Don't Call Me Hero by Eliza Lentzski

the maximum time off, but don’t leave him out there on an island. Being alone with his thoughts and his regrets is gonna eat him up.”
    “Yeah. Thanks, Rookie. That’s good stuff. Keep doing your thing up there, eh? I’ll let the gang know you’re kicking ass as usual.”
    Kicking ass in Embarrass? Not exactly.
     
    + + +
     
    Lori was on the phone when I visited the police station a few hours later.
    “Is he in there?” I quietly asked, nodding towards Chief Hart’s office door. It was slightly ajar.
    She nodded and continued with her call.
    Inside his office, Chief Hart slowly pecked at his computer’s keyboard. A half-eaten sandwich that I assumed his wife had packed for him was on his desk.
    “Hey, Chief.”
    Chief Hart looked away from his computer screen and took off his readers. “Cassidy—what are you doing here? Didn’t you just get off duty a few hours ago?”
    I flopped down in the chair across from his desk. “Yeah, but I had a question I wanted to ask you.”
    “Go ahead.”
    “Does the department have mobile fingerprint readers?” 
    His eyebrows knit together. “I’m guessing no since I’ve never heard of this thing before.”
    “Oh.” I sat up straighter in the chair. “Well, it’s this device that attaches to your smart phone. If you pull someone over and they don’t have identification, you can swipe their fingerprints and the mobile reader checks it against AFIS.”
    The Automated Fingerprint Identification System, or AFIS, was the state’s fingerprint database. The FBI managed the national database.
    “David and I know everyone in town. You’ll learn everyone’s names soon enough, too.”
    “But what about people from out of town?” I pointed out.
    “This gadget sounds like it costs money, Cassidy. And if you’ve got eyes, you’ll notice we don’t have a lot of that around here.”
    He nodded in the direction of a blue plastic bucket in the corner of his office which was catching water dripping from an exposed pipe.
    “Oh, speaking of money,” he said, “don’t forget to fill out your I9s and W2s so you get paid.”
    “Who do I need to see about that?” I asked.
    “Wendy Clark. She’s the city clerk, which means she’s basically in charge of the city’s bank accounts. I’d recommend talking to her right away. Your stipend came from a federal grant, but we should probably follow up to make sure the money doesn’t get earmarked for something else.”
    I immediately stood up. “I’ll go talk to her right now.” I wasn’t about to let my meager living allowance get used for a park bench.
     
     
    Wendy Clark’s office was on the first floor. When I’d entered the Office of the City Clerk, an assistant had informed me that Mrs. Clark was busy in a meeting and that I’d have to wait. I stood in the atrium of City Hall, hands shoved in the pockets of my leather jacket, as I waited for the City Clerk to wrap up her meeting.
    Concept art for future buildings and other city projects hung on the walls in the atrium. I stood in front of blueprints and inspected the concept art for a proposed city park. In addition to a castle-like jungle gym there was also a splash pad—a miniature water park.
    “Can I help you with something?”
    I looked away from the blueprints in the direction from where the voice had come.
    A man who looked to be in his mid-forties stood outside of his office with his hands shoved into the pockets of his flat-front dress pants. He was the first person I’d seen in town wearing a tie.
    “I’m just waiting for Mrs. Clark to finish her meeting.”
    “Is there something I can help you with?”
    “Not unless you’re in charge of payroll.”
    He laughed and held his hands up. “Nothing so important as that.”
    I spotted the nameplate on his office door. “Peter Lacroix. City Architect,” I read aloud. “Nope. Not important at all.”
    Peter Lacroix was a tall, thin, mustached man who looked like he’d played Division II basketball in