Damaged Goods (Don't Call Me Hero Book 2) (8 page)

“We’re supposed to present a united front,” Mendez mumbled to me as we stepped inside the duplex. “You shouldn’t contradict your partner.”

“She made a good point,” I defended. “We don’t know what’s happening up there. Maybe it does warrant a call to 911.”

Mendez grunted but kept any additional grumblings to himself.

I stared up at the second floor. I didn’t like the set-up. There were no windows or alternate exits. The doorway to the upper unit apartment was only wide enough for one person to stand in front of and there was no space on either side of the solid, windowless door. The overhanging ceiling was low, probably in violation of building codes, and I practically had to duck my head going up the stairs like it was the entrance to Willy Wonka’s candy factory.

Mendez didn’t seem to share my feelings of unease. He steadily climbed the stairs and immediately knocked on the door. I tensed behind him in the stairwell. There were no noises coming from the other side of the door. Mendez knocked again and we remained silent as we waited.

“Guess they don’t want to talk,” I said.

Mendez knocked again, this time harder. “Police,” he gruffly announced.

I heard the sound of a small child’s cry followed by an angry male voice: “Shut her up,” the man snarled.

Mendez knocked for a fourth time. “Police,” he barked with added authority and volume.

The floorboards creaked with someone’s footsteps, followed by the sound of multiple locks and chains unfastening. The door cracked open, and with it, a blast of sour-smelling air hit me in the face.

The man who answered the door was barefoot and wore baggy jeans and a stained tank top. His haircut was high and tight, military style.

“Can I help you?”

Even though Mendez stood between us, I could smell the alcohol on the man’s breath.

“We received a noise complaint,” Mendez said. “Neighbors reported they heard yelling coming from inside your apartment.”

“Oh, sorry about that, Officer. The baby’s been crying a lot. I think she’s got a fever,” the man explained, looking helpless. “We’ll try to keep it down.”

The downstairs neighbors hadn’t said anything about a baby. “Do you mind if we take a look around, sir?” I spoke up.

The man’s eyes narrowed as he looked beyond Mendez’s shoulder to me. It was clear he hadn’t noticed my presence before. He scratched at a bug bite on his neck. “Uh, sure.” He took a step backwards and Mendez and I pushed inside.

The house smelled like cat piss and Hamburger Helper. It was going to get stuck in my hair, the fabric of my uniform, and probably the inside of our cruiser. I could tell Mendez wanted to get the hell out of there. My nose agreed, but we had a job to do.

The entranceway was small and cramped. It opened into a living room that contained a well-worn fabric couch and a recliner. The volume on the TV had been turned down low and a daytime game show played on the flickering screen. A paper plate with residual crumbs from a recently eaten meal sat on a side table that served as both lamp and table.

“Sorry ‘bout the heat.” The man wiped at his forehead. “The only air conditioner’s in the bedroom and it’s been acting up lately.”

I pulled at the neck of my uniform shirt and shifted my bulletproof vest. We’d only been standing in the apartment for a minute, yet I could feel the sweat start to collect in the small of my back.

A woman came out of a back room, holding onto a sniffling infant. The baby was naked except for its plastic diaper. He had pale skin and a wisp of blond hair covering his head. The woman bounced the baby in her arms to keep him distracted. It was then when I noticed her clothing. It was hot as Hades that day and especially stuffy in the apartment, yet she was wearing a long-sleeve t-shirt and equally weather-inappropriate sweatpants.

“So your neighbors heard the baby crying? You weren’t arguing about something?” I probed.

“No, Officer,” the man said.

Everybody lied to the police. There was something about the sight of the badge and baby blue uniform that brought out the worst in people, but I’d gotten used to it. I tried not to take it personally.

“Your neighbors reported they’ve repeatedly asked you to keep it down,” Mendez noted.

“The people downstairs must have their ears pressed to the ceiling or something,” the man said. “I don’t think we’re being that loud. I watch my TV at a reasonable level and the baby cries sometimes, but he’s a baby. That’s what they do.”

I gestured to Mendez to talk to him in private. He looked annoyed that I’d interrupted his questioning, but he turned his back on the couple and came closer to me.

“You see the long sleeves on her?” I said in a hushed voice. “It’s too fucking hot for those kinds of clothes.”

“What’s your point? You wanna give her fashion advice?”

“What if those sleeves are covering bruises?” I proposed. “Something’s not right here.”

“We’re here because the neighbors want these folks to quiet down. Don’t make this into something it’s not.”

Mendez turned back to address the couple. “Keep it down in the future. If we have to come back,” he warned, “someone’s getting arrested.”

“Yes, sir, Officer sir,” the man obliged with a lazy smile.

Mendez, without waiting for me, left the apartment. I could hear the sound of his heavy boots as he tromped down the stairs to the fresher air outside. I looked between the man in the dirty tank top and the woman in her long-sleeve shirt. Both their faces were emotionless. I silently pled with the woman to give me a reason to stay and ask more questions, but there was nothing else I could do.

I descended the staircase with misgivings churning in my belly. Even though I’d left the apartment, the strong stench of ammonia lingered in my nose. It made me wish I had a mustache that I could shave off.

I paused when I reached the ground level apartment. The couple who’d called in the complaint might have gone back to bed, but I wanted to follow up with them about the complaint. The woman answered when I knocked on the door.

“So?” Her face was eager for answers.

“They’ve been warned to keep it down.”

My response clearly wasn’t adequate. “That’s it?”

I shrugged, looking as helpless as I felt. “We’ll make a report about the incident. At least now there’s a paper trail started. You can call again if there’s another problem.”

The woman looked crestfallen, as if she’d expected an arrest. “Okay, Officer.”

I could understand her disappointment. I was feeling equally unsettled. It was a feeling I’d have to get used to. Rarely were complaints of this nature resolved after one visit, with all the loose ends wrapped up in a tidy bow.

Mendez was back at the car when I made my way outside again. He confronted me when I returned to the vehicle. “Listen, I know you’re probably chomping at the bit to make your first arrest, but you’ve got to cool it with the super cop routine.”

“This has nothing to do with making an arrest,” I testified. “That didn’t look like a healthy relationship to me, and you can’t even pretend that kid should be up there in that filth.”

“You know we can’t make an arrest without a warrant unless there’s evidence a victim has been abused in the past twelve hours,” Mendez countered.

“You could have let me talk to her,” I protested.

“And done what? Braid each other’s hair and share your deepest, darkest secrets? You’re supposed to be a badge, Miller,” he said sternly. “Keep your personal feelings and emotions out of it.”

Mendez opened the driver side door, indicating that the conversation and any debate were over.

Back at the station I peeled off my uniform and didn’t bother folding it before dumping it into my duffle bag. I’d have to get it dry-cleaned along with my bulletproof vest to completely get the stench out of the fabric. I felt moderately better after a hot shower at the precinct, but it would take a few more deep scrubbings to get the scent entirely off of my skin. As long as the stink clung to my skin, the memory of the day would remain fresh as well. It made me actually thankful that Julia was busy preparing for her mother’s custody trial so I wouldn’t have to explain to her why I smelled like ammonia.

Before I could head home, I had to stop in the men’s locker room to drop off my shotgun in the weapon’s cage. Each uniformed officer had a key to the room-sized storage container where shotguns, handguns, bulletproof vests, bullets, and other weaponry were held.

I didn’t bother knocking on the locker room door before entering; no one should have been getting ready as it was well after my shift had come to an end and second shift was already on the road. A noise that sounded like a heavy sigh, however, alerted me that I wasn’t alone. When I turned a corner, I saw a uniformed officer sitting on a long bench. I recognized him as the new cop from the previous day who hadn’t been able to find a seat during roll call.

I ignored him at first as I went to the storage area to put my shotgun away. But the longer he sat there with his head in his hands, the more I felt obligated to say something to him.

I shut the door to the storage area with a loud, metallic clang and still he didn’t move. I lingered longer, but he continued to ignore me while he cradled his head in his hands.

“Hey,” I stated gruffly. “You okay?”

He grunted noncommittally.

I looked up at the halogen lights in the ceiling and grit my back teeth. “Jesus,” I muttered to myself. I sat beside him on the bench and stretched my legs out in front of me. “What gives?”

He didn’t immediately answer me, and I considered leaving him to deal on his own. Finally, he raised his head from his hands and looked at me. “Why do they call me Boot?”

“I have no idea,” I admitted. “It’s just what you call the new guy. And that’s you for now. It’s only temporary though. Soon enough someone else will come along, and they’ll be the new Boot.”

I didn’t think mentioning how Rich continued to call me Rookie would be helpful in this situation.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he lamented.

“Sure you can. We all have rough patches and days we wish we could forget.”

“It’s nothing like the academy.”

“It never is, Rookie.”

My phone rang on my walk from the precinct to where I’d parked my motorcycle outside. I wanted it to be Julia, but it was my old military buddy, Terrence Pensacola, instead. We hadn’t spoken since the Fourth of July. The combination of the holiday fireworks and his call had sparked one of my worst nightmares to date. After the day I’d had, I should have let the call go to voicemail, but I’d always been a glutton for punishment.

“Hey, buddy, what’s up?” I tried to keep the anxiety from creeping into my tone.

“I’m gonna be in your old stomping grounds next week.”

“St. Cloud? What for?”

“No, the Twin Cities. I’m participating in a clinical trial for a new prosthetic leg. Claire suggested I call you to get some restaurant recommendations. This pregnancy’s been giving her weird cravings for pizza and maple syrup. What you got for me?”  

It occurred to me that Pense didn’t know I’d left Embarrass. When last we’d spoken, I’d still been up north.

“I, uh, I’m actually back in Minneapolis,” I hesitatingly revealed.

“I thought you were doing the cop thing someplace near Canada.”

“I know.” I forced out a laugh. “It’s hard to keep up with me these days. How’s Claire doing?”

“Getting bigger and more hormonal with each day.”

“Geez, I hope she’s not in the room, Pense,” I censured.

The sound of his laugh transported me back to a desert in the middle of the Helmand Province. “Give me a little more credit than that,” he breezed. “What about you? Things good?”

“As good as can be expected,” I said, purposely vague. “I’m getting back into the swing of things with the Minneapolis police. Today was actually my second day back.”

“What happened with that job up north?”

“It’s a long story,” I dodged again, “for a different place and time.”

“Hey, this is probably a crazy idea, and don’t feel obligated or anything, but do you want to meet up when we’re in town?” he asked. “You’re probably busy and stuff, but my pregnant wife would skin me if I didn’t at least ask.”

When I closed my eyes I could smell the sulfur of gunpowder. I could feel the heat of an unrelenting sun beating down on my pink, crackled skin. I could see nothing on the horizon but miles and miles of sandy, scorched earth. I was still stuck in that desert. Only the vibrant crimson of a red painted mouth had been able to break through the monochromatic lens—a red painted mouth with a small, horizontal scar on her upper lip.

Pensacola interpreted my prolonged silence as refusal. “It’s okay, I know you’ve got your own thing going on.”

I opened my eyes and the color came back. “I’m never too busy for you, Pense.”

“Stop it, Miller,” he joked. “I’m a married man.”