Incandescent (Part 2)

"El!"
That low, guttural, echoing scream was never good. Elin just sat back down at her desk, but Chief Cam Glendale, a below-average sized brown haired, brown eyed man with a kind of Napoleon complex didn't give a shit.
"My name's already pretty sh..."
"Listen to me very carefully--" Cam interrupted abruptly with a kind of soft, seething tone. Cute and cuddly like a bear attack. Elin was about to say something semi-sarcastic and self-important, so it was best that she, maybe-probably didn't get to say anything this time. "--If you so much as breathe in a way I don't like, I'm going to suspend you without pay. How is it. That every time. A major event. Is happening here, like, I don't know, a fucking press conference for a pretty peculiar murder that just happened last night, YOU'RE M.I.A!?!" Cam emphatically slammed his hand down on her desk to promote attention. He liked the staccato of his inflection when he scolded people. Kinda like he was "Chief Dad" on the force. Elin winced with her left eye, neck cocked in the same direction as if she just heard nails run along a chalkboard. She got out of her chair, went behind Cam, and slowly closed the door; thus, lowering the curtain on the stage-show given to the rest of the station.
"Now that we have a scosche more privacy, I just want to be sure whether your question was rhetorical or brazenly obtuse," A silence descended upon the room. Cam's face looked like a Bob-omb inside his head was about to explode, but Elin continued before he could utter another sound. "You're the only person in this office that knows my side gig. Yes, I was late. I fucked up. No excuse. I shoulda been here on time for Broward's fucking everybody-calm-down-it's-no-big-deal conference, but here's your problem: I'm the best you got. The Carrolly Murders. The Ribbon Project. All of that shit was me bringing the fuckers in! The fucking Tropicana Cult--do you remember those fuckers!? The leaders literally got people to believe that if they gambled for them that their god would give them some immortal life, and..."
"Alright alright." Cam knew that the list was going to continue as long as he let it. He knew the truth, and the truth was she's right. Elin is a meteoric pain in the dick, who has never presented well to the media, but she gets the job done exactly when it needs to be.
"Plus, you and I both know that his bullshit, Care Bear persona he has in front of the cameras only hurts this city and..."
"That's enough! I heard you, but so help me--you don't get to live by your own rules. You know procedure. Put your fucking pants back on, and get here when you're supposed to." Cam paused for a moment, "Oh, and quit shitting all over Jim. He's. Not. The problem."
Cam opened the door to head back out into the station, but before he could, Elin grabbed his arm and looked directly into his eyes, seriously.
"Elin. Ee. Lin. I'm not your fuckin' friend."

Dry heat and petty crime were the only two things anyone living in the greater Vegas area could count on. Every once in a while a serial killer or cult seeped through the wood works, but the scary part wasn't that they happened, it was that hardly anyone would notice. In a city wrought by the footsteps of tourists year-round, it was never easy for law enforcement to keep people as safe as they could be. And the "Whatever Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas" slogan that attracts millions of people to The Strip every year, doesn't exactly beg for the best behavior.

"Jim, come here!" Elin finally started investigating into the Flag Pole Murder, as eloquently dubbed in the station-wide email sent from Cam. Jim, whose desk is three work spaces outside of Elin's office, turned to face his other coworkers, who were much closer, barked like a dog, and then proceeded to meander in her direction. He entered.
"So, Cam does it to you. You hate it. Then you do it to me. How am I supposed to feel?"
"Like you have a job that you love, and a boss that you love more. Can you head to the evidence room and grab me the rope and the vic's clothing from the F.P.M.? I'm going to head down to the examiner's room today to see if I can snag some prints." Jim glared back at Elin without saying a word. Elin, still looking down at a swath of preliminary report papers, looked up quickly to see the body language of a pissed off Jim, "Please!?"
"Yes. Be right back." Jim turned to leave the office, but before crossing back into the station mustered up some confidence to turn back and face Elin, "Ya know, you could ju..."
"Piss off, James!"
"Right," and with a deep sigh, Jim left.

END OF PART 2