Justice Keepers Saga--Books 1-3, page 38
Jack stood alone in the locker room, still dressed in black clothing. Every muscle in his body ached, and he still felt a tingle from the strain he had put on Summer. Sadly, his night was only just beginning.
Closing his eyes, Jack scrubbed a hand across his forehead. “What do you think, Summer?” he muttered. “Any chance we can just sneak out of here before all hell breaks loose?”
The door flew open.
A man in black pants and matching shirt under a gray jacket came striding into the room. Tall and well-muscled, he had a handsome face and thick blonde hair. “You went after Petrov!”
“Guess that's a no,” Jack muttered.
Director Cal Breslan stood before him with arms folded, wearing a scowl that could melt concrete. “You went after Petrov!” he repeated. “After I specifically told you to wait for further instruction.”
Lifting his chin, Jack squinted at the man. “Yes, Sir, I did,” he said, nodding. “I had a warrant to search his warehouse. You were stalling and stonewalling me every time we met; so I took matters into my own hands.”
Breslan went red, then lowered his eyes to the floor. He drew in a sharp, hissing breath. “Did it occur to you that I might have wanted to leave Petrov in play?” he asked. “That I was hoping to use him to trace his suppliers?”
“No, Sir, it didn't.”
“And this reckless insubordination-”
Jack stepped up to the man.
Maintaining his composure was difficult in light of the anxiety that had wormed its way into his belly – defying the orders of a senior officer was questionable at best – but he managed to keep his voice even. “It never occurred to me,” Jack began, “because you refused to tell me what you were thinking. We've had several murders in the last month, Director, all committed with Leyrian weapons.
“Now, we have a lead on who might be supplying those weapons, and you choose to stall for two weeks? Petrov could have gone to ground and then we'd never have found him. The proliferation of weapons would have continued.”
Pale as a ghost, Breslan studied him with pursed lips. “I am not required to explain myself to you,” he said, blinking. “The chain of command exists for a reason; you have proven that you cannot respect it.”
“Justice Keepers are supposed to think for-”
“And since you cannot respect it, Agent Hunter, you are no longer a member of my division.” Those words seemed to hang in the air for several seconds. “Report to Director Slade for debriefing, and then get your Bleakness-kissed ass off this space station.”
Jack left without another word.
After the altercation with Breslan, the last thing Jack wanted to do was argue with yet another superior officer. Nevertheless, he found himself on the way to an office on the far side of Station One, and this time, his stomach was roiling. Breslan was something of a pompous man full of bluster, but the man who stood one wrung above him…
Grecken Slade's office was big enough to host a cocktail party, complete with black tiled floors that ran all the way to rectangular windows where stars twinkled faintly in the distance. A desk of polished glass sat atop a dais with a leather chair tucked underneath.
Slade stood at the window.
The man wore fine black pants and a blue silk coat, his long dark hair falling over his shoulders almost to the small of his back. If he noticed the presence of another human being, he gave no sign of it.
Jack shook his head in disgust. “All right, let's get this over with,” he said, striding into the office. “Write all my failings on a sheet of eight-and-a-half by eleven; I'll sign it, and we can be on our way.”
Slade turned.
The guy's face belonged on a department store mannequin, complete with smooth skin and tilted eyes that seemed to catch the light. “I see you're planning to add 'conduct unbecoming' to 'insubordination'.”
Clamping his mouth shut, Jack turned his face away from the man. “I don't mean to pick a fight,” he began. “But you and I both know that you aren't going to convince me I was wrong to go after Petrov.”
“I see.”
With hands clasped behind himself, Slade puffed up his chest and studied Jack like a stern father sizing up his errant child. The intensity of his scrutiny sent a powerful wave of nausea through Jack. “If that is your attitude then.” Simple words delivered without a spec of anger. No passion of any kind. Men who chose to keep such a tight rein on their emotions always felt unreal to Jack. “A formal reprimand will be added to your Record of Service, and you are no longer on active duty.”
Slade took a step forward to stand just behind the desk, his posture stiff enough for a marble statue. Did the guy really need a dais on top of everything else? “We need every Keeper we can get,” he went on. “If you can find a Director willing to take you on, you may return to active duty, but I will not force one of my people to accept an insubordinate officer. You will, of course, retain your… monthly stipend. We are not monsters.”
The words were invested with such scorn, Jack could almost imagine the other man succumbing to the urge to wretch. He had heard the speech many times before. “Being a Justice Keeper was a calling, not something you did for money.”
Keepers were paid, of course. Those living on Earth, anyway. Leyrians had abandoned the use of currency economics centuries ago. It wasn't a feasible system when life's necessities existed in such abundance that everyone could have access to them. The idea that he would have to pay for his apartment was…Well, it wasn't very Leyrian.
He turned around.
Hunching over, Jack pressed a hand to his forehead, then raked fingers through his hair. “One last thing, Sir,” he said. “Ben Loranai was acting under my orders. I hope this incident doesn't affect his standing with L.I.S.”
“Agent Loranai is not my concern,” Slade replied. “His superiors will deal with him as they see fit.”
Jack left and found himself walking through long corridors with black floor tiles and gray walls. Suspended with pay. All things considered, it could be worse – he wasn't going to starve – but a part of him had hoped that delivering Petrov on a silver platter would be enough to earn him some leniency.
Keepers were supposed to be skeptical of authority. Centuries ago, when humans had bonded Nassai for the first time, the very first Justice Keepers had sworn an oath to be a check on power. They had operated for over two centuries with no formal command structure, but as the organization grew, consensus-based decision making became harder and harder to achieve.
According to the philosophies of the first Justice Keepers, formal authority was a necessary evil, but an evil nonetheless. It was a Keeper's duty to challenge the structures of power. Therefore, defying the orders of a superior officer was not a criminal offense as it would be in more traditional military.
Just because they couldn't imprison him, however, was no cause to believe that they would let him off easy. Making waves with the boss was never good for your career. But he could live with Slade's ire.
Sadly, the worst task was still ahead of him. He'd faced his superiors and endured their wrath, but now he had to face his family.
2
Sausage links sizzled in a pan full of bubbling oil, filling the room with a mouth-watering scent. The tip of a spatula nudged one to expose both sides. “Almost ready,” Jack said. “Just a few more minutes.”
“You should have apologized,” Lauren grumbled.
Jack chewed on his lip, his face suddenly burning. He winced and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Apologized for what?” he asked. “Doing my job? Putting a criminal in prison?”
He turned.
Dressed in a green skirt and a black sleeveless shirt, Lauren leaned against the wall with her arms folded. Her brown hair was tied back, exposing a thin face with bright blue eyes. “It's not funny, Jack.”
Jack frowned, closing his eyes tight. He let his head hang. “Never said it was,” he muttered. “But I'll be damned if I'm apologizing for putting a scum bag weapons dealer into a prison cell.”
Sunlight came in through the door that looked out on Lauren's yard, illuminating a round table where Steve sat with his back turned. So far, the guy hadn't said anything on the subject. Jack couldn't say that he blamed him. Sometimes, there was just no arguing with a Hunter. It was a family thing.
Lauren scowled down at the floor, shaking her head with a frustrated hiss. “This is your job, we're talking about, Jack,” she said in that lecturing tone she sometimes used on him. “You can't just sass your superiors.”
“Leave him be, hon.”
Lauren shot a glance in her husband's direction, her eyes narrowed to slits. “You're getting in on this now?” she inquired. “If you'd grown up with him, you'd know he has a bad habit of pissing off people in positions of authority.”
Holding a newspaper in front of his face, Steve remained as still as a statue. “That may be so,” he muttered before taking a sip of his coffee. “But I happen to think Jack was right to do what he did.”
“Thank you.”
Lauren threw her head back, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. “Men.” Anger flared in Jack's chest, but he resisted the urge to tell his older sister that this had nothing to do with gender politics. When you were already stuck debating one uncomfortable topic, adding another to the mix wouldn't help.
Dabbing at his face with a paper towel, Jack let out a grunt. “So what would you have me do, Lauren?” he asked, backing away from the stove. “I had a judge on my side, a court order to search that warehouse.”
“So present it to your CO.”
“I did.”
The sausages were well and truly cooked; so Jack removed the frying pan from the burner and added three to each plate of pancakes that he had left on the counter. “I went to him multiple times, sent him multiple e-mails,” he went on. “I cornered him outside of his office with the warrant. He told me to sit tight and wait for his orders. Those orders never came. Breslan stone-walled me for days. Meanwhile, I had Judge Finn and half the Ottawa PD breathing down my neck.”
“Look, I don't want to argue this with you,” Lauren muttered. He had to suppress another wave of frustration; that was her go-to response whenever he started making too much sense. “Maybe you were right to do what you did.” Maybe. Would it kill her to give him some props? “But once again, you've damaged your professional credibility in the service of your conscience.”
Jack squeezed his eyes shut, trembling with every breath. “We've had three murders in this city,” he said, covering his face with his hand. “Three people killed in cold blood with Leyrian weapons, and you're worried about my reputation?”
“Maybe,” Steve cut in, “it's time to change the subject.”
Jack decided to oblige his brother-in-law. After all, Lauren usually relented when someone started playing peacemaker. He wasn't in the mood to discuss it anyway. If he wanted advice, he'd call Anna.
They spent breakfast making small talk and enjoying delicious fluffy pancakes. He wasn't much of a cook, but pancakes he could do. Lauren spent most of the meal relaying the details of her new job in the wonderful world of finance. Fortunately, that meant a lot of information about her coworkers and not very much discussion of the actual job. Jack could handle trigonometry and algebra, but balance sheets and income statements left him quivering in his boots.
Popping a forkful of pancake in her mouth, Lauren chewed thoroughly. She nodded to herself. “That reminds me, Jack,” she began. “I was telling my friend Marie about you, and she seemed… intrigued.”
Tilting his head to the side, Jack flashed a winning smile. “Why, Lauren!” he said, batting his eyes at his sister. “Have you gone and arranged a match? I do hope she's well-bred with a suitable dowry.”
Steve chuckled. “I've met her.”
“Have you now?”
A few years older than Lauren, the man had a handsome face of olive skin and short black hair with just a few flecks of silver. “She's hot,” he said, nodding. “You might want to let Lauren have her way.”
Jack lifted a mug of coffee to his lips, taking a sip. He closed his eyes and mulled over the possibilities. “I guess it couldn't hurt to meet her,” he said, setting the mug back down on the table. “No promises.”
In truth, he wasn't looking for a girlfriend right now. Romance meant sharing the gory details of your life with someone else, and he couldn't imagine trusting anyone else enough to do so. He didn't trust his superiors – not all of them, anyway – and making his reservations known had, as Lauren put it, damaged his professional credibility.
That didn't bother Jack so much – he was quite willing to drag his name through the mud for the sake of his conscience – but having to explain his mediocre career prospects to a woman was embarrassing.
The pleased smile on his sister's face sent a chill down his spine. “I'll give her your number,” she said. “I'm sure she'd like that.”
Oy vey, Jack thought. What am I getting into?
The glow of orange streetlights left a sparkling sheen on the rain-slick surface of a paved city street, puddles stretching across the road with murky waters that rippled. Kids had decorated the sidewalk with coloured chalk, and now whatever they had drawn had run into a smear.
Harry Carlson's home was a long back-split home with a yellowish porch light shining over the front door. The man had lived here for most of his adult life, having shared the house with his harpy of an ex-wife and his kids.
Jack stood at the foot of the driveway.
He wore jeans and a brown jacket over a black shirt, his hair slightly damp from the rain and slicked forward. Messy bangs crisscrossed over his forehead, nearly falling to his eyes. He really needed a haircut.
Crossing his arms, Jack frowned down at himself. He shook his head with a heavy sigh. “You're really gonna love this, Carlson,” he muttered to himself. “Remember those stories you told me about the politics of law enforcement?”
He started up the driveway.
Ringing the bell, Jack found himself staring at the red surface of the door under the weak yellow light. The house had one of those old-school knockers that probably made enough noise to wake the dead. It struck him as odd that he never used it whenever he decided to pay the man a visit.
The door swung open to reveal a pretty slip of a young woman standing just inside the foyer. Clothed in a sleeveless red dress that hugged her body, Missy blinked when she saw him. “Jack!” she said with a smile that could put the sun's radiance to shame. “Three months. You don't call; you don't write.”
Closing his eyes, Jack let his head hang. “Missy,” he said, nodding to the girl. “Nice to see you again. How's school?”
“A girl might think you don't like her,” she teased.
“Oh for the love of-” a man's voice exclaimed. “Will you just let him in?”
Missy stepped out of the way to reveal her father standing in the narrow galley-style kitchen with his arms folded. The man wore a pair of gray slacks and a black shirt with the collar left open, his dark hair cut short. “Jack.”
“Harry,” he said, stepping inside.
Missy glided past him, moving through the front door. “Stephanie's number is on the fridge,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Dad. Try not to freak out, okay?”
Harry frowned, cocking his head to one side as he studied his daughter. “Absolutely no drinking tonight,” he barked. “And if you're in trouble, call me. I don't care what time of night it is.”
“Got it.”
The door swung shut.
Jack chewed on his lip, reaching up to scrub a hand through his hair. “Kids today,” he said, blinking. “Is it just me or was she obsessed with baseball and Candy-Crush just a few months ago?”
“It isn't you,” Harry said, turning around. He marched through the narrow space between kitchen cupboards to the round table on the other side. “She's starting twelfth grade this year. I figured I could handle high school, but all of a sudden…”
“They develop an irresistible urge to dress like women twice their age and go out to dance clubs?” Jack offered. “Lauren was the same way when we were young. Drove my parents insane.”
The other man turned so that Jack saw him in profile, lifting a bottle of beer to his lips. “Don't mind her comments,” Harry muttered. “I think she's developed a little bit of a crush on you.”
Jack went red, slapping a hand over his face. He let out a groan of frustration. “You have nothing to fear from me,” he assured the other man. “Missy's like my cousin or that annoying kid sister I never wanted.”
Harry was grinning, shaking his head as he chuckled. “Relax, kid,” he muttered. “I know a thing or two about how teenage girls work. You learn the rules after a few years in the trenches.”
“I was hoping we could talk,” Jack said, dimly aware of the tension draining out of his body. It had been the same when Genevieve used to hit on him at the restaurant; there was always this fear that everyone else would think he had done something to solicit the attention. Was that what it was like for women?
Harry jerked his head toward the table. “Come on,” he said, turning around so that Jack had a good view of the wrinkles creasing the back of his shirt. “I'll get you a beer. I'm guessing you have a lot to get off your chest.”
Wasn't that the truth. It had been a week since his dismissal from Director Breslan's department, and all that free time had given him plenty of opportunity to second guess his every decision.
Summer became tense at the prospect of alcohol consumption. Nassai didn't enjoy the sensation of being intoxicated. Jack reassured her with a few soothing images and a promise to have only one. It would be rude to refuse Harry's offer but outright immoral to subject his symbiont to something she would find painful. After all, it wasn't just his body anymore. That earned him a burst of affection. So long as he restricted himself to a small amount, Summer would be fine.
Stairs at the back of the kitchen led down to a family room where a couch along the back wall faced a coffee table. One lamp in the corner provided soft illumination, enough to relax with a good book.
