Lost in the thought, he continued on down the street. There were many reasons not to be doing this, but if he wanted that promotion, he didn't really have a choice. At least he got to keep his night stick and gun.
Nick raised his hat, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. Metropolis may have been just to the north of New York, but the weather felt like Southern California. Not that he really knew, but the movies sure seemed to make it look hotter than hell.
He paused at the balustrade of a townhouse, using it to lean against while he scanned up and down the street. He hadn't literally walked a beat back in Chicago, so this was all new for him. Being a cop was something new in and of itself, considering the fact he only got his first badge two months ago.
A passing citizen, as the police orientation had declared, nodded towards him. She actually smiled in a friendly manner.
That would never happen back in old Chicagoland. It was something he didn't think he would ever get used to. No one was ever happy to see the cops in uniform.
Except in Metropolis, the city on crack.
How else could one explain the flying freak that everyone seemed to think was 'just the greatest thing since sliced bread'? Hell, even his aunt Ruth thought the boy needed to be ticketed for indecent exposure with that outfit. Then again, she was probably jealous she would never look like that.
Well, may be if she shaved off the facial hair.
Snickering, he put back on his black hat. Whoever thought up black clothes for police in eighty-five degree heat should be shot. Nick's hand went to his holster. The piece was in brand spanking new condition; non standard issue. He may have to suffer through the humiliation of actually walking a beat in the goofy-assed uniform, but he wasn't going without old Harriet.
She was made with forty-four good reasons worth of crime stopping love. A gift from his father, the last gift he ever got from the old man. No way, he wasn't going to be parted with her.
God, he was bored. Groaning loud enough for everyone in a thirty-foot radius to hear, he shoved off the banister. Time to get back to work.
Just for something to do, he almost drew his baton so he could twirl it. But that would have been one humiliation too many.
There were people passing him in both directions. Almost no one was walking faster than a stroll, none were in a hurry. It all felt very cartoonish, too Hollywood for his taste.
Still, the sun was shining, there was a breeze, and no one was committing a crime. If all this cheery bullshit kept up, he was liable to start shooting people just for something to change.
As if in answer to his silent pleas, the radio on his hip squawked. Reaching up, he pulled the mic from his shoulder holster. Pressing it, he grinned. "Patrolman O'Malley, go ahead."
"What's your location, over?"
He actually had to check the signs. So lost in his own thoughts, he had actually forgot to keep an eye on that. "Patrolman is at Elmhurst and Seventeenth."
"Confirmed. Dispatch Twelve radioed in a possible ten-fifteen at two-eleven Elmhurst. Proceed on foot."
It took Nick a second to recall the codes. While did that, something else occurred to him. "Dispatch, that's out of my patrol route. Please confirm orders."
"Orders confirmed. District 12 is on call response to a bank robbery on Parke/Newton. You are ordered to respond immediately. Over."
"Ten-four." Replacing the receiver on his shoulder holster, Nick scowled at everyone and no one in particular. Ten-fifteen was a domestic disturbance. He was supposed to be following super exhibitionist, not making house calls.
Fingers checking Harriet, he switched his direction and picked up speed. If he found some asshole beating his wife, it would be justifiable homicide.
Pushing open the door, Nick twisted his key until it came free. Dragging his feet, he barely had the strength to step over the door mat. He passed the door, then closed it by falling back against it. Nick pulled his hat off, tossing it in the general direction of the tv tray he was using for a table.
Every inch of his body ached. There was too much work involved in walking the beat. How in the hell did those other guys gain all that weight? Then again, he remember something about them snickering when he got his route.
That was okay, they would all burn in hell.
Three domestic disturbance calls, none real, ten lost puppies, two lost kittens, and a possible hostage situation that turned out to be a dognapping. It was officially the worst first day in his life. Oh, he was getting this job done with and then jumping the first handbasket back to Chicago!
Pushing off the door, he managed to get his legs moving long enough to carry him to the one easy chair. Dropping in to it, he reached out and grabbed the phone off a second tv tray. Dialing up the pizza joint he remembered from his route, he let his head fall back.
There would be no thinking that he would have to do it all again tomorrow.
No thinking period.
The phone rang. It was ringing.
Opening one eye, Nick rolled over to glare at it. It rang again just to spite him. If he could, he would have killed the damned thing.
With a sigh, he reached out and picked it up. Bringing it to his ear, he cleared his throat. "This had better be an obscene call. Because if you are phoning about work, you're going to find out what it feels like to be shot."
"Lovely to hear from you too, O'Malley. It's five in the morning here, which means it's six there. Your hairy ass should be up and about by now." The rich voice was annoying, as ever.
"Captain. What do I owe the favor of killing you for?" Rolling on to his back, Nick used his free hand to wipe over his face. It felt really sticky, which meant he had probably snored and drooled the entire night. That usually signaled he had some fun the night before.
Not in fucked in the head Metropolis.
"Your assignment started yesterday, but I did not receive a report." The old man on the other end of the line took a moment to blow smoke at the receiver. "I thought you would like the opportunity to rectify this situation."
It was too good to pass up. "Well, sir, if you'd bend over..."
"The report, O'Malley, now."
Nick sighed. Captain Magnusson was a good guy, a throwback to the good old days when the mafia still had a hold on the Mayor's office. Snorting, he figured the man had been around longer than two weeks. "Nothing to report, sir. They got me walking a beat in kitty town, chasing my own tail."
"There are other avenues than the police department." He sounded amused, not a good sign. "The Daily Planet seems to have a tap on him."
Oh, that did it. He was not going to go sniffing around their leavings. "Have you seen pictures of Lois, sir? She's probably able to do things for him I can't, if you get my meaning."
"Then I suggest you learn to stick your legs behind your ears."
Nick was too busy staring in shock at the phone to notice the Captain had hung up on him. A short time later, a thump at his door told him the paper had arrived.
Eyes bloodshot, face unshaved, Nick knew he was not the picture of a model cop. Still, it was all he could bring himself to do. After not enough sleep, bad soda, and two burns from the shitty toaster, he was not in the mood.
As he entered the police station, even the suspects gave him a wide berth. There was something to say about looking like a crazy. His footsteps quickly brought him to the Sargent's office. Despite the twinges in his feet, he was not going to let this go.
Nick didn't bother to knock as he entered the woman's office. If he got fired, at least he would have the free time to devote to his real job. He stopped two feet from her desk, hands on his hips.
The sargent didn't bother to look up. She knew who it was. Grabbing a slip of paper off the corner of her desk, she held it aloft for him.
Narrowing his eyes, he took it. There was only two words written on it, but it said everything.
Laughter outside the office told him they had all been in on it.
Crumpling up the paper, he threw it at her trash can. He was half a step away from snatching off the badge and tossing it on her desk. This kinda shit wasn't supposed to be this extensive.
Finished filling out the paper work, she closed the file. Sargent Moretti sat back in her chair, watching Nick with a grin. "Is there something I can do for you, Officer?"
He wanted to yell at her. The temptation was so great his fingers were curling against his palms. Instead, he nodded. "I re..quest to be transferred." Once the words were out, he almost spit. Being courteous was just so damned wrong!
"Oh, really?" She didn't even bother to drop the smirk.
"Yes." Removing off his hat, he pulled out the form. It was already filled out, neatly folded in half. He unfolded it, then held it out for her to take.
Taking it, she read the filled out lines. As she did, her eyebrows raised. "You're serious." When she was done, she set it on her desk. "Is this because you can't take a little good natured ribbing?"
"There is hazing, and there is interfering with the duty of an officer. While I was running all over town, answering false reports, someone I was supposed to be protecting got hurt. Read the papers." Gritting his jaw, he kept himself from snapping at her by only a hair.
"I see." That seemed to sober her up. Entwining her fingers, she brought them to her chin. "Where will you hope to go? Quitting so soon after joining won't look good."
This time he couldn't hold in the snort. "The two-seven has an open space in their patrol route. Quitting here is a step in the right direction." Putting his hat back on, he turned on heel and walked out.
After cutting out on his job, it didn't feel right going back to his apartment. He was in Metropolis on assignment, but that didn't mean he could shirk the duties he gained while doing so. For all the shit he gave his COs, the job was more than just a way to pass the time.
Not that there was something wrong with having a little fun.
With free time on his hands, he decided to stake out the Daily Planet building. It was something to do until his reassignment kicked in tomorrow. That was one problem he would let the chief handle. Now, he was busy, there were people to watch.
The cafe across the street seemed to know exactly what made coffee great. Why else would everybody and their brother come for it? Unfortunately, Nick didn't particularly care for the shit.
So, he was busy sucking back on a soda he practically had to threaten the waitress to get. What kinda place didn't serve sodas in the morning? He didn't care what the time was, cola was life blood!
She had just set his third refill down when the door opened. Nick coolly watched from the corner of his eye. Well, it probably looked more like he was half blind and was fighting a stigmatism. Either way, he watched the duo enter the cafe.
"Still, that doesn't explain why she fought so hard against it." After holding the door so Lois could get in, Clark adjusted his glasses. "You have to admit, that does seem suspicious."
"I have to admit nothing, Kent. There are things that in life are just unfair." To emphasize her point, she walked away, leaving him without so much as a thank you. Taking the lead, she strolled up to the main counter and pulled off her purse. She didn't bother to wait until the cashier was looking her way. "Two large vanilla swirls. Make it snappy."
Looking exasperated, Clark came up behind her. "You know, a little curtesy would go a long way."
"Stuff it, I've dealt with granny here before." When the woman in question turned to glare at her, Lois glared right back. "She over charges, and serves our food cold."
"That's just to you." Shouldering her aside, Clark took her position at the counter. "Hi, there, Rosalinde, how are the grand kids?"
"Hello, Clark." Rosalinde reached under the over hanging counter top and pulled out a waxpaper bag. Setting it and a steaming paper cup in front of Clark, she smiled brilliantly. "They are wonderful, dear. Causing nothing but trouble for my daughter."
"You wouldn't have it any other way." He handed over a five, then stepped back so Lois could get her order filled.
Glaring at her partner, Lois tapped on the counter top. "Two minutes, granny, or I take my business else where."
"Such a vicious tongue. I'm sure your mother must have breast fed you with a mouth guard!" After giving Lois the evil eye, the woman wandered down to the donut counter.
Seeing that they weren't going to change, Clark sighed and rolled his eyes. They would most likely be here five minutes more, as the two women dragged out their fighting. He decided to look around, see who else was in for the show.
Having been watching the show with some glee, Nick was surprised to find the man watching him. Then again, he was a reporter, and Nick was still wearing his uniform. Raising his glass, he saluted the man.
Clark had to adjust his glasses twice. It didn't help. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Lois was puffing up to lay in to Rosalinde. That gave him time.
Seeing that the reporter was coming over, Nick held in a groan. The last thing a tail was to do was be noticed. Oh well, too late now. So, he sat up in his booth seat.
Big smile in place, Clark took in the full image. The uniform looked real enough to fool even him. "What are you investigating now? Please tell me you're not doing anything illegal this time. The last one almost got us both fired."
"Excuse me?" Nick had been about to say his hellos, but that flew right out the window. Staring up at the man, he felt like there was some joke he wasn't a part of.
Reaching out, Clark grasped the edge of Nick's badge between his thumb and index finger. Tracing it with his fingers, he grinned. "I got to hand it to you, this looks real."
"Hey, pal, watch the merchandise!" He tried to slap the reporter's hand away. Tried being the operative word. The man must have been strong enough to... Nick glanced up at the man, studying him closely.
Clark could swear the man had suddenly figured something out about him. Before he had the chance to say something, they were interrupted.
"Hey, Smallville, leave off fondling the flatfoot and get the lead out of your pants! We're leaving!" Snapping her fingers as she passed, Lois made a noise of aggravation.
Looking down, Clark sighed. That was never going to end, no matter what he did, it seemed. "Coming, Lois." He gave Nick an apologetic look. "Talk to you later."
"Not if I see you first." Watching the other man leave, Nick knew for a fact it would not be the last time.
By the time he made it back to his shitty apartment, Nick was completely certain he was right. There were just too many consistencies, things that made more sense with what he had figured out. Also, there was that little bit about them looking the same.
The first thing he did when he stepped through the door was tossing his hat aside and jerk open his uniform shirt. The shoulder holster, complete with mic rigging went with it to the floor. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would never wear one of those god damned thing again.
While he was kicking that around, he noticed the light on his answering machine was blinking. If he was right, there were a hundred messages from those assholes back at the precinct. Just to be on safe side, he hit the erase button. As the speaker squealed while it rewound the tape deleting the messages, he grinned.
There was some justice in the world after all, it seemed.
Now, he had something important to do. Reaching out, he picked up the receiver and began to type in the numbers with his thumbs. After inputting the last number, he placed it to his ear. Then he thought better of it and held it slightly adjacent to his ear.
The line was picked up before the end of the first ring. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't feed you to the Disposer."
"My cover's been blown." He clenched the receiver between his head and shoulder, freeing his hands.
"I knew you'd find a way to fuck this up." The voice rolled out of the speaker with a resigned growl. "Do you enjoy causing me trouble, is that it, O'Malley?"
"So nice to hear your concern, sir." Nick snatched up the bag of pretzels from his counter and a beer from the refrigerator. Plodding to the living room, he scanned around for the remote.
"I'm sorry, did Mrs. Sanders get her dainties in a twist?" High pitched and overly polite, the chief's voice dripped with feigned concern. A thump echoed over the phone. "Pull that thong out of your ass and get to explaining right now, O'Malley, before I reach through this god damned phone and do it for you!"
"Ah, so very descriptive, sir." He had a moment to snicker over that one. Then the sound of the chief snorting out through his nose quickly sobered him. "The Link identified me without my getting the chance to observe him once. The good news is, he gave away his secret identity in the process."
"Secret identity? Where do you pull these things from? Really, I want to know so I can have it fucking removed!" By now the man was actively yelling in to the phone.
Glad that he had it away from his ear, Nick began to snicker. Oh, this was going great. No one got to get the old man this riled up and survive. That's why he was doing it now, over the phone. "It's a gift. I think I got it from my mother's side."
"Well return it!" He paused long enough to take a deep breath. "What is the situation? How exactly did you blow it?"
About the same time, a tap came from his window, firm and insistent.
Forcing his chair to sit up, Nick leaned over the arm so he could see through the blind. What he found caused him equal amounts of both joy and fear. "Sorry, sir, gotta go. The subject is here."
"What? It's there? O'Malley..." The chief was cut off as Nick hung up the phone. To be safe, he set the phone to silent and turned off his answering machine.
Standing up, he stretched out the knots from his back and legs. While he was doing that, the rap came again. Just to spite him, Nick slowed his actions down to a crawl. As his window opened, he started to chuckle.
It seemed the chief was right, he really did have a knack for it.
Drifting in through the open window, Superman floated up until his feet were beneath him. Crossing his arms, he landed with a firm thump. "Who are you?"
"I could ask you the same thing." Feeling the need to draw this out, Nick stretched his arms above his head. "I promise you, your answers would be much more interesting than mine. Might actually piss people off less too." Opening his eyes, he started to turn around to face the man, only to come face to face with him. "Oh, there you are."
"Yeah, here I am." Superman looked to him expectedly. When that didn't seem to do anything, he raised an eyebrow. "Well?"
"What?" For several more seconds, he continued to just stand there, staring blankly at the super hero, a stupid smirk on his face. When this drew a groan from the other man, he couldn't hold it in any longer. He had to do it! "Hi, Clark."
Superman froze. Staring at Nick with wide eyes, he took a slow breath. Then he narrowed his eyes. Scanning Nick slowly up and down, he exhaled deeply in disappointment. "Who are you? I can see that you are completely Human."
"Well, I know a few people who would debate that with you." Nick had to sigh as the extension in his bedroom started to ring. There didn't seem to be a relief from the madness. Holding up one finger, he smiled. "Hold that thought, just one second."
Stepping around the other man, he quickly sprinted in to his bedroom. The phone kept ringing, angrily revealing that the person on the other end wanted his attention. Bending over, he snatched it off the tv tray, and subsequently, off the end of its wire. The phone went silent with a half finished ring.
With that done, he tossed it aside and walked to his closet. The door was already open, which made pulling out the suit case easy. It too was half open, so all he had to do was reach inside take out the camera and leather satchel. Dropping the suit case, he took his time heading back in to the main room.
In the short time, it seemed Superman had made himself at home, examining Nick's little towers of beer and soda cans. Having been in the apartment two weeks, he hadn't had the time to actually start a good sized pyramid. Still, for their size, they were well built.
"Like them? I'm considering making them a gift to the Metropolis Museum of Modern Art." Heading in to the strip of counter that made up the kitchen, he dropped the leather case on it. He set the camera temporarily aside so he could open the binder. Once done, he picked up a pen and began to fill out information. "Okay, Superman, alias Clark Kent. Did your people give you a name?"
"My family calls me Clark." Superman actually sounded arrogant over that one. "What does yours call you?"
"Only on holidays." Using his thumb and pinky, Nick measured Superman's height. "You're what, six-one, six-two?"
"Six-two." Rising off the floor, Superman floated until he could see over the counter. "Special Unit Two? Is that related to Bureau 13?"
"Not even close. Those people are crazy, thinking some little green men are coming to kill us all." Nick shook his head. There were some real characters out there.
"Oh?" Superman spun in the air, coming down soft to sit next to Nick on the counter. "I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss all their ideas."
"Of course I would. Everyone knows that they are gray. Haven't you seen the X-Files?" Turning the page, Nick checked Superman over. "Weight?"
"One sixty-five." At Nick's snort, Superman narrowed his eyes. He debated burning a hole in his little forms. "One eighty-eight."
"That's more like it. No need to be so defensive about your weight, Cindy. Plenty of girls your age are a little more plump. You'll grow out of it, promise." When the top of his pen started to smoke, Nick dipped it in an open can of MGD on the counter. After shaking it off, he went back to filling out the paper work. "Measurements?"
"Thirty-three, twenty-five, fourty-five." As if to emphasize this, he unconsciously flexed his pecks.
"Excellent, CK. Now, what's your species?" When Superman didn't respond, Nick glanced up at him. He found the alien studying him. "Is there something the matter?"
"Are you an only child?" Superman reached out to cup Nick's chin, keeping him from looking away. "Answer me this one, or you'll get nothing else out of me."
"They don't really know. I was found in a lettuce garden, apparently someone had to leaf me behind." Using one hand, Nick reached up to pry Superman's fingers from his jaw. The other went on a far more dangerous mission.
Superman's eyes went wide as he squeaked. Jumping off the counter, he stared at Nick in shock.
"Definitely male." Using his pen, he marked down his findings. "Tell me, are you fully functional? If so, can you estimate the liquid ounce of your ejaculate? What's the color and does it smell like a human's?"
Backing away, Superman hit the sink.
Not hearing a response, Nick glanced over his shoulder. Smirk firmly in place, he held up the papers. "I assure you, these are completely legitimate questions."
"Of that, I have no doubt." Swallowing, Superman looked extremely spooked. He nervously ran a hand through his hair. "Can we skip these questions?"
"Certainly!" Nick sounded far more cheerful than was strictly necessary. Turning around, he held up the camera. "How do you feel about anatomical nudes? Personally, I find it all very erotic."
After the camera was finished rewinding the last roll of film, Nick plucked it from the back and sealed it inside its black tube with a gray cap. He put a small piece of masking tape on the back and wrote the lot number over it. Dropping this in his suitcase, he glanced over at Clark.
The alien was sprawled out over his bed, one arm behind his head. "I can't believe I let you do that." His lips were swollen red, hair completely out of place.
"Oh, don't worry, it was completely tasteful." Sealing the suitcase, Nick tossed it back in the closet. "Don't worry, I'll still disrespect you in the morning."
Sitting up on the bed, Clark pushed the hair off his face. "No, I mean, I can't believe it. Seriously." At Nick's grin, he narrowed his eyes. "Did you slip me something? Wait, don't even think about it!"
This caused Nick to sigh. Not making a remark was like not being able to breathe. But, for the sake of his guest, he would make the effort. Hands on his hips, he couldn't help a little pelvic thrust. "As for drugging, you, there was no need. It's all pure O'Malley charm."
"O'Malley. So, you do have a name." Clark was highly amused by the slip up. That is, until he realized just what he had done with a complete stranger. Scrubbing a hand over his brow, he groaned. "Listen, I gotta go."
"So that's it, then? You're just going to leave me like some..." Nick waved it off. The crack wasn't worth the effort. "You're costume is still in the kitchenette, I think. Those underwear, though, you're never getting them back."
Having been looking for his bikinis, Clark gave up. "Evidence?"
"No." Nick strolled out of his bedroom. He knew Clark was watching his back, but kept on walking. If he turned around, he would be back to making quips and it was too good an evening to spoil by pissing off the man of steel. That thought almost had him whimpering.
Being polite sucked!
Staring out his window, Nick watched the lights of Metropolis Harbor blink on and off. The ferry was coming in from across the bay with a new load of cars. In the era of sea straddling bridges, why someone would choose to use a ferry was beyond him. Still, it was kinda neat.
Sighing, he figured it was best to get it over with. Dialing the number was so ingrained in to him by now, it was almost unconsciously done. As he put the speaker to his ear, he puttered his lips.
Like before, it was picked up during the first ring. "How'd it go?"
"Got everything I came for, may be a little more. I'll be home to file my final report in a day or so." Nick debated saying something else. Instead, he turned off the phone.
Glancing up at the stars, what little could be seen through the light pollution, his gut twisted.
He honestly couldn't figure out what he was doing out at this early in the morning. It was five o'clock, he had a flight in four hours, he should have been back at the apartment, rolling over in sleep. Despite the summer heat during the day, fall was sneaking up on the city during the night. It caused his breath to swirl about him.
Blowing through his knuckles, he shook the cold out of his fingers. He was about to knock on the door again when a chain on the other side drew back and it opened.
Standing in the doorway, his exact double staring back at him, he scowled. "What are you doing here?"
"Dad always wondered how you got along." Shifting his jacket, he reached in to his inner pocket.
Crossing his arms, the man leaned against his doorway. "Yeah, well, tell the asshole I don't want to hear from him. Mom and I were just fine here."
"Don't have to worry about that, he's dead." With that, he slapped the wadded up envelope against his twin's chest. "Merry fucking Christmas and happy birthday, JimJim."
"What?" But his brother was already walking away. Nearly dropping the envelope, he reached out to snag his shoulder. "Nicky, wait!"
Nick paused, but didn't turn around. "You made your decision a long time ago, James."
"I left him, not you." Jimmy's throat felt swollen, making his swallow. "You're my brother."
"Watch yourself. The flying boy wonder's not so bright, but he'll figure things out eventually." Nick cast his brother a look. For one moment, it felt like they were kids again, warning each other of their parents' wrath. "See ya, JimJim." After shrugging off Jimmy's hand, he continued on down the hall.
Entering the 'Golden Eagle Dry Cleaners', Nick smiled for Huang. He winked at the old woman manning the steam press. She would never take it even for play flirting, but he did it any way. The walk was still the same old boring set of security protocols and tired looking people.
The main hub of SU2 was busy as always. It being a Tuesday morning did nothing to change that fact. He winked and shot at Zirkon, pretending to actually like the asshole on his way to his desk. Something about the Unit seemed to attract people with abrasive personalities.
Nick had no idea why it came for him, though.
Snickering at his own thoughts, Nick checked the message notes stuck to his desk. None of them were worth a second glance. Each was thrown away. There were four packages, only one of them not delivered in a plain brown envelope.
Plopping down in his chair, he picked up his phone. He put it against his ear, pinning it with his head, and dialed the lab. Hands free, he picked up the yellowed envelope. It was stamped Metropolis, which meant it was probably something from the flying freak. How he got the address, Nick could only guess.
Probably pretty accurately. Clark was a reporter, after all.
He debated not opening it, but decided that against that idea. There were too many people who had already seen it, there would be hell to pay until he actually opened it. He was still the rookie in the squad, the uniform as it were.
Pinching a corner, he tore the top off. He turned the package over and emptied it on his desk. A pile of bikini briefs fell out, each were solid white except the shield symbol over the crotch. Grinning, he picked one up.
He was looking over a pair when the most god awful stench hit his nose. Eyes watering, he grabbed his gut and turned for his trash can. While he was busy puking his guts up, a strong hand slapped across his back. He waved them away as he got his gag reflex under control.
He used a wadded up napkin from his drawer to clean his mouth. Sitting back in his chair, he felt completely wiped out. The foul smell was still lingering, but it wasn't enough to set him off. He now knew to breathe through his mouth. "Oh, god, what is that?"
"What's what?" Cup in hand, Magnusson glanced about for something out of the ordinary. As he spun, the mug came near Nick's face.
The closer it got, the worse Nick felt. He shoved his chair back until he slid away from the mug. "Geeze, chief, you been letting Zirky make that again?"
"Fuck you, Mallet Head, it's Zabrinski's turn this week." Zirkon flipped Nick off, heading towards holding.
Taking a sip of his coffee, Magnusson made a pleased expression. "Tastes fine to me. Get your nose checked." He started to turn away, then he snapped his fingers. "Oh, and while you're at it, you can get down to records and explain the last three rolls of film. I hear they're very interesting."
"Ah, got to get them to make copies." Shirt over his nose, Nick waited until the Captain had left before going back to his desk. Even then, the stink still lingered, making his gut rumble. Opening a drawer, he shoved the underwear in it and locked his desk. There were far too many perverts and gnomes about to leave them out.
Standing up, he wondered what it was this time. If he was coming down with something, he had better get paid sick leave. That decided, he headed for the lab. He stopped off at Zabrinski's desk to get a black marker, just in case he might have to sign some autographs.