Powers (41 page)

“That's not funny.”

“Seriously,” he cajoled his superior office, “what happened next?”

What had happened was simple: Judge Kenneth Boucher, a.k.a. Liberty, had been incarcerated until such time as he could be arraigned and sentenced. Joseph Monroe, a.k.a. the Citizen Soldier, meanwhile, was posthumously cleared of all wrongdoing—his calamitous death and subsequent framing having been labeled a sadistic, tasteless ruse perpetrated by Malachi Crane, a notably vehement Powers-hater. The late Mr. Crane had been a founding member of the notorious group of militant activists known as the Human Front. Despite THF's recent politicization and incorporation, the Unites States government had seen fit to seize their surviving assets and place all remaining members in prison without bail. The Citizen Soldier, poster boy for the Powers community, was a hero once more. And only a handful of detectives and several federal agencies knew the actual, sordid truth.

Deena glanced at the television. PNN was broadcasting clips of vigils from around the city.
A return to mourning and eulogies … which, I guess, is better than vitriol and lynch mobs,
she decided. Hand-drawn banners and touching photographs graced miniature shrines. The camera panned across a sea of candles and flowers strewn throughout public parks, local landmarks, and the entrance to the apartment on Taylor in which Monroe's body had been found. Deena shook her head. Not seventy-two hours ago, she'd entered that apartment, a rollicking pop song fading from her lips. That moment seemed like a lifetime ago. The moment she'd stepped over the threshold—a lifetime that had been led by a completely different person.

But Kirk was waiting, recuperating, and hungry for information.

So she continued, “Walker and I reached out to the Atlanta Powers Homicide Division again. They had Waldo formally arrested—no protective custody this time. He's cooling in lockup until he can be formally charged and thrown into some minimum-security prison, no doubt. But that's okay. He's finally where he should have been ten years ago. In a cell with Owens and all the rest.”

Kirk raised an eyebrow. “You're okay with that? He
is
your father.”

She sighed and smiled. “He is, and I am. I'll visit at some point. Another ten years should be long enough.”

“What happens to his stuff? All your family mementos and such?”

She shrugged and reached for the juice container. “Dunno. Trash? To be honest, rook, there isn't much left from that life I truly care to remember.”

“That's ice cold.” She ignored him and he finished his drink, then settled back against the pillows. She felt gloomy and hoped Kirk wouldn't pick up on it.
I came here to cheer him up, hoping it might cheer me up, too. But rehashing this shit isn't helping. I'm wallowing; I coulda done that back at the station. Or in a bottle.

Deena had left the precinct thirty minutes after the judge was arrested. She'd wanted to walk, to clear her head. Loitering around the cop house, finishing the required paperwork … it made her sad. Made her angry. And she was worried that another case might come along. Deena nursed deep wounds and even deeper betrayal, still committed to turning in the badge. She'd considered marching into Cross's office the moment Boucher had gone but had hesitated. Then other detectives had wandered over to congratulate the partners—Deena, Walker, and Enki—and that had been too much. She didn't want to be praised. Didn't anyone get that? She wanted to
quit
. She couldn't be a cop anymore—much less a
good
cop. Not after the lies. Not after another blatant cover-up positioned as a win for the city, its populace, and the well-meaning, hardworking detectives of the Powers Homicide Division. Not after the destruction of what had been the inspiration … the very bedrock of Deena Pilgrim's law enforcement career.

So she'd pushed through the doors and lurched into the snow, walking aimlessly in no direction at all. She was searching for definitive answers or maybe some kind of sign. Eventually, she'd found one: It read
ELLIS GENERAL
. And so Deena had entered a hospital for the fourth time in three days and ridden the elevator to visit her recovering junior partner.

Kirk reached for a pudding cup he'd missed. A wailing mother clutched a Citizen Soldier doll on the TV. Her little son, awake far past what should have been his bedtime, picked his nose as his mom poured out her heart to PNN. Deena reached out, stole the remote, and clicked it off. Kirk didn't mind. He was too busy gossiping. “How did Walker take it all? He must've been happy, getting his badge back.”

Deena leaned back and scratched her head. “You'd think … but you know Walker. Well, maybe you don't. The guy's a dictionary model for Jewish guilt, despite his atheist leanings.”

The newborn smacked his lips on the spoon and then slid the cup aside. “Okay, so he feels guilty. Because of the death? The murders?”

“He feels a sense of responsibility for the Liberty cases … or a lack thereof, as it were. Me too. But he's getting over it. Typical male, distracting himself with a project.”

“Yeah? What's that?”

She smiled. “He's aiming to close all the open murder cases from during the period in which he was stationed in Atlanta. Most of them tie to Waldo and the Bouchers, to their fake gang war. But, as with all riots, there are your unsolved strays. Walker figures that this is his way of making up for dereliction of duty. I think he's an idiot, personally. Best to leave the past in the past. I learned that the hard way … again.”

Kirk stared at her, face drawn and solemn. “But you're going to help him, anyway.”

She stood up. “Not me. I'm done.”

The rookie's eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘done'?”

Deena fidgeted and stared at the frost-covered window. She could see bulbous Christmas lights across the way, winking at the other end of the hospital. The streets were clearing as midnight approached, apart from bands of pious stragglers heading to mass. Snow fell on the city, blanketing the streets in layers of pure, welcome white.

“Detective Pilgrim,” Kirk repeated, craning his neck to get her attention. “Deena … you're going to help Walker, right? On to the next fucked-up case and so on?”

She faced him again and stuck both hands in her jacket pockets. Her right knuckles scraped against the badge, and she could feel its weight. It was heavy—like her heart—and she toyed with the idea of throwing it out a window or into a garbage chute. She really wanted to fling it at the captain or Walker or maybe use it to smash Collette McDaniels's dumb face and say good-bye to everything. To dead Powers and lost friends. To innocence, family, and ill-fated romance. To her hope, to faded ideals. To everything and anything. Deena had nothing left that mattered—even her job. Two cops had let her down—both of them, father and former lover, had been the standards of excellence to which she had ascribed. They had inspired her to pick up the badge. And now, years later and after hundreds of lies, she wanted to throw it in their stupid faces.

And you know what?
she realized.
I'm not even properly angry. I'm just fucking exhausted. After all the death and loss, all I want to do is crawl into a corner of my bed and shut out the world. I want to hide from this harrowing, horrible planet on which would-be gods can decimate cities and jealous assholes can kill a heroine trying to make a difference.
That's
why I want to quit. Not because of stained principles or a broken heart. I'm just tired of the endless flood of bullshit. I'm tired of thinking that one good cop can make a difference. Because from what I've seen, there are no good cops anymore. Only secrets, lies, and bullshit. Why the fuck would I
want
to be inspired by that? Why would any cop?

So I'm done. I'm quitting today.
She gripped the badge in her sweaty, clammy hand
. Kirk can have this piece of empty metal for all I care. He can give it to the captain or Walker. I just want to say good-bye and walk away. Maybe that's why my feet led me here: because I felt guilty that the newborn got in the path of my drama. That he got himself slugged on my behalf.

“Hey, rookie,” Deena said, removing the badge from her jacket. “Look, I just wanted to say that—”

“Uh-uh,” Kirk cut in, interrupting the half-assed speech in which she'd planned to wrap her badge. “Don't even say it. You were done before; you'll be done again. That's how this thing works.”

Deena laughed at Kirk's sudden onset of balls. “Seriously? How do you kn … no, listen, you don't understand.”

“I think I
do
fucking understand.” That was the first time she'd heard the baby curse. She wasn't sure she liked it; it felt like watching grandmas screw. But Kirk kept rolling. “Yeah, it sucks. You got lied to, and lots of people died. The shit with your father, the stuff with Walker and Boucher … sounds like a hectic, painful three days.”

She nodded and held her tongue, curious to see where he was going with this.

“But, Detect … Deena—you
have
to look at the big picture. You closed the Retro Girl murder. You helped save thousands of lives in this city, then again in Chicago and Los Angeles. You faced down mobsters, Internal Affairs, a Federal Powers conspiracy, the Powers virus, a brush with superpowered Ragnarok … and you're
still fucking standing
. Sure, this last week was dogshit. Yes, people got hurt and killed. Damn straight, you had personal challenges that tested both your limits and friendships. But that's the job, isn't it? That's what we signed up for. And you've been doing it full-tilt since day one after Retro Girl fell into your lap. Hell, you were doing it before. You've been at this for so long that they're studying your cases at the academy.”

Her brow furrowed. “What's that now?”

“Oh, you don't know?” His hands shook with excitement now. This was the most confident she'd seen Corbin Kirk since the day they'd met—and this with bullet wounds in his gut and legs. “Oh, man. Yeah, that interrogation shit you pulled with Jon Jackson Stevens, the Retro Girl case, and that was case
one
. You and Walker, you're kinda like … legends to new cadets.”

Deena blushed and carefully eased the badge back into her pocket. “You're joking, right? I used my tits to elicit a confession.”

“Come on, Detective. I've watched you work up close. Don't be modest—it wasn't only Retro Girl … every situation that followed, every case. The research and legwork you did on the Rammlers? You could have easily leaned on Walker's reputation. His history and … his abilities, y'know? But you never did. You never took the easy way out. You honed your skills, worked crime scenes, and hunted down leads. A lotta the other detectives on the job … well, I mean … they're fine and all. But what
you
bring to the table is something innate. Something that can't be taught. That's why I asked Cross to partner on this. That's why I wanted to work with you.”

She was confused. “Why? I'm jaded and bitter, dude. I'm two seconds from tossing my badge in the river. Once I leave here, I'm hanging it up to write shitty, self-published fan-fiction. Why the
fuck
would you want to work with a cop like that?”

Kirk stared her down and placed his hands in his lap. “Because you're
honest
. You're a cop with integrity and determination, and so is Walker. You've seen and done it all, and you
Keep. On. Going
. Despite all the horrible shit you've experienced on the job, you're still here. And so are your principles. At least, as far as I'm aware.”

They sat in awkward silence for a minute, listening to the muted beeps of Kirk's monitor and a muffled announcement over the public address system. Snow fell harder outside the window.

“What are you saying? No, you're way off base. I'm a fuckup pariah, newbie. That horrible shit I've ‘experienced'? You think I did it out of a sense of adventure or responsibility. But it just fucking
happened
. It's bad goddamn luck, and thankfully, I've managed to survive it by the skin of my teeth. But hey,” she offered, “if you want to partner with Walker and ‘experience' all that horrible shit? Be my guest.” She dug out her badge and held it to her face. “I was two seconds from chucking this at you and walking away.”

“But you won't.”

“Why the fuck not?”

He smiled. “Because of Walker. You don't want me to be his partner. He already has a partner. A good, honest partner. One who inspired a kid named Kirk to pick up the badge himself. You were
my
example, Detective. You're one of the reasons I became a cop and then joined up with the PHD. And it would truly suck if this newborn returned to work without having someone around to belittle him and show him the ropes.”

Deena's jaw sagged. She was speechless, apart for a short surprised grunt. She quietly returned the badge to her pocket, patting it once to keep it secure. She looked at Kirk, shook her head, and offered a confused, embarrassed smile. “You're crazy. I'm no one's role model. This is a huge fucking mistake.”

He held out his arms, taking in the room, the hospital, the falling snow. “So was heading out behind Club Nexus by my lonesome. But I'm chalking it up to ‘experience.' And I was glad to have lived up to your reckless ideal … or at least…” Kirk rubbed the back of his head and offered a sheepish smile of his own. “At least to have tried.”

Deena folded her arms. She tapped a foot and then headed for the door.

“Hey,” Kirk asked, “where are you going? What are you going to do?”

She rested her hand on the doorjamb, taking one last look before walking away. “Thanks, Kirk. You did good.” She slapped the wall and slipped into the hallway.