Protect & Serve(170)

I kept up the beaming smile, hiding how guilty I felt every time I saw him. As always, the sight of his cane drew back the painful memories of that fateful morning…

The morning that changed my life forever.

“That’s one hell of a promotion… Detective,” he grinned back. “I’ve never been prouder of you, Sarah. If your mother could see you now…”

He pulled me into his heavy, hearty embrace.

The retired sheriff was right. I’d worked hard for this career move, putting in as many hours on the street as I possibly could. I’d put myself through the ringer because I wanted the world to know I’d earned this.

It was worth it.

I’d proven my mettle, coming out from under my father’s shadow as the sheriff’s daughter. A transfer here, a big case there… I had worked myself to the bone for every precinct I touched. Desperate to rise above, I put in more overtime than any damned officer on the force. My endless nights pounding the street and hitting the books in the academy were being validated.

I could finally make him proud.

He released his grip on me with satisfaction beaming in his eyes. “How about we celebrate with some grub? Your favorite steakhouse is calling my name…”

“Actually, Dad… I was kind of thinking we do something small, at home. Maybe I can cook?” I asked, fighting the urge to tear up every time I saw his fingers clasped around the hook of his cane. “Unless you’ve been lying about how much you enjoy my chicken lasagna…”

He smiled softly, the happiness evident in his eyes. “If that’s what you want, Sarah…”

Unfortunately, the celebrations couldn’t last longer than the evening. I let my father out just a bit past ten o’clock and was in bed before eleven. I was expected at my Sergeant’s office bright and early the following morning, and after everything he had done for me, I had no intentions of displeasing him… After all, Sergeant Thompson had practically mentored me himself. He’d seen me as more than just the Sherriff’s daughter… he saw the perceptive and detail oriented officer I’d become. He was steering my path towards this promotion for years now.

That’s why it was a surprise when I found his office locked up tight the next morning. It wasn’t like my boss to be late. A warm, churning pit developed in my gut.

Something was wrong.

“You’re looking for Thompson?” One of the other Sergeants asked, passing by towards his area of the precinct. His friendliness was matched only by his impeccable record. “He’s out on sick leave.”

“Sick leave? But Thompson’s never sick!”

“Broke a leg,” he clarified. “Slipped in the shower right in the middle of budget cutbacks, too… For the next few weeks, you’ll be reporting directly to Lieutenant Crabbe.”

He added with a wink: “Good luck with that.”

“Thank you, sir,” I nodded politely, turning towards the opaque glass that marked the Lieutenant’s office in the back of the room.

I’d only encountered the man a few times, and none of those instances had been what I’d call pleasant. The Sergeants usually positioned themselves between him and us for a reason that rose above simple matters of hierarchy.

A shiver went down my spine. This morning was not getting off to a good start.

“And, by the way?” The Sergeant smiled, extending his hand. “Congratulations on the promotion. You deserved it.”

“Much obliged, Sergeant,” I smiled, shaking his hand. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Carry on,” he nodded.

Holding my chin high, I crossed between cubicles towards Lieutenant Crabbe’s office. Each step forward sent an uncharacteristic impulse to my brain:

Turn back. Turn back. Turn back.

No, I thought to myself. I’ve come this far. I’m going to make my father proud and no asshole Lieutenant is going to stop me.

I knocked on the door, and heard an ambiguous grumble from inside. Unsure how to proceed, I hesitated for a moment before giving another brief, louder knock.

“I said ‘COME IN!’”

Great.

As I let myself into the room, Lieutenant Crabbe was perched behind his desk, twiddling his finger to indicate that I close the door.

The Lieutenant was a slovenly man: obese, sweaty, and perpetually fueled by anger that bordered on hellfire. His shitty attitude and unsightly physique was tolerated because he had an unblemished record of producing results, but his penchant for coming down hard on his subordinates was legendary on the force.

“I didn’t ask, Jones!” He shouted down the desk phone that was jammed against his ear, his thick, Cheetos-stained fingers wrapped around it like undercooked sausages. “I said do it! I don’t care how long your men have to stake out that fucking bowling alley, you do it and you do it with a fucking smile! Do you hear me?!”