Where There is Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth

Chapter 21: All That and a Bag of Chips

Sharon Sheffy toed off her cherry red Louboutins and swung her bare heels to the edge of her desk; not terribly concerned if her neighbors caught the peep show or not. She was still on “report” as it were. Uncalled for “probation pending review” had been the official word. In a rare show of quality control, her chief had reamed her up one side and down the other for the last article about the Monster and his alleged “victim” Shawn Spencer. And it hadn't really been the article that had truly touched such an apparently sensitive nerve with her boss, but the fact that she'd dared pursue this beyond the proverbial grave. An unfair accusation given that Deakins had spent half a year ping-ponging between Lindsey Lohan and Brangelina.

She was a rabid dog; a title she hadn't asked for but wasn't un-proud of either. She'd been called worse; The Whore of Babble being one of the kinder descriptives and easily the most clever. Editor and Chief, Albert Fisher had hired her for her tenacity to get the whole story and to never let emotion hinder research. Tears and terror far too often hid darker motives. She'd never once interviewed someone who wasn't hiding something. In all honesty she couldn't understand why the cops at the SBPD had so much distaste for her; she was no different in her approach for answers than they were. Especially Lassiter. God, that asshole. So what if she dabbled in “unscrupulous”? At least she wasn't known by a moniker that suggested she was anything other than good at her job. “Detective Dipstick” would follow him to the grave, and well earned, that idiot couldn't find his balls if he was juggling them!

So here she was, desk bound and writing fluff about the Mayor's visit to Washington. Nobody read political posturing. She may as well be writing obituaries. She hadn't even been allowed near the latest murder investigation. The chief had actually put Simms on that. Simms! The guy that smelled like pot roast and wore high top sneakers with orange laces; an unflattering look for any age but this guy was teetering on the brink of sixty! Before this assignment he'd been punching his card on illegal botox parties and the occasional kiddie perv. All it would take would be one good lead. He didn't have her drive to get the truth but he had that “trust me, I'm a goofy grampa” manner that people just inevitably blabbed to just to earn that proud smile and a lollipop. No. Hell, no. This was hers, dammit!

Man she could use some coffee. Of course, her preferred cup wasn't exactly work safe.

“Oh, hey, Sheffy-”

She looked up at “Red” Reddington who'd been walking past her desk. She smiled, “Hey! How's it going for the Santa Barbarians?” Not much of a sports fan herself but Red was a renowned roller derby addict. Plus, anything that brought his abs closer to her desk was a worthy cost no matter how numbing.

Red smiled. “Lookin good! They've got some rookies starting on Sunday that have a lot of possibilities.”

Sheffy nodded, mind already drifting as her eyes drifted down the front of his shirt. Okay, so what if he was dancing between engaged and married? A committed guy would never cheat and an uncommitted guy was... fun!

“Oh, wait, I meant to leave this on your desk earlier.” Red felt the outside of both pants pockets before digging out a small folded bit of paper.

Sheffy slid her heels back to the floor to snatch the pale pink square – already losing interest in mentally undressing her colleague in favor of getting at whatever the paper contained. She read the note, frowning a little.