STALKING SAPPHIRE (Sapphire Dubois: Book 1)

Chapter 6

A jolt of adrenaline hit Aston when he hung up the phone. A case. A real case. He grabbed the suit jacket he didn’t need, considering it was 87 degrees outside, but knew the chief would hassle him. He’d already pulled Aston aside asking why his head detective never used the suits they had tailored for him.

“The pants ride up my ass,” Aston answered. The look on the chief's face was not good.

“Look, it’s standard for detectives everywhere to suit up; it’s not what you like to call a Beverly Hills thing. Humor me. I’ve been fairly tolerant with your snide comments and constant sarcasm, given the fact that you’re still adjusting. But one thing I can’t stand is unprofessionalism.”

“How am I...”

“What were you wearing when you responded to Ms. Streisand’s call?”

“I don’t really remember, maybe...” Aston started.

“Washed out jeans and a T-shirt that said and I quote: ‘I don’t take shit, I don’t give shit, I’m not in the shit business.’”

Aston laughed at the memory of his own T-shirt and Chief Anderson’s face got harder. “I’m sure they’d never tolerate anything like that at the LAPD either.” Chief Anderson pointed at the door to his office, ending the conversation.

A few days earlier Aston realized, if he pushed the chief’s buttons enough, he might get the chief to back his transfer request with a recommendation, just to get rid of him.

On his way out of the station, he managed to convince Chief Anderson that he didn’t need a team and that he used to eat things like this for breakfast at his old station. The chief shrugged.

“Fine, but you’ll get Barry Harry.”

Barry Harry, the unfortunate bastard, popped up next to Aston with a smile. It was the pimply guy right out of the Academy.

After a long silent drive, Aston said his first words to Barry as they stopped at the country club’s valet.

“Get out of my car.”

Aston cringed. He was surrounded by the crème de la crème of rich. He watched with distaste as they played golf, rode their horses, and schmoozed with each other about the latest important event in their lives. One golf club alone could buy food for a whole village in Africa. Not that Aston was an especially giving person, but he was certain that if he had their money, he would be...most of the time. Well...at least during the holidays.

A butler-ish man with white gloves opened the doors to the dining room for them. Aston looked from the gloves to the butler.

“It’s eighty-seven degrees outside and you’re cold?”

The man looked at Aston, confused.

“I’m not cold, sir,” he said and motioned his arm toward the very back of the room where a crowd had gathered.

“Ah, warts.” Aston winked.

The butler stared at him in silence for a while. “She’s right over there, sir.”

Aston's adrenaline jumped to a high. A real case. Thank God.

Then he saw her.

*****

Sapphire went to the country club that afternoon, totally oblivious to what was about to go down. She was meeting Chrissy for a thirty-five dollar cup of coffee at their usual table. Sapphire had told Chrissy that she’d be running a little late, so Chrissy decided to show up even later. She explained, without a trace of humor, that she was the one who was supposed to be fashionably late, not Sapphire.