Sally and Vince: School's Out

>”You got the cards?”
>”Yep,” Vince returned, patting his pocket, “safe and sound.”
>”Alright,” Sally smiled, curling her hair back past her flat ear, “see you tomorrow man.”
>”Bright and early!”
>Vince sliding out of the office, Sally returned to her work on her little terminal, clacking away at the noisy keyboard
>Lights off she sat by the comfortable glow of her desk lamp, typing up her script for tomorrow
>Vince had to swing by the forensics office on the other side of town but, jingling her pocket to be sure, he’d given her plenty of change for the bus
>Running her paper through the shrieking printer she held the warm sheet in hand, committing the practiced words to memory, mimeographed into her head for tomorrow
>Just to be sure she ruffled through her prize bag- police-blue wristbands, candies, bouncy balls
>Anything a kid would want, really, gently stowed in her cluttered desk drawer
>Shutting her computer down, fan whining to a halt, she fetched her cord from underneath her desk
>Looping the heavy thing over her shoulder she marched off through the silent office to the break room, the glow of the vending machines joining her own illumined eyes
>Settling down on the couch, charging cord plopped on a garishly orange cushion, she plugged in for the night, a small internal reminder to be up early for tomorrow

>Chiming awake, the harsh roar of the janitor’s vacuum pushing her off the couch, Sally rolled onto the floor
>Grunting she pushed herself back up, swiping the dust from the shag carpet away, popping her cord out of her neck
>Looping it back over her shoulder she rushed to her desk, tossing it in another drawer and whipping out everything she needed for the day
>Repeating the script in her mind she stuttered, stuffing the paper in her bag of goodies as she flew out of the department to the yawning streets below
>Shoving a nervous hand in her pocket she ruffled around for her bus fare, the coins anxiously bouncing around inside
>Just enough, she counted out, just enough
>Panting on the street corner she stood watching the crosstown traffic buzzing and spewing past
>Eyeing between the shorter brick buildings the glimmer of the river winked at her, shimmering beneath the distant (and far wealthier) Matheson Heights
>Rumbling in front of her the long city bus squeaked to a stop, door fluttering open
>Bumped between the other weary commuters she slipped inside, dropping her fare in the box and taking her standing space in the back
>Jostled left and right she ran over her speech in her head, relying on Vince for the improv, the salesman’s charm he spinned on people at the scene or in the interrogation room
>Ruffling in the paper bag she pulled the paper back out, flicking her wrist to straighten it out
>The printer had done a number on the thing, words smudged illegibly or outright missing from the stiff page
>Her nerves bubbled inside her, praying Vince would be quick and meet her in the front office like they’d planned
>She glanced at her watch, blinking liquid crystal reminding her she wasn’t late, that she’d be fine
>Lurching forward the bus stopped, Sally wobbling back to the sidewalk
>Two blocks more and she stood outside of the front entrance of the public school they’d been chosen to present at
>Marching up the stairs, flanked by the early-comer students from across the city, she made her way for the front office

>Peering over a wooden counter, a defunct stack of flyers promoting the day’s career presentations beside her, Sally knocked for the secretary’s attention
>”Ooh! Hello, sorry there,” the older woman giggled, turning around. “Oh! Uh, may I help you find where you need to go… miss?”
>”I’m here for career day?”
>”Ah! Of course, one of the Sterling presen-”
>”Oh no, sorry,” Sally shrunk, “Beacon City police?”
>”...Oh, I see. One second.”
>Flipping through some preassembled primer on the visiting professionals she spotted the listing for the municipal police, her name listed beneath Vince’s
>”Sally, I presume?”
>”That’s me,” she smiled, producing her badge just in case
>”Sign this please.”
>Taking the small form onto the counter Sally jotted her name, tacking her badge number on for good measure
>”So is Vi- Mister La Fontaine here already, or…”
>The woman yanked the sheet back beneath the counter, Sally’s cheeks nervously glowing in the awkward quiet
>”Hmmm… no. Not here.”
>”S-S-,” Sally squeaked before coughing to arrest her voice. “Sorry?”
>”He’s not here,” she muttered, eyebrows pointing to a telephone. “You’ve got about fifteen minutes. Room 1103 when you’re ready, dear.”
>*Dear*
>Taking the droopy visitor’s lanyard in hand she stepped over to the phone, reaching over the counter to nab the handset and type in the forensics department
>The feds had the only place in the city that could do the ‘hard analysis’ Vince needed, though that included the grueling series of clerical hoops he was likely stuck jumping through
>Tacking her fingers on the keypad she dialed the office from memory, the phone ringing
>Talking her way through the several layers of receptionists across the line she reached someone adjacent to Vince, an unfortunate, blunt ‘No’ all she needed to hear
>Phone hung up she sighed, tromping off to the classroom alone
>She binned her muddy script, praying that the promise of prizes would be enough to hold these kids' attention

>Knocking on the door to 1103 she stepped in, the first rotation of children sitting uncomfortably in their seats
>Watching her she stepped forward, the room’s owner eyeing her from a spot in the back
>”H-Hello,” Sally peeped, dozens of beady eyes blinking at their desks. “How are you all today?”
>She set her bag on the table, turning back to the kids and waving shyly
>”Hello!”
>Her opposite hand weaseled in her old pocket, picking at the stitch of one of the bigger patches on her jacket
>”Well, uh, my name’s Sally, and I’m a detective-”
>A hand shot up
>”Wow, o-okay? You in the back.”
>”Are you a robot?”
>Sally sighed, pausing
>”Yes, I am a robot. My name’s Sally, but also SALL-”
>”That’s pretty scary,” another piped up, “my Dad says-”
>”Timothy,” the teacher snipped
>Evidently not the first time he’d started quoting Dad at school
>”No no, he’s fine,” Sally half-shrugged, pushing a smile. “Go ahead... friend.”
>”Well,” he rolled his head, “Dad says robots are dangerous, and unsafe, and evil, and they steal jobs, and-”
>”Timothy that’s quite enough.”
>”O-Okay,” Sally joined, leaning back on the desk, “I can understand that. Robots can be scary, and all those things. People can too. But I didn’t take anybody’s job though, I was *made* to do a job, like a lot of robots are. And my job is…”
>”You’re a detective!”
>”Right!”
>Sally fished in her bag, tossing one of the wristbands to the studious young lady in the front
>She had an inch of ground now, questions seemed the way to push forward
>”Does anyone know what a detective does?”
>A chubby hand shot up in the corner, Sally pointing the short boy out as he bounced in his seat
>”You solve crimes,” he started, devolving into a rambling speech about some of his favorite television cop dramas
>His overactive imagination spilled over the blushing nandroid, a whisper between two students to her left pointing it out- and she had to admit, some of the heroics were things she’d seen, done or suffered
>Though that certainly wasn’t the image she wanted the kids to have of police work, thumbing the spot in her back from a few years ago
>”I’ll- I’ll stop you right there young man,” she scrunched up, pulling her legs criss-cross on the desk, bell bottoms folding over its side. “Police work can be like that *sometimes*, sure, but it’s not an action movie.”
>She frowned slightly, their captive faces bored again
>”It’s-It’s like studying for a test, right,” she nodded, “there’s a lot of work involved and interviews and research and more, but at the end we get to solve a crime, and we get to help people.”
>”...That sounds boring,” another mumbled
>”Darius!”
>”No! Sorry, I- He’s fine! ...Well, *Darius*, it *can* be boring,” she started, hopping off the teacher’s desk behind her, “but it can be a bit like your classmate said too.”
>If they wanted action they’d get action, Sally filing past her stories of shootouts and the less savory content to chases on foot or by car
>Strolling over to the board she took up a sliver of chalk in hand, tracing out a rough map of the city
>”Okay…,” she whispered, neatly swirling street names on the board. “*This* is from, oh, three months ago?”
>She knew the date by heart, one of the better instances of clean police work she’d been able to partake in
>”Anyone recognize the names, streets maybe?”
>Several shook their heads, others tilted them and puzzled at names they may have seen along their bus ride or on the news
>Another young lady in the center of the block rocked a hand up, pressing her spectacles back up her nose and over her narrow eyes
>”Westmore and Seventh,” she peeped, lowering her volume. “The Westmore Jewelry robbery last Summer!”
>Sally snapped her fingers, launching a hard candy to the young lady
>”Bingo,” she grinned, giddy that they were paying attention
>Time to spin a yarn for the kids

>Over the allotted half hour she spilled across the chalkboard, tracing her and her partner’s (for whose absence she profusely apologized) exact movements
>The straight sprints from car to car, hefting the heavier firearms from the trunk of a cruiser, breaking away from the main entrance to hop a fence and flank the robbers
>It was exhilarating stuff, the random call for assistance ending up in one of Sally’s biggest career commendations
>And a rousing success among the enamored children, groaning as the bell rang to whisk them to their next visit somewhere else in the building
>Nodding, smiling at them she handed a prize to each from the weighty bag- there was enough to spare, and they deserved it
>She’d made doubly sure to quiz the kids at every opportunity, tossing an erasers and candy here or there to the lucky answerer
>Better yet she managed to jam in some proper police terminology and education, pumping a fist in triumph before blushing in fright, the teacher still watching her
>She’d reached these kids though, thank goodness
>Board erased she hopped back up on the desk, legs crossed (a winning setup she was learning) and opened her memory, breaking open the menagerie of busts, battles, bruisers and more she’d come across
>Appropriate ones, of course, no one could get *too* hurt
>She had just the one- that club off Fourteenth and Main with the betting operation
>Settling into place the bell rang again, a steady stream of new students settling in
>Breathing deep she looked over the class, wishing them a good morning and nodding to the teacher whose room she was so graciously sharing
>”Good morning,” she beamed, cheeks burning with an educator’s passion, “my name’s Sally, and I’m a detective!”