The sound of a file dropping onto his desk had Titus Westman flinching in startlement. He looked up from pecking away at his keyboard to find the scowling face of his section chief, Detective Frank Sandoval, looming there, just finishing crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s this?”

“Missing teen,” Sandoval grunted. Conversation wasn’t high on the man’s skill set.

Titus sighed and dragged the file folder closer before flipping open the cover. He scanned the pertinent info with a critical eye: female, 16 years of age, chronic runaway, mental health issues. She’d been reported as missing three days ago when she hadn’t shown up for a check in with her probation officer. It was the word “Lyco” as the entry for her race that explained why the case was on his desk and not someone with more than three years employment on the force. Great. 

Dragging a hand down his face, Titus looked up again. “Any leads?”

“We got a shirt from the family.” By the pinched look around the chief’s face, Titus got the impression it was physically hurting him to talk about this. “Took it to Charlie.” Ah, there it was. The reason for his supervisor’s sour attitude. Charlie was one of the three Lyco freelancers that the police department kept on retainer as “consultants”. And it was a poorly kept secret that most of the force considered them to be a waste of public taxpayer money. “He tracked the trail to the bus station. Said the girl got on and the trail went cold. Destination we got for the route says she was bound for California.” Titus kept silent and waited for the other shoe to drop. “Roger said to send you to follow up. See if you can find the kid. At least give the family some closure.”

Well. That was a hell of a thing. “Sounds like you’ve already written her off as a corpse,” Titus hazarded.

Sandoval grunted again. “She’s a Lyco making a break for a sanctuary state. Probably trying to escape from some shit. Which means either the shit caught up to her or she went to ground. Either way, getting the bleeding hearts to extradite is gonna be a bitch.”

It was a challenge for Titus to keep his disgust from showing on his face; if he’d realized the force here was so jaded against alter-humans, he might have reconsidered his career path a little harder. “Okay. Can I take the shirt with me on this one?”

“What for?”

God, grant me patience, Titus prayed silently, despite having never set foot in a church in his life. “So I can get some assistance on this case,” he explained far more patiently than he felt. “I’d like to cooperate with the local force out there; loop them in and get their help on this.”

Another grunt had Titus wondering if his section chief spoke only in Neanderthal. “Check it out of evidence,” he allowed. “Then get your ass out to Cali. Roger wants this case closed by the end of the weekend.”

Titus felt like telling the other man where Roger could shove his deadline, seeing as it was already Thursday and a missing person case would take far more than three days to investigate. But insulting the Chief of Police like that would likely have gotten him sacked on the spot. Instead, he replied with a neutral, “Understood, chief. I’ll get right on this.” A final grunt was all the response he got before Sandoval stalked off to deliver the next case to another officer. 

Running both hands through his fluffy brown hair, Titus took a moment to just breathe away his frustration with his situation. Ever since he’d been hired to this force, he’d been dealing with this shit. The minute his superiors had figured out he actually gave half a damn about the well-being of the various alter-humans that shared existence with humanity, they’d been shuffling every Lyco and Nostu case they could onto him. And with each of those populations comprising roughly one out of every thousand individuals, it wasn’t a trivial number of cases. Especially when the amount of racial profiling that came with minorities was figured in.

Another sigh escaped out of Titus. It seemed like he was doing that more often of late. But there wasn’t much else he could do about the rampant bigotry that was such a poorly kept secret in this force. They claimed on the surface that they served the community equally, serving and protecting all the residents of this city. But the reality of the situation was a lot more bleak. Far too many Lycos disappeared or bore the brunt of police brutality, while far too many Nostu were accidentally “forgotten” in the sunlight. There were definitely days where Titus felt like he was the only one who actually saw the alter-humans as equal citizens. Hell, he didn’t even like that there wasn’t a better term for them than “alter-humans”; it was demeaning to them as individuals. At least the Lycos had reclaimed that term from being the slur it had started out as. The Nostu community was still trying to get “fanger” recognized as hate speech, which wasn’t easy when most courts barely recognized them as equal under the law. 

Well, sitting around at his desk wouldn’t find this teen any faster. Titus pushed back his chair and got to his feet. His hand went to the sidearm on his hip, an unconscious check to make sure it was still securely in place before donning the grey blazer he’d draped over the back of his chair. It felt a little odd paired with the denim jeans that hugged his hips, but he’d heard the sniggers on his first day when he’d worn his nice navy slacks and realized he was overdressed for the casual atmosphere of the office. Probably two-thirds of the other officers completed their ensembles with a Stetson and cowboy boots, but that was just too much cliche for Titus. Instead, he quickly finger combed the fluff out of his face before sliding the file off his desk and heading for the elevator.

The evidence lock up for this station was in the basement, secured behind several layers of triplicate forms and a guard that took her job a hell of a lot more seriously than was probably warranted. As far as Officer Janine Mickston was concerned, everyone in the building wanted to rob the evidence locker blind and resell the contents to illegal immigrants, which made her the only bastion against that in her own mind. Snide whispers floated freely around the upper floors that she needed to get laid so she’d quit being a cast iron bitch. Titus appreciated that she understood the gravity of her position, but it didn’t make her any easier to deal with.

“Whaddya ya want?” Janine’s gravelly voice reflected her pack a day nicotine habit. 

Titus put on his most polite expression. “I need to requisition release of evidence into my custody.”

"Case number?” Titus read off the relevant information, then presented the file to Janine. She wouldn’t believe him without actually seeing the file for herself. A suspicious squint at the pages was followed by a curt nod. “Wait here.”

“Of course. Thank you.” It never hurt to be polite, even though in this case the courtesy was met with a scowl. Titus ignored it and folded his hands in front of himself, patiently waiting as Janine pulled a grille across the window and locked down her computer for the all of thirty seconds she’d be away from her desk. 

Predictably, she was back quickly. Her ability to process the evidence check out was anything but, however. It felt to Titus like Janine took forever to input the request into her computer. Mostly due to her inability to use more than a single finger on each hand to type. But the computer itself looked like a relic from before the Y2K scare and that didn’t help either. And was that a fucking dot matrix printer? Titus couldn’t even fathom the last time any of this IT had been upgraded, let alone which prehistoric OS it was running. 

Not a word of this grumble made it past his lips, though. Titus knew better than to open his mouth and complain to Janine. He’d seen her go off at one of his fellow officers, screeching like a harridan around the hacking cough her COPD manifested when she got too worked up. The woman was terrifying in an oddly fascinating way, but that didn’t mean Titus wanted that ire turned on himself. 

Finally, after far too much time, Janine pulled open the grille across the window to push a form across the counter. “Sign here, here, and here, initial here, and fingerprint at the bottom. Evidence will be your sole responsibility for the duration of check out, with evidence expected to be returned within seven days.” Titus nodded understanding, took the pen he was offered, and followed the directions Janine growled out. A quick roll of his thumb against a stamp pad transferred his print onto the page. Janine wheezed onto the ink in an attempt to ensure it was dry before pulling off the top page to file away. The bottom page was removed and folded into quarters, then placed into the pocket reserved for it on the evidence bag itself. Only after all the procedures were followed to her satisfaction did Janine place the bag on top of the case file and push the whole pile toward Titus. 

He didn’t even bother to take a closer look at the thick shirt; it seemed to be a hoodie of some kind. The only thing that really mattered was keeping it securely sealed. Tucking the bulky thing under his arm and gripping the file securely, Titus mumbled another thanks before hustling out of Janine’s domain and away from her accusatory stare.