ANGEL BLUE [1]

LEAD 10: salt is served

      I sit on the edge of Banks’ bed and stretch my shoulders at the new morning. I felt relieved to be out of that damn apartment, especially since Sam handed Helena her arse. Now, it was time for her to face the music.

    Banks slides on her blue Desk Squad button-up and adjusts her shoulder badge and black slacks. She scratches her cropped hair and yawns in the reflection of her mirror before winking at me.

      “I’m surprised you’re not buggered,” she says.

      I’m baffled myself. I stayed up most of the night ‘stalking’ Sam’s Facebook profile because Banks was curious over my mysterious partner in crime fighting. We discovered some interesting dirt on Mr Vanilla Latte that made my brow twitch. Most of the photos on his page were of prestigious functions concerning the FBI, but what interested us the most was that his PA was always his plus one.

      Her name is Amanda Jane, if that’s even considered a proper last name. She could easily pass off as a Vogue or Q model by her looks and height. She’s a few inches taller than Sam and has platinum blonde hair that’s always immaculately styled in ways that I can only describe as ‘croquembouche’. I don’t like her one bit, especially since she drapes herself over Sam like some glittering sequined Persian carpet.

      “Wait until we get to work,” my neck clicks and I wince. “Your couch is the worst thing to sleep on; I swear two of my spinal discs shifted every time I rolled over on the damn thing.”

      “Are you gonna ask Mr Vanilla Latte about his PA?” Banks asks with a smirk.

      “I have bigger things to worry about, like the fact that my Dad would rather spend his time with his FBI bum-chum than his own daughter. Besides, shouldn’t you be worried about your date with Jax that you keep rescheduling? I don’t think your excuse about filing Chief Banks’ paperwork is going to stretch much further.”

      “I’ve rescheduled it actually,” Banks fastens her belt and hands me my own along with my holster. “It’s going to be tomorrow night, and since your case is coming to a slow stop, I’m inviting you and Blake―bring Mr Vanilla Latte along.”

      I sigh and do up the last buttons on my white shirt and tuck it into my black jeans. Knowing Banks, this date will be far from awkward and Jax will just want to start shit up with Blake and Sam. I shake my head and tie the laces on my NYPD boots and forward out of Banks’ bedroom.

      Banks has two younger sisters, which greet me when I walk into their living room. The older of the two, Shoshana, is fourteen and always has her peppercorn hair tamed into two plaits on the side of her head. She’s the shortest but certainly has Banks’ snide humour, and as a consequence, I’m simply known as ‘Stevens’ to her.

      “Staying for brekkie?” Shoshana mumbles with a mouthful of cereal. 

      “I’ll get something on the way to the precinct,” I clear my throat.

     Banks’ youngest sister, Nathalia, is eight and looks up to Banks as some kind of super-cop as she likes to address her older sibling. Her fluffy hair’s bound into a ponytail on the top of her head and fans out so she looks like a fuzzy pineapple. She’s wearing denim overalls and a striped shirt and tries to keep her strawberry jam from falling onto the material as Mrs Banks, Beth, makes coffee for herself.

      “Are you gon’ catch some baddies?” Nathalia discreetly wipes her jam-clad fingers on the front of her overalls while Beth turns to fill her mug.    

      “I’m not, but Stevens sure is,” Banks nudges me and nabs a piece of toast from Nathalia’s plate, blowing her an air-kiss when the little girl complains. “Ma we’re gonna head off now, I’ll bring something home for dinner, yeah?”