Another typical day for the Hill Street precinct, typical for the people who frequented it everyday anyway, but to someone like Patrice Lambert, it was a sensory overload: people everywhere, phones ringing every time she turned around, constant incoherent chatter every which way, uniforms talking to higher ranks, suspects talking to cops, victims speaking with police and lawyers, Grand Central Station couldn't possibly be this busy.
"So what should I do?" she asked.
"Why don't you just find a place to sit down and we'll get to you in a few minutes?" Bobby suggested.
A place to sit down, where? The whole place seemed to be jam packed. She looked around one way and the other, and finally found one vacant seat at one desk, completely ignoring the man standing near it who was yelling at one of the officers.
"I want to see Furillo!" Patrice stepped around the short man in blue jeans and a semi-matching studded jacket and a red cap, who proceeded to pound the officer's desk and told him, "He ain't here, that's fine! I gonna wait right here till he gets back!" And with that, Jesus Martinez sat down, and fell flat on the floor.
"Hey!" he looked back to see what happened to his chair, and saw it being relocated to Belker's desk alongside the pickpocket. Jesus got to his feet and went over to the other desk and said to the girl, "Hey, that's my chair!"
"Does it have your name on it?" she asked.
"No."
"Then it's up for grabs," she told him, and doing a slight double take, asked him, "What is your name anyway?"
Jesus did a little posturing as he introduced himself, "Jesus Martinez."
"Hey-Zeus?" Patrice repeated, "What kind of a name is that?"
"Hey," he told her, "It's the name of a legend."
The look she gave him in response explicitly spelled out that she doubted it.
"And what's your name, Mama?" Jesus asked her, staring her down.
Patrice pushed the chair back and stood up, revealing she was slightly taller than he was, and for gain, she hiked one foot up on the chair to give her leverage as she returned the death stare, and told him, "Patrice Lambert," and continued to stare him down in return.
Jesus turned up his top lip slightly and after a few seconds' pause, nodded his head slightly and remarked, "That's cute, I like it," and promptly turned and went to find another place to wait for Frank to return.
Belker ran a new sheet of paper into his typewriter and inflicted his own death stare at the criminal seated across from him at the desk and commanded in a word of one syllable, "Name?"
His thief kept a straight eyes forward composure and said in a deadpanned tone, "Rufus T. Firefly."
Belker turned and glared at the man through the corner of his eye and growled at him. His phone rang and he picked up the receiver and said in a somewhat gruff tone, "Belker," and after a couple seconds his shoulders drooped and he came down a notch and added in a softer tone, "Hi, Ma."
Patrice sat back and alternated between watching Belker talk to his mother, and the thief handcuffed in the chair who observed the conversation and laughed at it, and Belker's occasional turn towards him and growl like a dog about to bite.
15 minutes later, Renko came over towards her chair and said to her, "Alright, Patrice, if you want to come over here now, we'll take your statement to complete this jigsaw puzzle so these guys' defense attorney can't get this case thrown out on grounds of withholding anything."
"I don't have a statement," she told him.
"I know, but you were there, so we just need you to tell us what happened," Renko said.
"You know what happened, you were there too, you're the ones that ran into me, remember?" Patrice asked.
Renko managed to maintain a straight face and he told her, "I know that, Patrice, but we need you to come," he pointed to where his and Bobby's desks were, "Over there, and tell us what happened in your own words."
"Why?" she asked, "Don't you believe me," she pointed to Belker's desk, "Sitting over here?"
Renko's straight face didn't last long, and feeling the air of defeat, he swung his arm in a gesture like he was getting ready to toss a bowling ball, in the general direction of his desk, and said to her, "Would you please just come over here and give us an account in your own words?"
She shrugged and stood up and followed him over to the other side of the squad room.
"What can I tell you?" she asked, "I was on my way here and you all came running around from both corners and knocked into me, that's all."
"Yeah we know," Bobby told her, "But defense attorneys love to act like any miniscule detail left out is some big conspiracy to bootstrap their clients, so we gotta have all stones turned, in quintuplet."
"And let me get this straight," Patrice adjusted in her chair, "Since you guys were chasing different crooks than that guy," she pointed to Belker, "Once I get done telling you what you already know, I have to go over there and tell him the exact same thing?"
"Actually it'd be better if you wrote it out for the records," Bobby told her.
She took the legal pad and pen from Hill and bent over it to start writing, then she looked up at him and asked, "When can I see somebody about filing my report?"
"Is it an urgent matter?" Bobby asked.
"Yes," she said.
"As in this minute?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Then somebody can help you with that after we get this done, we've got a clock running on these guys and the sooner we can get everything wrapped up here, the sooner we can take them to the court and let them figure out what to do with them."
"I see." A thought occurred to her and she asked Bobby, "What'd you say your name was?"
"My name? Bobby Hill."
Patrice started laughing, Bobby felt it was a joke he wasn't in on.
"What's so funny?" he asked.
"Just that they call this place the Hill," she said, "And your name is Hill, so they've got a Hill working on the Hill. That's funny."
Bobby looked over to his partner, and using his pencil in place of his index finger, twirled it by his ear to give an opinion of what he thought of the girl thus far.
Waiting for her presence to be required over at Belker's desk, Patrice reached inside of her jacket and pulled out the book she'd dropped before, Renko leaned over the desk and read the title upside down, "The Murder Trial of Judge Peel…that for a school assignment, a book report or something? Or is that for a civics class?"
"No," she answered as she opened it and skimmed through it.
Bobby couldn't help asking, "What's it for then?"
"Blocking guard," she answered, and stood up to explain by holding it in front of her stomach, "I'd heard you guys running my way and I didn't have time to see what was going on, so I just…well, a little extra protection, you know?"
"Interesting idea."
It was the first time since they'd run into this girl that she seemed to actually acknowledge her pregnancy, and she explained, "I know it's supposed to be every pregnant woman's instinct if something's coming in close contact, to do this," and wrapped her arms around her stomach, "But then I figured a nice sized, well placed hardback book would be just as handy, if not more practical, if somebody were to try punching me in the gut, they'd be more likely to hurt their hand on this than my hands, and I wouldn't be getting hurt in the process."
"So you just carry that with you wherever you go?" Renko asked.
"Just until I finish reading it, then I find another one about the same size, preferably I try to find a larger one though, thicker, more insulation."
"Might I suggest then you try War and Peace?" Renko asked in a joking manner.
Bobby thought of something and asked her, "Why would they?"
"Why would who what?" she asked.
"Why would somebody try punching you in the stomach?" he asked.
Trying to be coy, she shrugged and said only, "I am wildly unpopular at my school."
"Is that what you were coming here to file a report about?" Bobby asked, "Somebody at school giving you trouble?"
"Not exactly," Patrice replied, "Who do I see about…"
"Excuse me, Miss," Belker came over to them and said, "If you're ready to give me a statement, then we can get on with it."
"Oh, sure," she stood up and followed Belker back over to his desk.
Mick sat down and rolled a new sheet of paper into his typewriter, then thought of something and said to Patrice, "Today's Tuesday, isn't it?"
"All day last I checked," she replied.
Mick did a double take and offered a small growl for that remark.
"That mean today's a school day, doesn't it?"
"Suppose it does," Patrice replied.
"Okay then, why aren't you in school?" he asked.
"I had a note," she said.
Another double take, and Mick shook his head and said dryly, "Oh, cute."
She just shrugged in response.
"Hey listen," he said to her, "I'm really sorry about what happened, but you helped us out a lot."
"Well, I guess there are some advantages to being the human speed bump," she replied.
"Hey Mick," Phil Esterhaus came over to Belker's desk and dropped a folder on it and told him, "Looks like we got an old case reopening, do you remember a couple years ago that guy who…"
"Sergeant," Belker never looked up from his typewriter as he nodded towards the girl sitting opposite him, "Say hello to the woman who helped us haul in three dirtballs at the same time."
"Oh!" Phil did a small double take at just seeing her now for the first time and offered his hand, "Phil Esterhaus."
"Patrice Lambert," she replied as she grabbed his hand and shook it.
"Nice to meet you." He turned his attention back to Belker and said, "Mick, when you get done with this, I need to see you, LaRue and Washington, we need to go over the details of you guys' next undercover assignment."
"Sure thing, Sergeant," Belker punched the keys on his typewriter, "Just as soon as those two jokers actually get in."
"Where are they anyway?" Phil asked.
"They didn't tell me anything, that's all I know," Belker answered.
Esterhaus nodded slightly and made small sounds in the back of his throat of reluctant agreement.
"Just status quo around here?" Patrice asked Mick.
"Oh no," he answered, "Today's been kind of slow actually."
She turned in her chair and looked around at the precinct that was all hustle and bustle with people coming in and going out every which way, and for the life of her couldn't figure out what a busy day must've looked like.
