child, we're talking about, a black kid that never had a chance
and never will. He's as much a victim as the old woman."
"Prentiss," the Eggplant said, his patience
finally cracking, "We cannot bleed for the perps in this department,
whatever their age, whatever their sex, whatever their color, however terrible
their upbringing. You know that Prentiss. A killer is a killer is a killer.
We're here to catch them. That's it. How they become bad guys is not our
mission."
"Maybe it's a dimension that we're neglecting,"
Gail persisted.
"We're going nowhere here," the Eggplant said
with obvious disgust, his mood darkening.
"I think we are. I think it's time we begin to rip
away the facade..." Gail's voice rose.
"Cool it Gail," Fiona said.
"This poor black boy has been abused. He hasn't had a
chance. His mother's a crack head. He has no idea who his father is." It
struck Fiona that she had delved much deeper into the boy's background than she
had revealed. "How can he be responsible? He is a victim. A man offers him
five hundred dollars...."
"Okay Prentiss," the Eggplant said raising his
hand. "I've heard enough. You want to be a social worker in the Juvenile Detention Center, I'll give you a reference. This is homicide." He pulled out
a panatela, unwrapped it and stuck it in his mouth.
"What's going on here Gail?" Fiona asked. There
was no way to avoid the collision.
"The white Princess asks..." Gail muttered,
lowering her eyes.
"Oh God no. Not that," Fiona shook her head in
frustration.
"How could a white person possibly understand ...
"?
Gail looked toward the Eggplant as if seeking support for
her position.
"You're out of line Prentiss," the Chief snapped,
testy now. "Get into race crap and everything gets distorted."
"How did we get on that kick?" Fiona interrupted.
It was a puzzling rhetorical question since race had never been a divisive
issue between her and Gail Prentiss. Or was she in denial? Wasn't there a
gender bond here, a class bond? And friendship? Had she deluded herself into
believing that Gail Prentiss was a real friend? Fiona was confused. There was a
genuine sense of racial hostility here. Had it been there all along? Just
beneath the surface?
"Don't you people feel any compassion for that sad
boy?"
"Compassion Gail?" Fiona said. "You're in
the wrong pew."
"You can't relate Fiona," Gail continued.
"For obvious reasons. That's your problem."
"My problem!"
"Now I'm getting riled," the Eggplant shouted. He
turned to Prentiss. "We don't do race garbage here."
"But we sure as hell think it," Prentiss said,
her voice rising.
"Don't tell me what I think woman," the Eggplant
said smashing out his unlit panatela.
"You're way off base, Gail."
"You keep out of it, Fiona."
"You mean keep your white ass out of it, is that what
you mean?"
"You got a point."
"Dammit, girls," the Eggplant hissed, using the
hated word as he slapped the table. "Keep this up and this arrangement is
busted. Just say the word and this tent folds." He looked pointedly at
Prentiss. "Is this what you want?"
Gail, whose nostrils had swelled with anger, lowered her
eyes and began to fidget with her fingers.
"Well?" the Eggplant said, calming.
Gail shook her head. The Eggplant turned to Fiona.
"You?"
"No chief."
His eyes flashed with anger as he pointed a finger at
Prentiss.
"I want none of that race crapola again, Prentiss.
Ever. You both capeesh?"
Gail looked up, exchanging glances with Fiona. They both
nodded. In her eyes, Fiona detected little remorse. Had this outburst spoiled
everything between them? Fiona hoped not, searching her heart for understanding,
knowing that sooner or later the issue between them would have to be
confronted.
"Good. Now let's get to the cream cheese. Who wanted
this biddy iced?"
CHAPTER 8
Fiona and Gail spoke little on their way out to William
Shipley's horse farm in Middleburg, although it was clear that the center of
gravity of their relationship had changed. They drove through a road
and never will. He's as much a victim as the old woman."
"Prentiss," the Eggplant said, his patience
finally cracking, "We cannot bleed for the perps in this department,
whatever their age, whatever their sex, whatever their color, however terrible
their upbringing. You know that Prentiss. A killer is a killer is a killer.
We're here to catch them. That's it. How they become bad guys is not our
mission."
"Maybe it's a dimension that we're neglecting,"
Gail persisted.
"We're going nowhere here," the Eggplant said
with obvious disgust, his mood darkening.
"I think we are. I think it's time we begin to rip
away the facade..." Gail's voice rose.
"Cool it Gail," Fiona said.
"This poor black boy has been abused. He hasn't had a
chance. His mother's a crack head. He has no idea who his father is." It
struck Fiona that she had delved much deeper into the boy's background than she
had revealed. "How can he be responsible? He is a victim. A man offers him
five hundred dollars...."
"Okay Prentiss," the Eggplant said raising his
hand. "I've heard enough. You want to be a social worker in the Juvenile Detention Center, I'll give you a reference. This is homicide." He pulled out
a panatela, unwrapped it and stuck it in his mouth.
"What's going on here Gail?" Fiona asked. There
was no way to avoid the collision.
"The white Princess asks..." Gail muttered,
lowering her eyes.
"Oh God no. Not that," Fiona shook her head in
frustration.
"How could a white person possibly understand ...
"?
Gail looked toward the Eggplant as if seeking support for
her position.
"You're out of line Prentiss," the Chief snapped,
testy now. "Get into race crap and everything gets distorted."
"How did we get on that kick?" Fiona interrupted.
It was a puzzling rhetorical question since race had never been a divisive
issue between her and Gail Prentiss. Or was she in denial? Wasn't there a
gender bond here, a class bond? And friendship? Had she deluded herself into
believing that Gail Prentiss was a real friend? Fiona was confused. There was a
genuine sense of racial hostility here. Had it been there all along? Just
beneath the surface?
"Don't you people feel any compassion for that sad
boy?"
"Compassion Gail?" Fiona said. "You're in
the wrong pew."
"You can't relate Fiona," Gail continued.
"For obvious reasons. That's your problem."
"My problem!"
"Now I'm getting riled," the Eggplant shouted. He
turned to Prentiss. "We don't do race garbage here."
"But we sure as hell think it," Prentiss said,
her voice rising.
"Don't tell me what I think woman," the Eggplant
said smashing out his unlit panatela.
"You're way off base, Gail."
"You keep out of it, Fiona."
"You mean keep your white ass out of it, is that what
you mean?"
"You got a point."
"Dammit, girls," the Eggplant hissed, using the
hated word as he slapped the table. "Keep this up and this arrangement is
busted. Just say the word and this tent folds." He looked pointedly at
Prentiss. "Is this what you want?"
Gail, whose nostrils had swelled with anger, lowered her
eyes and began to fidget with her fingers.
"Well?" the Eggplant said, calming.
Gail shook her head. The Eggplant turned to Fiona.
"You?"
"No chief."
His eyes flashed with anger as he pointed a finger at
Prentiss.
"I want none of that race crapola again, Prentiss.
Ever. You both capeesh?"
Gail looked up, exchanging glances with Fiona. They both
nodded. In her eyes, Fiona detected little remorse. Had this outburst spoiled
everything between them? Fiona hoped not, searching her heart for understanding,
knowing that sooner or later the issue between them would have to be
confronted.
"Good. Now let's get to the cream cheese. Who wanted
this biddy iced?"
CHAPTER 8
Fiona and Gail spoke little on their way out to William
Shipley's horse farm in Middleburg, although it was clear that the center of
gravity of their relationship had changed. They drove through a road
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