[Original: Drabble] "Small Acts" [Jones & Howell, G]
Title: Small Acts
Prompt: writerverse challenge #01 October table of doom, prompt #13 “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.” (Aesop)
Word Count: 453
Original/Fandom: original, Jones & Howell ‘verse
Summary: Howell pays back a little of an old debt.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Small Acts
It was fairly normal for civilians to go to the front desk of our station and ask for a specific person by name. Usually, it was one of the detectives, since they were the ones who gave their cards to victims and witnesses, although a few times it was significant others bringing forgotten items or disgruntled ‘taxpaying citizens’ demanding to see our captain.
So I was surprised when my desk phone rang and the officer on duty informed me that there was an older woman there, looking for Howell.
My partner had his own desk phone, of course, but after last April Fool’s Day, when he’d read the riot act to a whole batch of rookies for ‘misappropriation of police time and resources’, in that terrifyingly calm voice of his, they’d all decided it was safer to call me.
I’m less terrifying, apparently.
“Sir,” I said, putting my hand over the receiver. “There’s a lady downstairs for you. Mrs. Eugenia Hernandez.”
I’d never heard the name before, but my partner recognized it instantly. “Tell them to tell her I’ll be right there,” said Howell, already closing the case files we’d been working on. “Meet me downstairs.”
“I - Yes, sir.” I relayed the message, then hurried after him.
Mrs. Eugenia Hernandez was an elderly woman, wearing an inexpensive but very well-kept coat, her white hair twisted up in an elegant bun. She was already talking to Howell when I arrived, but stopped to smile at me.
“And this must be your new partner,” she said, offering her hand.
“Genie, this is Officer Jones,” said Howell, his scowl much warmer than usual.
I took notes as Mrs. Hernandez explained the problem - hardly anything to trouble the police about, only some kids were hanging around her family’s shop, very suspicious, and Howell had told them to call if ever they needed anything…
My partner walked her out, while I wrote up the official request for patrol drive-bys of Kazinski’s Meats. He was quiet when he came back, even for him.
“Sir?” I asked.
“Genie’s grandmother was my mother’s best friend, when I was growing up,” he said. “Her grandfather owned the butcher’s shop. When I was Turned, Mrs. Kazinski regularly came by with meat that was ‘unsellable’ - little scraps, usually, or things that had been sitting a few days. Looking back, there was always more available than should have been, a shop of that size, especially in the very early days. I’m still trying to pay that back.”
I smiled at Howell, feeling privileged to hear about his past, but didn’t otherwise comment. “We’re taking most of these patrols, aren’t we?” I asked, holding up the paperwork.
He snorted, and I took that as a yes.
THE END
Current Mood:
annoyed
Prompt: writerverse challenge #01 October table of doom, prompt #13 “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.” (Aesop)
Word Count: 453
Original/Fandom: original, Jones & Howell ‘verse
Summary: Howell pays back a little of an old debt.
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Small Acts
It was fairly normal for civilians to go to the front desk of our station and ask for a specific person by name. Usually, it was one of the detectives, since they were the ones who gave their cards to victims and witnesses, although a few times it was significant others bringing forgotten items or disgruntled ‘taxpaying citizens’ demanding to see our captain.
So I was surprised when my desk phone rang and the officer on duty informed me that there was an older woman there, looking for Howell.
My partner had his own desk phone, of course, but after last April Fool’s Day, when he’d read the riot act to a whole batch of rookies for ‘misappropriation of police time and resources’, in that terrifyingly calm voice of his, they’d all decided it was safer to call me.
I’m less terrifying, apparently.
“Sir,” I said, putting my hand over the receiver. “There’s a lady downstairs for you. Mrs. Eugenia Hernandez.”
I’d never heard the name before, but my partner recognized it instantly. “Tell them to tell her I’ll be right there,” said Howell, already closing the case files we’d been working on. “Meet me downstairs.”
“I - Yes, sir.” I relayed the message, then hurried after him.
Mrs. Eugenia Hernandez was an elderly woman, wearing an inexpensive but very well-kept coat, her white hair twisted up in an elegant bun. She was already talking to Howell when I arrived, but stopped to smile at me.
“And this must be your new partner,” she said, offering her hand.
“Genie, this is Officer Jones,” said Howell, his scowl much warmer than usual.
I took notes as Mrs. Hernandez explained the problem - hardly anything to trouble the police about, only some kids were hanging around her family’s shop, very suspicious, and Howell had told them to call if ever they needed anything…
My partner walked her out, while I wrote up the official request for patrol drive-bys of Kazinski’s Meats. He was quiet when he came back, even for him.
“Sir?” I asked.
“Genie’s grandmother was my mother’s best friend, when I was growing up,” he said. “Her grandfather owned the butcher’s shop. When I was Turned, Mrs. Kazinski regularly came by with meat that was ‘unsellable’ - little scraps, usually, or things that had been sitting a few days. Looking back, there was always more available than should have been, a shop of that size, especially in the very early days. I’m still trying to pay that back.”
I smiled at Howell, feeling privileged to hear about his past, but didn’t otherwise comment. “We’re taking most of these patrols, aren’t we?” I asked, holding up the paperwork.
He snorted, and I took that as a yes.
THE END
Current Mood:
annoyed