Page 57 of Playing with Fire

“I’m going to need a ride to the bank and a trip to a restaurant supply store.” I guzzled down my cup of crap coffee, shuddered, and left the break room. “I’m also going to need a strong man willing to sacrifice his body for the sake of good coffee. Volunteers?”

Every cop in the place, even the women, raised their hands with the exception of one cranky-looking Chief Quinn.

“What do you think you’re doing, Gardener?”

“I’m kidnapping at least one cop, possibly more, so I can have good coffee. Some cheap bastard put the world’s worst coffee machine in this place, and I will not stand for it. Leave me alone, Chief Quinn. You have committed crimes against coffee in this station. Don’t you have work to do?”

“You need to call the CDC, remember? There’s nothing wrong with Suzy.”

“As soon as I’m back, I’m going to take Suzy to your office and dismantle her piece by piece while you cry and beg for me to spare the machine. Guess what? It isn’t going to work. She dies. Today.”

“You’re not killing Suzy.”

“Suzy dies. She will be replaced by a stainless steel beauty of a machine, one that doesn’t make charred, disgusting sludge instead of coffee. And you’ll like it. You will end up on your knees begging me to make you coffee.”

The cops cracked up laughing.

“You still need to call the CDC.”

I stepped to the nearest desk, which was occupied by an older gentleman. The amused cop raised both hands and rolled his chair away. “Press nine to call out, Gardener.”

Did everyone in the station know my name? Probably. I peeked at his nameplate. “Thanks, Officer Nilman.”

It took me five minutes to navigate my way through the CDC’s menu so I could speak to a real person. When the receptionist answered, I said, “This is Bailey Gardener. I’m returning a missed call.”

“Hold.”

So much for speaking to a real person. I tapped my foot and parked my ass on the edge of Nilman’s desk. “Yippee. I’m on hold.”

Satisfied I was doing what I was told, Quinn headed for his office. The instant his back faced me, I flipped my middle finger at him.

“I can see you in the mirror, Gardener.” Quinn lifted his mug and gestured to a mirror mounted in the corner over the sea of desks. “Nice try, though. And here I thought you preferred to flip me off where I could see you do it. Subtlety is not your forte.”

The line clicked and robbed me of my chance to talk back to the police chief. “You have reached the office of Marshal Clemmends. Please hold.”

Oh boy. What had I done to deserve being transferred to the head honcho’s office? The man worked in Washington, I’d never met him in my life, and I doubted I wanted to. I’d been to Washington exactly once, and about ten minutes after I got there, I had found a liquor store, went to my hotel room, and got so drunk I couldn’t remember why I had gone in the first place.

The hangover ranked second only to my napalm bender.

“Good afternoon, Miss Gardener. Thank you for returning my call.”

Was I actually talking to Clemmends, or was I speaking to one of his minions? Since I didn’t know, I replied with, “Sir.”

“It has come to my attention you publicly assaulted a gorgon prince.”

“Gorgons have princes?”

Good job, mouth. One day, my mouth and I were going to sit down and have a very long talk about what should and shouldn’t be said.

“Yes, Miss Gardener. According to our records, the local clan has two of them, and you assaulted the older one.”

Nice. If I was going to cause an interspecies problem, at least I went all in and beat the shit out of the oldest prince of the gorgons. “That’s going to look so cool on my gravestone. Look, sir. If the motherfucker hadn’t tried to assault me first, I wouldn’t have beaten him. Do you know what rape is? Rape is when one being tries to force itself on another being. Since rape—mine included, thank you very much—is a felony, self-defense is completely legal. If he hadn’t tried to rape me, I wouldn’t have needed to beat the shit out of him. He should be fucking grateful I hadn’t been armed with a knife, because I would have cut off his limp dick and fed it to him. I am not breeding stock. So, fuck off, sir.”

I slammed the phone down on its cradle. “The nerve!”

Was clapping over my tirade really necessary? The cops sure seemed to think so. My face flushed.

“You just hung up on your boss, didn’t you?” Nilman rolled his chair back to his desk and grabbed his badge, wallet, and keys from a basket beside me. “I’m off duty in ten minutes. I can take you to the bank and drive you around. You might want to recruit some extra muscle, though. I’m a weak, little old man as these young whippersnappers like telling me at least once a week.”