Larry Kasak pulled the hat on his head as low as he could when he entered the roll call room; maybe they wouldn't notice him. The five days between his appearances there did little to deter the snickers and the playful comments from his brother officers. In fact, the only two cops not enjoying the banter were Jim Reed, his training officer, and Sgt. MacDonald. Jim suspected that the only reason MacDonald didn't tease Kasak was because he was running the briefing; Mac too had joked privately about Kasak's dubious start as an officer. As soon as they were released, Larry dashed out the door and hurried to the front desk.
Captain Moore had taken the action Pete said he would most likely choose. Two days on the desk was actually a mild response to an officer shooting a hole in a store's plate glass front window. It wasn't uncommon for rookies to receive a break on their mistakes. You expect them from a probationer; the consequences for a veteran would have been much more severe.
"Thanks for coming in to work with me, Sir. I sure hope that your wife isn't mad about you working on your days off." Larry had never met Jean Reed, but he didn't want to get on her bad side, if she had one.
"It's Jim and actually, Jean thinks the whole thing is hysterical." Maybe he shouldn't have said that, but Jim felt that honesty was the foundation of a successful partnership. "Besides she knows how important it is for a probationer to work only with their training officer during the first two months. It's the best way to insure that your training is uniform."
"My brother laughed his head off as soon as he saw me." Larry, elbows firmly planted on the front desktop, held his head in his hands. "One of his friends found the story in the newspaper and showed it to him. Now he keeps calling me 'Deadeye'!"
"Be glad that guy didn't shoot back at you." During his early days on the force Pete had told Jim there was a lesson to be learned in most of their calls. Now it was Larry learning, but the lesson was the same. "Shooting the window was bad, but do you know what the bigger mistake you made was?"
"Bigger mistake? I thought what I did was bad enough." During the time Jim had known him, Larry spent most of the time looking like an eight year old that just lost his dog.
"More dangerous, at least..." Jim waited for the rookie to look him in the eye before continuing. "You took your eye off the suspect. That's a good way to get yourself or your partner killed. Never, ever, let your focus be on anything other than the guy pointing a gun at you." It was at this point when Jim realized that he had a developed a Training Officer voice.
"Yes Sir, I'm sorry Sir."
"Don't call me sir. It's Jim or Reed if you prefer."
"Um…okay. Sir, someone is coming in." The front door of the station lobby was pulled open with a strong jerk by a rather large and visibly angry man. Larry was grateful for the distraction until the man pointed a finger at him.
"You boy, I got a complaint." Kasak turned towards his training officer. So far, the day had been very quiet; the perfect chance to educate Larry about things he forgot to tell the younger man when they were in the "Ale and Wich" pub. That talk had been for reassuring the rookie of his future with the department.
Excuse me Mister…?" Jim was making an attempt to get the man's attention but before he could the man leaned over the counter and tried to grab Kasak's arm. The rookie jumped back as if Dracula, fangs exposed, suddenly lunged at him.
"Sir, I need your name." Jim would divert the man's attention to start, but would pass the man onto Larry. "What is the problem?"
"It's Walker. Andy Walker." Mr. Walker glanced towards Kasak and then focused on Jim. "Some putz stole my wheel."
"Okay, Officer Kasak will be glad to help you fill out the proper forms." Reed used his left hand to point to the rookie standing slightly back from the counter. Larry didn't look eager to deal with the man.
"A kid? He doesn't look old enough to know how to read, much less how to write." Jim had to admit to himself that the six foot four, two hundred pound man did dwarf his trainee. About the only officer in the division that was shorter than Larry was Ed Wells.
"I can assure you that Officer Kasak is capable of helping you with your theft." Unseen by Mr. Walker, Jim used his hand to encourage the rookie to close the distance between him and the counter.
"Yes…Mr. Walker. You said that someone stole your wheels?" Larry seemed hesitant to handle the man's complaint, but Jim had to give him credit for trying.
"No, I said they stole my wheel. Don't you speak English?" The man was aggressive, but not physically threatening, yet, so Jim did not step in.
"Okay. They didn't steal your car; just the wheel? Which wheel?" Jim was about to put a car theft report form on the counter, but put it back. He remembered the night he had to fill out three different reports before he got the right one to report the theft of a car door. Pete had teased him about that. This had to be theft because it didn't matter if the vehicle was locked or not.
"The front one. Can you believe it? I thought threading a lock through the back wheel and the chain would stop someone from stealing the bike, but they stole the front wheel anyway."
"What kind of bike and where was it parked?" Larry was using scratch paper to make notes so he missed the look of utter disbelief on Mr. Walker's face. He mouthed "where was it parked?" to Jim
"I chained the bi-cyc-le to a telephone pole in front of the deli down the street." Jim turned so that Larry wouldn't see him laugh. He recognized that tone of voice; it was the one Pete used the first night they rode together when he said "One… Adam-12…Roger". That tone was usually accompanied by an expression that said, "Can you possibly be that stupid"?
"Oh, that kind of bike." For the second time that morning, Kasak's neck and cheeks were baby girl pink in color. Jim slid the proper form across the counter to Larry. "What brand of wheel and how much is it worth?"
Eventually, the report was finished and a much calmer Mr. Walker left. However, it left Larry with one question. "Why did he bother to report the stolen wheel? It didn't have a serial number. What good does the report do?"
"If he had insurance on the bike, he might have gotten the money to replace it, but without insurance he didn't need to report it. I think he knew that, but sometimes it helps calm the PR down. At least they did something about the theft."
Kasak nodded and put the report on top of the pile they would give to Mac later. The next three hours were too busy for Jim to continue with his questioning of the rookie. They took calls for officer responses, helped two fathers bail out their sons, called detectives to deal with a found child and fielded the odd complaints about parking tickets. They took seven in the breakroom. To Larry's relief, they were the only ones in the room. Those few officers who stopped in for coffee refrained from kidding the rookie; Jim's glare was warning enough.
O~O~O
Pete was sure he was starting to lose his mind; there was nothing to do. With its soap operas, fluff talk shows, cartoons and game shows, daytime television was geared towards women and children. He'd watched the morning news, but there weren't any more news broadcasts until the late afternoon and the radio reception in the hospital stunk. Reading was possible, but with his left arm still being kept immobile even that was frustrating. So he did the only thing he could think of; he got out of bed and walked to the window. He missed being out in the city surrounded by the sights and sounds that were a normal part of his life. While he was looking out the window, someone came into the room.
"Peter Joseph Malloy! Get back in bed right now!" There were exactly two people in the world that would dare yell at him like that and use his full name; his mother and Mrs. O'Brian. Since he spoke to his parents by phone that morning, he knew where his mother was.
"Mrs. O'Brian, it's nice to see you too." She smelled of rose water and cherry pie. He might have gone right back to bed for the piece of pie, but Pete was in an ornery mood. "I am allowed to get out of bed, so shush."
"Don't you dare shush me! Your mother left me in charge of you." She puffed up her chest, at least as much as she could manage to do and glared at him.
"No she didn't and you know that." Pete's mother didn't like Mrs. O'Brian from their first meeting and things rolled downhill from then. The two women behaved like two mother cats fighting to control the new kitten brought into the household and Pete was the kitten.
"Tosh, it wasn't like she had a lot of women to choose from. She had to trust someone to keep an eye on you." This was going to come down to who could out stubborn who.
"My mother doesn't like you and besides, Sally is around if I need anything." True, Sally was working almost every day to stock up on her days off for when Pete did finally get released, but Mrs. O'Brian didn't know that. "I don't need a baby-sitter."
"That's what you think. Look at you, all bandaged up like that." In addition to his shoulder Pete still had a strip of gauze running the length of the surgical scar on his stomach. He was sure that strip was there more to remind him to move slowly than to really protect the closed wound. Pete was eternally grateful that he was wearing pajama bottoms instead of a hospital gown. "You're too thin too. Someone has to protect you."
"Protect me?" One of Pete's eyebrows rose as he considered the absurdity of the old woman's assertion. He decided to be a bit snarky. "Where were you when I was getting shot? I could have used some protecting then." Pete couldn't help laughing; it was the first time he'd ever seen Mrs. O'Brian dumbfounded.
"Did you bring a fork with that pie…?" He was enjoying the conversation, but having skipped lunch, his stomach was growling. He walked past the still quiet Mrs. O'Brian on his way to sit down on the side of the bed. Pete wasn't willing to risk having her insist on helping him get into the bed. "Where's the coffee?"
O~O~O
Few foods were as greasy, messy and delicious as a Ranch Burger from Dukes; a quarter pound of beef, cheese, sautéed onions and mushrooms on a bun. Add fries, a side of chili, include a chocolate milkshake and Pete was in heaven. Nothing said "unauthorized food" like the aroma of that combination. It also told Pete that Jim Reed was seconds from entering his room; the quick rap of knuckles on the doorframe confirmed Pete's suspicions.
"What are you knocking for? Nobody bothers with privacy in a hospital room." Pete was back in bed after a session with Steve, his physical therapist.
"I was being considerate."
"Trying something new I see." Pete wasn't looking at Jim as much as he was looking at the food in his partner's hands. Reed had brought him ranch burgers during previous hospitalizations, but never the works. Pete was a skeptical person by nature so he had to wonder. "Not that I'm refusing dinner, but what are you up to? What do you want from me; in here?"
"Can't a friend bring you food without you being suspicious?" Jim was flashing that cheeky grin he that said, yes, he was up to something, but he was going to take his time with it.
"A burger, yes, but what you have in your hands is a feast."
"Geesh, try and be a nice guy."" Jim took a step back towards the door. "Maybe I'll take this home and eat it myself."
"Oh no, once you brought that in here, you lost ownership of it." Pete started to get out of bed; he wasn't going to let Jim even pretend to leave with that burger.
"Okay, okay." Jim was shaking his head and laughing as he brought the food over and put it on the tray. "Stay in bed. Mrs. O'Brian would have my butt if I let you fall over."
"Mrs. O'Brian? Since when do you answer to her?" Pete was not a happy man. The last thing he wanted was Mrs. O'Brian bothering his friends.
"Since she called the station today to tell me that you were way too thin and I needed to bring you food." The glare Pete cast at his partner had Jim laughing.
"Couldn't you have told her to mind her own business?" Right then and there Pete decided that he really needed to have a chat with his landlady.
"In all the years I've known Mrs. O'Brian, you are the only one who can control her. She and Mac went at it heavy right after…Tony...shot you." Jim still couldn't say it without feeling a shiver run down his spine; he would never forget holding Pete and worrying that his friend would bleed out in the backyard. The image that came to Pete's mind was the terror he now remembered seeing in Jimmy's eyes.
"I heard about her hitting him with her knitting needles. She's really harmless." Pete didn't bother to mention that Mrs. O'Brian occasionally won one of their "discussions'. The time she insisted that he drive her to the station so she could demand action on her stolen purse came to mind. Pete still didn't know who was happier to see the old lady leave the station; Sanchez or Mac.
"Despite my landlady embarrassing me, that isn't enough to justify this." Already, part of the ranch burger was gone and the level of the shake was lower. "What's really on your mind?"
