'Qui: The Fall of Ottawa' Chapter 7

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"Good evening, James! How's the new apartment treating you?" 

Sam held out a piping hot cup of coffee and her new boss took it gratefully. She was surprised that she was able to come off so chipper considering last night. She felt a wave of fear grip her as he came close, but after a few seconds she was able to ignore it.

Qui offered her a smile as he joined her behind the partition at the back of the bullpen. He was wearing a long coat today which largely covered up a sharp official's uniform. His long black hair was tied loosely behind his neck. She wondered if he ever put it up in a proper ponytail but quickly dismissed the idea. That just wouldn't fit him. Together, they watched the desk jockeys shuffling paperwork and answering phones for over a minute before he spoke. 

"How long have you worked here, Sam?" he asked.

"Almost five years, now," she replied. "Ottawa, born and raised!" She silently swore at herself. Was she being too forward? Too cheerful? Or had he sensed her fear?

"I spent most of my youth in New England," Qui said. "This is my first assignment in Canada."

Sam nodded. She'd been briefed on his origins the day before his arrival, but there were still so many questions. "Do you know why you were brought so far to work up here in Ottawa?" she asked. "Some of the detectives are talking. They don't understand it."

"I have a reputation across the border for getting things done in tough political situations," he replied. "Cutting out the fat from upper management and sniffing out corruption. That kind of thing."

He took a long, lingering whiff of his coffee but didn't take a sip. Maybe he was one of those guys who didn't like burning their throats with the stuff. She'd seen several coworkers over the years chug down scalding hot coffee as if their mouths were lined with steel. The practice utterly baffled her. James could probably use a good hot cup, though. Get a flush going through those cheeks. He was looking quite pale—night shift could do that to a person.

"Do you know why Mrs. Cranston assigned you to work with me?" he asked, turning to her.

Just thinking about the woman—no, the creature—made Sam shudder. She hoped James didn't notice. "She knows that I like working late and don't mind putting in overtime," she said. "It's hard to say why she does things the way she does. Mrs. Cranston only sends orders down through her agents. She spends most of her time working for the RCMP Security Service so she doesn't really spend time here with the rank and file." She noticed his puzzled look and added, "The Security Service is like your FBI. All very cloak and dagger stuff. Hush, hush." He understood that reference well enough.

"I've heard of them," he said. "But she never told me that she worked with them."

Sam shook her head. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. This place pretty much runs itself through local management."

"Would you say it runs itself well?"

Sam hesitated. She'd planned for this conversation, but after last night all of her careful preparation work had flown out the window, leaving her feeling empty and off-balance. It was all slowly coming back to her, but she needed a moment to sort it out in her head before she could verbalize it.

"We should talk about this in your office," she said, waving him back into the hallway beyond the main room. She tried to open the door, only to find it locked. She looked up at him, face flush with embarrassment. He was holding a key. 

"I had maintenance fix it," he said. "A little security goes a long way." He unlocked the door and held it open for her. She stepped in and took a seat in front of his desk while he took off his coat and settled in. God, he was almost her full height even when he was sitting! 

"I know why you're here," she said. He was watching her with those intense brown eyes and she could sense that they could see through the mask she wore—the pleasant face she exhibited when dealing with her coworkers. He could see to the real her, and she wasn't sure if that excited or terrified her. "You're here to restructure the department."

James nodded. "And I take it you have suggestions for me," he said. "Without direct supervision, this place has been a bit of a free-for-all. I need someone close to the ground to tell me how things are run. I've already been given a good idea who to watch out for, but I'd value your opinion. For the time being, all major operations will be run by my desk first before they're signed off on."

"Sergeant Ferris isn't going to like that," Sam said. She paused for a moment and gave it some thought. "But maybe that's the idea."

"Cranston's given me Inspector status," James said. "The sergeant's opinion doesn't concern me all that much." He leaned forward, hands clasped and resting on the desk. "I'd like you to tell me everything you know about the corruption that's rotting this place out from beneath us."

"I…um…" 

"I understand that you're worried about retribution," James said. "But the Commissioner, herself, has authorized this. You're in for a promotion if our relationship turns out to be fruitful."

Sam thought about it. For the last few years she'd been looking the other way whenever police corruption reared its ugly head. Bribes, evidence tampering…everyone claimed it was just something that happened. Institutional. To say that it had been a disappointment after her years in the academy would have been an understatement. If she could finally do her part to clean up the department and get a promotion out of the deal? This might be the chance she was waiting for!

"I'll do the best I can, sir," she said, trying not to appear overeager. For a brief moment, she managed to forget about the monster she'd seen last night. It was easy to dismiss something like that while she was here at work. It seemed like something from a different world—it couldn't possibly have been real. Like remembering a dream.

"That's good to hear," James said. He smiled, and for the first time it seemed genuinely warm on that drawn, pale face.

Sam spent the better part of an hour detailing what she knew about the department's secrets while James wrote everything down in a small pad. He paid close attention when she spoke and wasn't shy about digging deeper into her statements. When they were finally done, she felt drained, but satisfied. 

"This is good work, Sam," he said. "I'm grateful, I truly am."

"Glad to be of help."

He stood up and offered her his hand. She took it and smiled. His grip was cold; she made a mental note to get the custodian to turn the air conditioning down. He looked up at the clock on the wall to the right of his desk. "I have to head out for a meeting," he said. "And you look exhausted. You should probably go home and get some rest, soon." 

She nodded without thinking about it. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, she could barely keep her eyes open. How long had she been in the office, today? At least fourteen hours. "I just have to finish up some paperwork before I leave."

"I'm sure it will keep," he said. "I won't take up quite as much of your time, tomorrow night."

"Yeah," she said. "You're probably right." She got up to leave while James put on his coat. Before she closed the door behind her, she noticed something odd. James's cup of coffee still sat on his desk, cool and untouched.

[Next chapter: Qui and Arundel meet for the first time.]