P Deutermann - Darkside

“Oh, screw that noise,” Jim snapped. “How would you react if I told you how many drinks you could have, huh?”

She started to say something, stopped, blew a long breath through pursed lips, and then relaxed. “Sorry,” she said again. “My partner gets whacked around and I wasn’t there to protect him. That’s on me, not you.”

He crossed the lounge and took Jupiter’s cage cover off. The rain was really pounding now, one of those April line squalls that comes sweeping down the Severn to flush the Annapolis harbor from time to time. The boat had stopped moving as the rain beat the harbor waves flat. Jupiter began to bob and weave, trying to get a look at Branner. Jim sat down in the chair across from her. “There’s more,” he said, and then he told her about the Goth girls.

She shook her head in wonder. “And you think Bagger was lured out of the bar by those girls?”

“I do now. The proof will be when he can talk.”

“This is the vampire crowd?”

“Yup. This sounds a lot like another one. I should have stayed with him.”

Branner got up and looked out a porthole. The rain was letting up topside and the first streaks of light were painting the eastern horizon over Eastport. Jim admired her wide, strong shoulders, and the unconscious way she let her body jut this way and that. Definitely a female.

“I need to get back to the hospital,” she said, standing. “I want to be there when Bagger comes up.”

“I’ve got to file a report this morning on that rocket business. The fire department’s probably put one in already. You want me to say that NCIS is going to get into this one?”

“We normally would,” she said, turning back around. As if suddenly aware of her semitransparent blouse, she folded her arms across her chest. He noticed that she had green, faintly lupine eyes. Branner as she-wolf. Worked for him. “But this Dell thing has us running,” she was saying. “I’ve been trying not to ask for additional resources. But with Bagger down…”

“Why not?” Jim asked. “Calling in a crowd is the government’s biggest advantage, especially in a homicide.”

“Who said it was a homicide?” she asked, those green eyes flashing.

Jim didn’t answer, and then she realized he’d been talking to Bagger. She came back to the chair and flopped down. “Actually, it could go either way,” she said. “Something’s not quite right with Markham’s answers. On the other hand, the ME’s report is ambiguous. I’m still trying to decide.”

“So it’ll be your call?”

“Pretty much. The dant’s hating life right now, just wants it all to go the hell away. Here comes all the commissioning week bullshit, the vice president, the Board of Visitors, and they have mids flying off the damned roof.”

“Anybody putting the pressure on you to call it a suicide and move on?” he asked.

“Not in so many words,” she said slowly. He could see that she was unsure about trusting him. “They’re sensitive to the command influence problem. But I’ve been here long enough to read between the lines.”

“You need a statement from me about our little op last night?”

“I guess I do,” she said.

“How much you want me to say about the booze?”

“Could you just say what you had to drink?”

“Can do,” he said. “How about the Goth girls?”

“Yes, you should mention them. My bosses know Bagger.”

“I’ll have a draft over to you this morning,” he said. “You chop it, and I’ll smooth it. I don’t want to cause him any trouble.”

“Appreciate that,” she said, holding the jacket out at arm’s length like a wet cat. “You and your people pursue the runner. I think this Dell thing’s going to come to a head in a few days. Then we’ll look into whether or not your runner is connected with Bagger’s getting mugged. Then maybe we’ll both kick his ass.”

“Is that a date?” he asked, just for the hell of it.

She raised her eyebrows. “You asking me out, Mr. Hall? At this hour of the morning?”

“Well,” he said. “I guess we are going about it bassack-wards. You having already been to my bedroom and all.”

She cocked her head and gave him a speculative look. She was standing now with one hand on her left hip, the other holding the jacket out by one finger, as if she were going to twirl it. He saw a flash of amusement in her eyes. Good morning, America: Maybe there’s a real girl in there after all, he thought.

“It was just a thought,” he said finally, remembering that he had paraded in the buff earlier. He got up. “Seeing as we might be kicking a little ass together in the future, that is.”

“Everyone likes a little ass,” she began, glancing at his for an instant. “Or so I’m told. Say, you have an umbrella I can borrow?”

“Is that a yes?” he asked. The rain came down even harder.

“Let me call you,” she said patiently. “An umbrella?”

Jim waited in line to refill his coffee cup at 10:30 that morning. Saturday mornings were regular working days, and most of the headquarters staff people were in the building. He had already spent a half hour with the fire marshal working up the report on the rocket incident, and he had just finished bringing Chief Bustamente up to speed on the night in the tunnel and what had happened to Bagger Thompson afterward.

Commander Michaels, his boss, joined him at the coffee mess table. Jim back-briefed him on the tunnel business and asked if he wanted a written report. To Jim’s surprise, Michaels shook his head.

“Verbal’s good enough right now,” he said, looking out into the hallway to make sure no one was listening. “But look: This Dell thing is turning into a real media firestorm. The possible homicide angle has leaked. Dell’s parents have their congressman into it, and he, for our sins, is on the House subcommittee that has Academy oversight. The supe’s so happy, he could just shit.”

“And the dant?”

“Lotsa Dant Dance, last time I saw him. He’s ready to Class-A Dell’s corpse for causing all this shit.”

Jim got the picture. “In other words, nobody wants to hear more bad news about a mid going out into town and beating up on locals just now?”

“Especially if he’s dressing up as a frigging vampire. Frame that as a breaking story on CNN. So, you’re the security officer. See if you and your cops can catch this guy, preferably on federal ground. Keep the story in government channels until we get this other thing squashed. You know, one fire at a time, if we can manage it.”

Jim almost told him about the dant’s order to get inside the NCIS investigation, but he stopped himself. The chain of command for that had been very specific. “So, I keep you informed?”

Michaels nodded. “Yeah. We don’t know this is a mid doing this shit, do we?”

“Just a hunch right now.”

“Okay, maybe we’ll get lucky on this one. We’re overdue.” He looked around the hallway again and lowered his voice. “Look, we’ve got two weeks left in this academic year, and then all the firsties become enswines, and the rest of the little dears go off to the seven seas for their summer cruise. If we can just get through this Dell mess, we can maybe get things back to normal around this damned place.”

“Whatever normal is,” Jim said. Michaels raised his eyebrows.

“Well, I mean, shit,” Jim said. “A mid gets himself killed; another one is out there consorting with witches and mugging drunks in back alleys. Is this what normal means here now?”

Michaels, who’d been a carrier pilot until a catapult accident had damaged his neck, was also an Academy graduate. He shook his head. “Gee-go,” he muttered. He filled his coffee mug and left for his office.