Jumping the Gun
Chapter One
It had only been three years, but Jimmy'd been his best friend. Terry'd never felt that close to any of his friends before. New York was a big place, but Jimmy'd made it seem smaller, more hospitable.
Terry'd been the rookie detective, assigned to be Jimmy's partner. Detective Jim Dunbar, his superior at the 77. Even though they were partners, it was obvious Jim was the one in charge. He knew what he was doing, had to show Terry the ropes.
The lieutenant, Frank Schumacher, had left Terry in his office, shut the door. Terry'd watched out the window while Schumacher went up to a detective who'd been laughing with a couple other guys, perched on the corner of a desk, gesturing with his hands. He'd stood when Schumacher came up, the other two guys had quickly walked away, looking busy and purposeful as Terry just stood there feeling awkward and useless, but nervous like a caged tiger. The detective glanced over at the office while they talked, cocked his head, nodded, lifted an arm and waved. Terry hadn't been able to wave back.
He blinked, the door opened, and Schumacher and the guy stood there.
"Jim Dunbar, Terry Jansen, your new partner," Schumacher said.
Terry looked down at Jim, a little shorter and less bulky than himself. He still had a small smile on his face from laughing with the other guys.
"How's it goin'?" he asked and stuck out his hand, keeping eye contact with Terry.
Terry swallowed hard. He looked down at the hand. This was going to be his partner, he had to make a good impression. Finally he took it, shook it, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He swallowed again. "Good," he said.
"Good." Jim clapped a hand against the side of his shoulder. "Lemme show you around, I'll introduce you to the guys." He opened the door to the office and let Terry go out before him, turned back to the lieutenant and nodded. Terry followed him around the squad. "So… Detective Jansen, congratulations."
Terry nodded.
"It's a good feeling, isn't it? Making detective?"
Terry nodded again.
"You're gonna have to say something sometime. At least, first time we get a perp in custody, you know?"
Terry nodded, opened his mouth and tried to say something, but just stood there dumbly, nodding.
Jim laughed. "Come on."
"Jimmy! Who've they got you wet-nursing now?" The guy was big, hulking, easily six-five and 350 pounds. Terry felt dwarfed, didn't know how Jim didn't.
"Terry Jansen, his first day, I think he's a little overwhelmed. Terry, this is Doug Bergan. Don't mess with him."
Terry nodded.
"Cat got your tongue?" Doug asked.
"Heya, dog," a guy said, coming up behind Terry, clapping a hand on his shoulder so hard Terry's knees bent under the strain. "Jimmy, you got a minute? Let's drop your partner off at the daycare and go check this out."
"Terry can come. I'll keep an eye on him."
"You sure?"
"Terry, this is Gabe. Yeah, I'm sure. I'll make sure he doesn't screw anything up."
"I'm not—" Terry started, but cut himself off when Jim turned to him with a mischievous look in his blue eyes.
Jim nodded. "Yeah, chances are you won't be able to say anything anyway, right?"
"Doug and I are headed over, see you in a few?"
"Yup, we'll probably beat you there."
"No you wo—"
Jim laughed. "I had to box you in. You're not going anywhere 'til I move the squad car."
Gabe pushed Jim playfully, but hard enough Jim had to step back, still laughing. "What'd you do that for?"
"You parked in my spot. Don't let it happen again." Jim pushed Terry off in front of him down the hall.
"So, you married?" Jim asked as he drove, weaving in and out of traffic with finesse.
Terry shifted in the passenger seat. "Yeah. About three months now."
"I've been married a year myself. Finally got roped in, had to break myself of those bad habits. What's your wife's name?"
"Annie. I've known her since high school, actually."
"A high school sweetheart?" Jim glanced over. "That's kinda cutesy, ain't it?"
"Uh…"
"I'm just messin' with ya."
Jim ordered Terry around at the crime scene, but Terry just took it and hung his head when he overlooked evidence that Jim pointed out. "You gotta learn to hold your own. We provide back-up for each other, we watch each other's backs, but—you can't rely on me for everything, got it?" Jim walked away down the hall of the old apartment. Terry just stood there and stared. Jim had left him in the room alone, a bedroom with a bed, no sheets, dresser drawers overturned, mattress askew, broken glass everywhere. Terry looked over his shoulder, then turned the other way, searching. He was sure Jim had left him there on purpose, there was something about the crime scene he should be noticing. He knew Jim had noticed something, probably something obvious, probably already knew who'd killed the girl who'd already been hauled off to get her autopsy.
Terry made sure his rubber gloves were in place before he touched anything, carefully prodding around.
Twenty minutes later he emerged, his heart in his shoes. Jim was lounging on the couch, his arms flung across the back, one ankle over his knee. "Well?"
Terry shook his head.
Jim got up, pulled his gloves back on. "Look at the whole picture. You're too intent on the little things." He made Terry stop in the doorway. "They were looking for something, right? Everything's a mess. The pictures are crooked, the drawers are all dumped."
"Yeah. So?" Terry saw all that, saw the disarray, had looked through everything, examined every piece of evidence.
"So that mirror on the wall over the dresser, why isn't it crooked? If everything else has been ransacked, why'd they leave that piece?"
Terry looked at Jim, who didn't move. He finally crossed to the mirror, careful not to step on anything, pushed the mirror just to the side, sliding it on the wire: a hole in the wall. "What was back there?"
Jim shrugged. "We gotta find that out, don't we?"
"You already know?"
"Nope. Let's head back." Jim snapped his gloves off and tossed them in the trashcan on the way out.
"Maybe you were thinking too much," Jim said as he parked at the precinct and got out.
Jim rode him for months like that, always pointing out what Terry didn't find, never what he did, never praising him, but always offering suggestions on different ways for Terry to think, to go about his job.
Terry hung back until Jim caught him in the locker room one day. "The guys are headed out for a beer. You comin'?"
"Uh…"
"Yeah, you're invited. Come on." Jim left the room without waiting for an answer.
Jim Dunbar was self-assured even off the job. He was The Man in the bar, holding the other detectives together, giving them shit, turning his shit on Terry, too, until the guys all laughed at him. Terry's face turned red as they heard how he'd tripped over a dead cat at the last crime scene, having been too busy staring at the human body to notice it. He'd gone headfirst across the room, not stopping until his hands hit the wall, dislodging the curtain rods and exposing the missing slug. At the time Jim had laughed, but clapped him on the back and said, "Good job." Now he was regaling the other detectives with the story until one of them cried out to stop before he pissed himself.
"Good job," Doug said, then bought a shot for Terry. "You've finally learned the value of dumb luck, huh?"
"He still needs to learn to watch himself, but at least the luck is kicking in," Jim said with a grin. He raised his beer bottle in a salute.