Cafe con Leche || Ace & Alana
That made one hell of a sound.
There couldnât have been much better than driving around in a brand new car, but it sure as hell sweetened the deal when it was on the Tartarus Police Departmentâs dime. Detective Ace Marna had been driving that piece of shit police cruiser for the past six months. Maybe nine. Maybe a fucking year, hell if he knew. It had been generously borrowed from the precinct as his only form of transportation since he lost the Hornet to Hurricane Fuckface more than a year ago, like some terrible hand-me-down from your douchebag older brother. Besides the rusted back bumper, the car was far beyond its prime and by the time Ace had finished with it, it was worn enough to have achieved a tenured place in junkyard hell, or in the hands of some naĂŻve rookie who had barely earned his badge.
But all of that was behind him now. Ace had been in Australia for the past month, spending time in a country just like his own with a few less sheep, out on a beach somewhere, far, far away from his desk full of paperwork and a town full of jackass rich people with everything to lose. Though, every place had its problems and he wasnât exactly disappointed when he boarded the plane back to Tartarus. He had certainly deserved his vacation, in his own opinion, a month of paid leave from a grateful city for his continuing service. If that was what you wanted to call it. And now, there was this.
The car made a smooth turn on to main street, cruising well above the accepted speed limit. Even if Ace wasnât the only cop on patrol that morning, he wasnât sure the he could have cared. The newly washed side of the car glistened in the afternoon sun. It was a few model years old, but that didnât matter. It was still the newest damned thing that Ace had ever driven and that had to count for something. The outside was jet black, all the way around, blemished on each side by the large police department logo that made a statement to the whole fucking world about who owned it, even without the long plastic light bar that was plastered to the roof. The inside, despite the heat in fucking New Zealand was dark leather, with the passenger seat already strewn with papers and folders that Ace had carelessly tossed there on his way from one place to another. Organisation was yet another point of pride in his work that Ace had never gotten the hang of.
It was his lunch break and he was on his way to a coffee shop on the main street. At this point, all he could hope for was that some jackass wouldnât reel him back to the office with some bullshit that nearly everyone else was capable of handling. He swung gracelessly into a parking spot out front and stepped out of the car. The day was fucking hot. Easily in the eighties or nineties at least, even at eleven AM, and the way the sun was hanging in the sky, it was clear that they hadnât seen the worst of it. He was sure it was too damned early for an on-duty cop to grab a beer, but he was also certain that it wouldnât have been the first time. Nor would it have been the last.
He set food into the shop and slid his sunglasses onto his shirt and took his place in a booth on the side. Even at lunch time, the place was close to empty. Someone had taken their place at the booth behind him and another person or two sat at the counter, discussing the dull as shit affairs of the day over a cup of lukewarm coffee. Welcome back to town. It was then that Ace recognised a familiar face standing out in the emptiness of the place, âWell, hello there.â
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