Page 19

Chapter nineteen

B ob paced his office, reading over reports.

“How did I miss this?” he asked himself for the fifth time.

Abby rushed in with another cup of coffee but didn’t say a thing to her boss. Bob waved but continued to pace. He made two laps around the small pace, bumping into his chair when he finally stopped.

“Abby,” he shouted.

“Yes, boss,” she replied from outside the office.

Bob glanced up and stared at the young lady holding a large notebook and wearing a knee-high dress, with a turtleneck and boots. He wondered if she ever wore jeans to the office.

“Were you standing by the door?” he asked instead.

“Just waiting to see if you needed anything,” she replied. She raised her notebook, ready for action.

“Do I look that bad?” he asked, lowering the files from his face.

“Not bad,” she replied, looking around the office. “Stressed.”

Bob stopped and scanned his office as well. He had files all over the place. His vest was on the floor, and he had spilled coffee in a corner. This was not like him. He was normally the immaculate one on the team.

“I’m losing my mind,” he told her.

“You just take on a lot, and keep your worries to yourself,” Abby shared.

“It’s because I’m the intern,” Bob defended himself.

“Didn’t you used to yell at Isis for doing the same?” Shorty asked from the door.

“Have you been listening in?” Bob asked.

“You have everyone walking on eggshells, my man, with all this pacing you’ve been doing,” Shorty informed him. “This is not like you.”

Bob sat at the edge of his desk and took a long breath. “We have several reports of missing shifters, and I missed it.” He dropped the folders on his desk. “There are so many reports coming in that the crazy ones are missed with our everyday domestic disputes.”

“What do you want us to do?” Shorty asked. “It’s not like any of us have any experience in running a police station, never mind a city.”

Abby slowly raised her hand.

“Abby, you can speak without raising your hand,” Bob told her.

“Sorry.” She quickly dropped her hand. “Have you considered starting an amber alert or something like that?”

“Like the messages you see on I-30 when kids go missing?” Shorty asked.

“They have messages for kids, and now elderly as well,” Abby explained. “But they are also text messages. I get them all the time. You don’t get them?”

Bob and Shorty both shook their heads.

“That doesn’t mean much,” said Bob. “Bartholomew is the one that set up our phones, so I’m sure he found a way to block anything he deemed unnecessary.”

“Maybe he can set something up,” Abby said cheerfully. “Sounds like something he could easily do.”

“That is very true,” Shorty added. “That way, everyone can be on the lookout for those people.”

“I like it.” Bob nodded, allowing his breathing to go back to normal. “Let’s add that to the agenda for the next staff meeting.”

“When is our next staff meeting?” Shorty asked.

“Friday,” Abby told him.

“The day after Halloween?” It was Shorty’s turn to pace.

“Why are you doing that?” Bob asked, watching his friend.

“Just trying to see how it feels,” Shorty told him with a smirk. “Way too much work. But I recommend we cancel the staff meeting. We have everyone on mandatory overtime for the holiday. I can call the Bart-Man and explain the situation.”

“I’m seriously hating Halloween,” said Bob. “But we have court in a few.”

“I can do it,” Abby volunteered, raising her hand.

“Great idea, Abby,” Shorty told her. “Teamwork.”

“This could work,” Bob agreed. “Abby, give Bartholomew a call and explain the situation.”

“Yes, boss.” She ran out of the room to accomplish her task.

“We need like ten of her,” Bob told Shorty.

“She is good.”

“Now about court?”

“We think we have a solution for that as well,” Shorty announced, rubbing his hands together.

“We?”

“Come with me, my friend.” Shorty pointed to the door. “We need a meeting of the minds.”

Bob followed Shorty out of the office and down the side stairwell to the main floor. The main foyer of the Station was deserted. Bob spun around in circles and gasped.

“What happened to all the people?”

“Did you know the courtroom has a backdoor?” Shorty asked.

“A what?”

“Exactly? There is an entire entrance to that main area from the back,” Shorty explained. “Nothing is getting done during the week, because of the line of people waiting to complain about who knows what, or just come to start a fight. Well, they can wait outside, in the back, away from the human eyes and ours.”

“Is that area secure?” Bob spun around, taking in the change. The receptionist at the front desk was peacefully answering the phone without screaming to be heard. It was surreal.

“Renovations have to be made to bring it up to our code, but it will work,” Shorty informed him. “The best part, once summer comes, and it’s one hundred degrees in the sun, only the people with true issues will hang around.”

“Now that’s evil,” said Bob.

“Pete is working with the dwarfs to start that construction over the weekend,” Shorty told him as they moved past the reception area toward the staff offices. “We like the changes to the court hours, but we would like to take it a little further.”

“I’m listening.” Bob followed calmly behind.

“Let’s change the hours to Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.” Shorty held the door open for Bob. “Only three days with fewer hours. Like the government.”

“Don’t be a sissy!” The scream hit them as soon as they entered the room.

Shorty and Bob searched the room for the sound of the commotion. In the back by the coffee station, a group of five officers stood around a sweating man. Pete floated around the man, screaming encouragements.

“What is going on here?” Shorty asked.

“Hey, Shorty,” Pete said, not looking back.

“Is he okay?” Bob added.

“Boss!” Pete screamed, turning around, and forgetting about the man who cried.

“Oh crap,” another of the guys screamed.

Everyone jumped to attention to face Bob.

“At ease, everyone, relax,” Bob ordered. “But what is going on and why is Little J crying?”

“I’m okay, boss,” said the young man, tears still streaming down his face.

“You are all very aware that hazing is not tolerated here,” Bob reminded everyone, ready to reprimand even his top officer.

“It’s not hazing.” Pete floated closer to Bob. “It's the hot sauce challenge.”

“This can’t be good,” Shorty said, closing his eyes.

“There is this guy from Malta, Texas,” Pete started.

“I don’t think we need to know,” Shorty interrupted him.

“Of all people, I figured you would be all for this,” Bob told his friend.

“I’m all for challenges and building team-spirit, but if it’s the same guy I’m thinking, this won't end good,” Shorty told his friend.

“Is he from Chingon Squeezins?” Pete asked cautiously.

“Yes!” Shorty shouted. “That bastard got me.”

“You two slow down and explain,” Bob ordered. “And somebody give Little J some water.”

“Milk,” Shorty corrected him. “Water is not going to do a damn thing.”

“That bad?” asked Bob.

“It’s worse.” Shorty admitted. “But Pete, please explain.”

“Well, boss, I ran across an add on Facebook from this local company that makes hot sauce.” Pete placed his hands behind his back as he delivered his lecture. “It seemed like a harmless ad, until he said you could win a case of hot sauce if you tried his Texas Firenado for five minutes without drinking anything.”

“Do I want to know what’s in the Firenado sauce?” Bob inquired.

“You don’t,” Shorty told him. “Let’s just say one ingredient is ghost peppers.”

“Ouch!” Bob raised his hands over his head. “Please tell me you guys haven’t been doing this challenge back here without medical supervision.”

“Who needs a medic?” Angela walked into the office with her hair wrapped in a towel.

“We might need you.” Bob told her. “I’m afraid a few of our team have burned off their taste buds with this sauce.”

“You have hot sauce?” Angela marched quickly towards the group. “What kind of hot sauce?”

“Doc, I wouldn’t recommend . . .” Shorty never finished.

Angela took a chip and dipped it in the sauce, taking a giant scoop. The group held their breath as Angela chewed the chip and swallowed. Everyone waited.

“Damn,” she finally said. “That’s some good sauce. I tasted a hint of The Carolina Reaper’s pepper. It has a kick, and that sweet fire burning down your tongue. Add this baby to some chili, and we are in business.”

Angela took another chip packed with sauce and devoured the thing. She licked her fingers and glanced at the group.

“So, who needs a doctor?” she asked with a smile.

“You do?” Shorty made the statement a question. He placed his hand on her forehead, checking her temperature. “She is not even sweating.”

“My mother used to wash our mouths out with ghost peppers when we talked back at her,” Angela explained, and the group gasped.

“That is horrible,” Bob told her.

“Horrible? It’s cruel and unusual torture,” shouted Pete.

“Mamma is a mean witch,” Angela told them. “But I developed an immunity towards peppers. It’s also the reason I’m only allowed to make desserts for people. My savory dishes can be too hot.”

“Doc,” Pete bowed down to her. “We are officially not worthy. You are the queen.”

The rest of the crew followed his lead, and Angela blushed.

“I can make cookies for everyone, if that’s okay,” Angela said quickly.

“Are you sure? You are really short staffed,” Pete asked.

“It would be my pleasure.” Angela smiled warmly. “I miss my kitchen and would love to help as much as I can, since I’ll be in the building full time.”

“As long as you don’t add hot sauce, I’ll take the cookies,” Little J told her, as he drained the glass of milk his buddy had given him.

“Stop by the hospital later today,” Angela told him. “I have something to help with the burn.”

“Can I have some, too?” another asked.

“Absolutely,” Angela said cheerfully. “Would the Chef mind if I make cookies?”

“On the contrary,” Pete explained. “He recently lost his assistant, so any help you can give him will be appreciated.”

“Sounds great. I’ll check with him later,” Angela told them. “I better get ready for work.”

She waved at the group and headed out the door.

“That was a surprise,” said Bob as the door closed behind Angela.

“I’m never challenging her to a thing,” Pete declared. “The doctor is a badass.”

“What exactly does she get for winning the challenge?” Bob asked. “Because she won.”

“Three hundred dollars and a week off duties,” Pete confessed softly.

Shorty laughed. “Sounds like someone better tell the doctor.”

“While you are there, you can drop off the rest of the sauce with her,” Bob suggested.

“It would be my pleasure,” Little J announced.

“Can we get back to work now?” Bob asked. “Court should start soon.”

“I have an idea,” said Shorty. “How many of these hot sauces do you have left Pete?”

“Three cases, why?”

“I don’t want to know.” Bob covered his ears and headed out of the staff room. “Meet you in court at nine, Shorty.”

“Sounds great,” Shorty shouted back.

Bob walked the calm hallways back to his office. With the chaos of the day before gone from the front of the building, his steps were lighter. He had delegated a lot of the work assignments to Pete and Shorty, as well as the recruitment. Maybe he should make them managers of the building and he could focus on intern work. It was time to concentrate his efforts on the things that only he could do. The team could handle the rest.

Memories of his time in the military flashed through his mind, and he realized leadership was the same everywhere you went. You had to trust your people to do a good job and manage resources. He trusted them but had been micromanaging their actions. Union Station was becoming too big for him to micromanage. It was time to let go, or they would fail. Or worse, he would end up with a heart attack and needing to explain to Death how he killed himself trying to do his job. That would be a horrible conversation to have.