On the Fourth Day of Christmas

[franceslievens]

Previous parts

“Sir, you know I can't let you look into that.”
“But Sonja,” Gavarni pleaded, “it's for a good cause. I'm sure I can crack this. I can help solving this case.”
Sonja lifted her hand and pointed one of her nails accusingly in his direction. Gavarni noticed it was painted bright red. “What's happened to the usual bordeaux?” he wondered, but didn't ask aloud. Instead he hung his head like a schoolboy that's reprimanded.
“The only thing that you're gonna crack is that back of yours.”
Gavarni sighed and turned around. So that was it: they considered him a cripple and a little kid. Then there was nothing else to do for him than act like one: if they don't want to give you something, you take it.

With his right hand Gavarni ruffled through a folder of papers. In his left he held a ham sandwich that he had nicked from one of the constables. The guy probably wouldn't notice.
“Shit!” But they would notice the greasy mayonaise stain on one of the reports. The detective scooped it up with one of his fingers. “Never let good mayonaise go to waste,” he mumbled and licked it off his digit. “Now where's the nice lady that was here yesterday?” Gavarni turned some more pages. “Ah, here you are. Let me jot your coordinates down.”
“Gavarni!”
Shocked the fat guy looked up. He had been so engrossed in his reading material that he hadn't noticed someone approaching.
“That is confidential information. You aren't even allowed to be in the same room with it.”
Gavarni felt his head redden. It wasn't shame, it was pure anger for the way they treated him at his former workplace. “The information was about to leave the room anyway, sir!” Garvarni yelled and threw the folder at the superintendent's head. The ex-detective shoved his former chief aside when he marched out of the room. He ran through the halls and raced down the stairs. He didn't stop running until he felt something snap in his back.

Half lieing, half sitting on the pavement Sonja's words echoed through his head: “The only thing that you're gonna crack is that back of yours.”
“No, I'm not,” Gavarni said aloud. “I'm just gonna sit here and wait till the damn pain goes away.”
There were tears in his eyes, from the pain and the frustration. He wouldn't admit it: “It's only sweat.”

Comments

[candlelightfrot.livejournal.com]

Hmmm.... I know that feeling when scyatica overtakes me.

[frances-lievens.livejournal.com]

Well, I don't know it, so I hope I described it accurately. :-)

[candlelightfrot.livejournal.com]

Well, I was wondering about how - if he is crippled and fat - or even why he would go running out of the building. Though, ok, I understand the feeling, the why. I might have, however, written that he hurried himself out as fast as his bulk could manage. But I do know when my sciatica is somewhat prevalent that it can come on me at any time especially when I overdo something. ;~)

[frances-lievens.livejournal.com]

Yes, that's true. I could have been more accurate with the running. I hardly ever rewrite something before putting it online. I should have looked for other words to say he "ran out of the building".

Hmm, maybe I better edit. Thanks.