“Wind-Up” is a fictional, nine-part series.
At the end of the dim corridor stood the door, bare except for two words engraved into its wooden paneling: Detective Winder. Lieutenant Nate, after a brief glance at me, turned the brass knob and entered without a word. With some hesitation, I followed him into the room.
It took me a second to adjust my eyes to the dark room, but from the light cast from the corridor I saw the outline of a man bent over a desk, dark hair spilling over his face. Winder, the man himself. Over 200 cases in the last seven years. He was a genius in his field, but not in geniality; I personally knew at least three other detectives who held a grudge against him, and no officer would ever dare to be caught with him. He was still, as if deep in thought, not even glancing towards the door as we entered. I felt a sudden urge not to disturb him, but Nate obviously had no such thoughts.
“Wake up, Detective,” the lieutenant growled at the unmoving figure. He wasn’t too fond of him either. “Thought you were lonely, so I brought a good officer of mine.”
The man started, a slight shiver going down his body, and angled his head just slightly upwards. As if suddenly forcing himself to move, he pushed off from his desk and rose to his feet, staring at us with evident annoyance. His face came into focus in the light, and I was surprised by what I saw: instead of a gritty, stubbled face like so many of my superiors, I saw a young, handsome countenance, two brown, serious eyes glancing first at the lieutenant, then at me.
“Didn’t expect you to be here so early, Nate.” The detective strode towards us and gave a small smile that the lieutenant did not return. “How’s your latest case going? Found the vandal yet?”
The lieutenant grunted. “You know damn well how it’s going. Found another lovely work of his this morning. Painted the Mayor’s statue bright pink.” He sighed and held out a document. “Here’s your new kid, all her files and that crap. Listen, I need to go turn in a report, and I’m sure you two will get all nice and cozy by yourselves. Have fun planning the downfall of the entire force.” With that he was into the hallway, slamming the door behind him.
The detective stared after him for a few seconds, muttered “Asshole,” then switched his eyes back to me. Nervous but defiant, I returned the gaze, stretching out the silence. At last he blinked and turned, returning to his desk. He vaguely gestured to a chair opposite from him. “Come take a seat,” he said.
I sat and glanced around as Winder’s eyes flickered back and forth from me to the opened document, his fingers thumbing through its many pages. The room was spartan, with another desk in a corner, likely for me, and a coat stand near the door with an overcoat and the detective’s trademark hat, a grey fedora. The entire room seemed diluted; only the sunlight from the window provided a monochrome contrast.
“Are they all like that to you?”
Winder’s dry voice brought me back. He had set the folder down and was staring at me with crossed arms. “I asked you a question,” he said impatiently. “Are they?”
I found my voice. “Well, yes,” I admitted. “The lieutenant’s actually one of the better ones. He doesn’t get too worked up about everything I do. But then the others, well. You probably know how bad they can be. And it’s all just because I’m—”
“—a female, and so an obvious inferior in this society,” Winder cut in. “And, it gets even worse, you’re smart. Really smart. Solving the Tarot Scandal six months after you joined the force? No wonder they hate you. But you’re right, they aren’t fond of me either. Which is why instead of giving you a decent promotion, they had the wonderful idea of kicking you here. Probably taking bets on how long we’ll last together. But don’t think that you’ll have an easy time just cause I feel a shade of empathy for you.” He rummaged under his desk and came up with an old cardboard box. “We’ll have to leave soon, so here’s your new equipment. Don’t use anything the force gives you; they even stick trackers in the hats.”
I opened the box and examined the items inside: a worn coat, a tarnished revolver, and a fedora just like Winder’s, along with some ammunition and other “new” paraphernalia. I lifted the weapon with interest. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to use lethal weapons until my second year.”
Winder was at the door, slipping into his own coat. He shrugged. “Did they make that rule? You’ve had arms training, right?”
I nodded. “Top of my class.”
“Of course,” he muttered. “Well, I can’t shoot to save my life, so if we get into any trouble you’re going to have to back me up with that thing. You all set?” I shoved the fedora over my head and followed him as he stepped into the corridor. As we walked to the stairs, I noticed a heavy metal rod hanging from his belt. “Where are we going, anyway? Somewhere dangerous?”
Winder frowned. “Well, it shouldn’t be that bad. You ever seen a murder scene before?”