The fourth taco was clearly redundant. In the morning such heartburn began, as if a small hell opened inside me. And where is it not poetic to the extent that I want to die. Throwing the third pill for heartburn into my mouth — the same black one as my mood — I began to drink it all.
In the morning I was sent to some Mr. Nigma, whom I saw for the first time just today, when everyone gathered in the center of the station, listening to an exciting speech from the commissioner.
— You yourself know what we are facing, — she recited while I quietly squeezed into someone's chair and threw my genuinely suffering body at him. — Two days ago, six mentally ill criminals were pulled out of Arkham. Yesterday, four of them entered the shipyard "Еllen" and kidnapped seven workers.
Despite the horrific eruption of a volcano in my stomach, my head still worked well. At least, until all these numbers began to pour on it. Six, four, two, seven — be damned arithmetic. It turns out that everything is not so bad, as my uncle said — there is something to boast about. They learned about the shipyard and about the fact that two of the criminals had disappeared somewhere and in the scene "think up the most stupid name for your team and get a prize" did not participate. By the way, the uncle himself stood next to the commissioner and, as for me, no longer looked so tortured. Rather...terribly professional. However, as always.
— At the moment we don't know who organized this escape. Jim Gordon will be in charge.
He nodded and, with a very serious air, declared: "These are our goals." And then walked to the projector. Now there will be a movie. I brought the mug to my lips and was about to take a sip of water. It was only at this moment that the uncle clicked the magic button on the projector and the image of the first of the criminals appeared on the white screen. All that was in my mouth was not slow to leave its ranges, and in addition I choked and began to cough. All this made such a noise that only the lazy-blind-deaf-and-dumb did not turn in my direction.
Damn.
Damn!
On the screen was a photo of a guy. That damn it guy, who I met yesterday!
DAMN!
— Jerome Valeska, eighteen years old, — nevertheless continued uncle, after a long look in my direction. — Matricide.
Jerome. His name is Jerome, not Jamie. And he killed his mother. OH MY GOD. How can I keep calm now? How can I work on? How can I live with this?! But I also left my phone number to him!
It's time for me to flee to Argentina, change the telephone, and at the same time gender, race, religion, orientation, and become a vegetarian nun in a Protestant church.
— Arnold Dopkins — schizophrenic, maniac-poisoner, rapist, — he continued.
While everyone was safely back to the goals of the hunting season, I tried to recover. I heard the news talked about this yesterday. And was it really so difficult to guess that something was wrong with him? Only laughter could draw the right conclusions. These guys can't be adequate. Because not a single really cute and amazingly charming guy would live to be eighteen without going crazy.
To hell with water, I need coffee. Doubble, triple. I can just nibble the grain. While I was trying to cope with everything that had fallen on me, my uncle ended up with criminals, and everyone went about their business. How now to tear off my body from this chair and make it move at all, I could not imagine. So I would sit all day, realizing the terrible news, if a man with a mug in his hands had not approached me. I looked up and immediately saw a question mark on it.
— Do you know that shrimps have a heart in their heads? — suddenly he quite seriously said.
Sure. Work, Mr. Nigma, routine. Nothind, I just, chatted a few minutes with a maniac in the elevator. Something told me that he definitely wouldn't come to the appointment with the tour.
— Ugh...no. And you probably Mr. Nigma?
He nodded and extended his hand to me. I set the mug down, responding to the handshake.
— I'm Kim. So, I'll torment You today?
— Something like that, — The man nodded, smiling nervously. I hope not because of me.
I got up from my chair, finally driving away all thoughts of failed acquaintances and other nonsense from myself. Work, Kimberly, work. This is your priority. Mr. Nigma handed me a small folder as the first task — to parse the documents into those that are outdated from the point of view of the law, and those that need to be considered.
— In general, it's great, — I suddenly replied, takeing his table, so kindly provided for this morning. — I'm talking about shrimp. No one will reproach you for thinking with your heart, not your head. And you have a lot of this information?
I looked meaningfully at my "morning boss". He again stretched his lips in a smile — a modest but very sweet one — and adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses.
— Yes. For example, Arabic numbers were actually invented in India.
I do not think that I remembered at least half of what he said while he worked in the laboratory. But it was all a soundtrack for me while I checked the documents. In the meantime, the hands of the hours approached twelve.
After finishing with the papers, I helped move some boxes to the archive. On this, my work, in fact, ended. Coming out of the archive, I ran into a girl, just amazingly similar to Nigma himself, equally modest and with identical glasses. I didn't dare to ask if they were relatives, I just apologized and closed the door behind me.
— May I ask you a question? — suddenly heard from behind the door.
I involuntarily came closer to hear better. The voice definitely belonged to a man. He was silent for a long time, and then he gave such a fantastic nonsense that I was ready to laugh in a voice:
— Do you know that home flies buzz the note of Fa?
And the tape "The most stupid flirt" gets this poor fellow. Or did he seriously want to know? I clamped my hand over my mouth and hurried away from the door so as not to give myself away. How then to explain it? "I was just there, propping up the door with my ear"? And yet, what courage, what audacity is needed to say such an incredible nonsense!
I walked briskly to the commissioner and by some miracle stumbled upon my uncle while he was reading some papers.
— You look pleased.
Found a clue — he looked up at me. — A gasoline car was stolen from the shipyard. We are trying to track it.
— Сool, — I responded with delight. — And you worried. I told you that everything will work out.
— I would be your carelessness, — he said with a sigh.
— Take it, I don't mind.
This, of course, was absolute rubbish. Imagine a person who has passed the army, with such a character and principles as my uncle, and having my devil's cares - it is simply impossible. Yes, these do not exist in nature.
— How is your work?
— Mr. Nigma — just a collection of the most useless facts in the history of mankind, — I said, as if leaving a review. — Did you know that a headless cockroach could live six hours?
— No, but thanks for the valuable information, — He grinned.
At that moment, when I was about to say something unintelligible and strange, one of the policemen run up the stairs.
— Received a call. The truck was saw — he called the address, and uncle instantly went out of table.
Everything happened so quickly that I did not even have time to figure out how to behave. I just watched as several policemen disappeared in the doorway and general commotion began. Yeah, I wish I could now pretend to be shrimp. Why did I even come here?
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, by the way, that my father works as a lawyer, and my mother is an assistant prosecutor. So, when there was a question about my future profession, nobody particularly asked my opinion. The fact that I will work in the law enforcement structure has already been decided for me a long time ago and seems to have been as a stigma on me. I stamped my foot and commanded that, if I studied law, it was only to become a lawyer. To me, this profession seemed completely unrelated to the police and judicial nonsense. And when it came time to practice for the sake of good recommendations for the institute, it turned out that everything was not so simple. By agreement, my father took me to him, but after a terrible and shameful story, which I will not be voicing now, I packed things up (and at the same time my pride and hope) and went to look for another practice.
— Kim, — from the mental flipping of the pages of the family album I was torn off the voice of the commissioner. — If you have finished your session of nirvana, then get busy. Find in the archive data on expenses and make a report.
— I'm on my way, — I responded, thinking that I wanted more work myself. So, all that is done is all for the best.
I decided that since the uncle is not here, it means he does not need a table yet, which means I can take it. I even noticed Stuart coming out of a side door, and waved to him with the most joyful smile. It's nice to know that at least one of my new acquaintances turned out to be adequate. Although ... oh well, hardly. The guy nodded and waved back.
The policemans returning from the call appears to be hired by Santa's assistants. And their gift was meant for Dr. Tompkins, in human growth and looked like a corpse. Something scared stirred inside me, but I could not ask who was taken to the department. First, because I risked getting off and starting the recount again, and, secondly, because the commissioner immediately intercepted my uncle. After they both disappeared behind the door of Leslie's lab.
Leslie. From me it sounds like something isn't very, is it?
No longer able to concentrate, I left the papers and waited until they were finished. In the end, my uncle was the only reliable source of information in the station. I didn't really know the others and didn't even try to ask them, fearing that they would only brush me off. No one wants to speak before an eighteen-year intern with hypertrophied curiosity.
First came the commissioner, looking at me not with the most pleased look. I put a hundred, she was already fed up that I put my nose everywhere. After a couple of moments, my uncle appeared.
— What happened? Everything is good? — I immediately snapped up, as soon as he closed the door.
— They tried to set fire to a bus with cheerleaders.
— Bus? — I was embarrassed. Lord, I also dreamed of being in a support group.
— We caught Dopkins, but someone killed him before he got to the car.
Suddenly, I noticed that my heart had missed a couple of nerve beats. What's wrong with me? Who was I so worried about? I mentally thanked uncle for the fact that amidst all this madness, he still finds time to explain to me what is happening. I do not want to sit in the corner and learn all the latest.
— Give it to the ballistics, let them try to calculate the weapon, — he handed me a bullet in a sealed bag, to which I just nodded.
Oh, okay. Our schizophrenic out of the game. What kind of terrorists are they, if on the second day practically nothing is left of them? Hmm, and if Dopkins was killed, so that he didn't say something extra — it means, that the person who pulled him out, everyone knows and this can notably spoil his reputation. Oh gods, yes such half Gotham!
Deciding not to play Sherlock, I walked toward the ballistic laboratory. I regret that I have no girlfriends here. As soon as I thought about it, I firmly set out to call Miranda in the evening and to have a great chat, eating ice cream.
Yeah, ice-cream is a good idea.