"Vic Stone?" Kori asked without looking up from a spread of papers that covered an entire break-room table.
"That's me."
"I have a few- Cyborg?" She'd forgotten his alias.
"Yeah, it's me, and a hologram ring. All the other officers know is that I was a superhero, have an online correspondence associate's in Criminal Justice, and am one of three new-hire rookies," Victor said, slipping the ring off for a second. Her door was closed, and Kori wouldn't tell.
"Why didn't you tell us? Raven called everyone about being a pro bono attorney when she passed the bar exam, and just won her first rape prosecution case yesterday. Gar took her out to eat. She was so pleased with herself that she didn't even tease him about meat. And here you are, a full officer without dropping friends a word." Kori was more pleased than indignant, and he knew it.
"I wanted to make sure I could get a job. This is all-human achievements. The chief knows, and my partner has the general idea, and another girl knows but won't tell."
"Jenny?"
"Does everyone know her?"
"Yes. Jenny's in charge of payroll, accounting, hours, scheduling, sick leave, vacations, and knows everything about everyone. She wouldn't tell a secret for anything, but has enough to blackmail anyone in this department. She's too sweet for that, though."
"About the case- sorry to stop our talk, but I was wondering."
"Not a single lead. Three people dead- one woman, confirmed owner of the house, and her current boyfriend who was spending the day were killed by someone wielding a gun. The gunner took nothing, just shot them. From what forensics said, he started walking out when someone else came in and stabbed him. The killer had a single stab wound to the hollow behind the ear, delivered by a sharp blade. That blow would have been deadly. Poison coating the dagger made sure he wasn't about to walk away- she wanted to make sure he died."
"She?"
"Assassins using pressures points and poison are usually female. Tracks in the pile carpet show that she was wearing shoes sold for females. Unless we have a drag-queen poisoner going against all accepted conjectures, we have an athletic short woman- the angle of the stab was upwards. Anyone taller than five foot five would have stabbed straight."
"Great. So, we're looking for a short woman?"
"Basically."
"Do I even need to be here?" Victor asked.
"I bounce ideas off all police witnesses not suspected. You and Mare aren't even part of the radar. Even if you were, she's too tall and you're too big. Besides, Mare isn't the type for tricky jobs like pressure points and poison. She'd just pull out her station-issue."
She didn't need his help, but he could use hers. "Kori, Charlie said half the station's trying to place me with Jenny. What do you think? Should I ask her out?"
"Vic, let me fill you in on the history of Jenny Wilkinson. She's known as the One-Date Wonder. She goes on a date, is completely upbeat, her usual quiet self, and never even pulls the 'bathroom' classic. At precisely twenty past nine, she calls a cab, thanks her date for a great night, goes home, and comes back to work the next day without a hint showing if she really did have a great time. She's never accepted a second date, and only one guy's ever claimed a kiss without Jenny refuting the claim, Kemosabe's old partner." She didn't have to add that the man was dead. Everyone learned lessons in history quickly. Gotham was not a nice place.
"So, no one was going to tell me this?"
"They didn't know what you'd do if you knew the whole story." She paused, trying to word it the right way. "Vic, you're a nice guy. She's a nice girl that everyone wants to see smiling when no one's looking instead of frowning. She expects to be asked out, it seems, if the new rookie's single. It's as much of a rite of passage for the guys as getting chewed out by Mare- she doesn't care whose partner you are."
"Well, what number am I?"
"Since she came here fresh out of high school with a typing certificate and management classes? Forty-seven."
"Wish me luck- I'll ask her today."
"Break a leg."
"Why do actors say that?"
"Wishing luck is worse than a jinx. Ill-wishing is lucky. That, and all jobs need their own little quirks. It makes them interesting," Kori said. "Well- this job doesn't need help."
"Quirks. Kori, I hardly recognize you. What happened to the too-cheerful girl as challenged in Syntax as Yoda?"
"She grew up, Vic. So did you, Mr. I'm-Half-Machine-so-I-must-be-Macho. Go on, ask her. She likes nice restaurants that aren't too fancy, prefers forget-me-nots to roses, and is very Irish, in case the red hair didn't give you a good guess."
"Kori, you're a lifesaver."
"I know. So are you - when it doesn't involve relationships or picking a time. She's off work at 1700 hours today. Give her an hour. Short a circuit!" she joked.
"Don't remind me," he grumbled through a smile. It was hard enough to ask someone out without any technological difficulties, and when he shorted a circuit, interesting and supremely embarrassing things started happening. Luckily, he had convinced (well, really threatened to pummel until he was more purple than Raven's hair) Gar to destroy all records of the time he had gone to the Mall of Shopping with Starfire during a glitch. In the wrong hands, that could be really bad. Even in 'right' hands, it wasn't fun.
"Jenny? Do you have a minute?"
"Sure, I'd love to go out with you."
"If you're too busy now, I can come back lat- you just answered my question. I haven't even gotten to it yet."
She shrugged. "All new guys ask. One new woman did, but I don't swing that way. As you have your uniform, pay comes out every other Friday, you haven't earned paid leave, and from talk, Mare actually likes you and hasn't called you a waste of a perfectly good pair of shoes, you won't be asking for a partner reassignment." She was still typing, keys rattling beneath her fingers.
"Am I that obvious?"
"Sorry to burst your ego, if you're Mr. Suave, but you're obvious to me."
"Six? I'll pick you up."
"You trust a car in Gotham? You see the psychos on the road, the carjackers, the many illegal parking jobs- and that's not even counting big-name criminals."
"I have good security measures, on and off road, and the parking lot outside O'Malley's is well lit, in a nice neighborhood, and is a usual gather spot for cabbies who make fares picking up drunks. No waiting when the substitute for midnight strikes- one will be right there."
"You've done your research."
"Actually, Kori told me. When I was in the . . . group I mentioned during the meeting, she was a teammate."
"Detective Anderson?"
"Yes."
"Figures. She's too nice for her own good."
"If she wasn't so sweet, she'd be bitter. Her sister's proof of that, a real piece of work."
"Here's my address." She handed him a slip of paper written in perfectly neat cursive that belonged in calligraphy class. "Two blocks west of the station. Six?"
"Six," he confirmed, feeling like she had planned everything when she opened a worn datebook. "Victor Stone- 1800." That was all she wrote.
"Jenny?"
"Yes?"
"Why do you do this?"
"I reserve the right to remain silent. Anything I say will be used against me."
"Never in my court, Miranda. Your serve."
"Allusive, are we?" She smiled, but didn't look away from her glowing screen as she typed yet another memo.
"Will you ever answer the question? For anyone?"
Her smile turned sad. "I don't know, Vic. I just don't know." She didn't say which question she was answering.
"Tonight?"
"Tonight. Six." She shifted paperwork, dismissing him. The One-Date Wonder had doctor's physicals to go through, and her motives. She just might never sort through the latter, but the former would be done before 1630. She always could keep on task, a talent and something that resulted in very boring days.
The door opened before he could knock. She stepped outside and had the door closed before he could offer forget-me-nots. She accepted them, opening her door again to deposit them on an end table. Her first-floor apartment was dark, giving no sign of the inside.
"Someone really did his homework," she remarked.
"I try."
"Don't open or close doors for me. It's nothing personal. The last time someone did that, I had to take a half-day off work to see the doctor about a fractured ankle."
"Point taken, even if I've never slammed a door on anyone." She wasn't listening.
"That's your car?"
"Yeah. She's completely custom, all maximum-quality. No chrome rims- they only lessen engine efficiency. Seats five comfortably, fully reclining seats in case of invasive maneuvers, and five cup holders- as many as there are people, so I don't have fights."
"Engine?" She found the hair-catch, guaranteed thief-proof and only able to be opened by key or remote. She sprang the hood open and looked into the mess of metal. "I don't know complete detail, but I see twelve cylinders, an obscene amount of horsepower, and- is that a rocket booster?"
"This baby outperforms any villain's car, and I've been working on a race against the Batmobile, but the guy won't loosen up enough to resort to childish games. I beat an old enemy last year, and this will officially leave Gizmo in the dust."
"She'll do. You can take care of this car, you can check your Crown Victoria for flaws. What do you think about the fuel tank?" She let herself into the T-car, finished with her brief inspection.
"There is no good place for it. Crown Vics are not made for high-speed chases. This baby is."
"Where would you put the tank in a Crown Vic?"
"I wouldn't use a tank. I'd choose hydrogen fuel cells. They work better, run cleaner, don't need refills, and won't explode in a crash, when engineered right. Besides, a vegan friend of mine has been pushing them. I agree with him about fuel."
A fast debate about petroleum took them to the restaurant. Vic's driving was as mind-numbingly legal as possible. He was a cop. He might was as well set a good example- when someone was watching.
"This is the new Irish pub, isn't it?" she asked, realizing O'Malley's was the restaurant she had wanted to try out.
"They have a grand-opening special. Corned beef, cabbage, potatoes, Irish draft."
"Sounds good. Driving home drunk, are you?"
"I don't get drunk- liver replacement, more effective than any human liver. I never compete in drinking contests. Anyone facing me would get hurt."
"I'll take a glass, two at the most." She was a few eighths of an inch above five foot two. She was skinny. Two glasses would be more than enough alcohol.
"Party of two? Smoking or non?" the hostess asked. "All smokers will be seated outside."
"Two, non, and two specials."
"Right this way."
"How Irish are you?"
"Full-blooded. Don't let the Wilkinson fool you."
"Catholic or Protestant?"
"Catholic. My grandpa will still mutter about fetching his gun when he sees orange, and thinks that inmates in orange jumpsuits are Protestant target practice."
"Is Baptist bad?"
"You're Catholic, an evil Protestant, or just ignorant, in his view. In mine- I've dated all kinds. One guy was even a Satanist- he was an interesting fellow."
"When did you start at the station?"
"Fresh out of high school- I took a typing and a management class. The police had an opening, and most local businessmen hiring were kind of sleazy."
"When did this start?" Victor asked.
She knew what he meant. "The second week at the station, a guy had asked me out twelve times. I told him nothing would happen. We went to dinner, we talked, I went home. I never have found the need to change."
She ate as quickly as he did. It was only eight to seven- the time she usually left was far away. "Do you want to go see a movie?" he asked. "I can drive you there, the theatre also has taxi services, everything's on me. Money's no issue- early inheritance."
"No one's ever asked me that before." She thought for a second before remembering that he was waiting for an answer. "Sure."
"Any movie preferences?"
She smiled. "The old-run theatre. A nicer seat, less scum, better popcorn, and one of this week's movies is especially appropriate."
"Which movie would that be?"
Her smile only grew wider. "You'll see."