What the hell is the Night Squad?!

Chapter 4

Evening of the same day

Grandmother stuck another circle of cucumber on her cheek, turned to me and asked in bewilderment:

- Detachment, what Detachment?

"Night," I muttered.

I lay flat on my bed all evening, staring up at the ceiling. I didn't want to move.

“They got a mentalist down there. They say he caught a cold from a bullet.

- Aaa. Clearly, - said the grandmother, returning to admiring herself in the mirror. - I'll tell you what, they now have not one sick mentalist, but two. One has a cold, and the second has a problem with his head. If so, I'm referring to you. Tell me, Eva, which one of you is a fighter? Have you ever been in a typical school fight?

The mixed-race co-education law led to some very heated confrontations in the schools, but having a werewolf friend easily resolved any misunderstandings that arose between me and my peers. In general, no, I never fought. I was loved and respected. OK. Basically, respect.

Grandmother correctly assessed my thoughtful silence and with renewed vigor began to finish me off with questions:

- Why did you start talking to the Commission about the police? What motivated you, huh? Admit it, secretive our future heroine of night battles!

The ceiling, which I looked at melancholy, looked normal, even, no surprises or set-ups. I just wanted to watch and watch.

- Em. Alex told me about the units. Yes, I have no idea how he knows, but there are many vacancies and, in general, mentalists are needed. And I was not offered a temporary job anywhere else, only in the police. How was it to refuse? Ba, please don't swear. Believe me, there was simply no other way out. I’ll work lightly for a couple of months and quit.

- You wanted to take permission for private practice?!

- From this year, according to the new law, experience is required to open a private psychological office. And I don't have it. And I honestly tried to come up with something, asked employers about small practices, I wanted to get out. Everyone liked my grades, the dean gave a recommendation. Looks like there was a chance...

- And then?

I hesitated. My grandmother heard my next phrase from me from time to time and did not like it very much.

- Well. Then… something went wrong.

I had to part with a nice ceiling, I hope it will wait for me. I turned and gave my grandmother the most supportive smile possible, sending waves of warmth and love after her.

Ba snorted and shook her head. She knew about my love, and about the habit of not talking about troubles, too. When something happened at school or university, I preferred to solve the problem first, and only then tell the ba about it. But today there was no such opportunity, I had to repent as if in spirit.

Hands in large blue veins walked over the hairpins, neatly rolled up for the night and secured with rubber bands for fidelity.

My closest relative looked after herself with special zeal, believing that appearance is an important guarantee of success for any woman. Annette Nitaroka worked as a masseuse, she had an elite client base, which kept our family's fragile boat afloat for many years.

I played around putting up and taking down the base shield. In my imagination, he was a shiny mica cocoon, a spectacular cap, covering from head to toe.

The tension immediately receded and it became a little easier.

Today's distribution took me out of my usual rhythm so much that only at home I discovered the protection that had not been removed from the university. Somehow I dragged it on me for over an hour. Now I had to stretch my mental muscles to release the tension.

- Grandma, it is unlikely that a beginner will be allowed to do something serious. I'll sit for two months in the interrogation room, listen to the emotions of the detainees - and that's it. I will return home with a clear conscience.

- I did not understand in what sense - "I will return"?

- What didn't I say? Uh. Just don’t be upset, they handed me a memo for registration, nothing complicated, Mrs. Crowder has already handed over all the documents to them. Of the unusual there is only one point, I did not even understand it right away. In general, - the bed suddenly became uncomfortable, it itched in the side. - They have a barracks position. Tomorrow I have to send my things...

Something fell with a crash. Crawl under the bed or something ... Grandmother was sometimes not restrained in her emotions.

The next day. Morning

That night, I couldn't sleep again. Ba, usually instantly drifting off to sleep and not reacting to anything, suddenly gained a second wind and launched a violent activity. More specifically, fees.

For the next two months I was packed as if for five years without the right to correspond.

At first, I actively participated in the process, collecting the “necessary” things in a bag and shoving the “extra” stuff away. But in the end she passed out from fatigue and only through her sleep did she continue to hear her grandmother's enthusiastic muttering:

- In this she will go to breakfast. Everything is closed, but a hint! What a hint!

Or

- Pirozhki still have to bake a batch. Evochka is weak, tender, anyone can take something delicious from her ...

And I dreamed that in some dark room, lined with rows of iron beds, I was fighting for a crust of bread with a dozen very hungry strangers. Surprising as it may seem, but in the end I win and with a triumphant cry I devour the bread, trampling the defeated underfoot. In general, a nightmare.

The morning came hard, even the sun looked down from above somehow hostilely. And the tea was not as tasty as usual. And the neighbors on the street called to one another too loudly.

Curved and slanting from an early rise, I categorically refused to take two of the four bags, by this time collected by "an unfortunate old woman thrown at the mercy of fate." The mentioned elderly relative, who, by the way, moves much more cheerfully than me, was in a hurry to get to work, which is why I managed to leave home without a grandiose scandal with stuffing “one more useful” thing.

But at the checkpoint of the personnel department of the city police, I arrived minute by minute, even out of breath, flushed, with a bag in each hand.

Evangeline Nitaroka arrived on assignment to the Night Squad. Here is the direction.

- Night Squad?

The face of the officer on duty, a young man in a navy blue standard uniform, was slightly bewildered. He carefully studied my belongings, ran his eyes over the summer light dress, rosy cheeks.

And, shaking his head, he rattled off a message on the police communicator, sending somewhere the information about my appearance. After a couple of minutes of waiting, a familiar red-haired werewolf from the Distribution Commission came out at the checkpoint. Ouch. I never found out his name.

- Good-summer time of day, dear.

Good luck to you too, Evangeline.

I was studied again. Is this a professional habit around here, scanning everyone from head to toe? I can imagine how I would stand now with not two, but four trunks, if I had listened to my grandmother. The remaining two, apparently, I would have hung on my eyelashes, because my hands were already busy.

- Skip it. We will issue all documents and a pass to Miss Nitaroku today. I am taking the new employee to Quaestor Ignaz myself,” the red-haired officer threw weightily towards the police officer on duty, who continued to study me with obvious interest.

Then he turned around and walked down the corridor with long strides, not even asking if I could catch him with my bags.

Werewolves did not understand why to help an adult, healthy being. They had strong women of their own, some would even move a car with one hand without sweating. In addition, I am a subordinate, it is not the officer’s business to carry things after me.

Sighing, I trudged along the corridors, from time to time shying away from lone police officers hurrying on business or making way for entire groups. There were no civilians in sight except for me, so I caught curious glances a couple of times and straightened my shoulders as much as I could. The first impression is very important. I don't want to be remembered as a sleepy woman with shopping bags. A professional mentalist takes over a temporary job, not a pound of raisins, in the sense - not just anyone.