A Kiss To Build A Dream On - Season 2: Bridge

Fandango De Alma - Jaleo

429-R70, again, thought Adrian as she approached the D-4 district precinct. The car was tailing her once again. She couldn't tell if it was actually happening or if it was something her mind was conjuring to mess with her. A few weeks ago, a parrot had appeared on her shoulders, shouting "Je suis comme ça" over and over for three days straight. At other times, a voice would narrate what she did and thought in the past tense, offering observant, if long-winded, commentary of her surroundings. Case in point: her brain was not the most reliable of sources.

But each and every time, she knew it was fake, only a by-product of her addiction, but this time, it felt real. Raw. Natural. That car was seamlessly real, but it couldn't be. Why else would the license be missing from the system? Yet, 429-R70 still watched her every move, like a puma hunting its prey, waiting to strike at the right time. Pushing her thoughts to the back of her mind, she entered the concrete building.

As expected, officers moved about left and right, stacking papers and pushing pencils, with the bitter aroma of black coffee permeating the air like a blanket.

First things first: she must report her presence to the Captain.

She asked a few people where the Captain's office was, and after a bit of fumbling around, she reached the small room with the nameplate of the Captain on it. She knocked three times before being called in.

Dara Lynch sat behind her desk, with her hands supporting her greasy face. A shit-eating grin was plastered on her lips, coated in sugar, most likely from the box of powdered donuts on her desk. The way the sun reflected from behind her made Dara look somber and mysterious.

"Top o' the morning," she said while tilting her head. "I'm Dara Lynch, the Captain of this here ship. Who might ya be?"

"Adrian Sauer. Internal Affairs," she said curtly. Adrian kept still by the door, looking around a bit. She refused to make eye contact with Dara, as she knew it would drive her mad. Powerful people hate not being the center of attention.

"Ah, yeah," said Dara, who still sat nearly motionless. "We got the paperwork from central this mornin'. But I'm 'fraid I ain't much of a reader. Can ya be a plump and tell me why exactly are ya here? Please," she said, motioning towards the chair in front of the desk, "sit down."

Instead of complying, Adrian went to the left of the room, examining a mostly empty bookshelf with a few dusty tomes, legal books she knew Dara had never opened before. With her back to Dara, Adrian began to speak.

"Well, we had an anonymous tip from within this precinct."

"Oh, really?" said Dara, pressing her hands together until they were white. "Do tell, who would that be?"

Adrian took a book out of the shelf-an old legal dictionary-idly sifting through the pages. "Can't. That would defeat the whole 'anonymous' thing. Can tell you what is it about, though," she said while putting the book back. A smaller shelf with a few trophies on top was the next target of her curiosity. "It's about Detective Graham Dunne."

Dara went to grab another donut, but froze for a second at the mention of the name. "What did he do?"

"Oh, nothing much," said Adrian, running her finger around the rim of a small trophy. A figure dunking a basketball could be seen on one side of the cup, but the text was too blurry to read. "It seems like he took out a processed detainee without proper paperwork. Nothing major."

For a second, the panic that had fallen on Dara was dissipated enough for her to release a sigh, but it was short-lived, as for the first time, Adrian turned around to look her in the face.

"...or at least, that was at first. See, our tip told us that Mr. Dunne not only released the suspect, but that he also placed her in his Cruiser before leaving the premises. That is another serious offense since police equipment, vehicles included, cannot be used for any personal matter."