“Don’t you live in a trailer?”he said.
“Yeah,” Cloister said as he took a few steps backward down the street.His patrol car was still on Buckthorn and Gardner, and Boyd had to get their prisoner down to booking.“But it’s an Airstream, so…”
He trailed off with a shrug and a smirk before he turned to go.Bourneville gave her toy one last furious, grumbling shake before she caught up with him, loping along at his side with the toy hanging out of her mouth.
“Twodays?”Tancredichecked.She narrowed her eyes at him skeptically.“You passed your PATtwo daysago, and they already cleared you to go back on duty?”
When Cloister nodded, she made an aggrieved noise as she stripped her jacket off and shoved it into her locker.
“Sorry?”Cloister said as he glanced away.
Tancredi huffed at him as she pulled a battered old jean jacket off its hanger.Badges sparkled on the collar.
“Why?”she asked as she pulled it on.“It’s not your fault.”
She said that, but somehow it stillfeltlike it was.Cloister unbuttoned his shirt.The dry cleaner’s best efforts with starch had given up hours ago; it was limp, sweaty, and still had smears of ruddy dust on the elbows and hem.He shrugged it off his shoulders and shook it down his arms before he balled it up in his duty bag to take home with him.
“OK,” he said.
“It’s still not fair,” Tancredi went on as she ran her hand around the back of her neck to flick her hair out of the collar.“You get fast-tracked back on duty after you were hit by acar.Meanwhile, I’m still waiting for a slot to open up, and even when I pass, my rep says it can take three weeks before the department even gets around to making their decision about letting me get back to work.I’ve got to apply to join the FBI this year before I age out, Cloister.I should be out there building up a track record for solid investigative work, showing initiative, and closing interesting cases while demonstrating I’m bilingual.Instead, I’m stuck behind the equipment desk logging ammo, bodycams, and vests.And, while we’re on the topic, do you know how bad old Kevlar smells?It reeks.”
Cloister glanced down at his own vest, still strapped down tightly over his T-shirt.He hooked his fingers into the collar and pulled it away from his chest so he could lean down and get a sniff.It didn’t smellsweet—the sweat that stained his T-shirt was definitely on the turn between fresh and sour—but he didn’t think it was that bad.
“Yeah, I didn’t notice when I had to wear one either,” Tancredi said.“I do now.There’s something growing in some of those.There’s got to be.”
Cloister snorted as he yanked the Velcro strips loose and shed the vest.“I’ll check for the washing instructions,” he said as he shoved it into his locker.“And if it makes you feel any better, they only pushed me through approval because of Bon.If I’m benched, she’s benched.They wanted her back on the street.”
Tancredi went “huh” and reached into the locker for her backpack.She shrugged it on, straightened the straps, and finally looked up to narrow her dark brown eyes at Cloister.
“So what you’re saying…let me get this right,” she said tartly, her fingers pinched together in front of her as she talked.“What you’resayingis that the San Diego Sheriff’s department, my employer of record for nearly a decade, values adogmore than they do me?”
That felt like a trap.
Cloister held his tongue as he bent down to grab his trainers from the bottom of the locker.Theydefinitelyhad smelled better, but they were far enough away from his nose that he wasn’t going to worry about it.The answer to Tancredi’s question was “yes.”Nothing against Tancredi, but Bourneville was a good dog, a better K-9, and got significantly better publicity whenever she made the news.
She’d cost more, too.
But that wasn’t what Tancredi wanted to hear.
“No?”he tried as he pulled his shoes on.
Tancredi looked annoyed, so probably not the right answer.Before Cloister could try and dodge the buzzsaw a second time, the door to the locker room banged open.Gardner limped in.His face was like thunder.There was a faintwhiffabout him, and one of his boots was missing.He stopped when he saw them and glared, breathing heavily.
“Don’t ask,” he said gruffly.
Tancredi held up her hand to ward that accusation off.“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she assured him.
There was a pause as Gardner looked at the two of them, his lip curled in a disgusted sneer.He reached up to pull a chunk of…orange peel?…out of his hair, made a disgusted noise, and stomped off toward the showers.Tancredi watched him go until he was out of earshot, then turned to Cloister.
“So what do you think of that?”she asked.
Cloister pulled his duty bag out of his locker and let it dangle from one hand; He gave the door a shove until he heard the lock click.
“Skunk?”he guessed.
“Not that,” Tancredi said.She wrinkled her nose.“Although, yeah.No.Gardner.He’s supposed to be here from Valley to patch a hole in shift coverage because we’re short-handed, but my situationship in records dropped me the nod that he used to work with IAU.What’s that about?”
That was a good question.Whywoulda detective from the Internal Affairs Unit end up in a patrol car in Plenty?
