Frank pulled up on the sidewalk in front of Civil Central. God, how he hated the judicial system... fifteen years as a cop kicking the living shit out of scumbags only to see judges put them back on the street. He didn't hate the judges... 9 times out of 10 they had so little discretion that you had to feel sorry for the overpaid assholes. Almost. But let him get filmed, once!, and it was out the door, fuck the pension, goodbye. He'd barely avoided prison himself. Fucking legislature!
He ignored the stares of pedestrians as he slammed the door shut on his piece of shit Dodge. It would almost be a blessing if it got towed, but he knew it wouldn't. Sure, he'd get a ticket, but the police wouldn't tow it. It was a fact most people never learned... park in the red zone, go to impound, park on the sidewalk, go home. For less! He picked up one of the kids he had almost run over when his blaring horn had parted the crowd and stuck him on the hood of his car, waving to the parents who hadn't yet recovered the use of their resources at his display of blatant disregard and walked towards the entrance.
He sourly watched the parade of traffic that necessitated his need to be gifted with a ticket on this most inauspicious of days. The Mexican community was celebrating their uniqueness, again. The parking lots were packed and the streets were an explosion, an overload, of color, motion, and sound. For a few brief moments he tried to see some kind of feminine form under the myriad costumes swirling past him, but he quickly gave up. Why didn't feminists ever parade? At least you'd get to see some breasts bounce. Bouncing breasts were never ugly.
He pushed himself through the crowd of people who were largely still glaring at him for taking away their space. A few men found the gumption to scream and gesture at him, but they were universally beside or behind him. The men in front found their courage draining away as he approached them, his flat blue eyes parting the waves as the men viewed his massive frame with trepidation and the women viewed it with speculation. He had a gaze that, as a friend put it, made people fear for their lives. He didn't see it himself, but he sure saw the effect on others. It was pretty damn useful most of the time.
It was unseasonably cold for the season but that fact had never risen to the level where he noticed until he entered the courthouse. To open the doors of the courthouse was to bathe oneself in the uncaring consumption of the taxpayer dollar, burned for heat. It never ceased to amaze him how such a massive ugly marble edifice could stay so warm. He started down the corridor, wide enough for two cars to drag race side by side, headed for the clerk's office. His sergeant hadn't wanted him back at the station and had chosen instead, for some masochistic reason, to meet him here. Officially the court was closed, but in Los Angeles, some things never closed completely. Several court clerks passed him, file folders clutched to their breasts, and he watched them pass appreciatively. The court was famous for beautiful women. He supposed that there were some token ugly women around, but he had never met them. Most likely they were in the I.S. department, where they belonged.
"Frank!"
Frank turned around to find his old boss Chalk pulling up his zipper as the restroom door closed behind him. He seemed to be having some difficulty, but then sergeants weren't exactly drawn from the crème de la crème of officerhood. Sometimes Frank was amazed that Chalk could walk and talk at the same time.
"Chalk!," Frank stuck out his hand, unsurprised to find Chalk's slightly damp. He didn't think it was because Chalk had used soap and water. He slapped Chalk on the back, wiping his hand off in the process, "What the flying fuck am I doing here?"
Chalk chuckled, "It's not about the job Frank. I don't want to go there. We both know you got screwed, 'nuff said. This is something else."
"Okay...?"
"Let's go sit down"
Chalk walked across the hall and opened the door to an office that had been left unlocked; a fact Frank found vaguely disturbing for some reason. Chalk closed the door behind them and took a seat on the desk as Frank settled into a wooden chair that must have been purchased during the Great Depression.
"I have a proposition for you."
Frank cocked his head in position intended to convey that he was listening, but Chalk, as usual, wasn't too fast on the uptake. "You want to hear it?"
Frank sighed, "Sure Chalk, what's up?"
"When all the shit was going down you had a disciplinary meeting down here one day, you remember?"
Frank grimaced, shit, how could he forget? "Yeah, Chalk, I remember."
"Do you remember that cute court clerk who was assisting the judge?"
Frank got a puzzled expression on this face, "That black haired Hispanic chick? Vaguely. Why?"
"Okay old buddy, you need to bear with me here. This is kind of bizarre. In a good way, but... bizarre."
Frank waved his hand in a scooping motion, asking for more.
