Page 41 of Cutter's Hope

God yeah, I could get used to having Hope in my life. Now I just needed to figure out how to keep her once this was all over…

19

Hope…

I think that the boys were a little surprised when the badass militarized version of Hope came out of the bathroom behind Cutter. I’d forgone lighter, cooler clothes in favor of unrelieved black as utilitarian as it came. Black fitted tee over black 5.11 tactical pants tucked into black combat boots. My hair was drawn up and back into a severe bun and the only concession I’d made to being a woman was my makeup. A heavy smoky eye and some clear lip gloss. I looked like what I was. A defense contractor and a good one, which is what I needed.

“I’ll be back,” I murmured and kissed Cutter.

“I don’t much like you going alone,” he said and I nodded.

“I hear you, but you heard the deputy yesterday, I think I’ll do better with this without the biker shadow.”

“I don’t disagree Sweetheart, still don’t mean I have to like it.”

I nodded and swung my jacket on, zipping it up. I was headed to the heart of the city, to the department I’d trained out of last year to see if I could get some answers from one of the detectives there.

“We’ll be waiting,” Cutter murmured, kissing me one last time at my bike. I started her up and checked my phone. Two missed calls from Charity. I would have to call her back later. I put on my helmet and with a final nod, pulled out into the street, my phone chirping turn by turn directions through my headphones.

My mind drifted, I missed Cutter already, which wow… desperate much Hope? Except it didn’t feel like it. It felt as natural as breathing when I was with him, which was unnerving in its own way. It was like Cutter just got me like no one ever had before. Maybe it was both of us having spent time in the military? I didn’t know. I didn’t really want to pick it apart right now either. I shook myself as if waking from a dream and focused on getting myself to the police station.

It was a short ride, fifteen minutes or so, to the central precinct. I left my helmet with my bike and marched up the wide front step and into the building’s interior. We were only an hour or two past sunset and normal business hours were just drawing to a close. I smiled at the officer behind the front desk, no glass partition here, and took a deep breath.

“Hi, is Detective Thibault in?” I asked. The officer eyed me carefully for a moment and nodded slowly.

“Tell ‘im who’s asking, Honey?” he asked, but I didn’t take offense. The man behind the desk wrap looked like he was a week from retirement and the use of the word ‘honey’ came out natural, not condescending in the slightest. Kind, watery blue eyes looked me over from underneath a trim cut of silvery gray. He looked like he’d been partaking of too much of the good food the Quarter had to offer in the last couple of years, but looks could be deceiving. I bet dollars to doughnuts it would task him some, but that he would pass the physical requirements to keep his badge should they pop him with a random physical.

“Hope, Hope Andrews,” I told him. He nodded carefully and picked up his desk phone, punching in an extension.

“Got a Hope Andrews at the desk here for you, Boy. What you want I should do?” he looked me over one more time and I gave him a slight, polite little smile all the while telling myself on the inside not to fucking blow it, to keep cooler than I had at the last station.

“Uh huh, whatever you say, Boss,” he said and hung up the phone.

“Can you fill this out for me, Darlin’?” he asked, “And have you got a copy of your ID?” I nodded and smiled genuinely relieved when he passed me the visitor’s form. I dug out my California driver’s license and handed it to him and whisked through the form. He handed me a visitor’s badge which I clipped to my jacket and he buzzed me through the heavy reinforced door, by his desk.

“Take the elevator, third floor, robbery is down and to the left,” he said. Robbery, so they’d moved Thibault out of missing persons. I wondered when that’d happened and how he’d heard about Faith to tell Plaquemines to call me.

I followed the desk sergeant’s directions and stepped out of an archway onto a cubicle farm. Thibault, a big, good ‘ol boy Cajun with the accent to match stood up and waved me in his direction, his expression a little grim. Good. I didn’t have to pretend anymore. I went and shook his hand before spilling myself into the seat by his desk.

“Girl, you sure know how t’ piss them motherfuckers in Plaquemines off. What’re you doin’ runnin’ with the Voodoo Bastards and the likes of Luis ‘Baby Ruth’ Caballero?” he said by way of greeting.

“I’m not. Technically, I’m running with The Kraken out of Ft. Royal, FL,” I told him.

“Tomato, Tam-ah-to,” he said. I smiled at him.

“I need your help,” I said tiredly.

“Figured you might, surprised it took you this long to get here; I called them bastards over at Plaquemines as soon as I saw your sister’s name come across the wire.”

“They called me about seventeen hundred yesterday, Florida time,” I said. Thibault swore, which told me all I needed to know about that.

“They wouldn’t tell me anything Joe,” I said in a harsh whisper, “Just that my sister’s boyfriend and her lawyer bailed her out and took her home something like two hours before I got there and that she’d been picked up for prostitution.”

Thibault was already clacking at the keys on his computer, he sniffed and cleared his throat and said kindly, “Girl, I’m sorry, I can’t tell you anything either. Wait here, I need to take a piss… be back before you know it.” He got up with a meaningful look in my direction and slid out of the cubicle, walking away. He cleared his throat loudly and I slid into his vacated seat.

I snapped several pictures of what he had up on his laptop’s monitor before it could go dark, and read everything I could read before it did too.Thank you Joe Thibault.I sent up in silent prayer, hoping some power that be somewhere gave the man some much deserved Brownie Points for what he’d just given me.

My sister had been arrested as some part of a large scale prostitution ring out in St. Bernard’s Parish, but that wasn’t what it was… My stomach twisted as my eyes flew over her mugshot. Her hair was dark, but I don’t think it was her hair, I think it was some kind of a wig. Her eyes were sunken and her cheeks hollow and her pupils were as big as saucers and she was painfully thin.

---