Without waiting for a response, he slammed the phone down on the receiver, wiping his fingers off under his chair.
I hid my revulsion.
“So… Detective…” Crabbe muttered, gazing at me with his beady little eyes. Apparently, he’d already made an assessment, because those eyes were filled with contempt. “Out of the kiddie pool, eh? How’s it feel to be at the big kid’s table?”
I was taken aback, but thought quickly.
“This promotion is everything that I wanted, sir. I’m willing to put in whatever’s necessary to–”
“Don’t bother, Detective,” he sneered, leaning back in his chair. I heard it audibly strain beneath his weight. “Your boss says you’ve got the chops. Says your record speaks for itself. He doesn’t fuck up often, so I’m inclined to believe him… for now. I know that you’ve earned your spot here. Don’t piss me off by trying to butter me up.”
From the looks of it the only thing he needed buttered was a thick basket of greasy rolls sitting at the edge of his desk.
“That said, everything that landed you in that chair in front of me? It’s in the past. I couldn’t give a flying fuck about your previous work ethic. This little promotion of yours? It’s a clean fucking slate. You’re back to square one, but now you’re on a higher rung, you understand?”
I nodded respectfully.
“Good. Glad you’re hearin’ what I’m sayin’,” he grunted, shuffling a few papers around on his desk. “With that said, I looked into you. Work ethic notwithstanding, I don’t appreciate having some snot-nosed little sheriff’s daughter shoved onto my plate.”
And there it was.
It was always one reason or the other: the suggested nepotism, or the gender implication. Apparently, my temporary boss was one of the bigger misogynistic fuckers on the force, but went ahead and just struck for both sides anyway.
“You wanted this so bad?” The lieutenant grunted. “You’ve got it. Now keep it up, or else I’ll have you back out there scribbling out parking tickets so fast it’ll make your head fucking spin.”
“I understand, sir.” I chose my words carefully: “I’m not asking for your respect… I’m willing to earn it.”
He took a cold, hard look at me, but I didn’t waver in my conviction. After a moment, he finally nodded, apparently satisfied.
“That’s what I like to hear.”
He pulled open a drawer beneath his desk. Before I could pat myself on the back for learning the first steps in playing the game, he was tossing a thick folder in front of me.
“What the hell is this?” I asked.
“Your first case, Detective,” he answered with a gravelly grunt. “Missing persons. Let me know if this rings a bell: three cheerleaders disappear from a football game in Tucson.”
I inwardly groaned.
“Of course I know this case,” I answered.
It had been national news for months. Three pretty teenage girls vanish from pleasant little suburbia, and the whole country goes crazy. The department had tied up resources for almost a hundred days on this thing, bearing the brunt of media scrutiny.
Every loose end had been a dead end. They had vanished without a trace.
“We’ve thrown everything we’ve got at this thing, but nothing came up green. I can’t spare that kind of manpower anymore, but we can’t walk away from this either. You want to earn my respect, Detective?” He sneered. “I’ll make it easier for you than most. Find these girls.”
While he spoke, I flipped through the folder. My eyes glanced across the mountain of evidence: credit card statements, eyewitness interviews, phone records, last known locations, mapped out sheets of friends and family – and then, something I would have never expected…
It was simple, really. I’d spotted a photo: a man beside his motorcycle. The Lieutenant’s words drowned out as I realized what I was looking at… The lines on his face had hardened and his leather cut was looking battle-worn.
Hunter.
My breath caught in my throat as I pulled the photograph from the sleeve sheet. Absentmindedly, my fingertips ran along his face, bringing back feelings long since buried.
Flipping it over, I spotted an inscription on the backside: the words Devil’s Dragons, El Paso, with the current year.
“What’s the matter, Detective?” Lieutenant Crabbe chuckled. “Got a thing for bad boys?”
I glanced at him with a smile that wiped the snide comment from his collection of chins. “I enjoy putting them behind bars. Don’t you worry, sir. I’ll find these girls.”