It Just Figures

*Chapter One*

Brody had never been so angry. He walked for hours that night in the stinging sleet blowing horizontally in the wind off the bay. It didn't add one iota to his misery. In fact, he didn't even notice it until he saw its sliver wetness slicing through the bright cone glaring down from a harbor light. He hadn't even the energy to think, it just figures, as all his thoughts centered on one thing—loudmouth tough guy Mikey, Kellerman the mouth, spilling his, Brody's, feelings about Howard to none other than Howard herself. He wanted to punch him out. He wanted to smack him upside the head with his camera. He wanted... he wanted... oh, God, he wanted Howard. Howard in her suits and ties, Howard in her wild hair, Howard in her crooked smile when she was feeling easy. He wanted her even more in her exciting anger, when she did that little thing of hers, that little lift of the shoulders followed by the hair toss. Then she'd tilt her head, look her victim dead in the eyes, and let loose. He'd gotten all of it on film; on the streets, in the box, in the break room. He'd gotten it all in dreams, too.

It hurt too much to go over again that little scene in the stairwell, when Kay answered a question before he asked it, and it was the wrong question—or the wrong answer. Definitely the wrong answer. What hurt the most was that she wouldn't believe him.

The tightness in his throat gripped him again, and he switched his thoughts back to Kellerman, and kicked hard at a chunk of ice in the middle of his path—and went flying. It was frozen solid to the ground, and Brody went tumbling instead of the ice. This time he did think, it just figures.

***********

Kay slammed into her apartment. How dare they. How bloody dare they. She flipped up the kitchen light switch, threw her keys at the table, where they hit with satisfying force, slid across, and down onto the floor. Her coat was flung towards the back of a chair, where it missed the target and joined the keys in a heavy, wet heap. Kay stepped over it on her way to the cabinets above the stove. Hey, she was all for comradery, all for joining in the fun when and where appropriate, and God knows there was damn little of it in their line of work, but this was too much. She poured herself a glass of wine. Who was in on it? All of them? And I never would have believed it of him. Brody of all people! she thought. She stomped into her living room, flicked on the classical station and scrunched sideways into her favorite chair, long legs slung over one arm, curved neck snug on the other arm, her red hair tumbling down the side. It had taken her too damn long to to fit in with "the boys." And then there was the big set back, that lovely time of having to lay low, stroking all that wounded male ego, thick in the air, heavy enough to weigh down the ever present cigarette smoke, when she made sergeant. Why didn't she strut like a rooster, the way any one of them would have done with the same victory? Kay sighed. She didn't see any way out of this, other than ignoring it. If I show my anger, she thought, they'll think it's because I'm a woman, I can't handle it, can't take a joke. I guess I'm one of the boys now.

***********

Brody, in wet, torn corduroys, found himself standing in front of Kellerman's boat. The cabin was dark, locked from the outside. He stood in the biting wind, indulging a brief fantasy of trashing the boat, taking an axe to the hull, peeing on it, something. The water looked deep and cold, the dark waves choppy, edged in white froth. His eyes burned more than his skinned palms. He figured Kellerman was probably sitting at the Waterfront with the others, all falling off their bar stools in their hilarity— 'Here's to Brody and Howard!' while he was out here freezing. Aw, the hell with it. He limped home.

Once inside he headed straight for a hot shower. Ten minutes later he was warm in sweats, leaning against the wall under the curved entry to his tiny living room, staring into space. He wasn't hungry. Nothing in the place to drink and dull his pain. So he added to it. He pushed himself off the wall and walked into the dark room. Turning on the TV and VCR, he slid in one of his tapes.

***********

Debussy was on the radio. The sleet had stopped, the sky had cleared, and a beautiful winter moon bathed her with its light through the window. Kay had calmed down enough to stop jiggling her leg up and down. Now if only the foot would cooperate.

***********

Brody rewound the tape many times, just to see her quirky smile again. He started to think about what she must be feeling, her anger, her humiliation. Howard. She preferred Howard to Kay, in fact, wouldn't answer to Kay, wouldn't even look up. (Howard. How can I face her again?) She wore Howard like she wore her suits and ties, maybe thinking those guys would forget she was a woman, treat her like an equal. Not many women homicide cops. And where did it get her? His anger fired hot again, and his chest tightened.

***********

Kay brooded. She was calmer, and thinking much more clearly now. Who was in on it? She quickly eliminated Bayliss; Pembleton and Gee of course never in the running—that left Munch, Kellerman and Meldrick, without a doubt. She should expect this sort of stuff from the three stooges, it was just their style. But Brody... she always thought of him as gentle, sensitive, the one who fitted in even less than she. That stupid little backwards hat he wore! But hey, he was even a little sweet, in that annoying way of his... Suddenly, something struck her. She heard his insistent voice, over and over, ringing in her head, what she had refused to hear as she walked up the ramp and away from him in the stairwell earlier that day—'It's not a joke!' Her foot stopped it's dance.

***********

Across the murdering city, Brody slumped on his ratty couch, staring at the screen which filled the room with flickering light and a numbing, hissing static. He started the tape again. Suddenly he startled at the loud ringing of his phone, snatched it up. "Yeah?" he mumbled. He sat forward. "Detective Howard?" He put his hand over his burning eyes and sighed deeply.