Writing this time was like pulling teeth. I started off in a situation I didn’t have much interest in writing out in detail, and I guess that affected the rest of the session. Oh well, lesson learned. Holly Lisle’s advice for keeping things interesting for your readers is to stick to writing the things that interest you, and I’d say that’s about right.
Then, once I’d gotten past that, I found myself in another odd position. For some reason I had Gunn making a deal with Nick rather than yelling at him and trying to get him put away. I guess my subconscious figured I needed a better excuse for keeping Nick out of prison, and Gunn off his back, than “because”. It makes sense, and it’ll be interesting to see where this new development takes me, but it was completely out of left field.
Oh, and I apologize for the Chips joke. I came up with it years ago for a different story, and I suppose I included it here so I could finally get rid of it.
For Idle Hands (working title) - Part 13
The officers who arrested me were nice guys, they hardly bruised my ribs at all as they threw me over the roof of Derrick’s band new, wrecked car. And my shoulder, the one with the hole in it, barely protested at all when on of them latched onto my shoulder in order to throw me into the back of the SUV. I guess he didn’t believe me when I said I’d been shot, they probably just figured I was strung out on something to be driving like that, and I was making that part up.
Or maybe they were just pricks after all, who knows?
Half of the patrol vehicles on Idle are small SUVs, Ford Escapes to be exact. When it came time to replace some of their aging sedans, someone came up with the bright idea of replacing them with SUVs. Actually, it wasn’t that bad an idea, though I’d never admit it, especially not while handcuffed in the back of one of them. The Escapes had better handling in the snow, and could potentially be taken off road with greater success. Say, to chase down a bunch of assholes on four wheelers, to pick a random example. Of course, the milage in these things stinks compared to most new cars, and they certainly weren’t as maneuverable or inconspicuous, but the people of Idle had been swayed by the pro-SUV camp, and so it had came to pass, as they say.
The two cops’ names, I came to find out, were both Chip. Officer Chip Adar and Officer Chip Chetan, a jew and an indian. Amazing. I’d just been arrested by Chips for a traffic violation. The fact that they were an interracial buddy pair was just a sign of the changing times, and I told them so, but they didn’t think it was funny.
Apparently the Chips had actually heard me when I screamed at them about having a shotgun pellet in my shoulder, because there was an EMT waiting at the station when we arrived. Now that the adrenaline of being shot at had worn off, my shoulder had stiffened up against the pain. I managed to get my coat off - so long as the blood came out I could sew the hole up and keep it, it was my favorite coat after all - but I couldn’t manage my shirt and he had to cut it off me. I was glad I’d kept myself in something resembling decent shape as I sat there in the interrogation room, shirtless, with an EMT digging around in my shoulder, answering questions from Junior Detective Adrien Cyr, some punk who obviously thought less of me than Gunn did. Though that could be because I’d called him pickle dick when we were introduced, and I refused to answer any of his questions, no matter how long he kept up his spoiled child act.
“Answer me Shamus! Who shot you, why did they shoot you, and what were you doing driving like a maniac through town!?”
“Once again, I want to talk to Detective Gunn, pickle dick, not you.”
“You don’t make demands here!” he screamed, slamming his fist on the table, “I do! Now answer me and I’ll see that the judge goes easy on you.”
I looked straight at him, incredulous, “what are they teaching you guys these days? Is it one day of cliches and hitting tables and then you’re a cop?”
The EMT made a small motion behind me, and I could feel the pellet coming free from the wound. I bit down hard and gripped the edge of the table in front of me harder to keep from crying out. The local anesthetic he’d administered had done the trick until now, I can’t imagine what the pain would have been like without it. Cyr leaned in close, smiling arrogantly.
“Aw, the big bad PI gonna cry?”
Through sheer force of will I managed to let go of the table with one hand, and grab the punk by the balls. He yelled out and slumped over, grabbing the table himself. The pain in my shoulder was intense, the EMT was stitching it shut, I didn’t even have to try to squeeze.
For his part, the EMT didn’t react, I’m sure he’d seen far worse in his line of work. Though I half suspected that he was glad I’d finally shut Cyr up.
“What was that, pickle dick?” I growled. Tears streamed down his face, which was turning red, “you were saying something about crying?” All he could manage was a raspy whine.
The door opened and Detective Gunn walked in. He looked at me, squeezing Cyr’s balls mercilessly while the EMT stitched me up. He didn’t seem surprised, just annoyed, but then he always did.
“Shamus,” he barked, “let the kid go and stop being such a baby. Adrien, get your ass out of here before I castrate you myself.”
I forced my hand open and Cyr slumped to the floor, cupping his crotch and whimpering. Slowly he staggered to his feet and limped out. I smiled at Gunn, who glared back at me.
“Sorry Gunn, I think I broke the rookie.”
“I’d charge you with assaulting an officer of the law, but I know what a prick Adrien can be. You’ve got a lot more answering to do though. What the hell were you doing driving like a maniac through the center of town?”
“If you must know, I was chasing the bastard who shot me.”
“And what, exactly, were you planning to do when and if you caught him?”
I shrugged with my one good shoulder, “he just tried to kill me, seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Well it was a damn fool thing to do, and I ought to lock you up right now and charge you with driving to endanger at least. And for this,” here he held up the cover sheet for the fax Dever had sent us, with Shamus Investigations neatly printed on the copy line, “I could nail you with obstruction of justice. You’d lose your license if I did, Shamus. I still might, so keep that in mind.”
He stared at me, hard. It was one of those stares that would make an angry dog turn and run the other way. I shot one right back, all but daring him to threaten me with criminal charges again. He had some answering of his own to do.
The EMT finished stitching my shoulder up, and applied a large bandage over the wound. He collected his tools and walked out without a word. We both watched him go, Gunn nodding to him slightly as he left.
“You’ve got some real outgoing types around here today, Gunn. A veritable hen house around here.”
“That was Clint, he’s a good medic,” he glanced out the door and then closed it tightly, “and he knows how to keep his mouth shut.”
“What about Cyr? Does he even know how to shut up?”
“Cyr’s an idiot, but he’s by the book. He won’t say anything unless he’s been cleared to, in triplicate, by me.”
Gunn tossed me a black t-shirt I hadn’t noticed him holding before. This was certainly odd, definitely not like Gunn at all. I shrugged on the new shirt and leaned back in my chair.
“So, why the need for secrecy? I figured I’d be strapped to the wrack by now. What’s going on Gunn?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but I know you’re mixed up in it somehow, and you’re going to help me figure this out, in exchange for keeping your little stunt today off the books. But you do as I say, no more of your cowboy antics.”
“Before I answer, I want a few questions answered.”
He was silent for a moment, then took the seat opposite me. He raised an eyebrow, indicating I should go on.
“First off, who is Charlie Dyer, and what’s your interest in him?”
He smiled. I don’t think I’d ever seen him smile before that moment.
“And that’s why I need your help, Shamus. You’ve got ways of finding things out that I don’t. I love my job, and I’m damn good at it, but sometimes official channels can be a bit… restricting.”
“I’m glad you have a positive self image, Gunn, but you didn’t answer my question. Who is Charlie Dyer, and what does he have to do with Yadira.”
“I hope you’re comfortable, Nick, this may take a while.”
No comments:
Post a Comment