What You Will

This was a rare scene for Orson, being at a bar slumped over a group of empty beer bottles. There were other patrons like that, their shirts and pants stretched to their limits to keep the beer guts and other areas of fat from the rest of the world. Orson deLyrio was about their weight, 225lbs, but it was all muscle. Most nights he’d be in the gym on the punching bag or chasing his record on the treadmill. He was one of those irritatingly dedicated detectives, the ones who actually believed the stuff about “healthy body, healthy mind” and who applied it. He had hard grey eyes and sharp cheek bones, which tempted his superiors to put him on TV when they needed a good sound bite. His wild salt-and-pepper hair and his inability to keep his foot out of his mouth kept him out of the camera’s eye most of the time. The only time he’d be in a bar was when he was celebrating a good collar with his fellow officers. Tonight it was just him, him and his beer.

Someone came and sat next to him at the bar. Orson took a quick glance in the mirror, but it didn’t say much. The kid, and whoever it was sure as hell was a kid, had dirty blonde hair a couple inches long that hid the face which was tipped down to find the seat. A thick jacket was keeping the December wind off, and the only bulge Orson noticed was the sharp one under the left armpit. Orson thought this new pal of his was a cop; he was hoping. He didn’t have the strength for any new trouble.

“You deLyrio? The captain said I’d find an Orson deLyrio here.” High voice, bit of a squeak to it. Had to be a girl, definitely a cop.

“Who’s asking?”

“Violet Blake, your new partner. I’m not much for introductions, so do you wanna catch me up on this case of yours.”

“Not tonight! Tomorrow. We go into the office tomorrow and we can talk about the case. Not tonight, got it rookie?” He checked himself for being too defensive. Too many beers. Sloppy.

Violet waved the bartender and ordered a soda. “I’d heard you were off your game over this. Captain gave me other detectives to partner with, said now wasn’t the time, but I wouldn’t listen. All I heard before this case was that you were the best beat detective around.”

“You’re buying your own drinks, y’know. Save the flattery.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I want to learn the ropes, and I rather do that from someone that actually knows them and didn’t blackmail some councilman.” She took a sip.

“Oh, and before I forget, do not try to pick me up. Ever. I will sue and I will deliver your guilty, beaten body to the hospital if you try.”

Orson smiled. “Ditto.”

The pair sat sipping their drinks. Orson noticed he was into his sixth beer and couldn’t remember ordering it. The jukebox shifted to a song about trucks, the third of the night according to Orson’s gun. Orson noticed that Violet was getting up. He ordered another beer and cocked his head to see her drop two quarters into the machine. The twenty-year smoker crooning about his V-8 engine was swiftly replaced by the deep, throaty drawl of a woman with a low instrumental beat underneath. Violet walked back to the bar.

He took a real look at this new partner of his to see how long she’d last. She was five-foot-seven, a bit on the tall side for a girl but with her plain baby face she wasn’t going to intimidate anyone. He concentrated on her arms and shoulders, visible since she’d left her jacket at the bar, and saw definition under the skin betraying muscle trained and taut. She might not intimidate, but he bet she’d take down her share of coke-addicts if it came down to it.

“Hope you don’t mind, but I can’t stand that shit,” she said as she took her seat and ordered another soda. He let the music flow through his ears and out through his eyes. As it did, it cleared his brain of all the crap that’d built up over the past few days. The busted heater in his apartment. Olivia.

“Do you mind this?” Violet asked. She saw the expression on Orson’s face, particularly the way the skin around his eyes was scrunching up. “You don’t like it. Most guys don’t like it.”

“No, this is fine.” Orson meant it. “Actually cheers me up.”

Violet chuckled. “You’re the first guy I ever met that admitted to it.”

“I’m hungry. You eat yet? There’s an all-you-can-eat Chinese place round the corner. You can tell me who sings this.”

“You buying?”

“Yeah, for me. Just let me finish this.” She fished out a couple of ones for her sodas as she slid into her jacket. Orson noticed it was a few sizes too big for her. He thought he’d ask if there was a story behind that, but not tonight. He figured she’d stick survive the job for at least a while.

• I Can't Do Everything Around Here
• The Difference a Day Makes
• Room to Scratch
• My Friend, As Good As Gold
• For Our Daughter
• For Our Daughter Pt 2
• Back to Portfolio