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I caught sight of my reflection
I caught it in the window
I saw the darkness in my heart
I saw the signs of my undoing
They had been there from the start
And the darkness still has work to do
--Peter Gabriel, "Blood of Eden"
The Kingfisher was a cheap, sunlit diner featuring functional air conditioning, and a wide range of fried food and free refills, all under the watchful eye of a five foot long stuffed marlin, mounted over the kitchen door and caught in a net of blue neon tubing. The tiny stucco building blended well into its surroundings: an old art deco theater on one side and a vacant lot on the other, and just a few blocks from the hotels, the apartment complexes and Gold Coast Shipping. Convenient to everywhere, just like the ads promised.
Trudy liked to sneak over here in the middle of a shift, or before one--or after, for that matter--and nurse an iced tea or some juice, perched on the plastic edge of a booth, feeling naugahyde pebble the backs of her thighs the longer she sat. Even though she found the conversations around her depressing--who went to rehab and who died, who's stepping out on who, how much better the Old Country was--she kept listening in, hoping some normalcy would rub off on her. But the longer she sat, the more alone she found herself.
Trudy sipped her grapefruit juice and looked across the diner table at Gina, currently enthralling two Robbery guys with tales of thrilling Vice exploits. Or possibly her cleavage. Trudy wasn't really sure, and, it probably wasn't important. One of the best things about being partners with Gina was that Trudy was never forced to hold up her end of the conversation with any men they might meet; Gina's dark, luminous eyes, full coral lips, or her heaving chest were more than up to the task. It came in handy sometimes.
Pushing around the ice cubes with a tip of her plastic straw, she heard her name come up in the conversation, and she looked to Gina before managing a strangled smile. "Sure," she heard herself say. "That'd be great." She saw the Robbery guys exchange pleased looks, but Gina shot her a warning glance. Trudy looked down guiltily.
Under the table, the Robbery guy closest to her--Gil? Russ?--slid a hand up her thigh, but his gaze never left Gina's chest. Trudy removed his hand, slid a satin spike heel to within striking distance and fidgeted with her straw.
There's a finite number of times you can go talk to the department shrink without it getting around. She didn't need anything else affecting her chances of promotion.
This last case had been a killer. Undercover as a callgirl, nothing new there, but trying to take down a dealer flying high on angel dust, there'd been a moment where she'd had doubts about seeing another sunrise. Staring down at the grease-spattered tiles in the Kingfisher, black and white checkerboard, her brain kept replacing them with the dirty yellow linoleum of the flophouse. The whole time Moretti had his arm around her throat, gun to her head, she hadn't been able to take her eyes off that floor. Even after Crockett had shot him, it had taken all she had to tear her gaze away and up.
Too many flashbacks, too many close calls. Too many rescues, too many gunshots at close range.
Which had somehow morphed into this cozy round booth with Gina and her Robbery beau...and Gil the Groper. Trudy slyly removed his hand again and applied more pressure to the nearest foot.
Trudy felt a rush of warmth from the door as Switek and Zito came in, deep in conversation. Trudy signaled the waitress for a refill as they ambled over to the table.
Gina looked up, distinctly unthrilled. As she made a perfunctory round of introductions, Gina caught Trudy's eye, but Trudy could only giggle into her glass of melting ice. "Aren't you two on the Matolo case? Shouldn't you be getting ready to go out? Y'know--" she gestured vaguely, "--cleaning your lenses, checking your tapes? "
Zito sank into the booth next to Trudy, while Switek pushed Gina over with his hip. Subtlety and insults are equally lost on these two, Trudy thought. The Robbery guys exchanged a look and the latest apple of Gina's eye glanced meaningfully at his watch.
"Actually," Stan said, "we just finished. Left him to his frou-frou poolside drinks and those two fluffy mutts of his, in the capable hands of day shift."
"As snug as the bugs in his rugs," his partner added.
The two Robbery guys exchanged a look and then began making excuses and patting pockets. Gina's face fell. Trudy found herself swept along in the tide of shuffling and re-seating, quietly amused both by Gina's annoyance and the two surveillance guys' obliviousness.
Gil shot Trudy a wink as he left.
"Thanks a lot, guys," said Gina.
Zito raised his eyebrows and looked at Stan; they shrugged simultaneously.
A plate shattered in the kitchen and Trudy jumped; as she turned to track the source of the noise she knocked Gina's Tab across the table.
After a moment of silence, Carla, their waitress, hurried over to the table and started mopping up the soda, with the somewhat overenthusiastic help of the two surveillance guys. Gina reached across the table and grasped Trudy's hand. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." Gina's stare was half concern, half accusation, and Trudy lowered her eyes.
"Trudy."
"Really, I'm just a little--it's nothing." So many years in Vice, she should be tougher than this. One more dust-freak dirtbag shouldn't leave her feeling this way.
"You're not fine, you've been on edge ever since the Mor--"
The slam of Crockett's hands on the diner tabletop made everyone jump. No one had noticed him and Tubbs come in. "She says she's fine, she's fine, Detective. Let it go." Trudy released a breath she hadn't been aware of holding. Sonny turned to nod at Carla over his shoulder and was rewarded with a come-hither smile.
"Besides, she did you a favor saving you from that diet crap you drink. Tastes worse than what Elvis did to my Everly Brothers album this morning. I swear, that miserable--"
"Man, how do you know how that tastes?" Tubbs teased his partner.
Trudy scooted farther along the bench and soon was hemmed in. Gina's spandex-clad hip rested warm against her own on one side, while Zito's elbow jabbed her ribs from the other. She didn't mind.
Trudy took a measured breath and shook her head. She'd put in for promotion again, but figured she stood no chance if word got out she was getting frayed around the edges. She pictured Castillo, solid and motionless behind his desk. From what little she knew of his past, he had more reason than any of them to go off the rails, yet Trudy couldn't remember the last time she'd seen evidence of any psychic wounds. That was the trick she had to learn. Leave no evidence.
Carla arrived shortly afterwards, rocked back on one hip under the weight of a full tray. As she unloaded items from the tray, the team handed them around, across and over the table, sorting out silverware along the way. Two daily specials--one for Crockett, one for Zito, double burger basket for Stan, another Tab for Gina, grilled cheese for Rico. Stan slapped the ketchup bottle over his food and everyone braced themselves for disaster.
Conversation wound in and out of the business of eating.
"Zito, you need a haircut," Gina said. She slid a delicate hand across the table and stole a french fry from Switek.
"Nah, I think this is a good look for me." Larry replied, tucking stray locks behind his ears. "Much more popular with the ladies."
Crockett took a sip of coffee. "Stan's opinion doesn't count."
"Hey!"
Tubbs laughed and reached for the ketchup, weaving his hand between the assembled plates and glasses. Their table looked like a dishwasher explosion.
Trudy looked at them all, gathered around the table, talking like normal people, joking like normal people, eating normal food, and it just made her worry more. All of them got shot at on a regular basis, why was she the only one cracking up? Zito pushed his plate over towards her without even looking, deep in a mock argument with Stan and Rico. He'd left her the tomatoes again; Larry hated tomatoes but always forgot to order food without them, and they were one of her favorite foods. Today, the gesture was almost enough to make her cry.
For the past week she'd been trying to make up her mind about going to see the department shrink. Too many visits pegged you as weak, a potential liability in the field, needing too much hand-holding. Too few visits and...well, too few visits and you were Crockett.
Trudy sipped her juice and shook her head. She caught Sonny's eye across the table. He held her gaze for a minute, hiding his grin behind a coffee cup. Gina was pinching Stan's arm and saying something about body fat measurement; Stan was complaining loudly, Tubbs and Zito were laughing, and Gina refused to loosen her grip. Trudy sipped her own drink to keep from laughing and met Crockett's eyes again. It wasn't the first time she'd wondered if Sonny could read her mind.
Carla leaned out one of the scuffed steel double doors to the kitchen. "Burnett!" she called out. "Phone!" Sonny slid out of the booth and walked over to the counter. Conversation at the table died down, everyone strangely focused on their food.
Crockett returned to the table. "Wrap it up, gang," he told them. "They just found Matolo, out for a swim." He put his sunglasses on. "Face down in his own pool." Crockett shoved his hands in his pockets and headed for the door. The rest of the team exchanged glances. Tubbs pulled the napkin out of his collar, tossed it on the table and got up, headed out after Sonny without a word.
Silence descended on the table, then Switek pantomimed Sonny putting on his glasses. "Face down....in a pool...of his own blood! Muahahahaha!" Gina elbowed him sharply. "Not funny, Stan."
"Sorry."
Trudy finished her juice.
Gina signaled for the check, and a brief but intense discussion followed, where it was discovered that neither Crockett nor Tubbs had left any money for their meals. There was grumbling. Trudy tossed a twenty onto the pile and laid a hand on Zito's arm so he would let her out. As she headed for the front door, the sharp report of her heels on the tile floor seemed to grow louder and louder, drowning out all other sounds. Just as Trudy put a shaking hand on the silver push bar, the door opened of its own accord, making her jump. She looked at Crockett's sunglasses, where his eyes should be.
"Hey," he said softly. "You alright?"
Trudy wanted to tell him she was fine, wanted to tell him she just needed to stand outside for a second, feeling the sun on her skin and staring down at the sidewalk where mica, mixed in with the concrete, passed itself off as diamonds.
She started up the block in the direction of OC. Time to get changed and hit the street.
"Trudy."
She turned and stopped.
"I'm fine, Sonny, really."
Which was true, for a certain value of "fine". Besides, she wasn't the one who'd shot the guy. This time.
"I honestly don't know what I'm more tired of," she said, "being in danger or having to be rescued." Crockett didn't reply.
"You talk to IAD yet?" she asked.
"Naw, but I'll head right on over as soon the ink on the peace treaty dries."
Trudy smiled. "Right. Remember to get your absence note signed by Matolo's killer before you send him down for arraignment. Might not get another chance."
Tubbs pulled up next to them in his Caddy. "Hey partner," he called out, "you ready to roll?"
Sonny headed around the car's big hood and settled into the passenger seat. With a nod to Trudy, Rico pulled smoothly out into traffic.
Trudy bit her lip. As the Kingfisher's door opened behind her, Trudy felt a rush of air conditioning emerge with the rest of the squad, settled up and ready for action.
My grip is surely slipping
I think I've lost my hold
Yes, I think I've lost my hold