Frank Zafiro - Under a Raging Moon

“No. W-what’s all this about?”

Katie allowed herself to take a quick glance at the woman, who sat on the couch, a bottle of beer still clutched in her hand. She had no visible injuries. Katie noticed that her makeup wasn’t even smeared.

“You aren’t injured?”

“No. Why would I be?”

A terrible feeling seeped into Katie. “Where did he hit you?”

Her question was met with a confused look. “Hit me? Fred? No.”

“But I heard yelling and-”

“Boom-Boom,” Fred said, turning back to look over his shoulder.

“What?”

“We…we were watching Boom-Boom. The middle-weight boxer from River City?”

Katie glanced at the television and noticed the small ESPN logo in the lower left corner. Two men were boxing.

“You never heard of Boom-Boom Bassen? He’s number fourteen in the world.”

“No,” Katie whispered.

“He got knocked down,” the woman explained. “The black guy knocked him down.”

“Can I sit down now?” the man asked.

“What about the poker? Why’d he have that?” Katie asked the woman.

“Someone was breaking in,” she answered, gesturing toward the door.

Katie motioned to Fred. “Go sit down.”

Grateful, he rose and sat beside his wife on the couch. Katie moved the poker and holstered her gun, shaking her head.

Boxing fans. The only thing worse were football fans.

Remembering other units were headed her way, Katie keyed her mike. “Adam-116, code four.”

“Copy, code four. Adam-114 and all other units may disregard.”

Katie turned back to the couple who still stared at her, a shocked look on their faces. “We received a 911 call,” she explained. “Someone reported a disturbance.”

Outside, a car approached and then a door slammed.

Fred raised his hand tentatively, as if he were in school. Katie nodded at him. “Uh, who’s gonna fix our door?”

“The city will pay for it,” Katie assured him. “Would you like to speak to a supervisor, sir?”

Matt Westboard appeared in the doorway. His eyes surveyed the scene, then came to rest on Katie. He raised a single eyebrow questioningly.

“Boom-Boom Bassen,” she told him.

“Number fourteen in the world,” Fred added.

2130 hours

Lt. Hart stood in front of the lectern. He’d completed his briefing for the robbery special detail, repeating himself several times to ensure his instructions were clear. Plainclothes observers were not to engage the robber alone. He didn’t want anyone hot-dogging this operation.

“Any questions?”

No response. He looked at the seven participants. Were they here to catch the robber or just to suck up overtime? Probably some of both, he decided, but for the first time since he made lieutenant, he didn’t care what the OT costs were. He wanted Scarface.

That was his ticket to Captain’s bars.

2134 hours

Gio sat across the table from Marilyn. The dinner had been delicious. He didn’t care for seafood, but Marilyn loved it. He ordered a steak, though, so it all worked out.

He stared at her, watching her eat daintily, dab her lips with a napkin, sip her wine.

Just tell her.

She caught his gaze and smiled slowly. “What?”

God, she’s beautiful.

“Marilyn?”

“Gio?” she said, slightly teasing.

He swallowed. He’d said these words before, long ago, as a tool to get what he wanted. Later, he learned not to resort to such desperate tactics. But now, when he might mean them, the words stuck in his throat.

“Gio? What?” She seemed amused at his shyness.

Maybe she knew.

He took a deep breath. “I…” he paused and looked directly into her eyes. “I…”

Marilyn looked at him, confused. Then realization flooded her eyes.

She does know.

His heart quickened.

And then her face fell.

A terrible wrenching tore through his stomach, but Gio struggled not to show it. Instead, he changed tactics, even the damage had already been done. “I…really thought the steak was good here,” he finished lamely. “How was your shrimp?”

A long pause spun out while she set her fork down and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. Only a few moments ago, he’d found that act beautiful. Now it seemed ominous.

“Gio, I…” she stopped. He looked for tears but saw none. He felt even greater dread creep in. “I like you. I like you a lot. We’ve had fun, some good times …” she gave him a small smile. “…great sex. But I’m not really interested in anything serious. I mean, were you?”

Gio looked away. He couldn’t answer, couldn’t look at her.

“I asked the bartender about you and he said. .” she trailed off. “Oh, God. Were you looking for something serious, Gio?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t dated anyone else since we met.”

She didn’t answer. He looked up, and her silence told him that the same was not true for her.

He’d made a terrible mistake.

“Oh, Gio.” Marilyn said quietly. “Maybe we should stop seeing each other.”

He stared at her as if he didn’t understand. But he did. He knew the dance of the breaking hearts. He just usually led.

“And maybe I should go,” she added with quiet finality.

“Maybe,” Gio whispered.

She paused for a moment, her mouth open as if to speak. He knew the words that hesitated behind her lips. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry, too, he thought.

She didn’t say anything, though. Instead, she stood and walked away from the table without a word.

2158 hours

Katie leaned against her car, wishing that she smoked. A cigarette would have been a nice distraction. Westboard stood next to her, hands in his back pockets, rocking on his heels. Both were waiting for Sergeant Shen to finish inside the house. The homeowners hadn’t demanded to see a supervisor, but Katie thought it prudent to call one just the same.

“Maybe I should join the fire department,” Katie muttered.

“Eat until you’re tired, sleep until you’re hungry,” Westboard quoted the long-standing joke about firemen.

“I was thinking more along the lines of how when firefighters show up and break things, everyone thanks them for it.”

Westboard grinned and shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Katie.”

“I blew the call,” she replied.

“Depends on how you look at it.”

Katie turned to look at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Westboard continued to rock lightly on his heels. “Well, it depends on if you want to take the long or the short view.”

“The what?” Katie shook her head. “You’ve lost me.”

Westboard removed his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together. “It’s simple. If you take the short view, then the outlook is that you misjudged a call and broke down a door you didn’t need to. What’s the downside of that? The city pays for a door and maybe a citizen is a little pissed off. Or not, depending on how well Shen is doing in there.” He thumbed at the house.

“The short view sounds like exactly what happened,” Katie said.

“It is,” Westboard answered, “but in the greater scheme of your career, how big a deal is it? Not much of one. That’s where the long view comes in. The long view says you were faced with a dangerous situation. You were alone. You had to decide whether your personal safety was more important than that woman’s safety inside the house.”

“She wasn’t in any danger,” Katie argued quietly.

“You didn’t know that. In fact, you had every reason to believe she was in very real danger. You were faced with a choice and made a decision, which tells you a bit about who you are, doesn’t it? Maybe answers a question or two about yourself?”