(Voiceover)
A decade ago.
A full decade ago, Chris and I made a pact. We would give the force our all for another ten years – then, ride off into the sunset together while we were still young enough to enjoy it.
Flash forward and, retirement is now on the horizon. Retirement! I – I still can't quite wrap my head around it at times. And then... Well. If that weren't surreal enough, here we are, holding the rank of Commander, ready to hand the Department over to our children.
Think that calls for a little debriefing? Let me backtrack.
Chris and I were married in December of 1995. I was a Lieutenant then, Chief of Detectives. We welcomed our daughter a few months later, and a few months beyond that, Chris made Lieutenant as Day Shift Commander. Our son graced us the following year, and we were happy to maintain our rank for a solid ten years.
And that's when Chris was offered an opportunity of a lifetime.
Captain.
Christopher Lorenzo, Captain of Palm Beach's Vice Division.
I couldn't have been prouder of him.
It, ah, it doesn't sound like there's actually a decision to be made there, does it? Well, only if your spouse is your best friend, and your best friend is your partner. You see, we had been partners for fifteen years by this point. After fighting our feelings for so long, sharing both home and work together was a blessing. The only stretch when we weren't in the bullpen together was during my maternity leaves. As this new appointment would be Chris', the burden of choice – choosing to separate us at work – lay fully on his shoulders. My role was easy: simply supporting the sacrifice. Agreeing to it, as he would certainly have done for me. So, enter in a new concept for us.
Missing each other.
Reuniting at the end of each and every workday. As we learned from Fran Lipschitz, this would become our most important moment together. It was treasured, solidifying a bond we didn't realize could possibly get any stronger.
Then what, you ask? Well, six months later, Fran and Harry decided that after thirty-five years of daily reunions, they would prefer to spend "days" together instead. Harry announced he was retiring – telling Chris and me before he even told the higher-ups.
Those same higher-ups would then ask me to run the Homicide Division.
And that, is the only phrasing you will ever hear me use...because no one could ever take the Cap's place.
So, for five years, Chris and I were both Captains. It was a great time. Safer than loan-out assignments, and still gave us to the chance to hit the streets every so often. We would steal lunches together whenever we could, confer with each other for advice, vent in our kitchen or home office over the political annoyances which accompanied our rank.
And, as it turned out, we would get our chance to rectify the bureaucracy. Leaving a meeting with the Commissioners one day, the Police Chief asked us to accompany him back to his office. It was at his request that we consider a promotion to Commander. We accepted willingly.
Despite being a desk gig, we've actually enjoyed the behind-the-scenes work and acting as liaison between the Department and the community. "Partnered" once again, now has been the time to clean house. Flush out corruption, stand up for our officers. We are the change we wanted to see in command at the highest level. We earn our sleep, and always have. It is well-deserved. When it comes to staring in the mirror, we can look our reflections in the eye, with pride. We will leave the force with our integrity intact. No regrets, and no goal unobtained.
Time...keeps soldiering on. As we rose through the ranks, our children grew up, which brings us to the present day. Our daughter is an Officer, serving on Patrol and preparing for SWAT training. Our son, three classes behind his sister, is a Cadet, joining the K-9 Division and Dive Team in less than a month.
It makes me laugh to wonder: how many young people walk into their first career knowing the building, and ins and outs of the profession, like the back of their hand? We have prepared them as best we can, and the stage is now theirs. They will direct their own paths, without the shadow of our command influencing their performance and that of everyone else's.
Long ago, someone once told Chris and me that we would not be like our peers. He was right when he said communication is second nature to us, and that our time together is precious. As cops, as spouses, as parents, we have never taken that for granted.
We hand the helm of policework over to our children, ready to dispatch emotional backup whenever it's needed. We sail off into our retirement, partners as always, setting course for our next great adventure together.
This, is how our story never ends.
Beyond the Shield
D of The DA's Office
Today was the day.
Where had thirty years gone?
Commander Christopher Lorenzo had packed up desks and offices before, but this would be the final time. A permanent relocation to the den at home.
Final. Permanent.
A jolt raced through his veins and he tried to define it: exhilaration or hesitation? The percentage of each seemed to fluctuate back and forth all week. Down to mere hours now, those emotions – and many more – were starting to blur and loop. Deep in thought, he meandered over to the wall of glass.
The bullpens of Homicide and Vice were interior in the Department, subject to neon instead of natural lighting. But here, in the Municipal Building, the spacious third floor office he shared with his partner had nearly floor-to-ceiling windows and an incredible view of the city. He stared out for a moment, committing the vista to memory before making a decision.
Basketball.
Basketball would get him out of his head.
He turned around, fully intent on traversing back across the room to grab the foam ball off his desk and jump at the plastic and string hoop hanging over the inside of the office door. Instead, his attention shifted to the beautiful brunette working beside him. She sat at her own desk, clearing out drawers and sorting paperwork into various piles. Chris found himself glancing up to verify that their door was indeed closed. Assured, he detoured a few steps to his right. He moved the long, silken locks away from her neck with a gentle hand, placing his lips on the pulse he found there. "I love you, Mrs. Lorenzo," he whispered against the soft skin.
"Mmm." She dipped her head in the opposite direction, enhancing the contact and enjoying the sensation. The reciprocation of love was issued with a contented sigh. She beamed her affection with a radiant smile, as if invigorated to continue her menial task at hand.
Chris jogged toward his desk, never stopping as he swooped up the ball and accelerated to the hoop. He commentated each shot like an announcer until he was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Friendly! Hold your fire."
It was Angela, their office assistant of five years. Chris laughed and picked the ball off the floor. "All clear!" he called.
Angela entered, shaking her head. "I'm going to miss this..." She held up her free hand, accepted Chris' pass, and slam dunked the ball. Chuckling, she left him to his own devices, and continued further into the room. "Commander Lance, this just arrived for you. It's addressed from Palm Beach Public Elementary School." She handed Rita the thick packet.
"Thank you," Rita exclaimed. She offered the younger woman a lopsided grin and raised eyebrow. "With any luck, the 'game' will be on intermission when you try to make it back to the stands."
Chris pivoted this way and that, as Angela raced back out, closing the door in her wake.
Rita could only shake her head in amusement as she opened the envelope. "Aww!" she cried. The contents included thank-you letters and crayon pictures. A few weeks prior, she and Chris had led a police field day at the school, complete with obstacle courses, races, and a K-9 team. She held up a drawing of herself from a seven-year-old girl that was captioned, 'Commander Lance, I want to be just like you.' "I'm smitten!"
Rita returned the pages to their envelope and placed it on top a stack of special mementos she would be bringing home. She grew quiet. Finally, she asked, "we're making the right decision, aren't we?"
Chris turned, Nerf ball in hand, and took a step closer to Rita's desk. "Are you having second thoughts?"
"Second, tenth, hundredth." Rita sighed and leaned back in her chair. She closed her eyes for a moment and gave her head a quick shake, as if to temper an inner conflict. She held up a hand in direct defiance against her own statement. "No," she asserted. "It's not that I'm having second thoughts. It's just the emotional roller coaster. Everything we've been doing lately is charged with such excitement and such wistfulness. All at the same time. I think all the 'lasts' are wearing me down. Our last visit to an elementary school, our last meeting with the Division heads, our last day on the force."
"You're reading my mind, Sam." Chris spun around and sank one 'last' basket before retrieving the ball and removing the net from over the door. "I just want some 'firsts' to finally come. First morning of retirement, sleeping in. First weekend, before we head off on our first official trip without having to use any vacation time at all."
At that, the smile returned to Rita's face. "Speaking of our trip, can I air drop you the latest pics Donnie sent?"
Chris put a hand to the "Palm Beach PD" logo of his black polo shirt, forgetting there wasn't even a chest pocket. He ignored Rita's giggle as he patted the numerous pockets of his police issued BDU cargo pants.
"Need some help there, Sam?"
"Funny," he retorted, cocking his head and smirking. "I only wore these because I'd be more comfortable taking all our boxes and bins out to the car."
"Ah huh. And checking out the brand-new additions of Hogan's Alley this morning had nothing to do with it, right?"
"Right!" Triumph came as the last khaki pouch yielded his cell phone. He sauntered over to his desk and plopped down in his chair, typing in his password. "Okay, fire away."
Rita gravitated to the corner of the desk's surface, perching upon it so she could cross her legs and lazily swing one black high-heeled foot in the air. It was an unconscious, treasured habit of over twenty-five years, stretching all the way back to their Homicide days. "These are the DiBarto family estate in Palermo. I still can't believe we're going to be staying there."
Chris let out a whistle. "Impressive!" He beamed with pride as he recalled the moment a few weeks back when they had walked up to a table in a restaurant, expecting a casual dinner with their son, and instead found a trio of innocent faces staring at them: their son, their daughter – and Donnie "Dogs" DiBarto. Oh yeah, nothing suspicious there.
A smugness had emanated from the motley crew, lasting well after the small talk wound down, and providing the perfect segue to bestow the all-expense-paid retirement surprise. All three knew the senior Lorenzos could not refuse tickets that were already purchased, hotels that were already booked, and a personal invitation to Donnie's family home. "Well-played, everyone, well-played," Chris murmured with affection as he scrolled through the images.
Turning his thoughts to Donnie, he realized how far their mutual respect for each other had come throughout the years – okay, the decades. He could never dispute that Donnie had always upheld his own code. The two of them may have differed on the finer points of right and wrong, but they both held tight to a similar honor, integrity, and respect for life. This was even more apparent to Chris after he married Rita and became a father. Only Donnie could understand Chris' newfound connection to family. To anyone else it would have seemed like some stereotype or Italian cliché. What had skipped his parents' generation, was not lost on his own children, and Chris couldn't think of anyone he would rather tour the Old Country with than Donnie and Rita. "What's your vote, Sam? Who was the actual ringleader?"
"My primary suspect? All three. I think they each brought something to the table – and the world will never know."
"How many days in Sicily?"
"Seven. Then seven on mainland Italy." Rita let an elated sound slip out. "Sicily, Chris. Italy. And! Donnie actually knows the curator of the Accademia Gallery – of course he knows the curator – but think about this. We're getting a behind-the-scenes, after-hours tour! Michelangelo's David, instruments from Amati and Stradivari…"
"Who?" Chris winked.
Rita chuckled. "You're hopeless."
Just then, Angela knocked back on the door. Acknowledged, she walked in, directing her attention to Rita's empty desk. "Commander –" Without missing a beat, she right-faced, knowing exactly where to look. "– Lance. Belden's Florist just dropped off this card for you and Commander Lorenzo. They were given specific instructions to deliver the actual flowers to your home this evening, so you wouldn't have to transport them from here."
"Thank you, Angela." The reply was equally anticipated by the assistant who, as she made her exit, didn't even bat an eye that it was made in tandem.
Rita pulled a note out of the small envelope.
...
Hot Shots,
Still proud that you took over the
Palm Beach Advancement Scale.
Now you'll have nothing but time
to just sit back – and work those
parking lots and sporting events.
The card was signed simply, 'H.'
...
"Aww," Rita repeated her previous sentiment. "So many cherished memories," she offered with a grateful tone.
"Who's it from?"
"Hutch." She handed Chris the note.
When he finished reading, he set it down, nodding in slow agreement as he rose to his feet. He stood in front of Rita with both hands upturned on her lap, seeking both of hers. His thumbs caressed the finger that displayed her diamond and wedding bands, and its opposite mate that for special occasions like today still flaunted the Irish friendship ring. Soulful blue eyes sought loving green. "He paired us."
"He did."
"Would we be here without him?"
Rita considered the query. "Wow. The personal...and professional...implications of that question are staggering. Still, I'd like to think that Fate would have seen to it that we'd arrive here, as we are."
Chris cleared his throat, shaking off his emotional state. "I thought about Hutch a lot when we were Captains. I finally understood how anxious he was to get back undercover – and how indignant he was with us for thinking he couldn't do it. Have you talked with him recently? How's life in the Caymans?"
Rita laughed and rolled her eyes. "Still not the Caymans, Sam. The Virgin Islands. You only think it's the Caymans because you always tease him that he must have a bank account there. He's been doing great."
A devilish glint lit up Chris' face. "When's the last time somebody accused us of running our engines a little too fast? Are we above that now, or just too old?"
"Oh, I'm not willing to give that up just yet," Rita responded, her sly expression holding its own. "It's definitely been a while, but I'm going to vote neither. I think the Chief happens to like how fast our engines run."
"'Palm Beach Advancement Scale'... Hah! Man, that takes me back. That case was a Hot Grounder and a Silk Stalking all in one. This Department has come a long way since ol' John Stonewell."
"Indeed. You know, I like the karmic justice. The fact that we are the ones to rise all the way to Commander and eventually take his place."
Chris moved his hands along the shimmery dark gray slacks of Rita's pant suit, trailing his palms up and down her outer thighs before adding a gentle squeeze to the scar on her left one. "Good thing he shot his mouth off better than his gun."
Rita threw a casual glance over her right shoulder, knowing that Angela had not shut the office door on her last trip out, and countered with a quick, more intimate grip to Chris' left backside. "We were both lucky."
He let out a low rumble, his eyes smoldering as he fixated his attention on the open flaps of her matching gray, cutaway blazer. He moved them farther apart. The white blouse beneath was tied at the V-neckline by two, long strips of fabric that reached below her waist. Toying with them, he lifted his hungry gaze to hers, tugging on the strips to bring her closer to him.
Their lips had almost touched when Chris' cell phone pinged.
They shared a groan as he searched for the offending device. The message turned out to be a picture of the two of them standing next to each other at the luncheon bash earlier that day. He showed it to Rita, and the phone chimed again. He looked at it. This time, that same picture was split on the screen with a similar pose of them in the bullpen of the Homicide Division, obviously back in their detective heyday. Chris gaped. "What the –? Oh no, she didn't. Did you see this?" He took a deep breath, and yelled, "Angela! You're fired!"
From the depths of the outer office, a disembodied voice called back, "I have no idea what you're talking about...sir!"
A further, repulsed sound escaped Chris, his sheer disdain causing Rita to snicker. He thrust the phone into her hand. "Come on, Sam!" he voiced with indignation. "I don't think we were together when this was taken, but you were still my best friend! How'd you let me leave the house looking like that? What color is that? Is that jacket what they call 'mustard' yellow? And that tie – I can't even define what color red that middle part is."
"Just remember, Christopher, we wanted to look like that," Rita laughed. She scrunched up her face. "Well, I'm glad to see we've learned to coordinate our outfits a little better: I was in teal and purple. Wait! Hang on." She enlarged the image, focusing on Chris' chest. "Of the...eight-some colors on your tie – Yep, I think there's a one-inch strip that might be purple...ish."
Returning the picture to its regular size, Rita's voice softened with nostalgia. "Look how young we were. Colorful, definitely colorful, and young." She looked to the flesh and blood version in front of her, narrowing her eyes. "Mmm, still so handsome, Mr. Lorenzo."
"And you, Mrs. Lorenzo..." Appeased with Rita's atoning compliment, Chris growled his appreciation against her neck as he went in for a quick kiss.
The current, organized chaos was starting to dissipate as bin after bin made its way from the office. Rita decided on a quick break, waving the proverbial white flag as she tossed yet one more item into the box on her desk.
The emotions of the week, and definitely today, were making her fidgety. She leaned her head back, gently rolling her neck side to side along the top of her chair, in an effort to alleviate some of its tension. When her head stopped, her foot took over the need for motion, acting as a pivot point to swivel her chair like a slow, sideways pendulum. She eventually came to rest facing the wall to her left. Interestingly enough, the only bare section of the entire room. She studied it with a professional eye. Once a detective, always a detective.
Intriguing.
She and Chris had amassed their fair share of accommodation plaques, recognition and community service awards. Counted among the honoring organizations were the FBI, Florida State Police, even several news stations. It had been an impressive showcase of two highly decorated police officers. Yet, the wall had been cleared of those for almost a week now. In fact, they had been the first, albeit easiest, items to be packed away and taken home. Similarly, while the police manuals and law books remained on hand, they had been removed days ago from their bookshelves, placed in bins, and awaiting today for final transport. Rita wasn't sure why it was so much easier to take down all the professional effects. Here they were, their last day on the force, and what were last to be removed? Highlights of family life, the broadcasting of soulmates.
Case in point, the framed poster Chris just unhooked from the wall near his desk. To the casual onlooker, the historical evolution of the Ford Thunderbird, with its 1955 model in the foreground, would merely suggest his favorite car. While this would not be wrong, it also wouldn't be complete. It was a '55 T-Bird that Chris had rebuilt from the tires up with his helpers, ages 9 and 10, that remained in their garage to this day as one of his most prized possessions. Open the glovebox and there would still be a copy of the photograph always displayed on Rita's desk. A close-up of the three gearheads, all sporting backward "U of M" ballcaps, all holding out oil-covered fingers. If Rita closed her eyes, she could still hear the infectious giggling that was ever amplified as they had tried to touch her and she had tried to dodge them, inevitably being chased all around the front yard. She took out a piece of bubble wrap and gazed at the picture one last time before packing it away.
Make no mistake. There was no claiming hospital error. These little ones were an incredible blend of both her and Chris, all the while possessing the mannerisms of each other, and a uniqueness that was special to each of them. It was amazing to see what had been retained even to adulthood.
Adulthood... How did that happen? Their son had inherited his father's sense of humor and fun, but also his heart. There was a Renaissance quality to him, great at every sport he tried and still shared her love of art and literature. Now, his sister? She was tough. Tough and driven. However, this drive was balanced beautifully by her equally strong compassion. She remained fiercely protective of her younger brother – and any underdog.
Rita snapped out of her reverie as Chris approached her desk. He placed an order for three sheets of bubble wrap and held up the picture of him with the kids' co-ed little league team he had coached, and another one of him and their daughter with her Varsity basketball team that he also coached. The third item, he handed to Rita so he could wrap the frames.
She accepted with care his treasured, resin "#1 Dad" baseball-shaped paperweight. Even their grown-up children marveled that he still had it. Purchased eons ago at an elementary school store, they had picked it out themselves, and Rita could only describe their excitement as kinetic. Vibrating with anticipation as they had waited for him to open it. She handed it back to Chris when he was ready, and as he packaged it for transport, he asked where the time had gone.
"Now you're reading my mind, Sam," she commented.
Chris returned to his half of the room and took down their most recent family portrait, which also included the Cap and Frannie. "You know, moving all this stuff twenty feet over in the bullpen, or down the hall to a different bullpen, was one thing. I'm starting to think we're going to need a bigger house. That, or don't tell the Bobbsey twins, but we may have to commandeer their rooms now that they have their own places."
Agreeing, Rita grinned at the collective term for their children, a year and a half apart in age, which had been born of sheer fascination toward the sibling bond they shared. It was a level of ESP and tightness purely uncanny to her and their father, both an only-child, who felt like scientists with clipboards, taking notes as they observed from the sidelines. Many a discussion had transpired in awe of the phenomenon.
Equally captivating, were the other ways in which the pair's childhoods were polar opposites to hers and Chris'. They had two parents who were crazy in love, two grandparents who were a constant presence in their lives, they had each other, they even had pets.
So much love.
Rita watched as Chris went over to the bookcase near his desk. He lifted the last picture frame, double-hinged, and gazed intently. Speaking of love... It was gift she had given him years ago. On the left was a print of Leighton's The Accolade, on the right, the two of them on their 10th wedding anniversary. Mirroring the scene of a queen knighting her beloved, Chris was down on one knee with Rita in front of him, a hand on his cheek.
They had returned to the private beach where they were married, to renew their vows. Some folks had teased them, thinking it was too soon, but none of those people had been cops – nor even close friends. Those who knew her and Chris best, shared in their valuing the sacredness of time and the blessing of a decade. It had been a treasured event with just the two of them, the kids, Harry, and Fran.
Amongst the other photographs taken that day, Rita had asked for this particular pose, already anticipating Chris' gift. Maybe there was an element of control in there as well, she would admit to that. All pictures from their original nuptials had been made without their consent, nearly costing them their partnership. It was only after that crisis was averted that they could enjoy the blown-up, framed image with its tabloid headline of "HOMICIDE COPS TIE THE KNOT," to which the Cap had added, "FINALLY." The poster had been on display with pride all these years, and Rita was looking forward to adding Chris' pictures to it in their home office.
She got up from her desk and followed him, offering another leaf of protective plastic. "I love you," she stated with conviction. It was blanket statement, directed at the images he was seeing, the barrage of memories and emotions they were feeling, the everlasting connection they were living.
Chris beamed. "I love you heart and soul, Rita."
She had almost leaned in for a kiss when she noticed an object in a box of files that was up against the wall.
"Ah hah! There it is!" So, maybe not every professional effect had left the office just yet. One special item, which spanned all their years, still remained. "Hey, Sam," Rita took a few steps back, "think fast." With that, she lobbed over the red and blue stress ball.
Catching it, Chris grinned from ear to ear. He juggled it around in his hand for a moment before returning the volley. "Do you even remember how we got this?"
"Um, no clue." Toss.
"Do you know how many cases it helped us solve?" Toss.
"That much, I do know. Lots! Though, I think my favorite is all the times it went through Interdivisional Mail." Rita let herself drift back. When a jam session was needed, but the distance between her and Chris had included two bullpens instead of two desks, she and her fellow Captain had taken to interoffice envelopes. The ball and a sheet of paper with questions and answers would be sent back and forth between Homicide and Vice. "Such good times."
Instead of lofting the ball back, Rita kept it in hand, and closed the gap between herself and Chris. She wrapped her arms around his waist. As his encircled her, she laid her head against his chest and closed her eyes. This hold, this embrace, was precious. For as long as they could remember, it was at the heart of every single role they played in each other's lives, binding them all together, blurring distinction.
Placing his lips against Rita's head, Chris murmured, "see, I've got to admit, though. I can't say I'm going to miss that ball. After today, if I ever need it, it'll still be there. I can just take it out of our den, find you in whatever room you might be in or wait for you to get home, and the two of you will help me figure out whatever I needed. I won't have to miss you, Sam."
"That – is my favorite part with all of this. We're not leaving each other. We're partners no matter what. In life, as best friends, as a couple, as parents. I don't think too much will change."
"Good point, good point. That's probably why I can't separate out how to tell you how incredible you've been as a partner at work all these years. I can't tell you anything that I haven't said a million times before, and everything blurs with how incredible you are with everything else!"
"Why thank you, Sam. The same goes for you: what makes you the best partner is what makes you the best husband and the best father. There's nothing we can claim is specific to just partners."
With an air of mischief, Chris pulled back, only enough to make eye contact. "Well, now, when it comes down to comparing work to parenting... You were tough enough before becoming a mom. Afterwards? Hah! Bad guys never stood a chance. Seriously, though, it's easier – only missing 'the job.' Besides, we've already adjusted to not being on the streets."
"You're right. That incremental pace was good for us. We went from working cases constantly as sergeants and lieutenants, to working them occasionally as captains, and now we've had, what, three events in ten years that required us leading a command center? I'm sure we'll still miss the adrenaline rush occasionally, but I don't think we'll let ourselves get too bored."
"We did make a quite a team, though! When I think about how much butt we've kicked, how many lives we've saved. We've done good, partner."
"I'll agree to that!"
"Are you going to miss hearing 'Lance?'" The joint decision for Rita's name not changing at work was made shortly after their wedding. When it came to outsiders, namely criminals, they knew it would be safer for their family – safer for each other – if their married status were not glaringly obvious when out on scenes or conducting interviews or interrogations together.
"Huh. I guess I hadn't thought about that. Probably not as much as I'll miss hearing a rank, even though the two went together. Remember, everywhere else outside this building or the shop, I've always had the title of 'Mrs.' and 'Lorenzo.' Your name. Our family's name." Rita shrugged. "I'll be fine just signing the two middle initials of 'L' like I always do."
With a final squeeze, they separated, and Chris picked up the box from his desk.
"Wait!" Rita called, before he headed out the door with it. "Don't forget this." She added the ball to the contents. Her eyes trailed after him as he left, and she sighed in contentment.
Okay, back to packing...
When Chris returned to the office, Rita was holding her family picture of the four of them in their dress blues: two Commanders, an Officer, and a Cadet. He could see the wheels turning. True to form, she murmured, "how is it... It seems like just yesterday when we were the ones sporting the Cadet uniform. Only yesterday that these two phenomenal beings were babies."
"All I know is, if the kiddos had pulled even a fraction of the stunts I pulled at the Academy?" Chris shook his head side to side. "I would have thrown them in a holding cell." Thankfully, he knew they possessed their mother's sensibility – and probably some good, old-fashioned fear of her, too. Hey, whatever it was, it had worked.
He went back to his desk, making a final sweep through its drawers to make sure all were cleared. Rita seemed finished with her own and had moved on to her bookshelves. Chris noted the volumes that remained were her personal favorites. Classics, and a collection of antique and first edition books, as rare as she was, that he had hunted down as gifts for her over the years. His attention was then drawn to her two bookends. The plaster project from years and years ago had created molds of her hand with each child's. He focused on the bubble wrap she was using and tried not to laugh. The amount? Well, generous was a good word. Copious was even better. Every other time these treasures had been transported, they had been hand-held by her. Only her. So long as Chris didn't think about having to drive them home, by himself, with a carload of other boxes...
He stood up and crossed the room to the last wall of frames. "Want me to take these down for you?"
"Sure, thanks."
Scanning the spread, Chris lost himself in the newer memories. Talk about a blast. The Hawaiian getaway had taken place two years prior, honoring his and Rita's 20th wedding anniversary, and serving as a final, epic family vacation before the schedules of the two younger adults would prevent such a trip. The best part as well, they were all able to get alone time with each member of the fam.
Exhibit A, the time of year and first island chosen. Sure, February was mid-winter break for both kids, and no one had control in that; however, Chris chose to remain suspicious, as mother and son had lobbied for the tail end of O'ahu's winter surf season. He took down the collage displaying Rita's three photographs of sunrise from their pilgrimage to Sunset Beach, Waimea Bay, and 'Ehukai Beach. The matted frame had a small ledge at the bottom, complete with a miniature surfboard their son had crafted out of driftwood from his favorite beach back home.
Wrapping it with care, Chris could only laugh. It stood to reason. The boy had been born with gills. Well, okay, not literally, but he was still probably a fish in a previous life. Drawn to water, any and all water: the bath, their pool, the ocean. Competitive and athletic, while he had years of baseball under his belt, it had been the Swim/Dive Teams that were his passion. That, and animals. He was a magnet for stray or injured creatures, their home having seen much wildlife in many forms. "You know, living with Dr. Doolittle here and all things water, I would have bet our house that he was going to become a marine biologist."
"Definitely interesting how he's combining both loves on the force. I'm just happy his partner will be furry and not scaly."
"What? You didn't like the lizards?" Chris joked, knowing Rita's only beef with them was if they got out of their tank and surprised her in some other part of the house.
He turned his attention to her poster of a mountain's cliff face. Funny, not many people would look at it and think 'golf.' It was all a matter of perspective: just like he had spent those surf mornings running beach drills with his daughter, here, instead of playing with this mountain, he and his son had been geeking out over playing the infamous Navy Marine Golf Course. He had called in a favor from an ol' Vice buddy, an ex-Marine living on the Big Island, who had been more than happy to island hop over and let the family be his guests on the military course. Well, the Lorenzo ladies had humored them with 9-holes, but they were looking to set their sights higher. Quite literally.
Chris looked to the jagged writing on the poster.
O'ahu
Mokule'ia Wall
Copper Dragon 5.12a
He flashbacked twenty-five-some years to joking with Dan Keaton about Rita being up at sunrise to climb a mountain. He realized he had predicted the future as well; some things never changed. Apparently, it was also a genetic thing. Their daughter had brought it up to a whole new level, morphing the fun pastime she shared with her mom from fake climbing walls to the real thing. The two had completed many real-life cliff excursions together, but this was one of their favorites.
Moving the poster into a bin and protecting its surface with a towel, Chris turned his thoughts to his eldest. She possessed the sharp wit of her mother, his fearlessness. Rita's grace and elegance, his devilish charm and love of strategy. SWAT, hostage negotiation, climbing cadre – all were within her power.
Officer and Cadet Lorenzo were going to do great things. Honor was not only instilled in them, but also innate. The whole up and coming wave of cops had so much to offer Palm Beach. "Bad guys, beware. This next generation has your number."
From left field and an impressive tangent, another notion suddenly struck him. "Uh, Rita? Do you realize that we are closer to being grandparents than we are to when we became parents?"
She stared at him, merely blinking. "Thank you. Sam. For that." Laughing, she tried to digest the information. "Another deep question. Why does every question we make today have to feel so deep? Anyway...yes. We are closer to being grandparents. I don't think I'm opposed to the idea; it's our next phase. At the moment, however, I would just like off the emotional ride, if you please."
Chris sighed, loudly and dramatically. "This is crazy! I'm on nostalgia overload here. But hey, the memories are out of this world."
He pulled down the next-to-last picture, still thinking about the younger dynamic duo of their family. Not having any siblings, he had had limited tolerance for their occasional bickering throughout the years, but there was always an underlying connection between them that he could see only got stronger as they grew. Thick as thieves, they had a long history of meeting up together at least once a week at a local café. Even to this day. Which, is how the photograph in his hands came to be.
Ah, Kaua'i. He had loved that island, just like these two did. The under-aged coffee connoisseurs had deposited their parents off at the Kōloa Rum Company, so they could tour the Kauai Coffee Company's estate by themselves. Their pose was casual and natural, both with an arm around the other, both full-out laughing. One of them had cracked a joke just before the picture was taken, and the still-shot had captured not only their impish fire, but also their bond.
Chris recognized the importance of such an ally in life. It also gave him peace, like any good parent, to know that the pair had such a solid relationship. They could back each other up and humble each other down, all within loving boundaries. Friendships could end, but blood was forever.
And with that reflection, Chris found himself down to the final frame in the office. He stared at the otherwise empty wall, then back to the image.
He amended his previous thought.
Some friendships could end.
Others, were governed by a strength so prevailing, no power in the universe could sever them.
It was quite fitting, really, that this last shot, this last memento…was of him and Rita. They had basically started out on the force together, and here they were, ending it together.
Beyond that, this particular photograph spotlighted so much of what defined them collectively. It didn't take a detective to pick out elements which were anything but subtle.
First up, there was the location. A shout-out to their longest-running joke of thirty years: Sam Snead's Tavern in Honolulu, where they paid homage to the greatest golfer that ever lived.
Next, was their position. Not facing the camera, facing each other.
And, finally... "The Look." That's right, capital 'T,' capital 'L.' A term that may have been coined by their children, but they were only two in scores of people taken aback by the magnitude and sheer intensity it always possessed. It even took his own breath away, as from time to time he would glance up at his desk and catch sight of it in this picture.
Nothing could replace the real thing, though. Whenever he and Rita allowed their eyes to lock, the world and everything in it was rendered nonexistent. Absorbed in the actual moments with her...ask him to define heaven on earth.
Chris ducked his head, taking a deep breath so he could focus back on the image he was holding. This had been their date night of the vacation, celebrating a marriage that spanned just ten months shy of twenty years. Were there more romantic culinary settings? Of course. Reservations were set at Alan Wong's. No, this was sentiment over style, toasting Slammin' Sammy Snead, and honoring the most important concept to them in the entire English language.
Sam...
Three letters, two people, one soul.
With the frame in one hand, Chris held out his other to Rita, beckoning her to stand up and join him.
Her curiosity turned to contentment as she complied, and her gaze sought his. Iridescent green eyes locked with crystal blue.
Chris felt time stand still.
It took great conscious effort to break the spell, but he finally widened his eyes and blinked rapidly, concentrating on the ability to speak. "So, ah, this is it! The last picture. You and me, partner."
"I love this picture..." Rita intoned.
Chris packaged it up and debated whether the two bins on Rita's desk would fit in the car, which was nearly filled. Satisfied, he got ready to take this last load to the house. He pointed to a group of boxes set off to the side. "Those are the four that stay here, right? I need to take them upstairs?" The stack contained records and files they were handing off to the Chief.
"Yes."
"Okay, I'll grab them when I get back."
Rita placed her precious bookends in the emptiest of the remaining bins. Using all the leftover towels as cushion, she handed it to Chris. "You, are to guard these with your life." Though stated with a smile, it was only a half-joke.
Setting the bin on top of the heavier one for a moment, Chris put a hand over his heart, and the other up as if he were taking the oath on a witness stand. "They will be going straight to the bookcase, and not left in the garage. Scout's honor. But! It's your job to unwrap them. That is way beyond my jurisdiction."
"Deal!"
Though the jaunt away from each other would be quick, duration mattered not. Chris uttered the parting comment that was always made, without fail, every time. "Love you!"
"Love you."
As unconscious as breathing, and just as vital.
This time, Chris blazed back into the office at a full-out sprint. He had teased Angela on his way past her and was pretty sure something could be thrown at him.
Rita was at her desk, answering the latest round of congratulatory texts, and barely looked up at his sudden entrance. "Now, now, Christopher. Behave – even though I know you want to get in as many last battles as you can."
"I know I won't get the chance to tease her tonight. Got to make the most of it! What time does the party start at Society's anyway?"
"Seven. We are under strict orders not to report even a minute before then."
"Hold on, what is today?"
Rita actually had to think about it for a second. "Friday?"
"Yes! Here's a 'first,' for you, Sam! It's Friday and do you know where we will not be tonight? The Budget Planning meeting. You are not going to have to sit through listening to me moan and groan about not wanting to go to it."
"Just moan and groan, Sam?"
"Fine. Hey, I admit it. Those meetings make me whine. I'll own it."
"Yeah, well, more's the pity, actually. I'll miss coming up with a bribe for you if you promise to play nice with all the little city officials."
Chris froze, only his eyes darting back and forth as he considered the ramification of no meeting. "Well, now that's a bummer. What happens if a city official shows up to the party? If I play nicely...?"
Rita leaned forward, placing her elbows on the desk's surface and supporting her chin on one hand. She made him wait before a slow, sly smile reached across her face. "I think I can make it worth your while."
"See how you are?"
"Ha ha." Rita stood up, grabbing her purse. "You ready?"
"I am!"
They took a final moment, slipping into each other's arms.
At last, Chris called for Angela, and after the three of them had exchanged embraces as well, he handed her his car keys. He and Rita had asked the Chief's permission to take a patrol car out on a final, official tour around the city before meeting up for the ceremony out in front of the station. Angela would drive their car over, then ride back to the Municipal Building with the Chief and his assistant.
She gazed around the empty room, almost shocked at the expanse of bare, bland, and beige walls. "It's so 'business' in here! You two gave it such personality, I forgot it's an office."
Chris nodded in agreement before suddenly realizing that the boxes for the Chief were nowhere to be seen. He canvased the room, turning in a full circle just to make sure. "Hey!" he chided his partner, hands on hips. "Ginger Rogers – where are the boxes to go upstairs?"
"The boxes to go upstairs have gone upstairs."
"Who's Ginger Rogers?" Angela piped in.
Chris cocked his head to the side and let it loll forward. "Your last homework assignment for Classic Cinema 101: Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. Forget 'Dancing with the Stars.' You wanna see a pair of dancers – they will be near the top of the top for all eternity – annnd..." Chris whipped his head in Rita's direction. "...Ginger could do everything Fred could do, and she could do it backwards, and she could do it in heels, but! That does not mean she should be lugging boxes up a crazy stairwell in heels!"
"Hey," Rita volleyed with an air of complete innocence, "you know that I have no patience for the elevator here, and twenty bucks says that Ginger wouldn't have had any, either."
Hand in hand, the Sams exited the Municipal Building. They were halfway down the sidewalk before they stopped and, with one accord, turned to look back.
Rita shifted her attention to Chris. "We did it, partner. It was a great ten years – a great thirty years," she voiced, slipping on her vintage Oliver Peoples sunglasses.
"You said it, partner."
Continuing along the path, they separated only after reaching the gleaming, silver and blue Police Dodge Charger. Chris held out his arms. "I'm losing another Charger, Sam!"
"I know; I'm sorry. Personally, I'm just counting on this one not making me feel like I'm 'riding in a blender.'" Rita made her way around to the passenger side, looking over the top of the car at Chris before adding, "although, I must admit. There is a part of me that wants to see you contort in and out through the window. Just for old times' sake."
Chris rapped the knuckles of one hand on the car's roof, all the while throwing her a challenging look – before using his opposite hand to whip open the car door with great dramatic flair.
Rita's laughter could only increase as they sat down, and Chris took in the extensive control panels of the dash and center counsel. "Ooh, buttons," he exclaimed, sounding like a little kid in all his glory. Indeed, it was an impressive display, and they joked on how different it was from the cars they had used for their days on patrol.
As they rolled out, it was nearly impossible to find an area that had missed their scope of the force. For such a small strip, Palm Beach had memories jam-packed into every square mile.
They took turns calling out various places and people.
Near Ocean Park they reminisced Raúl, wondering if his soul ever slept under the slide so he could wait for the late-night crowd.
Cruising their old Vice and Narcotics beats, they passed the sites of their first drug busts. Chris detoured to the warehouse district so he could regale his favorite, hilarious story of him with Lem Caine.
While the humor was not lost on Rita, for a split-second, she felt her eyes narrow. It was an unconscious response, beyond her control. "Mmm."
She debated a reply, choosing her words very carefully. "Complicated history and mixed emotions on Lem," she finally offered. "But, I know he was your friend."
They drove by the old Dream Girls location, and Night Moves East. The shelter remained dear to Rita's heart, having overseen its renovation years prior, the creation of a sister chapter in West Palm, and volunteer shifts that continued to grace her schedule.
In awe, she sighed. "So much has changed in thirty years." She pointed to a classy wine tasting establishment coming up on the westside of the street. "You see 'Uncorked' there? Back in the day, that was a dive bar called Duke's."
"Duke's! You're right!"
"Alex Dale and I got our squad car stolen in the alleyway behind there. Thought we were going to be on the meter beat for the rest of our careers – if we even got to keep them. I guess her relations with ex-Chief Bernett were good for something..." Rita gazed at the building, even switching to the side mirror as they passed it by. "Still, I wish the Department had stood by her once their scandal broke. After her death, it was music to my ears when he was indicted on embezzlement charges. Even though he had long-since left the PD, it was justice. Somehow. Not to mention, as replacements go, Chief Dunham is one of the best things to ever happen to Palm Beach."
Rita lowered her head and stared at her hands. "I miss Alex. I miss Tina Maxwell and Robin Curry. I've thought about them a lot throughout the years. Milestones, either career-wise, with the kids, or with you. They deserved more."
"You're right, Rita, they did. Best thing we can do now...is know that they are enjoying all these moments with us."
Befittingly, the Sams soon passed the beach where they were married. Barely visible, it was on the other side of the boulevard, through a park and grove of palm trees. Chris took Rita's left hand, and without a word, kissed the ring he had placed there all those years before.
As they approached the 200 Block of Market Street West, the light was green. He continued through the intersection, and murmured a single name, "Ronnie Atkins," before receiving Rita's silent squeeze to his shoulder.
Wishing to further redirect his attention, she asked, "didn't you have some high-profile cases out this way with John Penner? Back in the day?"
"Yes. Yes, I did." Chris shook his head. "Big Bad John Penner. Now there's someone I thought about a lot once I became a father. Whenever I worried about anything happening to the kids." He took a deep breath. "I really want to think I'd be able to keep myself from crossing the line like John did. But, he wanted his daughter's killer. Even though I know what John did was wrong..." Chris made a fist, tapping it twice to the steering wheel, "...part of me understands."
"Yeah, well, understanding and acting are two separate things, Sam. You wouldn't cross that line because you have more self-control. You would grieve, and you would handle the situation, but you would do so as a law-enforcing agent and a law-abiding citizen."
Shifting in her seat, Rita turned more toward Chris. "Being a parent...changes everything – in its own right – but it changes everything about being a cop. Before kids, we could own 'all in the line of duty.' If one of us got injured, we could just chalk it up to 'the job.' It might be a nightmare for whoever wasn't hurt, but there was always that underlying acceptance, you know? We both chose this career. Throw kids into the mix and, well..."
Rita propped her elbow up on the door, as if her fist could support not only the weight of her head, but those of her thoughts. "Suddenly, we were held accountable, and affecting the lives of innocents who had no say in our choice. Remember when you got your hand sliced and needed all those stitches? And then the following year when I got the broken ribs and they made me stay overnight in the hospital? The kids were...I don't know, in elementary school. Old enough to know something serious had happened because of our job, and young enough to be afraid. That was very sobering. I can't imagine having to explain if one of us had gotten shot around that time."
...
A well-known building, set in Spanish Colonial style, was coming up on the right. Chris pulled into a lot and threw the car into park. Cadets milled about, talking and joking, their laughter mingling with echoes of the past. The Palm Beach Police Academy offered him and Rita so much to reminisce – in virtually every capacity imaginable: as Cadets, guest lecturers, instructors, and even parents of Cadets. They chatted for a few minutes there, lost in memories.
"Would you teach again?" Rita asked, once they were on the move again.
"I'm open to that. Long as we could fit it in around our travel schedule. Mode of communication? Postcard!"
As they slowed to a stop for a red light, Rita glanced at the bank on the corner, but immediately diverted her eyes back inside the car.
"It's okay," Chris assured her quietly, "I see it." Consenting, relenting, he finally uttered, "it's part of our career, too."
The double-homicide scene they had worked there was their biggest case together with Brent, giving rise to the Three Musketeers.
Chris never spoke of Brent.
Ever.
He took a deep breath and let it out. "I didn't lose you. We've gotten to spend our lives together." Maybe if he started with the miracle at the end, he could bridge the darkness that had preceded it, and force himself to remember the good times of the years before. Today was the day to put the past to rest. "Brent wasn't the same person. The guy who undermined the DEA and tried to kill you was not the guy who worked all those scenes with us. It was true, what we said on the beach after he killed himself. He never had a partner like we did to keep him from drifting so far."
As the bank faded from Chris' sight in the rearview mirror, the past re-aligned and assumed its rightfully place in history.
His mood lightened. "Which 'corner' was yours?" he asked with a mischievous grin. "When you would get roped into prostitution stings, where was your turf?"
"Oh jeez," Rita groaned. "I haven't thought about that in ages! Belvedere and 7th. Hardcore, that was me." She searched her memory. "I want to say... I know I pulled at least one beat even as a lieutenant, but I think we finally had enough female officers before I was promoted again to where I didn't have to hit the streets anymore."
"Whatever happened to that little blue, satin number you used to reserve for those operations?"
"What, the one with the hem that never stayed down?"
Chris waggled his eyebrows at his beautiful wife. "Mmm, yeah. That's the one."
"Back of the closet."
Rita's delivery was so deadpan, he whipped his head in her direction. "Seriously?"
"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. Guess you could wait and find out."
"How late can we show up at Society's tonight? Before it looks too suspicious?"
Before Rita could respond, her cell phone rang, and she informed him it was Angela. Chris listened as she gave the location of a particular file, and he considered the disruption of their previous conversation. After Rita hung up, he offered, "you know, there is one thing – hands down – that I'm definitely not going to miss."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"The phone calls. The constant interruptions."
"Definitely! That, will be completely new."
"Do you remember when we first got together as a couple? If you were in my arms, that was a guaranteed bet we'd get called in to work."
Rita rewarded Chris and the memory with a sultry smirk and raised eyebrow. "True, true. But! That was just a matter of statistics. Once we got together, we were always in each other's arms."
"Hah! Yeah..."
"Twenty-two years later, and that still hasn't changed." Rita reached over the center counsel and placed her left hand on Chris' thigh. "I'm glad, Sam."
"Me, too, Sam," Chris grinned, bringing that same hand up to his lips for a quick kiss. "Me, too."
"I will like not having 'the job come first.' Having our time be our own. We really don't know how that feels, you know? I mean, pretty much our whole adult lives, everything has taken second fiddle to those calls of duty. And, now, we won't even have the kids' schedules in the mix, either!"
"Man! When they were growing up, we worked our tails off to make sure that 99% of the time, one of us would make it to their school functions –"
"Their after-school functions..."
"Their sport functions."
Rita chuckled. "I'm getting exhausted just thinking about those days. Good times, though."
"Couldn't have done the earlier years without the Cap and Fran, either."
"Oh, no way. There would have been no way. When the kids were little, and we were still working scenes together?" Rita shook her head in humble gratitude. "I will be eternally grateful for how they threw themselves into the role of grandparents."
"And now, we get to be true, retired, empty-nesters, Sam. That's gonna be fun!"
Rita snickered at Chris' enthusiasm. "A reminder, and just a small word of caution: your children may have moved out, but they still have keys to their home. Strategy, Commander, it'll all be about strategy." She then paused, intrigued by his overall idea. "You make a good point, though. That will be new, too. Being just 'a couple.' Not twenty-four-seven parents. We had, what? A couple weeks back in the day before I was pregnant?"
As the drive through town and time came full circle, Rita announced that she better check-in with Officer Lorenzo, her contact person who would let everyone know when they were close to the station.
"Hi, sweetheart. We're coming up on Murphy Road. Our ETA should be two minutes. Yes, it was great. So many memories. Exactly. Okay, see you soon. Love you, bye."
The blue-glassed exterior of the Palm Beach Police Department gleamed in the late afternoon sun. This location, when it came to their entire time on the force, would always be the Sams' home away from home.
Chris backed the cruiser into the first empty space in a long line of patrol cars. He twisted in his seat, taking a minute with Rita to simply gaze at the station, until she finally broke the silence.
"Being at the Municipal Building for so long is making this part easier. It would be much, much harder to say goodbye to this place if we were here all the time."
With a conscious, deliberate motion, she reached for the radio. CB in hand, she just stared at it.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes? No?" Rita laughed, suddenly a little nervous. She then cleared her throat with conviction. "This is X-ray-9. Requesting the channel for our final 10-7."
"1-X-ray-9, copy that. Dispatch to all units, except for emergency traffic, clear the radio for recognition of Commander Lance and Commander Lorenzo."
The next two voices over the airway, were unexpected.
"This is Officer and Cadet Lorenzo. It is our honor, as their daughter and son, to announce the retirement of our parents, as of May 5th, 2017, after 31 years of service on the job for Commander Lorenzo and 30 years for Commander Lance.
"Commanders, your red- and blue-blooded families applaud you for everything you are and do. Your legacy will forever live on at the Palm Beach PD. You leave behind a department that has more integrity because of your service, and a city that is safer because of your dedication. As your colleagues, we have earned the right to salute you. As your children, knowing this station since infancy, we're convinced it's never going to be the same around here without you. We vow to uphold this family's name, and that legacy you both have created. Talk about impossible shoes to fill. Still, we all...will continue to do you proud."
There was a break, and to Chris and Rita's greater surprise, various Divisions sounded off.
"... Vice, copy that: go make trouble somewhere else. All the best!..."
"... SWAT, 10-4, copy that. Commanders, respect all – fear none..."
"... Homicide, copy that: it's been an honor serving under your command. We won't let you down."
Chris gestured for the CB, switching it to his left hand so he could use his right to interlace fingers with Rita.
"I want you all to know how much that means to us. Thank you. Now! First up, nobody dog me. I know full well to let 'ladies go first,' but let me explain our long-running joke. Rita made Lieutenant before me. I made Captain first. Then, we made Commander at the same time, but my paperwork got held up, and I didn't get my keycard till the day after she did. Rita officially started a day before me, and I like to think that she outranks me. So, she has earned the right to sign off last.
"I want to thank you. All of you. For always having my back. Because of my partner, many of you, and just plain grace...I am crossing the finish line today."
Chris paused, out of respect for the sheer gravity manifested in that truth.
"I bring with me all our comrades who met with an end-of-watch instead of an out-of-service."
He unclicked the CB button, and cleared his throat, collecting himself. "Man!" he uttered before getting back on the air.
"Palm Beach PD, it's been a hell of a great ride. Keep the blue line thin and straight. Serve and protect. Stay safe out there. X-ray-16...is secure for...a final time. 10-7."
Chris bowed his head, giving it a quick shake. "That was brutal..." Looking to Rita, he handed her the CB. She inhaled deeply and slowly let out the breath.
"To each and every one of you, it has been a privilege and an honor. I will cherish the memories you have given me. It, ah...it has occurred to me, as of late, that I've been a cop for more years of my life than I haven't been. It'll definitely be hard to give that up. But! I get to take my partner with me. My partner...for all but maybe nine years of our whole time on the force." It was Rita's turn to pause, humbled by the complete blessing.
"For our lost brothers and sisters who live on in our hearts and in the memories of their families...we will honor you with every second of retirement we get to enjoy.
"If you ever need us, we are only a call, a text, a visit away. Serve and protect. I wish you all a safe tour of duty. One last time...X-ray-9...is secure. 10-7, Dispatch."
"Dispatch copies, X-ray-16 and X-ray-9 off the air and retired. We received your final 10-7s loud and clear. Commanders, your brothers and sisters in blue congratulate you. You have been a constant friend and mentor to us, and to the citizens served in your community. Palm Beach Dispatch would like to thank you for your kind words and wisdom throughout the years, and we wish you well in your future endeavors. It is our great pleasure to announce that as of 1633, May 5th, 2017: X-ray-16, Badge number 770 – and as of 1635, May 5th, 2017: X-ray-9, Badge number 551 – are 10-7 for the last time. Have a healthy, happy, and safe retirement, Commanders. You both deserve this. Dispatch is clear. All units, resume normal radio traffic."
Chris and Rita were still holding hands – only now did they separate.
They got out of the car just as Police Chief Rodney Dunham, the only person who had outranked them, exited the Department. Behind him was Retired Captain Lipschitz, boss to half of the Lorenzos, grandfather to the other half, mentor to all four. Frannie came next with the kids, followed then by droves of officers, colleagues, and friends.
Everyone gathered around, and Chief Dunham addressed the crowd. In no uncertain terms, they were made aware that the service and sacrifices his Commanders had made throughout the years were appreciated. He then presented each retiree with a personalized shadow box.
Both displays were striking, the whole of their careers represented in colors and patterns. Amidst their service bars, those who knew the codes could see Medals of Valor and Purple Hearts, Meritorious Service and Lifesaving, Chief's and Duty Citation. There were service year pins, Commander star insignia, and Palm Beach PD patches. An evolution of badges through the ranks, assignment challenge and academy coins, first and last pictures. Rounding out each assortment was a shiny set of silver handcuffs. Three decades of blood, sweat, tears, and triumph symbolized within a thirty-by-thirty-inch space.
As an added surprise, Chief Dunham then turned the floor over to his Retired Captain, stating that no ceremony would be complete without a speech from him.
"Thank you, Rod–" Harry stopped dead in his tracks. He acknowledged the near breach with a scoff, gesturing his apology with a thumb and forefinger directed at the Chief. "Right! Protocol. This isn't just a joint dinner with our wives. Thank you for letting me do this, Chief Dunham." He shifted his gaze to his favorite team, who had long ago moved into a role of daughter and son. "Lance! Lorenzo! In my office!" He barely had the chance to stare out over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses before the smile broke out on his face. "That felt good. Had to get it off my chest. We're family, so at least I know I'll always outrank you.
"I've known a lot of cops in my time. A lot of them. And, I've never been so proud of two officers. Two careers. So, you guys think you're leaving the force, huh? Newsflash, there's no such thing. The badge...never comes off. Once it's on? Sure, you can turn it in, but it'll never leave you. Here's an inside tip. Some friendly advice that I'll have Chief Dunham make as your parting orders:
Hold your position. Stand down.
"It won't be easy; I'll be the first to admit that. From this day on, you're going to hear a siren and reach for your cell phone. You're going to tick off endless possibilities of what that run might be. Hold your position. Stand down. It's not your circus. I've got no doubts you'll be able to keep your finger on the pulse of this city in countless other ways.
"Your time now, belongs only to you. Your job, is to focus on everything beyond the shield." Harry drew everyone's attention to his grandkids, who were flanking their grandmother, each with an arm around her. "You have your family, you have travel –" he dramatically rolled his eyes, "– you still have more energy than I've ever had in my entire lifetime. Most importantly, you have each other. I know I don't have to tell you, of all people, but don't ever take a second of that for granted. And, well, now that you've got so much time on your hands...Lorenzo, I need you to take a look at one of my sprinkler heads. What are you both standing here for? Go, go!"
The Sams made it to their car and once the shadow boxes were stowed, dropped down onto their seats. They stayed that way for some time, not moving. Minds reeling, hearts full, the day had been absolutely perfect.
Chris finally looked around, breaking the silence. "So, what do we do now? We're retired."
"It definitely doesn't seem real yet," Rita agreed, raising an eyebrow and offering him a lopsided grin. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew where the conversation was heading.
"Seems like something should be different... Nothing's different?"
With that, Rita burst into laughter. She knew him so well. The questions were valid, no doubt, but also throwback, reminiscent of the day they were married. A day where such a monumental event should have felt life-altering, but due to their immense connection for so many years, simply felt like nothing new. "I say we revisit this conversation in bed Monday morning at 0600 hours when there's no alarm."
Time, was theirs to command, and the whole world was going to be their playground. Chris turned in his seat so he could face Rita. "Ready, partner?"
"Ready, partner."
"Still partners?"
"Always partners."
...
The End
Housekeeping!
~ How many stories can I rack up without naming the Lorenzo children? The running tally is 4 – why quit a winner? "But, D," you may be saying, "you've only posted 2 stories with a child of Chris and Rita's." Yup! Stay tuned!
~ Very few topics are harder to cover in fan-fic than Silk math. It just never computes with canon. The years 1986 and 1987 were used for The Sams' start years because they were not in the same class at the Academy, and they had to have been on the force for at least four years before the Pilot episode ("when I met you four years ago..."). The calculations for the Cap's career were computed with info from the ep "Whore Wars." Spring was chosen for the time of year because it's a lovely season to visit Italy. May 6th was supposed to be used because the air date of "Soul Kiss" was May 6th, 1993. It was my very first Silk ep... (How could I not get hooked?) However, the 6th was a Saturday in 2017. Sigh, details. Silk math.
~ Bonus points for the Detective Reader(s) who can name the episode whose ending tag featured the outfits mentioned in the split-screen photo of The Sams in the Homicide bullpen. Feel free to PM me with all votes!
~ X-ray-16 and X-ray-9: I know that Chris and Rita would not have had the same designations as they did when they served on Homicide, but I kept them for nostalgia. Rita was always and only X-ray-9 (Going to Babylon, Internal Affairs). Along with X-ray-16 (Going to Babylon), Chris was also X-ray-8 (Squeeze Play), X-ray-13 (Internal Affairs), and L-42 (Family Affairs) . I always use X-ray-16 just for continuity.
~ Similarly, their badge numbers would not have stayed the same as the ones on Homicide, but I just had to use them. Now, their numbers were never actually mentioned in the show – however, their badge/ID cards (in the black leather bi-folds), made it to memorabilia and replica prop sites years later. "C. Lorenzo," with a rank of Sergeant and a Star number of 770, was used in the 4th season. "R. Lance," Sergeant, Star number 551, was also 4th season, and "Det. Rita Lance," rank of Sergeant and Star number 107551, was in the actual set prop bi-fold for season 5.