Categories > Games > Devil May Cry > Devil May Cry: Remnants
Roark's Day 1: The Ball's in His Court
0 reviewsStrange, if this was a case Sgt. Reese would normally take then it must be one of those weird, freaky ones. Why give it him? He's never been into this sort of thing. Who's bright idea was it to giv...
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* Roark's Day 1 - The Ball's on His Court *
Author's Note - Thanks for tuning in guys! Basically, this is the setup I was referring to. Each 'chapter' opens with an entry first, then the character's side of the day. That doesn't mean everything will be told from their view, though, since there'll be events that'll take place in their neck of the woods included too. Like at the end of this chapter. In the future I'll have all three entries (Roark, Dante, and Pandora) posted up simultaneously so you guys can choose which 'path' to read first, as my story is pretty flexible. Right now though, I'm checking over the other entries for grammar and spelling mistakes. The boring stuff. Anyway, enjoy!
* Roark's Day 1 - The Ball's on His Court *
The sky was painted bright blue by the time Roark arrived in front of the Chicago Police Department building, a cigarette in hand. The other hand, tucked smugly in his pant's pocket. Lean and tall, he looked too young and well polished to be a Lieutenant serving the force. Specifically in the Criminal Investigation Unit. His glass brown shoes were easily worth one thousand g's. Likewise, the dark gray suit he wore. The crimson expensive shirt he had beneath it was worn loosely, exposing his neck and a bit of collar bone. The wavy and thick black hair that mopped over his head was slicked backed, fully revealing a youthful face. He was clean shaven, right down to his skin's pores. Even his sideburns were evenly cut and lined crisply to complement the length of his face. From a distant, he looked like a suave man, too consumed by his ego to be taken seriously. His cinder-colored eyes, however, revealed another story. Unfortunately, no one would know that since dark sunglasses were always present, preventing any inner secrets from getting out.
Roark gazed up at the tanned brown four-storied building. Its simple Italian Gothic style structure stood firm, intimidating bystanders. He looked at while longer before turning his attention to his watch, a small smile soon forming in his lips. He took a long drag from his cigarette before finally stubbing it out. Walking up the steps leading to wide double doors Roark entered the building and was immediately greeted by the receptionist.
"Uh, good afternoon, Lieutenant Esperanza!" the man behind the desk said. He smiled. However, there was a hint of anxiety in his voice.
Roark approached the metal detectors left of the main desk. There was another officer there, eyelids heavy with sleep. Roark pulled out his glock pistol and any other metal objects he had on him, giving them to officer.
"Afternoon, Hicks," Roark answered evenly, passing through the metal detector. "Rough night, eh? How're the kids?"
"Oh, they're good. They're finally leaving for college. Thank Buddha." Hicks yawned.
"See last night's game, Drake?" Roark asked the man behind the desk.
"Yeah. Damn Lakers," Drake replied bitterly and then paused.
Roark looked at him and half-way smiled. "So the Chief wants to see me right now, huh?"
Drake raised his eyebrows. "Y-yeah. I mean, yes-yes, sir. How... did you know, sir?"
Roark shrugged. "Lucky guess."
Lt Esperanza collected his things from Hicks, giving him a nod before casually navigating his way to the hallway's elevators. Hands in pocket. When the elevator arrived and opened its doors he clicked on the second floor button and waited. The moment the elevator's doors opened again the scene before him was like an enactment of Judgment Day. Everything was chaotic, filled with escalating voices and nonstop motion.
The level of noise and moving bodies was typical for a Monday afternoon. Those scuffling through the busy hallways to get to their destinations had to step aside as incoming officers arrived with arrested civilians. Fresh off the street, every one of them was ready to talk up a storm. Rookies quickly made their way out to the city, ready for patrol. Errand boys worked up a sweat as they ran back and forth, delivering papers and letters. Everything was just buzzing with life.
Roark walked into the lounge area to his right and prepared some coffee for himself. It didn't take long for a colleague to storm in after him.
"Geez, Roark," a young man with the complexion of ivory soap spat, "I bet you were late when coming outta your mother too. This is the fifth time you've left me out to roast, man."
He was as tall as Roark but possessed more upper body strength, as indicated by his very broad shoulders. Still, the muscular appearance seemed to clash with the rest of him. His brown suit was a bit wrinkled and there were dark circles around his twinkling eyes, as if he had just come from a hangover. There were small specks of freckles present, creating a collage of neutral colors in his face. His dusty blond hair was trimmed short, but seemed all over the place.
Nathan Peterson was usually a cheerful fellow and was always ready for some after-hours time. But today he obviously woke up on the bad side of the bed.
"Sue me, Nate," Roark finally replied and licked his lips. He took a sip of his coffee and made a frown. "Tastes like shit. When is this hellhole ever getting a decent coffee maker?"
"Worry about your job than the coffee," Nathan continued, "The Chief is fuming so much right now that smoke seems to be coming outta his office. Get your act together or I'll be ordering my next cheeseburger and fries from you next week."
"Why, I didn't know you cared," Roark answered mockingly.
"I don't. But your attitude and behavior reflects off of me too. The Chief thinks /I /might even be a part of the problem." Nate stopped and sighed. "Honestly, man, this is your fifth time being late. I don't think number six will be a lucky number for you very soon."
"Ask me if I care." Roark rolled his eyes. Then started heading out of the lounge with his cup of coffee. "Besides, I had an important matter to attend to this morning."
"Like what?" Nate asked, walking beside him.
"Remember the broad at the club we saw last night?"
Nate's eyes widened and he laughed. "You didn't..."
Roark gave a devilish grin. "She wasn't kidding about being a former gymnast."
"Whoa..." Nate said, thrilled. However, he frowned the moment he took a glimpse of a gold ring wrapped around one of Roark's fingers.
Roark noticed the look. "Don't give me any of that infidelity crap again, Nate. Sure, I know I've got a wife. And yes, she's pregnant. Hell, I banged two other women and they're all still hassling me for child support. Whatever. I got my own needs too. My own personal life."
Roark took another sip of his coffee.
It was true. It wouldn't be the first time he got a woman pregnant. Many of them demanded child support. Lucky for him, however, they were all drug addicts. Prostitutes. Call girls. He could deny the children were his because it was their word against his. A cop's word. In addition, because they've had so many sexual partners prior to him he could easily dismiss himself. Even if blood tests confirmed him as the biological father his connections to several doctors and judges would assure the courts otherwise. It was a no-brainer who was the winner in this case scenario. He could have as many women as he wanted and still get away with it. Who'd stop him anyway?
There was one thing that bothered him, though. If women were nothing more than sexual play dolls for him, then why'd he marry Rosa? Rosa had five more weeks left to her pregnancy but he had more than enough time to bail out. Still, they married once she discovered the growing baby in her womb. He could've thrown her to the wolves along with the others. She was just a stripper when they met after all. It couldn't have been for convenience either. Rosa's former occupation, if leaked to the public, might ruin his /good public image/. Then why? Was it love?
"Aren't you being a little... cold?" Nate asked quietly.
"Maybe I am." He shrugged. "But at least I'm honest. The world could use more honest people. It wouldn't have so many Goddamn hypocrites running around. Besides, this is my problem. Not yours."
"Whatever you say, Roark..."
The walk to the Chief's office was quiet the rest of the way. When they finally arrived at the end of a hallway, they stopped in front of a frosted covered glass door. The words 'Chief of Department Daniel Roberts' were imprinted boldly. Even the strong lines and curves of the letters appeared angry somehow. Roark removed his sunglasses while Nate quickly moved to the side.
"Good luck." Nate smiled, trying to stifle a chuckle.
Roark ignored him and instead, knocked on the door.
"That'd better be Lt. Esperanza and not the mailman," a stern voice said from the other side.
Roark just rolled his eyes while Nate covered his mouth, now more than ever wanting to laugh his ass off. Roark opened the door and entered the Chief's office.
*
"Glad you could finally join us, Lieutenant," Chief Roberts said calmly. "For a moment, I thought I'd have to call the morgue people to see if they might've stumbled across your sorry ass body there."
The Chief of Department was currently looking out the window, back facing Lt. Esperanza. Even if he couldn't see his face, Roark knew the Chief's current mood. A proud and stern black man who was once a first class Sergeant in the Marine Corps, Chief Roberts was not a man to fuck with. He might be pushing into his late 50's now, but his balls remained as cold as ever. They could easily break off. Getting on his bad side meant hell for the miserable bastard crazy enough to take him on. He was notorious for making grown men cry, reduced to a blubbering mess. Even the other Districts were scared of him. Rookie cops did their best to avoid being assigned to the 18th District.
If not for his connections, Roark would be... concerned. In fact, he tried many times to use those connections to reassign Chief Roberts to another department or District. But even his contacts, men from high places, said it wouldn't be possible until next year. Until then, he had to hold out and avoid getting bitten by the hound from hell. Fucking tenure...
"I make no excuses," Roark started, standing in front of the Chief's desk. "I'll do whatever is necessary to make amends."
The Chief was quiet. He didn't turn around. Yell. Fling an object from his desk and smash the glass door like he did last time. He was quiet. A little too quiet, in fact.
Roark waited for the Chief to say something but he didn't. He just kept staring outside the window. His lean muscular arms, concealed with a white striped shirt, were crossed behind him. The long band holstering his out-dated pistol was the only visible thing Roark could see. It too remained as still as a statue since the Chief didn't budge even a centimeter. After what seemed like an eternity, Roark piped up again. He tried his damn best to keep his voice even despite the tension building.
"Sir, I realize how frustrated you must be. This won't happen again, I assure you."
"You like basketball?" Chief Roberts suddenly asked, still staring outside the window.
"Sir?"
"What's the matter? You deaf?" He spat. "I asked you if you liked basketball."
Roark blinked. "Yes. I do."
The Chief finally turned around. Reflections danced all over his shiny bald head. His eyes were so large, they seemed like they could see an object galaxies away. Roark fully understood how some of men had wet their pants when they stared deep into them. He must've been a descendant of the tyrannosaurus-rex to have eyes like those. That thick black moustache of his didn't make him look any friendlier either.
Without another word, Chief Roberts went to his desk. He took something as small as a grapefruit out from the bottom draw. It was orange and round. A basketball.
"I'm a big fan," Chief Roberts said as he tossed the small basketball from one hand and into the other. Then repeated this pattern as the conversation resumed. "My son loves it too. He's been a basketball player since Elementary school. This is his last year. He's a senior, you see."
The Chief walked back towards the window and looked out. Even though the conversation seemed very casual Roark knew better. In fact, these were the kinds of talks that sent cops scurrying to a corner, promising to never come out. One guy nearly shot the Chief out of fear.
"His last game is next month," Chief Roberts continued calmly, "He's excited because many scouts have taken a liking to him. Who knows, he might even make pro. But I already warned that son-of-a-bitch to go to college first before taking the fast road. Education is top priority."
The Chief looked back at Roark, noting the uneasiness in his face. He stopped tossing the small basketball between his hands, for a moment. Then decided to prop open the window. He leaned casually against the window's sill, keeping his focus on the Lieutenant. He resumed tossing the ball back and forth, from one hand to the next.
"If you love basketball then you should know all about the rules," spoke the Chief. "You'd also know that basketball is a group effort. When one player doesn't contribute it affects the team during crunch time. So when that player screws up by acting like a Kobe Byrant, he doesn't just hurt one individual. He hurts everyone around him too. Do you understand?"
Roark nodded.
"So then you know that any bullshit you say, about you wanting to make amends to me, doesn't really matter, right?" Chief Roberts gave Roark a stiff look. "I'm not that important. I'm just the coach barking orders to you. But your team. They certainly are vital to the game's success. They're the ones you should be kissing ass to. Don't you think?"
Roark stood silent. The Chief carefully studied his face. He waited a minute. Then, unexpectedly, he threw the small basketball out the window. Nearly causing a car crash below.
"The ball's in your court, son," the older man said, then commanded. "Now have a seat."
He sat behind his desk and patiently waited for Roark to comply. As Roark did, Chief Roberts opened his drawer and took out a folder.
"How's your case coming along, Lieutenant?" Chief Roberts asked without looking at him. Instead, scanning the folder's contents.
"Wonderful, Chief," Roark answered, grateful for the change of subject. "Lieutenant Peterson and I have just about wrapped it up. We got solid evidence to connect the case to our suspect. All we need now is the warrant for his arrest. Then we're done."
"That's good to hear. Because I have a new case for you."
Roark waited for more details.
"Even more interesting," the Chief continued, "It was an anonymous source that specifically requested you take it."
"Sir?" Roark frowned.
"Personally, I've always had trouble trusting anonymous persons," Chief Roberts resumed, ignoring the face Roark made. "You just don't know if what they're saying is the truth or if they're actually the responsible parties. This one also has the nerve to tell me who should take this case. He could be a garbage collector for all I know. Still, I'll make an exception to this one because it was the guys high up that shoved this case up the department's ass. I'll never understand 'em sometimes."
He seemed to notice something in one of the folder's pages and took a moment to observe it.
"I'm curious as to why this person asked for you though," he murmured with a frown. "There's nothing special about you. You're not even a descent criminal investigator."
Roark narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
"Perhaps you can answer that question someday." The Chief looked up from the folder, staring at him in silence. After another decade, he finally closed the folder and handed to Roark. "I got to warn you, it's a rather unusual case. Normally, I'd have Sergeant Reese take this since he's into this kind of thing. But he's busy cracking down another nut job."
Roark frowned. Frankie?
"Look over it when you have the chance." The Chief sat back. "That'll be all, Lieutenant."
Chief Roberts turned his oversized leather seat around to face the window. Roark stood up, tucking the folder under his arm with a puzzled look.
Strange, if this was a case Sgt. Reese would normally take then it must be one of those weird, freaky ones. Why give it him? He's never been into this sort of thing. Who's bright idea was it to give him this assignment? It's not like he's an expert. Still, how weird can this case be if it was delivered specifically to him?
As Roark was about to exit the office, Chief Roberts called out to him one last time.
"Lieutenant," he began softly, still sitting in his cushy leather seat and looking out the window. "That was my favorite basketball I just threw out. When I said the ball was in your court I literally meant it. You have 'til four o' clock to get my ball back here. Otherwise, collect your things."
For a second, Roark thought it was a joke. But the Chief was dead serious.
* Suburbs *
It was eight in the evening and a family of four was gathered around a table eating dinner. The moon's eye peered silently though a window. A television filled the air with its incoherent sound, currently on a family-oriented channel. Two young boys were currently engaged in a sibling battle, flinging bundles of green peas at each other. It quickly garnered a reaction from their mother. As she scolded them her husband looked at his plate in silence.
He was a mature man, pushing into his late fifties with gray white hair and sporting strong features despite his age. Around the dining room were pictures and medals from his time in the Army service, including a purple heart. His clear hazel eyes continued gazing at the plate in front of him.
"I mean it," the mother said to her children, "If you don't stop this I'm sending both of you to bed, with no cake."
"But mom-!" one of them started.
"Not another word. Eat your food."
The two boys sighed and rolled their eyes, eventually picking at their food instead of eating it. There was another scold from their mother who soon turned to her husband for backup.
"Eric, tell your sons to eat their food," she told him. "I'm getting tired of this."
He slowly looked up from his plate. For a long time, he didn't say anything and there was a blank look on his face. Before his wife could open her mouth, he smiled.
"It was a wonderful day today, wasn't it?" he said calmly. "It was sunny outside."
His wife frowned. "Honey? Oh. Yes. I guess it was."
"It never occurred to me before. I never really took it all in. But I guess that's what happens when you can't see everything so clearly."
The two young boys studied their father quizzically for a moment.
"Mom, can I have dessert now?" one whined, "I already ate my food."
"No, you didn't. You haven't even touched your meatloaf."
"But mom, I don't want it anymore. I'm full. Honest."
"Yeah. Right," she replied. Unconvinced. "Fine. No dessert for you then."
"But mom-!"
"Isn't it funny," the father began again, "that we live our lives so meaninglessly, without any knowledge of where it's going to lead?"
His wife paused. "Honey, are you okay? You sound... funny."
He laughed. "Why wouldn't I be? I feel wonderful. In fact... I've never been better."
"Mom," the second son added in a high-pitched voice, "Jason is hitting me."
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
"That's enough," the mother commanded. "I'm not going to tell you again."
"We live such trivial lives..." continued the father. "... Never comprehending our own importance or existence. Or how great our contribution to the universe really is."
"Eric... Are you sure you're okay? You sound weird."
"/Eric/," the husband said carefully, his hazel eyes penetrating the food again. "That name... it has no meaning to me. I have no name."
His wife was now silent, even his two sons stopped bickering. Their father slowly pushed away from his table, standing up.
"Where are you going?" his wife asked.
"I've got to take out the trash." He smiled. "Dinner was great, by the way."
He planted a kiss on his wife's cheek before walking down the hallway across the dining room with his plate. The remaining three occupants continued eating.
"How was school, Alex?" the mother asked her children.
"It was okay." He shrugged.
"And you, Jason?"
"Boring. Like always."
Shortly later, Eric returned to the hallway with a trash bag in his hand. The three heard him go outside, the sound of his boots clanked softly against the wooden floor. He started to whistle a merry tune that soon faded away as a door opened and closed.
"How did you do in your math test, by the way?" she addressed Jason, soon chewing on some of her meatloaf.
"Dunno. Teacher still hasn't told us."
"Well, tell me what you got when she tells you your grade. I want to know if that tutor of yours is worth the money."
"I don't like him. He smells bad."
"Just because he smells bad doesn't make him a bad person."
"My gym teacher smells bad," Alex added and giggled. "He smells like armpits."
"Alex, we're eating," his mother replied sternly.
Moments passed and Eric walked down the hallway again. He was still whistling merrily. His feet echoed with a muffled sound as they ascended upstairs.
"Hey, mom," Alex started, "Benny invited me to his birthday party this weekend. Can I go? Huh? Can I? Everyone's going to be there."
"We'll see."
"But mom-"
"No buts, Alex. I've heard of enough buts to last me a lifetime. You're still being punished for last week's incident in case you forgot."
"But dad forgave me already."
"No, he didn't. Now finish your meal. I'll think about it."
"But mom..."
"I already told you what I thought about those /buts/."
Alex slouched in his chair when he saw his efforts were meaningless. He sighed and subsided with a big pout on his face, hoping for one last shot. His mother pretended not to notice and kept eating. Meanwhile, Eric passed the hallway again. His wife looked up from her plate and blinked at the object in his hands now.
"Eric," his wife called to him and laughed. "Where are you going with that thing?"
He grinned and tapped the head of a shotgun on his shoulder. "Honey, I already told you. I don't have a name. Now go finish your dinner. This will only take a second."
His wife frowned but he continued walking down the hallway. A door to the house's basement opened and closed quietly. His wife and their two children continued eating. Only the sound of the television was heard. After finishing the meatloaf the mother lifted up her glass of water to take a sip of it. The glass shattered on the floor immediately, however, after the house shook with a loud bang.
It came from the basement.
***
Author: Man, I'd hate to be eating dinner at that house. O_o Anywho, so you probably figured out how much Roark is a jerk. A guy he cheats and doesn't care much but himself has to be, lol. He thinks life is cozy and sweet now but his next entry might suggest that his new case will prove otherwise. Next chapter: Online Chatroom Session 1
Author's Note - Thanks for tuning in guys! Basically, this is the setup I was referring to. Each 'chapter' opens with an entry first, then the character's side of the day. That doesn't mean everything will be told from their view, though, since there'll be events that'll take place in their neck of the woods included too. Like at the end of this chapter. In the future I'll have all three entries (Roark, Dante, and Pandora) posted up simultaneously so you guys can choose which 'path' to read first, as my story is pretty flexible. Right now though, I'm checking over the other entries for grammar and spelling mistakes. The boring stuff. Anyway, enjoy!
* Roark's Day 1 - The Ball's on His Court *
The sky was painted bright blue by the time Roark arrived in front of the Chicago Police Department building, a cigarette in hand. The other hand, tucked smugly in his pant's pocket. Lean and tall, he looked too young and well polished to be a Lieutenant serving the force. Specifically in the Criminal Investigation Unit. His glass brown shoes were easily worth one thousand g's. Likewise, the dark gray suit he wore. The crimson expensive shirt he had beneath it was worn loosely, exposing his neck and a bit of collar bone. The wavy and thick black hair that mopped over his head was slicked backed, fully revealing a youthful face. He was clean shaven, right down to his skin's pores. Even his sideburns were evenly cut and lined crisply to complement the length of his face. From a distant, he looked like a suave man, too consumed by his ego to be taken seriously. His cinder-colored eyes, however, revealed another story. Unfortunately, no one would know that since dark sunglasses were always present, preventing any inner secrets from getting out.
Roark gazed up at the tanned brown four-storied building. Its simple Italian Gothic style structure stood firm, intimidating bystanders. He looked at while longer before turning his attention to his watch, a small smile soon forming in his lips. He took a long drag from his cigarette before finally stubbing it out. Walking up the steps leading to wide double doors Roark entered the building and was immediately greeted by the receptionist.
"Uh, good afternoon, Lieutenant Esperanza!" the man behind the desk said. He smiled. However, there was a hint of anxiety in his voice.
Roark approached the metal detectors left of the main desk. There was another officer there, eyelids heavy with sleep. Roark pulled out his glock pistol and any other metal objects he had on him, giving them to officer.
"Afternoon, Hicks," Roark answered evenly, passing through the metal detector. "Rough night, eh? How're the kids?"
"Oh, they're good. They're finally leaving for college. Thank Buddha." Hicks yawned.
"See last night's game, Drake?" Roark asked the man behind the desk.
"Yeah. Damn Lakers," Drake replied bitterly and then paused.
Roark looked at him and half-way smiled. "So the Chief wants to see me right now, huh?"
Drake raised his eyebrows. "Y-yeah. I mean, yes-yes, sir. How... did you know, sir?"
Roark shrugged. "Lucky guess."
Lt Esperanza collected his things from Hicks, giving him a nod before casually navigating his way to the hallway's elevators. Hands in pocket. When the elevator arrived and opened its doors he clicked on the second floor button and waited. The moment the elevator's doors opened again the scene before him was like an enactment of Judgment Day. Everything was chaotic, filled with escalating voices and nonstop motion.
The level of noise and moving bodies was typical for a Monday afternoon. Those scuffling through the busy hallways to get to their destinations had to step aside as incoming officers arrived with arrested civilians. Fresh off the street, every one of them was ready to talk up a storm. Rookies quickly made their way out to the city, ready for patrol. Errand boys worked up a sweat as they ran back and forth, delivering papers and letters. Everything was just buzzing with life.
Roark walked into the lounge area to his right and prepared some coffee for himself. It didn't take long for a colleague to storm in after him.
"Geez, Roark," a young man with the complexion of ivory soap spat, "I bet you were late when coming outta your mother too. This is the fifth time you've left me out to roast, man."
He was as tall as Roark but possessed more upper body strength, as indicated by his very broad shoulders. Still, the muscular appearance seemed to clash with the rest of him. His brown suit was a bit wrinkled and there were dark circles around his twinkling eyes, as if he had just come from a hangover. There were small specks of freckles present, creating a collage of neutral colors in his face. His dusty blond hair was trimmed short, but seemed all over the place.
Nathan Peterson was usually a cheerful fellow and was always ready for some after-hours time. But today he obviously woke up on the bad side of the bed.
"Sue me, Nate," Roark finally replied and licked his lips. He took a sip of his coffee and made a frown. "Tastes like shit. When is this hellhole ever getting a decent coffee maker?"
"Worry about your job than the coffee," Nathan continued, "The Chief is fuming so much right now that smoke seems to be coming outta his office. Get your act together or I'll be ordering my next cheeseburger and fries from you next week."
"Why, I didn't know you cared," Roark answered mockingly.
"I don't. But your attitude and behavior reflects off of me too. The Chief thinks /I /might even be a part of the problem." Nate stopped and sighed. "Honestly, man, this is your fifth time being late. I don't think number six will be a lucky number for you very soon."
"Ask me if I care." Roark rolled his eyes. Then started heading out of the lounge with his cup of coffee. "Besides, I had an important matter to attend to this morning."
"Like what?" Nate asked, walking beside him.
"Remember the broad at the club we saw last night?"
Nate's eyes widened and he laughed. "You didn't..."
Roark gave a devilish grin. "She wasn't kidding about being a former gymnast."
"Whoa..." Nate said, thrilled. However, he frowned the moment he took a glimpse of a gold ring wrapped around one of Roark's fingers.
Roark noticed the look. "Don't give me any of that infidelity crap again, Nate. Sure, I know I've got a wife. And yes, she's pregnant. Hell, I banged two other women and they're all still hassling me for child support. Whatever. I got my own needs too. My own personal life."
Roark took another sip of his coffee.
It was true. It wouldn't be the first time he got a woman pregnant. Many of them demanded child support. Lucky for him, however, they were all drug addicts. Prostitutes. Call girls. He could deny the children were his because it was their word against his. A cop's word. In addition, because they've had so many sexual partners prior to him he could easily dismiss himself. Even if blood tests confirmed him as the biological father his connections to several doctors and judges would assure the courts otherwise. It was a no-brainer who was the winner in this case scenario. He could have as many women as he wanted and still get away with it. Who'd stop him anyway?
There was one thing that bothered him, though. If women were nothing more than sexual play dolls for him, then why'd he marry Rosa? Rosa had five more weeks left to her pregnancy but he had more than enough time to bail out. Still, they married once she discovered the growing baby in her womb. He could've thrown her to the wolves along with the others. She was just a stripper when they met after all. It couldn't have been for convenience either. Rosa's former occupation, if leaked to the public, might ruin his /good public image/. Then why? Was it love?
"Aren't you being a little... cold?" Nate asked quietly.
"Maybe I am." He shrugged. "But at least I'm honest. The world could use more honest people. It wouldn't have so many Goddamn hypocrites running around. Besides, this is my problem. Not yours."
"Whatever you say, Roark..."
The walk to the Chief's office was quiet the rest of the way. When they finally arrived at the end of a hallway, they stopped in front of a frosted covered glass door. The words 'Chief of Department Daniel Roberts' were imprinted boldly. Even the strong lines and curves of the letters appeared angry somehow. Roark removed his sunglasses while Nate quickly moved to the side.
"Good luck." Nate smiled, trying to stifle a chuckle.
Roark ignored him and instead, knocked on the door.
"That'd better be Lt. Esperanza and not the mailman," a stern voice said from the other side.
Roark just rolled his eyes while Nate covered his mouth, now more than ever wanting to laugh his ass off. Roark opened the door and entered the Chief's office.
*
"Glad you could finally join us, Lieutenant," Chief Roberts said calmly. "For a moment, I thought I'd have to call the morgue people to see if they might've stumbled across your sorry ass body there."
The Chief of Department was currently looking out the window, back facing Lt. Esperanza. Even if he couldn't see his face, Roark knew the Chief's current mood. A proud and stern black man who was once a first class Sergeant in the Marine Corps, Chief Roberts was not a man to fuck with. He might be pushing into his late 50's now, but his balls remained as cold as ever. They could easily break off. Getting on his bad side meant hell for the miserable bastard crazy enough to take him on. He was notorious for making grown men cry, reduced to a blubbering mess. Even the other Districts were scared of him. Rookie cops did their best to avoid being assigned to the 18th District.
If not for his connections, Roark would be... concerned. In fact, he tried many times to use those connections to reassign Chief Roberts to another department or District. But even his contacts, men from high places, said it wouldn't be possible until next year. Until then, he had to hold out and avoid getting bitten by the hound from hell. Fucking tenure...
"I make no excuses," Roark started, standing in front of the Chief's desk. "I'll do whatever is necessary to make amends."
The Chief was quiet. He didn't turn around. Yell. Fling an object from his desk and smash the glass door like he did last time. He was quiet. A little too quiet, in fact.
Roark waited for the Chief to say something but he didn't. He just kept staring outside the window. His lean muscular arms, concealed with a white striped shirt, were crossed behind him. The long band holstering his out-dated pistol was the only visible thing Roark could see. It too remained as still as a statue since the Chief didn't budge even a centimeter. After what seemed like an eternity, Roark piped up again. He tried his damn best to keep his voice even despite the tension building.
"Sir, I realize how frustrated you must be. This won't happen again, I assure you."
"You like basketball?" Chief Roberts suddenly asked, still staring outside the window.
"Sir?"
"What's the matter? You deaf?" He spat. "I asked you if you liked basketball."
Roark blinked. "Yes. I do."
The Chief finally turned around. Reflections danced all over his shiny bald head. His eyes were so large, they seemed like they could see an object galaxies away. Roark fully understood how some of men had wet their pants when they stared deep into them. He must've been a descendant of the tyrannosaurus-rex to have eyes like those. That thick black moustache of his didn't make him look any friendlier either.
Without another word, Chief Roberts went to his desk. He took something as small as a grapefruit out from the bottom draw. It was orange and round. A basketball.
"I'm a big fan," Chief Roberts said as he tossed the small basketball from one hand and into the other. Then repeated this pattern as the conversation resumed. "My son loves it too. He's been a basketball player since Elementary school. This is his last year. He's a senior, you see."
The Chief walked back towards the window and looked out. Even though the conversation seemed very casual Roark knew better. In fact, these were the kinds of talks that sent cops scurrying to a corner, promising to never come out. One guy nearly shot the Chief out of fear.
"His last game is next month," Chief Roberts continued calmly, "He's excited because many scouts have taken a liking to him. Who knows, he might even make pro. But I already warned that son-of-a-bitch to go to college first before taking the fast road. Education is top priority."
The Chief looked back at Roark, noting the uneasiness in his face. He stopped tossing the small basketball between his hands, for a moment. Then decided to prop open the window. He leaned casually against the window's sill, keeping his focus on the Lieutenant. He resumed tossing the ball back and forth, from one hand to the next.
"If you love basketball then you should know all about the rules," spoke the Chief. "You'd also know that basketball is a group effort. When one player doesn't contribute it affects the team during crunch time. So when that player screws up by acting like a Kobe Byrant, he doesn't just hurt one individual. He hurts everyone around him too. Do you understand?"
Roark nodded.
"So then you know that any bullshit you say, about you wanting to make amends to me, doesn't really matter, right?" Chief Roberts gave Roark a stiff look. "I'm not that important. I'm just the coach barking orders to you. But your team. They certainly are vital to the game's success. They're the ones you should be kissing ass to. Don't you think?"
Roark stood silent. The Chief carefully studied his face. He waited a minute. Then, unexpectedly, he threw the small basketball out the window. Nearly causing a car crash below.
"The ball's in your court, son," the older man said, then commanded. "Now have a seat."
He sat behind his desk and patiently waited for Roark to comply. As Roark did, Chief Roberts opened his drawer and took out a folder.
"How's your case coming along, Lieutenant?" Chief Roberts asked without looking at him. Instead, scanning the folder's contents.
"Wonderful, Chief," Roark answered, grateful for the change of subject. "Lieutenant Peterson and I have just about wrapped it up. We got solid evidence to connect the case to our suspect. All we need now is the warrant for his arrest. Then we're done."
"That's good to hear. Because I have a new case for you."
Roark waited for more details.
"Even more interesting," the Chief continued, "It was an anonymous source that specifically requested you take it."
"Sir?" Roark frowned.
"Personally, I've always had trouble trusting anonymous persons," Chief Roberts resumed, ignoring the face Roark made. "You just don't know if what they're saying is the truth or if they're actually the responsible parties. This one also has the nerve to tell me who should take this case. He could be a garbage collector for all I know. Still, I'll make an exception to this one because it was the guys high up that shoved this case up the department's ass. I'll never understand 'em sometimes."
He seemed to notice something in one of the folder's pages and took a moment to observe it.
"I'm curious as to why this person asked for you though," he murmured with a frown. "There's nothing special about you. You're not even a descent criminal investigator."
Roark narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
"Perhaps you can answer that question someday." The Chief looked up from the folder, staring at him in silence. After another decade, he finally closed the folder and handed to Roark. "I got to warn you, it's a rather unusual case. Normally, I'd have Sergeant Reese take this since he's into this kind of thing. But he's busy cracking down another nut job."
Roark frowned. Frankie?
"Look over it when you have the chance." The Chief sat back. "That'll be all, Lieutenant."
Chief Roberts turned his oversized leather seat around to face the window. Roark stood up, tucking the folder under his arm with a puzzled look.
Strange, if this was a case Sgt. Reese would normally take then it must be one of those weird, freaky ones. Why give it him? He's never been into this sort of thing. Who's bright idea was it to give him this assignment? It's not like he's an expert. Still, how weird can this case be if it was delivered specifically to him?
As Roark was about to exit the office, Chief Roberts called out to him one last time.
"Lieutenant," he began softly, still sitting in his cushy leather seat and looking out the window. "That was my favorite basketball I just threw out. When I said the ball was in your court I literally meant it. You have 'til four o' clock to get my ball back here. Otherwise, collect your things."
For a second, Roark thought it was a joke. But the Chief was dead serious.
* Suburbs *
It was eight in the evening and a family of four was gathered around a table eating dinner. The moon's eye peered silently though a window. A television filled the air with its incoherent sound, currently on a family-oriented channel. Two young boys were currently engaged in a sibling battle, flinging bundles of green peas at each other. It quickly garnered a reaction from their mother. As she scolded them her husband looked at his plate in silence.
He was a mature man, pushing into his late fifties with gray white hair and sporting strong features despite his age. Around the dining room were pictures and medals from his time in the Army service, including a purple heart. His clear hazel eyes continued gazing at the plate in front of him.
"I mean it," the mother said to her children, "If you don't stop this I'm sending both of you to bed, with no cake."
"But mom-!" one of them started.
"Not another word. Eat your food."
The two boys sighed and rolled their eyes, eventually picking at their food instead of eating it. There was another scold from their mother who soon turned to her husband for backup.
"Eric, tell your sons to eat their food," she told him. "I'm getting tired of this."
He slowly looked up from his plate. For a long time, he didn't say anything and there was a blank look on his face. Before his wife could open her mouth, he smiled.
"It was a wonderful day today, wasn't it?" he said calmly. "It was sunny outside."
His wife frowned. "Honey? Oh. Yes. I guess it was."
"It never occurred to me before. I never really took it all in. But I guess that's what happens when you can't see everything so clearly."
The two young boys studied their father quizzically for a moment.
"Mom, can I have dessert now?" one whined, "I already ate my food."
"No, you didn't. You haven't even touched your meatloaf."
"But mom, I don't want it anymore. I'm full. Honest."
"Yeah. Right," she replied. Unconvinced. "Fine. No dessert for you then."
"But mom-!"
"Isn't it funny," the father began again, "that we live our lives so meaninglessly, without any knowledge of where it's going to lead?"
His wife paused. "Honey, are you okay? You sound... funny."
He laughed. "Why wouldn't I be? I feel wonderful. In fact... I've never been better."
"Mom," the second son added in a high-pitched voice, "Jason is hitting me."
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
"That's enough," the mother commanded. "I'm not going to tell you again."
"We live such trivial lives..." continued the father. "... Never comprehending our own importance or existence. Or how great our contribution to the universe really is."
"Eric... Are you sure you're okay? You sound weird."
"/Eric/," the husband said carefully, his hazel eyes penetrating the food again. "That name... it has no meaning to me. I have no name."
His wife was now silent, even his two sons stopped bickering. Their father slowly pushed away from his table, standing up.
"Where are you going?" his wife asked.
"I've got to take out the trash." He smiled. "Dinner was great, by the way."
He planted a kiss on his wife's cheek before walking down the hallway across the dining room with his plate. The remaining three occupants continued eating.
"How was school, Alex?" the mother asked her children.
"It was okay." He shrugged.
"And you, Jason?"
"Boring. Like always."
Shortly later, Eric returned to the hallway with a trash bag in his hand. The three heard him go outside, the sound of his boots clanked softly against the wooden floor. He started to whistle a merry tune that soon faded away as a door opened and closed.
"How did you do in your math test, by the way?" she addressed Jason, soon chewing on some of her meatloaf.
"Dunno. Teacher still hasn't told us."
"Well, tell me what you got when she tells you your grade. I want to know if that tutor of yours is worth the money."
"I don't like him. He smells bad."
"Just because he smells bad doesn't make him a bad person."
"My gym teacher smells bad," Alex added and giggled. "He smells like armpits."
"Alex, we're eating," his mother replied sternly.
Moments passed and Eric walked down the hallway again. He was still whistling merrily. His feet echoed with a muffled sound as they ascended upstairs.
"Hey, mom," Alex started, "Benny invited me to his birthday party this weekend. Can I go? Huh? Can I? Everyone's going to be there."
"We'll see."
"But mom-"
"No buts, Alex. I've heard of enough buts to last me a lifetime. You're still being punished for last week's incident in case you forgot."
"But dad forgave me already."
"No, he didn't. Now finish your meal. I'll think about it."
"But mom..."
"I already told you what I thought about those /buts/."
Alex slouched in his chair when he saw his efforts were meaningless. He sighed and subsided with a big pout on his face, hoping for one last shot. His mother pretended not to notice and kept eating. Meanwhile, Eric passed the hallway again. His wife looked up from her plate and blinked at the object in his hands now.
"Eric," his wife called to him and laughed. "Where are you going with that thing?"
He grinned and tapped the head of a shotgun on his shoulder. "Honey, I already told you. I don't have a name. Now go finish your dinner. This will only take a second."
His wife frowned but he continued walking down the hallway. A door to the house's basement opened and closed quietly. His wife and their two children continued eating. Only the sound of the television was heard. After finishing the meatloaf the mother lifted up her glass of water to take a sip of it. The glass shattered on the floor immediately, however, after the house shook with a loud bang.
It came from the basement.
***
Author: Man, I'd hate to be eating dinner at that house. O_o Anywho, so you probably figured out how much Roark is a jerk. A guy he cheats and doesn't care much but himself has to be, lol. He thinks life is cozy and sweet now but his next entry might suggest that his new case will prove otherwise. Next chapter: Online Chatroom Session 1
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