“Right. Okay, so, your healthcare works a lot differently here than in the other precincts.” Perky gestured along the wall where a bunch of glass-fronted offices observed the cubicle farm. “These offices are for those who are supervising the rowdy cops in the cubicle farms. We rotate them, so every month someone gets to escape the farm to enjoy an office before the shuffle resumes.”
Interesting. At my old precinct, offices went to the captain’s favorites without exception. “Why am I getting an office?”
Perky led me through the cubicle farm to a hallway, and I discovered the chiefs had a pair of offices next to each other with a removable wall, which was opened so they shared their space. “Bailey said so, and Sam agreed after looking over your file—and we have a bunch of offices for detectives on this floor. Since you’re coming in with the shit cases, you get an office as your transfer reward. Anyway, if you have any problems with your sexual health, you need to go see Sam. He’s part incubus, and if he can’t resolve the issue, one of his family will come in and resolve the problem. It turns out a quarter of the women in our precinct had various issues of one sort or another, which were corrected. About a quarter of the men had issues, too, which were likewise resolved. As a result, everyone is happier. When the ladies aren’t grouchy because they’re in pain, us men are more likely to survive to the end of our shifts. As for us men, heightened testosterone levels are addressed along with any sexual health issues, as these can cause problems for everyone. We also have a zero tolerance policy for domestic violence or excessive force while on duty, and a condition of employment is that the spouses or significant others of everyone working here have direct access to the Quinns in case of emergency. Let’s just say it’s worked well and leave it at that.”
Huh. I’d have to battle a mass murderer or serial killer to get to stay at what appeared to be the ultimate workplace for a female cop. The challenge enthused me almost as much as the change of pace and improved environment. “What’s the catch?”
“If you have something wrong with you, you will get unexpectedly called in the chief’s office—and which chief you get depends on which one notices first. If Bailey notices first, she will start nagging angels until one shows up to fix the problem. If Sam notices first, you get a consultation in his office, whatever therapy you need he can handle, and the rest of the day off work because your emotional health will have undergone severe trauma and you deserve to go home with hot chocolate, coffee, or some other treat along with strict orders to enjoy your freedom from work.”
“What is traumatizing about a consultation and therapy?” I blurted. “If it works, bring it on.”
“Hold that thought,” Perky said, and he turned, lifted his hand to his mouth, and whistled. “Hey, gas guzzler! Moment, please?”
The cindercorn trotted over, and in her hurry to come when called, she still had her nose in a bag of chips.
Perky sighed, supported the bottom of the bag so the cindercorn could munch at her treat, and said, “Call Sam and ask him to give your new detective a check over. It looks like we’ve got another one.”
The chief pulled her head free of the bag and eyed me. “Erratic periods, excess bleeding, or the wrath of god in your uterus?”
Well, that was one way to handle the situation, especially as the rest of the cops went back to work and made it clear they had zero interest in our discussion. Had I been asked in my first days in the force, I might’ve fallen over dead from embarrassment, but dealing with the problem directly suited me. “Wrath of god,” I admitted.
“Will call asshole. Take her to office, asshole fix. Asshole owe favor, balance scales, make Sam happy.” Chief Bailey Quinn went to the nearest desk, lifted a hoof, and pointed at the phone. “Move that, press out button,” she ordered.
The cop chuckled and obeyed.
With care, the cindercorn dialed a number and pressed the speakerphone button.
“How is my sweet little granddaughter today?” a masculine voice answered.
“You come station, fix new detective? She has wrath of some cruel mean god in her uterus. You clear debt, Sam made happy, I be rewarded for good behavior tonight. All go sleep happy, with new detective happiest of all.”
The man chuckled, and his laughter reminded me of the chiming of bells. I altered my thought on who she spoke to, as I’d run into enough angels to understand they weren’t quite men or women. “How sensible of you. Are you enjoying your coffee?”
“Oh, yes,” Chief Bailey Quinn breathed. “So much coffee, much happy.”
“I can do as you wish but on one condition.”
“What condition?” the cindercorn demanded, and she turned her ears back while lowering her hoof back to the floor, clicking her claw against the tile. “No condition, owe favor.”
“I would like your detective to investigate someone. It would be most prudent of her to do so. That is all I ask.”
The cindercorn grunted. “Fine, but if I do not get my reward for good behavior tonight, I will be very sad. Especially if Beauty is intolerant to pineapple. Very, very sad. She see Doctor Perkette tonight about the pineapples. Then other doctor tomorrow, too.”
“I see you are as vigilant as always regarding your children,” the angel praised. “I shall be over promptly, although I will delay long enough for your detective to see the marvels of her new office before I assist in this matter. Do prepare your couch, as she will surely become a temporary resident of your office once I finish with her.”
“Can do. Foals are with my father if you would like to visit with them. They eat solid food as of today. They have graduated! I am free, free to have all of the coffee!”
“MayHesafeguard us all from your wicked ways,” the angel teased.
“You the one most wicked. See you soon. No halos, and no smiting!” Lifting her hoof, the chief disconnected the call before turning to the cop at his desk. “You make couch ready. You late shift tonight?”
“I’m on late shift tonight. I’ll make sure Detective McMarin makes it home. Do you have her cruiser keys?”
“Sam has keys. You steal from him, be in charge of my detective. If she wish to get started on case once she is up from her nap, keep eye on her. Order her soup and good food, give me receipt. She have hard day. Twenty-two teleports.”
The cop whistled. “Well done, Detective McMarin. Welcome to the eighth floor. If things get a little crazier than you’re used to, just come over for a chat.”
“Alittlecrazier?” I asked, wondering what sort of hell an angel would put me through for me to end up on a couch in the chiefs’ shared office.
