(no subject)
Bill is actually on Johnny's street when his mobile rings. He fumbles for it in his coat pocket without taking his eyes off the road. Johnny's road is a bit on the winding side.
"Boyd," he answers, as he pretty much always does, and for a couple of heartbeats the line is silent and open. It's long enough for dread to settle in Bill's belly, and he slows down, ready to pull over if need be. In case he starts to shake.
It turns out not to be necessary.
"This is Redden," a voice says, and Bill understands that the pause was probably an indicator of a transfer from whomever had actually dialed Bill's number -- secretary, desk sergeant, or dispatcher -- to Bill's division supervisor's direct line.
He glances at the dashboard clock, which does nothing but confirm what Bill already knows.
There can be no good reason for Redden -- a man he's met only a handful of times and spoken to maybe twice -- to be ringing him after hours, when they are both off duty.
"What's happened?" Bill asks, and the dread is back again, a cold and writhing knot in the pit of his stomach.
"Captain Rutledge asked me to call," Redden says in his California drawl. "She's tied up."
"What's happened?" Bill repeats (is he not speaking fucking English?) sharply, and pulls over after all. His skin is crawling with apprehension, the potential for rage or violence. He has the idea that Redden had somehow meant his words to be reassuring, like Bill should be relieved that Redden isn't calling about his fucking job performance or something (bugger his job performance and bugger Redden). Bill is not comforted. "Where is she? Is she hurt?"
There is a slight pause (during which Bill assumes the worst, and is bloody well glad he'd pulled over), and then Redden says: "No, she isn't hurt. She's at a scene. She asked me to call you."
Okay. Not hurt. And she is having the division supervisor contact him… by mobile phone. So. Off the record. Bill says nothing for long moments, and Redden is equally silent. Why him? What would make her choose a Vice Captain for something like this? Bill's Captain? And there is something particular in the way Redden had worded it, isn't there? Something off.
"I'm listening," Bill says softly, eyes narrowed and jaw tense.
"There was a fire at an apartment building on Hollins. Gutted the whole building." Redden's voice is neutral. "No injuries in the fire." Bill says nothing, and after a few moments, Redden continues on, his voice bland. "It looks like arson."
"All right," Bill says. The back of his neck is fucking crawling with agitation. "I understand."
"Captain Rutledge will be calling you when she can get away," Redden says, his tone still completely casual, but that is an indicator of the seriousness of the situation by itself. All cops do that. When things go to hell, there isn't any other way to deal with it than to just shut down the crap that isn't needed. "She wants you to be available."
"Aye," Bill says. "I hear you." He can barely hear his own voice above the pounding rush in his ears.
"Good," Redden says quietly, and rings off.
Bill sits behind the wheel of the Mustang for fully ten minutes before he trusts himself to drive the remaining handful of blocks to Johnny's house.
"Boyd," he answers, as he pretty much always does, and for a couple of heartbeats the line is silent and open. It's long enough for dread to settle in Bill's belly, and he slows down, ready to pull over if need be. In case he starts to shake.
It turns out not to be necessary.
"This is Redden," a voice says, and Bill understands that the pause was probably an indicator of a transfer from whomever had actually dialed Bill's number -- secretary, desk sergeant, or dispatcher -- to Bill's division supervisor's direct line.
He glances at the dashboard clock, which does nothing but confirm what Bill already knows.
There can be no good reason for Redden -- a man he's met only a handful of times and spoken to maybe twice -- to be ringing him after hours, when they are both off duty.
"What's happened?" Bill asks, and the dread is back again, a cold and writhing knot in the pit of his stomach.
"Captain Rutledge asked me to call," Redden says in his California drawl. "She's tied up."
"What's happened?" Bill repeats (is he not speaking fucking English?) sharply, and pulls over after all. His skin is crawling with apprehension, the potential for rage or violence. He has the idea that Redden had somehow meant his words to be reassuring, like Bill should be relieved that Redden isn't calling about his fucking job performance or something (bugger his job performance and bugger Redden). Bill is not comforted. "Where is she? Is she hurt?"
There is a slight pause (during which Bill assumes the worst, and is bloody well glad he'd pulled over), and then Redden says: "No, she isn't hurt. She's at a scene. She asked me to call you."
Okay. Not hurt. And she is having the division supervisor contact him… by mobile phone. So. Off the record. Bill says nothing for long moments, and Redden is equally silent. Why him? What would make her choose a Vice Captain for something like this? Bill's Captain? And there is something particular in the way Redden had worded it, isn't there? Something off.
"I'm listening," Bill says softly, eyes narrowed and jaw tense.
"There was a fire at an apartment building on Hollins. Gutted the whole building." Redden's voice is neutral. "No injuries in the fire." Bill says nothing, and after a few moments, Redden continues on, his voice bland. "It looks like arson."
"All right," Bill says. The back of his neck is fucking crawling with agitation. "I understand."
"Captain Rutledge will be calling you when she can get away," Redden says, his tone still completely casual, but that is an indicator of the seriousness of the situation by itself. All cops do that. When things go to hell, there isn't any other way to deal with it than to just shut down the crap that isn't needed. "She wants you to be available."
"Aye," Bill says. "I hear you." He can barely hear his own voice above the pounding rush in his ears.
"Good," Redden says quietly, and rings off.
Bill sits behind the wheel of the Mustang for fully ten minutes before he trusts himself to drive the remaining handful of blocks to Johnny's house.