“The Beast” is a short story that shows how Emilia Cruz became the first female police detective in Acapulco. Previously featured in Huffpost’s Fiction50 showcase curated by Rita Wilson, as well as in MADE IN ACAPULCO, a collection of Detective Emilia Cruz short stories available as ebook, paperback and audiobook.
The painted cinderblock walls of the windowless interrogation room had once been white. Even with the door open, the ripe odor of fear and unwashed bodies thickened the air. Emilia wondered how many brutal confessions or conveniently forgotten suspects the room had seen.
She checked her watch. Thirty minutes had ticked by as she alternatively paced or stood in the doorway, staring down the hall at the holding cell guards. When one of the guards had asked what she was doing there, she’d just said “Special assignment” and shot him with her thumb and forefinger.
There was no two-way mirror so she knew Lieutenant Inocente wasn’t watching, but not sitting at the battered wooden table was a matter of pride. She wasn’t some criminal brought in for questioning. Besides, there was too much fury and humiliation coursing through her system to sit even if she’d wanted to.
Five minutes were left in the hour when a heavyset man came down the hall. He was in his early thirties, maybe five or six years older than her, wearing a leather jacket and holding a pair of expensive sunglasses.
He came into the room, closed the door and stuck out a beefy hand. “Rico Portillo,” he said.
Emilia shook hands, glad that he didn’t start a squeeze contest as many male cops did. “Emilia Cruz Encinos.”
“Yeah, sure.” Portillo ambled around the room, clearly uncomfortable. He stopped when the table was between him and Emilia. “I hear you’re looking to become a detective,” he said.
“I’d really like a shot at this,” Emilia heard herself say. “I’m a hard worker. I don’t give up. You don’t throw me under the bus, I won’t throw you, either.”
“Yeah.” Portillo didn’t say anything else, just fiddled with his sunglasses. After a moment he scratched his head. “The thing is,” he said finally. “Right now I’m stuck with Gomez. He’s dumb as wood. Dumb enough to get me killed one of these days.”
“I got the highest score on the detective exam,” Emilia said.
Portillo scratched his head again.
Emilia held her breath.
“You gonna turn around in three months and tell me that you’re pregnant?” Portillo asked.
The air went out of Emilia all at once. “No,” she said stiffly.
“You got a man?” Portillo asked. “You know, regular?”
“I’m not going to sleep with you,” Emilia snapped. “If that’s what you’re asking.”
“Hey.” Portillo tossed his sunglasses on the table and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Can’t blame me for trying. You’re no dog, you know.”
“Is that why you came in here?” Suddenly Emilia was done pushing and cajoling and fighting to get this job and everything it represented. If her only chance to make detective was teaming up with a dirty cop, she couldn’t do it. “Just to see if you could get a good fuck out of it? Is that the kind of cop you are? The kind that’s in it to see what they can score?”
Portillo planted his hands on the scarred tabletop. The awkwardness was gone and she wondered if it had been an act; a barrier while he assessed her. “I became a cop,” he said. “Because the soul of this city is being eaten alive by the cartels and the crooks. Some of us want to save what’s left.”
“The soul of this city,” Emilia repeated, unconvinced. “Did you make that up yourself?”
“No.” Portillo reached under his jacket and pulled out a manila folder. He slapped it down on the table.
Emilia saw her name printed on the label, followed by her police identification number.
“It was in your personnel file,” Portillo said. “End of your exam essay.”
I hope you enjoyed meeting Emilia Cruz. More of this story is on the way.
If you don’t want to wait, check out all the Detective Emilia Cruz books on Amazon.
All the best, Carmen
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