Page 2 of Shadows of Justice

He picks up the receiver from his belt and checks the battery life and then the serial number. Whatever he sees makes him groan and roll his eyes.

“Fuck me, this is not my day.”

“What?” I ask, turning left onto Douglas-Johnson Boulevard.

“I grabbed the piece of shit radio,” he says, jiggling the wires. “This thing is always in supply getting refurbished and never actually gets fixed.”

He tries one more time to get his response through to Rosie, but gets nowhere. We hear Davis, another officer patrolling in our sector, respond to dispatch and pick up the 10-51 clear as day. I snicker at him as he throws up his hands.

“Well, I tried. Let Davis deal with the drunk college kid on Fourth of July weekend.”

“Too bad,” I say, “would have been satisfying to take down an asshole in jean shorts.”

“Don’t judge, he could have been the future father of your babies, Schaeffer.” I shoot him a look and then startle when he smacks my shoulder and points out the windshield. “Turn here!”

“Why?” I ask, but do as he asked. “The station’s south, we should get you another radio.”

“After. I can’t eat the shit Estefania packed for me,” he says. “Taco Shack is on Washington. I need something with seasoning. That woman makes me beautiful children, but she can’t cook for shit when she’s knocked up. She won’t salt anything.”

I laugh at him. “I’m going to tell her you said that.”

We hit a red light and watch groups of partiers and families cross the crosswalk, getting ready for a Friday night out. Banners with the American flag hang over the street, in between string lights and signs advertising the block party taking place tomorrow night for the holiday. It’s going to be a long weekend of dealing with assholes that don’t know how to drink water or pace their shots.

I’ve been an officer at the Pasadena Police Department since I graduated from the academy eight years ago. I never had a different dream but law enforcement, and I love my job. It has its drawbacks, like being in a completely testosterone-fueled, male-dominated field as a short blonde with bright green eyes and a generous C-cup, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I’ve worked my ass off and given myself a competitive edge, and I’m so close to my detective shield that I can taste it. After that, the FBI Violent Crimes Against Children unit is calling my name. I’ve got it all planned out, and it’s all going according to plan.

Well, it will be, as soon as I finally get promoted from patrol.

As if he was reading my thoughts, Carlos comments on my upcoming performance review as I pull through the green light.

“You think you’re finally gonna get your shield next month?”

I nod. “Of course I am. There’s no reason not to. I’ve been passed over two times, and I’m the senior officer up for it now. I’ve been here almost twice as long as the fucking chief before he made detective.”

I roll my shoulder in annoyance at the thought—a nervous tick. Losing out once when I was eligible for promotion, with the best stats in the precinct was one thing. But, twice? That was just embarrassing. If it happens a third time, I don’t know if I’ll be able to ever show my face again.

It probably doesn’t help that I’ve been described as one that “has a mouth on her.” Sure, I tend to voice my thoughts to my superiors without sugar coating shit to make it taste better. Sue me. If I were a man, I’d be assertive. But I’m a woman, so I’m just a bitch.

Oh well. This bitch is going to get promoted.

“Well, you deserve it Schaeffer,” Carlos says. “You’ve got my vote. Even if I’m gonna be stuck with some dumbass newbie as my partner once you make detective.”

I smile at him in thanks as I pull into Taco Shack. It’s busy as hell, but cops in uniform always get quick service—perk of the job. I park and we get out as my cell phone rings in my pocket. I nod at it and wave him along.

“I’ll be right there,” I call after him. “Order me two fish tacos, extra slaw.”

He heads inside and I groan at the name on the phone screen.

Tim.

I grit my teeth and answer it. “Hello?”

“Are you avoiding my calls?” he asks. He sounds delightful.

“Of course not, just seeking out that space I requested,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. He sighs.

“Viv, you know real people don’t ask for space. That’s just in movies. You’d know if you really wanted this or not, without needing time to think. So, are you breaking up with me, or what?”

“I really can’t talk about this right now, Tim,” I sigh, wiping the sweat from my brow.

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