A crease forms on his forehead. “You Okay, Devi?”
“Ye-yes. Just glad it’s over is all; I’m exhausted,” I say, patting him on the shoulder as I walk past him.
I wanted to tell him the truth, but I can’t. I can’t tell any of my fellow cops the truth, and that’s what sickens me the most. I stroll past my LT, noticing he’s wearing the same fake smile mixed with disgust.
They must’ve given him the same ultimatum.
I stroll over to a window that overlooks the street below. The jackals’ clamor below to be fed. Frank walks up next to me. “They got to you too, huh?” I say.
He scoffs. “Yes, they did. This is a goddamn mess?”
“This will be just minor clutter; if it gets out, we lied to the public, sir.”
“Hopefully, that won’t happen. Come on, let’s get this shit over with so we can go back to being cops rather than bullshit artists.”
“God, we really stepped into a bureaucratic shit pit,” I say, boarding the elevator.
He pushes the button for level 1. “Ain’t that the damn truth,” he says. “Listen, don’t say nothing, but I saw Jason and Ingrid together in the car if you catch my meaning.”
“I’m not married to him what do I care?”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit strange his wife died, and his first thing is to fuck another woman?”
“The guy is hurting. He’s probably trying to find any kind of comfort he can.”
“I just worry Ingrid’s headed for heartbreak.”
“Ingrid is not stupid; she knows what it is.”
He shrugs. “If you say so.”
We cross the lobby, heading to the front doors. He sighs. “Okay, here we are, Devi. Time to win an Oscar.”
“Yeah, I’m, going to Angelina Jolie, the shit out of this.”
“Yeah, I’ll have your Oscar waiting.”
Stepping outside, I see the podium is lit up like some kind of display at a museum. A cold sweat forms on my forehead when I hear the Mayor summon us. His voice makes me want to punch him off that podium and keep hitting him till his face is nothing but hamburger. “I now give the floor to Detective Devora Lobos and Lieutenant Frank Sullivan. Frank steps up to the podium first. Its customary for the ranking officer to speak first.
Frank is going on with the typical drivel that we tell reporters this case has been long and tiring, but we got the killer, and now he gives the floor to me.
I reluctantly step up to the podium, taking a deep breath, the kind of breath you need before lying to the entire country. “The city of Tampa can rest easy now. The Moonlight Killer has been stopped. At exactly 10pm last night, we zeroed in on his location on the Hillsborough Island. We went to make our arrest, and he opened fire on the SWAT team and me. We were forced to put him down. He died of his wounds. Now any questions?”
This is so fucked, but I must maintain my composure less these jackals latch on to any hint of doubt in my voice. A male reporter wearing a gray suit raises his hand. “Detective, how does it feel to be the one to put a stop to the infamous Moonlight Killer?”
“Personally, I really don’t feel anything, but I guess if I had to feel anything, its relief to know the families of the victims can rest knowing Justice has been served.”
Fake justice, that is. I can hear a voice in my head, screaming liar, fraud, and charlatan.
“Any more questions?”
Look at me, a regular bullshiter. I should run for office.
A young female reporter in a navy blue pants suit raises her hand. “My name is Sandra Collins from CNN. Do you feel that police officers shooting a suspect twenty times is “Justice served?”
For fuck sakes, here comes the Libtard.
“Well, Ms. Collins. Sometimes when you’re in a firefight, and someone is unloading on you with an automatic rifle, things are not so black and white. The last thing that’s going through your head is how many times I’m going to shoot him.”
“Detective, it sounds like your just making excuses for Tampa PD’s excessive use of force.” I wanted to call her a dumb naïve bitch, but I held my tongue.
I turn my head to the side, taking a deep breath. “Lady, if you want to argue police raid tactics, I suggest you take it up with the Chief of Police. Last question.”
I point at the middle-aged lady wearing a black business dress. “Officer, I’m Carolyn Mathis with Miami Harold. Does solving this case in some way redeem you for the embarrassment you suffered in Miami?”
My jaw tightens. “That question is irrelevant, and Ms. Mathis just wasted the last question. So I bid you all a good night.” The vultures all squawk for one more question, but I ignore them and keep walking.
I plop down at my desk and open a fresh pack of smokes and head to the parking garage. Leaning against my car, I take a drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke. That fucking bitch brought back old feelings I felt when I was undergoing 24’7 harassment from media while I was grieving for my partner’s loss and dealing with a nasty divorce. A door opens up across from me. “For fuck, sakes! Can’t I just have a minute alone will you please get the fuck-oh it’s you, Jason,” I say, taking another drag.
“Whoa, what’s wrong?”
“One of those assholes got under my skin. They brought up Miami.”
He glares toward the street. “Damned leeches.”
I exhale a stream of smoke from my nose. “So, I heard you became best buds with Ingrid.”
“Yeah, she is quite nice and fun to
