That smirk was designed to provoke. It was working.
My teeth clenched hard enough to crack a molar. I refused to dignify the question. What I wanted was to get through probation with minimal complications. Follow protocol. Stay under the radar. Get back to working alone, without cologne-drenched pretty boys invading my space. Specifically, the Service-assigned apartment we were stuck sharing. The housing assignments were clearly designed to punish someone. Probably me.
"I was thinking we could split duties at the location. I'll handle witness statements. I'm good with people. You can process the physical remains like the robot you are."
"No."
"No?" He twisted to scrutinize me. Eyebrow arched in mock surprise. "That's it? Just 'no'?"
"We work the scene together. Standard protocol."
"God forbid we deviate from your precious protocol." Loud enough to ensure I heard every word. "Look, Hawley. We'restuck with each other whether we like it or not. Dividing responsibilities makes sense."
"What makes sense is established protocol. Not improvising because you think charm is a substitute for competence."
"And not suffocating a case with regulations because you think being a hardass is a personality. I've read your file, Hawley. You're not exactly known for your cooperative spirit."
An edge crept into his voice. "I'm trying to cooperate here. Which is more than I can say for you."
The light turned green. My acceleration slammed him back against his seat.
"Jesus! Did you get your license from a cereal box?"
"Cooperation doesn't mean doing whatever you suggest. It means working within established protocols."
"Protocols." He mocked the word. "Is that what they call it these days? Is that what you were doing when you went solo into that hostage situation? Those protocols?"
My jaw clenched so tight I could hear teeth grinding. "You don't know anything about that."
"And you don't know anything about me. Yet you've already decided I'm just a pretty specimen who can't do real police work."
"I don't assume. I observe." I turned onto a narrower street. Neon signs of restaurants and bars reflected in the wet pavement. "And what I've seen is someone more concerned with appearance than substance."
"Oh great. The infamous Bear of 51 thinks I care too much about appearances. At least I bothered to learn your name before judging you. Your colleagues have a betting pool on whether you even know theirs."
"That's rich coming from someone who refuses any input that isn't his own." His pitch rose slightly. "You're so determined to work alone that you'd sabotage us both."
"I don't sabotage." The words came out colder than I'd intended. "I eliminate variables that might compromise the outcome."
He stared at me. "Was that a threat, Detective?"
I hadn't meant it that way. Before I could clarify, something unexpected happened. He laughed. Not nervously. Genuinely. The sound filled the car.
"What's funny?"
"You. You actually talk like that. Like some robot programmed for police work." Still smiling. Somehow more irritating than his anger. "Do you have an off switch, or do you just power down at night?"
No response seemed adequate. I concentrated on finding parking near the scene. The downpour had intensified. Drumming against the roof.
"Look. We both have something to prove to Inspector Murphy. I'm not your enemy here."
Half a block from Hangang BBQ, I pulled into a space. The stretch of Bloor West that ran through Koreatown was a single dense strip of late-night restaurants, their signs leaning out over the sidewalk in three languages and the smell of grilled meat carrying even through the closed windows. Blue and red lights flashed ahead from the patrol vehicles. Their colors smeared across the wet pavement. I put the car in park and turned toward him.
"Do your job. That's all I need."
He unbuckled his seatbelt. "You know, for someone who doesn't talk much, you've got a real talent for being condescending."
"And for someone who talks constantly, you've expressed nothing of value."
