“Ah, coffee would be great.”
“How do you take it?”
“Black, please”
She got up and moved to another door. Early twenties, dark rimmed librarian glasses, hair pulled back, black skirt and a blue blouse. Pretty, in a businesslike kind of way. She filled a cup from the machine in the little nook behind the door.
“Here you go, Chris.” Another big smile as she handed me the cup, making eye contact the whole time. “Thanks.” I was a little flustered by the friendly reception. I hadn’t been sure what kind of greeting I would get when I met with Roma again, but so far so good. Olivia moved back to the center of her kingdom and proceeded to work at her computer.
I settled back and looked around. Pretty bland decorations. The furniture was corporate and functional, the walls had some framed posters of Special Ops units and were painted an off white color. From time to time my peripheral vision showed Olivia checking on me. The coffee was good, as most cop coffee is.
The outer door opened and Aikens, Sommers and Velasquez came in and headed toward the inner door next to Olivia’s desk. Gina looked over and noticed me. “Hi Chris, how ya doing?”
“Hi Gina, hi Steve, Chet. I’m fine,” I answered.
She nodded and said. “We’ll each be seeing you later, but right now we have to follow up on some stuff.”
“Hey, Olivia? How come Gordon gets coffee? I never get coffee.” Aikens complained after he spotted the mug in my hand.
“That’s because he’s polite, unlike you. You pretty much kissed any chance of coffee goodbye when you made the comment the other day.” she answered primly.
“Yo, I was just complimenting you, that’s all, baby. You know I didn’t mean anything nasty or nothing.”
She just glared at him, while Sommers laughed. Then all three went out the door, Aikens arguing with Sommers, while Velasquez glanced back once.
“More coffee Chris?”
“Ah, no thanks. Is there a place I can wash this mug?” I asked
“Oh, I’ll take it.”
I walked it over to her and she smiled as she replaced it in the coffee nook.
After five more minutes, the inner door opened and Roma beckoned me to him.
He led me through the inner door and I stepped into the center of the Special Situations domain. We had walked into a conference room with a long black table, four chairs per side and one at its head. A very large flat screen monitor dominated the end of the room nearest me, and one of the seats at the table was equipped with a wireless keyboard and mouse. The walls on either side were glass and looked into individual offices. The first office on the right side was actually about two offices in size and looked more laboratory and workshop than office. Chet Aikens was ensconced in the middle of a battery of monitors, computers, keyboards and had an electronics workbench at one end of the space. A tall bookshelf against the far wall of his space was stuffed with books, some looking newly published, and others like they were hand drawn by monks in the Dark Ages. Steve Sommers was seated at his desk in the small amount of remaining space, with a gunsmith’s workbench and cartridge reloading machine against his wall. A high-grade gun safe took up the corner.
Next to that space had to be Brian Takata's office/dojo. Wrestling mats took up most of the floor space, along with a realistically molded punching dummy. Martial arts weapons and blades of all types covered the walls and his only concession to standard office décor was a small computer workstation tucked in the corner. Brian wasn't in residence at the moment.
On the left side, the first office looked relatively normal, with a desk, computer, bookshelves and several plaques on the walls. Gina Velasquez was at the desk, typing away at her workstation. The next office also looked normal and by process of elimination was most likely Fran DeMarco's, although like Brian, she wasn't currently there. Last on the left side was an office sized the same as the other two, but holding a copier and shelves of office supplies. Three fireproof, heavy duty security filing cabinets lined up against the wall and opposite them was a folding table with a coffee pot, microwave and small standing fridge. The far wall of the conference room was solid and opaque, with a single door in it and the name plate on the door read 'Inspector Roma' in large black letters. The Inspector led me through this door into his inner sanctum, which was the largest office yet. Decorated like a scholars den, it was furnished with a large cherry desk and matching bookshelves and credenza. Four comfortable arm chairs surrounded a circular glass coffee table. One wall was the 'I love me' wall that many professional cops, firefighters, and military officers seem to feel is obligatory. It was filled with framed citations and photos of Roma with various dignitaries, high-ranking cops, political figures and certificates of law enforcement training schools. His desk was conspicuously neat, just a phone, pen, legal pad, and a small framed photograph that was turned toward his chair, its back to me.
“Have a seat, Chris.” He indicated the sitting area.
I grabbed a chair that put my back to the door and farthest from his desk. After noting my choice he took the seat across from me.
“Well, here we are. I'll spare you the chit chat and get right down to the heart of the matter. Any misgivings the team may have had about your trustworthiness were wiped away last night. Once again, your actions saved lives at grave risk to your own. Unfortunately, because of the unnatural nature of the perpetrators we can't give you official recognition. The casualties are being blamed on the drugged Hancers that attacked us. As none of them survived to dispute us and none of the Special Operations officers had a clue what they were really facing, this explanation will stand.” He said.
“And as for you, effective immediately, you have been reassigned to the Special Situations group. Frankly, it's the only place for you now. None of your fellow officers knows what you did, but they all know you did something. And they all know that something saved lives. Questions?”he asked.
“Er. Sir, how much does the brass know?”
“Chris, the knowledge that unnatural things live among us is a carefully guarded secret. The Commissioner, Deputy Commissioner, myself and the team are it for the NYPD. Each time a Commissioner is appointed, he or she receives a special briefing from the Department of Homeland Security. ”
“The Feddies know, Sir?”
“Of course. They have a department much like this one, but tasked with covering the whole country. In addition, each of the major metropolitan cities has a department like this, although only LAPD's is similar in size and ability. Or I should say, used to be similar in ability. They don't have you, now do they?” He said.
“Ah, me? Sir?” I asked.
“Chris, I feel comfortable in saying that I don't believe there is anyone with your abilities, anywhere. Also, it appears you are a defacto liaison with the vampire and possibly the were communities, which again is something that no other department including the Feds have. We know the supernaturals exist, but they refuse to communicate with us. I was hoping you might facilitate that.”
“Sir, I got the impression that you hate vampires.”
He frowned. “Well, I won't kid you. I have no use for them. But they do seem to police themselves and we really aren't sure how we would go about it if we had to. They're rather formidable as I believe you know.”
“Yes Sir that would be an understatement.” I paused to think about what he was requesting. “Ah Sir, you should know that I've only been...involved...in their world for the better part of a week. I'm not qualified to be your expert.”
“Granted, you’re new to the role, but you appear to be in favor with the Demidovas and as far as I know, they rule the New York roost.”