Page 64 of Hoofin’ It

At the end of the day, my marksmanship skill mattered jack shit, although the CDC could have used in my case if I’d bothered mentioning it. Then again, it hadn’t occurred to me to mention it. What did it matter?

A dead end was a dead end, and maybe I’d reached my goal of being a police officer in a big city, but it had been a dead end no matter how I looked at it. A graveyard of discrimination littered my career as a cop. I parked my car in my spot, snarled a few curses, and got out. Several deep breaths later, I straightened, locked my car, and turned.

Marian tossed her keys to me, and I caught them. “My rust bucket has a flat. I’m too lazy to fix it.”

The random comment got a laugh out of me. “At least mine starts on most days.”

“They’re supposed to start?”

“Most of the time.”

“Huh. Maybe I should look into that.”

Shaking my head, I circled the SUV and climbed in. “Some might call you crazy for willingly getting into a vehicle with me as the driver.”

“I’m willing to accept the risk. You driving through this hellhole seems a lot safer than me driving through this hellhole.”

“Bad trip getting to the range?”

“It’s a good thing the so-called engineers who designed this city are dead, because I seriously wanted to kill them.”

I laughed. When I’d first moved to Chicago, killing the city’s designers had crossed my mind many a time. It had taken me several years to understand the layout of the streets, the way some dipped into Lower Chicago and re-emerged several blocks later, and the incessant construction involved with making sure the whole place didn’t collapse in on itself. The city still didn’t make sense, but I could find my way around without contemplating homicide most days.

“How do you people stand the traffic? Is driving in this city the number one cause of homicides here? I could easily believe that.”

“Did you get detoured from construction?”

“I did not get lost.” Marian shot me a glare, buckled her seatbelt, and wrinkled her nose.

“Did they reroute you through Lower Chicago, up to the surface, then back a few times before dropping you two blocks from where you started?”

She grumbled curses, which I interpreted as confirmation. I buckled up before starting the SUV’s engine. My car rumbled, but it was more due to the whole thing trying to rattle apart rather than the purr of a tuned, road-worthy vehicle. “You didn’t get lost. That puts you ahead of half of Chicago. Even locals can get turned around during unexpected construction.”

“That’s something.”

“Can I get a preview of the questioning?”

“We’re investigating your imposter. They called me in since I’d witnessed your shooting and saw you in the days following your recovery. We’re both going to be questioned, but beyond that, I can only speculate.”

“Sounds like a great time, especially since the CDC is using the circumstances surrounding my shooting to support the discrimination case.”

“We’re aware. The CDC brought in the FBI to testify. I’ll tell you this much, someone in the CPD must have pissed off the CDC, because it’s a slaughterhouse. The defense is being thoroughly spanked. That rat’s trying, but he just can’t get anything on you. It’s actually impressive. Your record is so clean it squeaks when you rub it. We can’t even get dirt on you from elementary school. The only remotely questionable thing we have is something that happened when you were six.”

There was only one incident I could think of when I’d been six that might catch the FBI’s notice, and it involved a kidnapping attempt. I had declined the invitation using a baseball bat. Running had seemed like a good idea at the time. Unfortunately, six year old me had had the attention span of a gnat and decided to play hide and seek with the entirety of the Lincoln police force.

“I’m pretty sure I can’t be held responsible in a court of law for playing hide and seek at age six.”

“I was more thinking about you shattering your would-be kidnapper’s knee with a baseball bat.”

“Self-defense. No court would convict me.”

“We were wondering how you managed to beat up your would-be kidnapper so effectively. On top of that, you avoided capture for a full thirty-six hours.” The amusement in her voice warned me of trouble. “The details of your capture are being analyzed, but the initial verdict is that it was the cutest bust of that year.”

I sighed. “Why do I worry someone is going to include that in the discrimination trial?”

“I hope not.”

To worry or not to worry, that was the question. I went with worry. “Oh?”