too.”
“Huh? There’s a murder twelve now?”
“What? No. I mean . . . Never mind.” He waved away the confusion. “We’ll send your alleged murderer along with my alleged murderer out there for the night. Then it’s on them to bring her downtown for arraignment tomorrow morning. Here’s the transport form you need to fill out.”
For a moment, I’d hoped they were actually going to talk about something interesting, like murder and mayhem. But once again, they were back to “fill in this line,” and “tick off that box.” I think it’s a plot by file clerks the world over to keep their jobs going in this computer age.
Detective Leo rubbed his chin. His fingers rasped over stubble as if five o’clock were an actual deadline. “Okay with me. Who’s on transport?”
Angus walked back to his desk, checked another form. “Mudders. Theresa Mudders.”
“Oh, that woman’s a saint. I’m good with her.”
Down the hall, a door opened and shut, sensible rubber soles squeaking on the worn tiles.
“Speak of the devil,” Angus said.
“Where?” Dante and I chorused, standing at attention. I craned my neck, seeking our frumpy Underlord, but instead of Her Satanic Majesty Lucy Phurr, I saw a slim, attractive Asian woman about my own age, or at least the age I’d been when I’d died.
“Hi, guys. How’s it going?” The new arrival beamed. Her ancestry featured the Philippines, or possibly Thailand. Putting that together with her accent-free English and the Anglo-esque last name, I guessed she was probably mixed race. I’d once had a classmate with similar looks whose folks hailed from Trinidad although she’d grown up in Brampton just outside of Toronto.
In addition to being pretty, Theresa also appeared intelligent and friendly. I liked her instantly. “What’s up with the media circus in the parking lot?” she asked, accepting the omnipresent clipboard from Angus.
“Media?” Leo echoed.
“Circus?” Angus chimed in.
“Yeah. They’re all abuzz out there because you’ve arrested some big corporate exec’s daughter who’s supposed to have . . .” Theresa trailed off, probably having guessed the daughter in question might be the young woman in the business suit cuffed to the bench. “Uh, hi?”
“My name is Conrad, I mean Shannon Iver and I demand to be released. This is preposterous. Now if you’ll uncuff me . . .” He tried to hold up his hands, but the short length of chain wouldn’t allow it. He must have been picking at the plastic cuffs, though, because his manicure was now all scuffed and chipped. My friend Charon would never be seen in public like that. His nails were always impeccable.
“Yes, of course. Got your paperwork right here.” Theresa smiled at Conrad in a warm and comforting way. “They’re bringing up the other woman awaiting transport right now. We can get on the road in a few minutes and then get you settled into your accommodations for the night.”
This Theresa made me feel better about the whole day. Especially the part where Conrad was going to spend the night in a cell.
I’d never heard of Vanier, but if it had bars and locks and really bad television, I was good with Conrad having to spend the night there.
Another officer arrived, one who fit more closely with my personal stereotype of what a female officer should be—big, sturdy, short-haired—with Phelps embroidered across her right breast. She looked strong and competent, which was a good thing considering the prisoner she escorted also better fit my image of a stereotypical criminal.
The cuffed woman loomed large and menacing. Her hair was cropped into short, sharp spikes dyed a red not found in nature. She wore ripped jeans and a sequined halter top that showcased a bodybuilder physique painted with a swirl of inky tattoos. Half the sequins had fallen off her top, leaving bare patches of too-tight fabric. Charon’s perfect sequined horns glittered in my mind’s eye.
She
“Huh? There’s a murder twelve now?”
“What? No. I mean . . . Never mind.” He waved away the confusion. “We’ll send your alleged murderer along with my alleged murderer out there for the night. Then it’s on them to bring her downtown for arraignment tomorrow morning. Here’s the transport form you need to fill out.”
For a moment, I’d hoped they were actually going to talk about something interesting, like murder and mayhem. But once again, they were back to “fill in this line,” and “tick off that box.” I think it’s a plot by file clerks the world over to keep their jobs going in this computer age.
Detective Leo rubbed his chin. His fingers rasped over stubble as if five o’clock were an actual deadline. “Okay with me. Who’s on transport?”
Angus walked back to his desk, checked another form. “Mudders. Theresa Mudders.”
“Oh, that woman’s a saint. I’m good with her.”
Down the hall, a door opened and shut, sensible rubber soles squeaking on the worn tiles.
“Speak of the devil,” Angus said.
“Where?” Dante and I chorused, standing at attention. I craned my neck, seeking our frumpy Underlord, but instead of Her Satanic Majesty Lucy Phurr, I saw a slim, attractive Asian woman about my own age, or at least the age I’d been when I’d died.
“Hi, guys. How’s it going?” The new arrival beamed. Her ancestry featured the Philippines, or possibly Thailand. Putting that together with her accent-free English and the Anglo-esque last name, I guessed she was probably mixed race. I’d once had a classmate with similar looks whose folks hailed from Trinidad although she’d grown up in Brampton just outside of Toronto.
In addition to being pretty, Theresa also appeared intelligent and friendly. I liked her instantly. “What’s up with the media circus in the parking lot?” she asked, accepting the omnipresent clipboard from Angus.
“Media?” Leo echoed.
“Circus?” Angus chimed in.
“Yeah. They’re all abuzz out there because you’ve arrested some big corporate exec’s daughter who’s supposed to have . . .” Theresa trailed off, probably having guessed the daughter in question might be the young woman in the business suit cuffed to the bench. “Uh, hi?”
“My name is Conrad, I mean Shannon Iver and I demand to be released. This is preposterous. Now if you’ll uncuff me . . .” He tried to hold up his hands, but the short length of chain wouldn’t allow it. He must have been picking at the plastic cuffs, though, because his manicure was now all scuffed and chipped. My friend Charon would never be seen in public like that. His nails were always impeccable.
“Yes, of course. Got your paperwork right here.” Theresa smiled at Conrad in a warm and comforting way. “They’re bringing up the other woman awaiting transport right now. We can get on the road in a few minutes and then get you settled into your accommodations for the night.”
This Theresa made me feel better about the whole day. Especially the part where Conrad was going to spend the night in a cell.
I’d never heard of Vanier, but if it had bars and locks and really bad television, I was good with Conrad having to spend the night there.
Another officer arrived, one who fit more closely with my personal stereotype of what a female officer should be—big, sturdy, short-haired—with Phelps embroidered across her right breast. She looked strong and competent, which was a good thing considering the prisoner she escorted also better fit my image of a stereotypical criminal.
The cuffed woman loomed large and menacing. Her hair was cropped into short, sharp spikes dyed a red not found in nature. She wore ripped jeans and a sequined halter top that showcased a bodybuilder physique painted with a swirl of inky tattoos. Half the sequins had fallen off her top, leaving bare patches of too-tight fabric. Charon’s perfect sequined horns glittered in my mind’s eye.
She
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