There was a last time for everything. With a little technical assistance from Kelly, Colin put on his uniform for the last time. Because he’d lost weight after the supervolcano like so many other people, the navy wool tunic and trousers were on the loose side. The uniform smelled of mothballs. Colin didn’t much care.
Kelly wore a pale blue suit herself. You didn’t get a retirement bash at City Hall every day. Colin kissed her. “You look great, babe,” he said. “But hey, you always look great to me.” Except in the line of duty, he made a lousy liar. Fortunately, he meant that.
Kelly’s smile showed she knew it. “Well, if you’re gonna rattle around the house from now on, you may as well rattle around in a pleasant tone of voice. You all ready?”
He set the cap with the patent-leather bill on his head. “Now I am. I oughta wear this darn thing backwards like a gangbanger, y’know? What could they do about it? Fire me?”
“Come on. Be nice. You want your report card to say ‘Plays well with others,’ don’t you?” Kelly kept smiling, but now she let her patience show.
Colin didn’t give a damn what his report card said. But the idea felt funnier to talk about than to do. He went down the stairs with his wife.
Marshall was reading Deborah a Commander Toad book. He’d been bummed when Janine didn’t feel like letting him darken her towels any more, but he wasn’t crying into his sausage and sauerkraut every night or anything. He’d had a fling, it hadn’t been Happily Ever After, so here he was again, not a lot sadder and probably not a lot wiser, either.
“You look like a policeman, Daddy!” Deborah said.
“Funny how that works,” Colin answered. He hadn’t put on the uniform more than a couple of times since she was born; she might not even remember it. He blew her a kiss and nodded to Marshall. “We’ll be back when the gruesome orgy’s over with.”
“Right, Dad.” Marshall was resigned to his lines. “You came down just when we were getting to the exciting part. They’re about to go into hopperspace.” He went back to reading to his half-sister.
Once Colin walked outside, he was glad for the wool. It was cool out there, somewhere in the low fifties. It had drizzled before, but it wasn’t raining now. The sun ducked in and out of the clouds. Not the kind of day you would have looked for in L.A. in early June before the eruption. In fact… “Kind of reminds me of the weather in Yellowstone the day we met,” he remarked.
“Maybe some. If we were by a lake here, though, it wouldn’t still be frozen over,” Kelly said.
“Well, no,” he allowed.
They got into the Taurus. Colin sat on the passenger side. He had to do up the seat belt with his right hand, which was awkward. But his left arm still snarled at him outside of a narrow range of motion.
Kelly started the engine. “They’d better not pull me over,” she said. “I’ve got a current ID, but my license has been dead for I don’t know how long.”
“Yeah, like you’re the only one,” Colin said, and then, “I never fixed a ticket in my life, but I think I just might be able to get you off the hook for that.”
“Do you, now?” she said as she backed out of the driveway. “So you’re getting corrupt on your last day?”
“If you’re gonna do it, that’s the best time,” he answered, more seriously than he’d thought he would.
“Yeah, I guess it would be,” Kelly said. “I’ve driven to the station before, but I don’t think I’ve ever gone to the city hall. Do I park in the same lot?”
“You can if you want to,” Colin told her. “Not a long walk or anything. But City Hall has a separate parking lot you get into off of San Atanasio Boulevard instead of Hesperus.”
“Okay, I’ll try that, then,” she said. “If they haven’t reserved a space for you, I’ll damn well turn around and go home, too, and they can throw the party by themselves.”
She didn’t need to worry about that. Colin hadn’t thought she would. No doubt she hadn’t, either. The parking space nearest the entrance usually belonged to the mayor. Today, a paper sign was taped over the metal one: FOR CAPTAIN COLIN FERGUSON. Balloons and crepe streamer adorned the sign. “I ought to retire more often,” Colin said.
“You don’t think it would lose some effect after a while?” Kelly asked.
“Nah. Why should it?” Colin said. “They’d always be glad to get rid of me.” There’d been too many times in his career when he wouldn’t have been kidding about that. He pointed to the balloons. “When we go, we should snag one of those for Playboy.”
A uniformed cop stood outside the glass doors that let you into City Hall. He waved as Colin got out of the car, then ducked through them. “What’s he doing?” Kelly wondered out loud.
“Warning people. What else?” Colin answered, not without pride.
He and Kelly went through the doors a moment later. He held one open for her—he could do that with his good arm. The mayor’s administrative assistant bustled up to them. She was a gray-haired, highly competent woman named Lois Tsuye. “If you’ll just come with me, Captain Ferguson, Mrs. Ferguson…” she said.
Come with her they did. She led them through the city council chamber—which would have been superdupermodern fifty years earlier, right down to the city seal with the crossed freeways on the wall—and into a reception room off to one side. Blue tape that wouldn’t hurt the paint held a big banner with Colin’s name on it to the wall.
The crowd was split between cops and city dignitaries. There were also a reporter and a photographer from the Daily Breeze. The Times didn’t think the retirement was a big enough deal to cover. That bothered Colin not in the least. If not for the honor of the farewell, he wouldn’t have minded skipping it.
Malik Williams came over and shook his hand. The chief’s head gleamed under the ceiling lights. “I’ll miss you, Colin,” he said. “When your phone rings, every so often it’ll be me, calling to pick your brain. I’ve enjoyed working with you. You did this force a lot of good.”
“Thanks,” Colin said. “I appreciate that, believe me.”
“Hey, I mean it,” Williams said. “You could’ve undercut me eight ways from Sunday. I was new, and you’d been here a long time. You knew everybody. And—” Williams flicked a couple of fingers across the back of his other hand. Colin had seen that gesture from African-Americans before. It meant I’m this color, after all. The chief continued, “But you didn’t. You didn’t even try. You backed my play, and I’m grateful.”
“I told you I didn’t want the job, and I meant it,” Colin said stolidly.
Malik Williams smiled a cop’s knowing smile. “People tell me all kinds of things every day. And some of it’s true, and some of it… ain’t.” The pause before the bad grammar reminded you he really knew better. He set a hand on Colin’s good shoulder—he also knew better than to touch him on the wounded one. Then he nodded and walked over to the coffee urn.
“That was nice,” Kelly said. “That’s what you came for.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Colin said. “But Malik’s okay. I thought so as soon as I met him, and it looks like I was right.”
He started toward the coffee urn himself. Rodney Ellis intercepted him. “Dude, you dance like you’ve got two left feet and a broken leg, but you’re the best cop I ever worked with, and it’s not even close,” the black detective said.
“You need to keep better company, is what you need,” Colin answered, trying to hide how pleased he was.
“No way, man.” Ellis shook his head. “You always went where the evidence took you. You didn’t care if the perp was black or white or green. You didn’t care if he was a big wheel’s kid, either. You just went after him. That’s how it’s supposed to work, and too damn often it doesn’t even come close.”