No Rest for the Wicked
folder
1 through F › Dexter
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
1,921
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Dexter
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
1,921
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Dexter, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
I Have A Permit
9. I Have A Permit
“So, why’d you call me?” I asked, genuinely intrigued. It wasn’t all that often people I’d just met invited me for coffee.
“You’re interesting, Dexter,” Awa answered, “I recognize a bit of Doakes – a bit of myself, even – in you. People like you, trust you, and it’s hard to find a reason not to.”
I flashed a smile and decided to ignore the implications of what she had just said – like a normal person would – and replied: “Just trying to make this place a better place, is all. And that starts at home.”
“With Rita, Cody and Astor?” she asked, puzzling me. I couldn’t remember having told her about them, so how’d she know? Still, Deb might’ve told her or… no, the image of Doakes telling his family about his would-be killer’s personal life was just too absurd. Had to be Deb.
“Yes,” I said, lamely.
“Must be hard to raise those kids,” she said, “you were an orphan yourself, I understand,” her casual tone combined with the grasp she had of my life thus far prompted a slight growl from the back of my head. She was flaunting her superiority; ‘there’s nothing about you I don’t know’ she was saying, and I was tempted to believe her. Though, if she had known about the Deadly Dashing Dexter, she wouldn’t have invited him into her home… or would she?
“Harry must’ve really known what he was doing,” she said, “losing ones parents in such a way would have had to take its toll on you,” she said. My coffee was rapidly cooling at the same speed my comfort zone was being trampled on.
“I was just a baby back then,” I answered and quickly followed up, “How do you know, anyway?”
“Dexter, Dexter, Dexter. Think about my dearly departed cousin and ask that question again. Being a bloodhound runs in the family,”
“So, this is a third-degree?”
“What would make you think that? We’re just chatting about childhood. Asked around a bit, did some research beforehand, is all.”
She was admitting it. That aberrant behaviour that I all too often indulged in myself, she was admitting it, and even flaunting it. “I’d expect you to have done the same, Dexter. You know my name and where I’m from. Should be easy for you, seeing as how you’re working with the police and all.”
It was a simplification, of course, and we both knew it. Access to a database only meant that you had the ability to look for someone, nor that that person was necessarily in the database nor that you could be certain that your activities weren’t monitored and carefully logged. Still, she wasn’t far off; I had used the police database to aid in my nightly pursuits more than once.
“Touché” I said lamely, breaking the silence.
“And so Deb thinks that I’m going to propose to Rita–”
“That’s not the case?”
“I–” I really hadn’t given it much thought, but now that I had more time, it seemed like a decent idea… at least one to keep in mind. A married man with two adopted pre-pubescent children was as far from the traditional profile of someone who would commit a vigilante offence as I could realistically imagine myself becoming. Heck, in the modern-day society a catholic priest was more conspicuous. “don’t know.”
“Well, do think about it. No reason to hesitate because you don’t bother to think.”
“Hardly the traditional answer, I reckon.” She had a point, but very few women through the years had suggested to me to be more rational in my approach to women. Quite the contrary, in fact.
“Think about it, though. There’s a lot of judicial benefits, a lot of the uncertainty will go away and you’ll become one more academic living in a nice house with the wife and her kids. Quick, clean and practical.”
“Was that how you decided to marry your husband” I asked, grasping at the opportunity to turn this conversation away from myself.
“Not quite. We served together in the Israelian Defense Force. Two years is a long time when you need to get to know someone and we…”
“Fell in love?” I asked, feeling like a cheap knock-off version of Orpah.
“Fucked, I believe is a more correct phrase. We had to get married after that.”
“Religious thing?”
“Partly. ‘Decency-thing’ as well.”
“But, how do people even connect like that when you’re learning to kill people?”
“You can’t imagine spending days in a haze of shooting with an M16 in your hands,” her elbow shot out in the air, hitting someone with the butt of the invisible assault-rifle in her hands. “melee combat, complete dis- and reassembly of the weapon and exercises meant to enervate your physically and psychologically? It does something to you. A very basic part of your mind seeks someone to connect with and helped the unit bond. Some more than others.”
“Sounds… different,” I said. “Never quite could see myself in a uniform.”
“Oh, it is different.” She said and sighed. “I miss those days, you know? Still have the M16 I carried back then… and my side-arm.” She smiled, “Don’t worry, I have a permit.”
Author Note:
Got a bit stuck in the story, so this chapter took a while. It's also one of the few chapters in the story that I haven't run past my Beta, more because I wanted it finished than anything else. It also indicates that Awa will have a part to play later on in the story.
Hope you enjoyed it!
(And if you haven't reviewed already, please do. I love feedback!)
“So, why’d you call me?” I asked, genuinely intrigued. It wasn’t all that often people I’d just met invited me for coffee.
“You’re interesting, Dexter,” Awa answered, “I recognize a bit of Doakes – a bit of myself, even – in you. People like you, trust you, and it’s hard to find a reason not to.”
I flashed a smile and decided to ignore the implications of what she had just said – like a normal person would – and replied: “Just trying to make this place a better place, is all. And that starts at home.”
“With Rita, Cody and Astor?” she asked, puzzling me. I couldn’t remember having told her about them, so how’d she know? Still, Deb might’ve told her or… no, the image of Doakes telling his family about his would-be killer’s personal life was just too absurd. Had to be Deb.
“Yes,” I said, lamely.
“Must be hard to raise those kids,” she said, “you were an orphan yourself, I understand,” her casual tone combined with the grasp she had of my life thus far prompted a slight growl from the back of my head. She was flaunting her superiority; ‘there’s nothing about you I don’t know’ she was saying, and I was tempted to believe her. Though, if she had known about the Deadly Dashing Dexter, she wouldn’t have invited him into her home… or would she?
“Harry must’ve really known what he was doing,” she said, “losing ones parents in such a way would have had to take its toll on you,” she said. My coffee was rapidly cooling at the same speed my comfort zone was being trampled on.
“I was just a baby back then,” I answered and quickly followed up, “How do you know, anyway?”
“Dexter, Dexter, Dexter. Think about my dearly departed cousin and ask that question again. Being a bloodhound runs in the family,”
“So, this is a third-degree?”
“What would make you think that? We’re just chatting about childhood. Asked around a bit, did some research beforehand, is all.”
She was admitting it. That aberrant behaviour that I all too often indulged in myself, she was admitting it, and even flaunting it. “I’d expect you to have done the same, Dexter. You know my name and where I’m from. Should be easy for you, seeing as how you’re working with the police and all.”
It was a simplification, of course, and we both knew it. Access to a database only meant that you had the ability to look for someone, nor that that person was necessarily in the database nor that you could be certain that your activities weren’t monitored and carefully logged. Still, she wasn’t far off; I had used the police database to aid in my nightly pursuits more than once.
“Touché” I said lamely, breaking the silence.
“And so Deb thinks that I’m going to propose to Rita–”
“That’s not the case?”
“I–” I really hadn’t given it much thought, but now that I had more time, it seemed like a decent idea… at least one to keep in mind. A married man with two adopted pre-pubescent children was as far from the traditional profile of someone who would commit a vigilante offence as I could realistically imagine myself becoming. Heck, in the modern-day society a catholic priest was more conspicuous. “don’t know.”
“Well, do think about it. No reason to hesitate because you don’t bother to think.”
“Hardly the traditional answer, I reckon.” She had a point, but very few women through the years had suggested to me to be more rational in my approach to women. Quite the contrary, in fact.
“Think about it, though. There’s a lot of judicial benefits, a lot of the uncertainty will go away and you’ll become one more academic living in a nice house with the wife and her kids. Quick, clean and practical.”
“Was that how you decided to marry your husband” I asked, grasping at the opportunity to turn this conversation away from myself.
“Not quite. We served together in the Israelian Defense Force. Two years is a long time when you need to get to know someone and we…”
“Fell in love?” I asked, feeling like a cheap knock-off version of Orpah.
“Fucked, I believe is a more correct phrase. We had to get married after that.”
“Religious thing?”
“Partly. ‘Decency-thing’ as well.”
“But, how do people even connect like that when you’re learning to kill people?”
“You can’t imagine spending days in a haze of shooting with an M16 in your hands,” her elbow shot out in the air, hitting someone with the butt of the invisible assault-rifle in her hands. “melee combat, complete dis- and reassembly of the weapon and exercises meant to enervate your physically and psychologically? It does something to you. A very basic part of your mind seeks someone to connect with and helped the unit bond. Some more than others.”
“Sounds… different,” I said. “Never quite could see myself in a uniform.”
“Oh, it is different.” She said and sighed. “I miss those days, you know? Still have the M16 I carried back then… and my side-arm.” She smiled, “Don’t worry, I have a permit.”
Author Note:
Got a bit stuck in the story, so this chapter took a while. It's also one of the few chapters in the story that I haven't run past my Beta, more because I wanted it finished than anything else. It also indicates that Awa will have a part to play later on in the story.
Hope you enjoyed it!
(And if you haven't reviewed already, please do. I love feedback!)