Question Mark (22 page)

Yeah and maybe that’s why she dropped your decrepit, Viagra gulping ass
.

Angry heat rose in Mark’s body until he knew the death knell of his career with the APD was sounding. “Millions of people kiss each other goodbye in public. It’s not Zane’s fault or mine that someone out there was twisted enough to capture it and sell it to gossip columns. And why is it that I suspect I wouldn’t be getting in trouble if I were dating a famous woman; caught in front of a camera making out with an actress? Would I be getting high fives instead of lectures?”

 “You want to be careful throwing around accusations,” Marty said softly.

Whatever
. Fucking hypocrite.

Mark didn’t say anything, just went stare to stare with his boss. Questioning his future and what he wanted to do for the rest of his life was normal, but suddenly realizing that he might be out on his ass in minutes without a way to pay the bills was making him queasy. He had savings to cover the last couple months rent on his house before the lease ended and his brain was hollering that he might actually have to use it. In the face of working for a dick like Marty, Mark was sorely tempted to give him the giant kiss off and slap his resignation on the desk.

“What is this about?” Mark finally ground out. “It’s an impossibility for me to control all these variables.”

 “The same way I can’t control the stir that your choices have caused.” Marty sucked in his bottom lip and drudged up a semi-regretful expression.

Mark shot forward in his seat, startling Marty so badly that he rolled his chair backwards into a book shelf.
“My choices?”

Two bright red spots bloomed on his boss’s cheeks and he precisely placed both hands flat on his desk. “Do not push me, Newland.”

“Screw you, Marty,” Mark flew off at him. “Screw you and the high horse you rode in on.”
Goodbye career!
“Do you realize how quickly I could get a lawyer to sue you and the department for discrimination and sexual harassment? You tell me my
choices
are causing a stir! By that you must mean my exceptional on the job performance is causing ripples, because up until now I’ve only been known as a superior watch supervisor who’s got his business together.”

Marty waved Mark’s words away like they were a waste of breath. “There have been several complaints that I can’t continue to ignore.
In addition
,” he emphasized, seeing that Mark was about to interrupt him, “your ‘exceptional on the job performance’, as you call it, has actually suffered a great deal since you returned from vacation. You’re not as invested in this job as you were before and we don’t know if one day you’re just going to not come into work at all.”

Mark’s jaw dropped. Not come into work at all because he was dating Zane? That was saying it a bit baldly. In the seven years he’d worked for the department he’d taken four sick days total and hadn’t even used all of his allotted vacation days! Like he was going to simply toss his career up in the air because he wanted to go get laid? What the hell?

Marty wasn’t finished. His red-dappled cheeks were getting brighter by the second.

“Coupled with the complaints from officers and your coworkers, I’m unable to let this slide any further. We have a duty to the employees of this department and falling down on the job isn’t an option. I’m sorry you believe this has anything to do with your sexual orientation, when in reality you’re losing sight of the big picture, son.”

The hairs rose on the back of Mark’s neck as fury pulsed along with his heartbeat. This was ridiculous and completely unbelievable, like a primetime drama. If he did sue, there was no way he’d escape the public eye; with Zane in his life it was too high profile now. Add to it the fact that he would be stuck in a game of his word versus Marty’s and the whining bitches who reported him, and he was probably screwed with his pants on. If he won the suit, by some miracle, he’d still have to come back and work with a bunch of trash-talking liars. Was it even
worth
it?

Mark gritted his teeth and sucked in a breath. “All these complaints you’re talking about, what do you propose I do about them? Is there going to be some kind of investigation in order to establish where we go from here? A leave of absence? I’m entitled to a forum where I can have my say.”

Marty crossed his arms over his chest, finally blocking that horrible orange stain. “I’ve seen this unfold with my own eyes, son. You’re not handling the volume of calls as well as usual, you’re not coordinating response personnel accurately and it’s causing hiccups down the lines of communication. These are special circumstances here. I’ve been able to witness and document the effect of your personal life
invading
the work environment. For God’s sake, there are photographers across the street waiting for you to come and go. Dispatchers get approached to answer questions about you. It makes your coworkers uncomfortable and it negatively affects what we do here. You want a forum? You got it sitting right there in that chair.
This
is your forum.”

Mark was stunned blind by the words spewing forth from Marty’s mouth. Maybe he
had
been a little distracted lately, but only one time had it ever impacted his response in dispatching officers to a scene and it was a negligible mistake on a routine security call—Marty even agreed with him at the time! Now his boss was acting like he was ignoring calls, blowing off officers relaying information. It was bullshit! He was being ousted.

“Admit something to me Marty,” he snarled. “I’ll tender my resignation right now, no arguments, if you admit what this is really about. I could walk away from your ugly face with glee, clicking my heels, and leave you to your dictatorship without even a whisper, if you just tell me the truth.”

“Not sure what you’re getting at, son,” he answered easily, looking like he was back in control of the situation again.

“I’m not your son,” Mark spat. “Call me that again and I’ll prove it. I want you to admit that this has nothing to do with my job performance and everything to do with my sexual orientation.”

Marty blinked, then smiled meanly. “Why would I ever admit to something like that? Do I look like an idiot to you?”

“You don’t want to know what you look like to me.”

“I think it’s best for everyone that you and the department go your separate ways. I mean, I have all this documentation supporting the claim that you’re faltering in your duties and that you ought to be let go. What purpose does it serve to drag it all around the watch floor?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed. “If you want to let me go, you do it with a plump severance package. I’ve got bills to pay and this is a mockery.”

“What kind of people would we be if we didn’t offer you the standard severance package?”

Mark pretended to think for a second. “Hmm…I don’t know. Probably
cheap
homophobes instead of the regular version…”

Marty’s eyes rolled in spite of his obvious pleasure that Mark was losing this battle. “You’ll need to clean out your work space and turn in your security badge before you leave. You can use one of the empty boxes from the break room for your things. I’ve called Charlie in to cover your shift. Feel free to use me as a reference as you look for work.”

How had Mark ever accomplished anything working with this jackass? Kicking the chair he’d been sitting in out of his way, he yanked the door open. There was a flurry on the dispatch watch floor as people pretended not to be listening to what was going on in Marty’s office.

“Newland.” Mark froze in his retreat and slowly turned back toward Marty, eyebrows raised impatiently. “Gay is one thing, son, but we don’t need it sauntering through the doors with a feather boa, if you get my meaning.”

Mark thought his head might’ve twisted in a three-sixty spin as he roared across the office. He was seeing red and would’ve done a lot more than kick Marty’s trash can against the wall if he hadn’t seen that glimmer of triumph in his boss’s murky eyes. The son of a bitch was baiting him, hoping he’d do something to really get his balls raked over the coals. As it was, Mark needed that severance package.

His head throbbed as he stared Marty down and wished he could flip the bastard’s desk over, put him in a headlock and pound the hell out of him.

“Don’t you think you should clean up the mess you’ve made?” Marty asked, looking like a snake slithering from under a rock.

“Haven’t you heard?” Mark sneered. “I don’t work here anymore, you dick. Clean it yourself.”

***

Mark was shaking furiously as he burst through the doors to the parking lot holding a box of old stuff he found in his desk. Twelve packs of
Big Red
chewing gum—yes, twelve—an award for exemplary performance—so long to that!—pictures of his family, a couple books, two coffee mugs, a bowl and a fork, a cell phone charger, a Rubik’s Cube, and a bag of atomic fireball candies was all he had to show for seven years on the job. There was a tightness in his joints like he needed to run a couple sets of suicides before he’d be able to relax. With the mental freak out session clicking into place piece-by-piece, he didn’t remember the two photographers who were waiting at the lot entrance until he was halfway to his car.

The first camera flash brought his head around. The ones following that had him stepping it out and hiding his face as much as he could as he dropped the box with a
thump
and dug through his pocket for his keys. More flashes and the sound of his name being called made him clumsy as he wrestled with the key fob and popped the back hatch of his Ford.

That’s one thing Zane had failed to mention: that the sound of having his name called practically never failed to get him looking straight into the camera lens.

“Mark! Have you spoken to Zane? How are you guys doing?” One of the picture snappers called out and he stayed stubbornly silent. The anger that sent him punching through the exit moments before was already downshifting into disbelief and no small amount of worry.

“What’s the box for? Did you quit to be with Zane in England?”

Dammit with these questions! Mark wanted to tell them to fuck off but it would only get him in the news faster. He turned his back to them and hefted the box into the car on top of his softball gear. Moving quickly, he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, trying to look to all the world as though he had no concerns.
No sir, I didn’t just cause a scene,
or
lose my fucking job.

The photographers snapped pictures of him every step of the way, getting up close enough to touch the car as he slowed to exit the lot. He could hear them asking him to roll the window down for a couple of questions.

Screw you
, he thought as he tossed a half-hearted wave their way and pulled into traffic. He just needed a minute—one minute—to think.

He was out of a job.

Zero job.

Unemployed.

Mark drove with a lump the size of a Granny Smith apple in his throat and it was just as sour. He was sweating and his hands were making a squeaking noise on the steering wheel. Okay…so he hadn’t been that happy in the job anymore, but when he thought of making a change it was more like going after a promotion or transferring to a different department. Not starting a new career altogether. He cursed when the irritating reminder of his 401K begged for notice in his mental freak out queue. Like rolling that shit over should be at the top of his worry list?

“Fucking-A!” he shouted at a red light, his whole body rigid.

The Saturday evening traffic wasn’t doing him any favors and he was snugged up on some high school kid’s bumper, shoe polish decorating the windows,
“Go Knights! Class of 2012!”
Behind him a lady in an open Jeep was blasting—wait—was that
Wilson Phillips
? He paused to listen, cracking his window.

“Can you release me?…Can you release me?”

God.

When the light changed and traffic started moving, he peeled away from the stream of cars and into a grocery store parking lot, his tires screeching as he pulled to a stop. He bent forward until his head was resting on his hands and he was gulping calming breaths. Only they didn’t calm him at all.

Okay. So. It was simply another change to deal with. He had no choice but to go with it and stay calm. Right? Right. At least he wouldn’t have to see that bastard Marty again.

He fought to laugh at this but no sound came out. Why was it so hard for him to look on the bright side?

Mark closed his eyes, trying to focus only on the sensation of breathing in and out and letting the clean air soothe his stampeding nerves. For some reason, scrunched up in the driver’s seat and practically hugging the steering wheel, he was reminded of the time he’d been driving Rafe over some unpaved mountain road to a secluded camping ground. They were getting jostled all around on the rough terrain and after hitting one really gnarly bump, Rafe clutched the handle above his door and threw out the other to latch on to Mark’s arm. “Damn!” Rafe had yelled. “Tell me we don’t have to drive this road twice!”