“How come female police officers don’t get all the googly eyes you men do?” Patrice takes her sandwich from the pick-up counter and glances at a table full of women checking me out.
I don’t have nearly the same ego as my friends, but I can’t deny that I’m a good-looking guy. I also have twenty-twenty vision and I can see all the wedding rings on those women’s fingers as they sip their coffees. It doesn’t take police training to figure out that they’re at this all-night sandwich shop because of the crying woman in the middle. She hasn’t glanced in my direction once.
“It’s the whole fantasy thing. They imagine me using my cuffs on them while I worship their bodies.”
We find a two-person table by the windows and sit, quieting our radios so as not to disrupt the other patrons, but leaving them loud enough that we’ll hear a call come in.
“I don’t think they’re thinking anything like that when it comes to Ben,” she deadpans.
“Leave Ben out of this.”
She opens her sandwich. “Ben needs to get off desk duty and run a mile or two.”
Ben was hurt a year and a half ago and just never got off desk duty. He’s fine now and his injury was a result of slipping on a piece of garbage but he insists he prefers paperwork over policing now. It’s a running joke at the station. One of many.
I straighten the paper from my sandwich and pick up half of my Rueben.
“I should have gotten the Rueben,” Patrice says before nibbling on her turkey club.
“Then get the Rueben tomorrow.” I bite my sandwich, ignoring her stares of longing.
She lifts the top of her bun. “Ugh, they put mayonnaise on it. Didn’t you hear me say no mayonnaise?” She moves to get up from the table.
I sigh and push my sandwich toward her.
“You’re the best partner a girl could have.” Patrice smiles wide and bites into my Rueben.
I grab the corner of the paper her sandwich is on and lift the bread, seeing no mayonnaise at all. She laughs then chokes on her sandwich, quickly grabbing her drink.
I point at her. “That’s some insta-karma right there.”
Switching sandwiches isn’t really a big deal. She’s been my partner for three years, and she’s got my back whether we’re dealing with a busted window or a bank robbery. Not that our small town of Cliffton Heights sees a lot of bank robberies. Over the years, I’ve debated heading into New York City where there’s more crime, but then I’d have to leave my friends. And when you grow up in a shitty neighborhood where your friends are the ones you depend on when you’re out of the house, you view them as family. Dylan and Jax were foster kids and hung out so much at my house, they’re like brothers. We ran the streets and got into some trouble but I always knew they had my back.
Hopefully with the detective position opening up next week after Louie retires, I’ll see some bigger cases. I passed up the opportunity to apply for promotion two years ago when I was dating Leilani because she’s not exactly police officer wife material and I cared more for her than I did my job. But like my mom always says, looking in the rearview mirror never did anyone any good. I have to stop thinking about the time wasted and take my shot now.
Our radios squawk on our shoulders, and Patrice’s hand raises to answer the call. Sounds like it’s time for us to go. I pick up Patrice’s original sandwich and toss it in the trash. She carefully folds the paper over the Rueben and shoves it into the bag for later.
Great, she’s going to eat in the car again. I hate when people eat in the car and she knows it. Half the reason I took her sandwich was because by the time we waited for a new sandwich, she’d have no choice but to eat it in the car.
She smiles at me, lifting her bag like a taunt.
“What’s the call?” I ask, waving to the shop owner before opening the door for Patrice and exiting the small deli.
The table full of women all giggle like thirteen-year-olds, watching us leave.
“Looking for someone.” She opens her door and I get into the driver’s seat.
In the years we’ve been partners, we’ve come to agreeable terms. One of those being we share the driving even though, and don’t tell her, I’m the better