Page 37 of Road Queens
“Oh.Oh.George Floyd,” she guessed at once.
He sighed and looked at his hands. “He wasn’t the reason. He was the last straw.” His head came up, and now they were hip to hip and staring at each other. “Don’t get me wrong. There are incompetent, lying shitheads in every career in the world.”
“Well, maybe not every—”
“Everycareer. In the world.”
Except independent bookstore owners. We’re always the exception to the rule.
“Even independent bookstore owners,” he added, and she had to giggle. Which was evidently the right move, given how his expression lightened. Just a bit, but she was glad to see it.
“Like I said, it wasn’t about Floyd, or even Chauvin. It was about the shit that happened before. And then it was how the Minneapolis Police Department’s first official action was to put out a press release full of lies. And then they fucked up the protest response. And then a bunch of aggrieved white guys came to town and made everything worse. Every step we took, every move the brass made, just ... kerosene on a blaze.”
She was a little embarrassed that she never thought about it from the point of view of good cops. “I’m sorry; that sounds awful. Your jobs are hard enough without your bosses making it worse.”
“Thanks. And when things finally started to settle down, I had time to think. And it occurred to me that we weren’t fighting crime. We weren’t fighting anything; we were strictly janitorial, so.”
“So now you’re in the private sector.”
“Yes.”
“Okay. That explains a few things. I’ve been wondering about you—”
“You have?”
“Don’t sound delighted. You should sound intimidated.”
“You have?” he whimpered, and cowered before her.
“All right, not that intimidated.” But she laughed anyway. “I’ve been wondering why someone who isn’t a cop and who hasn’t been hired by anyone was so invested in looking into this. I’m right, aren’t I? Nobody’s hired you?”
“Not ... officially.”
“But here it is, Beane—”
“You could use my first name if you like. I would love if you’d use my first name.”
“I’m not that kind of girl. Also—and stop me if you’ve heard this—”
“Oh God.”
“—but your actual name is a death sentence that you’re going to change; my God, man, go watch some Sean Bean movies. As I was saying—”
“I’m not changing it, Amanda.”
“As I was saying,” she reiterated, ignoring the mini thrill of hearing her name come out of his mouth. “If Operation Starfish was once a thing, it isn’t anymore.”
“I’m aware. Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask, why is it called Operation Starfish?”
“Was, Beane. Past tense.” When he nodded, she continued. “It’s from the starfish story, by Loren Eiseley.”
“Ah, yes. A classic.”
“You’ve heard of it then.”
“No.”
She sighed. “You’re like a child.”
