George Martin: Lowball

He would not have believed that the sight of a black Ford Explorer with the Midnight Angel in the front seat would ever have made him happy.

by Melinda M. Snodgrass

Officer Francis Xavier Black-known to his fellow officers as Franny-came whistling through the doors of New York’s 5th Precinct ready to defend truth, justice, and the American Way in Jokertown. Only to be viciously elbowed by Bugeye Bronkowski.

The blow was so hard and so unexpected that it sent Franny stumbling into the chairs lining the walls of the waiting room. Mrs. Mallory reached up and stopped his tumble before he landed in her lap. Louise Mallory was a diminutive woman whose hulking joker son Davy ran with the Demon Princes. But Davy wasn’t too bright, and he certainly wasn’t very lucky. He was constantly getting arrested.

Franny righted himself and looked at Sergeant Homer Taylor, currently manning the front desk. But Wingman didn’t say a word. Bugeye stomped through the gate and back into the precinct. “What’s up his ass?” Franny asked Homer.

Wingman gave his drooping wings a shake that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a dying bat. “Couldn’t say,” he said, in tones that indicated he knew exactly what had precipitated the assault.

Franny let it go and turned back to his rescuer. “Thank you, Mrs. Mallory, sorry I … stumbled. Here to bail out Davy?”

“Yes, that boy just keeps getting into hijinks.”

“He does that.”

“CO wants to see you in his office,” Wingman grunted.

It was never a good thing when a patrolman was called into the brass’s office. Franny’s stomach became a small, hard knot against his spine. He wished he hadn’t eaten such a big breakfast.

As he moved through the bullpen Franny became aware of the eyes. Everyone was staring at him. There were a few disgusted head shakes and several people looked pointedly away. God, what have I done?

Beastie, all seven feet of him, fur, horns, and claws, stumped up to him, and laid a hand on Franny’s shoulder. The brown eyes gazing down at him were sorrowful and sympathetic. “Oh, Franny, dude.”

Nothing else was forthcoming. Beastie mooched on. Franny made his way to Deputy Inspector Maseryk’s office. At his knock the nat yelled a come in . Franny obeyed.

“Sir.”

“Sit down, Black.”

Franny took the proffered chair, but found himself perching on the edge as if preparing for flight.

“You took your lieutenant’s exam.”

“Yes, sir, I know I’m not technically eligible to be promoted, but I figured I could get in some practice.”

“Well, you aced the damn thing.” Maseryk’s tone didn’t make it sound like a compliment.

“Good?” Franny said diffidently. When there was no response he added an equally uncertain, “Thank you?”

“The damn brass down at One Police Plaza have decided in their infinite wisdom to promote you early.”

Franny sank against the back of the chair. It was all becoming horribly clear. This was why Bugeye had hit him. Resentment curdled his gut-how was it apparently everybody in the precinct had known about this before he did? He gave voice to none of that however. “That seems … ill advised,” he managed.

“To put it mildly.”

“So, why-”

“Because we’ve been taking a beating over the corruption that’s been uncovered in the two-oh.”

“Oh.”

“The damn press just won’t let up so the brass decided to give them a new narrative. All about famous captain’s son steps up .” His tone underscored the irony. “But a story about a flatfoot isn’t news. A promotion, that’s news … and fortunately the media vultures all have ADD. They’ll stop writing about the two-oh and write about you until another scandal comes along.”

Franny’s first impulse was to refuse, to not be a hand puppet for the Puzzle Palace, as the plaza was sometimes called. Balanced against that was the drive to live up to his father’s memory. To be not just a good cop, but maybe a great one. He had always wanted to make detective. His work thus far didn’t involve much investigation. It involved a lot of intimidation and running after people. Plainclothes, no more walking a beat; that’s when he realized he’d miss his beat and the people who depended on him-Mr. Wiley who ran the mask and cloak shop, Tina who managed the Starbucks, Jeff the bellman at the Jokertown Hyatt who spent most of his day out front carrying luggage and parking cars so he watched the world go by, and often reported what he saw to Bill and Franny.

Bill! Shit! How would his partner react to this?

He also had to acknowledge that he was ambitious. You aced it. The captain’s words danced through his mind. Damn right he had. He’d gone to law school, passed the bar on the first try. No, he couldn’t refuse. Franny stood and held out his hand. “Thank you, sir. I’m honored. I’ll try to live up to your expectations.”

“You’ve already failed in that regard. I thought you’d have the good sense to turn it down.” Maseryk shuffled through papers. “Okay, I’m pairing you with Michael Stevens.”

“But he’s a nat too.”

“I’m aware of that, but his partner just got transferred, and nobody else was willing to be broken up just to accommodate you. I’ll fix it as soon as I can, but for right now you’re with Stevens. Next, we’ve got a situation. Jokers have gone missing. Mostly loners, people without family or roots in the community. I think it’s a tempest in a teapot. People like that drop off the radar all the time, but Father Squid is busting my ass over it, and we don’t need another media feeding frenzy. So, as of now you’re in charge of the joker investigation.”

“Is Michael going to work with me on that?”

“No, Michael has a real case to investigate. Go find your desk.”

“Yes, sir. Should I go home and change?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you. Wait until tomorrow to rub their noses in it.”

Franny slunk out of the office. Before he found his desk and new partner he went to find his old partner. Bill would be expecting him to join him on patrol … or not. Maybe Bill had gotten the word like everybody else.

He found the big Chinese-American officer in the locker room. Bill clipped his nightstick onto his belt, and turned when he heard Franny’s footsteps. They looked at each other, each waiting for the other to speak. Bill slammed the locker door, and headed for the door. “I won’t be going out with you today,” Franny said.

“I heard,” Bill said in a high-pitched, squeaky voice, so at odds with his massive form.

Since no congratulation had been uttered, Franny had at least hoped for noncommittal. Instead there was ice edging Bill’s words. “Look, I didn’t ask for this.”

“Didn’t turn it down either.”

“Would you?”

“No, but I’ve got eleven years in on the force, not two. I’ve taken the lieutenant’s exam three times. But you get promoted, and you’re not even one of us.”

“Yeah, I’m a nat. Why don’t you just say it?”

“Not that, you moron.”

“What then?”

“You’re not Chinese.”

“What?” Franny said, not following the logic at all.

“We’ve got jokers in this station. We’ve got aces, but we’re on the edge of Chinatown, and only two of us are ethnic Chinese, and only a handful of us speak Chinese. How are you going to investigate crimes in my neighborhood when you can’t even speak the language?”

“Get a translator.”

Bill snorted. “Yeah, that’s gonna work real well.”

“Look, Bill-” But the big man turned his back on Franny and walked out of the locker room.