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Frank
That evening
"So," I begin, taking a sip of my coffee and then slowly placing it down on the diner table before each of my hands grabs the opposite bicep, my elbows on the table as I lean in. "Who was he?"
"Who?" Flor says, about to raise her hand for the waitress, but instead, I reach out and take hold of her wrist before she can get her own forearm off the table. "You've got your food, all the spices in the world, and a drink. You don't need anything else," I growl. "No distractions. No delaying. Who. Was. He?"
"Am I under arrest officer, or are you just detaining me?" she asks, looking down at my hand.
"Little girl." I lean in even closer. "I can haul your ass in any time I want for that burglary. Either you start talking or I'm not going to hold out much longer."
"Well, squeezing my arm isn't going to force the answer to pop out of my mouth, but if you let go of my arm and allow me to get some ketchup, maybe I'll tell you."
Slowly I release my grasp, lean back in my seat, and then basically give up. Grabbing my fork I shovel my scrambled eggs into my mouth while Flor gets her desired condiment from the waitress, and then begins eating.
"You've heard of the preacher's daughter concept?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" I say, frustrated.
"Just answer me."
I raise my eyebrows, not about to let her tell me what to do.
"Please," she adds, so I relent.
"You mean that they become crazy and very sexualized because of their religious upbringings, needing to rebel in a way that goes way left of center?"
"Exactly," she confirms. "And there's also the not so common, child of a cop concept."
"What, they turn into criminals? That's what you're going to tell me?"
"I'm going to tell you that's what happens if their parent is a cop and spends all their time on the beat. It's the kid's way of getting attention, the only way they know how to act out, to force their parent to notice them."
I've never really heard of that before, but it does make some sense. I cock my head to the side and try to think about all the officers I work with whose kids have had run-ins with the law. At first thought, it seems higher than one would expect from a sample size of the general population.
"And who works more hours than anyone down there at the station?"
"Besides me?"
"You're childless. You don't count in this."
I can't help but smirk. Single people don't count, huh? For all she knows I might just be putting a baby in her belly real fucking quick if she stays around town.
"The Chief."
"Braxton. Chief Braxton, you mean."
"How do you know his name?" I question.
"I have the Internet, but more importantly I have a good memory. He was, and has been, the chief since mom was killed down here."
Racking my brain I realize she's right, but how much does she really know about him?
"And you think he has kids and that one or more of them are corruptible?"
"Oh, I know how many kids he has. One. And he's not corruptible. He's already corrupted, like his father."
I cock an eyebrow. "That's a big accusation you're making, young lady, and one that sounds very half-cocked and unsubstantiated."
