Miami Vice

Chapter 3

When Camila got home that Friday evening, she felt like dying. Her high was weird somehow.

It was all over the place. Camila didn't have control and she hated the feeling.

She kicked her shoes off, grabbed a banana from the counter and bit into it. Looking around for something to do she noticed something on her thighs. Dried blood.

"Great..." she scoffed. Instantly reminded of the nervous, mumbling wreck she was just an hour ago. And then instantly reminded of how much of a dick she was a few minutes after that.

Ugh she hated when people made her feel something. Like, when people made her care, you know? It gave her goosebumps. Because there was no space to care. She had only ever cared about her grandmother, because her grandmother cared about her. And okay, Dinah.

Because Dinah was her partner in crime, or better: her partner in crime fighting. And she would have been kicked out of the force a long time ago if it wasn't for the significantly taller girl holding her back before she could fight a fellow cadet, or detective, or the captain, or some bad guy in the interrogation room, or some bad guy in court, or some sleaze ball hitting on unwilling girls at Churchill's, or the hot dog vendor because he put relish on her hot dog, or just anybody really if Camila was in the mood. Her potential to get into a fight was always quite high.

The cocaine certainly didn't help.

In the middle of rummaging through huge pile of black jeans in the corner of the room, she got interrupted by Dinah calling.

"WALZ!"

"What's up, Dinah."

"Listen, Captain spoke to me before I left work. There's some youth thing going on on Wednesday. They want someone from the police to hang out with some kids, answer questions about the job, etc."

Yes, almost clean pants! Camila held the dusty pair of black skinny jeans to her chest.

"And you're telling me this because...?" Camila drew out.

"You have to do it?"

Camila laughed out loud. "Sure, Dinah. Okay, nice try. I like your pranks, but this one is really one of your better ones."

"Mila, I'm serious. They don't want to send any of the rookies because you know how that ended the last time. Dove still panics when we bring it up. And the senior guys all pulling the "I've been here 35 years, you can't ask me to do that" and everyone else is on cases. You're the only one without a case right now and you're young and relatable."

"Dinah, I made 4 of your siblings cry without even talking to them, looking at them or touching them."

"Yeah but they were small, you know?"

"They were in high school, Dinah."

"Listen, it's not like you have a choice. Community out reach is important to the Captain. People don't really like the police right now, and rightfully so! You've been lucky that you had to do so little. I do this shit in my free time. So you can step up and represent the force in a positive manner. And I mean positive, Camila. They're kids. Don't tell them how to choke someone out or how to turn a bubble gum wrapper, a lighter and a quarter into a deadly weapon. This is Paw Patrol, not Training Day."

"Ugh okay fine! Just send me a text with the info." Camila was pissed. She hated community out reach. Partly, because she never knew what to say. She hated the whole 'friendly neighbourhood cop' thing.

And it sometimes would turn uncomfortable. Sometimes she'd be at some event, handing out stickers to kids of people from back then, who then come up to her. Known gang members, criminals, greeting her almost like family.

Whispering thank yous and giving approving nods because she had conveniently overlooked a pack of cocaine here and there, sometimes an unregistered hand gun under a mattress or wads of cash, hidden away in shoes boxes.