The one-sheet form drifted almost languidly onto the desk, coming to rest on top of the sheaf of papers he was referencing. Scowling, the black receiver seemingly glued to his left ear, Inspector Steve Keller looked up at Sergeant Norm Haseejian's retreating back as he snatched up the offending sheet and slapped it down onto the rapidly growing pile on the far corner of the overburdened desk.
Looking back down at the list of questions on the yellow legal pad before him, putting his right index finger against his right ear in an attempt to dull the cacophony from the bustling room around him, he leaned over the desk even more. "Yes, Mr. Moore, Douglas Fraser. We were told he was a tenant in your apartment building, is that right?"
He squinted involuntarily, trying to hear the soft-spoken superintendent on the other end of the line. "Yes, Douglas Fraser…. F-R-A-S-E-R… Yes, yes, I can wait…" With a frustrated sigh, he took his finger out of his ear and lowered the receiver. He waggled his head back and forth, trying to work the crick out of his neck, using the brief break to look around the bullpen.
It was abnormally busy. A freakish early summer heat wave that had dragged on for two remorseless weeks had had a bad influence on The City. Tensions were running high everywhere, it seemed; tempers seemed to be fraying at every turn. Traffic was reporting a dramatic increase in accidents as both drivers and cars overheated in the soaring temperatures; assaults were up and, unfortunately for the detectives who toiled in room 450 in the Hall of Justice, so were murders.
Most, it seemed, were the result of simmering rage and short fuses. They were easy to 'solve' but that didn't cut down on the man hours that had to be expended and paperwork that had to be completed for each and every case.
And the entire SFPD was labouring under a hiring freeze that had been in affect for almost a year. Every department was understaffed, with no relief in sight.
Suppressing another involuntary sigh, Steve brought the receiver back to his ear as he glanced towards the open door of the empty inner office, the grey fedora sitting like a lonely, patient sentinel atop the metal coat rack. His partner and superior officer had been gone a little over an hour. He knew Mike was once again in a meeting with the higher ups, once again lobbying for an increase in manpower that everyone knew was a quixotic quest. He could only imagine the foul mood the lieutenant would be in when he finally returned.
Suppressing a shudder, Steve snapped to attention when he heard Moore's voice once more in his ear. "Yes, Mr. Moore, I'm here… yes… yes…" He jotted several things down on the yellow legal pad. "Great… yes, thank you very much, Mr. Moore. Good-bye." He set the receiver on the cradle without looking, staring at the information he had scribbled down so quickly. He exhaled loudly, pleased with what he had uncovered. He reached for the small Rolodex across the desk and flipped the cards until he found the one he wanted. Fifteen minutes and two phone calls later, he had all the information he needed.
Still looking at the desk, he got to his feet, starting to roll his sleeves down. He glanced at the empty inner office again then quickly at the bullpen door, as if willing his partner to appear. He knew Mike would want to be in on the arrest.
He had just done up his left cuff button and picked up his jacket from the back of the chair when the outer office door opened and a frowning Mike Stone charged through the tiny anteroom into the bullpen, heading for his office without even a glance around the room. He seemed to be under his own thundercloud; Steve watched as he strode past and entered the small glass-walled office, slamming the door behind him before tearing off his jacket and hanging it almost violently on the rack beneath the fedora.
With a heavy sigh, Steve dropped his jacket back onto the chair then picked up the sheet of paper and crossed towards the inner office. Mike had moved to the filing cabinet behind the desk and was pouring himself a glass of water. Steve opened the door slowly; Mike turned at the sound, scowling ferociously as he downed the water in one large gulp then slammed the glass back onto the cabinet. Without a word, he stepped behind the desk and sat heavily.
With a grim, humourless but sympathetic smile, Steve closed the door and stepped to the guest chair, sitting slowly as he put the paper on the desk. "I, ah, I take it the meeting didn't go as well as you'd hoped?"
Mike's expression didn't change as he stared at the younger man for a long beat before nodding at the paper on the desk. "What's that?"
Knowing when to leave well enough alone, Steve's eyebrows rose. "Oh, ah, I finally got a hold of that super in the Fraser case." He picked up the paper and raised it with a self-satisfied smile.
His own eyebrows rising, Mike leaned forward and a small smile played across his lips. "You got confirmation?"
The smile getting a little wider, Steve leaned forward as well, nodding. "Residence and car. Slam dunk. And I already talked to D'Amato, that new ADA in Gerry's office, and he's standing by… so, you want me to take this to him and get us a couple of warrants?"
"If it means we can get out of this loony bin for a couple of hours this afternoon, you bet I want you to go," Mike chuckled as he nodded, watching as the younger man got to his feet, grinning.
As Steve stepped through the door he looked back. "Listen, you want me to bring you back something for lunch?"
Mike thought about it for a second then shook his head. "No, I'm good. I'm not hungry. Maybe I will be after we put the cuffs on someone…"
Laughing, Steve picked up his jacket, gathering the paperwork he had finished in his partner's absence and putting it in a manila file folder. Tucking the folder under one arm and tossing the jacket over his shoulder, he called back as he headed to the outer door, "Don't go busting anymore murderers till I get back, all right?"
"I'll try not to," the older man called after him with a laugh. As Steve disappeared through the outer door, Mike leaned back and smiled to himself. With a soft shake of his head, he chuckled then inhaled deeply and happily. No matter how bad the world seemed at times, his partner could always make him feel better about things. He was a lucky man.
# # # # #
A half hour later, he was deeply engrossed in the minutiae of a case file when the annoying ringing of his partner's phone reached his ears. Frowning in irritation, he glanced up overtop of his reading glasses, belatedly realizing that Steve was still absent and no one else in the busy bullpen seemed in the least inclined to put an end to the torment.
With a growl, Mike shot to his feet, dropping the glasses to his desk as he strode quickly to the offending black phone and snatched up the receiver. "Inspector Keller's desk," he snarled, his eyes snapping around the busy room.
"Steve…?" a soft feminine voice reached his ear.
"Steve's not here right now, can I take a message?" He was finding it hard to keep the impatience out of his voice.
"Mike?" The soft voice asked tentatively.
His attention refocused. "Yes… who's this?" He somehow knew he should recognize the voice but the decibel level in the room was making everything difficult, it seemed.
"Mike, it's Mel."
"Mel! Of course," he chuckled, his face breaking into a broad smile as he sat on the edge of the desk, turning his back to the room in the hopes he could block out some of the noise. "Steve's gone over to the District Attorney's office to get us a couple of warrants but he should be back soon. I can get him to give you a call before we head out –"
"No no no," she said quickly, "I know you guys are really busy. I was just wondering if he knew if he was getting home at a decent hour tonight. I was thinking of making a veal piccata if he was going to be home early enough."
Smiling, Mike glanced at his watch. "Well, we're gonna go out and serve those warrants right after he gets back but, if things go smoothly - and there's no reason to think they shouldn't - he might be able to get home before seven." He laughed. "That's as optimistic as I can be, Mel… sorry."
He heard her throaty laugh through the receiver. "Don't be sorry, Mike, I know how overworked you guys are right now. If he can make it, fine, but tell him not to sweat it, okay? I can do it some other time."
"Okay… Hmm, veal piccata, hunh?"
She chuckled. "Hey, if you like veal piccata, I can make it for you sometime too… How does that sound?"
"Sounds like I'm really glad Steve met you, my dear, really glad…" His warm laughter wafted through the phone line. "I'll give him your message the second he comes in, Mel. I promise. Oh, ah… whose place? Yours or his?"
"His, of course," she laughed again. "Thanks, Mike. You guys take care, you hear, and I hope to see you soon."
"You too." He smiled to himself as he hung up, sitting on the desk and staring at the phone for several long seconds before slowly getting up and returning to his office.
It had been over three months since Steve had met the comely young sous chef at the trendy new Wharf restaurant. Mel Fisher had only been in The City six months when her eyes met those of the handsome young homicide cop when he had taken a date out to dinner.
He had contritely explained to his partner the next day that he was deeply embarrassed, and deservedly so, when his roving gaze had settled on the gorgeous blond behind the counter of the open kitchen in The City's latest hot spot; and there and then he had forgotten all about the blind date that he was dining with that evening. And that by the end of said evening he not only had caught her eye as well but had her phone number - and she his.
They had been together ever since.
Mike smiled to himself as he picked up his reading glasses and put them back on. In all the years they had been together, he had never seen Steve so smitten, and so committed.
He smiled to himself. Mel seemed to be the one, he thought to himself. She was as wonderful a girl, as full of life and love, as his own daughter Jeannie. And Steve seemed as head-over-heels about her as she seemed to be with him. It would be a relief, he thought, if his partner finally settled down after what seemed to be a string of women who had loved and left, some of them leaving the young man stung and bewildered.
Mike picked up the file and sat back, his focus rapidly returning to the job at hand. Twenty minutes later, once more engrossed, he remained oblivious when Steve appeared in the doorway. A loud knock caught his attention and his head snapped up, the glasses coming off again. The younger man waved two folded papers. "Shall we…?"
"That didn't take long," Mike chuckled, getting to his feet and crossing quickly to the coat rack, stuffing the glasses into the inside pocket of the charcoal grey suit jacket before putting it on and grabbing the felt hat. "Let's get a move on," he continued with a grin as he led the way across the bullpen, "there's a veal piccata with your name on it."
Steve's stride had a sudden hitch in it. "What?"
