We’ve been tracking this low life drug dealer for the past two weeks, hoping he slips up. Today my partner called in sick so they stuck me with Duffy.
I hate working with Duffy, she hums relentlessly. When you call her out on it she says it’s not true.
We’re parked outside of a school as the dealer drops off his kids. He’s chatting with the other parents, acting like a pillar of the community. Duffy starts with Whitney Houston.
‘So, do you think the children are the future?’ I ask out of boredom.
‘What?’ she says.
‘You were humming.’
‘Was not,’ she snaps. ‘You jerks just do this to make fun of me.’
‘Whatever,’ I sigh. ‘Mister perfect parent is going to be here all day at this rate, so just answer the question.’
She thinks about it for a minute. ‘Got to be I guess. You?’
I laugh, ‘Yeah, the future drug dealers and pimps and wife beaters.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Okay you’re right. I’m being cynical. That’s one damn expensive school. So the future embezzlers and tax dodgers and bankers. And wife beaters’
‘Fuck,’ she says. ‘This is going to be a long day.’