Chapter 1: Day Off

Working is one hell of an addiction. The only thing comparable to it is eating. They are both important functions of living, and to go without either would be directly putting yourself in harm’s way. These two addictions distribute that they are encouraged by society to have in excess, yet to do so will shorten your life. They both carry the misconception of not being a ‘true addiction’ because how can anyone be addicted to a necessity? Obesity is when eating is taken to an extreme, and it shows in the body. Maxwell is when work is taken to an extreme, and it shows in his mind.

Overworking was the vice that Max had to the point where it had even affected his appearance. He had dark lines underneath his sunken, empty, blue eyes. His skin was teetering somewhere between fair and ghoulish. No blemishes were on the surface, but it was clear that he needed more sunlight in his life. Maxwell was a tall white male with a figure that was no longer standard for his profession. Broad shoulders and arms showed that he worked part-time in a gym. A chin, which was a gift from his dad, complimented it all. His jet-black hair was groomed upwards with the sides cut low in a style that he had to earn the right to express. Outside of looking a little dicky, he was a solid seven on the handsome scale.

‘Police technician’ was the official name of his job, but he took pride in believing he was a police officer. There was a dignity in the term that would understandably go amiss unless it was something you worked for. Max spent the first six months out of the academy working as a police technician since there was just no more room for another police officer. All the paper-pushing and nonviolent crimes, like parking kets, were left him to deal with until half a year ago. Last six months, however, he was pulling double shifts doing undercover work. Police technician was still his job title, regardless. Cornwell, the police director, assured Maxwell that he was performing well in his current duties will help push him into the ranks of the old guard. One of them walked into the bathroom where Stone was pep-talking himself up for another chat with his Chief.

It was Chuck, a fifty-something-year-old man with the face of someone half his age and the body of a modern police officer. He walked with his bulbous belly out and with an emphasized swagger as if he were a dog that had just earned a reward. Max heard his laboured breath before anything else. His booming voice echoed off the tiled walls, “Maxie! Talking to yourself again?!” 

“No, I was on the phone with your wife. What do you want?” Max said over Chuck’s blubbery laughter as he attempted to hide his unpleasantness with jokes. Stone’s exhausted tone gave him away.

“Fuck you, buddy. You look like shit. Been getting enough sleep?” Chuck continued to approach him despite Maxie’s mock hand washing, blatant eye contact avoidance and nodding instead of responding. Chuck’s voice hushed as though they weren’t the only ones in the bathroom, “Listen… It isn’t right these hours they have you on. Hang in there. I am trying to—” 

“Thanks but no thanks, Chuck. How have you been?” Stone callously interrupted his concerned coworker. There was nothing about the way this conversation was going that he liked. Chuck stared him down long and hard like a blood-clotted erection before releasing a sigh, the flesh golem officer responding, “I am fine. The doctor keeps telling me I need to lay off the cholesterol, but god damn, I love me some fried chicken….” 

Chuck’s voice trailed off with the knowing look that Max was tossing at him. They each had their problems but talking about them was not gonna fix them. Chucky continued to press about his personal life even after Max finished mock drying his hands, “How has your wife been?” 

“Understanding.” Max was starting to get to his wit’s end. Chuck was not the first coworker to show concern with the nearly fourteen-hour shifts that he was working; this simple fact gave him patience with his superior. “Sammy is fine. All my extra hours are starting to put a strain on our relationship. Once I get this promotion, I am taking a much-deserved vacation.” A small tired smile stretched across Max’s cracked lips as he spoke. Chuck returned the smile; Max’s words finally gave him the assurance he needed to end the conversation and head towards the door. Chuck only took a few steps before he froze as if something had just occurred to him. He moved back over to Max and spoke in a low tone. “You and I both know that there are no openings right now. Listen to me, I know how to pull my weight around here, and I can get you some time off. Just come with me to the Federal Police Commission and—” 

Max had turned on his heel, about to make a hasty exit, before Chuck’s clammy hand gripped his shoulder. Maxwell’s eyes stayed fixated on the door, his tone teetering that dangerous line between calm and anger, “Let me go, Chuck.”

Chuck made a sound that was a cross between a yelp/shout that was alarming enough to make Max twist his head backwards. Chuck’s gleeful facade had vanished, along with the youthful appearance of his face as well. The age lines turned his expression into a boiling rage as his voice was that of someone whisper-shouting, “You are not a real cop! He won’t listen! Do you understand me, Max? You. Are. Not…” 

A low hum filled his ears, and it felt like insects ran across his skin. His own words strangely sound like he was underwater, or maybe it was just the fact that he was yelling in a bathroom, unaware that his hands were on Chuck’s collar, “I am a fucking cop, bitch! Do you want to see how much of a cop I am?! If you ever put your hands on me again, I–” 

“Mister Stone!” It was a coworker whose name he never had the chance to learn, “What are you doing?” 

Max unwrapped his fingers from the collar of Chuck’s shirt before heading out the door. He heard Chuck’s words echo off the tile walls as the humming was gone: “It’s okay. He is just overworked. I am fine.”

Max sped-walked through the crowd of his coworkers to his boss’s office. Max arrives at the wooden door labelled, “Cornwell, Head Of M.H.P.D”. Stone was unaware of the expression on his face. With the shaking in his arms, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, and the eyes that lingered on him, Stone could only imagine the anger that swam across its surface. Stone heard nothing as he walked away. It took several breaths and minutes to recompose himself before he had the nerves to face the Chief.