Striker

by Patricia Green

  That ticked me off. I took her by the arm and led her back to the car, pushing her into the back seat when we got there and following her in.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she railed. “I thought we were going to go to Camilla’s apartment.”

  “We have something to do first.”

  “No, we don’t!” She tried the back door on the street side and found it locked. It was my personal vehicle, a family car that came with annoying child guard locks on the back which couldn’t be opened except from the driver’s console, the outside, or with the key fob. She tried climbing over me to get to the rear curbside door. Maybe she thought it would unlock easier. However, it put her in the perfect position for what I had decided on the spur of the moment. I grabbed her by the waist and positioned her over my lap. Her perfect little behind turned up in my direction.

  It was time to make her bratty behavior a thing of the past. Of course, that’s what I’d thought with the first spanking, and that hadn’t exactly toned her down. Unfortunately, apart from yelling at her—and getting a lot of yelling and cursing back—it was my best option. Besides, I liked spanking her. It calmed us both down and centered us, at least for a little while.

  I took a quick look out the windows and saw that no one was around, then pushed the skirt of her dress up over her hips and took a deep breath. Memories of our night together flooded my brain and expanded my cock. But I had to remain cognizant of the purpose of this spanking, the reasons behind the punishment.

  I touched her bottom with a lover’s caress only once, then lowered her bright yellow panties. She struggled and cursed me, but I didn’t relent.

  The shoulder holster under her suit jacket poked me in the knee; I ignored it. Fact was, she could have shot me if she got mad enough, but I didn’t think she’d go there. It was a risk I was willing to take. So I laid into her butt with some well-placed swats. Not little warm-up love taps, either.

  She screeched. “Hey! Knock it off! Ouch!”

  I spanked her a few more times, despite her protests. Her pretty ass started turning that cotton candy pink I found so appealing.

  “Striker! That hurts! Quit it! Ow!”

  “Act like a brat, get treated like a brat.” My hand rose and fell half a dozen more times while she squirmed and squealed. Her bottom had taken on a brighter shade of pink. I was going for red.

  “Okay! I’m sorry. Fuck! Come on.”

  I peppered her rear for a minute longer, and, although it wasn’t big of me, I totally enjoyed watching her discomfort. She deserved to be treated like a wayward child. Her behavior was childish, no matter that she was tired and grumpy.

  “Please! I’ll try to control myself. Enough. I’ve had enough.”

  I didn’t think she’d really had all she deserved, so I spanked her half a dozen more times. I could feel the heat coming from her struggling body and the heat on my hand and her butt. The red splotches were rising on her globes, and I knew that I’d finally made an impression.

  I gave her one more mighty swat and then stopped. She sniffled and squirmed back to the seat next to me, adjusting her panties and skirt as she went. “And you owe me for my Ray-Bans,” I told her.

  She wiped a tear off her cheek and glared at me. “Yeah, okay. I ought to bring you up on charges.”

  “Are you saying you didn’t deserve that?”

  “I… maybe. But, fuck, Striker. My ass hurts!”

  “Serves you right. Are you ready to deal with this like a mature adult?”

  “Yeah. What’s the plan?”

  “I’m taking point.” That got me a frown and a sharp look, but she didn’t argue. “You’re coming in behind me.”

  “I don’t have to wait in the car, Daddy?” she asked, sarcasm dripping off every word like snake venom.

  “Keep talking back, Piccolino.”

  Although she continued frowning, she didn’t test my patience further.

  “We’re going to treat it like a witness visit. Nothing more unless trouble comes to town. Got it?”

  She nodded.

  “Ready?”

  Again, she nodded.

  I pressed the key fob and the back door unlocked. We got out and proceeded to the staircase and apartment 2B. In the point position, as promised, I knocked on the door. Someone peeked around a faded curtain at the window a few feet away from the door. It was a woman with dark skin and straightened black hair. I flashed my badge and told her to open up.

  She came to the door and opened it about three inches, the chain still in place. “Yeah?”

  “Striker and Piccolino, police. We need to talk to you.”

  “I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you.”

  “Open the door.”

  “I don’t have to. You got a search warrant?”

  “I’m not here to search the premises. However, if you keep evading me, I can come back with one.”

  She frowned.

  “Right after I haul you down to the police station for a formal interview,” I added.

  A few seconds later, she released the chain and opened the door. It wasn’t far open, but I could see a couple of mattresses on the floor, with tousled sheets and blankets on them. There was a strong smell of cigarette smoke and maybe some weed, but I wasn’t too interested in that. The woman wore blue sweatpants and a gray tank top, both wrinkled as though she’d slept in them. Although it was nearly one o’clock, I wondered if we’d awakened her.

  “I’m Detective Striker, and this is Detective Piccolino,” I told her. Angelica moved to take a place next to me. That was okay. I figured it was pretty safe. The dark-haired woman appeared to be the only person in the apartment, and she looked sleepy and annoyed, not dangerous. “Your name is?”

  “Tamika Jones. What do you want?”

  I pulled a picture of Camilla Ross out of my inner jacket pocket and showed it to her. Her first reaction was a gasp, confronted with a picture of the obviously dead girl. “Oh shit,” she said. “That’s Cammy. What happened?”

  “She was hit by a car,” I told her. I didn’t want to give away the drug overdose yet. “Did she live here?”

  “Yeah. We are…were…roommates.”

  “Anyone else live here?”

  “Not right now. We’re looking for another girl, but he—I mean we—haven’t found one yet.”

  “You said ‘he’,” I pointed out. “Does a man live here, too?”

  “No.” She pressed her lips together and I knew things were about to get tougher.

  Angelica spoke up, her voice a reassuring purr. “Do you feel you’re in danger if you tell us?”

  Her eyes darted from Angelica’s face to mine and back again. “No one but me and Cammy lives here.”

  “Okay, Tamika,” Angelica said. “How long have you and Cammy been roommates?”

  “I dunno. About three, four months, maybe.”

  “How did you find each other?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Tamika—” she went on, “—we can bring you to the station for questioning if you make this difficult. Is that what you want? Maybe you’d feel safer there?”

  “No!”

  “Well then,” I interjected, “why don’t you tell us how you knew Cammy.”

  “We…uh…worked in the same business.”

  I could guess, but I wanted to hear her explanation, so I asked, “What business is that?”

  “Customer service.”

  “You must meet a lot of interesting people.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Do you both work for the same company?”

  “I guess so.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

  “Look,” she said, her voice taking on a desperate note. “I’ll get in trouble. Just go away. You know everything I know.”

  That was a whopper of a lie. “I don’t think so. I think you’ll have to come downtown with us.”

  She groaned. “Please. I have to go to work soon. I’ll lose my job.”
>
  “Your customer service job?”

  She nodded, her expression miserable and scared.

  “What’s the name of your boss?”

  She thought about my question for a moment. “Walter Mason.”

  Angelica wrote that down. “M-a-s-o-n?”

  “I guess. I’ve never seen it wrote out.”

  “Okay.”

  Lights and bells were going on in my head. This was likely to be the “High and Mighty” Mason we’d been looking for. Now to pin him down.

  “Where is he now?” Angelica asked.

  “I dunno. At home, I guess.”

  Persistent, Angelica pressed. “Do you know where he lives?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I don’t know. Now, I’ve gotta go.” She started to close the door, but I quickly put out my hand to stop it. I could have taken her downtown, but I had the feeling that she actually didn’t know much more. I tried one more question.

  “When you go to work, where do you go?”

  She gave a little whimper. “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can, Tamika,” Angelica said. “You want to help Cammy, right?”

  “Why do you need to know all of this?”

  “We need a complete picture of Cammy,” I told her. “Then we can close the case.”

  “Oh.”

  Piccolino spoke up again. “So?”

  “We work down on Highland, near the 134 off-ramp.”

  “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” I asked. We had a place to search for Mason.

  “I ain’t got nothin’ more to say. I’m in enough trouble already.”

  “You were a big help,” Angelica said. “Thank you.”

  The door began to close again. “Yeah. Bye.”

  I nodded, and we left. There was a lot to do, but we had more to go on. Our next stop was the Cheetah Fast Lines Bus Depot, not far from the Amtrak station.

  The bus depot was grungy, littered with cigarette butts and paper coffee cups. There was a coffee bar on one side, where a tattooed and pierced girl—I wasn’t entirely sure she was a girl—worked the counter in a desultory fashion. Only a few passengers were scattered about. One guy in a uniform sat at the ticket window, so I walked over to the counter and politely asked where the lockers were located. Without a word, the clerk pointed farther into the terminal. I thanked him, though I hardly knew for what.

  Angelica and I proceeded to the lockers, which were not far from a security desk. The sleepy guard watched us through half-closed lids, but I could tell she was paying attention. I showed her my badge, and she nodded, relaxing visibly. A bank of lockers stood a few feet away. We approached the tall red boxes and found the one marked 156, fitted the key in the lock and opened it up.

  First, I looked in carefully, taking a visual inventory.

  “Hell, Striker. What are you waiting for? I can see there’s stuff in there. Get it out!” She reached to pull things free, but I stopped her.

  “Methodical, Angelica. Be methodical. You can miss things if you act hastily.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  I sighed. She was bound and determined to grate on my nerves, but I strapped on my patience. Bending down to the box, I took a sniff. I didn’t smell any drugs or incendiary materials, though they could still have been there, of course. Things looked clear enough, so I gloved up and reached in. There was a backpack inside. It was a plain, black pack, with padded straps and lots of zippered compartments. Each zipper sported a woven, rainbow colored ribbon. Someone had a little style and was trying to dress up what was otherwise a pretty boring bag.

  I put the backpack on the ground and started opening zippers. The outermost compartments held incidentals like tissues, a pen, some gum. Nothing that indicated personality or gender. But the main compartment was another story. Inside was a pastel blue hoodie with a pink kitten embroidered on the chest. It was obviously a woman’s garment. Next to that was a pair of high-top sneakers. CSI would have to size them, but they looked pretty petite to me. Then we hit pay dirt. There was an unlabeled book inside. It was covered with colorful paper, and was well worn. I carefully opened it and nearly shouted my glee. The first page sported the same two words all over its surface: “Camilla Ross.”

  “Wow,” Angelica said, peering over my shoulder as I knelt on the linoleum. “I guess we know who it belongs to.”

  “Yeah, I guess we do.”

  “What’s inside?”

  I turned a page and found a journal entry with a date from a few months previous. The handwriting was cramped, scribbled, and barely legible. The guys at CSI would have to analyze it more carefully than I could. I flicked through the pages, looking for any photographs or other clues, but there were none. The last page was dated only two days before.

  Angelica read next to my ear, her voice soft and serious.

  He wants proof, of course. Who wouldn’t? I bought the test, but now I’m almost afraid to use it. What if I’ve caused this rift between us for no good reason? Walter looked truly pissed at the news. Foolish me, I thought he’d be excited to find out that we were having a baby. He was close to Bear-bear, but when Amy ran away with the boy, Walter had to deal with it. He’s been a shit ever since. And then, of course, Nikkol ran away, too. I chalk that up to jealousy. She hated that Walter spent more time with me than her. She was a bitch, though, so good riddance.

  I’m worried about how this is all going to play out. If Walter really doesn’t want this baby, I’m going to have to get out of here. He’ll want me to have an abortion, and I can’t do that. Won’t do that. I’m going to go to San Francisco and start all over again. It will be hard, but if I have to do it. I will.

  The pages after that were blank.

  I put the book back in the backpack and stood. “We need to find Walter Mason,” I said.

  “And right away,” my partner answered, dialing up our DMV liaison with her phone.

  * * *

  The car was silent for most of the way back to the station, but Angelica broke the quiet with an unexpected comment. “Do you think we’ll do it again?”

  At first, I didn’t know what she meant, and I must have given her a quizzical look, because she blushed and clarified. “I mean… what we did last night.”

  “Oh. Do you want to do it again?”

  “Why do you always answer my questions with questions?”

  “Do I?”

  “There,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You did it again.”

  “I don’t know if we’ll do it again. I guess it depends on a few things.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want to fuck me again?”

  “Well, when you put it so elegantly, why wouldn’t I?”

  “Asshole.”

  “If that’s your opinion, why would you care if I wanted to do it again or not?”

  “I guess I… I just care. Call it ego, maybe.”

  “Last night you said that once wasn’t enough.”

  “Fine. Throw that in my face.”

  “Are you saying you didn’t mean it?”

  There was a pause while she thought about it. “Yeah, I meant it. Then.”

  “But today is different?”

  She fussed with the cuff on her jacket. “Um. No, I guess not.”

  As irritating, crude-mouthed, and reckless as she could be, there was something compelling about Angelica. There was a shy, defensive girl inside her, and it was that aspect of her which I wanted to protect and nurture. I was deeply attracted to her. I caught myself analyzing the situation to death, and made a split-second decision. I knew it was taking a step in a direction that was, perhaps, unwise, but some part of me was committed to the adventure that was Angelica Piccolino. “When do you want to get together?”

  “Now?”

  I shot her a look. Having sex in the car while trying to solve a case was a really crazy idea, and I am not a crazy kinda guy. But, traffic was heavy and I figured we had about fifteen to twenty mi
nutes between our location and the station. Even if I kept driving, there were things I could do.

  “Well, we can’t screw in the car, Angelica, but we can fool around a little. Hike up your skirt.”

  Maybe she was thinking better of the situation. Whatever was going through her mind, she accepted my suggestion, and unbuckling her seat belt, she pulled the hem of her skirt up to her waist.

  “Buckle up again. Safety.”

  She rolled her eyes, but complied.

  I ran my hand up her left leg, from smooth knee over smooth thigh and back down again. Her skin was firm, pale, and charged with electric excitement, almost quivering.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m going to touch you.”

  “I dunno, Striker. Can’t we pull over?”

  “Live a little dangerously, Angelica.”

  “This coming from you? You’ve been hiding your sexy side.”

  “I don’t have to do this,” I pointed out, withdrawing my hand.

  She grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand back to her thigh. “I’ll take what you’re giving, Jase.”

  “Smart girl.”

  I stroked her thigh a few more times, then crept my hand up onto her lower belly. Her stomach was tight and toned. She was a woman who stayed in shape. I fleetingly wondered if she was a gym bunny. But I lost that thought when I slid my hand into the waistband of her panties.

  “Mmm,” she said on a sigh. “I like where this is going.” Reaching for my leg, she asked, “Can I touch you, too?”

  I was driving, and it would be bad enough if we got caught like this. I didn’t want to risk anything further. Besides, making her feel good was a kind of reward, in my book. “Not this time.”

  “Damn. Mmmm.”

  Her hips tilted, allowing my fingers access to the apex of her pussy. I glided my hand down deeper into her panties and toward the wet center of her. And wow was it ever wet. “How long have you been excited?”

  “Um.”

  “How long, Angelica?”

  “Since you spanked me in the car?”

  “Damn, girl. You get off on spankings? Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I didn’t know. And, anyway, you make me so mad when you spank me, it kind of gets lost. But when I’m sitting there with a hot butt, I kinda… sorta… like it.”