SquidgeWorld Archive

Tracy walked back to her desk, carrying a stack of folders. Nick followed, lugging a large, cardboard box. Since everyone's caseload was so light, Captain Reese thought this would be a perfect time to catch up on paperwork. Although he hadn't been head of the 96th for very long, he wasn't going to let unfinished reports pile up the way his predecessor had.

Nick couldn't help feeling like a creep, every time he looked at Tracy. He had half a mind to tell her what he'd been doing all afternoon, but he wasn't sure how to bring it up. He imagined himself saying, "Hey, Trace. Hand me that folder. By the way, I've been screwing your boyfriend."

Detective Jay Harker looked up from his own pile of papers and pointed an unlit cigar at the box in Nick's arms. "It's all a ruse, y'know." Harker was a barrel chested man, with frizzled, reddish hair and a thick shaggy moustache. He was wearing a rumpled tweed sport coat and a loud floral tie. "Yep. The Captain has been getting a lot of flack from environmental groups about that car of yours, Knight, an' he figures this is as good a way as any to keep that thing off the road for a few hours."

Nick countered the good-natured jibe with one of his own. Giving Harker's tie the once-over, he said, "That's some outfit, Harker. But, you're a little early for Hallowe'en." He set the box on his desk and gave Harker a quizzical look. "What are you supposed to be, anyway?"

"Ha. Ha." Harker said, mildly, "Fuck you, Knight."

Nick glanced at his watch, "Sorry, I don't have time right now. Maybe later?"

Harker's cigar nearly fell out of his mouth and Tracy bent her head to hide a smile. "Relax, Nick's just kidding."

"Yeah, Harker. I really do have time."

Nick and Tracy burst into giggles so loud, Captain Reese came out of his office to see what was going on. Shaking his head, he banged the door shut. Still laughing, Tracy went to get some coffee.

Nick was actually glad he'd be spending the next few hours pushing paper; at least he wouldn't run into Natalie. He was still shaken; he'd come so close to killing her, and the last thing he wanted to do was to see the fear and disgust he was certain to find in her eyes. He fed a sheet of paper into the typewriter; he didn't feel proficient enough with the computer to use it for his reports. Harker leaned against the edge of the desk, glanced around furtively and in a low, conspiratorial voice, asked Nick if he was serious.

Nick slowly raised his eyes and said huskily, "I told you, I don't have time right now." Then he laughed, "Harker, you're such a dope. Besides, you're not my type."

"You like women, right?" Harker sounded worried.

"Yeah, I love 'em to death." Nick pecked at the typewriter.

Harker grinned, relieved, "A real lady-killer, aren't you?"

"You have no idea."

"Well, that's good." Harker started to get off the desk, but Nick pinned him with a look.

"I'm glad to see homophobia is still thriving in our fair city."

"Now, look, I didn't mean-"

"Harker, just because some people are different than you are, doesn't mean they're bad, or that you need to be afraid of them. It shouldn't matter what someone is, it's what one-" he stopped, distracted by some other thought.

Harker pushed himself off the desk. "You're right, pal, it shouldn't matter, but it does."

Nick sighed and went back to his typing. A few minutes later, Harker called, "Hey, Knight. You got any report covers?"

"Look in the supply cabinet."

"Awww, c'mon, I only want a couple."

"Oh, all right. They're in the bottom left-hand drawer." Nick scooted his chair out of the way and a loose page fluttered out of his notebook. Just as he bent down to retrieve it, Harker opened the drawer, right into his face. Nick loosed a barrage of elaborate swearing.

"Hey, whadaya know, Knight can speak French." Harker said dryly.

Tracy peeked over to see what all the commotion was and gasped when she saw the blood running down Nick's chin. "Are you all right? Do you want me to get you some ice?" she asked. Nick winced as he touched his mouth, his fingers came away covered with blood.

"Jeezus, Nick." Harker said, offering an apology, "You okay?"

Nick wasn't listening to either of them. He had to get out of this room filled with mortals. The smell of his own blood was making him dizzy. Unintentionally, he licked the cut on his lip. Tracy stared at him, wide-eyed, her mouth working soundlessly and Nick realized his mistake.

"The cut ... you'd cut your lip ..." she stammered.

"No, I bit my tongue, see?" he spoke casually, although his stomach was churning.

"No, I saw-"

"Tracy," he interrupted, "I need to wash up." He had to get away from her, the florescent lights seemed to flicker in time with her heartbeat.

She frowned after him, perhaps she had assumed the blood on his mouth was from a split lip, but she was an astute observer and usually didn't make mistakes like that.

* * * * * * * *

The Captain wasn't about to lose his paper brigade, and he was sure if he let any of the detectives break for dinner, he might not see them again. Plainclothes officers were notorious for their unfinished paperwork. He decided, therefore, everyone would order in.

Soon, pizza, burgers and other semi-edible fare was brought into the station. Harker walked over to Nick and Tracy, carrying a couple of greasy paper bags. "Here you go, kids! Souvlaki. Good for what ails you." He moved the phone on Tracy's desk over so he could sit down on the edge. He handed one bag to her, then offered the other to Nick. "I heard you really like this stuff."

"Not me." Nick said adamantly. "That was my partner, Schanke. Hardly one of his more endearing characteristics."

The late Don Schanke had concealed his gentle spirit beneath a loud and obnoxious facade; he had been a good cop and a great friend. He was killed in the same airline bombing that claimed the life of their Captain, Amanda Cohen, and Nick would always mourn for them, especially Schanke.

Harker broke into Nick's musings, tossing the souvlaki onto his desk. "The guy was about to close up shop, so he threw in some extra. You hungry?"

"No!" Nick turned his head away and shut his eyes. "Thanks, I've had mine."

To Nick, the smell of the roasted meat was merely nauseating, but the stench of the garlic was excruciating. The fumes seared his throat and stung his eyes. He'd felt the awful burning as soon as Harker came over with the food.

Harker shrugged, "Okay, then. More for me."

He tore the bag open and picked up a skewer of meat. Nick stood abruptly and backed away.

"Hey, do you mind?" he coughed, trying not to gag.

"What." Harker said, with his mouth full. "Are you some kind of vegetarian, or something?"

"Hardly."

"Then what's your prob-" Harker's beady eyes widened. "Hey, Knight, your nose is bleeding."

Nick glared at him and grabbed a tissue from Tracy's desk. She and Harker exchanged puzzled glances as Nick stormed out of the room.

Harker waited a few moments then followed him into the men's washroom. Nick was leaning over the sink, splashing his face with cold water. He looked up as Harker came in.

"You okay, Nick?" the other detective asked, quietly.

"Yeah, I'm okay." Nick wiped his face with a paper towel.

"Look, I'm sorry."

"Forget it."

"No, I mean it. And about what I said earlier-"

"Don't worry about it." Nick started to leave the room, but Harker stopped him, with a hand on his arm.

"Listen, let's you and me go get a drink after work, okay?"

Nick was about to refuse, then realized Harker was trying to make amends. "Okay," he smiled, "just a quick one."

* * * * * * * *

After their shift was over, they met at a nearby restaurant, one frequented by the men and women of the 96th. Harker ordered bacon and eggs, and a double scotch on the rocks. Nick asked for a glass of red wine. Harker stopped the waitress, "Aren't you going to get anything to eat? Remember, I'm buying."

"No, I'll have something when I get home." said Nick. "Just the wine, thanks."

They talked shop until their drinks arrived. After sampling his scotch, Harker asked, "So, Nick. You're not married, are you?"

Nick surprised himself by answering, "I was, a long time ago." then fell silent and looked away.

"A long time ago? What was she, your high school sweetheart? Well, what happened, you get divorced?"

Nick sat quietly, staring down at the table. It dawned on Harker, the question must have upset him, and he was sorry he had opened his big mouth. "There was no divorce." Nick said, pulling away from his dark meditation. "She died, very young."

Because I killed her, he thought. Gentle, golden Alyssa; he had loved her so much. He had restrained his hunger, won her heart and wed her. The night she became his wife, he had tried to share his gift with her and keep her with him forever. He had failed to bring her across, and she went from their bridal bed to her grave, leaving an empty place in his heart.
"She was my sunlight," he whispered.

Harker swore softly, "I'm sorry, Nick. That's terrible."

Nick acknowledged the sympathy and tried to shake off his despondency. "How about you, Jay? You're married, aren't you?"

"Yeah, got a wife and two kids." He brought out his wallet and showed Nick a family photo; Harker with a pretty, dark-haired women and two little girls. "That's my wife and our girls. This one's Lucy, she's seven. Mina will be five in September."

Nick held the photo for a moment. "You have such beautiful children."

"Yeah, fortunately, they take after their mom." Harker grinned. "So, you got a special lady these days?"

Nick smiled, thinking Janette was very special, indeed. "We've been seeing each other on and off for awhile." He tasted his wine, glad he could actually enjoy it, without blood. He would have to be careful, however, not to drink too much. "She's been away, um ... traveling. I haven't seen her for almost a year."

"Got a picture of her?"

Nick shook his head, "Not with me. I have a portrait of her, at home." He kept the portrait in a cabinet, a DaVinci painting Janette had commissioned. Only she, LaCroix and Nick knew of it's existence.

He realized he had been talking immoderately and quickly changed the subject. He wondered why he'd let his guard down, he barely knew this man. They talked sports for awhile, until Nick confessed he wasn't much of a hockey fan.

"How 'bout football?"

Nick shrugged.

"Awww, don't tell me." Harker groaned, "Baseball, right?"

"Yeah, well, somebody's got to root for the Cubs."

Harker rolled his eyes, "Where the hell are you from, anyway?"

"I'm ... from Chicago." It wasn't a lie, exactly.

"Well, that explains it." the other detective grinned, "Were you a cop there?"

"Yeah, I transferred here."

"From homicide?"

"No, patrol." Nick leaned back in his chair, "But it got to be too much, you know?"

Harker stared at him, shaking his head. "Let me see if I've got this straight. Driving a patrol car was too stressful for you, so you came here, to work homicide."

"It seemed like a good idea, at the time."

They both laughed and Harker told Nick he must be a few bricks shy of a load.

Nick was about to deliver a stinging come-back when he tensed, feeling the approach of dawn. "I just remembered something. I've got to go." He took out his billfold. Harker put out a hand to stop him.

"Your money's no good here, Knight. This is on me."

"Thanks." Nick smiled, taking out a bill and dropping it on the table. "Just give this to the waitress." He gave Harker a friendly thump on the shoulder. "See you later."

"Not if I see you first." Harker called after him.

to be continued ...