Ark

17

Less than thirty minutes after Gordo Alonzo’s speech, Don Meisel was delivered to the door of the Denver police department head-quarters on Delaware Street.

He walked into a crowded hall full of cops coming and going, in shabby uniforms or plain clothes, some shouting into the air or listening absently to Angels. Heavy security doors, all closed, led off deeper into the building. Many of the cops carried paper cups of coffee; the smell of the stuff was strong in the air. The fluorescent lights seemed dim, the paint on the walls a muddy yellow. With the noise and the murky light, it felt like walking into a cave. None of it seemed real, in fact. He couldn’t believe he was here. One man, a heavyset Latino, sat on a plastic chair, his hands cuffed before him. His nose looked flattened, the nostrils plugged with bloody tissue. He stared at Don in his gaudy Candidate’s uniform and sneered, showing a mouth full of broken teeth. Don shrank, self-conscious.

A uniformed cop came up to Don. She was maybe fifty, with thick graying hair tied back in a bun behind her head. Her face was a mask, the wrinkles around her mouth and small nose chiseled deep, and her eyes were shadowed with fatigue. She had a small scar on her right cheek, maybe inflicted by a punch by ringed fingers. She was carrying a clipboard and handheld. “You’re Don Meisel, from the Academy?” She didn’t look at him as she said this.

He stayed silent.

That made her look up at him. “Don Meisel,” she said more firmly.

“Yes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She looked at him more closely, focusing on his face.

“Defiant cuss, are we? You won’t find that goes down well here. OK, Meisel, we don’t want you here.”

“And I don’t want to be here.”

“Then we’re equal. Equal in mutual loathing.” There was a flicker of humor in her eyes. “Look, I’ll give you a once-only head’s-up about how your life is going to be from now on. After that you’re on your own. OK?”

He nodded stiffly.

“I can imagine how you’re feeling. Really I can. Getting thrown out of your cushy berth, the wonderful expensive program they’re running back there. Thrown down into the pit, here on Delaware. That’s how it feels, right? And I know what you think your life will be like now. Policing food riots and battling eye-dees with TB.

“But it’s not all like that. This is still a city, it’s still populated by American citizens who are still preyed on by corner boys and touts and pimps and drug slingers and all the rest. And we’re still professional cops. I’m talking about ordinary, old-fashioned policing, of which the challenges have only got worse as wave after wave of refugees have washed over this town of ours.” She looked deep into his eyes, challenging him. “Think you might find some satisfaction in that kind of work? You’re a smart kid, I can tell by the files they sent over from the Academy. It’s still possible to build a career in this department. Just focus on the job and we’ll see how you prosper.”

Don said nothing.

“OK, Meisel, your training starts as of now. Down the hall to the left, ask for Officer Bundy. I asked him to find you a berth in the squad for the first couple of days, and a partner. He’ll show you where to get a cadet badge and pick up a uniform. You seriously need to get out of the Spider-Man outfit.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Ma’am.”

“Oh, and Meisel. Ask Bundy about lodging.”

“I don’t need lodging.”

She sighed. “Yes, you do. You’ll get no more support from the Academy. Look, it’s not so bad. One time you had to be a Denver resident to be a cop here. Now it’s switched around, if you serve as a cop you have a residency entitlement. A rookie cadet like you has a right to a quarter-share in a dorm room. Bundy will give you the paperwork. Go, go, get on with it.”

He walked stiffly into the building, ignoring the stares and grins of the officers he encountered.