One Clean Cop, Chapter II
Chapter II - Training Days
Whap!
"Ow! You awful bitch!"
Raven grinned and ducked under Sean's arm, her whap to the back of his head having made the distraction she needed to get into the lunch line first. She stuck her tongue out at the laughing todd, which got a roll of eyes from several other uniformed officers in the precinct cafeteria.
From his spot at one of the tables Sergeant Grenaby, an aging black wolf gone to grey, watched the two rookie cops rough-housing and scowled into his sandwich. They were his for the day, and he was unhappy about it already. It was obvious to him, by their enthusiasm, that they were looking for adventure and justice and all the other garbage he'd given up on decades ago.
He watched the ferret girl, lithe and dextrous, as she bounced enthusiastically up the line. Trust fund baby, from what he'd read out of her file. Grenaby wrote her off immediately. She'd be out of the force in six months or less, when her silly rich-kid ideals of law and order were dashed on the rocks.
The other one, a taller male fox, was more the type he felt worth working on. From a good working family, his father had been a cop up until being killed in the line of duty when Sean Finn had been ten or so years old. Grenaby swallowed a bite of sandwich and tried not to think about that night.
Damn shame, really. Your old man was a good guy.
He watched as the two finished with the cafeteria line and ended up at a table full of other rookie cops, and scanned his eyes over each of the new hires. The Academy had been good to them this year, spitting out about forty decent candidates, enough to cover for the losses they had accrued over the last year's resignations, suspensions, and losses in the line of duty.
Enough to fill the uniforms. But not enough experience or sense to fill a fucking thimble. Going to be a bad year.
He sipped from his coffee mug, and set it aside when the temptation to slam it down on the table hit him. Watching those kids carouse was like remembering what it was like to still believe in something. Working as a cop in this city had beaten it out of him over his years on the force. He pushed it out of his mind before standing and walking over to the rookie table, fixing his belt as he went.
The recruits quieted as he approached, looking up from their various steaming dishes of goopy cafeteria food. He stopped at the head of the table, a fresh-faced rabbit looking up at him awkwardly from the seat there, fidgeting like prey in the trap.
Near the other end of the table, he saw his two rookies messing around still, the ferret punching her todd friend in the arm repeatedly as he swatted at her.
"Listen up, kiddies. My name is Sergeant Grenaby. You can call me Sergeant."
Someone sniggered, and he scanned over the crowd, pointing his finger at a brawny equine.
"You think something's funny, son?"
The horse grinned, and shrugged.
"Is that your first name?"
The sergeant's eyes took on a dead, toneless quality, and in a voice without inflection, he spoke words that seemed to shrink the horse's confidence like a slow puncture on a balloon.
"Police work isn't a joke. If I hear you laugh like that again, you'll be off the fucking force, you rookie piece of shit. You're ALL on probationary status until the Captain says otherwise. And since I'm in charge of you little shitheels until that point, that means I control your fucking fate, got it?"
Subdued nods met him, their expressions gone as they straightened up, trying not to give the Sergeant any further reason to rail them. The ferret and fox duo had stopped, too, and were paying attention now.
Good. About fucking time.
"Most of you will be paired up with a veteran officer for your first six months. A few of you will be two to one. Listen to your training officer, do what they tell you, and you might just make it out of being a probationary cop. If they decide you're a danger to the force, unreliable, or just plain fucking annoying, you'll be back on the street where at least half of you crybabies belong! Understand?"
"Yes Sergeant!" rang up and down the table. Officers at other tables looked amused, munching on their food and watching the Sergeant give his traditional ass-reaming to the newbies.
"You two." He pointed to Raven and Sean, who both sat ramrod-straight under his spotlight finger-point. "You're with me."
Raven and Sean sat uncomfortably in the back seats of Sergeant Grenaby's squad car, looking through the mesh divider as the heavy-set, powerful old fur drove at a languid pace through the sluggishness of Chicago rush-hour city traffic.
Outside, it was gridlock. A powerful summer thunder storm had knocked out a number of traffic lights and was now pouring down so much rain that many furs had pulled their cars off the road, parking illegally all over the city to wait out the downpour while they sat in nearby café's or did their shopping.
They were both soaked to the skin, from having to constantly get out of the vehicle and put plastic-sheathed tickets on windshields, followed by getting back into the car to hear Grenaby bitch about how this was really parking enforcement's job.
Thus had their first day on patrol gone, and both of them were itching to get home and get out of their soaked clothes. Sean looked down at Raven, musing at how unfair it was that her fur was naturally oily, helping her skin at least stay dry, and yet somehow never looked greasy like his could easily get.
Raven, of course, was more concerned with ethics than comfort, Sean mused, when she opened her mouth to piss the Sergeant off again.
"Sarge, these people are doing the responsible thing. Why are we ticketing them?"
Grenaby muttered something under his breath as they turned another corner, and shot Raven a glower in the brief instant he had before having to watch the road again.
"Because that's the damn rules, kid. Real cops aren't knights in shining fucking armor. How many times do I have to tell you? If we let people get away with little shit, they try big shit."
Raven scowled and sat forward, her shoulders thrown back and her ears forward in an aggressive posture. Sean grabbed her shoulder, hard, and shook his head at her. He whispered in her ear, close enough to it that his sodden whiskers tickled at its edge.
"Leave off, Dooks. There's plenty of underground parking, people are just being lazy and snarling traffic because of it. Pick your fights, okay?"
She scowled up at him, and did something that amazed Sean each of the few times it happened; she listened to him, and shut her mouth, at least for the moment. He knew her paladin complex wasn't going to be deadened at all, but at least she would survive to become her own officer if she kept listening.
He let go of her shoulder and blew out a sigh, which knocked dripping water off his whiskers.
"Can't wait to get home and get changed. Remind me to bring a poncho next time."
The ferret sighed and stared out the window, into the driving rain, so thick it was obscuring vision like a thick mist.
She was about to respond when Grenaby's cell phone buzzed, and the Sergeant pulled it off his belt. Curious, the two passengers listened, wondering if they might learn something about the dour, nasty fur.
"Yeah, this is Grenaby. What's the problem now?" He sounded acerbic as ever. No sign of a seam in his harsh demeanor. Raven sighed and leaned against her door, head against the window.
"...Fine, alright." He sounded aggravated, though more actively now. Less of the general always-annoyed he usually displayed. He hung up the phone, sticking it back on his belt as he took a turn and started maneuvering them off the patrol course.
"Okay kids. I'm going to drop you off for a bit. This'll be your first time unsupervised, so I expect you to do exactly what I fucking tell you to do."
Sean muttered under his breath and put his face in his paws. Seemed that the wet was his fate, today. Raven groaned aloud, which for once was ignored by the normally quick to anger Sergeant.
"You're to walk both sides of the street writing tickets until I get back, got it? No dilly-dallying, and don't come looking for me instead of ticketing. I'll have your fucking asses if you deviate, get me?"
Raven glowered at him through the mesh.
"Fine. Any idea how long you'll be gone?"
The Sergeant pulled his cruiser to the side of the road, and looked over his shoulder at them. His stare was icy, unreadably so.
"No. Doubt I'll be more than an hour."
Sean groaned and slapped his paw over his face. An hour in the rain, and if they weren't soaked half to death, a dressing down when the Sarge got back.
With that, the Sarge got out and opened the curbside door so the two damp furs could slide out, misery evident in the slumping of their shoulders, glaring at them as he hurried the two with a waving of his paw.
Moments later, he was back in the cab and driving off to handle...Business.
Raven felt like she was underwater, by the time that hour had passed. Her uniform, so prim at the beginning of the day, so suffused with her pride at being able to finally go out and do the job she'd worked so hard for, was sticking to her fur, squishing with every step, rubbing her raw along the backs of her legs.
She slapped a plastic-wrapped ticket onto someone's windshield, and watched it slowly slide down until it was bunched in a sad little pile atop their wiper blade. Then she looked to the side, seeing Sean's silhouette through the gloom and downpour as he did the same with the last car on the current block.
Next to them, a brightly-lit bar bustled with life, trapped indoors by the weather like firebugs in a mason jar. She stared, sighing, into the no doubt air-conditioned, dry place full of delicious food, as thunder rolled overhead and warm rain drummed on her soggy police hat.
She jerked when a pair of paws slid onto her shoulders, stiffening up and turning her head as both paws balled into fists, her knees bending slightly to prepare for throwing someone. It was just Sean though, and she gave him a cross look as her fists un-balled.
He's more worried than wet. Something's up. No, not worried...Disappointed?
Raven gave him a furrowed brow in question, and the fox let go of her shoulders after giving them a squeeze.
"Something's not right here. Sarge isn't supposed to leave us out alone this early in probation."
"How would you know that?"
"My family have been cops since we got off the boat during the potato famine."
She quirked a brow, and nodded, looking off in the direction Sarge had driven away in over an hour ago. The ferret checked her watch just to be sure, shaking it to get the water off.
"What do you think he's doing?"
The fox shrugged, and looked up and down the street at all the ticketed vehicles, then towards the bar full of furs waiting out the hazardous road conditions. A sudden wet feeling registered, and he looked down to see the gutters had overflowed, and his nice black shoes were underwater.
"Motherfucker...Who cares? Let's find a way outta the rain."
She wrapped a paw around his elbow and pulled him along with her, taking off at a trot towards the sadly drooped awning of a cheap motel a block away.
"He said we had to ticket everyone...Looks like we got that done. I say we wait a little longer, then go look for him."
Sean sighed and shook his head as they got under the awning, trying to get some of the water off to no avail.
"Won't help. He could be anywhere by now. Probably off fucking his mistress or something."
Raven got an uncomfortable look whose provenance he wasn't quite sure about. Sure, she was uncomfortable about the idea of sex, but just mentioning it wasn't usually enough to get her looking that way.
He realized just as she opened her mouth to speak again that it wasn't discomfort about the topic of sex. She was fixing him with a searching look, and debating something that made her uncomfortable.
"I don't think you really believe that's what he's doing. You don't, do you?" It was more statement than question, and he recognized her determined-to-get-nosey look. With a shake of his head, the soggy fox sat down on the pavement and pulled off his shoes, dumping water out of them.
"This is Chicago, Rave. A cop took a private call on his cell, ditched his probies, and drove off without explanation? He just broke like six different regulations. He's up to no good, and either protecting us from it or doesn't trust us enough to offer a cut."
Her stare turned into a glare, though it wasn't at him so much as the world. The ferret angrily kicked a bit of garbage out onto the river of a street.
"Motherfucker. I hope you're wrong. What do we do? I mean I know what regulations say we should do. But somehow, I doubt reporting this is going to do us any good."
He looked up at her, slapping his waterlogged socks against the concrete with a splat.
"Well...We have to go look for him. It's the cop code. You look out for your own."
She met his eyes, and furrowed her brows together in confusion for a second. The look he gave her back was one of knowing; he knew the sarge was probably corrupt, and he also knew he couldn't forgive himself for letting another officer get hurt.
"How do we find him?"
Sean just shrugged and dug out his phone, dialing up dispatch.
"We ask dispatch for his GPS location."
Grenaby was so annoyed he might have steamed if not for the humidity and heat. The call from Mr. Dimaggi had told him to show up half an hour after he got to the motel, and still nobody had shown up.
The two probies are gonna start wondering where I am. Great.
One of the girls he was paid to keep safe from Mr. Dimaggi's competition sidled up to him from the doorway, in her fishnet stockings and trench coat, going up on tip-toes so the short little kitty could kiss his shoulder.
He didn't react, just stood there rock-like, until she was done. The girl made a pouty sound.
"Mister Grenny, you sure you don't wanna come inside? Please?"
When the girl slid her paw around his front to grab at his groin, his shot down and grabbed hers, squeezing it enough to get a grunt of pain from the whore, though she didn't dare actually protest.
Without looking at her, he shoved the paw away.
"Go back inside, Sandy. I ain't going to fuck you today."
The girl pouted, but withdrew without further pressing her luck. It wouldn't be the first time a 'protector' had hit her.
Sonovabitch Dimaggi. 'Meeting' my ass. How am I supposed to be security for your stupidass 'meeting' if nobody shows up?
His squad car squatted in the growing dark, not ten feet in front of him. No doubt Dimaggi wanted to keep other cops off this place while he set up whatever meet was going on. Having a cop car already out in front would ward away nosey beat cops, and warn the other cops on the take to keep their noses out without getting Grenaby's permission first.
The wolf rested a paw on the butt of his pistol, taking a step back into the doorway as another car drove past, sheeting rain water off all angles as it continued on into the night.
False alarm. You sounded awful worried, Dimaggi, and you're not even here.
His stomach growled, and the veteran dirty cop turned, walking from the curb to the front door of the seedy motel, shoving it open with a shoulder so he could get inside without having to occupy either paw.
It looked normal enough, down here in the lobby. Sure, the girls sitting around the lobby stayed sitting there all night when there were no johns around, but most regular motel patrons would never notice that. The rat behind the counter looked no more sinister than normal for a cheap-sleep desk clerk should.
The girls...Well, they ranged in age from fifteen to twenty, and most at least had a coat on to cover their skimpy little outfits, just in case one of the few clean cops happened to wander in.
Nobody bothered to look up as the familiar, grouchy old wolf ambled to the counter, brushed past the comic-reading rat, and slipped into the motel's dirty little kitchen to hunt down a five-finger sandwich.
"Hey, you gotta pay for sandwiches too," came from the rat.
Grenaby grabbed a ham and swiss, wrapped in plastic, and walked back out ignoring the rat's half-ass attempt at demanding pay.
Fuck you you little shit. You're already dealing with a fucking dirty cop, don't argue with me about a goddamn sandwich...
He registered a pair of panel vans rolling up to the entrance, one in front of and the other behind his cruiser, visible through the dirty glass of the front door. He lowered a paw to his pistol butt, figuring to at least look the part when Dimaggi's guests arrived.
When the van door slid open and furs in head-to-toe black biker leathers started pouring out, uzis in paw, he wasted no time in grabbing his handset to call for backup, as he ran for the stairs.
Fuck me...