Page 22 of Love Bitters

His partner, Mitchell, sits to my left, successfully making me feel boxed in between them. It’s an intimidation method I’ve seen them use time and time again. After months of not seeing each other, they think I’ve grown soft or some shit.

“Heard you went in to see the chief today,” Garcia states.

I nod. “Yep. He called me in earlier.”

The sneer is evident in his voice as he assumes, “Guess that means you’re getting your job back. Good for you, buddy. We had a poll going at the station, and you just won me some money.”

Words are on the tip of my tongue, but my brain can’t decide whether it wants to congratulate him or tell him to back the fuck off. Figuring it’s best not to do either, I simply shrug in reply.

Of all the things anyone could ever do to the dude, ignoring him is probably one of the worst. Dumb fuck likes being the center of attention, and it just doesn’t sit well with him when he’s not.

“No reason to be a dick, Trevino,” he barks. “Even with you riding the desk, we’ll still see each other, so let’s take it easy on the hostility, yeah? We’re brothers in blue after all.”

Another jab or two toward the ego and he knows it. Not only am I definitely desk-ridden for the next six months, at least, but I’ll be on a probationary period where it won’t look good if I punch a superior officer in the face. Even if I’m off duty.

“If we’re looking out for each other,” I tell him, tossing a glance over my shoulder, “that blonde over there is on the prowl tonight.”

His chest puffs out like a peacock flaring its tail for mating as he swings his chin toward his shoulder. I can tell the moment his eyes find Britt in the corner with her friends. The ridiculous mustache on the top of his lip twitches. It makes me want to smack the hairy caterpillar-looking thing across the room.

“Been a real nice chat, Trevino,” he tells me, “but I think I’m going to take you up on that little piece of information.”

Without another word, he throws back the amber liquid in his glass and stalks off toward Britt and her friends, leaving me with Mitchell. None too soon if anyone asks me. With the likes of the two of them, they deserve each other.

“You know I only go along with his bullshit because he’s my partner, right?” Mitchell asks almost too quietly for me to hear in our current setting.

I shake my head gently as I retort, “Being someone’s partner doesn’t mean you get a free pass to be a dick.”

He shrugs. “Maybe for you because you’ve never had one like him.”

Music and the loud chatter of the bar are the only sounds between us for a few moments.

Breaking our silent conversation, he admits, “I didn’t agree with that shit that went down with Livingston.”

“Yeah, well, the courts sure did,” I remind him, thinking about my partner from back in the fall.

“I mean about you getting caught in the crossfire of it too,” he says. “After watching his chest cam, we all know that things could’ve gone differently, and he could be rotting in a grave instead of a cell right now. Plus, you didn’t even have anything to do with it. For Christ’s sake, you were sitting in the cruiser writing the citation. It wasn’t fair they put you on leave for something you didn’t even have a part in.”

Muscles in the left side of my face nearly twitch as I try not to sneer. “It all goes back to what I just told you. A partner is a partner. Two sides of one blade. One makes a bad decision or chooses to be an asshole, then that makes the other just as guilty.”

He swallows hard, obviously not liking my assessment but not feeling brave enough to call me out on it without his Ace here to back him up. Instead, he switches topics. “So, what have you been doing on leave? Where have you been working?”

I’d rather sleep on a bed of nails than sit here and shoot the shit with this dude, but I know the rumors are already floating around the station. Otherwise, neither of them would’ve bothered to stoop to my level of bar haunts. They’ve always hated this place.

“I’ve been doing maintenance work on this set of upscale apartments,” I confess, in no which way ashamed of it either. “The pay is good, and I don’t have shitheads breathing down my neck.”

“Bet you get to meet lots of pussy that way too, eh?” he says with a lifting of his eyebrows like chatting about bedding women will create some kind of common denominator between us.

“Nah, dude,” I reply. “I’m off the market. Besides, it’s not very sexy going in to plunge some chick’s backed up toilet then hitting ‘em up for their number.”

Letting out a loud ass laugh, he slaps me on the shoulder like old friends. “I really didn’t think about that shit.”

Then, like he just told the funniest joke in the world, another raucous round of laughter bursts from his chest. The sounds grates on the frayed loose ends of my nerves, and I’m closer to punching him than I was Garcia.

“Hey, man,” I start while standing and slapping a bill down on the counter. I make eye contact with the bartender, letting him know his money is there so it doesn’t get swiped. Turning back to Mitchell, I finish my sentence, “It’s been good catching up and all, but I’ve got to get out of here. See you around the station soon.”

Tilting the top of his beer my way, he grins. “It’ll be nice having you back, dude. I’ll stop by your desk sometime. Bring you some fresh coffee from the outside world.”

As my fake ass smile drops, his gets wider.

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