Free Wounds by Alton Gansky Page B

the room. Carmen sipped the tea, eager for the caffeine.
    A few moments of silence passed as Carmen let the hardened cop veneer dissolve. Bud broke the silence.
    â€œClaymore really used the phrase ‘Ice Queen’?”
    â€œHe did.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you shoot him?”
    â€œIt crossed my mind.” Carmen sipped her tea. “Besides, it doesn’t bother me. He’s not the first to call me that. He won’t be the last.”
    Bud’s lips tightened into a line. “Of course it bothers you. It bothers me. You could file a complaint.”
    Carmen huffed. “That might put a dent in my career. I complain about him, and the other assistant chiefs will be waiting for me to do the same to them. Before you know it, I’ll be working traffic accidents.”
    â€œThey wouldn’t do that.”
    â€œOkay, you file a complaint.”
    â€œNo way. You think I’m crazy?” He laughed.
    She joined him. The bit of humor felt good, like a brain massage. “Captain Simmons came to my rescue.”
    â€œHe’s a good man. I have no problem following his lead. He should be assistant chief.”
    â€œThen we might have Claymore as our captain.”
    Bud looked as if he had been chewing a lemon rind. “Nah, he’s never worked homicide. He made his name in narcotics.”
    â€œStranger things have happened.”
    â€œTrue that.” He lifted his soda. Condensation dripped from the base and splattered on the table top.
    â€œSo why do they do it?” Carmen studied the red-and-white pattern of the tablecloth.
    â€œDo what?”
    She waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter.”
    â€œSure it does. Spill it or I’ll make Jimmy bring a double portion of frijoles.”
    â€œThat’s a terrifying thought. Okay, but only because I’m trying to protect the city from your digestive system. Why do they call me ‘Ice Queen’?” She leaned back. “I have an idea, but . . .”
    â€œYou never asked before.”
    â€œI shouldn’t be asking now. Knowing doesn’t change anything.”
    â€œWhat do you do after your shift?”
    â€œI go home just like everyone else.”
    Bud shook his head and lowered his voice. “That’s it, Carmen. We don’t all go home. We pal around. Not a lot, but from time to time, we hit a bar, catch a Padre or Charger game, do a barbecue on the beach. You go home. Always. You did so when you were in uniform. Being a detective hasn’t changed that. You come across as aloof.”
    â€œAloof? I am aloof. I’m a loner, Bud. You know that. You know me better than anyone else on the force.”
    He nodded. “That’s why I can say this to you. People like you, but they don’t know how to deal with your . . . idiosyncrasies. You’ve never married. You live alone. You never hang with the crew. You do your job, then go home. People think you have a superiority complex.”
    â€œWow, aloof, idiosyncrasies, and superiority complex. You been going to night school?”
    â€œAnd there it is, Carmen. First, I have a college degree, so don’t act like I just barely got out of high school, and second, stop sidestepping the topic. You brought it up.”
    She sighed. “I’m not a social butterfly, Bud. I never have been. You know that. We went out a few times. You know what I’m like.”
    â€œI do. I know you’re usually the smartest person in any room. I also know you have some dark ghosts haunting you. I’m not saying you need to change. I’m just trying to answer your question in a way that won’t get me beat up.”
    Carmen grinned. “I wouldn’t beat you, Bud. Not for long anyway.” She paused. “Thanks for the honesty. I doubt I will change anything. To quote the famous philosopher Popeye the Sailor, ‘I yam what I yam.’” She opened the notebook. “Okay, let’s go over