BECOMING — Chapter Two

by Patrick Baggatta

“What do we know?” Hammond had only been around for a couple of days, mostly shit details the guys could dump on him. He’d been a willing enough target, but I hadn’t taken my turn yet. There was always shit work to get out of, but I knew I was gonna end up riding with the guy. I liked the idea of starting clean. Most guys want to get a rookie partner under their thumb as fast as possible. But it’s hard work keeping someone under, you never stop watching the cracks forming. I didn’t need the stress.

“We don’t know shit,” I said with a smile. Just because we were starting clean didn’t mean I had to answer his stupid questions. Besides, he was all set up to learn his own first thing about being murder police. He wouldn’t remember anything I told him anyway.

We arrived at the address, one of those loft renovations that looked good until the new one next to it made it look like day old bread. I could see cops milling around on the second floor, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing a scandalous show for the entire block.

“Come on,” I said, and started out of the car. Hammond grabbed my wrist. I tensed and balled my fist to hit him. He was lucky he was paying attention and let go fast.

“Sorry, I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Just take it in,” I told him, making it sound enough like an apology to get it dropped. But he wasn’t gonna let it go. He needed to bathe in the moment. “What?”

“I’m always gonna remember this one, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know. How’s your memory?” I got out of the car and headed for the door. A uniform I knew from the bars opened up for us on his way out. The guy’s shoes were untied. Schmuck, I thought.

“Seen enough, Lazetti?”

“Enough to know I should of come by six hours ago.” I tried to keep his comment from flavoring my first impressions. Clean starts are important to me.

Lazetti tipped his cap and left. I kind of envied the uniform guys. I’d skipped that part. The force is worse than Hollywood with who you know. I knew a lot of people. I didn’t like that many of them, but I knew them. I made some of them nervous with my drinking, but I’d never been the kind of drunk to go shooting his mouth off, so most of the guys, even the ones I could’ve fucked six ways from Sunday, raised a glass and wished me well.

We climbed the stairs to the open studio door. I could see camera flashes from the hallway. It came back to me that this was some kind of photography studio. My mind started picturing the scene with each flash. It always did that just before seeing the real thing. I stepped inside with Hammond right behind me. I was off by a mile.