tongue about city budget cuts.
Brooke stopped and turned when Maggie called her name. They met on the street.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Brooke said. ‘I had a donor meeting in Grand Marais.’
‘Get the gift?’
‘Oh, sure.’
People rarely said no to Brooke. She was relentless about fundraising. She was sexy, too, which was a plus with middle-aged men who had money to burn.
Maggie had known Brooke since she’d graduated from UMD. She’d started at the front desk of The Praying Hands, doing intake for kids walking in the door, and six years later she’d taken over as the director. She knew every kid by name, and she knew their stories. The shelter was her crusade.
Brooke nodded at Maggie’s Avalanche, which was parked in front of Sammy’s. ‘Couldn’t you get a Corolla or something, babe? Every time you come down here, you scare the kids.’
‘Little cop, big truck,’ Maggie said.
‘I think you’re overcompensating.’
‘You’re not the first to say so.’
Brooke led them across the street to the shelter, where conversations froze as the two of them walked inside. No one made eye contact with Maggie. Runaway teens shared an instinctive guilt, even if they weren’t doing anything wrong. When you saw a cop, you didn’t invite attention.
Maggie followed Brooke into a stairwell that smelled of vomit. They took the stairs to her second-floor office. The two windows looking toward the street were dirty and cracked, and a loud fan kept air moving, even during the winter. Brooke sat down behindher battered oak desk and casually rolled up a months-old
People
magazine to swat a cockroach on the window ledge.
‘So how are you, Maggie?’ Brooke asked, dumping the dead bug in her wastebasket. ‘How are the new offices? Must be nice, right? Flat screen TVs, sushi in the cafeteria, personal masseur on call.’
‘Ha ha,’ Maggie said.
The Duluth Police had been headquartered in the City Hall building for as long as Maggie had been on the force, but they’d recently moved to a new facility that they shared with the St. Louis County authorities. The modern building was a step-up from their downtown space, but it was in the flatlands near the airport, far from the center of town.
‘I still don’t know how K-2 got the Council to spend the money,’ Brooke said. ‘When I’m looking for a grant, they always tell me the city’s broke.’
‘Well, Stride beat a rat to death in the men’s room with a baton. When he dropped it on the chief’s desk, they got serious about a new building.’
‘We’ve got plenty of rats around here,’ Brooke said.
‘Yeah, I know. Are you keeping your head above water?’
Brooke folded her hands together. Her red fingernails were long and neat. She looked elegantly out of place against a backdrop of posters on meth, STDs, and family planning. ‘This isn’t Hazelden,’ she said. ‘We don’t have a line-up of wealthy celebs handing us money. We’re lucky to get a donation here and there and a few bucks from Medicaid.’
‘That’s recession economics. Demand goes up, funding goes down.’
‘Well, God forbid we should ask any of our millionaire CEOs to drop an extra dollar in the tax bucket,’ she said sourly.
‘Don’t you hate rich people?’ Maggie asked, winking.
‘Hey, you’re my favorite rich person and you know it. I just wish you’d let us put your name on something. You give twice as muchas that son of a bitch Lowball Lenny, and I’ve got to suck up to him at every Council meeting and invite him to donor dinners to meet the kids. What a hypocrite.’
‘I hear you.’
‘Sorry. I get frustrated sometimes. I see kids who have nothing, and I can barely scrape together enough dollars to help them without getting on my knees for these rich bastards.’ She plastered a smile on her face. ‘Anyway, I’m grateful for people like you. What can I do for you, Maggie?’
‘It’s about that girl I mentioned on the phone. Catalina Mateo.’
Brooke
Brooke stopped and turned when Maggie called her name. They met on the street.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Brooke said. ‘I had a donor meeting in Grand Marais.’
‘Get the gift?’
‘Oh, sure.’
People rarely said no to Brooke. She was relentless about fundraising. She was sexy, too, which was a plus with middle-aged men who had money to burn.
Maggie had known Brooke since she’d graduated from UMD. She’d started at the front desk of The Praying Hands, doing intake for kids walking in the door, and six years later she’d taken over as the director. She knew every kid by name, and she knew their stories. The shelter was her crusade.
Brooke nodded at Maggie’s Avalanche, which was parked in front of Sammy’s. ‘Couldn’t you get a Corolla or something, babe? Every time you come down here, you scare the kids.’
‘Little cop, big truck,’ Maggie said.
‘I think you’re overcompensating.’
‘You’re not the first to say so.’
Brooke led them across the street to the shelter, where conversations froze as the two of them walked inside. No one made eye contact with Maggie. Runaway teens shared an instinctive guilt, even if they weren’t doing anything wrong. When you saw a cop, you didn’t invite attention.
Maggie followed Brooke into a stairwell that smelled of vomit. They took the stairs to her second-floor office. The two windows looking toward the street were dirty and cracked, and a loud fan kept air moving, even during the winter. Brooke sat down behindher battered oak desk and casually rolled up a months-old
People
magazine to swat a cockroach on the window ledge.
‘So how are you, Maggie?’ Brooke asked, dumping the dead bug in her wastebasket. ‘How are the new offices? Must be nice, right? Flat screen TVs, sushi in the cafeteria, personal masseur on call.’
‘Ha ha,’ Maggie said.
The Duluth Police had been headquartered in the City Hall building for as long as Maggie had been on the force, but they’d recently moved to a new facility that they shared with the St. Louis County authorities. The modern building was a step-up from their downtown space, but it was in the flatlands near the airport, far from the center of town.
‘I still don’t know how K-2 got the Council to spend the money,’ Brooke said. ‘When I’m looking for a grant, they always tell me the city’s broke.’
‘Well, Stride beat a rat to death in the men’s room with a baton. When he dropped it on the chief’s desk, they got serious about a new building.’
‘We’ve got plenty of rats around here,’ Brooke said.
‘Yeah, I know. Are you keeping your head above water?’
Brooke folded her hands together. Her red fingernails were long and neat. She looked elegantly out of place against a backdrop of posters on meth, STDs, and family planning. ‘This isn’t Hazelden,’ she said. ‘We don’t have a line-up of wealthy celebs handing us money. We’re lucky to get a donation here and there and a few bucks from Medicaid.’
‘That’s recession economics. Demand goes up, funding goes down.’
‘Well, God forbid we should ask any of our millionaire CEOs to drop an extra dollar in the tax bucket,’ she said sourly.
‘Don’t you hate rich people?’ Maggie asked, winking.
‘Hey, you’re my favorite rich person and you know it. I just wish you’d let us put your name on something. You give twice as muchas that son of a bitch Lowball Lenny, and I’ve got to suck up to him at every Council meeting and invite him to donor dinners to meet the kids. What a hypocrite.’
‘I hear you.’
‘Sorry. I get frustrated sometimes. I see kids who have nothing, and I can barely scrape together enough dollars to help them without getting on my knees for these rich bastards.’ She plastered a smile on her face. ‘Anyway, I’m grateful for people like you. What can I do for you, Maggie?’
‘It’s about that girl I mentioned on the phone. Catalina Mateo.’
Brooke
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