Title: Lost and Found
Prompt:
writerverse challenge #16 weekly quick fic #5 (‘steampunk’ & “reputation is what other people know about you. Honor is what you know about yourself” (Lois McMaster Bujold) )
Bonus: humor
Word Count: 1,181
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: original (
Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Summary: Zeke and Howell are called in on a day off.
Note(s): originally posted to the
writerverse wv_library Lost and Found
I was three blocks away from my stop when my phone went off. It was a text from dispatch, telling me to get my butt back to the precinct, pronto. Well, no, it was the numerical code for being called back in, followed by my badge number and the letters ‘ASAP’, but I was able to paraphrase. I got off the subway a stop early and hurried to catch a different train going back the way I had come, then on to the precinct.
Howell was in the parking garage, leaning against another cop’s patrol car, which pulled away as I approached. He looked up, and blinked. “Rookie, what the hell are you wearing? No, never mind, it can wait. Get in the car.
I glanced down at myself- sturdy high-button boots, dark blue bustle skirt, waistcoat with silver pocket watch, fingerless lace gloves, brass goggles sitting on top of the braids wrapped around my head- my steampunk finest. “Yes, sir.”
Even bundled around my feet, my skirt took up most of the passenger side, but it was actually nice to have the bustle as padding, what with the way my partner drives. He headed out of the city, down Germantown Avenue and out toward Chestnut Hill. And Howell was wearing his ‘the bad guys are still out there’ scowl.
“Sir?” I prompted.
“Kid’s gone missing,” he said. “Nicolette Abernathy. The precinct’s called everyone in, running down every tip.”
I sat up straighter. Cases with kids always got to Howell, making him even grouchier than usual. It had something to do with his sister- not that anything had ever happened to her. I’d looked her up, once, and she’d lived a long, happy life, but Howell seemed to see a bit of her in every kid he met.
“And which lead are we following?” I asked.
“Someone reported sighting what could be a child in the Morris Arboretum.”
“And we’re searching it by ourselves?”
Howell glanced sideways at me. “Everyone else is already on something, Jones. And, we do have an advantage.”
We did. With my night vision and his sense of smell, we were actually better suited to search a dark garden in the middle of the night. But I couldn’t help thinking that it was also because we were… different. Our captain was better than most about that- mostly, he ignored what we were, but humans had old prejudices, ingrained deep.
I used our patrol car’s computer to skim the case data. The missing girl, Nicolette, was four years old. She lived with her parents three blocks down from the Arboretum, and had last been seen six hours ago. The other officers were canvasing her apartment building, the ones next door, and several places the girl liked to go. Others were on searches like ours, following up every lead that got phoned in.
Howell pulled over on the shoulder of the road and we hopped the fence into the Arboretum. “Split up,” he said. “Keep your radio on.”
I nodded. I’d snagged my spare uniform belt from the trunk, and clipped my badge to my waistcoat. My skirts swished against the grass as I stepped off the path, swinging my flashlight in a slow arc.
“Nicolette!” yelled Howell, from much farther away than he’d been a moment ago- he could move silently when he wanted to.
I frowned, remembering the picture that had been in the file, of a little girl with lopsided pigtails and a dirt-streaked t-shirt. No way would she answer to ‘Nicolette’.
“Nicki!” I called. “Nicki, you can come out now!”
There was no answer. To be honest, I wasn’t really expecting one. According to the report, the other leads were much more solid, people who had actually seen Nicolette someplace, or knew places she liked to go. The lead we’d gotten was a vague sighting, at best.
“Nicki!”
I’d heard people say that places like this were creepy after dark, so I tried to think how a scared, lost little girl might see it. The plants all looked the same in the dark, and the path was hard to see.
I switched off my flashlight.
“Jones!” barked Howell, over the radio.
I clicked it on. “I’m okay. Just trying something.”
My eyes adjusted to the dark, slowly. The flower bushes seemed solid, all around me- except for a small gap, there at the bottom. I crawled in, wincing as the branches caught on my long skirt. Then, I felt a stronger tug, and turned to untangle myself.
But instead of a wooden branch, my fingers closed around chilled skin.
“Nicki!” I said, surprised.
Wide brown eyes blinked at me. “Who’re you?”
“I’m Zeke,” I said. “I’m a police officer. Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I’m a little cold. Did I win?”
“Win what, kiddo?”
“Hide and seek. I found the best hiding place!”
“Yes, you did,” I agreed. “But it’s time for you to get back home.”
“And I win?” she insisted.
I smiled. “Absolutely.”
“Okay.” Nicki released my skirt and took my hand, scampering out of the bush. I hadn’t even stood up again when she backed up suddenly, hitting me. “Hide!”
I scooped her up, as Howell aimed his flashlight back at the ground. “It’s okay,” I said. “This is Officer Howell. He came to make sure that your game of hide and seek was within regulations, and he’s been authorized to say that you won fair and square.”
“Oh,” said Nicki. She leaned against my shoulder. “Can we go home now?”
Nicki’s mom was overjoyed to have her back. She hugged her daughter, then me, then Howell, before we left.
“That was good thinking, Hezekia,” my partner said, when we were on our way back to the precinct.
“What?” I said, smiling. “No remarks about how my thinking like a child was actually useful fo once?”
He smiled back. “Not tonight. And about your costume…?”
I looked down again. My skirt was mud-streaked now, and I was sure there were tears in my shirt, but somehow my goggles were still in place.
“I was on my way to CHOP,” I said. According to the clock on the dashboard, the event at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia was still going on. “There’s a charity party tonight, to raise money for some new machinery. A steampunk party- the theme was turn of the twentieth century.”
Howell snorted. “I was there for the turn of the twentieth century, and nobody dressed like that.”
“It’s not steampunk without the goggles, sir.”
It was a few weeks later that I mentioned it again, another charity event my steampunk group was doing a demonstration for. Howell smiled, and asked, in that oddly formal way he had when he was being serious, if he could come.
I expected him to show up in his suit, the one he wore for testifying in court, but I was in for a surprise- he was in uniform, all brushed wool and gleaming brass buttons.
“This was my first uniform,” he said, proudly, hat tucked under one arm.
I grinned. “You look great, sir.”
THE END
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