Free King City by Lee Goldberg

curves she had, but her striking beauty couldn’t be blunted. Her eyes had a natural intensity that demanded attention, and once she had it, it was hard to look away from her face. She had sharply defined features that implied both strength and grace.
    She marched into the station, clearly pissed off even before she came through the door. But once she did, her severe gaze shifted from Wade and Billy and immediately locked on the posters.
    Charlotte put her hands on her hips and looked indignantly at the two of them as if they were children.
    “This is sexual harassment, and if you think I’m going to take it simply because I’m a rookie, you’re mistaken,” Charlotte said. “It’s bad enough that I was sent here in the first place.”
    “The posters were left by the previous tenant and I didn’t get around to removing them.” Wade said. “Things have been kind of hectic around here. I apologize for offending you.”
    He went over and ripped one of the posters from the wall. But he wasn’t actually sorry. The reactions that the two officers had to the posters were revealing.
    “Whoa,” Billy said, rushing over and taking the torn poster from him. “Let me do that, Sarge. Those are works of art.”
    Wade turned back to Charlotte. “I’m Sergeant Tom Wade. This is Officer Billy Hagen. Welcome to—”
    “Darwin Gardens,” she interrupted. “I know who you are and why you’re here. That doesn’t explain what I’m doing here.”
    “You were in the top of your class at the police academy,” Wade said.
    “I’m also an African‐American woman.”
    “I noticed,” Wade said.
    “I think that’s what this is about,” she said.
    “I agree,” he said.
    “You do?”
    “And they rewarded you for your exemplary performance by sending you to the worst neighborhood in King City.”
    “Exactly,” she said, warming up to him. “They are marginalizing me, slapping me down because of my gender and my race.”
    “Where did you expect them to assign you?” Wade asked.
    “Meston Heights,” Charlotte said.
    “But there is no crime in Meston Heights. It’s one of the richest, cleanest neighborhoods in the city.”
    “It’s where every cop wants to be,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. She knew he was playing her now. “They have the best resources of any station in the department.”
    “The private security officers up there outnumber the police four to one. You would have nothing to do. Is that really what you trained so hard for?”
    “OK, fine,” she said. “What about Central Division?”
    “The only reason you’d want to work out of headquarters as a patrol officer is for the opportunity to kiss up to the brass. But that’s not going to happen. They only see patrol officers as the household help. The plum assignment around there is getting to drive the chief around. Is that a job you really want? Would that make you feel good about your gender and your race?”
    “You’re mocking me,” she said.
    “I’m telling you that this is where you’ll make the most impact, where you are the most needed, and where you can put both your sociology degree and your police training to use.”
    “We both know that isn’t why I was sent here,” she said. “Or why you were.”
    Wade shrugged. “Does the why really matter? You aren’t going to make a difference in Meston Heights or driving the chief to Rotary Club lunches. But here you might.”
    “Is that what you tell yourself?”
    “I started as a patrol officer in Crown Park. Robbery stats were way up, so the department offered cops a chance to work four overtime hours at the top of their shift to increase the police presence on the streets. All we were supposed to do was drive up and down the streets in our patrol cars as a high‐visibility deterrent.”
    “I don’t see what any of that has to do with me,” Charlotte said.
    “I had a better idea,” Wade continued. “Me and my partner ditched our cars and got out on foot. We wore