[Sodium_noir] Friday After Mass

[Hope Zagorski]

Hope Zagorski
Mortal

After Mass ends, and Hope has taken part in Communion, much as she had since her Confirmation, Hope pauses for a moment of reflection.  Her mind was troubled by the events of last night.  Admittedly, it hadn’t been the first time she’d come home to find someone in her home, but this intruder certainly hadn’t gotten the keys from her mother!  No, this one had simply broken in.  All the times she’d dealt with burglary victims, and it was only today that she truly understood what a violation it really and truly was when someone broke into your home.  Would she ever truly feel safe again?   

Hope stares up at the roof of the church, focusing on nothing in particular.  She needed to clear her head for a moment, and decide what she was going to do next.  She was her career, and suspensions always left her at a loss of what to do.  In Chicago, she could visit her family.  Her siblings still welcomed her into their homes.  However, she couldn't leave Gotham until the investigation was over.  She’d visited St. Bridget’s, just as she’d always planned to.  

Hope gets up from the pew and looks around.  At this point, she didn't want to talk to Bellamy.  She simply wanted to get out
and maybe work on a better security system for the apartment.  There was a store that the other cops had talked about, a place that sold spy gadgets.  While wiretapping was illegal, and inadmissible evidence without a warrant, intercepting cell phone transmissions have been ruled to be admissible in court.  

Hope drives to the shop.  Fox’s Spy Store, it was called, and it was just slightly north of selling illegal items.  The cop clientele probably kept the place honest.  But in her case, she wasn’t going after listening devices, but security.  Hope pulls into the parking lot and after removing the hat, walks into the store.  

The salesman greets Hope in under ten seconds, even though there were other customers in the store.  "Good morning, Ma’am, can I help you find something?"   

Hope winces at the greeting, and then studies the salesman, sizing him up.  "Yes, I need a better security system for my apartment."  She replies, taking a quick glance around the store.   

"Apartment huh?  That sort of limits your options if your lease doesn’t allow modifications."  He starts to walk toward a section marked Security, passing the much larger Surveillance section.   Hope glances at the various devices, and how they were marketing them to parents as “nanny cams”.  Piece of mind that your child’s in good hands when you’re not around.   Her mother would scoff at such devices.  A woman shouldn’t work, she should stay home and raise the kids, just as she had.  And there lay one of the biggest disputes between them.  Hope wanted a career, her mother wanted her to quit the force and raise a family, and there was no middle ground in this battle.  
     
"If you can’t hardwire the system into the apartment, the only thing I can recommend is a sturdy chain lock if you don’t already have one.  Did you say it was a ground floor apartment?"

Hope shakes her head slightly.  "No, it’s not.  And it doesn’t have a balcony."  

He points out some window locks hanging on the wall display.  "You might want to consider getting some of these anyway.  They’re a very cheap and effective way to secure a window."  

Hope studies the window locks.  They were a very simple device, just a metal base you place on the window’s track and secure in place with a screw, effectively limiting how far one could open the window.  But despite their simplicity, properly secured, they were a rather effective way of keeping out intruders.  She grabs one of the sets of locks.  "What about a security system that works when you’re away?"   She asks.  

The clerk looks at Hope.  "As I said, if you can’t install an alarm system, your options are very limited, and none of them can be used when you’re away."
  
Hope nods.  "Well, I guess I’ll just buy these then."  She replies, holding up the window locks.   "Thanks for your help."   
   
With the window locks in hand, Hope walks out, squinting at the sight of the sun, that had just come out for a short while.  By the time she made it to her car, it was raining again.  Activating the wipers, it smears the dirt around before the window finally clears enough for her to drive.  She pulls out of the lot, only to have to hit her brakes when the car ahead of hers stops abruptly.  Damned New York drivers.  She thinks to herself.  

In the early evening, Hope decides to track down a drink.  She wasn’t quite ready to go home.  As she drives, she spies the red neon sign of Raindog’s.  They hadn’t been entirely welcoming to her, but they hadn’t outright kicked her out.  Some cops went there off duty though, so perhaps she should avoid it for now.  

Hope drives past it, but it takes only a few minutes before she finds another bar, this time within walking distance of her own apartment.  A place called The Office.  A nice joke really, when you think of it.  You tell your wife you’re at the office, but you’re really at a bar.  Hope pulls into the nearly empty parking lot at her apartment complex and then walks to the bar.  Safer for the car, maybe not so much for her.  It was four, a bit too early for the happy hour crowd, so only the hard-core drinkers were around.  Everyone turns to look at her as she arrives, terribly overdressed for the occasion, and Hope quickly realizes that she is the only female in the place, and everyone was drinking beer or hard liquor. 

Knowing that she didn’t blend in well, Hope decides to at least to attempt to conform.  She takes a seat at the bar, choosing an empty stool in the middle.  Hopefully, being close to the bartender would provide her a bit more safety than isolating herself in a booth, but she wasn’t counting on that.  The bartender smoothes back his greasy brown hair, but doesn’t smile when he comes toward her.  "What’ll it be?"  He asks. 

"Vodka martini, and make it a double."  The bartender grunts and begins to make her drink, then looks to her, as if to ask a question.  Before he can even ask, Hope offers the reply.  "Stirred."  She replies.  Martinis were her poison of choice when she drank alone.  And she was alone in this city.   

The bartender sets the drink in front of her.  "Five bucks."     
 
Hope hands over a debit card.  "Start a tab."  She wasn’t leaving the place without having at least one more drink.  The bartender nods and runs the card through the machine.  Hope takes a sip of the drink without tasting it.  The trick, she’d learned, was never to mix your alcohols.  You stick to beer, wine or hard liquor, never a combination, and you don’t get sick.  Usually.   

Hope nurses the drink just like the others do.  One of the others finally heads in Hope’s direction.  She pays him no attention, hoping he was just ordering another drink.  He slides onto the seat next to hers.  No such luck.  Hope ignores him, until he gets into her field of vision.  "Buy you a drink?"  As he speaks, she catches a sour whiff of stale beer that permeated his breath, his skin.    

Hope looks at him.  He was the sort that probably expected a lot more than just a thank you.  She looks at him, making eye contact, and showing him respect.  "No thanks, I’m fine."  It was more than she needed to do.  She could have simply shook her head.  

Unfortunately, he wasn’t about to go away.  He puts a hand on Hope’s arm as she reaches again for her drink.  "What, you think you’re too good for me?"  

It was a loaded question, with no good answer.  Damn.  Hope pauses before saying anything.  What she needed was a sympathetic story, because yes or no didn’t work in this situation.  Hope looks at him again.  "Look, I just had the worst job interview of my life."  She gently removes her arm from under his.  "All I want is to have a couple drinks in peace."  

The bartender was already there. "Leave the woman alone, Charlie."  The bartender growls.  

Things were getting tense.  The bartender probably had a shotgun under the bar, and at this point, he might just bring it out.  Better to get out now before things escalated.   

Hope looks at both of them.  She finishes the drink and gets up from the stool. "Thanks, but I think I’ll just leave."  And never return.  She adds silently.  

The bartender hands Hope back her card after printing out a receipt.  Moving away from the man, she takes her eyes off him just long enough to sign her receipt and add a tip of a dollar and a half to demonstrate just what sort of business he had just lost.  Hope picks her purse off the floor and walks out of the bar, heading quickly away from it, just in case he followed her out.  

Fortunately, he doesn’t, and Hope returns to her apartment without incident.  Unless you count the note on her door.  She takes it off and glances at it.  There had been a delivery, and the package, whatever it was, was now at the manager’s apartment and could be picked up before seven.  

TBC

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