This is no where near where I thought I'd end up. If only Steve could see me now, he'd be laughing his ass off wondering what kind of idiots they had running this place to really promote me past my beat on the street to Detective. I actually have to agree with him on this one. I mean I put in my time, my years, my arrests, but there is nothing outlandish about my career path. I've done what I could, done my best - what else can you do? Run around like Rambo or Robocop, I guess, but I've never been that sort.
The job is different. A lot different. I'm fairly certain I've not found my niche yet. I'm not even entirely sure I ever will. Nat keeps boosting me up with her encouragement and Clark seems to think that I'll make an all right addition to the team. I just hope I won't totally fuck something up. Already I've found myself with some interesting cases. Hard not to in a place like this where every crazy is waiting just around the corner. I've got one crime scene, but no body. And one body, but no suspects. Let the fun begin, eh? I had thought they were crazy and must be bored when they said Detectives don't really go out looking for cases; cases come to them. I am quickly beginning to see the error in my thinking, however. I've had hardly a free moment since I set foot in the door.
Which reminds me, Harold Steinbeck is an absolute disorganized pig (no pun intended). I walked in my first day to find the desk in complete disarray, files just tossed everywhere with no sense of order, and I even found the remnants of a bag of stale putrid chips stashed in the back of one drawer. What the fuck, man! At least clean up your mess before you go on a permanent vacation. Rubber gloves, disinfectant Lysol spray, and a nightmare later - my desk is clean, my files organized and put away, and there's no funny smell coming from somewhere in the back of the drawers.
A mess wasn't the only thing Harold left behind. One of those things people don't always tell you before you take the job - I'm taking over handling a group of deep undercover officers out on the streets. Or at least one of them so far, maybe more to come. I picked him up on the streets, arresting him for peddling drugs, and took him to a safe haven out in the bayou. He's so deeply entrenched, it took a crow bar to pry him out of his cover and to talk to the actual cop that's lost somewhere in there. I think it went pretty well, but I've decided I'll have to pull him out of his cover a little more often than Harold did - which apparently was few and far between. He needs to be reminded why he's in there before he gets lost in the life. That'd be a shame, too. He seems like a really good cop to me.
Anyway, nothing else new to report in my life. The usual quiet I've come to know and enjoy. There's always a pothole or two, but nothing I can't handle. If only Steve could see me now.
