Chapter 5 – His Story Of Them

Captain Trunk turned back towards his desk. The message light on his phone flashed, and his overflowing in-basket beckoned with unfinished paperwork. The morning, he reflected, has not exactly been filled with accomplishments.

I did finish my coffee.

Deciding that it was unlikely that anyone would notice if the paperwork waited a few more minutes, Trunk picked up his coffee mug. Dealing with Hammer had left his throat feeling dry and scratchy. What he needed was a nice soothing drink. Bourbon, preferably, although he'd settle for decaf if he had to.

As the Captain strode out of his office and into the bullpen area he was just in time to see Doreau switch her computer off. She pulled her jacket on, leaving the buttons undone and slung her purse over her shoulder. Only after she turned did she notice what Trunk had known with his first glance. Hammer was gone. An expression of anger and determination crossed her face as she spun and raced toward the hallway.

Trunk simply shook his head in disbelief and continued toward the coffee station.

This looks more and more like a lover's spat, he conceded. Judging from the expression on her face, I hope Hammer doesn't become the city's next homicide victim. I'm already short staffed thanks to budget cuts.

Reaching the coffee station, he began carefully filling his cup, while letting his eyes casually scan the room. Already, it was obvious that the tension level was falling. There was a rising buzz of conversation as officers began milling about, talking in small groups. Officer Daley breezed past with a cheerful "Good morning, Captain" and a stack of fresh arrest warrants in her hands, which she began to distribute to the Detectives. The office routine was apparently returning to normal.

Yeah, Trunk thought to himself, this is more like it. This is what a smoothly functioning department looks like! I hope it lasts.

With a satisfied nod, Trunk continued his scan, his eyes eventually coming to rest on the station shared by Hammer and Doreau. Meticulously, he added exactly half a teaspoon of sugar and two creamers and then began carefully stirring the steaming liquid, his expression thoughtful. Doreau had left in a hurry, leaving the files she had been working on still open on her desk. Curious, he strolled over to her desk to see what he could discover.

Pausing, being careful not to disturb anything, he considered the items in front of him. Case files, all apparently purse snatchings. The reason for these particular cases to have caught her attention was not immediately obvious. Doreau must have suspected that they were linked in some way. Certainly something in the way they were arranged suggested method, not madness.

Good police work, he noted, without seeing anything that offered any insight into either her behaviour, or Hammer's.

Hammer's desk, on the other hand, spoke clearly of madness. Less than ten minutes earlier its surface had been completely covered in case files and other papers. Now everything was stacked ... neatly. At first glance, he would have suspected that Doreau had tidied up for him. Except, he'd seen her clearly. She'd been in a hurry. She had been angry at being left behind. There was no way that she had taken the time to clean up his desk. Then he noticed the grenade wedged between the files.

Warily, Trunk crossed over to the other side of the station, to the space normally occupied by Inspector Hammer. Trying to appear casual, he placed his feet carefully and maintained what he hoped would be a safe distance.

Rumors about Hammer abounded. That he shot first and asked questions never. That he literally dragged confessions out of suspects. The rumor Trunk had foremost in mind at this moment involved booby traps.

Like the one I am looking at.

Everyone knew it was risky just being around Hammer. No one, ever, risked touching any of Hammer's stuff. His apartment, his desk, his locker, his car … no one was certain how wide Hammer had spread his security blanket.

Well, probably not to his car. Hammer frequently uses his car to transport suspects downtown. It would be too easy for one of them to inadvertently trigger something.

Trunk couldn't be sure about the apartment, locker or desk, but Doreau had once let him know that Hammer had warned her not to drop by without phoning ahead. If Doreau believed, that was good enough for Captain Trunk. He would observe, but from a safe distance.

The top of Hammer's desk had been cleared completely, except for the neat stack of files. And the semi-concealed grenade. Bending low and sighting parallel to the desk, Trunk was able to confirm that the surface had been disturbed. Faint trails were visible in the dust specks; all indicating that someone had taken the time to move scattered files into the neat stack.

No sign or trip wires.

He decided to risk closer inspection. He moved, examining the grenade from different angles while being careful to touch nothing. That was how he spotted the straightened paper clip. The only thing preventing that grenade from going off is that bit of bent wire. The other end of that bent clip was embedded in a file folder.

He backed away slowly, surveying the scene. Another paper clip appeared to have been wedged into the edge of a drawer, he noted. The same drawer into which he had seen Hammer drop several sheets of notes.

This is the drawer that rolled open on its own. Another booby trap? A decoy? Or simply a precaution? A way to make sure it didn't open again, when he wasn't around to threaten it?

Trunk pinched himself, and winced at the pain, slopping a bit of coffee over the rim of his cup.

Still not a dream then.

He looked again. The rumors were true. Two years, and this was the first time he was seeing it for himself.

It is all here. All I need to do is open those files. Or that drawer. OK, that's really insane.

Trunk straightened, glanced around the room, and spoke.

"Listen up everyone."

The room grew still.

"Inspector Hammer has booby trapped his desk with a live grenade. I need a one desk buffer cleared on all sides of Hammer's desk."

Officers immediately began collecting their work and moving away from where he stood. Was it enough?

"On second thought, I want a two desk perimeter cleared."

Additional officers cleared their stations and tried to relocate farther away. By now, any vacant spots had been taken. The remaining officers began milling about. Trunk surveyed the mounting chaos.

So much for my 'smoothly functioning precinct'.

"OKAY EVERYONE!" He roared over the mounting din. "Everyone! Draw a radio from supplies and check out a patrol car from the motor pool. You're all working from home today!"

Wild cheers erupted, as officers surged towards the exits.

Trunk turned and walked back to his office. There were too many people, too many potential casualties, in here. He would get the bomb squad in to clear Hammer's desk. Then, he'd go through the desk himself, to find out what was going on. Maybe, by tomorrow, things would be back to normal.

Setting his cup down on the corner of his desk, Captain Trunk picked up the phone.

The bomb squad was busy. The earliest appointment he could get was for 10:30. He took it, inwardly fuming at the delay. Then he began a circuit of his office, pausing at each window to open the blinds slightly. Other than when he needed them closed for privacy, he preferred them open so that he could observe the office outside.

Captain Trunk had made it a point to know every officer under his command personally. He knew whose marriage was on the rocks, whose kids did well at school and who had a big anniversary coming. He knew their quirks and their idiosyncrasies. He had the normal day to day interactions that every supervisor had with those under his direction. He listened to their opinions, offered praise where it was warranted, and disciplined them when it was required. But early in his career he had learned there was a difference between hearing about what people were doing, and actually observing them while they were doing it. Trunk needed a sense of their mood, of how they functioned as a team.

Scientists argue that it is impossible to observe anything without having an effect on whatever, or in this case, whomever, you are observing. Certainly, Trunk knew, that applied to people. And, when people sensed their supervisors taking an interest in their activities they often became nervous, or cautious, or both. Nervous people made mistakes, and in this line of work when people made mistakes, lives could hang in the balance. Cautious people might not make as many mistakes, but they didn't do their best either. He didn't even want to think about nervous, cautious people. If he wanted to keep abreast of the surprising ingenuity of those who lived on the other side of the law, what he needed was to have his people all at their best, which in turn meant he needed them neither nervous nor cautious. He needed them, as Goldilocks had put it, 'just right'.

To know what he needed to know Trunk had to observe, but without being observed. To accomplish this he had patiently developed a routine, an entirely normal routine which everyone in the office was now used to, which gave him both the means and opportunity to take careful stock of his charges and their mood. Picking up his coffee once again, he started to pace.

Today, the bullpen he surveyed was empty. Papers were strewn everywhere. Except Hammer's and Doreau's work area, which appeared neat and tidy. The only remaining officers were outside in the reception area behind a wall. They were safe there, he hoped.

Everyone thought they understood. To a man – and woman if you included Doreau and Daley – they all thought that they knew why their Captain paced. Ask any one of them, and he was quite certain what the answer would be. One word: "Hammer." Perhaps as many as three words, "Inspector Sledge Hammer", if you were to ask the more loquacious among them. Today, Trunk reflected, would probably reinforce that impression.

Captain Trunk was fine with that. More than just fine; he had encouraged, even cultivated, the notion that Hammer was his nemesis. The notion was so universally accepted that no one questioned that idea anymore. So, naturally, none of them realized that his methodical, structured path back and forth had another purpose beyond simply providing a release for his nervous tension. That it also brought each and every one of them under his unwavering gaze had escaped their notice.

Trunk cracked a wry smile.

How surprised would they be if they knew that I spend more time watching them than I do watching Hammer? How surprised would they be if they knew that Hammer was more than the never ending source of frustration that he appeared to be? Much more. He was, in fact, also a work in progress. Apparently more work, and less progress, than I thought.

Today he could only reflect on the vacant seats outside. He continued pacing, because it had become a habit. And because he had nothing else to do.

Why had it not occurred to any of them that I have alternatives? That, if I was as upset with Hammer as the constant tirades implied, I could assign him to different duties; I could transfer him to another department or to another precinct. Hell, I could fire the man if I really wanted him gone.

The answer to that was startlingly obvious, to Captain Trunk anyway.

I have Inspector Hammer right where I want him.

Briefly, he wondered if he should be concerned.

I am concerned. Should I be more concerned? Should it bother me that, in an entire department of "investigators", not one, not even Detective Dori Doreau, has reasoned this out? That not one of them has the slightest inkling the sham that has been constructed?

He shrugged, continuing his pacing. Again, the answer was obvious to him. The situation was his creation, after all. Mentally cautioning himself against overconfidence, he recalled how he had carefully manipulated circumstances and events to achieve the current state of affairs.

Captain Sledge Hammer had been a veteran of the Army Ranger program. Exactly where he had served, and what he had done, were redacted from his service record. But, his skills and training had landed him a place on the Governor's elite CHP protective detail. During his brief career there, he had been decorated, twice. He held a special commendation for rescuing the Governor, who had been kidnapped by Canadian petro-terrorists intent on drowning him in the Le Brea Tar Pits. Only Hammer's quick actions and the fact that the tar in the Le Brea Tar Pits was actually thicker than the Canadian tar sands in January had saved the Governor's life.

But, Hammer had become cynical and disillusioned with what he saw as the Governor's soft stance on crime. The final straw had apparently been the Governor's support of a bill to allow some inmates early parole simply because they were old. So, rather than take a bullet meant for the Governor, Hammer had actually stepped to one side, and let the Governor take it himself.

During the subsequent official investigation into his actions, Hammer had first ranted that "183 year sentences make no sense if the Governor lets prisoners retire at 55"; then had complained that the $47,000 average cost per inmate obviously meant that some criminals were making more than some cops; and finally had openly mused that the Governor was a "backsliding political hack on step 45 of a 12 step program."

The Governor had immediately called a bedside press conference to deny that he had never touched a drop of alcohol, and that the only time in his entire life when he had been drunk, it was on love. An observant reporter had noted the scarlet flush this comment brought to the cheeks of the young, attractive, and very female staff member who had been hovering at his bedside and had quickly put 68 and 17 together and turned them into a page 1 story.

The resulting ramifications were far reaching.

The Governor recovered from his wound and went on to win another term in office.

The Governor's wife publically forgave him, but subsequently moved to Washington and took a job in foreign affairs.

The assistant got a lucrative book deal.

And Hammer was busted to the rank of Inspector and reassigned to the rank and file of the SFPD.

It was these events that first brought Inspector Sledge Hammer to the attention of Captain Trunk. Hammer's actions had roused Trunk's curiosity. Soon afterward he had found himself reading Hammer's personnel file, cover to cover.

The sheer volume of paper was daunting. Few, he was certain, had ever attempted that task. Fewer still had the determination to accomplish the feat. In comparison, War and Peace was light reading, although both appeared to share some content. If there was a rule, Hammer had broken it, probably twice, just to check for consistency. If there was a limit, Hammer stretched it, seldom stopping before it broke. Then there was his driving …

Now, at every opportunity Trunk added to the volume of Hammer's file. Freely. Copiously. With the ulterior motive of making certain that no one else would even be tempted to read it – ever.

Captain Trunk was satisfied that it had been worth every minute spent picking through every piece of paper, every report, every reprimand, every notation by previous superiors or some government appointed shrink. Sure, Hammer's actions were still just as incomprehensible as ever, but his motives were another matter entirely. When he was done reading, Trunk understood Hammer's motives like no one before him, and like no one after him ever would.

Captain Trunk understood how a man who had been forced to arrest his own partner; to testify against him at the internal hearing and again at his formal trial; to see his partner reduced to the same level as the yogurt eating, ragweed punks they'd made sport of incarcerating; and then to see him sentenced to serve hard time in jail among those same scumsuckers; might have some aversion to working with any partner again.

He understood how the man whose wife, his childhood sweetheart, had ripped the heart from his chest when she left him for some hippie in the Peace Corps, might develop a lifelong distrust of hippies. As well as being reluctant to ever let any woman back into his life.

Trunk realized, too, that someone like Hammer, while reluctant to let anyone into his life again, would still feel protective of a female officer, in spite of himself. And, he realized that Hammer would deny that fact to everyone, including himself.

He actually understood, in a primal sort of way, why the only constant left in Hammer's life, the only thing he felt he could truly depend on, had come to be the .44 magnum that never left his side.

Understood? God help me, there were times when I could actually sympathize with Hammer.

At those times he had to remind himself that there was a line between understanding and condoning. A line that must never be crossed. But, using Hammer wouldn't cross that line.

Undoubtedly someone with Hammer's unique ... talents ... would be useful in tracking down and arresting the criminal element in the city. Trunk realized that someone with Hammer's background in the high risk CHP protective detail could easily find hunting down ordinary street criminals mundane in comparison. He realized that someone like Hammer would always have to be close to the edge. Letting him remain close, without going over, or at least not too far over, that was the challenge. It would be an almost impossible challenge.

Captain Trunk drained the last of coffee from the mug and set the empty cup down on his desk. Then, he sat down in his chair and leaned back to just the right spot. Briefly, he surveyed the bullpen again. The area looked like New Year's Eve the day after New Year's Eve. Except for one place; a vacant space where two empty desks faced each other; a reminder that a single unresolved issue that could bring his well-oiled machine to a halt.

Strange isn't it, he mused, that everyone thinks I'm the long suffering victim of Hammer's lack of discipline.

Trunk reminded himself that he was, in fact, Hammer's long suffering victim. Just because he was using Hammer, didn't mean he wasn't also a victim of the man's lack of discipline. Indeed, Captain Trunk's volatile dealings with Inspector Hammer were Department legend. His rants, and Hammer's subsequent stints on suspension, were as much a part of police life at this precinct as coffee and donuts. Or granola bars in Hammer's case. No one gave any of it a second thought. Perhaps if they had they would have realized the real mystery, the one everyone somehow failed to see, was how, or even why, Hammer ever got off suspension.

If Hammer was an unpredictable menace inside these walls, Trunk knew he was Strike Force Delta against the criminal element that existed outside them. His techniques were unconventional, he didn't bother with warrants, and he ignored criminal's protestations of "rights". In short, there was no way a criminal could predict, much less defend themselves against, Hammer's unpredictability. Sure, as a result a lot of Hammer's arrests never stood up in court.

That isn't the point, is it?

The point was that the criminal element generally feared Hammer. They feared the unexpected. They feared being paraded downtown like a Rose Bowl float on Hammer's hood. They feared the publicity, generally. But, it was Hammer's formal party invitations they feared most; always "Come as you are" and with a "Run If You Dare" card replacing the usual RSVP. That sort of fear, striking deep into the heart of be blackest felon's heart, was Hammer's true usefulness.

Fear leads to nervousness, and nervous people made mistakes. Bad news when it's my people, but good news when it's other people.

His other officers took full advantage of those mistakes. And, on rare occasions, Hammer actually solved a crime himself.

As a result, this Division, my Division, he thought proudly, has the highest case clearance rate of any Division in the city.

Yes, Hammer is useful in many ways, he sighed. It isn't Hammer's lack of usefulness that made him a liability. It's the collateral damage that results from the unbridled enthusiasm that he brings to his work. Like a teenager, Trunk thought, Hammer is impetuous rather than malicious. What he needed was a positive influence.

He sighed again, turning his chair away from his desk and his view of the mausoleum inside the bullpen. He regarded the sky outside his window. It was clear, blue, and peaceful.

The truth is, I need Hammer, he acknowledged. In fact, in some ways, Hammer was the easy part …

Detective Dori Doreau had posed an entirely different challenge. Captain Trunk became aware of her at about the same time that Hammer had come to his notice. For reasons that Doreau had chosen to keep to herself, she had resigned her previous job and applied to the San Francisco Police Department. Captain Trunk had seen her resume. Like Hammer, a portion of her service record had been redacted so that he couldn't even tell exactly what her job had been. Or where her job had been. Or why she had left. In all honesty, he couldn't tell who she had worked for, but his money was on one of the three letter government agencies.

What remained showed a background that included practical experience in domestic and international terrorism, hostage negotiations, forensic psychology, computer analysis, counterterrorism and defensive tactics. He was mildly surprised, with those skills, that she settled for regular police work. Maybe someday he'd find out why.

He was not surprised to learn that her application had immediately been routed to the Department's elite anti-terrorism squad, where, unfortunately for Captain Trunk, it had also been immediately accepted. There, because of her background and experience, she had bypassed the usual cadet training phase and was granted immediate placement with the rank of Detective. The pencil pushers upstairs apparently weren't all idiots. Someone must have recognized her talent, and seen beyond the fact that she was a woman. Or, perhaps they really were idiots hadn't seen beyond the good looking woman and wanted her for themselves. Whatever the explanation, she had ended up beyond Captain Trunk's reach.

Like Hammer, Doreau had quickly become something of a rising star. Unlike Hammer, her record was exemplary. Her file consisted of one spotless page of personal information, and a dozen more pages of honours, awards and citations for her excellence. It was unmarred by so much as a coffee stain. Where Inspector Hammer had been an officer wanted only by Don Philip Sousa, who wanted him dead; Detective Doreau, it seemed, was wanted by everyone else. Alive, and with good reason.

Trunk was content to bide his time. Getting her would only be half the problem. Keeping her would be the other half. To do that, Trunk needed a plan.

The first hurdle he would have to overcome was Department policy. Specifically the policy that required all officers with field duties have a partner. He couldn't very well have Doreau assigned to desk duty.

In a department that skewed heavily to "male", that almost certainly meant a male partner. First because he had no doubt that Doreau would be determined to prove herself their equal. That determination, he suspected, would leave no place for favouritism. Not from other officers, not from her partner, and especially not from her superior.

Doreau would almost certainly interpret being partnered with another female officer as "special treatment".

The other hurdle he could hardly ignore was the fact that she was .. well .. face it, she was extraordinarily good looking. No matter who he partnered her with, somebody's nose would be out of joint. Perhaps figuratively, perhaps literally.

Doreau, Trunk suspected, would not tolerate unprofessional attention from fellow officers. any more than their favouritism. And especially not if the fellow officer was also her partner.

Judging from her martial arts talents and scores, Trunk did not envy any officer who dared cross Dori Doreau. On the other hand, he couldn't afford to have half his department laid up, or even just the "slow learners".

Captain Trunk had seen and heard it all. Including the "Boys will be boys" excuses.

A glance that lingered a trifle longer than necessary. A casual remark in the locker room. A prank with a not terribly subtle hint of innuendo.

Unfortunately, given half a chance, men would boys, too. Usually, teenage boys. And, policemen were men, too. Some still thought it tolerable; "just teasing" amongst fellow officers.

Combine that with long hours and late nights and you had a recipe for internal affairs and failed marriages.

Trunk had personal experience with the latter. He couldn't wish a similar outcome on anyone.

Captain Trunk had considered these problems carefully and at considerable length. Eventually he had come up with a plan. It was an audacious, even insane, idea that went against all common sense. The audacious part of his plan was imagining that any plan could cope with Hammer. The insane part was that Captain Trunk's plan required having Hammer partner with a woman.

Inspector Hammer's past experiences made finding a suitable partner for him difficult. Trunk didn't expect that other officers would compete for that opportunity, for one thing. For another, Trunk had expected that Hammer would object, in the strongest possible terms, to any partner. Keeping Hammer on desk duty was also clearly out of the question. Trunk needed to find someone willing to be Hammer's partner, preferably someone who didn't know, or didn't care, about his reputation. Detective Doreau needed a partner who, ideally, wouldn't care, or better yet even notice, that she was good looking. Or a woman, but that might be asking for too much.

They'll be perfect for each other, Captain Trunk had decided.

Messing with Hammer's partner would be messing with Hammer. No one in the Department would take that risk!

Hammer would treat Doreau like any other partner ... with distain. No danger that she could mistake that for favouritism.

He was curious what would happen when Doreau's optimism met Hammer's cynicism.

If I get lucky they will each exhaust themselves trying to change each other. If not ... well, nothing worthwhile was ever easy. At least she's a skilled marksman.

In a gunfight, Trunk figured her chances were at least 40:60.

Captain Trunk allowed himself a wry smile.

This was a skill Trunk had experienced first-hand. In their one encounter on the annual police pistol competition, only Hammer and the Captain himself had beaten her score.

She very nearly bested me last year, he remembered. She matched my accuracy, and took only a half second longer to complete the course. Maybe next time she would think to change out of her high heels before starting the test.

Trunk hoped not. For at least two reasons, only one of which had to do with maintaining his number two ranking.

Her skills were not limited to the range, either.

Although she was coy about revealing the origins of her martial arts skills, she used them effectively in hand to hand combat, consistently besting her fellow officers in spite of the disadvantage conferred by her weight and stature. She might look soft and feminine, but every officer in the Division by now knew better than to mistake her looks for weakness. She had even volunteered to take on Inspector Hammer, a challenge that, so far, had not lead to an actual meeting. That had not stopped speculation from running wild on the outcome of such a match. Even Trunk had a wager in that office pool.

Given the opportunity, she had proven herself adept as well at unravelling the threads of criminal activity. The Captain sighed wistfully.

If all my officers had her skills, I might not need Hammer, he speculated. Well, the world isn't perfect, is it?

Well, I am an expert in imperfect.

Common sense said it was a plan doomed to failure. But Trunk also knew Hammer and, from what he had seen of Doreau, he thought his plan might work, just the same.

If there was just some way to get the two them together …

Hammer, the man no one wanted, was easy. Like his ancestors on the African savannah, Hammer lived to hunt. Unlike his ancestors, who hunted gazelles and gnus, Hammer was less particular. Anything that broke the law, from murderers and bank robbers to jaywalkers and litter bugs was fair game in Hammer's world. A stainless steel age Neanderthal. A caveman with access to modern firearms. Hammer was a good fit nowhere. For Trunk, getting Hammer assigned to his unit was as simple as not objecting to the transfer. Phase One, complete …

Detective Doreau's transfer had been more challenging. Careful planning had not been enough; it had required a healthy dose of good luck. He still recalled the day fortune had taken pity on him and smiled. The kidnapping of the Mayor's daughter had come at the opportune time for Captain Trunk.

Could I have arranged her reassignment, even temporarily, for a case of lesser importance? Probably not, he admitted.

As Trunk had expected, Hammer protested. Since his divorce, Hammer had kept all women at arm's length. More precisely, he'd kept them at arm plus Magnum distance. And Hammer, being in law enforcement, had long arms.

A woman partner? Pfft, as Hammer often put it.

Hammer had said as much, to the Chief's face. No individual, Captain Trunk had been certain, would be able to coerce Hammer into partnering with a female Detective. But, with the Mayor requesting that Inspector Hammer be assigned to the case; with the Chief himself enlisting Detective Doreau's skills and had suggesting that the two of them work the case together and with Captain Trunk standing his ground … well, maybe 'standing' wasn't exactly the right word, but it had worked. Reluctantly, Hammer had given in to their demands.

And my back only bothers me occasionally.

Captain Trunk had hardly believed his good fortune. At a single stroke, not only was Doreau working for him, but Trunk's vision of a perfect partnership became a reality. Phase two and Phase three, completed. All that was left was to keep it together.

For two years Captain Trunk had succeeded. In fact he had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. If he thought about it really hard, he could vaguely remember a time when he had, briefly, felt guilty for leaving Doreau paired with Hammer. But that time was far in the past, and the guilty pangs had never returned. In fact, something odder had happened.

Something about the Inspector seemed to fascinate, or perhaps challenge, Dori Doreau. Far from being put off by Hammer's seeming indifference, she had come to bask in the infrequent instances when he voiced his approval. A simple 'Thank you' had once left her glowing for hours. And, although a perfunctory 'Good masculine thinking, Doreau,' was unlikely to be seen by most as an actual compliment, apparently it was close enough for Doreau to focus on the positive. If the glass wasn't half full, at least it wasn't totally empty. For some reason, that was enough, and she had never questioned the fact that she had not been returned to the counter terrorism unit. Perhaps she found her new assignment more challenging.

While she kept trying to prove herself; trying to gain his approval, Hammer kept pushing her away. The result was an almost comical situation where they stayed together, without ever actually getting together. Oil and water, he thought. As long as the oil kept trying to mix with the water, or in this case, as long as Doreau kept trying to prove herself to her partner, who was the most inflexible dinosaur in the entire force, Captain Trunk's plan would continue to be successful. In Doreau, Trunk had found the one person on the force that could bring some semblance of balance to Hammer's personal version of fighting crime – without getting shot in the process. So far, at least.

And, in Hammer, he had perhaps the only person who could spend every day working at her side without any personal involvement.

Trunk supposed that it was ironic that his most misogynistic officer was also his most egalitarian, at least in Doreau's eyes. In Hammer, she had seemingly found the one man for whom her femininity was irrelevant - who would treat her exactly as if she was one of the guys: expendable. Trunk had occasionally wondered if even Hammer could really be so completely oblivious to the fact that Doreau was a woman. But, Hammer regularly ignored most facts, and there was probably no reason why that particular fact should be different from the rest.

In time, certain other officers had dared to take Hammer's disinterest as license to approach Doreau as a woman, and not as a fellow officer. Not one to encourage their advances, but not wanting to accuse them of harassment either, Doreau had found a third option. Somehow, each of them had found themselves facing her over the sparring mat in the basement training area. As far as Trunk knew, no one had ever asked for a rematch.

In time it seemed everything had settled into a more or less happy equilibrium. In virtually every way that mattered, Detective Doreau managed to prove herself to every officer on the force, and to Captain Trunk. The lone exception remained her partner, Inspector Sledge Hammer. Although he regarded Doreau's methods with some scepticism, Hammer appeared at least willing to accept their partnership as a working arrangement. Oddly, Hammer remained the only officer Doreau had never met in hand to hand sparring.

Today though, something had changed. That much was clear from his morning observations. Somehow, the fragile truce that had been maintained for two years had been disrupted. Neither Hammer nor Doreau were behaving normally, although admittedly in Hammer's case the definition of normal was always somewhat elusive. The cause of this change was, Captain Trunk was certain, likely to be even more elusive. Hammer would never admit to anyone that he might have a problem and, where their partnership was concerned, Doreau could be equally reticent. Failure to solve that mystery and correct the problem would, he was certain, bring all of his careful planning and manipulation, and two years of crime fighting successes to an ignominious end.

Captain Trunk leaned back to stare at the ceiling. As his vision focused on the blank white surface he counted six, no seven, freshly repaired bullet holes and momentarily his resolve wavered.

Maybe it would be easier to just … NO! I will not knuckle under to that knucklehead. Besides, what are my options? Retirement on a police pension?

As he wracked his brain trying to come up with some clue as to where to even begin his mind suddenly flashed back to an earlier thought. He picked up his telephone and began dialing a fellow Captain from the Traffic Division. His call was answered on the first ring.

"Hello Edmond. I'll bet you are calling me about a little meeting your Inspector Hammer had with one of my officers last night."

Captain Trunk was taken aback. Clearly, his call had been expected. The truly surprising part was that the voice on the line did not sound angry. Instead, he sounded amused. Very amused.

Almost every cop in the entire division was familiar with Hammer's vehicle. Many had encountered it more than once on their patrols. For the officer who had encountered him last night, it had been his first time. It was an experience would remain with the young man forever. Indeed, it was already well on its way to becoming Department legend, less than eight hours after occurring. For one thing, the officer had survived.

Bit by bit, between uncontrolled paroxysms of laughter, Captain Trunk managed to extract the details of that encounter.

Sometime after midnight, while patrolling on the graveyard shift, an hysterical young woman had run into the street, directly in front of the rookie officer's patrol car. He had barely managed to stop in time. His own nerves shaken at the near miss, he got out of the car with the intention of calming the lady down and getting a statement from her. All he had managed to understand was the word 'Pervert'. When his eyes were drawn in the direction the woman was pointing, he made out the figure of a large man holding a large silver gun. A man who seemed genuinely puzzled at all the commotion.

Inspector Hammer had, for once in his life, actually cooperated. He had identified himself immediately and had even produced his SFPD badge as proof of his identity. Still, the enthusiastic officer was determined to conduct a thorough and meticulous investigation of the complaint, and to ensure that no detail was overlooked. After verifying that Inspector Hammer's badge was authentic he went on to confirm that his carry permit was current. He ran Hammer's driver's license, his insurance, and the vehicle registration before conducting a cursory vehicle safety inspection. He then made the Inspector wait, while he took the lady's statement, which consisted largely of claiming that she ran a legitimate business from the back alley. And that her business was not in the business of gratifying some pervert looking to get a hot oil massage for his gun.

"Of course the big silver one, what else could I mean, you PERVERT?"

After verifying that no actual crime had been committed the young officer had released both the lady and Hammer from custody, but not before giving the Inspector a stern warning about overdue parking tickets and the importance of proper tire inflation. By this point in the story the laughter on the other end of the line was continuous and, if Trunk was not mistaken, there were several others in the background who had joined in the revelry.

Captain Trunk hung up the phone and sat, considering what he had heard carefully.

One thing is certain. If Hammer had been out cruising the streets, clearly he and Doreau could not have spent the night together.

That was something to be thankful for, since it meant he didn't have to reassign either of them. Not yet at least. Of course that fact alone did not preclude an earlier argument with Doreau.

He still might have offended her and she could have thrown him out. That had happened before and that time they had managed to work things out and continue working together. Maybe, if this is just one of those cases, it will eventually blow over.

The thought gave Captain Trunk a faint glimmer of hope. But, after his years of experience with Hammer he knew the wisdom of planning for the worst, and hoping that whatever ended up happening wasn't worse than that. He was determined to cover all of the other possibilities.

The part of the story that Trunk found easiest to accept was that Hammer had sought out someone to give his gun a hot oil massage. Hammer's fondness for his massive magnum was well known. He knew of a previous occasion when Hammer had set his own apartment on fire while trying to convert a mini-fryer and some gun oil into the equivalent of a hot tub for his sidearm. He also knew that Hammer had previously purchased Christmas and birthday presents for his firearm. There was a rumor that Hammer had come to the church alone. Perhaps his gun had felt left out during all the wedding festivities ….

Damn, that sounds just crazy enough to be one of Hammer's ideas. But while it might explain why he was out late at night, it does not explain why he continues to act even stranger than usual this morning. And it certainly doesn't offer any explanation of Doreau's behaviour. Unless … Trunk was remembering a time when Hammer's amigo had gone missing … unless Doreau was acting distracted because she, too, was aware that something was wrong with Hammer. If that is true, then I'm only looking for a problem with Hammer.

Captain Trunk was, of course, thankful that Hammer had not resorted to gunplay with the young officer. Thankful, but puzzled, since Hammer usually saw bullets as the shortest distance between any two points. Perhaps Hammer felt a connection with the diligent young officer, or perhaps Trunk's own tirades on use of firearms against fellow officers had finally sunk in.

Trunk snorted.

I am kidding myself if I believe that anything I ever said ever sank in with Hammer. More than likely, the fact Hammer hadn't used his cannon as his first resort in problem resolution was one more indication of the seriousness of the situation that I am facing. It might be a hint as to when this all started, though.

Captain Trunk began to feel like he was making some progress. Although he was no closer to a solution, at least he had some ideas he could pursue further when Hammer and Doreau returned to the precinct.

If I can just keep enough pressure on both of them to solve their current case, maybe they will reveal something more to me. If I can find just one little piece, perhaps the rest of the puzzle would fall into place.

Captain Trunk sighed. His message light was still flashing and his inbox still held several reports requiring his signature. There was no point in continuing to put off the inevitable. Hammer and Doreau would have to wait.

It was, after all, darkest just before the dawn. Captain Trunk snorted again. That might be true in other jurisdictions, he thought, but around here it was always darkest just before Hammer went home. He checked his watch. That left six hours forty-two and a half minutes for things to go downhill.

Captain Trunk opened his desk drawer. He unscrewed the cap from one of the bottles inside shook a couple of Anacin tablets into his hand.

Preventive medicine, he thought, as he picked up his coffee cup and headed back to the coffee machine for something to help wash the tablets down.

The worst is yet to come. I can feel it … right … there.

Where IS the bomb squad?