"Good morning, Mr. Mischael." Noticing the noble’s appearance at the entrance of the police station, the young patrol officer, Orlando Carter, quickly opened the door for him.
This was a well-known noble of Carterburg, who, having survived an assassination attempt, had to report to the station weekly, just like a few other nobles.
"Good morning, Mr. Orlando," the noble replied with a smile.
Orlando Carter was momentarily taken aback—the young officer recalled that Mr. Mischael shouldn’t know him, wondering how he knew his name.
With such a question in mind, before Orlando could voice it, he saw the gentleman point toward his chest. The young patrol officer looked down and spotted his dog tags on his uniform.
So that was it. Orlando chuckled awkwardly, "Your Excellency, I really never thought that you would notice that."
"Details determine success or failure, Mr. Orlando, and that’s an insight from my experience as a merchant." The young noble smiled and patted his shoulder, "By the way, where is your chief officer?"
"Uh, which chief officer are you referring to?" Orlando faltered.
"Of course, Chief Jeff Egerton. He’s a generous man and, if I’m not mistaken, he was in charge of looking after new recruits like you." Moved by the noble’s expression, Orlando felt both touched and regretful, "I’m sorry, Your Excellency, but Chief Jeff Egerton passed away early the morning before last."
The Jeff Egerton mentioned by Mr. Mischael was a police veteran whom Orlando greatly respected. Despite his gruff manner, he was the type of elder with a soft heart. Just two days prior, it was his family who had come to report his death, and the whole department had only then learned of his passing.
"That’s very unfortunate. Your director is still on the third floor, I presume." Mr. Mischael’s face darkened as if he found the news hard to accept. He wiped the corner of his eyes before looking at Orlando.
"Of course, Your Excellency, you should know the way. I won’t escort you any further." Orlando nodded as well, feeling a profound sense of loss at the thought of old Jeff’s death.
"I’ll head up then, goodbye, Orlando Carter." The noble patted Orlando’s shoulder once more before ascending the stairs.
Orlando watched his figure disappear onto the second floor and eventually turned to pick up a broom—being a newcomer, he needed to sweep the hall well, otherwise, there wouldn’t be time once the workday began.
"Mr. Mischael, you’re here." Watching the young man push open the door to his office, Chief Kadov Hopkins gestured for him to sit in the chair in front of him.
The young man sat down and then looked at the box in Kadov’s hand, "Medals, are they yours, Mr. Kadov?"
"No, they’re not mine. This is an Exemplary Service Medal for my old friend Jeff Egerton." Chief Kadov lost a bit of his composure as he mentioned his old friend—although the man was known for his bad temper and stubbornness, he was, after all, the oldest member of the department. At fifty-eight, he had outlived many of his peers who had entered the force with him.
Jeff had been shot seven times, had three shrapnel scars, and two bullets that couldn’t be removed due to disability. Still, he continued to work diligently as a patrol officer, taking under his wing the newcomers each year. Kadov had wanted to move Jeff to archives, because mentoring rookies wasn’t easy—half of the twenty new recruits each year quit before their second year, and among those remaining, half would lose their lives in various gunfights and incidents.
Kadov didn’t want the elder to endure too much suffering, especially after the death of his eldest son on the Northern frontlines.
But the old man berated him soundly for the suggestion.
Kadov didn’t mind the scolding; he understood the old man wanted to pass on all his life-saving skills to the newcomers.
Yet who could have anticipated that the old man would go to sleep and never wake up?
"You know, Mr. Mischael, Chief Jeff was the most senior and longest-serving chief officer at the Carterburg Police Department. His passing is truly a loss for the entire force." Handing over the sign-in book to Mischael, the director spoke with emotion.
"I’m also saddened. When my father was still alive, Mr. Jeff was just a young patrol officer." Mischael signed his name, then heaved a sigh, "I remember, I must have been only three years old, just starting to retain memories, when he helped my father retrieve his wallet. He was a good man worthy of respect. Has his funeral been arranged?"
"Not yet," replied Kadov.
"Then may I ask your department to place a bouquet of flowers for me at Mr. Jeff’s funeral and to pass along my condolence money to his family? You know I’ve been in some danger lately, so please be sure to do this for me.",
"That won’t be a problem, sir. Please rest assured," replied Chief Kadov, taking the check that Mischael had pulled out and on which he had just written the amount of 500, "I will make sure your wishes are conveyed to his family."
"Thank you so much." Mischael extended his hand and firmly grasped hands with Kadov, "To have officers like you and Mr. Jeff looking after this city, as a citizen of this city, this is my way of expressing gratitude... What’s going on downstairs?"
"Ah, yes, what’s happening?"