“Fuck you,” Norman snaps over his shoulder at Foley.
“Hard to choose,” Foley says, “hard to choose.What about you, Yarmark?You see something you like?”
“You gotta watch what you say.”I’m pulling a polo over my head now.And I’m back to no.What’s the point?He’s going to say no, and all I’m going to do is make an idiot out of myself.“Somebody’s gonna report all of you for sexual harassment.”
Foley grins, which is proof that he really is nothing but a big kid, but McGown boos.
“Fuck that noise,” he says.“Fucking goody fucking two-shoes over here.”
“You waiting for somebody to pull on your pecker?”Foley says as he moves back to his locker.“Put that thing away before I cut it off.”
McGown finally does start pulling his civvies out of his locker, but he gives me another look.“Where the fuck are you going?”
I ignore him as I throw my uniform in my bag.
“Why are you dressed like that?”McGown says.And then “Holy shit.You got a date or something?”
I check my hair in the little mirror inside the locker.It’s always a little messy now, but that’s okay; that’s how it’s supposed to be.
“Fuck,” McGown says, raising his voice.“Yarmark’s got a date.”
“Fuck yeah he does,” Foley calls.“Tap that ass, Sammy.”
“I don’t have a date,” I say as I swing the locker shut.
“How are her tits?”Norman asks.He’s tucking his undershirt into his tighty-whities.
“I always thought Yarmark was an ass man,” Gross says.He’s hanging dick like there’s no tomorrow, reading something on his phone.Let me tell you: you work around enough guys that age, and it starts making you think about gravity.
“Come on,” Norman says as I move toward the door.“She got big tits?”
And I know I shouldn’t.I’m supposed to be better than this.I’ve done a lot of work not to be that guy.
But I can’t help it sometimes.
As Gran says, you are who you are.
“Not as big as yours,” I say as I duck out of the locker room.
Foley and Norman are laughing harder than anybody else as I make my way through the station, and for about three-point-zero seconds, I forget I’m still trying to talk myself into this.
That’s how I end up outside Chief Peterson’s door.
It’s not like the station is quiet.It’s not like it’s empty.Nickels is picking over the pastries that Ruthie brought in that morning, and the fax machine is going.Phones are ringing, and people are talking, and out in the lobby, somebody’s asking about a permit for a howitzer.Detective Palomo is at her desk, typing so hard on her keyboard that the keys are about to pop off.
But for a moment, it’s like this hole opens in my head, and all that sound tips over and slides down into the dark spot.
Don’t trip over your own dick, I tell myself as I raise a hand to knock.Please, God, let me not trip over my own dick.
A moment later, Chief Peterson calls out, “Come in.”
The office looks different than it did when Chief—when Mr.Somerset had it.The same desk.The same computer.The same padded chairs with their pilled upholstery.But now there are photos of Chief Peterson’s family: his wife, his two daughters.No plants anymore.Only the photos.His desk has several stacks of paper on it, everything neat and organized.He’s got a little air freshener plugged in somewhere.Let me tell you: it smells a lot better than the locker room.
“Officer Yarmark,” he says.“What can I do for you?”
“Well, Chief, I was wondering if you had a moment to talk.”
Chief Peterson nods.He motions to a chair, and I close the door behind me.
