Just a few quick side-notes- about little additions to tickets, that is standard practice in my part of the United States, as the earlier-mentioned officer told my class. The lesson here? Be nice to cops. If you're nice, they just might let you get away with impeding traffic instead of speeding.
Vic returned to the car hesitantly after his first traffic stop. Mare had let him listen twice through her microphone (required to be on during all routine stops), then decided to throw him out of the "nest." He had issued a ticket for speeding (clocking 59) in a residential area (25 by default) past a school (definitely 25-mile-per-hour zone). The businessman promised to fight in court, was rude enough to put Miss Manners into a coma (actually, the last part might not be such a bad thing), and insinuated a comment about Vic's race. In all, it had been a disaster.
"Not bad," she judged, surprising him. "Your court date's next week- Gotham moves fast. Dress up nice. I'll go with you, of course, and we get paid for a cozy assignment. Now, we have a few advantages. Your mike was on, catching every last one of his remarks. Our camera caught him flipping you the bird while you walked away. Now, we let the judge know about the man's level of annoyance."
"How?" He hadn't heard this side of police work before.
"Draw a dot on the ticket, near his name."
"What?"
"I'm serious. Get out your pen and make a small circle, then fill it in nice and dark- that's it. Now, circle it."
"Why?" he asked, completing the symbol.
"To let the judge know the man was an asshole. Polite people get smiley faces, if they're above and beyond the norm. Outright inappropriate people get a free ride to the station. Pregnant women actually in labor get an escort to the hospital."
"Cop work isn't all danger all the time, is it?"
"You have to watch. There are too many sickoes who wouldn't mind at all taking out of a cop, even if the donut-downing lazy chunky man is a creation of myth, usually."
"Do cops really develop a donut obsession?" He had always wondered, but have never wanted to be rude enough to ask. Now, he was a cop (in training). He could ask without being entirely out of line.
"Not me. Ask Charlie later. He's a good man, and the type who would give his only donut, or anything else, away after a twenty-day fast. Too good, unless someone makes him be mean. If he has to get nasty, look out. His partner was down with a bullet to the back, after he turned to see reinforcements.Thatmanpanicked. But Charlie- he took out thirteen men with fourteen bullets. He shot one assailant twice, the one to put a bullet in his partner. Cops shoot to kill. We don't fire warning shots- every bullet is accounted for. Charlie hasn't picked up a gun since, but he's the best dispatch a cop could ever hope to find." She pushed the 'talk' button on her radio for the last eleven words. "Right, Chuck?"
"Only to you, Mare. Everyone else calls me Charlie. But no, you have to be different." From the teasing tone, they were good friends. "I heard you have a new victim- er, rookie."
"That's me," Victor said.
"The famous Vic Stone- one of the good old boys found you don't wear Kevlar. This is a direct- no one's hearing but you and Mare, unless you have an invisible criminal in the back," Charlie drawled. When nothing was happening, he could take the time to talk.
"No, just speeders today, Chuck." Mare yawned, obviously displeased. Chasing speeders hardly did anyone any good.
"Just- look out, rookie. The old boys here don't like anyone that isn't their pick for hire. You beat out Sal Herd's kid. He's a wuss, but they're still mad."
"Thanks for the heads up."
"Anytime. Mare hasn't kicked you out of the car yet- you're a good guy."
"She isn't that bad."
"Mare! You're losing your touch!" Charlie feigned shock.
"Charlie, you know as well as I do that Vic has a previous record. You're the biggest gossip in the department- you put old housewives to shame."
"The hero gig, right? No one gets that. No offense, Vic, but you can get away with hero, but superheroes usually need something out of the ordinary."
Vic smiled, not that Charlie could see. "Well, let's just say I'm good at being your average human. I wanted to go incognito."
"You sound like you have a dictionary in your head sometimes, partner."
"When I need one, I do," Victor said.
"And an entire encyclopedia, I assume?"
"Of course. The police handbook is a new addition. I have a few dozen terabytes of memory."
"I don't speak tech." Charlie's voice crackled in the radio. "I just work it. Vic, I'm now calling you when the radio goes nuts again. It happens every so often."
"Fine with me. I would get consultant's pay?"
Mare clapped him on the shoulder, ignoring the clang of metal when her ring hit a part of his shoulder. "Rookie, you're catching on already."
Five minutes before Vic's first shift as a police officer ended, Charlie was on the radio, and not for a friendly welcome-the-new-guy-chat. "Car 182, we have a triple 672 near your current location. Close off crime scene- car 018 is taking inside. Go to Parks and Cleveland, house number 8241."
"672?" Vic asked as Mare made a very fast and very illegal u-turn.
"We've changed police codes," she said grimly. "Radio-scanning thrill-chasers know all the old ones. 672's a murder involving the victims no one wants to see- well, victims worse than carved-up gang bangers. Women assumed to not be street-walkers, children, respectable men- they usually aren't armed."
"Charlie, 182 on the way. Further backup requested, as rookie is on board. Repeat, first-timer in the car. We'll take perimeter," she said into the radio, voice pitched to carry without interference.
"I've seen bad stuff before."
"Not on my watch, rookie. You're getting eased in. Going in too fast brings up the suicide rate. Police officers don't mess up suicide. Female civilians use pills, slitting wrists, heads in ovens- male civilians usually miss with guns or use car exhaust. Cops use their guns, and cops don't miss." Obviously, she wasn't budging on the point. He would be seeing action soon enough.
"What's perimeter?" he asked.
"Putting up caution tape, keeping away spectators, and using the policeman's litany. 'Move along, folks, nothing to see here!' You'll be doing that. No one's going to listen, but your size alone should help you out there. People think much more of a burly man than little old me. That's life." She pulled in front of a quiet suburban home, the kind with petunias in window-boxes and a jump-rope left lying on the lawn. "Let's move."
"You survived, rookie. I'm impressed."
Vic was sitting just outside of Charlie's dispatch booth. More than one officer couldn't fit inside at the same time, with all the added equipment to try disconnecting eavesdroppers. "Why is everyone so surprised?"
Charlie snorted. "Mare is the toughest on rookies in the department. You went on a crime scene with her, on your first day in the squad car. She didn't drag you in to see Chief. When she told you to string up the tape, not peek, and keep the neighbors back, you listened."
"Was I not supposed to?"
"Everyone else in here would have looked."
He shrugged. "I've seen enough dead bodies to last me a long while."
"You're something else, Vic. Better rookie than I ever was," Charlie said with a wide grin. "I liked a few not-so-practical jokes that my partner didn't appreciate."
"Who was your partner?"
"Mare, before she lost Don. She was the toughest cop you'd ever hope to meet, and dragged me in with Chief twice a week when I was doing a good job. She's the only reason I'm still alive. Her way of showing you the ropes is rough, but it'll keep you alive."
Vic looked at his ring, one seemingly innocuous class ring any adult could have. It was gold with a blue stone, and didn't really catch the eye as unusual. TITANS was carved into one side. On the other was a familiar figure carved in relief, labeled CYBORG. All Titans had a ring- his just had programming inside. The others had similar styles, but different colors. Beast Boy's was green, Robin's violet, Starfire's orange, and Robin's red.
"You'll need to go see Personnel before you leave to get the full uniform set. Mare's big on hygiene, and will not be above dragging you to the Laundromat while off-duty to show the proper way to wash clothes."
"I'll keep that in mind," Vic promised. About to leave, he noticed Jenny at his side. Apparently he would not need to stop by Personnel- Personnel was coming to him. He hadn't even heard her approach, even with cybernetic senses.
"Your uniform's ready, Officer Stone." Jen was carrying a box almost larger than her tiny frame. Standing next to a seated Vic, the five foot two inch secretary (if you were generous with the yardstick) was even smaller.
"Vic. You call me Vic, or I call you Ms. Wilkinson."
"Vic, then. Here's your uniform. You're on the work schedule tomorrow for 1800 hours to midnight. Your overtime for the 672 is on record- Charlie helps me keep track."
"Thanks," he said sincerely. Pay and salary were new to him- at least she knew what she was doing.
She granted him a quick-silver smile. "You're part of the family now- no problem, Vic. I'll see you around."
Charlie had been listening in, but waited until a certain secretary was definitely out of earshot before speaking. "Vic, that is the most I've ever heard her say. What was that, seven sentences? I'm not being facetious. The girl hardly ever says three words in a row."
"Chief said about the same thing."
"He always knows. He knew that Kaitlin and I would get along. She's in accounting on the other side of the building. We've been married for eight months. Back to Jenny, though- I saw, and Renee noticed, that Jenny had all your things together this morning."
"Just how many people have match-maker style assumptions running through their minds?"
"All the good ones. Alex as in Alexandra- call her by her full name if you want to be singing soprano, her partner Kemosabe, the least talkative man you'll ever hope to meet ever since some dealer hopped up on meth shot his partner with no warning, Renee- chief investigator around here after she finally got that promotion, but she's another who wouldn't take a title for a million dollars, and her partner Harvey- he's the person to see about donuts, no matter what Mare says."
"No one's told Jenny, though?"
"Not yet, but you have a week. Kemosabe hardly ever says a thing, but he'll drop a three-word hint for Jenny. The two of them say about five words total in a conversation, and act like they got tons out of it. Alex is his partner, and she can only keep him in check for so long."
"If they tell, I'll. . . well, as long as I have a week, it won't be an issue. I'll ask her when I'm at least a few days old around here." Victor was still a little overwhelmed by the atmosphere.
"Detective Anderson wanted to talk to you about the 672, but she had to leave. She's married to Bruce Wayne's heir, the Grayson kid, and went to some benefit with him. She'll meet you tomorrow before your shift. She has something stranger than the perp to talk to you about, apparently." Charlie paused, remembering something. "Look, just one thing- don't say anything about her skin. She's a bit sensitive."
"Why would I say anything about skin?" Vic asked skeptically.
"Well, she's kind of orange. Current gossip leans towards really bad permanent self-tanning accident gone drastically wrong." Charlie didn't want to see any surprisesthat resulted inhurt feelings.
"Orange?"
"I know that's a little unusual, but-"
"Kori Anderson?"
"That's her name. She's from some European country or other I've never heard anyone else talk about or look up online. She's a Tamat- Tamerat-"
"Tamaranean. She's an old friend." He caught a knowing look. "Not that kind of friend. She was always interested in someone else, I was usually messing around with computers or robotics."
"Well, she'll be in her office before your shift begins." Charlie grinned when he saw the signs of a stifled yawn. "You're exhausted. You should be. Go home, get some rest, recover from your first day. I'll only be lonely until someone else comes along."
"Tomorrow, then?"
"Go on, you. The detective will track you down if you don't stop by. Renee's passed her a few cases. Kori's a desk-detective. She looks at things from some weird and completely nuts perspective. She only has one unsolved crime on her record- Mare's partner. He can't say a thing still, but Mare and brain scans say there's someone in there."
"Is that when she got tough?"
"That's when she got tougher."
Vic had a final question. "Aren't guys supposed to converse in grunts and sports anecdotes?"
"Not cops, Vic. If cops don't talk, they think too much. They think too much, they get blown away, by the crooks or by themselves. If you ever need to talk, call me, Mare, Renee- even Kemosabe. If you don't want to, call this number." Charlie palmed him a business card with generic gray printing. "Cops need to talk, Vic, even if it's just to some mystery on the other end of a phone line. Keep your friends close, too; you'll need them."
"Well, that's cheerful."
Charlie shrugged. "That's life as a cop, Vic. Dreary, lonely, frustrating- but it's still the right thing to do." He grinned. "Now that we've gotten the requisite philosophical talk out of the way, I'll continue rivaling Jenny for knowing everything about everyone. She'll win by a long shot, as always, but a guy can try."
"You do that, Charlie."
"You bet I will." Charlie withdrew into his maze of wires and switches and information screens, and Vic carried his uniform from the crowded station out to his car. For the first time, he thought that becoming a cop wouldn't just be some work of dreamlike fiction. He would do this.