Donna Joy Usher - Chanel 02 - Goons 'n' Roses

Goons 'n' Roses Copyright © 2014 by Donna Joy Usher.

I’d like to thank my good friend Shannell for allowing me to run with my idea for Chanel’s character. It is based on her sunny personality and choice to join the police force, but apart from that, Chanel is a flight of pure fantasy.

Another big thanks to my wonderful editor, Felicity Kay, for perfecting my work and giving me continuous encouragement.

Thanks to The Pilot and my friends for their understanding when I become obsessed with my latest project; and especially to my Mum, for once again ploughing through my first draft.

I’d like to apologise to the members of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department for suggesting that there are corrupt cops within their ranks. It was, unfortunately, necessary for my story, which is a work of fiction. Their vigilant efforts to keep the streets of Las Vegas safe have not gone unnoticed.

‘A speed dating voucher?’

Dave, Bob, Nathan and Daniel, the team I worked with at the Kings Cross Police Station, were grouped around my table. They had pleased grins on their faces.

‘We wanted to get you something you could use,’ Dave, our Sergeant, said.

‘Gee Dave, I could have used a set of steak knives.’

‘Besides,’ Bob was looking particularly pleased with their choice of gift, his chubby face beaming, ‘things have been so dull around here since…’

I cut him off before he could go any further. ‘Bob, I don’t see how my speed dating is going to make things more interesting around here.’

His face lit up even more. ‘Oh, we were thinking we’d investigate anyone you were attracted to. You know…’ His voice ran off as Nathan elbowed him in the ribs.

‘Cause of the whole shit magnet thing,’ Daniel finished.

I looked over at him. Daniel and I had been at the Police Academy together and he was what I would conservatively call a geek. I was surprised he was involved in this.

‘So I speed date and then you guys investigate anyone I want to see again?’ I wanted to make sure I had the facts straight.

‘Well Trent’s going to do the investigating,’ Dave said.

‘Ha.’ I let out a laugh. That’s where they were going to come unstuck. There was no
way
Detective Inspector Trent Bailey was going to take part in this ridiculous scam.

‘Oh, you’ve already given it to her,’ Trent said as he came through the door connecting our back offices to the front reception and interview rooms.

My Mum was with him, a mischievous smile on her face. ‘Happy Birthday Chanel.’ She held out a large wrapped box.

‘You two are involved in
this?
’ I gestured at the gift voucher. Mum and Trent had been dating ever since they’d met at my hospital bedside.

‘It was Lorraine’s idea,’ Bob said.

‘More of an experiment really,’ Mum replied.

‘An experiment?’

‘Well darling,’ she said, ‘Trent was telling me that the boys were bored and I said I knew of a sure fire way to find criminals. It was more of a joke than anything.’

‘Not everybody I’ve dated has been a criminal.’

‘No, not criminals. Bikies, low-lifes, drifters…’

‘Yeah yeah,’ I said, cutting her off before she could get to the part about the psychopath. I felt a spurt of guilt as I realised the boys were no longer smiling; Daniel’s big eyes showed concern, his face pulled down into a frown.
Ah hell
. I hadn’t been on a date since…

That
night.

It had been a couple of months ago and my bruises and swelling were long gone. The cast had come off the week before and now the only external sign of the ordeal was my right arm; skinny and pasty-white in comparison to my left.

I sighed. I had to get back out there sometime, and what better way to date than to have all of my prospective interests given the once-over first? It was like having my own private investigator.

‘I’ll think about it,’ I said.

The grins were back on their faces and Nathan actually rubbed his hands together as he said, ‘Excellent.’

‘That’s not a definite yes.’

‘Close enough,’ Bob said, turning his attention to my cake.

I ripped the paper off the present from Mum, letting out a squeal when I saw what was inside. ‘Oh my God… you didn’t?’

‘I did,’ she said.

‘I don’t get it.’ Trent shook his head. ‘It’s just a handbag.’

‘This is not
just
a handbag. It’s a Gucci Soho soft patent-leather shoulder bag in fuchsia.’ I inhaled its leathery goodness. ‘It’s made in Italy, has a natural cotton lining, embossed interlocking G and tassel detail, and look.’ I tipped it up so he could see the bottom of the bag. ‘It’s got protective metal feet.’

‘So you like it?’ Mum asked.

‘You know I love it.’ I’d been gawking at it in the Gucci shop window for the past two months. ‘But Mum, this is too much.’ I hugged her with my free arm.

‘Nonsense,’ she said, ‘it’s not every day that your baby turns 25.’ There was a small catch in her voice and a flicker of some emotion flitted over her features too fast for me to identify. I was guessing it had something to do with the fact that I nearly hadn’t made it to 25.

Hmmm… that was interesting. She hadn’t let on that she had any emotional issues to do with my near demise. But then Mum was full of surprises. A year ago she’d been a boring, rural-town housewife, only missing the boring rural-town husband. Now she was a red-headed bombshell, with a boyfriend I wouldn’t have minded myself, and I suspected there were still many more layers of her that I didn’t even dream existed. Perhaps I should give up my remaining psychology session to her. Which reminded me…

I looked at my watch. ‘Shit. I’ve got to be at the shrink’s in half an hour.’

‘Just enough time for some cake,’ Bob said, reaching a hand towards the knife.

‘That’s
my
birthday cake,’ I told him, snatching the knife out from underneath his pudgy fingers. ‘And
I’m
going to have the birthday wish.’

I divvied up the cake, purposefully handing Bob the smallest piece
just
so I could see the expression on his face. I didn’t feel guilty because I knew he’d sneak some more as soon as I left. Nobody got between Bob and a piece of white-chocolate mud cake. Not even a criminal in need of arrest.

Once I’d finished mine and wiped the crumbs off my face, I made sure my hair was pulled back into a pristine bun. Then I grabbed my bag and caught the elevator up to the fourth floor where the shrink resided on the days he was rostered to Kings Cross.

‘Dr Shooten,’ I said, knocking lightly on the slightly-open door.

‘Come in Chanel,’ he said, in the calm, homely voice I assumed he used to put me at ease.

It didn’t work. Having someone try to lull me into a false sense of security only made me anxious. I’m sure there were a few therapy sessions in that alone, but I wasn’t going to tell
him
that. Today was potentially my last visit and I didn’t want to give him any fuel to keep going.

So, instead, I dumped my bag onto the floor beside the extra-comfy chair. Then I slumped into the chair’s depths, trying not to show the discomfort I felt at being almost supine. I think the consistent tapping of the fingers on my right hand probably gave me away.

‘Big day today,’ he said, smiling kindly.

‘Yes,’ I said. I couldn’t wait to have him sign me off for active duties; being permanently stuck on the front desk sucked.

‘So how do you feel about turning 25?’

It took me a few seconds to realise that the big day
he
was talking about was my birthday. ‘Oh well… you know…,’ I stammered, ‘what’s not to like about cake and presents?’

He wrote something on his notepad and I had an insane urge to grab it to see what it was. Had he just written something important about my flawed character, or had he added the word
cake
to his shopping list?

‘So did you write in your diary this week,’ he asked, glancing at my skinny, white arm. I’d been using the cast as an excuse to not regurgitate all my thoughts onto paper.

‘Errr, no, I kind of forgot,’ I mumbled.
He sighed and put the notepad down on his side table before picking up a pack of cards. ‘We’re going to play a game.’
‘A game? Like Uno?’ I really liked Uno, and it sure as hell beat talking about my mental health.

‘We are going to play a word association game.’

I resisted the urge to tell him where he could stick his word association cards. (I didn’t think that would look too good in his report to my superiors.) Instead, I readied my mind. Word associations? That shouldn’t be too hard.

He flicked over a card and showed it to me. There was a picture of a pig on it.

‘Police,’ I said and sniggered.

‘Very good.’ His smile was encouraging.

A bird in flight.

‘Freedom.’ This was easy.

A clown.

‘The circus.’ I was
sooo
on my way back to active duties.

A knife.

‘Roast lamb,’ I said, trying to ignore the chill that ran down my spine.

A body lying on its side.

I gritted my teeth and said, ‘Sleeping.’

And then he flicked over the next card. One second I was gritting my teeth and the next I was shaking and hyper-ventilating and my nose was running, which coincided with the flow of tears cascading down my face.

I stared at the word written on the card and thought, ‘Surely these shrinks have a code of ethics that prevents this sort of thing?’ I mean that was
really
punching below the belt.

He sighed and put the cards down. ‘You realise I can’t possibly sign you off for active duties?’

‘But,’ I said, digging around in my bag for a tissue, ‘I can’t stay on the front desk. It’s so boring. It gives me too much time to…’

‘Think?’ he supplied helpfully.

Tissue-less, I slumped back into the chair. He waved a Kleenex box at me and I plucked a couple from its depths and then blew my nose noisily.

‘The thing is,’ he said, in a voice less homely and more serious, ‘I think you
need
to think, or you’re never going to get over this.’

‘I
am
over this,’ I whispered, wiping my eyes. ‘You just shocked me.’

He sighed again and made some more notes. ‘I am going to suggest we need another five sessions before I can determine if you are fit to remain in The Force.’

‘What?’ I sat upright in the comfy chair.

‘If you continue to refuse to work through this, then you will remain unfit for active duties. There is no place in The Force for a Probationary Constable who remains unfit for active duties.’

I decided I liked his homely voice better. ‘So you’re saying?’

‘If you don’t appear to be actively participating in your mental recovery we will have no choice but to dismiss you on psychological grounds.’

‘I don’t see how this,’ I waved at my snotty nose, ‘is going to affect my job.’

He took his glasses off and faced me directly. ‘You could freeze.’

‘But it’s January. We’re having a heat wave.’

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and muttered something that sounded an awful lot like
Lord give me strength.
‘Freeze during a crisis,’ he clarified.

Oh,
that
type of freeze.

‘Your refusal to deal with this issue could cause the death of a fellow officer.’

Well shit, when he put it like that…

‘I’m guessing we’re finished for today?’ I climbed out of the seat and picked up my bag. ‘I won’t be able to make it in for the next two Fridays. I’m taking leave.’

‘A holiday will do you some good,’ he said, also standing. ‘Where are you off to? Somewhere relaxing I hope.’

Did I tell him the truth, or would that, too, go in the report? ‘Yep, relaxing, pools, cocktails, swaying palm trees,’ I said, heading for the exit.

As he held the door open for me and told me he’d see me in three weeks I glanced back at the side table where the word still lay, its letters blazing, and I tried not to start crying again. It was the last thing I saw before he shut the door behind me.

ROGER.