June 9
Interim Chief Vick.
They put it on my door.
I've been waiting for this chance for ten years, and they put that on my door.
Interim Chief Vick.
As in, "We'll let you be Chief…but only until we find someone with a Y chromosome to replace you. Then you're out on your butt."
They actually asked me if I thought I could handle the job.
Handle it.
Because being pregnant means I'll suddenly lose all ability to think and reason.
Because being pregnant means I'll suddenly have no idea how to run a station.
Because being pregnant means I'll suddenly burst into tears every time I have to arrest someone.
God, I hate men sometimes.
June 10
It's been one day.
One day.
And they're already on me about closing some of these cases the former Chief let hang around for too long.
They didn't come right out and say it, but the implication was pretty clear.
The department starts closing cases, or I'm out on my butt, whether they've found a Y Chromosome-blessed replacement for me or not.
It's a darn good thing for them being pregnant doesn't mean I'll suddenly start ripping people's heads off at random.
Because if that day ever comes…they're first on my list.
Actually, Carlton Lassiter's not far from the top of that list, either.
June 12
I need a miracle.
I spent all morning throwing up, and then I had to hold some Rookie's hands while they closed their first cases. And then I had to fight with Carlton…again…and remind him… again…that I don't run things the same way they've always been run around here.
I'm not his old mentor.
He'll have to accept that eventually.
He'll have to do things my way eventually.
Of course, I am only the Interim Chief.
So, maybe he won't.
Not at this rate.
They're still breathing down my neck about closing these cases.
Which is why I need a miracle.
I need help.
Competent help.
At this point, I'd just settle for competence.