Roz Fox - She Walks the Line

Crista whistled through her teeth. “Just watch your back, okay? I hear Murdock blocked another woman’s request to join his staff. It’s no secret that he favors the likes of Eddie Fontanero. I avoid Sergeant Creepo at all costs.”

“I’ve heard the rumors. But those incidents were a few years ago. Before Catherine was made chief.”

“Yeah, I know. Still…” Crista let the word trail off as she tugged on wristbands and started warming up. “Hey, does Catherine seem on edge to you?”

Mei paused in her own stretches. “How so?” She considered their morning meeting. “I saw her today. I get the feeling she’s exceptionally busy.”

Crista flung her arms from side to side. “Thursday, she and I passed in the parking garage. Cathy seemed…I don’t know…unusually distracted. She almost always has time for small talk, and she didn’t. Know what I mean?”

Mei nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t see anything unusual I could point to.”

“Me, neither,” Crista murmured as the women walked into the main gym and rolled out mats. “Not until Alex brought some articles in the paper to my attention. I have to agree with him that someone’s gunning for Cathy. Maybe someone outside the department. Alex believes it’s pressures coming from in-house. Maybe corrupt cops.”

Mei faced Crista out on the main studio floor. “Want a partner?” At her friend’s surprised nod, the two women bowed, as was customary in the martial art of Wing Chun. As was also Mei’s habit when any of her friends brought up their significant others, she abruptly fell silent.

If Crista thought that odd, she didn’t comment. Because as soon as Crista faced an opponent, her mind and body focused totally on winning her match. Which she generally did handily, especially when Mei Lu was her partner. Early on in the women’s relationship, the fact that Mei was notably inept when it came to martial arts—a skill everyone seemed to assume should be hers by birthright—had turned out to be a source of levity at the academy.

At a young age, Mei did attend wushu–kung fu classes with Stephen. She soon fell behind her more dedicated sibling, and Grand Master Chin had advised Mei to seek a new pursuit. By her third day at the academy, she wished she’d applied herself more back then. Mei would be eternally grateful to Crista for taking her under her wing. Committed to her sport, and good at it, Crista offered Mei after-hours sessions that paid off. She’d improved, and had actually moved on to intermediate level, a matter of pride for both women. Mei would settle for solid competence. Crista had her sights set on attaining her master’s level.

This afternoon, Crista landed a punch Mei should have easily blocked. After the third time Crista had to help Mei off the floor, it became apparent that Mei’s attention kept wandering to a children’s class going on in another part of the vast gym.

“Something’s up with you. Even at your worst, you never just handed me a match.” Bending, Crista picked up and uncapped a bottle of water. “You know one of those kids over there?”

“Huh? Oh, no.” Flushing, Mei grabbed a small towel and blotted sweat from her neck. “Sorry, I can’t seem to concentrate.”

“That’s evident.” Crista recapped her bottle. “Are you leveling with me about El Capitan Weasel?”

Mei Lu grinned. “I wouldn’t assign Murdock that much importance.” She reached for her own water and splashed some on her face. “My mind must be stalled on a new case I went out on today. There were these really cute, precocious kids.”

“Corporate criminals getting younger every day, are they?” Crista teased.

“The twins have nothing to do with the case. Their father is connected to…to…Interpol.”

Crista snorted. “Lucky you. At least, in your work, nobody dies.”

“Someone did, though,” Mei blurted out. Then she winced. “I shouldn’t have said that, Crista. The case is classified. I should just put it out of my mind. As far as I know, my part in the matter began and ended today after I translated a letter.”

“Oh.” Crista’s eyebrows became a slash over the bridge of her nose. “Hey, what’s this? A chink in Mei Lu’s armor? Am I hearing personal interest in…a man? ‘The man from Interpol,’” she singsonged.

Mei dropped her water bottle and hurriedly grabbed it before too much could puddle on the mat. Her heart raced again at the indirect mention of Cullen Archer. And that disturbed Mei. “Honestly, Crista. Ever since you fell in love, you see romance around every corner. I said a man died.”

“Okay, okay. You’re so touchy. Dead guys are right up my alley. You want to skip this session and talk about your case?”

Mei gathered her few belongings. “I’m really no match for you tonight. And I honestly can’t discuss the case. Catherine assigned it a high level of confidentiality. I think I’ll go on home and let you maim Sergeant Denholm. I see him looking around the room, spoiling for blood. He reminds me of that guy at the academy you had to shut up. What was his name?”

“Schwartz. Bernie Schwartz. I’m in no mood to take on Denholm. Sure you wouldn’t rather go for coffee—or tea? Sometimes it helps to unload on an impartial listener. I hope you know I’d never repeat anything you tell me off the record.”

“I know, Crista. But this really isn’t my case to talk about. Can I have a rain check on the tea and call you for a rematch?”

Crista grinned cheekily. “Sure. Although, I don’t want you going soft in your cushy new job.”

“Next week, then? Same time?” Mei said as they both headed back to the dressing room, passing Sergeant Denholm, a man more than a little flabby around the middle.

“Hey, Ling. I saw how you let Santiago whip your butt. I’ll gladly show you how a man cuts that hot tamale down to size.”

“You know, Denholm, I was on my way out,” Crista said. “But you’ve been pushing for a slaughter.”

Spinning, Mei turned back, too. “I’ll referee, just to keep you honest, Sarge.”

His grin faltered, and he tried to backpedal. The women closed ranks and, because others had heard his bragging, he ended up going along.

It did Mei’s heart good to see Crista flatten the big-mouth in three out of three tries. “You know what?” she said, calling to her friend who’d barely broken a sweat. “I changed my mind about having tea. Come on, Crista. My treat.”

“I probably shouldn’t have been so rough on him,” Crista lamented later as the friends trudged down the street toward a coffeehouse in the next block.

“Why not? He’s been asking for it. Now maybe he’ll shut the heck up.”

“If only. More like now every macho jerk in Denholm’s squad will want a piece of me, when we both know the number one rule in Wing Chun is to not let an attacker provoke you.”

Mei pulled open the door to the coffeehouse. “Quit beating up on yourself. Denholm claims he wants to learn the Wing Chun system of kung fu. Tonight was another step in his training. At least, that’s what you told me all those times you bounced me off the carpet.”

“That’s different. I like you, Mei Lu.”

Mei, who got into line first, glanced around and pulled a face at Crista. “Thanks—I think.” The women burst out laughing and jostled each other, still smothering giggles as they placed their orders. The revelry broke whatever tension had gripped them earlier. By the time they picked up their orders and found a table in the corner, Denholm’s plight and Mei’s case were taboo subjects. The two old friends chatted about inconsequential things. Harmless gossip. Half an hour later, they parted, still in high spirits.

On the drive home, Mei reflected on how much she missed the nights the five, or sometimes six, would meet for coffee, drinks or dinner. The first crack in their bond occurred when Catherine became chief. They all understood that her job brought with it weighty new responsibilities. Nevertheless, she’d been the first to pull back. Relaxed as she felt now, Mei hated recalling the next fracture that occurred, after Risa had been accused of killing her partner. Mei shuddered, and the warmth of the evening fled. The whole mess rushed to the forefront of her mind.