Page 110

"They don't go easy on cops in juvie," Maggie's voice called out from somewhere behind me. Flashes of a dozen memories hit me at once, and the green can slipped from my palm to clatter at my feet.

Sali's cackling laughter followed. "Your vans are piss-yellow now. Nice."

"Shut up, Sali," I said through a round of grumbles while staring at the mess.

"What's got your boxers in a bundle, Jagzzz with a Z?" She poked her finger into the paint beside my tag, and bits of the rundown cement from the wall of the long-abandoned baseball dugout crumbled to the ground.

"Nothing. Making shit pretty."

"I mean, kinda obviously since half the city can see you from the sidewalk." She motioned behind her. "Case got you fucked? First run at a self-checkout?"

"Sali." Maggie grabbed her by the hood of her jacket. "Go over there."

"Fuck off me." She attempted to swat Maggie's arm. "Where?"

"Anywhere that isn't over here." Again, she shoved her. "Shoo fly."

I smirked at their ridiculousness, but instead of being annoyed at it this time, I found them slightly endearing.

"I literally always get kicked out of everything." Sali scoffed, then sliced her finger across the blob of yellow paint that made up the middle of the rainbow I had yet to finish painting.

"Because you're literally annoying," Maggie called after her as we watched her stomp off.

"Is she always like that?" I asked once she was out of earshot.

"Only in public. Or when she's showing off." She paused for a beat then finished, "Or trying to make someone feel better."

"Kinda works."

"Kinda." Maggie motioned toward the rusted-out bench between us. "Cop a squat."

"Tetanus be damned." I dropped down to sit with her, but her eyes never left my half mural.

"Is this what you do? When things go south, you paint a north star?"

"Huh?"

She pointed to the half-done rainbow then wiggled her fingers at the black outline of a person that hadn't made it to fruition yet. "Something to move toward. Some sprinkling of joy to focus on."

"I guess so?" I thought about it. "Yeah maybe."

"Seems so." She straddled the bench to face me with her hands braced on her knees. "Walsh told us this morning. That you asked to return to patrol."

"Yeah." I flipped the pain can in my hand before sitting it properly in the crate with the others. "Cold cases are a little too cold for me."

"It takes a type…"

"Yeah." I glanced in the direction that Sali walked then back to her. "I guess so."

"What type are you?"

"Warmer." I flicked at a bit of paint flaking off the bench. "Walsh said he'd let me know on Monday if he'll accept my stepping down."

"He will. How do you feel about it in the aftermath?"

I shrugged, avoiding meeting her gaze. "Kinda numb. I mean, money is a thing, and so is a career. I might not have either soon."

"Just because Cold Cases isn't for you, doesn't mean something else won't be. So, give Walsh a minute, and give yourself a chance to find what's right for you in the way it feels best," she said, her tone as gentle as it was weeks into the diversion program that she forced me into. I never regretted that decision, as it did was it was supposed to, it turned me around.