‘Come in.’
Garcia opened the door and stepped inside.
Captain William Bolter was now in his mid-sixties but he looked at least ten years younger. Tall, strong as an ox and sporting a full head of silvery hair together with a thick mustache, the man was a menacing figure. If the stories were true, he’d taken over twelve bullets in his time, and he was still standing.
‘Who the hell are you, Internal Affairs?’ His voice was firm but not aggressive.
‘No sir . . .’ Garcia stepped closer, handing over his forms. ‘Carlos Garcia, sir, I’m your new detective.’
Captain Bolter was sitting in his imposing high-backed swivel chair behind his rosewood desk. He flipped through the forms looking impressed at times before placing them on his desk. He didn’t need any paperwork to tell him Garcia was a good detective. No one was assigned to the RHD if they hadn’t shown a high level of competence and expertise, and according to Garcia’s track record, he had plenty.
‘Impressive . . . and you are exactly on time. Good start!’ the captain said after swiftly consulting his watch.
‘Thank you, sir.’
The captain walked up to the coffee machine in the far corner of his office and poured himself a cup, Garcia didn’t get offered one. ‘OK, first things first. You gotta lose that cheap suit. This is the Homicide division, not the fashion police. The guys out there are gonna crucify you.’ He gestured towards the detectives’ floor.
Garcia looked down at his suit. He liked that suit – it was his best suit – his only suit.
‘How long have you been a detective now?’
‘Two years, sir.’
‘Well, that’s remarkable. It usually takes a detective at least five to six years on the job before he’s even considered for the RHD. You either kiss a lot of ass or you are the real thing.’ With no reply from Garcia the captain continued. ‘Well, you might’ve been a good detective out there working for the LAPD, but this is Homicide.’ Sipping his coffee, he walked back to his desk. ‘Holiday camp is over, sonny. This is harder and definitely more dangerous than anything you’ve done before.’
‘I understand, Captain.’
‘Do you?’ He pinned Garcia with his intense gaze. His voice took a more ominous tone. ‘This job will mess with your head, kid. You’ll make more enemies than friends as a Homicide dick. Your old friends at the LAPD will probably hate you from now on. Are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure you are strong enough? And I’m not talking about physical strength here, sonny. Are you sure you’re ready?’
Garcia had half expected the dangerous job speech; every captain has one. Without turning away from the captain’s stare, he replied in a steady voice and with no vacillation. ‘I’m ready, sir.’
The captain looked back at Garcia, searching for a hint of fear, self-doubt maybe, but years of experience in character judging told him this kid wasn’t scared, at least not yet.
‘OK then, we’re done here. Let me introduce you to your new partner,’ he said, opening the door to his office. ‘Hunter . . . get in here,’ his loud voice resonating through the busy floor.
Hunter had just walked in. He was sitting at his desk stirring a cup of strong black coffee. His sleep-hangover made the captain’s voice sound like a heavy metal band. He calmly had a sip of the bitter-tasting liquid and felt it burn his lips and tongue. In the past few months Hunter’s insomnia had gotten worse, fueled by the constant nightmares. He’d sleep a couple of hours every night if he was lucky. His daily routine had become lethargic – bad headache, strong boiling-hot coffee, burnt mouth and onto the pile of second-rate cases on his desk.
Hunter didn’t knock, he simply opened the door and stepped inside. Garcia was standing next to the rosewood desk.
‘Yo! Captain, you’ve got the wrong man, I’m not in trouble with Internal Affairs,’ Hunter said biting the loose skin on his burnt top lip.
Garcia looked down at his suit again.
‘Sit down, Hunter, he isn’t IA.’ The captain paused, holding the suspense for a few seconds. ‘Meet your new partner.’
At first those words didn’t seem to register in Hunter’s ears. Garcia took two steps in Hunter’s direction and offered his hand. ‘Carlos Garcia, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective Hunter.’
Hunter left Garcia’s hand hanging in the air; in fact he didn’t move at all except for his eyes. Garcia could feel Hunter analyzing him, trying to size him up. It took Hunter twenty seconds to make his mind up about his new partner.
‘No thanks, Captain, I’m doing quite well on my own.’