Being Fitz Page 2

  “I am Detective Simms. You live near here?” I nodded. “Were you acquainted with the deceased?”

  “No. That was the first time I ever laid eyes on him.”

  Simms typed something on the screen. “You sure about that?” The look he gave me could best be described as suspicious, to say the least.

  I remained calm. “Very sure.”

  “Tell me how you discovered the body,” he said, eyes boring into me as if to catch me in a lie. Unlucky for him, I dealt with recalcitrant and belligerent behavior all day long, and before that, Liberal Studies majors with something to prove.

  My brow furrowed. “I already gave my statement to—”

  “Tell me, again, if you please,” he cut in, firmly. Yes, sir, Mr. Policeman.

  “As I told the other officers, I was taking a walk in the park, contemplating how my life sucked, when the sun reflected off something that caught my eye. I thought someone had dropped something valuable so I went to see what it was. I discovered a watch, and of course, the body.”

  “And the watch is still there. You some kind of good Samaritan?” Why was he baiting me?

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Never mind.” Simms typed away on the tablet. “Your life sucks, does it?” If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was amused by me. Whether it was in a good or bad way, I wasn’t sure. And it was my own fault for bringing it up, anyway.

  I played along. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “I see. Anything else occur around the time you came across the deceased?”

  “Not really. Well, this dude almost knocked me down right before I saw the dead guy. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, and I couldn’t help wondering why someone would exercise dressed like that. And—”

  Simms’s voice was sharp when he interrupted me. “You didn’t mention this to the other officers?”

  “I didn’t think about it.” And I’d still been recovering from shock over the ordeal, so I hadn’t yet put two and two together. Though in hindsight…God, I was an idiot.

  I heard Detective Simms sigh and murmur, “Moron.”

  I frowned. “Was I supposed to hear you say that?”

  “Well, you did, right? So, the man who almost knocked you over was wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt?” His thumbs moved rapidly as he spoke.

  I bit back a growl. “Dark blue jeans with bleach spots and a gray hoodie. Slender. Caucasian. He looked back at me briefly and I got the impression of, I don’t know, brown or gray eyes and stringy blond hair, blotchy skin. Maybe he had acne, or something. In his twenties.”

  Simms threw his hands in the air, tablet still held in a firm grip. “Jesus, how dumb are you? This is a fucking important clue. Anything else you might have seen that you didn’t tell us?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Detective Simms, your attitude and assumptions about my mental acuity are not helping me cooperate with you. I apologize for not saying what I knew sooner, but you can understand my shock. Or not. We’re not all macho over-achievers who eat bullets for breakfast. I suggest you change your tone.”

  “Acuity? Big word. Calm down, princess. I know not everyone can be as quick on the draw as someone trained to look for connections in these things, especially under stressful situations.” His grin and smug demeanor infuriated me further.

  “That’s supposed to make me feel better? Have you always been a condescending asshole?” The minute the words came out of my mouth, I thought, He has a gun. He’s going to shoot me. But I didn’t back down. My backbone had finally made an appearance, though its timing could have been better.

  “Panties in a twist is a good look on you.” His laughter was the last straw. All the disappointments and heartache in my life boiled up and my fist flew without my permission.

  * * * *

  Later that night, as I lay in bed, I decided I’d been lucky Simms hadn’t thrown me in jail. All he’d done was rub his cheek, raise an eyebrow, and send me home to cool off. “I’ll be in touch,” were his parting words. He hadn’t even had the decency to stumble back or look as though he’d been affected by a punch to the jaw. My knuckles were sore, though.

  I turned over and thumped a pillow, wincing at the pain in my fist and willing myself to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, though, images of the dead man swam before me and I would wake up again. At this rate, I was going to have a crappy Monday.

  I hadn’t had such a strong reaction to another man in, well, never. Detective Simms had pushed every last one of my buttons, and all I could think to do was fight back. Nothing else was possible. Had it felt good to feel my balls drop in pride instead of disappearing like pebbles? Sure, but at what cost? It usually took a lot for me to lose my temper, but it had barely taken a few minutes to push me over the edge with Simms. I’d have to be careful around him if we ever had the misfortune to see each other again.

  When I awoke before the alarm after finally getting a couple of hours sleep, I wanted to cry, I was so tired. I sat on the edge of the bed, head a little fuzzy and headache looming. I could call in sick, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep anymore, at least not right away. I shuffled to the bathroom and showered in cold water, dressing in my uniform of white shirt and black pants and boots before seeking out lots and lots of coffee. I needed to attain some semblance of normalcy before I had to deal with my unadoring public.

  When I told Randy about the night before on our lunch break, he stared at me for a moment before cracking up. Bastard.

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded, kicking his leg under the table.

  “It’s…it’s not that it’s funny, really,” he said between breaths. “You…you punched a cop because he called you a princess?” And he was off again.

  “It was ‘panties in a twist’—get it right. And did you miss the part where I saw a dead man and a detective was mean to me?” Yes, I was whining.

  Randy wiped his eyes. “No, but I wish I could have seen your face.”

  I crossed my arms on my chest and pouted. “You’re not my friend.”

  “Yes, I am. That’s why I can laugh at you.” He snickered, then sobered. “Are you all right, though? That must have been scary, seeing something like that.”

  Mildly mollified, I replied, “I didn’t even know what to do, what to think. And all the blood…” I shuddered at the memory. “Then that asshole detective came along and made things worse.”

  “You deal with assholes all the time. What made this one burrow under your skin?” Randy studied me for a second, then smirked. “He was hot, wasn’t he?”

  “What? No!” My denial was too loud and quick to be believable, and Randy picked up on it, naturally.

  “I knew it! You punched a cop you wanted to bone. Oh my god, this is awesome! I wish I’d been there.” He rubbed his hands together with too much glee for my liking. Maybe a murder was in his future.

  “Why do I even talk to you?” I huffed, shaking my head as he chortled all over again. “I’m going back to work, idiot.”

  “You better keep me posted on this, lover boy. I want to hear what happens next.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  * * * *

  I was just falling asleep on Tuesday night when I heard a knock on the door. What the fuck? No one, not even Jerry, had ever bothered me after eleven o’clock in the evening. Grumpy, I sat up in bed and threw off the covers, disturbing Rapunzel, who hissed at me and disappeared somewhere before I stomped over to the door, and yanked it open. Rapunzel reappeared and I had to use my foot to keep her from darting out into the corridor since I wasn’t in the mood to go chasing after her at this time of night. Anytime, really.

  “What?” I snapped before realizing who stood there, which made me glower even more.

  “Do you always greet your guests like this?” Detective Simms asked, smirking as his hot eyes checked me out from head to toe. Why did he have to look so good even at such a late hour? The comparison of his snug, dark purple turtleneck underneath a gray jacket,
and slacks—all fitting perfectly—to my shabby attire was pitiful, as I was wearing old, heavily paint-stained cut-off sweatpants from long ago projects and a snug T-shirt that had more holes than fabric and emphasized my ample tummy. Who knew what my hair looked like?

  “I rarely have guests, and I was trying to sleep. What do you want, detective?”

  “Still in a snit, I see,” was his charming response. His smirk didn’t help, either.

  I slammed the door in his face, locked it, and carried Rapunzel back to bed. Simms started banging on the door. I let him. I would call the cops and have his fellow officers take care of him, which would please me mightily. Plus, my neighbors would start complaining in no time. Snuggling under the covers, I closed my eyes, a smile on my face for the first time all day.

  And then my cellphone rang. Swearing, I grabbed it from the bedside table and looked at the caller I.D. Holland Simms. No way. I answered the call. “I suppose you have access to all kinds of information about me, detective, but I have to be up at three-thirty in the morning to go to work. Piss off.”

  “I need to talk to you about the case. We either do it now, or I stalk you on your bus route until you talk to me.” That he already knew that much about my life was disturbing.

  The nerve of this guy. “Isn’t that illegal, or something?” I rubbed my eyes. “Look, I will come down to your precinct after my shift is over. Text me the address. I don’t want you anywhere near my home again, got me?”

  “Fitz, come on. I—” Whatever else he said was lost since I hung up. Enough already.

  Chapter 3

  Wednesday passed by in a blur of minor incidents on the bus and too much coffee. When I wandered into the precinct at five thirty-eight, I was exhausted, irritable, and hungry. The reception area was a mad house, and when this one guy got away from the cop who’d been trying to keep hold of him, we ended up tangled on the floor. What was it with people running into me lately?

  I kept my arms around the guy as he wiggled and cursed me out, calling me all kinds of lovely names, some of them on point, since yes, I was an overweight homosexual—slurs inferred. Eventually, two officers took charge of the dude and I stood, brushing off my uniform. Thankfully, there were no rips or lost buttons.

  I walked up to the receiving desk and asked the female cop on duty if I could speak with Detective Simms. “I told him I would stop by after work.”

  She smiled and pointed a thumb behind her. “Down the hall. He’s at one of the desks on the left. Oh hey, thanks for helping out with Scott back there.”

  My eyebrows furrowed. “Scott?”

  “The guy on the floor. He’s a repeat offender, and when he’s high, it can be difficult to contain him.”

  “Uh, okay. Sure, any time, I guess.” I nodded and followed her directions. Detective Simms was on the phone, seemingly having an argument with the caller when I reached his desk. He looked up at my approach and ended the call seconds later.

  “Thanks for stopping by,” he stated, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. “You look different…definitely intimidating.” I’d been told that before about my work clothes. Whatever. I sat and remained quiet, waiting for him to tell me the reason I was here so I could go home and crash. The fact that his skin-tight long-sleeved red polo shirt emphasized every inch of his massive chest in mouth-watering fashion wasn’t enough to distract me from how tired I was. And that he was still a pain in the butt.

  We stared at each other until Simms said, “Look, I’m sorry about last night. I work really screwed up hours and I sometimes forget that not everyone is on the same schedule as me.”

  I shrugged. “What was it you wanted to tell me?” I needed to get this over with.

  He sighed. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” For a second, I thought he seemed disappointed, but I reminded myself Simms was an asshole and I was only here to suit his purposes.

  I gaped at him in disbelief. “What, you want to be my friend now? Cut the crap. You have a case to solve, I found the body. Get on with it. I’m hungry.”

  He grinned. “Bet it takes a lot to feed that body of yours.” And now I was disappointed. And pissed.

  “Fuck you!” I yelled, then remembered I was in a police station, and there were handcuffs and holding cells available for me to stay for unspecified lengths of time. Now, everyone was staring at me. Great. “Sorry. Just, can we not make fun of me and get this over with?”

  Simms frowned. “Why are you so touchy about everything? There’s nothing wrong with the way you look, or how much you do or don’t eat. It was a joke.” Right.

  “How am I supposed to know that? I don’t even know you, and why do you care?” I snapped.

  He studied me for an interminable period of time, it seemed, pen tapping against the disorganized sheets of paper on his desk. “Fine. The dead man was an attorney at a firm downtown, Roger Metz, thirty-nine years old. He’d had dinner with his wife, Patrice, on Saturday evening, then went to his office to pull an all-nighter on a case. He was last seen leaving his building around noon on Sunday, and then you found him.

  “We would like you to work with a composite artist to get a graphical representation of the man who ran into you on the day of the murder. He’s our main person of interest and having that image will help us narrow down searches in our database. Are you amenable to any of this?”

  Not really, but what the hell. “Whatever. You obviously have my phone number. Right now, I work the same shift during the week, sometimes on the weekend, though if you’ve been checking up on me, you probably know that. If I need to come in before the end of my shift, however, you need to give me a heads-up so I can get someone to cover my route.”

  “Tomorrow work? Same time as today?” he asked. I nodded and stood, but before I could leave, Simms said, “Why didn’t you put your father in a home when he developed dementia?”

  Damn, he was thorough. “What does this have to do with the case?”

  “I had to rule you out as a suspect, though I knew you weren’t involved. It was just procedure.” Then he frowned and leaned back in his chair. “Most people would have chosen outside care. You could have kept your job, even had tenure by now at that university. Instead, you took care of your dad with every penny you had, and now live in a crappy apartment and drive people around all day.” My dreams of a Ph.D. and writing world-changing theses had fizzled long ago.

  My only response could be, “He was my dad.”

  * * * *

  After yet another shitty day and enduring Randy’s ecstatic exclamations of “We’re pregnant!” for the entire lunch break—and the occasional text—I stopped by the precinct on Thursday evening to work with the artist for a couple of hours until we were satisfied the representation was as accurate as could be produced. The woman who did the composite thanked me for my time, and I headed out of the building, walking to the Subway that was still open and only a couple of blocks from my truck.

  I ordered a tuna footlong, along with chips and a drink. The line was pretty short this time of day, and once it was ready, I walked to my dad’s old pickup, which I’d taken over driving when he couldn’t be trusted behind the wheel anymore.

  Why did Simms—I never thought of him as Holland, for some reason—have to bring up my dad? It had been painful enough, watching his slow decline. My mom had died years ago, and it had just been the two of us, watching out for each other, Dad telling me to work hard and ignore the shitholes in the world that wanted to put me down because I grew up poor, and I was gay, and on and on.

  I had loved and respected my dad, and it had hurt so much, seeing him die that way, thinking he had an enemy in every face he met, getting frustrated with himself and others because he just couldn’t…remember. Crying because he was afraid. Fuck Simms anyway for bringing back those memories.

  I got into my truck and drove home, only to encounter Henry in the hallway as I walked up to my door.

  “Hey, Fitz. How’s it hanging?” He seemed so happy
these days, almost lit up from inside. I didn’t understand what he saw in Jerry, but…what did I know?

  “I’m okay,” I replied. “How’s Jerry?” I unlocked the door and turned to face Henry in the hallway.

  “He’s the best, you know?” No, I didn’t. “We have sex, like, every day, and it never gets boring. We’re planning a weekend getaway soon, and then he’s introducing me to his parents.” I hadn’t even known about Jerry’s family. Henry grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I know he’s cheesy and a bit of a flirt, but I like that, and we’re good together.”

  Did Henry’s asshole hold the secret to finding love, or something? Maybe he should patent that shit. “Glad to hear things are working out for you.” Not. “Later.” I closed the door and focused on my dinner.

  As I sat in front of the TV petting Rapunzel a few hours later, my cellphone buzzed. I looked at the screen and saw it was a text from Detective Simms. What now?

  I opened the message and read that the database had a hit on the drawing. Turned out the victim had a half-brother. His wife had never known of her husband’s sibling until the police informed her. They were closing in on the suspect now and hopefully would either solve the case shortly, or come closer to getting some answers.

  I decided not to respond. What was the point? Our “acquaintance” was based on a murder case, and I was so far below his league it wasn’t funny. And he infuriated me. And I was attracted to him. And this was a dead end. And my track record was crap at this kind of thing.

  * * * *

  By the time Friday evening rolled around, I had snapped at Randy a few times, yelled at a number of passengers, and come pretty damn close to quitting. Seriously, college students had been easier to manage. Disgusted with myself, I clocked out and drove to my apartment complex, only to find Holland Simms, dressed in a rose-pink button-down shirt and navy-blue blazer, with gray pants, leaning against a Jeep Cherokee in a nearby “Visitors” parking space. I hated that my heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.