers.”

“You’re not going to do it, are you?” he asks.

“This surprises you?”

“No. You’ve always been too stubborn to listen to reason,” he says harshly.

I scoff. “Gee, thanks. I think the world of you too,” I say. “Look, I gotta go. Don’t be surprised if you don’t hear from me for a couple of days, okay? I’ll make sure someone calls you if my stubbornness gets me killed. You can say ‘I told you so’ at the funeral.” I slam the phone down. Okay, that was uncalled for and I know it the second I do it, but he got my Irish up. After two decades of friendship, he should know better.

There’s a knock on the door before it opens. Cam and the honorable Mayor Samuel Miracle step in. “I have no idea when he’ll be in,” Cam finishes saying. Both men notice me and smile. “Oh,” Cam says. “There you are.”

“Just getting things organized,” I say. “Mayor Miracle.”

“Det. Fallon,” the mayor says.

Our illustrious mayor. For some reason, I’ve never liked him. Our last mayor, Harlan Flores, helped clean up the parks in the Ward, so Miracle had some big shoes to fill. The man isn’t fit to collect Flores’ trash. I don’t know if it’s his beady eyes, ferret face, or the fact he hit on me at a Pendergast gala with his wife not five feet away. The feeling is mutual after I told him that if he didn’t stop touching me, I’d break the champagne glass and shove the shards into his fingers. Diplomatic I am not. I think he’s been afraid of me ever since.