Tracy Hayes, Apprentice PI

Chapter Seven

Less than an hour later we emerged from the Atlantic Terminal Mall after a whirlwind shopping excursion. Jackson knew exactly what he wanted and where he wanted it from; there was no window shopping, and God help the salesperson who tried to persuade him into buying what he didn't want. It was very effective, but not much fun.

I didn't mind. I was a proud owner of a new smartphone, but not the camera. Jackson had decided that until I learned how to take photos with one of those long lenses – you needed them for stealth, long-distance photographing – I'd have to settle with one of his old cameras. I also got a notepad and pens that made me feel nostalgic for school for some reason.

"Do we have time to pop into that bank?" I asked, spotting my branch across the street.

"Of course. Why?"

"I'm carrying a check for eight hundred bucks in my bag."

To the surprise of no one, Jackson quick-marched me there.

It was almost lunch time, and those who had snuck out early from work to run errands were filling the small lobby, looking impatient for having to stand in line. Jackson eyed them in dismay.

"You know, you could handle this with an app on your new phone too," he said as I made my way to the desk at the side, where they had the depositing envelopes.

"It's not operational yet, is it." I wouldn't admit it aloud, but I didn't entirely trust those apps. It was much better to fill the envelope, which really didn't take that long, and push it through the appointed slot. Much more satisfying too.

"Now what?" I asked, my check safely in the care of the bank.

"Now lunch. Then we'll take care of your security. You have to be able to defend yourself if you plan on walking around with checks in your bag."

I refrained from telling him this would be the last check from the café, and just followed him to have lunch. I was even able to buy my own, thanks to Trevor. And the novelty of having lunch at a leisurely pace – sitting down – wouldn't wear off soon.

Jackson chose a small place behind the mall, and since it was near the 78th Precinct, the place was filled with cops. They all knew Jackson – partly because the agency was only a block away from the precinct, partly because he had a good reputation – and he was greeted like one of them. My presence caused some glee, especially when they learned I was his apprentice.

"What can she do? Check the ladies toilets for cheating spouses?"

I rolled my eyes. "As if there aren't any women police," I said to the sexist ass, a man about my age wearing a uniform. He only grinned.

"Not as fine as you."

I didn't know if I should be pleased or not. I wasn't exactly complimented every day, even though customers at the café had liked to flirt with the waitresses, but the tone it was given was disparaging.

Jackson came to my rescue. "I've seen your partner, O'Hara. She might get mad if she heard you say that." Everyone laughed, O'Hara included.

A detective in a rumpled suit came to our table. He was in his late forties, short and overweight with a receding hairline and a cigarette behind his ear, matching my image of what a PI should look like exactly. Jackson introduced him as Detective Lonnie Peters and we shook hands. He refrained from making asinine comments about my presence or gender, and just talked to Jackson.

"I hear you did a great job on the MacRath case." He smiled, but I detected an irritated undertone. Had it been his case? Cops could be territorial. "Congratulations."