by Tiana Laveen
Don’t these people understand that most of their problems would be solved if they didn’t give a damn? Seems to me, love causes more harm than good. These humans don’t stay together so what is the fucking point? They get upset, and some commit suicide after a relationship ends. How silly. Fucking emotions...leave them elsewhere, bury the bastards.
Xzion turned his attention back to the computer but couldn’t focus. The sounds of more laughter, followed by the young couple in an intimate lip lock, drew his complete confusion. It wasn’t the act, but the diagnostics popping up in the thin lens of his right eye. The red alerts repeated as he scanned the couple…
Intimacy...Love...Desire…
He knew what the fucking words meant, but each time he travelled, he’d run into people like this, and it never became easier to understand, just more annoying. Give him a language to learn, he’d know it inside out, dialect correct including slang, within thirty-six to forty-eight hours. But give him a complicated human emotion, and he was stomped. It seemed so trivial to him. He shook his head, looked away and picked up the paper. He enjoyed the sensation of words in his hand. It fed his need to touch, though the same verses were somewhere on a computer website, waiting to be perused on a digital paper or blog. Regardless, Xzion was very much sensory driven. It came with the territory. He had to be able to feel a gnat land on his hand—the slightest missed caress could cost him his life. He looked back down at his paper. Right there on the front of the creased periodical, in black in white read—
Triple ‘X’ Killer Strikes Again. Takes Five Down for Cocaine, leaving no one in Ecstasy.
“Hmmm, that’s funny.” Laughing to himself, he grabbed the third glass of ice and crunched it down. “They didn’t sell ecstasy; I guess that’s supposed to be ironic. That’s the name of the club it was close to, too.” He grinned wider then tossed the paper down nonchalantly on the table.
He went back to the online articles about Mr. Menchee, aiming to memorize each and every word. The playful couple started at it again, distracting him. Now, they stood across from him, their backs turned as they waited at the counter. He watched the man slowly reach behind and grab his girlfriend’s ass, squeezing it. As a result, she twisted and giggled in his grip. Xzion simply stared. Clasping his hands together, he looked back and forth between the two, until finally, he witnessed up close and personal another embrace, followed by a sensual kiss. He cocked his head curiously to the side, like a befuddled canine. After a few moments, Xzion turned away, and typed: ‘Love and Intimacy’ into the Google browser on his laptop.
He clicked on the top link, a sociology website, and read the information:
Love and intimacy go hand in hand. Love is the physical, emotional, sexual, intellectual, or social affection one person holds for another. Concepts and words related to love include: adore, desire, prefer, possess, care for, serve, and even worship. Intimacy, on the other hand, is a close relationship where mutual acceptance, nurturing, and trust are shared at some level. In order to understand love in human relationships, you must first understand how the self either enhances or inhibits your capacity to love.
“Why is all this shit related and so complex for them?”
You are self-developed under the watchful eyes of your caregiver or parents. When you were a newborn you were totally dependent upon the adults in your life to take care of your needs and raise you in a safe environment. You had to be fed and clothed, bathed and held, and loved and appreciated. While your caregivers provided those basic needs in your life, you attached to them and they attached to you. An attachment is an emotional and social bind that forms between one person and another. Humans are considered highly motivated to form attachments through their lives. – Paul Cheney.
“So that’s it,” Xzion mumbled. “They are like children that never grow into adulthood, constantly needing to be breastfed.” He re-read the information, trying to digest it, to ensure he hadn’t missed anything.
These attachments help fuel drug dependency. Because of feelings, the need to suppress, the humans take the drugs...maybe because they didn’t feel loved, needed or appreciated. This proves my point. It’s useless. He shook his head in disgust, then looked back up at the couple who were now exiting the establishment holding white plastic carry-out bags.
“Fucking idiots...”
His attention back on the computer, he typed in the address he had for Meechee, and did a search for an aerial view of the area. Seeing it on a screen, right there in color, made it more tangible. He quickly memorized the map, then leaned back in the booth seat and stretched his legs. A broad smile on his face, he picked up the ice-cream, now soft and runny, and devoured it, enjoying the cool sweetness that went down his throat, gave him much needed comfort, and encouraged relaxation before his night on the town...
****
Jayme couldn’t help but smile as the applause finally wore down. Dressed in her pleated navy blue pants, belt, holster and crisp white shirt, her police badge shined brightly under the warm, yellow lights. On her left arm was the Baltimore police patch—her beloved gold, black, red and white crest. She tipped her police hat forward as she bashfully returned to her chair in the audience, her gold and ivory plaque in hand. She had just been awarded her fifth acknowledgement for valor and bravery and no matter how many she obtained, she never got tired of it or became complacent. Her shelves boasted a multitude of awards from the city, county and even the state of Maryland. But she didn’t do her work for that—she did it for two reasons: to make a damn difference and she thrived on calming commotion.
She shook hands with several of her colleagues and watched as the room began to fill with chatter before turning back to her glass of water with a lime wedge. It had been a long evening, and she craved being nestled under her worn quilt, gifted to her from her grandmother, with the drone of the television playing in the background. But she couldn’t, and this was the part that she hated. She wasn’t much of a crowd person and preferred one on one time, small, quaint conversations about the best home gym equipment, to-die-for tomato sauce recipes and movies that featured kick-boxers and the occasional romance with a happily ever after. Nonetheless, she accepted these events graciously, playing the role needed, in order to simply get through the night...
****
Captain Jasper rubbed his red eyes and took the final sip of his lukewarm coffee. It was late, damn late, and D.C.’s finest were canvassing the area, on full alert for any suspicious activity. He pondered on how anyone could commit these many crimes, to this extent, and still be on the loose like an imperceptible opponent under his own watch. He knew his department was good, but there was no point in trying to convince Detective Max, the FBI, the district attorney or anyone else about it. He had one last shot to make this right, and he racked his brain at the eleventh hour.
“So.” Detective Max removed the plastic lid from his Starbucks coffee and sat back in the chair across from Jasper. “Who’s on deck?”
“I know...that time is running out. Just give me another day.”
“I can’t. Agent Peterson wants a name this evening. Look.” He sucked his top lip and shrugged. “I know you have a lot riding on this, but you have to put your pride aside here, Jasper. I believe you,” he said sincerely. “I believe you’re doing the damn best ya can. There is a maniac on the streets. He probably isn’t working alone, so you’ve got at least two nutcases causing some really bad light on your department and the FBI is now communicating with the CIA because of the similar crimes in Russia, Great Britain and Colombia. If they are going to call you guys incompetent, then the police all over the world are too.” He smiled reassuringly.
Jasper knew that Detective Max’s throat was on the chopping board as well. But, they’d been friends, not just colleagues.
“Shit,” Jasper mumbled as he ran his hands roughly up and down his face. He needed more time, but it was too late. What was he going to do?
“Well, let me see if Jamison is available,” he concede
d. That’s all he could come up with. Jamison, seven years on the force and working narcotics. He was a great cop, did awesome undercover work, but had a bad rap of being trigger happy. It didn’t matter though...he had run out of time and it was time to pay up.
“Jamison?” Max’s eyebrow rose. “I can see the pros for that choice...but…”
“I know, but that’s all I have!” Jasper said, exasperated as he tossed an ink pen on his desk. Detective Max’s cell phone rang. Jasper turned away, staring aimlessly out of his window as he eavesdropped on the conversation.
“Uh, hello, yes, Agent Peterson...” He stood to his feet and began to pace the small office. “Yes, yes we have an officer in mind. Yes, I got the rest of the details about that, too. We think...”
“Wait!” Jasper shot out of his chair.
“Uh, give me just a second please, Agent Peterson.” Max put his phone on mute as he listened to Jasper rant and rave.
“I have a cop that is working an undercover prostitution ring and we just gave her another well-deserved award for a bust she and her partner did!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Detective Max asked.
“Hot damn!” Jasper grinned, his eyes suddenly full of new life. “There is no telling what information she has regarding the people around here. Also, she used to work in drug trafficking, so she at least has the background and she is still dealing with the drug dealers and gangs—you know this stuff goes hand in hand. She’s had her feet in both trenches. Why didn’t I think of her before?” he said excitedly. “Officer Knight!”
“Jayme?” Detective Max grimaced, perplexed. “She? I...I guess but...”
“No, trust me on this. You don’t know her as well as I do.” He smiled, his hand on his hip. “I have no idea why I didn’t think of her first...maybe because I was thinking of the men...” He bit his fingernail nervously. “Tell him…tell him we’ve got someone.” He pointed at Max.
Max nodded and pushed the ‘talk’ button on the phone, then stood up from his chair. “Sorry about that, Agent Peterson. Um, yes, we have decided on an officer we are certain will be of great service to your investigation. Her name is Officer Knight. She is a native of Washington DC and has been assisting with undercover stings in prostitution and narcotics for quite some time. She has an exemplary record, been with us since she was twenty-two years of age and is one of our best.” He rocked on his heels, shooting Jasper occasional skeptical glances.
“Uh huh, I see, well yes...okay, definitely. I will have her contact you first thing in the morning.” Max disconnected and sat back down in the chair. Jasper followed suit. Both men just stared at each other for quite some time.
“Well hell, Jasper! Call her for God’s sake!”
****
Jayme cackled as her friend shook her head in disbelief.
“Damn fools.” She grinned. “My feet are killing me.”
“I bet they are…what are those, eight inch stilettos?” Wanda asked as she set her empty wine glass on the black coffee table in Jayme’s modernly decorated apartment.
Jayme rolled her eyes and laughed. “Like that’s even humanly possible. They are six, but that’s still bad. My grandmother would roll over in her grave if she knew I was working a stripper pole.” She grinned. “I used to love this, I really did. It was exciting, you know? And don’t get me wrong,” she shrugged and kicked her shoes off, “I do still love it...but I can’t help but think there has to be more. I have aspirations, I want to climb up the ladder...maybe Sargent one day or even better, Lieutenant.”
Wanda nodded. They’d met at the police academy and became fast friends but after five years, Wanda had had enough and left to go back to school for nursing.
“You already know I understand where you’re coming from.” She shook her head. “You’ve got that ‘it’ factor though, Jayme. I just wasn’t cut out for it...all the domestic violence calls we went out on. I wanted to help, it just became too much. But you?” She pointed at her friend. “You were born for this.”
Jayme smiled, feeling warm and appreciated for a change. That was her struggle. She didn’t do the gritty work for the pats on the back; she did it because she wanted to serve her community and that was what she constantly told friends and family. Yet, even more than that, she was a closet adrenaline junky and now, it was simply becoming run of the mill. She’d had her fill of pussy retail. It was a never ending cycle. She’d bust the johns. They’d beg for their wives to not find out, maybe even their parishioners. She’d bust the girls, they’d be right back out on the street a day or two later. She’d bust the pimps, and unless they had drugs or a weapon on them, they’d be out in a week or two, max. She was good at what she did, but being good and being satisfied were two different things.
She stood and walked into her kitchen, grabbed the half-empty bottle of red wine off the counter and poured it into her glass, watching the liquor fill up a bit higher than she’d planned. But she didn’t share; she simply gulped it down as if it were merely grape juice.
“Do you want another glass?” she asked after guzzling, her taste buds still soaked in the intoxicating sweetness. She raised the simply designed black and white bottle and playfully waved it from over the breakfast counter as Wanda lay back casually, glancing up at the framed photo of Jayme and her lofty, striking brother.
“Girl, I’ve already had three, I think I better stop while I’m ahead.” She grinned. “I’m glad you asked me over tonight. You always seem to know when I’m feeling like shit.”
“Well, you know I know how guys are,” Jayme said as she made her way back over to her friend, sitting across from her and propping her bare feet on the coffee table. “I tell you this much,” Jayme pointed at her while her eyes zeroed in on her friend, her tone serious, “I’ll never date another cop again, that is for damn sure. Everything becomes a competition.” She shrugged.
“Girl! Who are you telling? I dated Lionel. That was a big ass mistake...arrogant son of a bitch.”
“Shit, Troy and I couldn’t even go to the gym without him trying to go faster on the treadmill than me...he even tried to Rambo me in the bedroom! Who does that?! He’d keep yelling at me in my ear like a drill sergeant, a total turn off. I had to fake it just to get the shit over with and get his dumb ass off of me.”
Wanda burst out laughing, slapping her leg. “A hot mess! If I could tell you what causes this muscle head behavior, I would, but I don’t have a grasp of the mentality, girl. I need a break from dating, quite honestly. The profession aside, the men I’ve had as of late—just messy.”
She began to count off her fingers.
“Tony was still legally married and had three children he didn’t tell me about. Oh, and when he did come clean about the kids, he said the woman was crazy and a bitch! Yeah right!”
“They all say that, yet they are still sleeping with them.” Jayme rolled her eyes, angry on her friend’s behalf and for women everywhere who had been duped.
Wanda nodded emphatically. “You know it! Then, there was Benjamin, a crazed stalker and paranoid. Followed my ass on the expressway one time and almost made me wreck, then had the nerve to tell me it wasn’t him when I confronted him later. I looked dead in the man’s eye! Same car, same damn clothes!”
Jayme slumped down on the couch, her stomach rumbling from the nonstop giggle contractions. It felt good to let loose, to bash the motherfuckers that had once caused them pain but now only made them hoot.
“Kyle just wasn’t my type,” Wanda continued, “and tried to force the issue—so did I until I saw without a shadow of a doubt, there was no chemistry and never would be. Mike was doin’ illegal shit, too—bootleg DVDs and music CDs, selling bags of weed every now and again and stolen items...thought I’d overlook it because I’m no longer a cop and his bedroom skills were on point.” She rolled her eyes. “And I could go on and on.”
“I know...I’m fine how things are right now. I mean, sure, I’d like to meet someone, but it’s not at the
top of my priorities anymore and it doesn’t help that my mother keeps hassling me about grandkids. She knows Jayson won’t be giving her any anytime soon and even if he did, she still would never accept him, not after all that has happened.” She looked up at the photo of her and her brother and tried to push away the sad feelings that suddenly emerged, kidnapping her elated laughter high, but it was no use—she just had to wade through it until the spell had passed.
“Well, my sisters took care of all of my mom’s needs for grandbabies. Man or not, I’m not trying to have any right this moment. I have too much going on and they cost too damn much,” her friend half-joked.
“Speaking of which, you haven’t given me an update on Doctor Abram!” Jayme said excitedly as she switched positions, tucking her feet underneath herself and taking another sip of wine. She mellowed as the tipsiness began to seep in.
Wanda rolled her almond shaped dark brown eyes. “He still flirts, but,” she shrugged.,“I bet he flirts with all of the nurses. I just had to let that go. The man has been married three times...something ain’t right but let’s just give that the benefit of the doubt, right? Let’s just look at the whole enchilada, the whole picture.” She moved her arms around, becoming more animated, causing Jayme to fall head first into a laughing frenzy once more.
“He is good looking and I am not talking about our personal trainer Douglass good-looking, I am talking about Idris Elba good looking, okay?!”