New York Minute

          Although it had already passed midnight, well into Christmas day, Katsuya’s focus still remained on the thick stack of papers fanned out in front of him.  Full color crime scene photos were strewn among the papers that detailed the macabre double homicide from days ago. 

          He had chosen a seat at an oval table, his back to the window in one of the drab conference rooms that stank of stale cigarettes and spilt coffee.  Outside the snow still came down hard, the thickness of it lit by orange street lights.  He didn’t like New York winters.  He didn’t like the snow. 

          He had chosen to study the files at the precinct for an absurd reason.  There was always someone in the building, and there was always the constant cacophony of the city dregs resonating in the booking section down the hall.  The incoherent yelling from the drunks and shrill protests from the prostitutes made him feel less isolated, although he didn’t celebrate the holidays.  As usual, he had repeatedly refused company from other cops who had taken a liking to him and who had tried to collect him like a stray and include him in their family functions. 

          Good thing I can self-diagnose and know if I’m insane or if I just like being a recluse.  I’m not lonely, but I don’t want to be alone.  Classic.

          Katsuya only looked up at the clock when he reached for his coffee, feeling the cold liquid through the paper cup.  It was nearly 1 A.M.  He stretched, pushing himself away from the desk.  He looked out the window and frowned.  The snow had buried most of the cars in the lot, including his own.  The thought of shoveling it out pained him.  He was still staring at the strange snow-covered shape that he was certain was his sedan, when the door behind him opened abruptly.  He turned, startled by the sudden slam against the wall.

          “Sorry.  They should really attach a hydraulic thingy on top of the door,” his visitor said. 

          “I see you’ve invoked the Captain’s wrath again,” Katsuya remarked.

          Homicide detective David Krause shut the door before seating himself at the table.  He was in full uniform with his parka unzipped.  There was still a dusting of snow on his shoulders and hair.  He flung his damp wheel cap onto the table. 

          “Yes and no,” he said, shrugging off his parka and leaving it draped over the back of the chair.  “We’re already under-manned, but the Commissioner ordered three times the DUI checkpoints to be done over the next twenty-four hours.  I got drafted because of a little verbal altercation I had with the supervisors last week.”

          Krause knitted his fingers together and pillowed the back of his head as he leaned back in his chair.

          “It’s shit work, but at least I am not on call until the twenty-sixth.  Merry Christmas to me.”

          “For another…” Katsuya looked at the clock,  “twenty hours.”

          “The entire twenty hours.”

          “Then you should be home, enjoying it.”

          “Technically I am not off yet.  Not for another thirty minutes.  I came in to drop off a deuce.  Made McKenzie take it so I’m not stuck with the paperwork.”

          “So you’re hiding out here until your shift ends."

          “Yeah.  If I go back out on the road, I might catch another drunk and there goes my twenty hours,” Krause said.  “And of course, I’m here to annoy you for a while.”

          Katsuya tapped a finger on top of the papers, uncertain what his answer should be.  He had known the detective since he was assigned to the district,  one of the very few vets that didn’t give him an uneasy look because he was Japanese and looked “too young” for his position.  He liked Krause.  There was an abrasiveness and callousness to the detective that Katsuya was fascinated by.  He couldn’t guess his age, although he could have easily stolen glances at the personnel records he had full access to.  He placed him at least ten years older than himself, just based on the years a cop would need to invest to reach Krause’s rank and position.

          “You look very nice in uniform,” Katsuya said.  It wasn’t something he would ordinarily have said, but Krause did look sharp. His hair was neatly brushed back so it could be tucked underneath the wheel cap.  The dark blue uniform, adorned with just a silver badge and a metal name tag, fitted him well.  The man didn’t carry himself professionally all the time, but he did dress well.  He knew how to present himself and probably owned nothing off the rack. 

          “Turned on by a man in uniform?” Krause asked, a grin blossoming over his face.  He unhooked his interlaced fingers and patted his chest with one hand.  “Merry Christmas to you.  Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

          Katsuya laughed, something he seldom did.  He gave easy smiles to colleagues and strangers alike -- it was part of his persona to be comforting, accessible – although he never truly meant them.  There was rarely any genuineness in his smile, and ironically he felt guilty about that.  However, Krause was one of the few people that made him happy and could make him laugh. 

          “Uniforms are intended to create the illusion of power and order,” Katsuya said.  “I suppose some people associate fetishism with the desire to access the power and status the uniforms represent.  Of course, this is not a confession.”

          “Don’t shop in the dollar store with ten dollar words.  You’re not gonna get change back.”

          “Right…,” Katsuya said, his smile remaining.  He looked down at the paperwork and his wish to continue evaporated.  He didn’t want to look at the pictures of the deceased or read the gory details anymore.  It felt wrong -- being happy while documents of violent deaths were spread out in front of him.  He started to return them to the manila folders.

          “No plans tonight?”

          “I’m not a Christian,” Katsuya said, suddenly feeling awkward, reflecting back on his absurd comment about Krause’s uniform.  “Today is just another day.”

          “It won’t be.”

          “What’s that?”

          Krause reached out.  He hesitated for a second, short of touching Katsuya’s hand.  Instead, he started collecting the photos and slipping them back into the numbered envelopes.

          “I’m alone.  You’re alone.  Let’s be alone together.”

          Katsuya almost laughed again.  He disguised it with a cough.  “I have a personal policy about being with colleagues….”

          Krause rolled his eyes.  “Yes, yes…. If things don’t work out, it’d be terribly shitty to work in the same place and see each other every day, I know.  But we’re not going steady.  Just two friends being friendly.  Don’t put any conditions on how two people should behave.  You over-plan things.  It kills the spontaneity."

          “I think that’s the point,” Katsuya said.  He dragged his briefcase from the side and placed the accordion folder bound with a rubber band into it.  “When you plan, you can anticipate the worst.”

          Krause leaned in – his body hovering over the table.  It was uncomfortable and he had to be on his tip-toes, but he was able to reach Katsuya.  He cupped Katsuya’s face in his hands.

          “You also will give up opportunities to find unexpected good in people, if all you do is turn them away.”

          Katsuya was confused, stunned by the sudden intimacy.  The only words he could utter were, “Your hands are very cold."

          Krause only smiled and planted a kiss on his lips.  A gentle kiss – almost testing Katsuya’s resolve.  When he didn’t pushed Krause away, the kiss become bolder.  The tongue that swept into Katsuya's mouth tasted of coffee.

          “Wait for me,” Krause said softly, after he pulled back.

          Katsuya gave the slightest nod and Krause’s smile grew.  He kissed Katsuya on his forehead.

          Krause left his parka in the chair and cap on the table and walked out of the room.  Katsuya sat back in his chair, sinking further into it.  His lower lip felt warm.  He hadn’t felt that kind of warmth in a long time.  He felt stupid, as he reached up and touched his lower lip with his index finger. 

          He spun his chair around and looked through the window.  The snow had let up into a light flurry.  Somehow, Katsuya realized, maybe he didn’t dislike New York winter or snow so much after all.