Midnight Hour: Part 1

Of all the feelings Trevor Cobb had expected to feel, one rose above all the others: weirdness. Everything felt strange about the whole situation. He had not seen the Commissariat for years. It was far more elegant than Cobb could have imagined it to be. The police must be better-funded than I thought they were. Despite the destruction of New Orleans, the Commissariat looked better than ever. Elaborate Corinthian columns flanked the façade, decorative stone molding lined the edges of the roof and the windows had marble trim around them. Some of the decorations were still under construction; Cobb imagined all these things must be recent additions. The rest of the building was still a hunk of concrete and metal. In a way it was good to be here at last, but at the same time, he couldn’t believe the damage he had seen coming into New Orleans. As Cobb walked down the steps of the Commissariat, a ball of stone settled in his stomach. Coming here took me more courage than fighting in the Afghan War, and it’s only day one on the job.

He glanced sideways at his partner, Marlin Boulet. He seemed like a true New Orleanais cop, devoted to the city even after Katrina, yet his dark eyes held a spark of rebellion Cobb hadn’t noticed in the other police he’d seen. He decided to ease the awkward silence.
“So, what happened with your last partner?” Cobb asked. I might as well get some idea of what I’m up against.
Boulet didn’t answer. Cobb shrugged. Better to have a sullen, silent partner than an overly friendly and prying partner who ran his mouth off. Still, Boulet didn’t seem like the naturally quiet sort. Something was bothering him, something bubbling beneath the surface, and it intrigued Cobb.
Boulet changed the subject. “Why did you come down here? Didn’t you have enough action in Cincinnati?”
“Can’t a man move where he wants? Cincinnati got old, and I wanted some new scenery.”
Boulet shrugged, not entirely convinced. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing. I just think it’s weird. Crazy, even. The crime rate is through the roof, the rest of the country thinks we’re fools and New Orleans is crumbling around us.”
“Then why are you sticking around?” Cobb asked, sounding more critical than he had intended.
Boulet stopped walking. “This is my city. I’ll do whatever it takes to save it.”
A younger voice cut into the conversation. “So you’re the new officer from Cincinnati.”
Cobb stopped and turned around to face a boy dressed in a police uniform with a tennis racket and a tube of tennis balls in the pockets of his holster. He seemed too young to be an officer, about eleven or twelve years old. Boulet looked less surprised by the newcomer.
“Sammy, what are you doing in that there uniform?” Boulet asked, sounding bemused instead of annoyed.
“I was caught tagging along on one of the patrols, and they brought me back here. Papa let me off, of course.” Sammy’s sharp green gaze flashed to Cobb. "I heard some Yankee came all the way down here just for the honor to work for the greatest Chief of Police ever. Judging from your accent, that must be you."
"Yeah, something like that." Cobb sarcastically replied. He assumed this kid was Chief Ostinato’s son. The resemblance was striking: both had the same golden complexion and wavy black hair that swept across their foreheads from beneath their hats. Sammy was very tall for his age, almost at eye level with Boulet, and the chief stood at 6’7”. Both had the same sharp features, but while the chief’s eyes were ice blue, Sammy’s were emerald green. He’s also got the same ego. Cobb thought back to the grandiloquent introduction and tour he had received from the chief. The man couldn’t stop talking about himself and his achievements, and while Cobb found it impressive that Chief Ostinato had closed every single one of his cases within a week for twenty years, it got tiresome to hear after a while. For the whole tour the chief boasted about all the renovations, both functional and aesthetic, he had installed on the building. Cobb looked up at the opulent decorations. It’s too much for me. This is supposed to be a commissariat, not a five-star hotel.
“I’m Sammy Ostinato, by the way.” Sammy placed emphasis on “Ostinato”. “The chief is my papa, and someday I’ll be the chief of police, too. In fact, I’ll be an even better chief than him.”
Boulet nodded, obviously humoring him. “I’m sure you will. Have a good day.”
Sammy cast one last glance at Cobb, then headed into the Commissariat.
“I bet the chief’s got his hands full with that one,” Cobb remarked.
Boulet laughed; it was the first positive emotion Cobb had seen him show. “That’s an understatement.” Moments later he became serious again, and a little annoyed. “Anyways, Embry said I should show you around New Orleans.”
I don’t think I’m ready to be cooped up in a patrol car with him for hours. “I’ll get familiar with New Orleans on my own, but thanks.”
“Believe me, this wasn’t my idea. Embry ordered me to,” Boulet replied.