Blood Red

“Yeah, we did.” Boyd pinned him to the wall with his eyes. For a short little guy, he had a lot of attitude. “But we also found the body of one of our missing college students, so it’s all balancing out.”

Somewhere a roller coaster was dropping the apex of its first hill at high speed: Brian’s stomach felt like it was in the front seat of that roller coaster. The beer he’d been drinking through the last few hours mingled with his steak dinner and threatened a violent rebellion.

“Really? Well, that’s great. Not for the girl, of course, but wonderful.”

Boyd looked at him for three heartbeats without saying a word, and then he smiled. There was nothing friendly or jovial about the way Boyd’s lips pulled into a curl. “Yeah, the best part is, the perp left evidence.”

“Really?” Forget roller coasters; his stomach lurched hard to the left and then to the right before it decided to just quiver and churn.

“Yeah,” Boyd nodded and Brian was vaguely aware of the other three detectives looking at him, and each and every one of them was smirking; little I-know-a-secret expressions on their faces. “The moron left a condom behind. Just chock-full of nice, genetic tests waiting to happen.” The detective came closer, and looked up into his eyes. “I got a rush job put on it, ’cause I think I’m close to getting this one solved.”

All the happy had officially been drained out of Brian’s day, and his stomach decided enough was enough: he muttered an “excuse me” to the detectives and ran for the men’s room at high speed. He shoved the door open, knocking the man on the other side off his feet, and before he could apologize he was on his hands and knees in the room and vomiting across the tiles and the legs of the man he’d run down.

The man was understandably upset. “Jesus Christ!” He pushed himself back across the tiles with an expression of disgust plastered across his face.

Someone chuckled from the doorway behind him, but Brian was far too busy to bother with the distraction. His stomach seemed determined to remove every last iota of food and drink he’d had since graduating high school.

“You’re a mess, Freemont,” Holdstedter’s voice was not at all sympathetic. “Call a cab. I see you get into your car and I’ll lock you in cuffs myself.”

“Uhhh,” the voice came from near the sink. “This freak is a cop?” Brian looked at the man standing up in front of him. He was busily pulling off his blue jeans and soaking the vomit-crusted legs in the sink. A pair of bright pink boxers adorned his hips and hid the upper portion of his hairy legs; his reflection was glaring at Brian. There wasn’t a part of the exposed skin that wasn’t covered with a pelt of black hair, except for his face and the top of his head, which gleamed in the bright lights.

“Yes, sir. He is. Not his proudest moment, or ours, either.”

“No kidding?” Sarcasm made the vomit victim’s voice even more nasal. “What’s your captain’s name?”

“O’Neill, sir. James O’Neill.”

“Well, Captain O’Neill can expect a call. I don’t know if there are charges I can file, but I’m definitely filing a complaint.” The man was pissed and not at all thrilled about wringing his jeans out.

“Technically, I could book him for Drunk and Disorderly if you wanted.” Holdstedter was being very professional, very helpful. Brian wanted him dead.

From a considerable height advantage, the civilian looked down at him and a smile that was far too similar to Boyd’s spread across his face. “Yeah. Do that. Bust him. Please.”

Holdstedter looked down at him, too, and was reaching for his cuffs. “You go right ahead and wash up, Freemont. Then we’re gonna take a ride.”

As it turned out, the detective did not actually haul Brian off to the processing center. He saved that for a couple of the beat cops he called to the scene.

The four detectives were all watching him as he was taken away. None of them laughed, but all of them were still smiling at him.

Life sucked.

He was released from the drunk tank at ten A.M. He was home half an hour later. He showered and shaved and then went back to sleep.

The official reprimand was waiting for him on Captain O’Neill’s desk when he got to work.

Life sucked royally.

IV

Alan Tripp woke up in a hospital room. His chest felt like it was on fire and his hand was a shrieking symphony of pain. A male nurse was looking at him with wide blue eyes, and as soon as he woke up, the man moved over to take his pulse and blood pressure. He didn’t know why the man was bothering: there was already a heart monitor and cuff attached to his left arm. He could hear the constant, steady beeps that mirrored the beating of his heart.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Tripp?” Friendly and professional, just like the ones that dealt with him when Avery was born.

Avery. Thinking about his son made the room swim into clearer focus. “I’m fine,” he lied. He was far from that particular state of existence. He doubted he’d ever be anywhere near fine again.