Discerning Retribution

xi

 The Worst Part of the Job

THEY WENT TO SEE THE CHIEF first thing the following day. The man always came in early, his mood yet to be tethered by the problems brought on by the day, that Reagan suggested they use the time they had before they leave for Novaliches, where their victim's family lived. The trip would take about two hours with traffic via the main avenues, and those roads were almost always crowded with vehicles. It would've been easier if the family turned out to be living nearby, not way up in the north of the metro, but the detective reckoned they just couldn't be that lucky. To be stuck with the agent in another road trip wasn't something she was looking forward to.

Chief Agustin had taken their update, which posed more questions than answers, in stride. He simply nodded and grunted at times, and only asked if they had already found enough evidence to scratch the whole domestic terrorism angle. The older man frowned when they said they didn't, but did not give them much of a hard time regarding it. He dismissed them with a directive to continue what they were doing, which the detective assumed would be the closest thing to a 'good job' they could get.

It was a few minutes past eight, when the agent stood up from the desk temporarily assigned to him. He walked straight to his partner's table and merely tilted his head towards the door when she looked up from the documents she was going over. A little more used to the man's stoic and silent personality, the detective simply turned off her monitor and grabbed her jacket in one go, calling out her goodbyes to the other three people laboring over their own assignments.

As they made their way out of the side streets and into the main avenue, they met with the first jam of cars waiting for the stoplight counter to run out of numbers. They could see from their spot how long the traffic already was, and Reagan almost cursed. The first car ride was hell when the roads were clear, but spending a long time keeping her mouth shut, considering her companion wasn't one for small talks, seemed a whole lot worse. There were no reports to occupy the idle times anymore, and no music blaring from the speakers. She knew she'd be screaming murder before they could get to their destination.

Reagan glanced at her partner when they hit the highway, which was a little more fast-moving though they were still running under forty. She bit her lower lip, not sure how to break the deafening quiet. She decided her sanity was more important and braced herself to say the first word. She had already opened her mouth when the agent beat her to it.

"You want to turn on the music." There was a slight inflection in his voice near the end, mixed lightly with its trademark flatness, which caught the detective by surprise.

"Is that rhetorical or...?"

It was the first time his partner actually tried clarifying what he said. No, not said, but rather what he meant - intended meaning. He quickly hid the surprise on his face and shrugged.

"Oh, so I can? I'll really turn it on, you know."

"Go ahead."

A small smile formed on her lips. She had been watching him, so she saw the slight surprise. It seemed the agent wasn't used to being asked to explain his never-ending statements. But did that mean he was more comfortable with judgment? Maybe people often settle for assuming what he meant rather than making sure, and he was just an overall misunderstood guy.

Reagan shook her head as she reached for the power button of the stereo. The screen lighted up, and a classic love song immediately filled the silence in the cabin. Psycho-analyzing people was the profiler's thing, not hers. She should just accept everything as they are, and admit that she might have to be the one doing the adapting.

The rest of the drive was filled with mellow music. It didn't take long before Reagan started humming in time with the tune. A few more minutes and she was muttering the lyrics under her breath, swaying her head slowly as she continued to look out the window.