Ready. Set. Psycho.

Chapter Ten: Solomon

           

Before Solomon was taken off active duty completely, they gave him a chance to switch to a new job. They said he could work on the team of negotiators. It was a month after he had found Juanita. Greg was still alive. It seemed like a good idea to get away from chasing Psycho.

The hallway at his new station was clear and tidy. Solomon walked leisurely through. There were few people, and those that stood in the hallway were talking casually about what they did on the weekend. The string of offices was clearly marked with ranks and names, and the doors were all open. None of the offices were empty. No one was yelling or jostling. It was quiet and peaceful. He found the office of Captain Phillip Marks and knocked.

Marks was inside. He waved Solomon in and then stood, and the two shook hands. "Sol, I presume?" Solomon nodded. "How was your weekend?"

Solomon sat. "I'm not used to weekends. And I've been off for a month."

Marks sat. His hair was jet-black. He had degrees on his wall and four different certificates relating to dealing with high-stress situations. One of those was executive education under duress from Harvard. "Good month?" he asked.

"Good month," Solomon said.

"Get anywhere?"

"No. Stayed home. Recovered."

"Must have been tough," Marks said, leaning back in his chair.

Solomon's shoulders relaxed, and he leaned back too. "I'm recovered. It wasn't easy."

"So you've decided to join the most elite unit in the force?"

"What?" Solomon asked. "I was transferred. Wasn't entirely my idea."

"Well, there's only four of us, you know," Marks said, leaning forward and speaking quieter. "And we are here in the admin building. And most days, there is nothing really for us to do. We sit around like firemen waiting for a hostile situation, and then we get embedded into a SWAT or something, and out we go. I wouldn't be anything other than a negotiator."

"Wasn't my first choice," Solomon said. "To be honest, I wanted to stay on homicide, where I was. I don't think I'm nearly as bad off as they say."

"Well, this is better than a desk job. And that was the alternative."

"Hardly a choice. At least this is active duty."

"Exactly. And for the majority of cops who went through what you did, it would be a desk for life. Few have the education you've got, few have the aptitude, and even fewer have the experience. You were accepted into a PhD program, right?"

"Yeah," Solomon said. "Art History."

"And you did a Masters in..."

"Criminology. Yale. Anthropology, also Yale."

"An Eli? A Bulldog? And that's a lot of degrees."

"Got my name on a couple buildings there. Legacy kid. It's not reflective of my own accomplishments."

"They don't just hand those out."

Solomon laughed. "They sure as hell do. I've got three degrees that prove it."

"Fair enough," Marks said. "I earned mine the old-fashioned way."

"The old-fashioned way is to buy them with graft. Earning a degree with intelligence is very nouveau riche," Solomon said.

"Fine. You won't admit earning yours. But they've saved you from a life behind a desk, so be thankful."

"I'm thankful for everything my father has given me," Solomon said. "I really am. He's made my life exceedingly easy."