Chapter Text
Detective Sergeant Maxine Caulfield. (Actually, just Max.)
Four years in service with the Bay City Police Department. One year as a Detective.
Graduated at the head of her class during both the Police Academy and Detective’s Exams.
Credited with over two hundred arrests and being a key player in over a dozen major operations across her precinct. (Well, duh, it's my job!)
Renowned for her by-the-book approach and zero-tolerance stance on corruption, and notorious for stamping it out wherever she finds it.
Recently transferred to Fourteenth Precinct following incidents with her fellow officers. (Well, that's putting it mildly.)
6th April, 1985
BCPD, 14th Precinct Headquarters
8.55 am
It’s certainly a much grander structure than my old Precinct’s Headquarters, that’s for sure. Three floors, and more grandure than anything I’ve seen since I left Pompous High- I mean, Blackwell Academy- the fresh rain that has just ceased lending a sheen to the sandstone facade. I shake my head at those errant thoughts of how life was back at school as I walk up toward the steps. I stopped taking photographs for fun a long time ago, but still, I notice these little details. Like the slight reflections as rays of sunlight slice through the gloomy morning, bouncing off the glass panes with a brilliant orange. How every angle on this building seems to cast its own shadow, do its own thing, it’s-
A car pips its horn at me, making me jump and snapping my attention from the grand building before me, instead noticing the irate driver who is about six inches from spanking me with the bullbar on his jeep. Asshole.
“Hey, watch where you’re fucking going, lady!” He calls out of the window at me.
“Sorry!” I timidly call back at him as I get out of his path and he speeds off, a cloud of noxious diesel fumes in his wake. I wish I could be more assertive sometimes. Hell, I can do it in my day job, so why can’t I do it when Mr. Self Righteous, like that guy, starts harassing me? I’ll never know, but my money is on it being something that clicks when I get on the job. That being said… I should probably try not to get run over. First day at the new Precinct and whatever.
My thoughts turn back again as I ascend the equally-aesthetic steps toward the front of the building. God, I’m glad the 4th is in the rear view mirror.
“So… Up to anything this weekend, Max?” Warren asks, as he leans up against the lockers beside me. Apparently, nobody told him that those kinds of moves are reserved for High-School jocks. I turn away from him, sighing under my breath in as passive-aggressive a manner as I can.
“Come on, Max, you can’t possibly be busy this weekend too! I already looked at the shifts, it’s your weekend off!” He tries again. God, Warren just won’t TAKE A HINT.
“Who’s...who’s to say I’m not busy?” I reply back, falling over my words as they leave my mouth. Damn, why am I not better at arguing back in situations like this?
“Oh come on, Max!” He whines, pathetically, as he follows me across the room. “I just wanna go downtown. You know, for a drink or something?”
I grumble, turning to face him. “Warren, what part of ‘I Have Other Things To Do’ can you not understand?” I fire back at him, his incessant attempts to ask me out fraying my temper.
“Okay, be like that. Just don’t expect me to go any easier on you, Sergeant Caulfield.” He sneers, as he thumps a locker and walks in the other direction. I release the breath that I hadn’t realised I was holding, as I process what’s just gone down: I, the underling of this Precinct, have just delivered a verbal rebuttal to the golden boy of the Precinct, Lieutenant Warren Graham. A jerk of a man also probably involved in no small number of shady “arrangements”... not that I have the evidence to prove it as yet. Oh boy…
I wince as my reflection back to that not-so-proud moment of my life becomes a reflection in the window built into the door. Its polished brass beams back at me, a slender, frame-like handle. The woman staring back at me still looks like me, but at the same time she isn't. She isn't who I was once over. Maybe I'll find myself again here? I’ve heard a lot about this Precinct, definitely one of the more busy and understaffed in the City. Maybe I can make something of this shit-show, rather than just regrets at not keeping my mouth shut that day? One thing is certain, I won’t know unless I step inside. My fingers curl around the upright part of the handle as I take a deep breath, closing my eyes but for a second. You got this, Max.
The door was deceptively good at suppressing any noise from within here. The moment I enter, I’m hit with a wall of it: cops shouting across the room; civvies everywhere, making unreasonable demands about having their asshole boyfriend who beat up some randomer released; the bleeping of desk phones ringing unanswered; pagers tweeting away… It really is the Wild West in here. I take another deep breath, trying not to let the mayhem panic me. It wouldn’t be great to have a meltdown just because of everything happening in here; it is one HELL of a change from the ghost-town that was my old Precinct’s lobby though. A slight fog of cigarette smoke rolls along the ceiling, by-product of what I can assume is the only release for a number of the officers in the room. I can’t say I’m fond of smoking, but I can at least understand their reasons for the habit, dirty as it is. Seeing no sense in standing near the door, and potentially being hit by it when another disgruntled cop enters the fray, I move deeper into the bedlam that is this place. Finally, I’ve worked my way through the chaos of the first floor, and made my way up to a somewhat quieter- though no less chaotic- upstairs area, where more of the Precinct’s support staff are, alongside the break area for the Precinct officers and detectives. The area is quite empty, only a few cops here and there taking a break between patrols, or dealing with paperwork, bane of our existence.
That’s when something catches my eye. A woman sat on the side of a desk, cig in hand. The arm closest to me, her right arm, is adorned in an intricate tattoo, hard to make out from here exactly what it is. I can see red on it, roses, perhaps? Whatever it is, it extends from her wrist right up to the top of her shoulder, a variety of colours snaking up her skin. I’ve moved a little closer into the room, and nestled among the other elements- vines, and butterflies, I think I can see?- is a skull, maybe halfway between her shoulder and elbow. God , does that look pretty. And that’s before I’ve really looked at her as a whole. Her arms- both of them- are slender, yet muscular, toned. She must work out pretty often. I can see a few cuts and bruises in places, and a large scar or two, though luckily neither impinge on that awesome ink of hers. Her hair is a brilliant blue, poking out from beneath a battered and worn black beanie, the type I swear only dockers wear, tucked behind her ears. Her top, a black, sleeveless type; tight enough that I’m pretty sure I can see her abs. She definitely works out. There’s a couple of holes, nicks in it, exposing small snippets of what lies beneath. The denim cladding her lower half is equally torn up, a patchwork of hand-made repairs with material that isn’t quite the right colour, or the right colour at all, cover parts of its surface. They fit snug, giving me a clean outline of her legs as they extend sleek into her equally worn and scuffed boots, which come most of the way up to her knees. They're pretty tight toward the top, but they sure as anything aren't the sort of boots most women wear. Possibly old army surplus? I'm not sure. Then I make the stupid mistake of looking at her face. I dread to think how I look to any third-party that may be watching me, gawking at this woman. Her complexion is pretty pale, like mine, which means that the imperfections and injuries she's suffered are pretty plain to see. Sure enough, on her right cheek and extending back toward her earlobe is a light scar that stands out from her face, the type I’ve seen people pick up dealing with knife-jockeys. In spite of that, the rest of her face is pretty clean, save for a bruise on the same side of her face and a burst lower lip- probably been in a fight- its lines unmarred save for those small imperfections. Her eyes are about the last detail I really pick up on, a piercing blue that goes right through me and enthralls me at the same time.
Two thoughts cross my mind at roughly the same time: one, what self-respecting police officer not only leaves their prisoner unrestrained and in the off-limits areas of the station, but also doesn’t confiscate their effects?; two, holy shit is this woman the most beautiful thing I’ve seen?
Three, I realise that I can see her eyes and not just the one as she had been sat initially. She’s looking back at me, and I'm really not sure how long she's been staring back. An analytical expression graces her face for a moment as my expression belies my surprise, twisting into an irritated glare. Ah, shit. She does not look like she is happy with my blatant staring at her, and her gaze burns right back through me. She roughly stubs out her smouldering toke on the table, leaving its bent stalk upright, as she slides off of her perch and stalks toward me. I realise I’m instinctively reaching for my cuffs as she comes closer.
“Who the fuck do you think you’re staring at, huh?” She snarls at me, trying to get up in my face. I pull the cuffs off their clip on my belt, taking them in my hand.
“Look, I shouldn’t have been staring. But I’m going to give you one chance, and one chance only: back down now, or I will restrain you,” I order her. That only seems to piss her off more, great.
“Who the FUCK do you think you are, threatening to cuff me in my own precinct?!” She growls back at me, teeth bared. She looks like she’s about a half-step away from taking my head off my shoulders and using it as her new ashtray.
“S-so… You’re a, you’re a cop?” I mumble, somewhat cowed by the blunt force of her retort and the utter terror at what she might do to me next. She pulls something out of her back pocket and practically hits me in the nose with it. A badge. Oops. Nice going Max, alienating other cops on your first day!
“No, I’m the fucking cleaning lady. What the fuck do you think?” She grumbles again, tucking the badge back into her pocket as she takes a step or two back. “You new here?” she asks, her tone and, to a degree, her body language changing on a dime. I nod, shakily. She rolls her eyes.
“Figures,” she deadpans, eyeing me up. She points to a door over on the other side of the room, inadvertently giving me a perfect broadside shot at her tat. “That’s the Chief’s office over there. And do me a favour, while you’re here: keep the fuck out of my way.” She finishes, turning away from me and heading for her place in the room once more.
Well, that was certainly the harshest first-encounter I’ve had with anyone in this line of work. I turn and head in the direction of the office in question, slightly regretting having done that. She is pretty beautiful, after all else, and maybe if I’d been a little smarter about that conversation, she’d have been a little nicer to me. Maybe I could’ve-
Stop it, Max. Fantasising about workmates is an incredibly dangerous game to play. Especially when it's someone like that who can probably dismember me without any real thought. I knock on the door, hearing the sound of glass connecting with itself as I commit the name of my new boss to memory as I read the black lettering on the frosted glass.
CAPTAIN RAYMOND WELLS
COMMANDER, 14TH PRECINCT
If I thought that the outside of the Precinct building was ornate, then this office was a whole different level. That chair looks comfy as hell compared to what’s out in the main area behind me, and I’m genuinely amazed that nobody has tried to ‘borrow’ it as yet. There’s a brass eagle on the desk, as though this guy wants to masquerade as some imperial overlord. The man sat behind the polished oak desk begins his address, his voice almost comically deep after he clears his throat. His eyes look a little glazed, and I seriously doubt that it's tiredness that’s driving that look.
“Detective Caulfield, it is a pleasure to have you with the Precinct,” he begins, his expression unmoving. “As you no doubt know, this Precinct is somewhat under-strength, and the recent cuts to the Police budget haven’t helped matters.” Judging by the furnishings in this room, I wouldn’t be scared to guess where at least some part of that budget has gone. Regardless of whatever expression I’m wearing as I think about it, he continues in his monotone. “Now, in an ideal world I would have you deployed solo: the more hazardous nature of this precinct, however, requires that you work with a partner.” he concludes. I’ve noticed what looks like a tumbler, traces of an amberish fluid in the base. It wouldn’t take a Harvard degree to put the dots together, but this time I choose to keep my mouth firmly shut. I’ve already pissed off that other cop, I don’t wanna get on my boss’ shit-list this early. I’ve got a whole… however long I spend here to do that!
“I’ll bring them in, shall I?” He asks me, knocking me from my internal dialogue. I nod, meek and mute for the time being. He clumsily stands up, dusting himself down, and walks past me. I can even smell the liquor on him, but again I refuse to bring it up for fear of reprisal. His hand lazily falls on the door handle, dragging the door open.
“Detective Price!” He booms out.
I sit back on the desk as I had been before, next to the butt I stubbed out before I ripped that newbie a new one. I shouldn’t have done that, I guess- it’s not her fault that this is how I look. Still, she should learn to think before she opens her goddamn…
I laugh at my own thoughts as I ponder again, the chorus of chaos downstairs ringing up the way. Who am I to lecture someone on ‘thinking before they speak’? I’ve practically built my entire career to date on the exact opposite. It’s not my fault either that every shitty thing in the world has found me, or someone I loved: Dad, for one. Rachel. Fuck, I wish I wouldn’t think about things like this when I’m at work. Unlike Wells, I have some standards, like “not drinking when I’m on the clock”. All it means is there’s less to dull the pain as I prise that scar open again.
“Detective Price!” Wells’ voice booms from the doorway of his office. Speak of the Devil. Knowing my luck that newbie has dialled me in to him, and this is his idea of “asserting authority”. Can’t keep God waiting, I guess. I stride across the office, blatantly refusing to acknowledge or even register any of the catcalls of the other officers who’ve taken an interest in me being called in again. What I would give to have these jerks at my mercy, with a meat tenderiser. Oh, the fun that could be had. Now now, Chloe. No need to go full psycho. Yet.
I step into the office, and Wells closes the door behind me. As if that would stop me leaving, and he knows it. “Detective Price, this is your new partner, Detective Caulfield,” he states, in his typically boring tone.
I look at the detective, and I can feel my eyes straining as I realise that this is the exact woman I told to stay the fuck out of my way, not five minutes ago. I’m not sure who’s more surprised and shocked, me or her. I spin back to face Wells, incredulous.
“Chief, you know where I stand on having partners! Especially a fu- a rookie!” I exclaim at him, enraged that he could have the nerve to give me someone who looks and acts like they’re fresh out of cop school. I hear her start to say something, but thankfully she’s cut off by Wells.
“And you know where I stand on operations within this Precinct. If you wish to return to your old duties, you have to have a partner. Detective Caulfield is far from a rookie: in fact, her reference from Fourth Precinct shows her to have a sterling record,” he replies. Sure, he’s got me in a corner, but that’s not going to stop me giving him hell.
“If she had such a sterling record with Fourth, then WHY is she HERE?” I shout back, catching her flinch slightly as I raise my voice. Jesus, is this girl timid. How she ever passed her practical tests I’ll never know.
“Detective Price, that’s quite enough. You are being partnered with Detective Caulfield, and that is final!” he roars back, slamming one of his meaty palms into a well-established dent on the desk. “Do you understand?” he impatiently demands. I sigh, exasperated and out of other arguing points.
“Fiiiine.” I groan. If this is what it’s going to take to get me off these desk jobs, I’ll take her.
“I’m glad you’re willing to cooperate today, Detective.” He pretty much sneers at me. “Please wait outside, while I finish talking to Detective Caulfield.”
I groan some more as I turn about for the door, in the process giving this new girl, this 'Detective Caulfield' the worst death-stare I can muster in that exact moment. My hand snags the edge of the frame as I abruptly slam it closed behind me.
God, you have a way of mocking me that I'll never quite get.
Wells sighs as the door stops rattling. I gulp surreptitiously. If I thought being back at Fourth was bad, this could be a hell of a lot worse at this rate. After some deliberation, and an awkward silence, he speaks.
"I… apologise, for Detective Price's behaviour." He begins with. "Surprisingly, she is- or was- one of the best assets that this Precinct has at its disposal."
I raise an eyebrow. "If she is one of your better officers, I'd say it's a damn good thing that I transferred, Sir." I quip. Jesus, what kind of Precinct is in such a state that a cop like her is their best asset?
Wells narrows his eyes at me, briefly. The look of judgement on his face is there long enough for me to register it though.
"I should elaborate some more on your partner, I suppose." He states, very matter-of-factly. I always get a bad feeling when this tone comes out to play. "She was, at one stage, one of the best police officers the Precinct had. A real rising star. However… there was an unfortunate occurrence. Her partner was killed in the line of duty. She's not quite been the same since." He explains.
My heart drops into my boots, and I can't help but feel like a total dirtbag for making such a pithy statement a few moments earlier. Poor woman. My expression must've said exactly what I was thinking, because Wells' brow furrows into a pensive glare.
"Is something bothering you, Detective Caulfield?" He asks, trying his damndest to be sincere. His attempts to be sincere falls flat on its face, I must say.
"No, not at all sir." I mutter. Not a chance I'm having any kind of emotionally-involved conversation with this clown. Wow Max, literally five minutes and you already hate your new Chief. That's gotta be some kinda new personal best.
"Very well. If that's everything…" Wells trails off as he gestures toward the door. "Oh, one last thing." He states. "Detective Price is known for her… creative interpretation of the regulations. Be careful, I wouldn't want you to fall foul of such conduct." As I head out, I swear I hear a glass bottle clunking against the wooden drawer being slid open, but again I daren't look back. No need to piss anyone else off today. I walk smack into a hand across my chest as I exit, wrapped up in my own thoughts, and look to find it attached to the very unamused Detective Price. The more I think about it, I swear I know that name. I've heard it somewhere before, that much I'm certain of.
"Three rules for riding with me, rookie." She starts, giving me one of the worst scowls I've ever had. God, I'm regretting this already. "One: when you ride with me, what happens outside this building doesn't come back inside, regardless of what the fuck it is; Two: don't try and stop me doing what I do." She states through gritted teeth.
"What's three?" I ask. I already don't like the way she's acting. Something about her attitude to this whole setup bugs me.
"Three? When we ride, we follow our own rules." She says, giving me a passive-aggressive grin. "Fuck the handbook, fuck protocol. Where we go, neither will be any use to us." There it is, I knew I had good reason to worry.
"You realise how unprofessional you sound with that set of rules, Detective Price?" I ask her. Damn, I sound like such an idiot. However, I don't know her name beyond that yet. She capitalises on it fully.
"'Detective Price' ?" She sneers. "Jesus, you sound like a fucking robot. Sure you don't need to go via the motor-pool for a check-up?" She tags onto the end, giving me a very sarcastic smirk.
"Well, we haven't been formally introduced yet." I very nearly add 'you asshole' to that statement, on account of the hate stare I'm burrowing through her for suggesting I'm some kind of robot. Ooh, if I weren't a little more restrained. That being said, her arms look pretty strong, and I'd rather not get slapped into next week by them. Very strong arms indeed, her muscles solid and shapely from her shoulders right down to- cut it out, Max. You've already insulted her this morning, crushing on her is almost certainly guaranteed to be a one-way ticket to bad times. Besides, she's probably got a man in her life. Someone like her always has a guy in their life. Right?
"Chloe." She introduces herself to me. I nod, as we continue down the stairs.
"Max." I reply in kind as we cut through the alarming number of people in the room and head outside, presumably toward her car. Sure enough, we round the corner to find… what the fuck is that?
"Seriously, who the fuck abandons something like this outside a police station? Do they not expect us to write it up for every fucking infraction going?" I note aloud, expecting Chloe to laugh. Or at least chuckle a little. She doesn't. In fact, she scowls at me in a way that tells me without saying that I fucked up.
"So, first you say I look like a criminal, and now you're going to say that about my truck." Chloe tells me, in a very low tone. Oh, fuck! Here we go again. "Got any more shit-talking to get out of your system before we get going?"
I nervously scratch the back of my neck as I head for the passenger door. I'm pretty sure she's sick of the sight of me, and I've known her less than an hour. Oh god. We both hop in, but I can still see her staring at me. I don't quite get the meaning of her look: is she still pissy, or is she trying to analyse me?
I don't know quite what Wells was thinking- or IF he was thinking- but putting me with this infernal woman definitely ranks up there on his 'stupid ideas' list. I look over at her as I get myself comfortable. She notices.
"What are you looking at me like that for?" Max asks. Dumb, green and oblivious, great. I shoot a glare back at her, almost certainly more aggressive than planned by the look on her face. What the hell, might as well go the full nine yards.
"I'm not quite sure yet." I answer. "Between insulting me, insulting my ride , and being assigned to me when you're as much of a newbie as you so obviously are. It's like God's sent you with the express purpose of making my life even worse than it already was. I'll bet you're a right fucking bootlicker for Wells and the like, too."
I'm not sure how I'd quite describe it, but what would best pass as a dark, angry expression falls across her face. The look of icy calm in her eyes at the same time as having that terrifying expression scares me a little, I have to admit. Especially from someone so seemingly innocuous.
"Okay. Let's get a few things straight, Chloe. One: I'm not a fucking rookie. I've been around for the last five years, all of them working the streets, the vast majority on my own unlike here. The only thing I'm still relatively new to is being a Detective; Two, given how both you and this truck look, can you really sit there and give me shit for making those observations, especially when that's something we have to be able to do well in this line of work?; Three, I am far from a bootlicker. I follow the rules, and I make life hell for those who break them. I couldn't give a damn who it is who's breaking them, be it your scumbag career mugger, or a crooked cop. Anything else you want putting right under that fucking hair-dye of yours?"
She sits quiet for a moment, just looking at me. Holy. Shit. Chloe, you may have fucked up massively giving her that much stick at once.
She's not finished yet, my mouth subtly closing once more as she overwrites whatever I was about to say. "Further to that, if you think you're having a shit day right now because you've got me as your new partner, I can top that. Wanna know why I came here, left Fourth?"
Yep, I fucked up big time. Jesus, why is it always the smaller women who can be so feisty? "Enlighten me." I eke out, trying my best to hide the slightly-intimidated-but-impressed tone from my voice.
Max rolls her neck a little. "Ever heard of an asswipe Lieutenant called Warren Graham, from Fourth Precinct?" She asks.
I almost choke on my breath. "That asswipe made Lieutenant?" I follow up with, barely able to believe the first-class bullshit I've just heard.
"I take it you had the displeasure of that prick through the Academy. Glad I didn't." Max notes, possibly to herself. Hard to tell, really. "Well, he tried making a move on me. Actually, moves. Plural. I rebuffed him once more, and he gave me some spiel about making me regret it ." She recalls, grimacing as she presumably thinks about dealing with that dirtbag. “Cut forward a week or two, and they’re trying to write me up for almost every type of misconduct you can imagine. Pretty impressive, given I have- had - a clean record.” She sighs as she finishes. “They gave me two choices: either to transfer to another Precinct; or watch them dismantle my career, piece by piece.”
Poor girl. Seriously, I actually feel sorry for her right now. Note to self: Warren needs a good dose of ass-kicking for treating someone this cute so horribly- Again, brain? Really? You’re going to sexualise the IA-Department-on-legs? Ugh, I can't deal with this part of my head today. Roll on the end of the day, I seriously need a drink!
I decide to change the tone to something a little less depressing. “You packing?”
She looks at me- rightfully so- like I’m a complete moron. “Are you kidding? Of course I’m packing!” She exclaims, seemingly insulted by my insinuation.
“Okay… Let’s see it.” I say.
“Really? What kind of first-day-of-Academy fuckery is this?” Max whines back, albeit that she’s unholstering her handgun as she does. I crack a smile as I look at it, the small, smooth weapon sitting comfortably in her hand.
“Beretta Tomcat. What can I say, it’s a decent gun… if you’re upgrading from a BB Gun.” I chuckle. She glares at me, annoyed. Did I forget to mention how indescribably adorable she looks when she’s annoy- SERIOUSLY, BRAIN, STOP! At this rate I’ll be getting kicked off the Force for some kind of sexual misdemeanour. Then again, the smart money’s been on me being kicked out for disobedience, so at least I’d have the last laugh as I collect the pool money.
“Okay then, smartass.” She pouts, crossing her arms after she replaces the handgun in her holster. “I’ll play your game. Let’s see what you carry.”
I reach behind my back, pulling my go-to handgun out from my waistband. Max raises an eyebrow. “Good place to hide a gun, Chloe. Right up until the point that you knock the safety off and shoot yourself in the ass by accident.” Max remarks, a sly grin on her face. I give her the finger as the rest of my digits hold the gun steady in my palm.
“This one is my day-to-day weapon.” I note, the Beretta sitting comfortably as ever in my hand. “Beretta 92. It’s an older model than what gets issued out to most newbies today, but it still hits hard enough. Then, there's what I keep handy for special occasions.” I slip the gun back into my waistband, flinching slightly as the small of my back gets used to the cold metal being there again. I reach under the dashboard, detaching my other handgun. I’m sure I see Max’s eyes widen as she sees it in my hand. I mean, yeah, it's an absolute beast. But her reaction is almost comical. “Max, meet the Automag.”
Max starts laughing. Her laugh is almost as adorable as her angry expression. Argh, why do I have to deal with someone that I already fucking hate AND think is cute at the same time! “Who the fuck do you think you are, Dirty Harry?” She asks rhetorically, as she stops laughing.
I can’t help but snort a laugh too. ‘Yes’, is the answer I so definitely want to say.
“No!” I sputter, the words almost definitely lacking their meaning. As I catch my breath, I decide to explain exactly why I own this hand-cannon. “This used to belong to my dad, when he was a cop.” Rather than a headstone.
Max’s eyes widen a little. “Holy shit… I knew the name seemed familiar!” She exhales, surprised. I shrug.
“Name’s familiar to anyone who ever listened at the Academy. What about it?” I mutter, nonchalantly.
“What about it? Your dad was, like, the best cop this city ever had!” Max replies.
I stay quiet for the time being, especially given the “ was ” and “ had ” aspects of the conversation, as I set off down the road. A cheeky grin works its way onto one side of my face. Seeing as how this is the first time I’ve been able to hit the streets in a while, I have someone I need to pay a visit to. I slot a cigarette between my lips with one hand, and spark my lighter up. I can’t help but notice Max flinches a little as it erupts into light. Great, so she hates smoking as well. Is this day going to get any better, or am I just going to be on this crash-course of shit for the rest of my time around her?
“So they never caught him?” Max asks, as we make our way through the suburbs on our patch. As much as I wanted the conversation to steer clear of what happened to Dad, it winds up there anyway. Like it always does.
“Kinda. Guy died on impact. I think the results for alcohol that they pulled from his bloods would’ve put him somewhere around a zero point two on a roadside test.” I state, trying to keep my tone calm. It still hurts beyond belief talking about this at age twenty-eight; I’m glad I can’t remember much of how it felt at age fifteen. My attempts to bury those re-invoked feelings must’ve failed hard, given what comes out of Max’s mouth next.
“I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She murmurs, almost too quiet for me to hear.
I shrug again. “Don’t be. You weren’t the one that killed him.”
Max sighs. “Look, Chloe. I know what I’m about to say is going to sound really dickish, but you didn’t kill him either. Sometimes… you just have to know when to let something go, put it in the past. Hanging onto the past… it hurts you more than it helps, and sometimes making peace with it is the only way to try and heal. Assuming you want to move on, of course.” Max lectures me. I can’t help but feel she’s telling me this from experience, but I don’t press the matter. It’s going to be enough of a bitch working with her anyways; I’d rather keep this stalemate. My attention returns fully to the road again, and to the stereo… What the hell is that, fucking sitar music ?!
Instinctively, my hand stretches out toward the dial to knock it the fuck off. My hand falls on another, as Max's hand beats me to it. Her skin is smooth, seriously smooth- oh for fuck's sake, I'm not gonna get a break from this shit today, am I?- and I immediately pull mine back like it was touching a red-hot poker. I hope to fuck my face hasn't shown any of the emotions that spring up in my mind, either. Instead of turning it down, or switching channels, Max turns the music up, smiling.
I can't help but groan, exasperated. "For fuck's sake, on top of everything else you're a damned hippie?! " I whine, squeezing my face with one hand as I drag it down my face.
Again, Max cackles, in that way-too-cute-for-comfort way of hers. "Close, but no cigar. My parents were hippies, through and through. What can I say, some of their tastes must've brushed off on me."
I groan some more as my hands settle onto the steering wheel again. "God hates me."
I can see Max grinning out of the corner of my eye as she leans back against the corner of the cab. "Hate him back. Seems to work for me, mostly."
Okay, this place seems sketchy as shit. Chloe pulls this borderline-unroadworthy truck of hers into a small, dilapidated parking lot, out toward the fringes of the City. I'm not even sure this place is on our turf, so why Chloe's brought us here is a total mystery. Parked up to one side is an even sketchier-looking RV, which only barely beats the truck I'm in right now for the prize of 'least roadworthy looking vehicle of the day.' Chloe halts the truck with a melancholy screech of barely-serviceable brakes and cuts the engine, which splutters once more before falling silent. We sit in silence for a couple of moments, before Chloe speaks.
"Okay. The guy who owns that RV is… an old acquaintance of mine. Usually has decent information on dealers around the City. Leave the talking to me, okay?"
I glance at her, blankly. " Acquaintance who has information on other dealers. Ergo, he is also a dealer, yes?" I quiz her. Chloe evades the look I'm giving her.
"Yes. What about it?" Chloe says in return, as though it's perfectly normal for a cop to be wiping out a dealer's competition.
"Jesus, Chloe. What part of 'Corrupt Practice' does that not correspond to?" I grumble. She shoots another particularly nasty look at me.
"Hey. Frank's a small-time dealer. He doesn't peddle hardcore shit, the guys he rats on usually do. It's an… understanding. He sticks to dealing in the soft stuff like weed and keeps me supplied- with information- I leave him be. Nothing particularly crooked about that. It's not like he's bribing me or anything."
Yeah, sure Chloe. Doesn't make it any less of a corrupt practice even when you put it like that. We get out of the truck, but all of the way across the lot I can't help but notice Chloe has one eye firmly on me. She doesn't trust me one bit, and I know it. Given current events, I can't say I particularly trust her either. As we approach the rickety RV, I hear movement from within. A dog, barking. Groaning and cursing, followed by the sound of drinks cans being kicked out of the way as the RV's owner presumably makes their way to the door. A hand hits the other side of it, and a guy- probably in his late thirties, though I'd put him down as a lot older- staggers out. Yeesh. He looks like he's hit his own stocks of drugs hard over the years- either that, or that RV is in a worse state inside than out. For sleeping in, anyway. His features are more like those of a senior citizen, though he still looks to be in pretty good shape. Suppose that saves some cost on hiring enforcers, when you can do the job yourself. He narrows his eyes, if that's really possible with his sunken features, at Chloe.
"Well, looky here." He snarls. "You eventually found yourself a new partner." He shoots a look at me. "Must've been scraping the bottom of the barrel. Or recruiting from college."
I open my mouth to fire a witty retort, but Chloe cuts me off.
"Found? More like had her forced on me. Fucking plebes, man." I glare at Chloe, a silent incandescence. She either doesn't notice, or decides to ignore me as she continues her conversation with this small-timer. Ooh. Okay, if she keeps up like this, it's seriously going to test my patience. More than she already has.
“So, you here for product, or information? Hell, I’m sure I can cut you a deal for both.” Frank remarks, before looking at me again. “Assuming you can keep this one quiet. Rookie Blue and all.” He sneers, looking me up and down again. Fuck off, you look like you dropped out of high school and spent the last twenty years living like that first day.
Chloe chuckles. It sounds nervous, but something about her demeanour tells me that’s just a ploy. “Yeeah. About that.”
“What about it?” Frank probes further. Chloe reaches her right hand up to scratch the back of her neck, which seems to distract Frank. He starts getting pissy, drawing a small flick-knife on Chloe. “I swear to fucking God, Price, you’d better not be messing around with me.” Her left hand, all the while, made its way surreptitiously behind her back, toward where her Beretta was hidden away. I already have a sinking feeling in my stomach, but I daren't intervene just yet. Maybe I'm wrong about what she's going to do.
"Well…" Chloe continues, dragging the word out. "I figured you'd be happy to just give me the information. And maaybe some product too." Chloe says, chuckling.
Frank's expression twists again, becomes even more incensed. "You fuckin' hit your head or something? What fucking reason would I have to just give you anything, other than a slap or this knife to the stomach." He growls, taking a pace forward. Chloe just grins at him.
"Well, the reason would be so that I don't blow your balls off." She states, bluntly. Ah, shit, I knew I had a bad feeling about this. Before I or Frank can say or do anything, her left hand pulls her handgun straight out of its place under her waistband, pointing it squarely at Frank's waist. His hands immediately shoot skyward as he practically jumps a step or two back, his hardened expression one of utter surprise as the knife clatters to the floor. "Woah, woah! Have you fucking lost your mind, Chloe?!"
I stand stunned for a moment or two. Literally everything we're ever taught to do says not to do stupid shit like this. "Chloe, what the fuck are you doing?" I yell at her.
She glances at me, keeping the gun squarely on Frank. "Stay out of this, Max. I've wanted to do this for a while. Fuck, it's funny to watch!" Chloe cackles.
I decide enough is enough. Attempting to intervene, I grab Chloe's hand and force the gun downward. As she attempts to react, she pulls the trigger, the bullet skipping off the asphalt between Frank's legs and pings off of his RV. He jumps about two feet in the air, falling onto the floor as he holds his hand out, begging for mercy. "Okay, okay! Jesus, Chloe!" He howls, as Chloe pulls her weapon from my hand, holding it in one hand by her side. She gives me an angry grimace, wipes it from her face and gives Frank a sardonic grin, teeth and all. "The Cortez gang are back in town, over where Seventh used to have a lookout. That's all I know, I swear!"
Chloe laughs at him as she tucks her now-cooled weapon away once again. "Get the fuck outta here, Frank."
He doesn't wait to be told twice, snatching his knife from where it fell, scrambling into his RV and peeling out of the lot way faster than I expected that thing to go, leaving me and Chloe in a cloud of fume. When she turns to look at me, that grin is all but gone. She looks about ready to smash my head into the floor.
Oh, shit.
The few paces back to the truck are wordless and hostile, to say the least. Who am I kidding, I wanna take Max's fucking head off for pulling a stunt like that!
"Are you out of your fucking mind?" I ask her. She glares at me as though I'm in the wrong.
" Me ?" Max fires back, that angry glow in her face again. " You're the one who decided to try and pull a gun on someone for information. Even if you don't follow the fucking handbook, every cop knows not to pull a gun on someone for no fucking reason. Jesus, Chloe, you could've killed someone!" She yells.
"I wasn't gonna shoot him! Frank's more use to me alive. Besides, I'm pretty sure trying to disarm someone is high up the list of things you're told not to do at the Academy." I grumble back at her as I approach my door. She cuts across to my side as well, continuing the barrage.
"Perhaps if you weren't threatening to shoot someone, I wouldn't have needed to. Seriously, Chloe, I couldn't give a shit how you used to work, it needs to stop. Acting all 'dirty cop' is only going to get us both in shit and from what I've heard, you've been in enough already." Max states bluntly, sighing as she stands off from me.
Wait. What did she just call me? I turn around, taking my hand off the door handle. "What the fuck did you just call me, Max?" I ask, tone laced with venom. My eyes narrow on hers, but instead of fear, I see a resolve in her eyes unlike anything I've ever seen.
"You heard. Only cops I've ever seen pulling shit like this are the ones I've managed to put behind bars for corruption. So, if you have anything you wanna come clean about, now's the time." She declares.
That's it. Clenching my fist as hard as my teeth, I put all the power I can summon behind it and throw a left hook as hard as I can at this bitch's face.
I get one hell of a surprise when she sidesteps my jackhammer of a punch, grabs it neatly by the wrist and twists. By the time I’ve had chance to yelp in pain (note to self, stop using my busted arm to punch!) she's spun me around and slammed me chest-first against the door, my arm held in an uncomfortably tight lock behind my back. I try to move my other arm, but I feel a knee pressing hard against its wrist. Shit, she’s fast. And pretty strong. I try and pull down on the arm she has a hold of, break free from her grasp, but she forces it higher up my back, making me quietly cry out in discomfort some more. I can't help but feel a tingling in my body. In spite of anything else, she's something. However, that's not my main concern. How the fuck does she fight so good? My breath hitches a little in my throat, but I swallow it down. Why can’t my mind and body just agree with me for once, and not try and get turned on?
"Do me a favour, Chloe." She says, mouth close enough to my ear that I can feel her breath against the hairs on my neck. "Don't ever try and hit me again. And clean up your fucking act, unless you want to go back to working a desk job in this fucking precinct." I hear a rattle of metal touching metal followed by a click. Something cold and metallic wraps around the wrist Max isn't holding. Another click, and the cold sensation tightens around my wrist. That better not be what I think it is. Probably wasn't. She wouldn’t dare.
I feel Max's knee press in against me as she pushes away, releasing her hold. I swing round, trying to lash out at her again. She's already neatly stepped out of range, a mix of anger and amusement on her face. I lunge at her. I barely stay on my feet as I jerk to a halt, waving a leg out in front of me to stay on my feet, hearing more rattling from my right wrist, which is refusing to follow the rest of my body. I look back at the door of my truck and sure enough, Max has cuffed me to the door handle. I hear her cackling as I look back at her, red in the face. Okay, perhaps she would dare.
"What the fuck is this?" I growl, baring my teeth slightly asd I jangle the cuffed arm at her. She grins, insufferably. "UN-FUCKING-CUFF ME. NOW." I roar at her. Max gives me yet another disgusted look, before giggling. I swear to fuck, when I get this off my wrist… they’re gonna have a hard time identifying that her cadaver is human , let alone her.
"Maybe this'll help you cool off and think about how you behave. I'm walking back to Precinct, I need the exercise. See you later. Try not to be such an asshole in future, please." She says with a smile, turning to walk out of the lot. I yank at my arm again, but neither the chain nor the rusty door handle give at all. I can feel a hotness spreading through my stomach as I get a little more desperate, pulling again as I press a boot against the door. Still nothing. Max is at the edge of the lot by now, and I scowl at her again.
"You'd better get your skinny ass back here and let me go, Max, or else-"
"Or else what?" Max shouts back, cutting my angry shouting off. "I'm not the one cuffed to a scrapyard on wheels, and who has awful people skills. See ya."
With that, she's vanished around the corner. I yank at my arm a couple more times. It still doesn’t seem to have any give. I place my foot on the door again, pulling as hard as I can once more. My wrist starts to sting with the metal biting against it, and for all my groans and grunts I’m still no closer to being unshackled than before. “Fuck!”
In a typical fit of rage, I lash out with my free hand, punching at the door. Big mistake. “Ah! Fuck, ow, ow!” I whimper, as I try and shake the burning pain from my knuckles. Turns out, steel really is painful to hit! I throw my body away from the door again, a final effort to get free.
Yeah, this… this isn’t working. Isn't this a fine fucking mess, Chloe? Seeing no better alternative, I turn around and sit down, leaning against my truck with my arm across me. I can’t really think of anything better to do, so I might as well have a smoke while I wait for someone to come and let me loose, hopefully. A root around my pockets quickly finds one, along with a working lighter. I suppose things could be worse. At least it isn’t raining.
It takes me a couple of hours to walk back to the Precinct, most of the way under a light drizzle of rain. I debate going back and uncuffing Chloe a couple of times but I think better of it. If anything, she might actually kill me simply for leaving her handcuffed. I mean, she’s a cop too; surely she carries her cuffs and keys somewhere on her.
It’s starting to get toward sunset, the orange-yellow hue out toward the waterfront bathing everything in a lukewarm glow as the sun floats, grazing the horizon. Hell, if I had a camera on me I bet it’d make for an awesome photo. I shift my shoulders a little, shaking the wet clothes into a more comfortable position on my shoulders, and head inside. It’s a stark contrast to earlier, the majority of the chaos having died down while we were out of the area. Most of the cops seem to have gone home, too. I head upstairs, finding largely the same situation up there.
“Hey, you’re the new cop, right? The one assigned with Chloe?” I hear someone ask, off to my side. I turn to face them, nodding. This guy looks a little older than me, maybe closer to Chloe’s age. He bears a few scars too, similar to Chloe. Fuck, I hope she doesn’t have a brother or something. He gets up from the desk he’s working at- shit, that’s a lot of files he has to hand- and approaches me.
“Uh, yeah. You’re her brother, I’m guessing?” I ask as he gets a little closer. He snorts, laughing. He seems pretty friendly.
“Hell no! I’m Nathan. I’ve known Chloe since we went through the Academy.” He chuckles some more.
“Oh.” I utter, smiling bashfully. Why the hell did I figure he was her brother, they don’t look anything alike! “Oops. So, uh, you know her?”
Nathan nods, smiling. “Yeah. I think I know what you’re gonna ask next, was she always like she is now.” I blush a little. Damn, this guy’s good! “Well, no doubt Wells has said she wasn’t. She kinda was, but she got way worse after-” He stops, glancing around. “Sorry, I shouldn’t really discuss that. It’s… delicate, and it’s probably best if Chloe tells you about it in her own time.” He explains, shrugging.
“I already know her old partner got killed on duty. What more is there to it?” I ask, giving him a curious look. His features furrow, a dark expression on his face for a moment.
“A lot.” He simply answers. "Where is she, anyway? I know you two went out on patrol together. She didn't dump your ass and go off alone, did she?" He asks.
I start to laugh, nervously. "Uh… no. We had an argument. She tried to punch me, I countered her and cuffed her to that rolling violation she calls a truck." I explain. I can't lie, I expect him to seriously blow a fuse. Not cool on my part.
I get a surprise when he can't contain his laughter, cackling as I did at Chloe when she realised she was cuffed. "Wow, that's a new one for her."
I shrug. "Well, she went to meet up with some sketchy dealer friend or whatnot, and pulled a frickin' gun on him."
Nathan whistles. "That's a new one for her too, pulling a gun on Frank of all people. Bet that went well."
I nod. "About as well as you expect. We argued after he left, I called her out on it- where I'm from, that kinda shit is dirty as hell- and then she got pissy."
Nathan nods in acknowledgement, brow furrowing. "Yeah. She doesn't take kindly to being called things like that." He glances at Wells' door, a strange look on his face. "Now, normally I'd tell you not to bother reporting it to Wells, but I've heard about you and how you work. It's pretty pointless me trying to stop you, but don't expect much to come from it." He states, returning to his desk to pick up and order his effects before switching off the lamp, dropping the room into a dingy low-lit state, the weak lights above barely illuminating the floor. "I'm guessing she met Frank where she usually does, so I'll go take a look and see if she's still there. See you around." With that, he heads downstairs, leaving me virtually alone on this floor. I head toward Wells' office, a yellowish glow still permeating the frosted glass.
"So, Detective Caulfield, what brings you in here?" Wells asks me, slouched behind the desk. I swallow down slightly and take a breath as I get my thoughts straight.
"Well, Sir, I want to report Detective Price for unprofessional behaviour." I answer, standing up straight in front of the desk. "She went outside Precinct jurisdiction, met up with a drug dealer to get information from them, and threatened them with a live weapon." I tell him. I don't like reporting other cops, but it has to be done. Especially with such a loose cannon as her. He seems completely unfazed.
"I did warn you that she interprets the rules in a more creative manner than most." He says in return, smiling. What the fuck?
"But- sir, she threatened to shoot someone! Without warning, or provocation! You cannot possibly be telling me that kind of behaviour is acceptable!" I snap back.
"Detective Caulfield, I've already told you once over. That's simply how Detective Price operates. I'll speak to her when I see her next, and try to… encourage her to behave in a more agreeable manner. However, I can't see any cause for further action at this time."
"But-"
"Anything else, Detective?" Wells asks, completely ignoring and talking over my reply. He doesn't give a shit.
I sigh, resigned. "No, sir." I mutter as I turn for the door.
"I'm glad we have an officer like you on the force, Detective Caulfield." Wells declares as I close the door behind me. I don't know whether he means it sarcastically or not, but I don't really care anymore.
Well, shit. Maybe I would've been better off just resigning from Fourth. Then, none of this would be happening. A slight dread sets into my stomach as I think about a couple of things: namely, Chloe, when she eventually finds me again; and how she's gonna act after Wells 'speaks to her'. Ah, hell. I head down the stairs and out through the atrium again, taking a deep breath to calm myself once I get out into the cool evening air.