“Venkman, want to hit the clubs tonight?” Baptiste asked as he stomped into his boots.
“If you want, Bap.”
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”
“Just thinking you might want to take it slow, kinda ease into it.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Baptiste asked.
Venkman laughed, “Of course. The LT has you assigned to the six car and I’m in the five, so the bosses shouldn’t have a problem letting us have a few minutes out on investigation. Especially early in the night.”
“I don’t know if the dealer will be out and working early.”
Venkman shrugged. “Might have to wait until tomorrow night, then.”
“Unless we just go straight to the source.”
Venkman closed his locker and looked his partner in the eye. “Prometheus?”
“I don’t know, that’s pretty deep water, especially when we don’t know that Luc gets his shit from Prometheus’ crew.”
“Yes, it is.” Baptiste shrugged, “Fuck it. Was just a thought.”
Venkman tossed his head. “If we get a chance to talk to him, I won’t say no. I just don’t think we go straight at him, not just yet.”
Baptiste nodded, connected his star to his uniform and closed his locker. “We’ll just see what we see, then.”
Venkman led the way downstairs.
Line up started smoothly, the usual roll-call and series of summons to court.
Then Lieutenant Devereaux decided to address the troops. Not Baptiste’s favorite butter bar, Devereaux’s nasal voice and pristine uniform annoyed most hard-charging street cops. “Tonight, Officer Baptistes returns to us after injury at the hands of a one of our regulars. Bid him welcome back.”
The eight men and three women of the line-up gave him a cheer and a few thumps on the back.
“Just remember, just remember… Alright, settle down folks! Just let Officer Baptiste’s injury remind you all that what we do is dangerous work.”
We? When was the last time you took a door, asshat?
“Don’t take any unnecessary chances out there, please.”
I might respect you and your advice if you had more than a year of street time instead of minimum time in grade to apply for the next promotion. Climber.
“Would you like to add anything, Jean?”
Oh, now we’re on a first name basis? Cunt.
Venkman read Baptiste’s face, nudged him.
“Yes. Don’t get shot. It stings.”
The line-up dissolved into laughter, except for Devereaux, who looked like he’d swallowed something sideways.
Choke on it.