“I’ll be fine,” he said. They slid under the crime-scene tape and walked to the house.
“They probably voted against you,” I said.
“Nah. If the new sheriff really does what he promised and uses the department to play Border Patrol, it’s going to complicate things for every agency. People in the immigrant neighborhoods will go back to fearing the police. We worked years to overcome that. Worse, more paperwork.”
His normally immobile face managed a wink.
“You’re pretty fucking tranquil about all this!” My hands ached from the fists they had been unconsciously molded into for who-knows-how-long. “Here, take this goddamned thing.” I handed him my identification card. Robin gave me what might have been a look of concern or sympathy. I ignored her.
I felt Peralta’s large arm steer me aside and move me down the sidewalk.
“You have an anger-management problem, Mapstone.”
Peralta was the most cant-free person I had ever known. The world turned upside down again and it only made me madder.
“You sound like Sharon now!” I was baiting him. I didn’t care.
His voice was calm.
“Mapstone, you have been the moodiest son of a bitch the past few months. It was just an election. The voters have spoken, the bastards.” His eyebrows subtly philosophized with each other. The corners of his mouth raised a few millimeters. “I came up with that. Pretty good, huh?”
“You didn’t come up with it. Mo Udall said it.”
“Whatever. I’m the one who lost the election, not you. People fall for this ‘be scared of the Mexicans’ crap, even though they want cheap housecleaning and lawn care and never wonder why their homes are inexpensive.” He sighed. “Anyway, you’ll do fine. You’re going to be a professor again, right?”
I tentatively nodded. It seemed that I was in line to become an adjunct professor at ASU. The pay was crap and it lacked tenure track, but any money would help. I had other misgivings: about the tough university president, about the mega-department in which history resided, about my own inability to catch up with the latest politically correct fads. But the ASU people made it sound enticing: I could teach in a multi-disciplinary field: Phoenix history, criminal justice, courses I could put together. It would do until Lindsey and I decided our future. I loved teaching. I needed the distraction of work.
“So what’s bugging you?”
“Things.” I stared at the pavement. The all-too-familiar empty ache returned to my middle.
