George Martin - Lowball

Michael had never asked for so much strangeness in his life-he’d just wanted a great, normal life. Solid career, beautiful wife, a couple of kids and a house of his own. That would have been plenty for him. But having found love, twice, how could he walk away? He was lucky, as the guys at the precinct kept reminding him. Today was a stunning May day, the prettiest they’d seen in months. The perfect day for a proposal, the back of his brain whispered. Michael was a half-black, half-Korean tough guy who’d fought his way up from the wrong side of town; he could handle a proposal. The question was, could he handle two?

“Hey, sweetie-you forgot something!” Minal had come up behind him, was tapping him on the shoulder and handing him an insulated bag. He felt his heart thump hard, once, at her wicked grin. That grin wasn’t going to cure his headache, but if Michael could get half an hour alone with her, he was sure Minal would be able to help him out. Sadly, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. The inevitable chorus of hoots and catcalls rose from the guys (and some of the gals).

“Hey, baby!”

“What’d you bring for me?”

“Something hot and sweet, I bet!”

“I need something spicy!”

Usually Minal would banter back, but today she was already late for her class. She smiled at the gang, dropped a kiss on Michael’s cheek, and then was out the door again. She let the battered wood slam shut behind her, leaving him to face the music alone.

Michael knew how to handle this. It’d been two years since he’d come out to his old partner and the rest of the precinct about the threesome; he had this down. “Aw, you guys are just jealous,” he said loudly. That quieted them down, because it was true. Not only due to the sexy bi babe whose curvy body had just walked out the door, but also due to the incredible scents rising out of the little carrier. The insulation might keep the rice and curry warm, but it wasn’t nearly strong enough to keep the scent of Indonesian rendang padang trapped inside the bag.

Slow-cooked beef, simmered in coriander, curry leaves, ginger, cloves, lemongrass, coconut milk, and he wasn’t sure what else, but he didn’t care. Minal was taking a Southeast Asian class this semester, and Michael was grateful. Her curries were almost as good as his Korean mother’s, and the rest of the precinct was jealous. Any cop knew that while it was nice to come home to some sweet loving after a long day, it was more important to keep your stomach well fed-that’s what would keep you going when the night got long and crazy. Donuts could only carry a man so far.

Finally, his day was looking up.

He carried the food over to his desk, and almost dropped it when he saw Franny sitting across from him, at his partner Sally’s desk. “Hi, Michael!” the kid said, his voice just a little too cheerful.

Two minutes later, Michael was in the captain’s office, wondering how hard he’d have to beg to fix this. “Captain, please. You have got to be kidding me? The kid?” Just minutes ago, life had seemed so good. He’d been happy enough to propose, for God’s sake. He was finally making some progress on his smuggling case, and he had a smart, sexy partner to work with him. Last week, Sally had taken down a mugger with a sneaky Jiu-Jitsu move that might not be academy-approved, but which was nonetheless impressive. And even though she was tough as hammered nails, Sally was also willing to flirt with the nerdy art insurer if it would get them a lead for their case. She had been the perfect partner-and now she was gone, and Michael was about to be thoroughly screwed. And not in a good way.

Maseryk frowned. “This isn’t your decision, Michael. And it’s not up for debate. Sally deserved that promotion to One Police Plaza, and I’m sorry for the short notice, but they needed her on something urgent. We’ll throw her a racket at the bar Friday night; you can say your good-byes then. I’m promoting Black to be her replacement.” He shrugged. “The truth is, the brass uptown dictated his promotion, and I don’t like it any more than you do. The kid doesn’t know shit. I’ve sidelined him on a dead-end case; you focus on that art ring you and Sally were handling.”

“But sir-” Michael knew he was pushing, but he couldn’t just let it go.

But Maseryk was already turning away, back to the mound of papers on his desk. “Enough, Michael. End of story. You can shut the door on your way out.”

Michael just barely managed not to slam the damn door. He came perilously close, though, shutting it with a solid thud.

“Whee-oh! I remember that sound.” His father was in the hallway, up on a ladder, fixing a light and grinning down at him. “What crawled up your ass, son?”

God, not this too, not today. When would the old man retire? “Dad. I don’t need this right now.”

His father peered down at him through thick glasses. “You mad ’cause the kid got promoted?”

“You know?” Shit. It would’ve been nice if the CO had told him first, instead of informing his dad the janitor. The old man should just retire-he was old enough now that his dark skin stood out shockingly against the pure white of his bushy eyebrows.

“Son, you know how fast gossip moves through this place. Everybody knows, and I can tell you that no one is happy about it. Poor kid.”

Michael snapped out, “He’s jumping the queue. He’s too young. He’s a goddamned smart aleck who is completely full of himself.”

His father cackled. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”

“We are nothing alike.” That would have come out better if it hadn’t sounded quite so whiny. Michael bit his tongue.

His father nodded serenely. “Yessir, whatever you say, sir. I know better than to argue with my superior officer.”

There was nothing to say to that.

The old man continued, “When are you bringing those three pretty girls of yours over for dinner? I haven’t seen my granddaughter in four whole days. Your mama was thinking Saturday would be nice. She’s got plans for jambalaya, and she wants to teach Minnie the recipe.”

Michael sighed. “Don’t call her Minnie, Dad. You know that’s not her name.”

His father frowned. “I’ll call her what I like; I’m old enough, and I’ve earned the right. She don’t mind. When are you going to call her your wife, that’s what I want to know. You ever gonna put rings on those gals’ fingers?”

Not him too. It was bad enough listening to the voice in his own head. His parents had been harassing him to marry Kavitha, before Minal moved in-they’d been blessedly quiet on the subject for the past two years. But apparently, his grace period had ended. “I can’t marry both of them, not legally.” He wanted to, though. He was pretty sure.

The old man snorted. “Did I ask what you could do legally? Do you think we give a damn what the law says? Your mama is dying to throw a wedding for her only child, boy, and if you know what’s good for you, you’re not going to make her wait much longer.” The old man hesitated, and then said, in a softer voice, “Her heart’s been acting up again, you know.”

Michael’s own heart squeezed once, painfully. “I can’t talk about this now, Dad.” He had a case to solve. Now wasn’t the time. He wasn’t sure when it would be the right time. “We’ll come for dinner, okay? Tell Mama.” Maybe he’d propose this week; maybe he’d be bringing two fiancées to dinner on Saturday. Michael loved them, he did. But two wives? It wasn’t the life he’d planned for.

His father shook his head. “All right. You be nice to that kid. The whole station’s going to give him hell, he doesn’t need to get it from his partner, too.” Then he turned back to the light above their heads, leaving Michael to face the long walk back to his desk. No more Sally at the desk facing his; that was Francis Xavier Black’s desk now.