Young Writers Society

Winslow saw the sailor walking away, a sigh escaping from his chest as the detective turned back to his typing. They didn’t get nearly enough answers to help to solve the mystery but he assumed he would be getting more of the interrogation done off the record. His fingers ran across the keyboard while filling in the details that he knew until the knowledge ran out.

“Winslow, if you’re just going to be moping around the station for the next half hour while you wait to clock out, can you mope somewhere that is not directly across from my desk?”

The detective looked up to find a disgruntled Billy typing up his own case notes. He had to hold back any comments about they didn’t have many notes to type up. And a further sarcastic comment about the fact that the case they were dealing with had more than a few motives. There were many different suspects playing into this complicated affair of politics, affairs, and general terribleness of the state of Alabama.

He wasn’t really in the mood to explain his frustration to Billy so he just asked, “Where would you like me to go to mope then old buddy old pal?”

“If you’re not going to manage to do anything helpful for next,” the younger detective paused to look at his watch and then continued, “29 minutes, you might as well leave me here to do the paper work myself. Because as long as the only things on your mind are phallic, I know that you’re going to be useless to me.”

Billy was fuming as he picked up his notebook and turned around to face the other wall. Winslow knew that his partner was justified in his anger, but he had covered for the man more than once when there was an “emergency” at home. If Billy was concerned about phallic objects being on his mind, then perhaps the man should also be reflecting on his own thoughts. Winslow took a sip of battery acid, feeling the damage it caused to his internal organs as he simply stated, “If I’m so useless to you, I think I’m just going to go take the lieutenant home and use him in someway.”

All sense of modesty, decorum, and hiding out in the closet had gone out of the window for Winslow. His comments could have easily gotten more sexual if he hadn’t of remembered the glint in James’ eyes as the sailor walked towards the door. The detective slammed his mug of coffee down on the desk, picked up his coat and hat once more, and dug around in his pockets for his car keys. He marched across the squad room, punching out early with the decision that he would just make it up tomorrow even though that was a plan that rarely worked out. And before he stepped completely out the door he looked back once more to see that Billy’s chair was still facing the other way.

Under his breath Winslow quietly noted, “I’d like to see him try to solve this mystery by himself.”

As Winslow closed the station door behind him, raindrops started to fall from the sky and he pulled the collar up on his trench coat. James was standing by the corner of the building, just casually smoking a cigarette. The elegant rings of smoke that came from the sailor’s mouth were quickly erased by the storm. Those lovely drops were splashing against his forehead and Winslow wondered why the man wasn’t putting his hat on. The accompanying coat was simply hanging off the sailor’s arm as Winslow watched the mystifying scene.

He managed to muster up enough confidence to walk over to James and asked, “What are you thinking about, Sailor?”

“Well there’s a lot of things on my mind, Winslow. And you know if I’m going to be such a trouble to you, maybe we should just pretend that we didn’t meet.”

The sailor finally put his hat on, but Winslow could see him still shivering in the rain. He felt the coat hanging off of James’ arm and found it to be soaked through. Winslow slipped his own trench coat off of his shoulders, wrapping it around the sailor who began weeping upon beginning their embrace. He had originally planned on stepping away after placing the garment on his new partner’s shoulders, but held on tightly to the man as he guided them both to his car.

“You are not a problem, James. You are going to be one of the best things to ever happen to me.”

Winslow had to lift the sailor into the car. The man hadn’t responded to the detective’s statement but his tears were still falling on Winslow’s shoulder. He gently closed the door and stepped around to the driver’s side.

“You must be wondering how I know that you two think I’m a problem. If you must know, I was leaning against the station door, Winslow, and I don’t want to cause any problem between you and your partner.”

Winslow didn’t answer him.

Winslow couldn’t answer him.

So he simply started his car, driving out of the station parking lot and trying to make it home without crying himself. The detective tried to think of the happier moments in his life, but all of the words that came back to him were full of pain. It wasn’t his fault that every time he raised his voice he saw the image of his father firing a shotgun at their mother. And it certainly was not his intent to scare the very man he was trying to woo, but that seemed to be the effect of Winslow slamming down different objects.

As they got nearer to Winslow’s apartment building, he finally spoke. His voice wavered as he said, “I don’t care to have people eavesdropping on my private affairs but I’m not going to count that against you in bed.”

James pulled himself from against the door, looking directly into Winslow’s eyes with a slight look of fear. His own voice was nervous as he asked, “So just how exactly are you going to treat me in bed, sir?”

“I’ll give you exactly what a naughty boy deserves.”