Page 85 of Bloom: Part 2

LOGAN

The two cops introduced themselves as Officers Keyes and Murphy. I’d never seen them before. They were two of several new police officers transferred to Smoky Vale to clean up the force and the streets.

“We’re going to have to take your car in for evidence,” Murphy said. He was a tall guy, late thirties and already sporting a head of curly gray hair. There was nothing old about him, though. His sharp blue eyes gave the impression he missed nothing. His partner looked just as shrewd. A man wearing his shoulder length hair loose and a police uniform shouldn’t go together. With his glasses on, he looked like somebody crossed the wires with a nerd and a sports buff.

“I understand.” My insurance was going to have a field day with this. No doubt they would drop me as a client, and I didn’t blame them. Good for them, with me being a high risk and all. If only Bloom would do what was best for him too.

“We’ll have to take you down to the station with us so we can take your statement and go over your story,” Murphy said. “Thanks for not resisting and not making things difficult for us.Just a week in Smoky Vale and I’ve already chased one too many perps.”

“Why would I run? I have nothing to hide.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

The trip to the police station was filled with crackling from the police radio in the car. The mood was broken only when Officer Murphy’s phone rang. He answered hands-free. I didn’t bother to point out that what he was doing broke the law.

“Tyler, you’re on speaker—”

“West, I can’t do this!” a male voice screeched over the phone. “I know I said I could, but I can’t. This town is a shit hole. I never signed up for this when we got married.”

“Babe, I’m on duty. I’ll call you when—”

“But you never do! Your stupid job’s more important than me. Well, guess what? You’ll have to choose. Either we leave this town together, or I’m leaving you.”

“You know I’m on a contract with Keyes—”

“Fuck you. I’m not gonna wait until you’re scraping my dead body from a sidewalk somewhere to pay me attention. Why don’t you just go fuck your buddy Keyes and call it a day? If he weren’t straight, you would have picked him anyway.”

“Tyler, don’t—”

But his “don’t” didn’t sound convincing, even to my ears. The caller hung up, and the cop sighed.

“You married, Doc?” he asked me.

“No.”

“You’re a sensible man.”

“Getting married soon.”

“You have my sympathies.”

The cop was a strange one. Was he even a cop? The last person who was supposed to protect me had betrayed me to my family. But the phone call…it seemed genuine.

When we arrived at the police station, a bit of the tension eased. Smoky Vale PD was a joke in this town. It didn’t get enough funding, was always understaffed, and the cops usually had side gigs—working for criminals.

Entering the police station was like stepping into a place caught halfway between a fresh start and its long-standing reputation as a disaster zone. The walls, freshly painted in an off-white that almost looked yellow under the buzzing fluorescent lights, still bore scuffs near the baseboards. The front desk boasted a new glass partition, but the edges of the counter beneath it were chipped and marred from years of use.

Stacks of papers and folders cluttered desks in an organized chaos. Laughter and muttered conversations mingled with the clacking of keyboards and ringing of phones.

Murphy gestured for me to sit on one of the stiff metal chairs in the waiting area near the front. The seat was hard against my ass, but I settled in without complaint.

The clock on the wall ticked relentlessly. I tried not to fidget, but the urge to check my phone or tap my foot gnawed at me. A couple of cops passed, giving me curious glances, but no one stopped to talk. A young officer—he barely looked out of high school—muttered an apology as he bumped into a filing cabinet, sending a stack of folders tumbling to the floor. Another officer—a woman with blond hair tied back into a tight bun that pulled at her facial muscles—swooped in to help him.

I watched it all, trying to piece together whether this disorganized hustle was a symptom of the department’s infamous history or the growing pains of real change. A change would be good for Smoky Vale. Though notorious for its gangs, the town held a certain charm.

Eventually, Murphy reappeared, followed by Keyes. They led me through a labyrinth of hallways until we reached an interrogation room. It was a stark, utilitarian space—a metaltable with matching chairs, a recording device on the table, and a mirror I didn’t doubt was one-way glass.

“Sit,” Murphy said, his tone neutral but firm. It was hard to take him seriously after overhearing his personal phone call and having him extend empathy about my upcoming nuptials.

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