I snatched the bucket handle and threw a look at Chief Pretty Boy that clearly said this situation wasn’t doing his reputation any favors, either. Ronan took the broom, his face neutral except for a tightening of his jaw. This man was a Zen master, or he’d had years of practicing swallowing bullshit with a smile.
“We’ll get it done,” he said, staring the officer down.
The officer scoffed. “Sure thing. Don’t miss any spots.” He laughed as he walked away, his keys jingling on his belt.
I waited until the door shut before turning to Ronan. “Ain’t this some shit? Birmingham’s most eligible bachelor doing manual labor. I wish I had my camera. I bet they would go more viral than those billboards.”
Ronan’s eyebrows raised in amusement, but he didn’t take the bait. He swept the floor, and I pretended not to notice the muscles flexing in his forearm.
“Are you always this talkative when you clean?” Ronan asked while he swept.
“Only when I’m paired with hashtag BadgeAndFine for janitorial duty. And I must say, seeing you with that broom is ruining your whole superhero aesthetic.”
Ronan actually laughed at that, so much so I noticed a dimple in his left cheek.
“I never claimed to be a superhero,” he replied, moving the broom.
“Mm-hmm. So, what’s the deal with processing? People have families wondering where they are and jobs they need to report to.”
Frustration flashed in his eyes. “Federal operations mean multiple jurisdictions, which means duplicate paperwork. BPD systems don’t talk to the National Guard systems, and vice versa. It’s a mess.”
“Wait, so we’re stuck in bureaucratic purgatory?”
Ronan ran a hand down his close-cropped beard. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. They’re probably doing paper forms instead of digital, among other issues.”
“We’re screwed,” I summarized.
“My guess is profiling dressed up as procedure, and it’s bullshit.”
“Damn, you actually give a fuck,” I noted before I could stop myself.
His eyes shot up. “You thought I didn’t?”
We both knew we weren’t really cleaning, but it gave us a chance to move around and talk.
“Honestly? I didn’t know if you were pretending. A pretty face saying all the right things, but ultimately still part of the problem.”
He held my gaze for a long time, his expression complicated. “And now?”
I blew out air. “They say you’re pushing reform. Is that true or more PR? I’m just wondering if there’s more to you than meets the eye.”
Ronan paused in the middle of sweeping and looked straight at me. I wondered if he would let me see who he was beyond the badge.
“You want the truth? I went to war with my own department for two years to get body cameras that can’t be turned off. I fought for training that teaches something other than fear.”
He went back to sweeping, but it wasn’t busywork anymore. His hands moved with a patience that only came from having nothing left to prove.
I admit he busted my little narrative about the camera-ready chief; he undid all of that in a single breath.
“Sounds ambitious.”
“Yeah, but change is slow. We have officers who’ve been on the force for twenty and thirty years who resist every step of the way. The newer recruits are more receptive, though.”
Somehow, we’d moved closer, drawn together by something heavier than sweeping. His scent lingered in the air, despite the long day we’d had. The steady heat rolling off his body made my skin prickle.
I tossed out a question about the youth center, and his whole face lit up.
“We’re reopening it. The kids need a place where they’re seen. I want to give them that.”
