Secret Sins Ch. 09

She gave me the slip of paper, a stickit note that was folded with the glue on the inside and, by the time I read her address, she was already almost halfway across the street, on her way back to the centre.

It was the last thing I expected and, judging from her role at the Funraiser and the fact that she and I weren't exactly friends, it didn't take many brain cells to figure out what kind of a 'soiree' she was inviting me to.

I got into my car, hands shaking as I got it started, and pulled out on a southward path down Osler Street. Turning right on Twelfth Avenue, I crossed Rose Street and found a parking lot on the right where I was able to nose the car into a space between two uninhabited minivans with a brick wall in front of me. A nice place to break down in private. I started out crying, graduated to sobbing, then moved on to a full out conniption fit, pounding the steering wheel, the dash, screaming and generally risking a mental stability assessment should a policeman see me.

But none did and, after I tired myself out, I ended up just sitting there, panting and back to sobbing, then finally sniffling as I tried to wrap my mind around my messed up life. I wondered how in hell things could have gotten to the point they were, then started crying again after I reminded myself that I was a slut and that God didn't love me.

I didn't bother praying. I just cried it out and, once I was finished, it seemed I could think a little clearer.

So, my personal reputation was taking a beating. Marilyn's invitation was pretty much proof of that, but the fact that she had to wait until she was out of sight of Alessa pointed to the fact that the beautiful blonde was probably ignorant of the Funraiser and, likely, a lot of things about her husband. It was possible that I could use that to some degree and, even though I did feel sorry for her where her slimeball husband was concerned, it was pretty clear that she fit Donna's estimation of how Officers treat their staff. In fact, I was beginning to see that a lot of the things that Donna had said were true, not the least of which being the Army's self-interest.

Passing around 'help with addiction' pamphlets? How insensitive and insulting would that be, especially to those who didn't have any problems with addiction. How would that make me look, my ignorant, racial profiling of the indigenous inhabitants of North Central? Yeah, great idea, Major Idiot.

To say nothing of his ideas of me providing exit strategies for gang members. Even I could see how dangerous it would be for me to go running around the hood, asking people if they were affiliated with gangs, and then offering them exit strategies. From the online information I'd read on the subject, one of the big reasons it's so difficult for people to escape that life was because it was so possible to become suddenly dead for trying. Though the people I'd suspected of being affiliated were very friendly, the fact was that I had no idea who I was talking to, or how they'd take an offer to escape their gangland life, and I had no trouble seeing how I could be one of those finding themselves suddenly dead for it.

I laughed, imagining Donna's reaction once I got back to the Mission and told her about Hurdle's directives regarding the informational materials.

And, thinking of Donna now, I was reminded of how Major Hurdle wanted to see her in his office regarding our time off earlier in the week, and my gut started to slowly cramp over the dawning possible implications of that meeting. Being as upset as I was in his office, these implications hadn't then occurred to me but, there in my car, after my emotional release/total meltdown, and given my outlandish suspicions of Donna, those implications were crystal clear.

You see, for the Major to mess with my mind was one thing. For him to try messing with Donna's mind was somewhat akin to him hopping into the tiger enclosure at the zoo, armed with nothing but a sharpened stick with which to show that golden eyed tiger who was boss.

My beautiful Tiger could tell there was something wrong from the moment she first saw me, coming into the kitchen with the box of informational literature in my arms. She had me sit at the table while she went out to get the pictures and the wire leaflet stand herself, then went upstairs to my quarters, returning with a nice screwdriver for me and a directive to relate the events of the meeting. She stood before me, listening in her form flattering, black business slacks, black five inch heels and a sexy, gold, short sleeved pullover that brought the colours of her beautiful eyes out magnificently. When I was finished, she only looked at me for several long moments, seemingly unaffected until she actually opened her mouth to speak.

"Well, first off, you are not, and I strenuously repeat here, not running around the hood, passing out those stupid fucking leaflets! No goddamned way! That's just a really great way to get yourself killed, and if that fucktard on Osler Street thinks he can force you to do that, he's got another thing coming! I'll have him down here, eating his own shit out in the street if he so much as mentions it to you again!"

I could only look at her, wide-eyed, not so much because of her profanity, as I was getting used to that from her by that point, (in fact, I was afraid that some of it was rubbing off on me) but because I was wondering if that last part about making Major Hurdle eat his own shit was just an empty threat. Given my suspicions about Donna, it was a valid concern.

"It's okay, Donna, I know how stupid that would be," I told her.

"Well, I'm happy you see that, but y'know what? Even if somebody comes here, asking about exit strategies, you send them to the cops. That's their job, not yours, and I don't want you involved. Don't give them the literature, either. If their little gangster buddies catch them with it..." she trailed off, picking one of the pamphlets out of the box and looking at it before rolling her eyes and going on with, "Yup, the fucking shield right on the front. Their enforcers will come straight here some night, kicking the door in and looking for you. And nobody will help you. Nobody will even call the cops if they hear your screams, Tara."

Then she took all the gang related literature from the box, carried it to the garbage and unceremoniously dumped it.

"Hey! Donna, I was supposed to put those in the little rack-!"

"Nope. You don't even want that shit on display. On the off chance someone does show up here, you don't want them seeing it. You don't know who they are, who they know, or who their friends know, and word travels like aids in the hood."

She had a point there.

"Y'know," she said, "I kinda respected Hurdle up until now. Sure, he's an asshole, but at least he was sort of a stand up asshole. He had his purpose and he stuck by his personal laurels, plus I was impressed with how he had you strip for your meetings and all that, but now he's gone too far. Now he's pissed me off."

This was what I was afraid of, and I couldn't have said exactly why at the time. So, eyes still wide, I broke the final news. I didn't want to, but she'd have found out anyway.

"Um, he told me to tell you that you can expect a call from him. He's gonna want to see you about not calling in Monday and Tuesday, and... and he's gonna write you up."

She only looked at me, and I watched, physically recoiling in fear as her eyes seemed to blacken, even as the colours in her gold irises brightened, green and silver flashes reflecting two pathways straight to hell. Oh yeah, this was precisely what I was afraid of.

"Write me up?" she calmly asked.

I could only nod in reply.

Glancing at the wall above my head, Donna then turned on her heel and left the kitchen. Listening to her purposeful heels cross the front room, I soon after heard the front door open, then slam shut with startling force. With trembling hand, I took a big gulp of my drink, then turned around to see that the clock on the wall above my head read three-twenty. Plenty of time to drive to Osler Street before Major Hurdle left for the day.

I wanted to run after her, to plead with her not to go, at least not to hurt anyone once she got there but, truth be told, I was just glad she was gone.