To Protect and To Serve

Sasuke informed Naruto he’s a cop! The plot flows nicely...Naruto's thoughts ramble a lot in this chapter.

-Naruto-
He’s a cop. That suits him. Probably a detective. Maybe lieutenant. When he told me, I wanted to tell him I work for the FBI. I lock the apartment door securely behind me. Did he give me the key so he could rush off to work or are we getting serious? Both? I wish he’d talk more. I work in the US, like I said before. It’s going through a depression, or at the very least a deep recession. It makes me even happier that I have a steady, good job. I make a little over forty-three thousand dollars a year. I wonder how long it’ll take before Sasuke resents me for it. If we stay together that long. He gave me a key to his apartment… I’m really glad that neither Hinata’s nor Rosario’s initiation rites involved rolling the dice. I like them both and that’s really a terrible thing to have done to them. You probably don’t know enough about gangs to understand rolling the dice—females usually roll the dice to see how many guys they have to have sex with to join the gang. They roll two dice, and if they complete the task, they’re in the gang. Men just have to beat each other up. The MS-13 is male-dominated so that’s not too much of a problem—many of us were socialized to start fights. Enough of that, you get the point.

Man, I am so hungry! I wish I could have some ramen. But I have to work. Someone will have something cooking. There’s always something cooking in the house the gang shares. I’m not taking it for granted; I’m literally stating a fact. Rosario looks up at the sound of my rumbling tummy and nods in greeting. A ladle is in her left hand and her right hand is touching a cookbook. I hug Rosario hello.
--How did you sleep?— She uses a Colombian slang that takes me a few seconds to figure out.
--Oh, uh, fine. And you?—
--I slept okay.—
--I have to pee,-- I inform her, shuffling to the bathroom. When I return to the kitchen she is chopping root vegetables. –What are you cooking?—

--Sancocho.—
--What?—
--Colombian soup. It’s good, I promise.—
--Can I help?—I ask, reaching for a carrot.
--No!—
--Why?—I quickly withdraw my hand. –I washed my hands!—
--You still can’t help.—
--You…meanie.—

Rosario laughs uproariously as Hinata walks into the room. We greet her.
--Hey, you could help me cook.—
--I’d like that.— Hinata smiles shyly and pours handfuls of diced vegetables into the cauldron on the stove.
--It’s sancocho. You probably don’t have it in El Salvador.—
--Not that I’ve seen.— Hinata blushes when she’s lying. She doesn’t know enough about El Salvadorian culture or cooking to know if they have sancocho.
--Mexico has it. They call it something different though.—I touch the scars on my face and bounce up and down as I watch them make the soup. –I’m so hungry!—
--We know,-- they laugh. Hianata places a lid on the large pot, then sits on the floor with me. Rosario hovers over the stove, peering at the simmering soup. An agonizing amount of time passes before Rosario hollers that the soup is ready. I spring over to her and am the first to be served a bowl. Dozens of other people crows the kitchen, clamoring for the food. I had no idea there were so many gang members—actually I did, it just seems like there are lots more because this kitchen can’t hold them all comfortably. I guard my soup protectively, waiting for it to cool as I watch as the others are served. “Have you ever had this before?” I mumble to Hinata. I don’t want to be caught speaking English. Neither does she, but her voice is so quiet that she will never need to mumble. She shakes her head. “It’s good,” I promise her. She agrees enthusiastically with me moments later. Not through speech, but she nods. She’s just so quiet. Most of them think it’s charming because they’ve never met such a shy person before. But I really worry about whether she fits in. I know I do—I’m Peruvian. It’s just culture-clash jitters…but this is an FBI investigation. Oh great, now I’m thinking about the work aspect of it all and what will happen in the end.

There are six weeks left. I hope they go easy on Rosario. I really like her.

“I know we’re not supposed to get attached to the people here but they’re very nice and damn, the food is good,” the agent leans back, smiling and satisfied.
“It’s a Latino thing.”
The agents stare at me.
“What? Let me have racial pride. So is six weeks enough time for the deadline?”
Everyone smiles. They know that when I ask if the amount of time left in an investigation is enough for the deadline, it is my way of saying I want this to be done already.
“Yes, Uzumaki, it’s enough time.”
Yes, Uzumaki, we’re almost done.
I send a silent prayer of thanks to whoever is listening when I hear that.

We have almost everything we need for this and everyone is safe so far. This is good. It’s also a dangerous time in this investigation where one agent can relax and let something slip or be careless with information or evidence. Anything like that and we are more than screwed as individuals, as agents, as an agency…am I supposed to be paying attention? I listen for a few minutes. Then I listen more. And I listen more. My heart sinks and my stomach twists as I keep listening. Before you ask, I can’t tell you. It’s classified information, that’s the answer to your questions. You’d wish I hadn’t told you if I did tell you, anyway. I ate too much…I am so tired…I want to sleep this all away. They’re not going to go easy on Rosario. They’re not going to go easy on anyone. I—ugh.
“Go to sleep, Naruto,” Hinata whispers in the darkness.
“I’ll try.”