Livia Lone

10-NOW

The next day, Livia got confirmation from the G-unit: Billy Barnett would be laid to rest at Crown Hill Cemetery at eleven o’clock the following morning. The G guys would be out in force to deter rival gangbangers from causing trouble, and to take them down if deterrence failed.

Livia went to inventory-a.k.a. the Tool Shed, a.k.a. the Bat Cave. Gossamer usage was monitored closely, in accordance with an SPD contract with the manufacturer, and a detective requesting one of the units needed permission from a lieutenant or higher, and had to fill out nearly as much paperwork as for a sniper rifle.

The Tool Shed was run by a civilian SPD employee named Alvin, a ginger-haired computer geek who looked twenty years younger than his actual forty-five. Alvin ran his operation like an OCD military quartermaster, demanding every i dotted, every t crossed. And God help you if you were an hour late returning something you had checked out from him.

But he also had a crush on Livia, blushing under his spray of freckles when she came by to sign out some equipment. And even more when she came by just to say hello. She was pretty sure he would cut her a little slack if she were to return one of his toys in, say, less than factory condition.

She took the elevator to the basement, walked down the fluorescent-lit corridor, and saw Alvin standing behind the checkout window like a postal clerk or pharmacist. She’d never once been down here and failed to see him at the ready. Sometimes she wondered if he ever went to the bathroom. But she’d decided this was something best left a mystery.

She waved. “Hey, Alvin.”

He waved back. “Livia. That’s funny-I just received a permission slip from Lieutenant Strangeland for a Gossamer.”

She smiled. “Well, what a coincidence.”

He laughed awkwardly. “Right. Of course. Well, I’ve got one right here for you. Charged up and ready to go. You have the form filled out?”

“No, I thought I’d fill it out here. If I’m not taking too much of your time.”

“What? No, of course not. Here you go.”

He produced one of the Gossamer forms-how long will the unit be out, what is its intended use, who authorized, et cetera. While she filled it out, she guided him through some small talk, mostly about how things looked for the Mariners this season, how exciting it would be to have Browner back with the Seahawks, that kind of thing. Alvin was a sports fan, and though Livia wasn’t, she wouldn’t have been worth much as a detective if she didn’t know how to shoot the shit about politics, sports, the weather, and a variety of other such topics. When she was done with the form, she slid it across the counter to him.

He examined it carefully, frowning after a moment as she’d expected. “Uh, three days… you’re really supposed to file an extension if it’s going to be longer than forty-eight hours.”

“I know. It’s this Hammerhead funeral. It’s tomorrow, but I want to make sure I have time to follow up on what I learn there.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I get it, I just… look, would you mind if we make it forty-eight, and if you need it longer, I’ll fill out the extension myself.”

She smiled. “You’re sweet.”

He blushed. “No, I mean, I just know you’re busy.”

“Well, so are you.”

“Not like you. That Montlake case? I just read an article about the survivor in the Stranger. Did you see it?”

Livia nodded. Of course she’d seen it, a follow-up on the brave woman who had survived the sadist who had broken into the Montlake home she shared with her lesbian partner, torturing, raping, and repeatedly stabbing them both before in extremis the partner fought back and saved the other victim’s life. The rapist had used the women’s love for each other, their mutual devotion, to control them while he tortured and raped them. That case had hit close to home, and when she tracked the rapist down, it had been hard for Livia not to kill him. But at least the system had worked, and he’d been sent to prison forever.

“She said you were her rock,” Alvin said. “From the first interview all the way through sentencing and even after that. You really help people, you know?”

For a moment, she forgot she was manipulating him, and was genuinely moved. “Thanks, Alvin.”

“No, thank you. So, anyway, okay with forty-eight, and then a de facto automatic extension? Just between you and me.”

She wondered for a moment who was manipulating whom. Then she held out her hand in mock formality and said, “Deal.”

Alvin smiled and they shook.

Maybe he’d manipulated her a little-he’d have to have some skills to manage all the competing requests he received, and the egos behind them. But it didn’t matter. She’d gotten Alvin to agree to bend the rules. And she knew that once you’d gotten someone to say yes to one thing, it was easier to get him to say yes to the next. Like, say, going easy on the paperwork if a Gossamer were to suffer some sort of mishap. Because she needed one of the units for a little longer than forty-eight hours. She needed it for when Weed Tyler was released from Victorville.

And maybe even beyond that.