I slammed my hand into the phone sitting beside my bed trying to make the shrill ringing stop. I growled, picking up the phone, while keeping my eyes shut.
“You are an ass Peter. Do you know what time it is?” I said aggravated.
“Well good morning to you too. How did you know it was me? And to answer your question, yes I do know what time it is but none of the guys here wanted to call you. You are kind of scary first thing in the morning.” Peter said, chuckling.
“Well you would be too if every time you had a day off you were woken up at ungodly hours by the department. What is so fucking important that it couldn’t wait for the sun to come up in,” I squinted at the clock, 4 am, “three hours?” I bitched, sitting up in bed and ran my hand over my face in an attempt to wake up. I pulled the worn quilt off of my legs and placed my feet on the cool hardwood floor, shivering slightly.
“We have a body about an hour from here. Boss told us to call you in since you know the swamps better than anyone on the force.” Peter replied, tiredness seeping into his voice.
“Fine. Be here in an hour with the strongest coffee you can find, preferably in an IV.” I said, as I hung up the phone and jumped into the shower.
Forty-five minutes and a ridiculously hot shower later, I was sitting in the front seat of Peter’s black Chevy Impala, with a cup of the shittiest coffee I have ever tasted. Peter rambled on about the case and I could have cared less about what he was saying. My mind was focused on thinking about anything besides the swamp I was sure we were about to encounter.
“Jesus Peter, what pot did you pour this shit out of? It tastes like ass.” I said, taking another swig. At least he had followed my instructions to make sure it was strong.
“The commissioner’s office. He wasn’t drinking it so I figured he wouldn’t miss a cup,” Peter replied, as he turned down an all too familiar back road.
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