Baby's Breath

When I arrive at work the next morning, I expect Jimenez to be ready to either argue or be in the chief's office haggling for a more positive partner.

Well, he's livid for sure, but not at me. Yay for that.

I watch him speculatively while putting my coffee and handbag down on my desk, meeting his angry stare with wide questioning eyes.

"You will not believe who's in there with the chief," he says. His New Mexican accent sounds stronger with his frustration, and I hate myself for finding it hot as Hell. I glance to the chief's shut door, then back at Jimenez.

"I give," I reply, grateful he isn't bringing up our argument. Feeling calm and rested, I'm confident that I'm ready to deal with this case and anything else that comes along with a bit more couth than yesterday. One shitty day is enough.

"Allan Sword." Jimenez spits out the obnoxious detective's name like it's a curse, and I can't blame him. Sword sucks.

So much for not having a shitty day, I ponder bitterly. I grow irritated even by his name spoken out loud. The older detective is just such a cock to everyone around him. I can't express how annoying this man is. His hate and bigotry repel me like garlic does a vampire.

"Why is he in there? What's going on?"

I walk to stand next to my partner, my attention focused on the chief's door as I mirror Lorenzo's pose. I despise that man.

Most normal people with a clue do.

In a perfect world, we wouldn't have assholes for coworkers. Everyone works with one or two, so you get what I am talking about. They're the people who make a body want to either quit their job or go to jail for beating ass.

Well, surprise surprise, there are assholes who work in the department. Don't seem so shocked, we are all human too. If you are an asshole out of uniform, or with your shield on the dresser, chances are the asshole within will grow nine times the legal limit the minute you gussy up cop style. Some pricks shouldn't be allowed to carry a weapon and a badge.

Detective Allan Sword was one of these human beings, and I use that word loosely, who shouldn't be permitted to walk around armed. Allan is a chauvinist, racist, and an all-out piece of shit. Now he's older than me and I was taught to respect my senior officers, but the teachers in my past never met a fuck like this guy.

He ought to be the poster child for why abortion should stay legal. Had he been sucked out of his mamma's womb when he was still a tadpole the world would have been a much better place. Sound harsh? Oh baby, you just don't know. If you ever meet anyone like this man, you'll get what I am saying. So, when my partner grounds out, "He wants our case," I can't help but stiffen.

Every election cycle, Sword runs for mayor, never getting the votes, but not for lack of trying. He runs on a White Christian Nationalist platform, and I can't be sure how he thinks he can be that type of political figure in a state that is predominantly dark-skinned Hispanics, but damn me straight to hell if he wasn't always trying.

And he uses cases like Diego's to help him climb the popularity poll, but he'll never find the culprit. He'll stand in front of the news cameras with his curly little ponytail trying to get the publicity, though. I've believed since meeting the jackass that he's political agenda is more important to him than working Homicide.

Well, I reflect mentally, gritting my teeth with resolve; he will not succeed with this. And, babies, I am about to do the unthinkable.

Muscles tense, I storm across the room, moving like a she-bitch past desks and fellow detectives with a militant stride. Knowing Jimenez follows with the same intent adds to my resolve.

Together, we storm right into that sweet little meeting with none of the cordiality one might expect when dealing with their boss. The chief startles a little at my intrusion and the room grows still.

Detective Sword and his submissive, Detective Dwayne Martin, roll their eyes in unison with our arrival.

"This is ludicrous," Allan says, his hands flying up in frustration. Putting on my sweetest smile, I make myself cozy in a brown leather chair across the chief's desk, meeting his steely blue eyes with a stare of determination. I'm like a starving dog with raw meat; I ain't letting go of this.

"So, I hear there's a conflict regarding the Montes' case?"

Allan speaks up just as chief Whitman opens his mouth to either kick our asses out or reply. With the chief's constant blank expression, one can never tell what he's going to do.

"Hell yes there is! It's our case," Allan answers, crossing his arms over his chest, preventing the chief from speaking.

"How so," I ask, trying to keep my temper in check.

I lean back in my chair and look up at him, allowing him to experience a sense of superiority because of our positions. Men like him are insecure for many reasons. If I were standing over him, he'd feel like a pussy. But I'm confident that he is a pussy, so staring up at him doesn't faze me in the least. I can make him look like a bitch from down there without a problem.

"Last month I had a kid case just like this. Been working on it this whole time and I should have been notified the moment the call came through regarding this Montes kid." The last part of his sentence was directed at the chief. Adding to his dramatic act, he places his palms on the desk and leans in, earning absolutely no response from anyone in the room. He's like fly on shit.

"Oh, come on," Jimenez snaps, "they called who was available, and it was me. You were assisting at another scene at the time of the call. We feel this case, chief. To take us off now would hurt everything. We've done twelve hours' worth of footwork on this. "

The chief tosses the pen he's been holding onto the desk and rocks his chair back on two legs, his gaze traveling to each of us one at a time contemplatively. Slowly, he shakes his head and sighs.

"I don't see why we can't transfer this case to Sword. He's right. He has been pounding pavement on this for the last twenty-eight days."

Allan stands tall, giving me a smug glance, sucking in air through his nose in a deep triumphant snort making me want to break that obnoxious beak. I'm almost white-hot mad at this point. To give our case to this pompous fuck would be a disaster. He will take forever as he always does, trying to solve it. We needed answers now, today. I need answers now, today. And an idea hits me. I turn my focus back to the chief and raise my brows innocently.

"I can think of one good reason you should let us keep this case."

"Yeah," says Martin, trying to appear as intimidating as his partner, "what's that?"

My attention doesn't waver from the chief as I answer Martin's question.

"Nobody in the Montes family speaks English. My partner is bilingual, and Sword isn't. We all know what a disaster a translator can be during interrogation, chief. Not only that, but they don't trust," I skim my eyes slowly over at Sword and state pointedly, "white cops."

Allan's smug look dissipates into one of disbelief. My partner seals the deal by adding smoothly, "You saw it all, chief. Neither the boy's mother nor grandmother would talk to anyone else. Only me."

Before Sword can put together a counterargument, the chief appears sold and nods, relieved there's an end to this mayhem.

"I remember that. I believe the boy who was murdered last month also came from a Hispanic father. Hispanics, when it comes to this sort of thing, work better with one of their own. Okay, Jimenez, the case is yours and Lindsey's. Sword, you need to give them the file on the investigation you were in charge of. Afterwards, I'm sure you have another case you can work on. This is Albuquerque. I'm certain there is no shortage of homicide cases."

He really doesn't expect an answer. This is obvious when he picks his pen up and starts on his paperwork. But the illustrious Allan Sword is like a hemorrhoid and just keeps right on burning and itching.

"Oh, come on! You can't do this!"

Chief Whitman lifts his eyes, which reflect the long years he has lived and put into the police force. He's older than any of us, and harder. Although he's a good man, I'm certain he's not one to be messed with on any level.

"I can and did, Sword. Now, if you value your shield, you'll leave my office. All of you."

Under the chief's cold perusal, I rise and leave with my partner by my side, but Sword bulldozes his way between us, storming out just as angrily as I had stormed in. His partner, like a bitch to an Alpha dog, scrambles from the room, right on Swords heels with his eyes down cast.

"Pussy," I whisper in a voice so soft only Martin can hear, which causes him looked back at me with a double take. I meet his accusing glances with an innocent beam, earning a chuckle from my partner who notices the entire exchange.

Once we step out of the chief's office and close the door behind us, Jimenez and I grin at each other triumphantly, bumping knuckles before making our way back to our desks to get busy. There are always warm fuzzies when you hand a platter full of 'fuck you' to someone who richly deserves it.

And Sword deserves it.

I know Sword. He will shit-fuck around before finally bringing us the info on the last vic, so we get busy on what we can while we wait. We work on paperwork and make some calls, discovering that The Medical Examiner is going to work on Diego today, so I sit on pins and needles for both her report and the hard copies of the case file of the last victim.

In Brooklyn, there were three cases of children murdered with the same M.O. around the time Rose was. I am curious how many have taken place here. We just heard about Sword's case today. Does that mean there were more in the state? Or does it mean there will be more? Is there a pattern? I can't remember hearing about one, but if this is related to my daughter's case, surely that means there's a sick rhythm at play.

So lost in thought and phone calls I don't notice Sword walk up until he slaps the documents down on Jimenez's desk with a resounding smack. Startled, I glance up in time to witness Sword lean down into Jimenez's face, his nose inches from my partners and snarl in a low menacing pitch, "I am going to get you for this."

I narrow my eyes at his scathing words and tense as I observe Lorenzo's slow, deliberate reaction. He calmly grins at Sword, but his eyes flash in barely restrained rage.

"You threatening me," he responds in a supple, foreboding voice as he slowly stands, the action forcing Sword to step backwards, "because if you are, we can step out and I can show you how a Chicano takes down a bigot. You might consider your next move very hard. Think about it, pendejo."

The older detective remains motionless for a full minute. I figure he's trying to comprehend that my partner just called him a 'contemptable' in Spanish. Allen is a redneck with absolutely no common sense, for if he possessed any, he wouldn't have even considered pissing off my partner.

Not a good idea, because Lorenzo looks… deadly.

I guess Sword doesn't have the desire to be humiliated by having his ass handed to him in front of his peers, finds his senses and pulls back, giving Lorenzo his space. His gaze wavers under Jimenez's cool, killer stare. I've never seen Lorenzo so angry, unblinking, fatally still. Of course, I've seen nobody stupid enough to step up to him, either.

Leaning back in my chair, I grin at Sword who turns to glare at me. I suppose in the mind of a pussy it's much safer for him to pick on a woman. Only I've got no intention of playing his game. My partner balances on the edge of losing it with him, and I have to calm things down a bit for Lorenzo's sake.

But I need to screw with Sword at least a little. I mean, come on, I'm only human and he is such a douche.

"Thanks for the file, Sword," I say with over-exaggerated gusto. "Have yourself an awesome day," I add before waving him off like an adult would a child. A dismissal, if you will. Oh, and it bothers the hell out of him. His misogyny won't stand for a woman to treat him like he's insignificant. His rage shines through his blue eyes, like lasers aimed at me. He steps forward again, but thinks twice when Lorenzo leans in, entering Sword's bubble. He stares though, focusing on me for so long, it actually makes me uncomfortable. Finally, with his jaw clamped tight, he retreats with anger lacing his stride.

I can't help but take notice of the dread pooling inside my stomach as I watch him disappear through the doors. I have a bad feeling that there might be repercussions for our audacity.

Great. More damned drama.