“Vargas is a damn fine officer—that’s why she’s my deputy,” Bently said, hating that he had to say anything at all. Sure, ribbing was normal on the job, but it still didn’t sit right with Bently.
Parsons held out his hands as he laughed. “No offense, snowflake. Didn’t realize it was that time of the month for you. I just wanted to make sure this crime was solved. Excuse me for trying to do my job.”
Bently raked a hand over his face and stood. “Alright. I’ll call Dre in to see if it’s the same kid who mugged him.”
Parsons grunted as he got to his feet, seeming to take extra effort.
Bently should really talk to him about retirement, but a small-town sheriff had to take what he could get for help.
“Alright, I’ll have Owens put the kid in holding until you have your friend make an ID.”
After Parsons left, Bently picked up his phone and dialed his best friend.
“Hey, man. What’s up?”
“Dre, can you come down to the station? Just need you to look at a picture and confirm if someone we got into custody is your mugger’s accomplice.”
“Be there in ten.”
***
Bently opened the door, finding Betsy his secretary blowing her nose into her handkerchief. Her platinum-gold curls were never out of place, though she was nearing seventy. She touched the same strand of pearls around her neck she wore every single day as she smiled up at him. “Mister Evans, do you need something?”
“How about you order us both some lunch from the High Tide Diner. It’s on me.” He handed over his credit card.
“You want your usual?”
He nodded. “Yeah, but have them add a chocolate milkshake this time too.” He gave her a wink.
“Absolutely.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a tan purse before heading out the door.
The office was silent. Bently walked back to his desk, not bothering to close his door, and pulled open the folder. A picture of a young boy who couldn’t be more than thirteen stared back at him. He shook his head. So young and already in the system thanks to a bad decision and Officer Parsons’s gut feeling.
A few minutes later, Andre’s voice called out. “Bent?”
“In here.”
Dre peeked his head inside before walking in. His dark skin was spotted with a mixture of sawdust and white flecks of plaster.
“Came from the worksite?”
Dre nodded. “Yeah. Your brother is driving me nuts, so I could use the break.”
Bently chuckled and gestured to the metal chair across from him. Andre sat and scooted forward, his elbows rested on the worn wooden desk. Bently pushed the array of images towards Andre, studying his reaction.
Andre shook his head. “Not him.”
“You sure? None of them?”
Andre pointed to each photo. “Nope. No. Definitely not. And this kid is way too young. He’s just a baby. Was he arrested?”
Bently glanced at the face of the kid that Parsons had arrested. “Yeah. For resisting arrest after being caught vandalizing the abandoned buildings on Kent.”
Andre shook his head. “No one cares about those eyesores. Hell, we used to do it. Who brought him in?”
“Officer Luke Parsons and his partner.”
“Figures.”
Bently frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Andre sat back in his chair. “Oh, come on, Bent. You know that guy’s got a hard-on for targeting a certain group of people. He’s pulled me over more times than I can count. You can’t let him get this kid into the system.”
“Are you saying he’s racist?” No way. The man had been a cop longer than Bently had been alive. He was one of the good guys.
“Are you saying you really don’t know?” Dre shot back.
“Parsons is from a different generation. He likes to joke around and give everyone a hard time. That’s just who he is. But he’s a good cop.”
With all the racial tension peaking in the country, he understood why Belle reacted the way she had towards him. He didn’t have to like being lumped in with the few bad apples and others who hid behind the badge to sweep their misdeeds under the rug.
I’m one of the good ones and so are my team.
“Sure, that’s why I came in here to look at a boy who doesn’t fit the description of the mugger’s accomplice except for one thing.” Andre held out his finger. “The color of his skin. But all Black people look the same to some.”
Is Parsons racist? The man had been his mentor. Parsons was a prickly old bastard, but he gave everyone a hard time. “Doesn’t he have coffee with your dad every week at the diner?”
“Yeah. You’re right. He has a Black friend, so he can’t be racist,” Andre said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s alright. You wouldn’t understand anyways.” Andre waved him off.
“You need to get laid and let off some steam, my friend.”
Andre growled, “And you need to mind your own fucking business.”
“Ooh touchy subject.” Bently chuckled. “Thanks for coming in. And for your thoughts on Parsons. I haven’t seen it myself, but I’ll definitely keep it in mind.”
“No problem.” Andre stood just as Betsy returned with her hands full.
“Miss Betsy, you have a nice day. Don’t let this guy work you too hard,” Andre said, nodding as he left.
“Have a good one yourself, young man.” Betsy set Bently’s food containers in front of him before carefully placing a plastic fork on top along with his credit card.
“Thank you, Betsy.”
“I don’t know how you can stand that rabbit food every day,” she mumbled, motioning to his Caesar salad before walking slowly out to her own desk.
He didn’t much care for it either, but his health was important. Too many people were counting on him and he couldn’t afford to get sick again.
Unfortunately, his lunch would have to wait a little longer. First, he needed to sort out this mess Parsons had left on his desk. The kid had no prior record and the few hours he’d spent
