Masuka's chubby, irrelvant face appears at my desk, a smile taped on to it like a reminder of my irregularities. "What are the two biggest lies?" He says with his fist in his mouth. He couldn't wait to get out this lude joke.
"What are they?" I say dryly.
"I won't come in your mouth, and I will pay you back." Masuka lets it out unstifled, a big roar of a life that echoes around the station. I laugh quietly, forced. He notices my nonreaction, and his smile is ironed flat. "What the fuck is wrong with you? That was a hilarious joke." His hands form fists in frustration as he walks away.
Everybody here is still in a strange phase about Doakes, especially Maria, she's like a walking 1-800-Depression billboard. Everytime you see her, there's smeared make-up or a cigarette dangling from her heavily painted lips. She walks aimlessly, even when she has a direction. Sorry, LaGuerta. I felt like a dog with it's tail in between it's legs.
"Brother Morgan!" Debra's unseen presence works into my view, her hands swinging around her wildly, like a ten-year-old at Toys-R-Us, impatient to get home. "Guess what?"
"What?" I say, shrugging. Deb usually talks without saying anything, so I tune out, and take a risky glance at the newspaper that hangs heavy over my conscience. There it is. Front page. "The Bay Harbor Butcher ... a police sergeant?" The headlines topple over everything else, a small insignificant article about a bank robbery or a reunited couple. A picture of Doakes and his menacing scowl. A picture of me is all I can see. "So?" Deb's voice is increasing in volume. "Were you listening to me?"
"Yeah."
"What the hell did I just say?"
"Something about Lundy."
"Jesus Christ, Dex." She stomps away in heat, chomping furiously on her minty gum. It's a new habit. It's either a piece of Orbit or a Marlboro.
Back to blood spatter, the sticky red that sets my nerves on fire. Wet scarlet photos paper the walls around me, a sordid surrounding for a twisted soul. God, if that isn't out of a Dr. Phil novel.
Maria bursts out of her corner office, her skin even more leathery than usually. A Parliament bouncing around her lips, the filter stained hot pink. "What the fuck is this?" Pascal flashbacks. "These are so goddamn sloppy, Masuka. What are you thinking? Killers will walk free because of your dumb-ass report! Jesus Christ!" She runs back into her office, the door slams. The whole place should be in uproar about this, right? Not really, nobody really cares anymore. Maria has broken down, it's only a matter of time before she and Pascal are swapping horror stories at the local bar.
My phone rings, and I clutch it, bringing it to my ear. "Hello?"
"Hey, Dexter. I'm pregnant."