More Than a Hotline Fling

-13-

Damian's POV

Fucking ridiculous. I am not cut out for this bullshit.

"Don't look so excited." My supervisor smirked at me. His long, checkered sleeves crossed over his protruding stomach.

My nostrils flared and I shot him my eyes' best taser impression. "Am I being punished? I'd rather be demoted."

Considering the size of the New Year's Eve report Jenks and I left on Hernandez's desk, it was a reasonable assumption.

"No." He huffed, leaning back in his office chair. "Consider it a reward from all the brass feathers you've ruffled in your first year, Captain."

Today's schedule also included an eminent shitshow at the New York County Criminal courthouse this afternoon. Testifying in court cases was a small but necessary part of our job, the itch we scratched on the DA's office's back.

"Right." I removed my hat, rubbing a palm over the crease it left in my forehead.

My skin sweated under the full dress uniform that court required. Normally, I wore a white dress shirt, black pressed pants, and what June called my 'old man ties.' Today, I was head to toe in NYPD navy blue, including tight cuffs that choked my neck and my wrists.

As if I needed any more reasons to be in a bad mood.

The Manhattan court location meant most of my calendar should have been cleared, which of course Shirley ignored. It mirrored all my meetings and changes imposed by Hernandez: a communications update started with a simple, no-nonsense phone call.

Like usual, I blew him off and focused on case work because Hernandez himself reopened Baker Row. Elbow deep in old paperwork, I assigned Jenks the lead in connecting Baker Row to the 46th's open case past Santino.

In response, Hernandez scheduled a meeting, which I also ignored because Jenks worked a shitload of undercover intel reports. They weren't going to corroborate themselves and a breakthrough on a three-month Inwood case offered an opportunity that we secured a search warrant.

A true bureaucrat, and in my opinion an ass, Hernadez went through Shirley. Bribed with an earlier going home time, he secured an appointment when she shoved me into his office. Not even the familiar face sitting at his small, round meeting table wiped the scowl I wore after what he had the nerve to inform me.

A low groan rumbled my chest with my last plea, "There's nobody else."

I find that hard to believe.

"All the other leads already do it, Captain Rivera." He clasped his knuckles, dotted with age spots, over his desk. "It's your time to shine."

Unlike my desk being always buried in paperwork piles, most originating from him, Hernandez's shiny, dark wood surface housed his computer and one family picture. The tacky, identical-dressed photo of him, his wife Sofia, and their three kids was positioned right next to his screen.

His eyes flashed up at me. "And get a haircut while you're at it, Damian."

"No comment on appearances." Officer Dawes bit back a smile.

One of my former Patrol officers, I transferred Dawes into a PR desk job when she cracked under too much street heat pressure. Never once did I expect my own position to require a PR makeover.

And yet, here she is.

Her heavy makeup, black hair pulled into a standard policewoman's bun, spine straight in her uniform, and her legs crossed at the ankles beneath her chair were a lot more refreshed than when she worked for me.