Welcome to Euclid

Back at the 6th, they walked down the hallway to the detective bureau. As soon as they turned the corner, a booming voice echoed down the hall.

"Kingston, Bruss, and Fed guy; my office."

A large, barrel-chested man motioned to them.

"Oh, goody. You get to meet Lt. Curtis and the entire bottle of Old Spice he puts on each morning," Bruss said, jabbing Dean in the arm with his elbow.

"I can only imagine what it smells like mixed with an entire bottle of Drakkar Noir you have on," Dean said, elbowing Bruss' back.

"Oh yeah. You're going to fit in just fine," Bruss said, holding his ribs.

Curtis' office was hot and stuffy. It was jammed packed with boxes and file cabinets; the heavy smell of Old Spice hung in the air. He was sitting in an old leather chair. There were splits in the fabric where the chair had been worn out. The carpet was old and weathered from years of walking in and out, pacing back and forth, the feet of a hundred subordinates standing in front of his desk, cups of coffee knocked over, staining the floor. He was slowly cracking his knuckles one by one.

"Euclid P.D. found a body. It was in an abandoned house over by 185th and Parker. From what I've been told, she's far into decomp."

"Kingston, you and Bruss go over to Euclid and bring the evidence back here. Fed guy, you are needed back at the Federal castle down the road," Curtis told them.

"I can go too," Dean said.

"The fuck you are," Allie said under her breath.

The words flew out of her mouth without her knowing she was talking out loud. Bruss cleared his throat. He had heard her.

"Yes, Bruss, I owe you five bucks," Allie whispered curtly.

Dean looked confused. "I've heard that more than once today. Is there a swear jar or something I should be aware of?" he asked, his tone returning to no-nonsense.

"No, Kingston and I have a bet going. Every time she swears, she owes me five bucks," Bruss explained to him.

"You swear so often you can play odds on if you can stop?" Dean asked.

"I can call off the bet today and collect and still make over two hundred dollars."

"Why don't we do that? End of the day, I will write you a check, and I can go back to policing the city and not my language."

"Fine. Make the check—"

"To cash, I know."

"HEY! Does anybody mind if we get back to the case?" Curtis asked, visibly annoyed.

"I think that's a great idea." Allie looked at her two sidekicks and said, "The next one to speak will be speaking two octaves higher."

"My name is Agent Carron," he said.

Curtis cleared his throat. He looked at Dean with a cold stare.

"Look, I don't care what your name is. To me, you're a Fed guy. I don't want you around here long enough for me to need to know your name. I don't like that you've been thrust into our investigation because some rich asshole has pull at city hall. These victims deserve the same amount of time and attention; it shouldn't matter how much money their daddy has. Now, all of you, get out of my office and find out who this animal is that has the audacity to be stalking my streets," Curtis went back to the paperwork that was piled up on his desk.

Dean had every right to tell Curtis that a federal agent outranked any city employee, regardless of position within the department. But being a respectful Southern gentleman, he kept his mouth shut.

They exited the office and were back in the hallway.

Allie cringed. "So, that went well," she said to Dean.

"Dean, don't take it personally. He's just… Well, he's just Curtis. I wouldn't worry too much about it. Let's solve this case before another body hits Makayla's table," Bruss said.

The Euclid police department was a large brick building with immense windows. Like the 6th, it was an old building. The difference was that Euclid was undergoing a "revitalization." Vast improvements and upgrades had recently been made. The dispatch center was state-of-the-art. A small-framed woman with gray hair buzzed them inside the station.

"You must be the detectives from the 6th. I have the evidence all packed up for you. I need you to sign here for the chain of custody," she said.

Bruss grabbed the box while Allie signed the paperwork.

"Any idea what time the corner transported the body?"

"I am not completely sure. I will locate the report and email it to you if that's OK?"

The dispatcher looked the forms over and shook her head in approval.

"Looks good. There is fresh coffee and donuts in the roll call room if you're interested," she said, pointing to the room across the hall.

Bruss was halfway out the door before she finished her sentence.

"It's a tragedy what happened to those girls. I have a daughter, and every day, I worry about her. She is about the same age as these girls. I had her late in life. She's my little miracle. I always worry about her, even before this happened," the dispatcher said.

The gray-haired woman looked down at the floor, wringing her hands. Allie could see the fear in her eyes and the pain on her face.

"Being a woman is difficult and dangerous. We are created to be easy targets. We're told to cut our hair so no one can grab it. Park in well-lit areas and carry your keys between your fingers, so you have something to defend yourself with. Carry a taser, carry pepper spray, and have someone you trust to walk you to the car. It's sickening how we must be responsible for our safety just because we are seen as the weaker sex. Maybe instead of teaching women how to defend themselves, someone can start educating boys to respect and appreciate women when they are younger. In high school, they are taught that girls need to cover up because it distracts the boys. It's in almost every dress code you will find, in a roundabout way. God forbid you have above-average-sized breasts. If so, you are told to wear baggy shirts and sweatshirts. In some schools, they aren't allowed to show bare shoulders. When I was at school, we couldn't show our knees! Then girls get out of school, and as soon as they show shoulders and knees, she's dressing like a whore and asking for it," she said. "Can I offer you a word of advice to pass on to your daughter?"

"You're right. If you have anything that can protect her, please do," she answered, with a gleam of hope in her eyes.

"Have her take some defense classes or even boxing. I know how taboo this may be, but have her take some classes on firearms training. Ohio is an open-carry state. She doesn't need her concealed carry permit, BUT if she wants to carry one in her purse, she does need to get one. Guns are a hot topic, but in today's day and age, a woman carrying a gun is a woman taking her life into her own hands. I was in the Marine Corps. I know how to bring down a 250-pound man, but the truth is that having my sidearm makes me feel safe," she said.

Allie put her hand on the woman's shoulder to comfort her.

"Guns make me and my daughter nervous," the dispatcher said.

"Honestly, that's a good thing. It's when we lose fear that we let our guard down. Look, here is my number," she handed her a business card. "Have her call me. I would be happy to talk to her to help her learn how to defend herself. I can show her some simple things that will make a significant difference."

"Thank you so much, Detective. I will make sure she calls you," she said, holding the card up to her heart.

"We appreciate you helping us; he thanks you for the donuts," she said, hitching her thumb over her shoulder. "His girlfriend has him on a no-sugar, no-caffeine diet. He's in the first stages of withdrawal. I'll make sure he doesn't pilfer all of them. Too much sugar turns him into a hyper toddler who just got back from grandma's house. Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to get my partner before he does any considerable damage."

She made her way across the hall to the roll call room.

"Kingston, look at this selection."

His eyes were wide with excitement. He held a donut and had two more tucked into a napkin.

"They're donuts, Bruss. Donuts," she said, shaking her head.

"I truly have little in life to make me happy. Let me be happy,"

"Good Lord. Get your donuts. We need to get back to the 6th before Curtis puts a BOLO out on us."

"Do you want one?" he asked, following her out of the room, holding a donut in his outstretched arm.

"Can we please get back to the car?" she asked, "And you have powdered sugar on your coat."

Bruss put the evidence box in the backseat. He struggled to keep both donuts in his hand.

"Man, I should work here. Why don't we ever have donuts?"

"Hey, you know if you brought them in, then we would have donuts," she said sarcastically.

"Can you imagine your life without me?" he asked with a toothy grin.

"Every damn day Bruss. Every damn day," she got into the car.

He shoved the last piece of donut in his mouth.

"That's five more bucks. I'll give you a discount since it was the same word."

"I'm already writing you a check," she said.

"The day isn't over. Remember to make it out to cash," he mumbled with a mouth full of donuts.

"Get your donut-eating ass into the car."

"Ooh. 5 more! "

"The bible rule applies to ass too."

The drive back was quiet. Allie didn't like quiet. Dreadful things happen when the world goes silent.

Her mind drifted back to when she was deployed. She spent hours sitting in silence on rooftops and hills, just staring through the scope of her M40 sniper rifle, her spotter by her side.

Occasionally, they would hear a pop-off in the distance.

Someone once asked her how she felt when she took out a target. She always answered the same way: recoil.

The air was always dry. She could feel the chapped lips and the ache in her shoulders from being in the same position for hours, sometimes days. They would have to stay awake for what seemed like days. She could feel the sweat dripping into her eyes: it stung.

On the ground, six-man teams were clearing houses in the disheveled areas. She watched them go in and out of each building. The night was quiet; the team entered a building that should have been unoccupied. All the buildings were empty. The people would flee and take all their possessions, which were never many.

Her team went into a house where they noticed a dart board on the wall. That was a little strange. There was a bare mattress on the floor with a dirty blanket wadded up on it.

Our squad leader entered a blind spot. Pop. Pop. Pop. The sound of automatic gunfire rang out. He had been ambushed and shot in the neck. Pop. Pop. Pop. She saw a man running out of the building with an assault rifle. He was running backward, shooting into the building. He made it about twelve inches out of the door.

"Caretaker," Malibu said.

"I see him," she said.

A second on the scope and the man fell back. Pink mist hitting the sandy walls. Recoil.

Seconds later, a teenage boy ran after him. He picked up the rifle. She heard multiple voices in unison, screaming for the boy to drop the weapon. The boy took a stance and pointed the rifle at the door. She pulled the trigger and thought God forgive me. The boy crumpled into a small pile on the ground. The sound was a second behind. Recoil.

She squeezed her eyes tightly closed and inhaled, held it for a few seconds, and blew it out. A couple of minutes later, she watched the unit exit 1, 2, 3, 4, ... .5. Sgt. Wyatt had the 6th man they slung over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

She could see the blood all over his CCUs. His body flopped with every step like a sleeping child.

"Who is that? I can't see the face," Malibu said.

She looked through the scope. Sgt. Wyatt hitched the body up to get a better position on his upper back; the head bounced, raising it slightly, and then fell back.

"Fuck, It's Bodie."

"Jesus Christ. Man, he was out in 3 weeks. Three goddamn weeks."

"Only the dead have seen the end of war," she said.

"Fuck Caretaker, that's some deep shit right there."

"Not as deep as the shit we're in right now."

Bruss honked the horn to gain entry to the garage.

Caretaker! Snap out of it!

Malibu was back in the vehicle.

"Hey, are you OK?"

"Yeah, I just have so much chewing on me."

"When was the last time you got out of the office? And going home isn't what I was talking about."

"I don't know. When I went to Ava's, I think."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

He rubbed his face.

Kingston, promise me you will go out and talk to one person who is not the bartender.

I'll bug you till you go, so you might as well do it. Plus, I need a break from watching Keanu Reeves films, military movies, and documentaries.

But I was looking forward to watching Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey.

Your life is already a bogus journey.

Haha very funny.

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