Chapter Thirty—Respite

Jim followed Gray's directions until he heard his name.

"Hey, Jim!" Fos said.

"Hey, guys," he replied.

"Bobby joined us today," Cal said.

"Oh yeah? Hey, Bobby, good to see you."

"There's a chair just to your right," Fos said.

Jim pulled out the chair. Cal was directly to his right, Fos across the table, facing the rest of the bar, which was why he saw Jim first. He heard a small laugh to his left.

"Yeah. Right. You making bad blind jokes?" Bobby asked from his left.

Jim barely recognized the voice. Bobby was the one they always talked about because he usually couldn't show up for some reason or other. "Someone has to," Jim said, throwing a grin in that direction. He left his sunglasses on around the guys for the first time, hoping it would cut down on the likelihood any of them would notice the light remnant of his black eye.

"Let me," Bobby offered. Jim heard him set down a glass and slide his chair back a little, cracking his knuckles like he always did when getting ready for a marathon of jokes. "Blind guy walks into a bar. His guide dog laughs and says, "Look out.""

Jim chuckled. "You're right, that was bad." He heard a couple others chuckle with him. It sounded like Steve was there, too, maybe just past Cal.

"I got one," Fos said. "How many blind guys does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

"What's a blind guy doing with a light bulb?" Bobby replied.

"It was just a hypothetical question," Fos defended.

"How did Stevie Wonder meet his wife?"

Fos asked, "How?"

"On a blind date."

Fos said, "Hey, Jim, you know, you shouldn't go sky diving."

"Why not?" Jim obliged.

"It'll scare the hell out of your dog."

"What would you call your dog if he was blind?" Bobby asked. "A non-seeing eye dog."

"I got one," Fos said. "This lady comes home to find the place ransacked. She calls the cops and they send over a K-9 unit. The cop runs up to the door with the dog and the lady runs out, waving her hands and bemoaning her lot in life. She says, "Not only did I lose everything I own, not only is my house completely trashed, but they send a blind cop to help me!""

Jim smiled. "They say that to me every day."

Steve ordered a round of shots for everyone while Fos and Bobby kept tossing jokes back and forth. When the two of them were together, they'd often pick a subject and go all night making jokes.

"So this blind guy gets arrested for stumbling out of a bar," Bobby said after he took the shot. "The police officer drags him back into the bar and he's going to cite the bartender for not cutting him off. "This guy's blind drunk!" he said. "Nah," the bartender replies, "he only had one beer; he's just blind." "Yeah," the blind guy says, "I'll be able to see a lot better if you buy me another beer.""

Fos cleared his throat. "Blind guy walks into a brothel. A police officer follows him and tries to arrest him, but the blind guy protests, "But officer, I live here!" "You can't live here, it's a brothel," the cop says. "Really? If only I'd known sooner," the blind guy says sadly."

"Hey, Jim, you know when you walk into a brothel?" Cal asked.

"Yeah, I think I'd notice."

"Fos knows he's walked into a brothel when the girls are actually being nice to him."

"Ha, ha, guys," Fos said. "The cop looks around at all the gorgeous ladies. "You really live here?" he asks. "Yeah." "Introduce me." The officer starts making out with every available prostitute—"

"That's against regulations," Jim informed him.

"The blind guy says, "This is my Uncle Frank, and this is my brother Winston…" The officer pulls back, horrified to think he's been making out with a drag queen. "These are men?" he asks. "Yeah. This is guy's poker night." "These aren't women?" the officer asks, hardly able to believe it. "No. Trust me. I'm blind, not stupid." The officer makes a hasty exit, leaving the blind guy alone with seven voluptuous, female prostitutes."

"I should try that one," Bobby said loudly.

"When's the last time you walked into a brothel?" Jim asked. "And when's the last time a police officer cared that you did?"

"I'm just sayin'…" He trailed off.

"This girl's waiting for her blind date," Fos said. "The guy shows up early and she's not dressed yet, but she figures, he's blind, what the hell, he'll never notice she's completely nude, right?"

Bobby groaned. "Nah, we already did a blind date joke."

While the guys argued, Jim found himself facing down a new picture in his head. He'd never thought of it before, walking up to someone's house to interview them, if Karen wasn't with him, would he notice if they were less than clothed? Or if it was a drag queen with a very effeminate voice? He knew these were very bizarre circumstances he wasn't likely to run into, but on a smaller scale, would he notice? He knew he missed a lot, even now, sitting across from these guys, he knew he was missing a lot of non-verbal communication. And like the other day in the squad, when he'd made faces at Marty about the coffee, he didn't know how Marty reacted.

"But the guy's not blind," Fos protested and kept going. "The girl screams and hits him in the face with a fireplace poker, gouging out both his eyes. "I thought this was a blind date!" she screams. "I am now," the guy says."

Jim shook off the feeling. He'd known before he went back to work that he was going to need to rely on his partner for certain things, like describing the layout of a place, and for catching those non-verbal cues, such as when Karen was sure Uncle Josiah was lying to them. She seemed to be paying more attention to the visual now than she had when they were first partnered up. And as for missing facial expressions, Jim had to admit he thought he picked up a lot more subtle nuances in peoples' voices nowadays. He'd just have to go with it, trust his instincts.

"No," Bobby said, "that one doesn't count, 'cause we already did a blind date one."

"But it wasn't the same punch line!"

Jim chuckled at the guys. It was an old fight, one they would never get over.

"That doesn't matter."

Jim turned to Cal with a small grin and said, "Just how many rounds did I miss?"

Fos and Bobby were laughing as they argued. Foster leaned over and said, "Come on, Jim, there's not a lot of blind people jokes."

"Blind guy goes into a store," Bobby said, "takes his dog at the end of the leash and swings him in circles overhead. The manager comes running out, yelling, "What are you doing?" The blind guy says, "Just looking around.""

"Blind guy's telling his friends how he goes parachuting—"

"You already did a sky diving one," Bobby said.

"Bobby, this is a hard subject," Fos argued. "Let it slide."

"We can't change the rules."

"Sure we can. Blind guy tells them—"

"Foster, I'm not buying you a beer if you get the last joke."

"Why not? That'll just mean I'm up two jokes that didn't count. Plus leaving you at a loss, how's that wrong?"

"Blind guy gets into a car. He's backing up and runs down an old lady. He gets out and says, "Oops, didn't see you there.""

"Guys," Fos asked, "don't you want to hear the punch line?"

"No," Steve said.

"He's gonna pout all night if he doesn't get to say it," Cal told him. "Go for it, Foster."

"Blind guy tells his friends how he straps on the parachute, takes his dog by the leash, and jumps. He can smell the trees three hundred feet up—"

"You do that, Jim? Can you smell trees three hundred feet away?" Bobby interrupted.

"I've never gone skydiving, Bobby. But no, I don't have any super senses."

"And his friends say, "But, dude, how do you know right before you hit the ground?" And he says, "The leash goes slack.""

Jim groaned. "I don't think Hank needs to hear any of this."

"Feel free to join in, guys. We don't have to be tasteless on our own, you know," Bobby said.

Jim grinned and turned to Cal. "We need to get these guys a new hobby."

"This blind guy's standing next to a vending machine at Niagara Falls," Bobby said. "He puts in a quarter and pushes a button and out pops a soda. He keeps doing it over and over until a small crowd forms. He cheers every time a can drops. "What are you doing?" one of the people in the crowd asks. The blind guy replies, "I'm winning! Isn't Vegas great?""

Jim groaned. "Isn't that a blond joke?" He grinned at Cal. "They're trying too hard."

"You must have some great blind jokes, Jim," Bobby said. "Come on."

Jim rolled his eyes.

"D'you walk into a door?" Cal asked.

Foster snickered. Jim felt his smile faltering a little. Everyone at the table was quiet, waiting.

"What's the punch line?" Bobby asked after a second.

"There's no punch line," Cal said. "Did you? Look at him. You got a big cut on your face…"

Jim could feel the guys leaning forward to get a closer look. He shook his head and pulled off his sunglasses, setting them next to his beer. "No door."

"Fall down the stairs?"

"I got into it a little at work, that's all."

"Everyone stand back—it's time for a big Jim Dunbar story!" Bobby announced.

Jim forced a smile. "I'm not here to monopolize the conversation. You guys go ahead and talk."

They were quiet a second. Steve finally said, "No, it's okay, go ahead."

Jim leaned over his beer. "I'm not much of a storyteller anymore."

"You lost your tongue, too?" Fos asked.

"So you did always lie to us," Cal said.

Jim glanced his way. "No, I told you I didn't."

"Then what? I get it," he said suddenly. "The perp got the better of you. You're embarrassed."

Jim laughed. "That's not it, either." He couldn't explain it, but sometimes he just had trouble talking to people. Before, he'd loved to tell a story, the longer the better, because he could watch as the guys reacted. He'd liked being the center of attention then. "I roughed him up, too."

"That's it?"

"That's it. We went to check out a warehouse and this guy ambushed me."

"From behind?"

He shook his head. "Walked right up."

"Caught you off-guard?"

He shook his head again. "I knew he was there. He got in the first punch."

"You expect us to believe he punched you once and this is the result?"

"Okay. Okay." He held up his hands in surrender. "I'll try." He took a long drink. "We're investigating this murder—"

"Business as usual," Fos said.

"Right. One murder turns into two. We lose a witness, everything's going wrong. The dead bodies, they were shot, but they were poisoned first, so they didn't actually die from the gunshots."

"Just to be thorough?" Bobby asked.

"Just to screw with us, I think." Jim felt his eyes narrowing as he thought that statement through. No, it couldn't just be to screw with them. If Michael had wanted the police to do a really thorough job investigating, maybe he'd done it to show how effective the poison was. It was just part of the set-up, to make sure the deaths were investigated. The ME had even said, if the gunshots hadn't been there, with the poison pretty much digested, it would have been dismissed. The autopsies never would have revealed anything.

"Jim?"

Jim shook his head. "Sorry, we're pretty much done with the case, but there's a few things still bugging us." He ran a hand through his hair. "We don't know why they were shot and poisoned. Just, we're in the middle of a huge mess."

"Okay."

"We get a call to go check out this warehouse and we all go our separate ways to case the place, right? But we didn't know there were these two guys lurking around waiting for us."

"What'd they look like?" Bobby asked.

Jim paused and blinked, frowned, trying to recall Marty's descriptions.

"You can't ask him that," Fos said quietly.

Jim shrugged. "First guy looked like Ron Howard."

"You're joking, right?" Bobby asked. "The kid from Lassie?"

A groan swept around the table. "He wasn't on Lassie, dope," Fos said. "Try The Andy Griffith Show."

"You beat up Opie?"

Jim laughed pretty loudly, not just at the image of the kid as Opie, but at the scandalized way Bobby asked. "He's like 23, but yeah. Think Happy Days."

"Never saw it."

"Opie?" Cal said, laughing. "Who's next, Jim? The Beave?"

Jim smiled at the table while he shook his head.

"Did you ever see the episode when Beaver got into that fight?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, when he got that black eye?" Steve said.

"Yeah, that one," Bobby said.

"But he got hit by a girl. That doesn't apply."

"You didn't get hit by a girl, right, Jim?" Bobby asked.

Jim shook his head.

"See? He didn't get hit by a girl," Steve said.

"But it was funny," Bobby replied. "Okay, so you got beaten up by Opie," Bobby prompted.

Jim grinned. "Yeah. That's it."

There was a loud groan coming from both sides of him.

Jim shrugged helplessly. "What can I say?"

"That's never "it,"" Cal said.

"How would you know?"

"Because we know you and that's not the end of the story."

"You guys don't want to talk about Beaver anymore?" Jim said hopefully.

"No!" Bobby said. "Come on."

Jim grinned suddenly and turned to Fos. "You'll like this part."

"Me?" Fos asked.

Jim corrected his gaze so he was looking closer at his old friend and nodded. "Yeah, you. This is a good blind joke, not like the ones you were coming up with."

"So shoot."

Jim rolled his eyes. "I can't."

"Right, right, no gun."

Jim nodded, glad Fos had fallen back to their old joke. Fos had always had a habit of telling Jim to shoot with his stories, and Jim would always pull his coat back to reveal his holster, or make a gun with his finger, or do some other cop thing. Now he grinned at Fos and leaned over the table a little, lowering his voice for affect. "He tried to disarm me." Jim leaned back.

It was silent for a second, then Fos started laughing. Steve and Cal quickly joined in.

Jim turned to Bobby when he never started laughing. "I don't have a gun anymore," he explained.

"That's… good," Bobby said awkwardly.

Jim nodded. "Yeah, it is good." He turned back to the group. "This guy spent most of the fight searching me for a gun, which of course, I don't have. And he got all pissy and whiny. "What kind of a cop doesn't carry a gun?"" Jim imitated in a whiny voice.

The guys were laughing. Jim took another drink and laughed with them.

"Great story," Cal said and clapped Jim on the shoulder, using him as a lever to hoist himself out of his chair. "Gotta head home."

Jim grimaced and stretched his shoulder out when Cal let go.

"You okay?" Cal asked.

Jim looked up. "Yeah, no problem."

"So… Jim," Bobby said when Cal had gone. "Nice to have you back."

"Yeah," Jim said.

"This is the most pathetic night of jokes we've ever had, but still…"

Jim laughed. "You need to stick to subjects you know."

"Yeah, right… Like changing diapers is a good subject."

"You have kids, Bobby?"

"I have four of them, Jim, where you been?"

Jim blinked. "Four kids?" He let out a deep breath.

"Yeah, what'd you think I was doing? Hanging out at Club Med when I wasn't around?"

Jim shrugged. "I had no idea. I never thought to ask." He shook his head. "Four kids?"

"You want one?"

Jim laughed. "Definitely not."

"You know, sorry about the blind jokes."

Fos guffawed. "I'm not. He deserves them. He's always giving us heck, it's about time we give it back."

"Jim?" Bobby asked.

He shook his head. "I can take a little teasing, Bobby. Go ahead."

"Who had the last joke?"

"I think Cal did. He was the one with the "Did you walk into a door" line," Foster said.

"Nah, then Jim had the disarming story," Bobby said.

"True life, does that count?"

"Of course it does!"

"Then Jim, you're way behind. One joke, and we both got like what, ten? You gotta catch up."

"Actually, I started off with "it's good to see you, Bobby," which, according to the rules, negates any jokes where the blind guy makes reference to seeing. Such as your joke about the blind guy running over the old lady in his car," Jim said sweetly.

"Oh, sht," Bobby said. "I forgot that one."

"Ha!" Fos celebrated smugly.

Bobby drummed the table with his fingers. "I hate the way your mind works, Jim."

"I'll buy you a beer anyway," Jim said. He pulled out his wallet. "But I'll let one of you guys go get them."

"I'll go," Fos said and took Jim's money. "Whoo hoo, I'm rich!" He let out a maniacal laugh and jumped in the air.

"We're cutting him off after the next round," Steve said.

"Hey, you're still here—I was beginning to wonder," Jim said, looking over at Steve. "He been like that all night?"

"Yeah. New girlfriend."

Jim smiled and shook his head. "It serious?"

"You know Fos…"

"I'm beginning to wonder." He glanced over at Bobby and tossed a nod of the head that way. "I didn't know you had four kids."

Fos leaned up close behind Jim and said, "It's very serious," in a low voice. "She's great. She's a make-up artist. I never come home to the same girl two days in a row." He rested a bottle on Jim's shoulder. "Where do you want this?"

Jim reached up and took it. "Thanks."

"If this one doesn't work out, I think I'll try an actress next. I always stayed away from them, 'cause I thought they'd be moody, but really, she'd be a different person every day. Can't be all bad."

"You should try a schizophrenic," Bobby offered.

"Done that. No thanks."

"When?"

"Last summer. That girl from Barcelona. Two dates, the girl was certifiable. I thought she was her own twin sister at first."

Jim laughed. "I'm sorry I missed that story."

"You didn't miss anything," Steve said. "Really, it makes a better snippet a year later, but living through it…"

"Jim," Fos asked, "is your lady still certifiable?"

Jim grimaced, regretting how much he used to complain about Christie.

"Sorry," Fos apologized before Jim could say anything. "You were just always fighting before."

"Things are better between us."

"'Cause you're home more now? That was her biggest complaint, wasn't it?"

Jim shook his head. Before the affair, he wasn't sure what Christie's biggest complaint with him was. He just remembered it was a little of everything, with both of them, and it started adding up, so they were both miserable. "That's all in the past."

"That's good."

He nodded. "It is."

"'Cause you probably need her now, right?"

Jim was so taken aback by the comment he couldn't react, his mouth half-open to deny it, to set Foster straight. But on the other hand, he did need his wife. Probably just not in the way the guys were thinking. And it surprised him to hear that now, and not his first drink with them on some previous visit. "What do you think she does, point out all the chairs to me? Dress me? Tell me the time?" Jim blinked in the silence. "She's my wife, that's why it's good." He took a breath. "Maybe she should have left me, I dunno. But we're there for each other." Since the shooting, they were definitely on more equal footing, but Jim didn't want to analyze that fact.

"This is why I'm divorced," Fos said by way of apology.

"Besides," Steve said, "lots of blind people live on their own, right? So it's not like the only reason his wife stayed was to take care of him."

Jim smiled a little at Steve for getting to the heart of the matter. Even if that was why Christie had initially stayed, that wasn't enough. She was no Florence Nightingale. She wouldn't stay anywhere if it didn't suit her needs. "I can take care of myself," Jim affirmed.

"Yeah," Bobby said, slugging Jim lightly in the arm, "that's why the perp got in the first shot, right?"

Jim grinned. "He didn't get in the last."

"See? That makes me feel better."

"About what?" Steve asked.

"I'll sleep better at night, knowing that if I'm murdered, Jim'll find the guy. And beat the living crap out of him."

"It'll be your wife killing you if you make her pop out any more babies," Fos said.

"Case solved," Jim agreed.

"They'd acquit her," Bobby said.

"You know the best way to get back on her good side?" Fos said.

"No, what?"

"Go home tonight with flowers and a bottle of champagne. Pour her a glass, sit her down, and say, "Honey, I'm pregnant.""

"You worked this long?" Christie asked.

"Nah. I went out with the guys." Jim hung up his coat, a smile still on his face. Even after spending a couple hours at the bar with the guys, it was still not quite seven. The night was young and he felt free, without the case hanging over his head.

"Tom and Marty?"

"Nope. The old guys. Cal, Foster, Steve… Bobby was there, too. Did you know, he has four kids or something like that."

"I can't say I knew that…"

"I didn't, either." Jim shook his head, still surprised at his ignorance. "I think I need to listen more."

Christie laughed. "I've been telling you that for years."

Jim wrapped his arm around his wife, feeling a soft sweater under his fingers, but it was small and clung to her, not one of those bulky winter sweaters that made him think of polar bears.

"Cashmere," she said seductively.

"Case is over," he said. "Next case goes straight to Marty, so I'm free all night."

"I'd love to stay, but I have a meeting in Times Square."

Jim let her slip from his arms, his mouth open as he followed her dumbly.

"You wanna come?"

"What sort of meeting?" Jim sat on the bed.

Christie handed Jim a shirt and he heard her rifling through the dresser. "I was going to walk up and down the streets with my husband, look at the moon, look at all the kids dressed up… Maybe head down to Central Park for a stroll. Does any of that interest you?"

Jim pulled the sweater over his head, mumbling into the fabric. "It's Halloween."

"Yes, darling. You grown-ups just forget all about the fun holidays, don't you?"

He pulled the shirt down. He'd been so busy thinking about Josiah Wilkins all day that, if anyone had said something about the holiday, he'd totally missed it. "I forgot."

"Well?"

"Sounds good." He slipped out of his work shoes. "Uh, can Hank come, or is this just the two of us?"

"Hank can come… He's almost one of the family."

Jim felt relaxed the next day when he got to work. There wasn't a lot on the plate, Halloween candy was being passed around, and everyone's spirits were up. As good as he felt, he still had a niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach. The case hadn't ended right and it was probably going to bug him, just like the case with Warren Doyle still bugged him. If they'd nailed him the first time…

"If you could arrest one person, who'd it be?" Tom asked, passing the time.

"Josiah Wilkins," Jim said without missing a beat.

"Why? He didn't do nothin'."

Jim stayed quiet. It was nothing they could pin on him, but the way the man had sucked out all the hope from that room, the way he'd had power over people. Jim had to admit, having that guy on the street worried him. He wasn't glad the murders had been perpetrated by someone else. If Samantha and Glenn Bartlett hadn't been mixed up with Josiah, they'd still be alive. Artez and DeLana would have homes and insurance, happy children. "The world would be a better place without people like Uncle Josiah."

"The world would be a better place without blind people bumping into me," Karen grumbled.

"When did I—"

"It wasn't you, Jim. Some guy at the bar last night. Bumped into me, felt me up, said, "Oh, forgive me, I'm blind, could you help me find a chair?""

Jim snickered. "Are you sure he was blind?"

"Yeah," Marty concurred. "Picking out the hottest chick in the bar to run into like that?"

"Trust me, Karen, blind people aren't that lucky. When I run into people, it's usually a guy, and usually he has terrible breath. And something sticky coating his skin."

"He was kinda smarmy…"

Tom laughed.

"Definitely sighted," Jim said. "You'll never meet a smarmy blind guy."

"The world would be a better place without men in general," Karen said.

"Date didn't go so hot, huh, Karen?" Tom asked.

"Remember when I said women shoot guys all the time?" Karen flopped into her chair. "Women shoot guys like that all the time."

The day went easily, just filling out last-minute paperwork and tying up a few loose ends. Jim took a phone call from Tamika, thanking him. She said she was having a great time with her grandma and maybe they were going to get a dog just like Hank for Cindy to play with and DeWanda had a boyfriend in pre-school and he put sand in her hair the other day and Tamika had her first pair of brand new shoes in forever and was going to start school herself next week.

"Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, huh?" Marty said when Jim hung up.

Jim just laughed at the snarky comment. "Yeah, Marty," he said with a goofy grin, "it does."

The air in the office was more relaxed than it had been in a long time. "I'm starving," Karen said later, "you all still wanna go out and celebrate?"

"I think we deserve it," Jim said.

"Then let's take lunch and get out of here."

"The walls are closing in you, huh, Karen?" Marty asked. "You'd never survive in prison."

Hank sat up and Jim scratched his ears.

Fisk opened his door. "What are you all doing here?"

"Absolutely nothing," Tom answered. "And loving every minute of it."

"Get out of here. If anything jumps, I'll let you know." He closed the door again.

Jim stood. "Don't have to tell me twice."

They all hurried around, cleaning up, closing down, getting coats. Jim took Hank by the leash and led him to the elevator for once.

"Where are we going?" Marty asked.

"Food. Hot food," Karen said.

"Pizza?" Jim suggested. He just wanted to relax, not to worry about forks and menus and separate meals.

"Actually," Karen said, "I really wanted to try that new Mongolian restaurant where they cook your food at the table and flip pieces straight into your mouth."

Jim thought it over briefly—he thought it sounded unnerving, but maybe they'd all be so enthralled with the performance they wouldn't pay attention to him—unless the chef didn't notice he was blind and tried flipping food at him. That would be a mess. But he shrugged nonchalantly. "Okay."

Karen laughed. "I was joking."

"Even I knew that," Tom said.

"Only because I winked at you."

"Oh, that was a wink?" Tom asked, trying to play dumb.

"Pizza's fine," Karen said.

"What happened to the Jim Dunbar resolution to relax?" Tom asked.

"It's not New Year's yet." Jim took Hank's harness and followed the dog off the elevator.

"Jim!" Tom followed him closely.

"I'm joking," Jim tossed back at him.

"I can't trust any of you," Tom mumbled.

"It's about time you learned that," Marty said.

Jim settled onto the vinyl chair. The place was filled with smoke, but the guys all assured him it was some of the best pizza around.

"What do you think of our 'hood, Jim?" Tom asked. "Now that you've been here a while?"

"Nice and quiet," Jim said. "I'm beginning to think if I want an interesting case, I'll have to go out and kill someone myself."

"Ha, ha. I know you're joking this time."

Jim pulled his sunglasses off and set them next to his glass of water. He looked at Tom straight across the table without blinking, completely serious. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yeah, Jim. I know you're not moonlighting as some serial killer."

"Great occupation for a homicide detective, though. Especially now that I'm connected with Uncle Josiah. We could hook up and you'd never figure it out."

"Yeah, Jim, you'd be a scary mother if you turned to the dark side," Tom said sarcastically. "You and your infinite knowledge of creepy ways to kill people. I still don't know how you figure some of this stuff out."

Jim tapped the side of his head. "Logic."

"There's nothing logical about killing someone," Karen said. She was sitting on his right and it sounded like she was playing with a paper napkin full of silverware. Jim had curbed his natural instinct to scope out his side of the table, but he guessed each of them would have one.

Jim glanced at her with a smile. "Tell us all about your date last night, Karen."

"No thanks."

"But you know how frustrated you felt last night. You know how angry these guys made you. Couldn't you reason it out and kill one of them?"

"You're not getting me to go for that."

"I'll bite," Marty said. "101 ways to kill someone."

"No way, that one gets creepy," Tom said.

"Chicken?" Marty asked.

"I prefer the Who Would You Kill? game."

"Honestly? I'm curious to know how Dunbar would kill someone."

"Honestly, I don't want to know."

Karen snorted. "Honestly, you guys need a new hobby."

Jim grinned and leaned back.

"Every cop's a bit of a criminal, just like every fireman's a little bit of a pyromaniac—" Marty said.

"Marty, you need to get over the fireman thing," Karen said.

"If we weren't, how would we know what the criminals are going to do?" Marty asked, ignoring Karen. "I think, if we gotta work with the guy, we'd better know how his little mind works. When he snaps, what's going to happen?" Marty said.

Jim looked over at Marty on his left. "When my little mind snaps, you'll be the first to know," he said, then grinned.

"Likewise, Dunbar," Marty shot over.

"Aww," Tom gushed, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." There was a second of silence and Jim could only imagine some dirty look being exchanged that made Tom say, "What? Nikki's had me watching all sorts of ancient movies."

"The ancients didn't have movies," Karen corrected. "They're called classics."

"Yeah, Tom, I thought you were well-rounded," Jim said.

"Careful, this is hot," the waitress said.

Jim felt her lean up against the table, brushing past his shoulder. He heard Marty move a couple things, and Karen help, too. Then something heavy landed on the table, the smell of melted cheese and sausage and tomato wafting up. Jim inhaled deeply.

"Enjoy," she said, sounding bored.

"Here's a plate," Karen said, setting something in front of Jim.

Jim reached out for it, but she snatched it back. "I don't get to eat?"

"I figure I'll get the first couple pieces out. I know how big of a baby guys are when they burn themselves on pizza."

Jim didn't argue. He heard her slicing pizza with the spatula, then the plate hit the table in front of him again.

"Blow on it before you take a bite, okay?" she said.

Jim smiled.

She served another piece. "Here you go, Marty, don't hurt yourself, it's only pizza."

"Black guy's always last," Tom grumbled.

"I haven't served myself, Tom, but if you want, I'll keep this next piece all to myself and let you serve yourself." She pulled up another piece of pizza. "Here."

"Thanks, Mom," Tom said.

Jim gingerly picked up the piece in front of him and took a bite. He dropped it back on the plate, trying to breathe evenly. "Hot," he mumbled, feeling tears in his eyes.

"What'd I tell you?" Karen laughed.

Jim reached for his water, but found his hand hovering in midair.

"Here," Marty said, lifting something and tapping it back onto the table. "I had to move it."

"Thanks." Jim grabbed the glass and took a long drink.

"I guess that's the sort of thing we need to tell you, right?" It sounded like Marty was talking to his plate, refusing to look at Jim.

Jim swallowed. "Yeah, it helps."

"How'd you get used to—" Tom cut himself off and cleared his throat.

Jim looked up at Tom. He knew what Tom didn't think he could ask, and he wasn't about to force him to finish. "You can get used to a lot of things. Even working with someone like Marty." He jerked his head in Marty's direction.

Tom snickered.

Jim picked the pizza back up and blew on it. He wasn't going to let one little slip like not noticing Marty move his glass get to him, not today. He was just going to relax and go with it, like he'd decided a while ago. They'd really get along better as a squad if he gave up the "bull in a china shop" attitude Karen had one accused him of having, and if he let them know he wasn't infallible. He glanced over at Karen. "See, Karen, I'm taking your advice this time." He blew on the pizza again.

"Good boy," she gushed.

Hank put his head up, Jim could tell because his dog collar jingled, then he could feel the head at his knee. Jim motioned for him to lie back down. "Better watch what you say, Karen."

They chewed in silence for a few minutes before falling back into easy chatter.