Page 26 of Fire and Smoke (Nothing Special #9)

Ramon Vasquez

The medication was beginning to work, his father’s glares softening and the twitches in his fingers slowing.

Vasquez spoke in a soft, coaxing tone—just like the occupational therapist taught him—a complete contrast to how he spoke at the precinct.

There was no bark, contempt, annoyance…just patience.

“How about a hot shower after that meal, Dad? You’ll feel a lot better.”

His father grumbled something he didn’t understand, but thankfully, he let him guide him up on shaky knees and lead him toward the bathroom.

Vasquez kept one arm across his chest and the other gripping the back of his flannel pants.

He didn’t speak while he helped his dad undress.

He moved robotically until he had his father seated on the shower bench, his chin touching his chest, groaning as the water beat on his frail back.

Vasquez took the sponge and began to wash him with gentle strokes.

“Remember when you used to come home every night smelling like diesel and salt water?” he whispered.

“Your mother wouldn’t let me in the damn house,” he said with the tiniest tilt of his chapped lips.

“She made you strip and wash up on the mud porch.”

“I used to freeze my nuts off in the winter,” he growled.

Vasquez chuckled. He missed those days when they were a family. They weren’t the Waltons, but they’d had some good times.

After he’d finished his job, he dried his father off with a threadbare towel. He took that moment to grab the transdermal patch off the sink, peel the backing off, and press it to his dad’s upper arm.

Once his father was dressed in a clean pair of linen pajama pants and a tank top, he got him reclined in the hospital bed, then fluffed the pillows behind his head.

He repositioned the television and used the remote to turn to Sanford and Son reruns. Those always kept his dad in decent spirits.

As soon as the theme song started, a smile ghosted over his father’s face, that gap-toothed grin he rarely saw making a brief appearance, as if his dad was still in there somewhere.

Vasquez didn’t smile back as he dropped down in the chair in the corner.

At least his father didn’t go into what a failure he was for dropping out of law school and becoming a police officer who barely made enough money to buy a house so his dad could live with him.

When his father dozed off, he went to the nurse’s desk and did some damage control. Made a bunch of empty promises, signed the complaint forms, and left.

Vasquez trudged up the stairs to his apartment in the only neighborhood he could afford, unlocked the deadbolt, and let himself in.

He didn’t bother flipping on a switch, opting to use the light coming in through the blinds. He had to keep his electric bill under a hundred and thirty dollars.

The space was minimal with dull beige walls that held no family photos and no décor.

He had a faux leather couch and a La-Z-Boy his neighbor had left on the curb when he’d moved out.

The warped bookshelf in the corner held his manuals from the Academy, unopened books on becoming a detective, and a few crime thriller novels.

His kitchen was little more than a galley with a fridge that buzzed so loud he had to sleep with earplugs.

Vasquez sat in one of the two chairs at his kitchenette table and powered up his laptop. He pulled up his dating app and clicked on the notifications tab.

Nothing.

No responses to his pings, no matches, not even a pity “what’s up?”

He slumped back against the chair and scrubbed his hand over his hair.

In a desperate attempt to get some interest, he’d changed his profile pic from his selfie with his shades on to an image of him shirtless, benching three hundred at the precinct gym.

Vasquez couldn’t understand why he hadn’t gotten a single reply. He was a good-looking guy who protected and served... for the most part. He’d been told he had a nice smile, so what the hell was going on?

He wouldn’t be surprised if that tech-freak had fucked with the app, was somehow blocking his profile from being seen. It wouldn’t be the first time Free had toyed with him.

The worst was when he’d redirected all his incoming calls to a fake sex-for-hire agency, and the automated operator said, “ Ramon is not available at this time. He’s servicing a leather Daddy. Please leave a message .”

That had been a hard one to explain to the nursing home.

Vasquez slammed the laptop closed—hoping he hadn’t cracked the screen because he couldn’t afford another one—and pinched the bridge of his nose at the sudden headache coming on.

He was so over his life.

While God and those other sanctimonious assholes were living high on the hog, he had to scrounge for pennies.

He shed every stitch of his clothes and climbed into his bed that buckled in the middle and groaned from his weight as if it were pissed off he’d returned.

He was about to put in his earbuds when his phone buzzed on the end table.

I need a set of eyes and ears, officer.

Vasquez sat there for a long moment staring at the coded message debating whether to respond.

He respected the badge. He’d joined the force to make a difference, but now that he was shunned, confined to the help desk at the main entrance station, he questioned if he even had a career any longer.

The last time he’d helped this gang, they’d paid him five grand to simply know if or when God had secured a warrant for the warehouse they’d been dealing from.

Nothing crazy, just wanna know God’s next move.

Vasquez remained silent until the payoff number flashed across the screen.

How about I up the ante…? 10k

Vasquez cursed as he thought about the stack of overdue medical bills piling up on the counter, his rent that was going up again in five months, his credit cards that were maxed out, his ten-year-old car that broke down often and was held together with duct tape and a prayer… the empty inbox on the dating site.

Ten thousand dollars wasn’t just a tempting offer. It was an amount that could make him sleep better. An amount that could get him and his dad out of Atlanta, leaving all his haters and debt behind.

Vasquez quickly jabbed in a response before his conscience got the better of him.

I’ll see what I can do, not making any promises.