by Alicia Scott
“We’ll both be naked then.”
“Whatever will we do?”
He drew out one of the roses from the vase. “I have a few ideas.”
Mike led Sandra back to her bedroom. He untied her silk robe and discovered she wore absolutely nothing beneath it. Then he took off his own clothes, already hard and hungry.
But it was the nice thing about being an easygoing Cajun. He knew how to wait. And it was the nice thing about making love to Sandy. He knew exactly where to touch, with his hands, his lips, and the petals of a rose.
The first time he brought her to climax, he lay beside her and savored the sight of her closed eyes and flushed skin. Her naked legs were intertwined with his, her long limbs golden by candlelight. He loved the way she turned herself over to him, her body supple and pliant. He loved the taste of her, the feel of her. The way she gripped his head and held him closer. It made him hungry all over again.
So he started back at the top, kissing her neck, nuzzling her ear. Working down to her high, firm breasts, where her nipples were turgid and rosy from his attention. Her hips began to writhe, leading him on with her rhythm. Man, she was sexy.
He settled between her thighs, brushing his cheek against her belly, inhaling the warm, musky fragrance of her body. Then he had the rosebud trailing down her thighs, taking his cues from the sharp inhalations of her breath. A little here, a little there. Sliding the silky petals a little closer.
Suddenly Mike found himself flat on his back, his hands pinned over his head and his ex-wife rising up like an avenging goddess.
“My turn,” she whispered, and took the rose from his fingertips.
Mike discovered Sandra had learned a thing or two from him. Soon his hips were the ones writhing and arching, aching for her touch. Until finally she was there, settling above him, sliding down. Moving slow and sure, while his hands gripped her hips and urged her to move faster. Much, much faster.
And then…her whimper, her small scream, the signal he’d been waiting for. He rolled his ex-wife onto her back. He drove into her hard. He let the pressure build. He roared as it burst, and then he was drifting down, down, down into Sandra’s waiting arms, content and satiated and thinking that this time he’d make things work. Somehow, this time he’d get it right.
An hour later, Mike rolled over to discover Sandra wide-awake beside him. She was propped up against the pillows, absently stroking his back and looking at nothing in particular. He yawned, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and peered at her groggily.
“Can’t sleep?”
She shrugged. “I keep waiting for the phone to ring. It’s made me anxious.”
“Vee?”
She nodded as he sat up. The clock read a little after eleven-thirty. It was getting late for a case he and Koontz had promised would break in time for the five-o’clock news.
“No more information?” he asked.
Sandra shook her head. “I talked to Lieutenant Hopkins shortly before leaving. The command center is still inundated with calls. It seems like a waste of manpower at this point, except we can’t very well say we have a positive ID on the picture and are merely waiting for the suspect to appear. That would scare Toby Watkins away from his house permanently.”
“But the fact that he hasn’t gone home yet…”
Sandra looked miserable. “Yes, the fact he hasn’t gone home yet. You and Koontz said he had no other family and friends. That he was basically a shy kid. Mike, what if something has happened to him? He’s only thirteen.”
Mike took her into his arms. He settled her comfortably against his bare chest, slowly brushing back her hair from her temples. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “Maybe he’s hiding out in some warehouse for a while. Maybe he saw Koontz and me at the school and got spooked. He’s close to his family, though. Sooner or later he’s bound to show up.”
“He’s under so much pressure. His picture is in the paper, he’s probably heard we have a lead. He must be feeling like his whole world is falling apart. And who can he turn to? Who does he have to trust?”
“Sandra, you can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
Mike tipped up her head gently. “Acting as if this kid is solely your responsibility. No, don’t argue with me. You care, Sandy, and that’s a good thing. I’ve been thinking lately that that’s a great thing. Maybe we’re all getting too hard these days. But at the same time, if you accept everything as your responsibility, you’re gonna burn out. Be ing a cop is sobering, ma chère. We all suffer heartbreak. And you gotta learn to let go. Bottom line is that you’re not Vee, you didn’t make his decisions, and you’ve done the best you could.”
She sighed unhappily. “I don’t feel like I’ve done the best I could.”
“That’s because you’re a perfectionist.”
She finally nodded, rubbing her cheek against the smoothness of his shoulder. Then she wrapped her arm around his waist and settled more deeply against him. He replied by wrapping one of her silky chestnut curls around his palm. The red, shimmering highlights always fascinated him.
“So you and Koontz are fine again?” she murmured.
“I think so.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what it was about?”
“No.”
She angled her head up. “Why not?”
“Because it’s between Koontz and me, and partners are like a married couple. What goes on between them, should stay between them.”
“You don’t talk about us to Koontz?”
“Never.”
“Really?” She sounded genuinely surprised. He smiled crookedly.
“We’re guys, Sandra. Just because we’ve been together eight years doesn’t mean we talk about anything personal.”
She rolled her eyes. “Now that I should’ve seen coming.”
She settled against him again. He was quiet for a moment, then he said, “I’ve been thinking about us, you know.”
He felt her tense slightly. “Yes?”
“It seems to me that we’ve always attributed our problems to our differences—different backgrounds, different families, different personalities. But I’ve been wondering lately if many of our fights aren’t because we’re so different, but because we’re so much alike.”
Sandra sat up. She appeared genuinely intrigued by this line of thinking. “How do you figure?”
“I was thinking about what we both said last night. Me accusing you of never needing me. You saying that you pride yourself on your independence and need your own space. Maybe I’m like that, too. Thing is, even if Rusty wasn’t my partner, I don’t know that I would tell you about him. It’s…my relationship. Something outside of you and me. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t very good at talking to you about the job, either. That’s also my thing. I need that.”
“But what will happen now, Mike? I’m part of the police department, too. Is that going to be a problem? Are you going to resent me for it?”
He considered it, honestly not sure of the answer. Then he shook his head. “No, I can handle you as the chief. I respect your opinion. You show good insight. Plus, I trust you not to get bogged down in politics and nepotism the way other chiefs did. Now, if you were my partner…I wouldn’t like that. That would be too much.”
“So I can be your boss, as long as I leave you and Rusty alone?”
“That’s pretty much how it works, Sandra. Two detectives go off and build the case. The lieutenant or chief simply receives updates, adds her own two cents and monitors progress. Frankly, there are too many crimes going on in Alexandria for a single police chief to get involved in the details of every single one.”
“But what if you and Rusty have problems again? Then your relationship becomes my business.”
“Yeah, and we’ll both hedge like mad, just as we would if anyone else stepped in. Rusty and I don’t suffer intrusions well. No partners do. Ask the last police chief or the chief before him. It’s nothing personal.”
“So
some walls do exist, both personally and professionally, for both of us. We have to learn to respect those walls.”
“Yeah, ma chère. I think so.”
She gazed at him frankly. “But Mike, what if those walls are too much? If we always need our space, what’s left for our marriage?”
“Well, that’s the other thought I had. I always pegged you as the fierce one, Sandy. Hell, that’s what I love about you. The way your chin comes up, the way you’re always ready to spit fire. It’s really sexy.”
She actually blushed. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah, honey. Oh, yeah. But then you made the point today that I’m not so easygoing myself. I think I let things roll off my back. I was certainly raised to do that, but maybe it’s not that simple. I know the job gets to me. Koontz is the one who’s great at going home at night. Case is closed, and he sleeps just fine. Sometimes…sometimes I can’t let it go like that. I think about Vee, too, ma chère. I think about his letters, the conditions we found at his house. I wonder what it would be like, growing up watching your family disintegrate like that. And what are we really going to do for him in the end? Send him to juvie, get him some overworked social worker? His English teacher said he was very bright. She regretted not noticing it sooner. Then I wonder where Vee will be ten years from now. Unfortunately, I think I know the answer. Then I wonder what’s the point of this job.”
“Aha—you have an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, too!”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I guess I do.”
“You also have to remember about the choices Vee made.”
“Absolutely.”
“We are a lot alike.”
“I believe I’ve proved my case.”
“We could talk about these things, couldn’t we? I won’t pry about the details of your job or Koontz. You were right—too often I turned our evening conversations into some kind of twisted police audit. But in turn, maybe we could talk about how the job makes us feel. The tough parts, the long days, the frustration. Mike, I would really, really like that.”
He said softly, “I think I would like that, too.”
“Mike,” Sandra blurted out, “I love you!”
“Know what, Sandra? I love you, too.” He ruffled her hair. She smiled at him, huge and radiant and his heart squeezed in his chest again. But then her expression faltered.
She said roughly, curiously, “Why am I suddenly so afraid?”
“Because last time we said all this, we broke each other’s hearts.”
“Mike? Tell me we’ll do better this time.”
“I want to.”
“Tell me we’re older and wiser.”
“I have more gray hair.”
“Then tell me you love me again.”
“More than the sun and the moon and the stars.”
“Damn, marriage is hard.”
She settled back into his arms. He held her closer. Neither one said a word.
In the abandoned warehouse building, Vee shifted for the fifth time in twenty minutes. It was getting cold. Wind had a bite and he hadn’t thought to grab a jacket. Least his stomach didn’t hurt anymore. He’d splurged a whole six bucks on a hamburger, fries and a chocolate shake. Seemed like extravagant living to him, and he’d been real excited. Halfway through the potatoes, however, he’d lost interest. Living large wasn’t half so much fun when you were alone.
He’d wandered, trying to figure out what to do. According to the BGF homeys, he couldn’t go back home or to school. He knew a lot of abandoned buildings, sure, his neighborhood had way too many of them, but how long could a brother live in condemned squalor on the east side? Didn’t seem to make much sense. He had to keep buying food, going out in public. Sooner or later, he’d need to shower. What then?
He’d grabbed three more guns from beneath the bed, a shotgun and two hand guns, but they just weighed him down. Seemed he’d started out writing some words and now he was on a fast track to nowhere. First cop that saw him would bust his black hide. What would Big S Sammy think of that?
Vee shifted around on the old wood floor. He shivered as his back came up against cold brick. He wished he was back home with his mama and sister again. Then he wiped the moisture from his face.
Outside there be too much action. Some homeys be hanging out on the corner, drinking beer, looking for something to do. Not too long ago, a not so bright brother tried to cross the street. The other kids moved in fast. Kid had really squealed for a while. Vee wanted to tell him to shuddup, it be over faster if you shuddup, but he knew better than to show his face. BGF protection don’t mean nothing when homeys be in a bustin’ kind of mood.
Least now the beating be down to the quiet parts. Kid just umphed from time to time. The other brothers would lose interest soon. That’s the way it went.
Then Vee heard sirens. Two whirp-whirps. Cops be arrivin’ at the scene.
Vee knew better, but he leaned over and stared down at the street.
Cops popped open their doors. Yelled, “Hold it, police.”
Brothers looked up. They appeared so goofy startled, Vee nearly laughed. The homeboys had drunk themselves stupid. Now the cops would call the detox van and that would be that. ’Cept for the kid moaning on the ground. Sucked to be him.
Brothers backed off slowly, arms obediently in the air. Cops relaxed, shoulders coming down. Vee could hear their exchanged words. “Must be eight of them there. Damn, the paperwork. I wanted to go home early tonight. Dumb, black—”
Suddenly some dude broke out of the building, maybe a doper, startled out of cover. Man started running hard. The police appeared confused, but then gave chase. This roused the brothers back out of their stupor. They started hollerin’, “No, no, leave him alone.”
Then the brothers started running, too. The bangers chased the cops, the cops chased the doper, and the world be going nuts. Window broke. More shouting.
Abruptly one cop turned. He had his gun half-out of his holster. Vee could see his face. Cop be scared, pee-his-pants scared. Had eight big brothers bearing down on him and they all seemed a little crazed. Man pointed his gun at the homeboys. Man assumed the stance. In the distance, the other cop yelled something. Maybe no, maybe hell, yes.
Vee couldn’t hear anymore. He just saw.
Cop pulling the trigger. Spark of gunpowder against the night sky. First kid tumbling down.
Brothers scattering, cops yelling. Screaming, screaming, screaming. Scared cop still taking aim.
And Toby saw his father, running. Toby saw his brother, laughing. Toby took out his shotgun. He thought of everything he’d written. I be a straight killer since I wuz ten. Now I be thirteen and I ain’t got no need to grow no older. Call me Vee.
Toby pulled the trigger.
The blast be so damn loud, it burst his ears.
The scared cop fell to the ground. The scared cop fell hard.
And the whole wide world went insane.
The phone rang at two in the morning. Sandra picked it up after the first ring, some part of her brain reacting instantly. Vee, she was thinking. Finally the call that they’d picked up Toby Watkins. Mike was already stirring by her side.
Lieutenant Hopkins, however, was not talking about apprehending a thirteen-year-old boy. He was talking about a shooting in the lower east side. Two juveniles down. Officer down. Civilians gathering angrily. Cops grabbing full riot gear.
The city was about to go to war. What would the chief of police like to do?
Sandra told him to secure the scene, get the CSU on site, now, and not leak a word to the press. They were operating code red. Officers on full alert, scene locked down tight, and all information sealed. That was an order.
Then Sandra was flying out of bed, Mike right behind her. She told him about the situation as they grabbed their clothes. Then there was no time for talking. They were racing downtown.
Even after listening to Lieutenant Hopkins’s dire tone of voice, Sandra was not prepared for what they found on the lower e
ast side. Civilians had not merely gathered, they had converged upon the scene. Ambulances could not get through. Police cars were bogged down. She and Mike had to park six blocks back from the shooting, and they could already see groups of boys siphoning off from the mob and running down side alleys. In a matter of hours, maybe just minutes, the first window would be broken, and the angry mood officially sparked. Soon, vandalism, looting, arson and car rolling.
Lieutenant Hopkins was right. They had a riot on their hands.
Sandra got on her cell phone to the mayor, while Mike pushed their way through the crowd.
In the center of the ring, the situation grew worse. Now Sandra could see a large black woman, convulsing against two somber-eyed teens as she cried for her baby—the bloodied black youth being hastily strapped to a gurney. Now Sandra could see Alexandria’s finest, patroling the perimeter in bullet-proof vests, clear face shields and combat boots. Many were aggressively slapping batons against their palms, meeting the hostile crowd with angry stares.
“They got vests,” the crowd hissed. “Look at all them white boys hiding behind their shields. And what do we got to protect ourselves? What do we got to protect our children?”
On the cell phone, Sandra spoke faster to the mayor. Then Lieutenant Hopkins came running up.
“Three down,” he reported crisply. “One cop, two teens. Officer Brody took a shotgun blast to the front, lower body. His vest protected his gut, but he still has extensive damage to his upper legs. EMTs are working to stabilize him now.”
“And the civilians?”
“First is sixteen years old, took a good beating. Couple of cracked ribs, lacerations. Officer Wallace said he and Brody had come upon a group of teens attacking the victim. That’s what got things going. In the ensuing confrontation, a second kid, seventeen years old, known gang member, sustained a single bullet wound to the right shoulder. He’s lost a lot of blood, but the EMTs think he’ll be okay once they get him to the hospital.”
“So why aren’t these people at the hospital?”
Lieutenant Hopkins gave her a look. “That’s your first problem, Chief. Those fine folks out there have closed off all the streets. Second ambulance can’t get through—”