The survivors of the Blue Ridge precinct's old guard just knew they were coming in for an easy Monday.
After all, their new interim commander had gotten shot on Sunday, doing the kind of things he just routinely did in an emergency.
A Lee was expected to be a demigod in Virginia anyhow. And that was all well and good except that the men he was in command of were sick and tired of him making them do the work to be police officers in Virginia made over in his image.
They were sure Monday would be like coming to school and having a substitute teacher – an easy day.
All of them were gathering and commiserating outside at 8:50am. Captain Lee's truck was on the scene. The engine was cold, so he had come in at the regular time. The light was on in the back of the trailer, and thus in his makeshift office.
All the old guard's hopes of not getting that work on that Monday were thus put into the trash.
They were not happy about this, at all.
“Why is he even at work – who comes back to work after getting shot?”
“So he was just grazed – I mean, what would it take for him? All that good workers' comp he just passed on – look, if I even get scratched on the job, y'all will not see me for a good long time.”
“Who does this? What kind of a madman does this?”
Previous to September 2019, the Blue Ridge precinct had been where you went to enjoy a genteel semi-retirement policing six of Big Loft's ritziest neighborhoods. It was an easy job, with plenty of perks.
But then, the precinct had dropped the ball on some Black art students and the Ridgeline Fire.
Chief Winfred Scott – having also been made interim commissioner just in July – wasn't having back-to-back -to-back failure – oh, no. He had fired the entire precinct's leadership and sent in the department's toughest man – the kind of man who led his officers up into the backside of the Ridgeline Fire to yank the arsonist out – to take over.
But see, you had to be a madman to do all of that. Nobody was trying to work that hard. Nobody even imagined that the madman in question would be made interim commander of the precinct.
This is why the half-transformed precinct members still had enough of the old attitude in them to want to start crying at 8:50 – the drills, the training, the work that was going to be assigned – everything to hate about Monday, condensed into just one man who was in command of them.
But they were half-transformed – nobody dared be late. By 8:55, they were all inside the trailer and reporting for duty, five minutes early, and were pleasantly surprised to find that their captain had not only gotten the coffee going, but had purchased three dozen apples for them to enjoy.
Apples from the teacher.
“Lee is horrible!” one said to another while going to the patrol assignment for the day, “but not completely. Have you ever eaten an apple this fresh? What did he do, go pick them this morning?”
“I wouldn't put it past him, but I tell you what, you better finish eating that and put the rest in the trash before we get into this patrol car. If Lee inspects and finds even one apple seed, he will go back to all the way horrible on us.”
“Man, I thought he was going to make Riker lick the car clean after he left that half donut last week – let me put this in the trash right out here! When dealing with a madman, you just can't take any chances!”
The madman in question overheard that, and laughed to himself.
“My plans are working … mwahahahahaha!”