Her Independence Day

by Victoria Belle

  As if conjured by my thoughts, someone stepped in behind me.

  “Don’t scream,” the twiggish man said, pressing me to the wall. I tasted brick, inhaled unfamiliar sweat.

  “I have money,” I said immediately, forcing the tremble out of my voice.

  Don’t panic. Just breathe. Your odds are best that way.

  He twisted me around, the point of a blade digging into my neck.

  His breath smelled wonky, his eyes shifting like the eclipse. This ghostly-skinned guy had to be all kinds of fucked-up to think that scruffy-shoed me would be worth mugging.

  “Here.” I held up my purse, and he rifled through it.

  “The money’s in the side pocket,” I added.

  His roving glare hesitated on me, then he unzipped the pocket. He took the wad of bills, flipping through it with sloppily.

  A crunch of other footsteps, then a bland reasonable-sounding voice, “What’s going on?”

  Out of the gloom emerged an officer, his gun raised.

  The twig man bolted, chucking the wad of bills away. Damn, he must’ve really been coked out.

  In the gloom, I made out another officer. This one was taller and broader than the other and wasn’t wearing glasses how he was.

  While his partner picked up the bills, Officer Glasses was looking at me. “What exactly was-”

  “He stole my money,” I said.

  They eyed me uncertainly, and for a moment, I reflected how this must’ve looked. Some coked-out crackhead against the word of a pink-haired girl who looked ready to keel over herself.

  I pointed back the way I’d come. “It’s tip money. Just got off work. You can ask my boss, if you want.”

  Though I’d really rather you not.

  “The Whale?” the taller officer asked, and I nodded. “I wait tables.”

  He cracked a grin. “We hope you have a whaley-”

  “Good day,” I said, dead-pan.

  I was way, way, way too tired to feign anything otherwise in the face of another goddamn whale joke.

  “Obviously, I would like my money back,” I said, indicating the wad of bills that the officer was holding. “That’s this month’s rent.”

  Tall Cop scrutinized me for a minute. I stared back at him defiantly. Let him look all he wanted – I was scrutinizing him too.

  High cheekbones, proud straight nose, cleft chin, kind eyes, he had Handsome Cop down to a T.

  Uh, earth to Britt, look away before you start drooling.

  As he handed over the bills, he asked, “You ok?”

  “Yep,” I said. “Just glad you guys came in time.”

  “Yeah, we always do a patrol of Sketch Alley when we’re patrolling these parts,” Officer Glasses said.

  He took a good long look around at our no-lit, grimy, garbage ridden surroundings, and I bristled.

  “I don’t usually come this way.”

  “Yeah, definitely wouldn’t recommend doing it again,” Tall Cop – who nameplate read Bradley said.

  “Thanks for the help,” I said.

  They exchanged a look, not budging.

  “Where, exactly were you headed?” The cop whose nameplate read Wyatt asked. His messy dark hair and soulful green eyes made him ultra fine to look at.

  “Home,” I said. “So, if there’s nothing else you need from me, I can still make the Q46 if I hurry.”

  They regarded me, nonplussed.

  “You’re bleeding,” Bradley said, reaching into his pocket.

  Reaching my fingers to my neck, I was surprised to have them come away red. With all of the adrenaline pumping through my system, I hadn’t realized that the asshole had actually drawn blood.

  “Here,” he said, starting to reach for it with his handkerchief.

  “Thanks,” I said, grabbing it and putting it on myself. “Again, for saving me. I have to get moving if I’m gonna make my bus.”

  And then I hurried away. Forcing what had happened out of my mind was no use. As I left, I could feel their gazes on me, sending an excited artillery of goosebumps up and down my arms. Two hot cops watching me go.

  Whatever, it didn’t matter. That was the last I’d see of them.

  Or so I thought.

  2

  Wyatt

  Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t be an idiot and do it, you idiot!

  My own thoughts were reflected on Bradley’s face as the pink-haired girl paused. This was, unaccountably, a very, very poor idea.

  And yet, as she turned to face us, there was no denying it: she was the most alluring poor idea I’d had yet.

  “Want a ride home?” I asked. “It’s the end of our shift and this whole area is pretty rough.”

  She paused, studying me with incisive dark eyes. “I don’t live around here.”

  “That’s fine,” I said, before Bradley could open his big mouth and ruin this. “As long as you’re not in Poughkeepsie, we can make it work.”

  I swallowed back my “C’mon, you know you want to.” I was supposed to be helping this mugging victim, not flirting with her.

  “I’m in Queens,” she was saying.

  “Cool,” I said, jabbing my thumb behind me. “Our cruiser’s this way, if you want to join. We’re going to call in that guy who mugged you. Our buddy’s stationed in the next district, where most of them hang out.”

  She paused, gaze still suspicious, then smiled slightly. “Okay, thanks.”

  “Great,” Bradley said.

  His tone indicated he thought this was anything but, though I’d seen the way his eyes rested on her for too long.

  “We’re driving our friend home too,” he added. “So you’ll have to share the back seat with him.”

  “That’s fine,” she said, though I could’ve cursed on the spot.

  Fucking Kingston. I’d forgotten that we’d picked him up just before coming here for our end-of-the-night stop. He’d finished only an hour earlier and had picked up the donuts while he played Angry Birds on his phone. Bastard wasn’t going to let this rest, damn it.

  Sure enough, I’d only just opened the door for the girl, when Kingston, mouth smeared with double chocolate donut, grinned. “Hello there. And what crime did you commit?”

  “Being stupid enough to walk down the sketchiest alley in Manhattan in the middle of the night,” she said deadpan.

  Kingston waited, then busted out laughing. “I like this criminal.”

  “She’s not lying,” Bradley said, getting in the passenger seat. “I mean, it was an honest mistake, going down there late, but yeah, we stopped a guy from mugging her.”

  Getting in the driver’s seat, I chuckled. “Yeah, druggie just threw the money at us, and left. Speaking of…”

  But Bradley was already on it, calling in the mugger and his description to the other precinct. His eager eyes had caught everything, by the sounds of it, down to the bastard’s “holey American Eagle black and grey striped t-shirt”.

  As I started up the car, Kingston started on the girl. “So how did we get so lucky as to share your company this evening?”

  “Your friend offered me a ride,” she said.

  “Ah,” Kingston said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Did he, now?”

  “It’s not way out of the way,” I said, which was a lie.

  “Queen’s,” was all Bradley said, in the tone of a rebuke.

  I kept my eyes on the road, although I couldn’t keep my thoughts there. Bradley and Kingston were right – I’d screwed up. Why offer a ride to this girl, just because she happened to be hot and all vulnerable-looking in the middle of Sketch Alley? We could have just driven her to the bus stop and made sure she’d made it on ok. I’d already gotten a warning from the Big Chief about Melinda – pushing my luck was very much not a good idea right now.

  “Donut?” Kingston was saying in the back.

  “Sure,” she said. “Have any double chocolate?”

  “A woman after my own heart,” Kingston quipped.

  I could
’ve kicked him. Bastard was just doing this to get under my skin.

  “What’s your name, anyway?” Kingston was asking her now.

  “Britt,” she said.

  “You don’t seem as frightened as most people would be after something like that,” Bradley said suddenly.

  As she rifled through her purse with one hand, she chewed on her donut, the tip of her pink tongue darting out to catch a stray crumb. Damn, if I could just get an hour with her, just a few minutes…

  “Of course I was scared. Though I knew I only had, like, a 0.04% chance of getting murdered.”

  A pause.

  Then Kingston broke out guffawing. “What now?”

  “One of my old foster dads had a thing for statistics,” she said smoothly. “Anyway, I’m just lucky you all showed up in time.”

  “That you are,” Bradley agreed.

  And so was I.

  I studied Britt in the rear-view mirror. She had dark brows dark brown hair, cat eye-lined eyes, and lips that were pouty, begging to be kissed.

  “Eyes on the road, Romeo,” Kingston intoned.

  I frowned, weaving away from a cat just in time. “Maybe if you gave me the old-fashioned donut I asked for.”

  “I told you,” Bradley said. “We’re supposed to be the paragons of justice. Not your stereotypical donut-eating cop who doesn’t follow the laws he’s in place to protect.”

  Britt reached up to scratch her neck and I caught a flash of a beautifully rendered tattoo.

  “Nice tattoo,” I said.

  “Thanks.” I liked the way a big smile looked on her. “It’s a raven. It got infected, so the colors got a bit messy. Not really realistic colors, but screw reality.”

  “Here’s to that,” Kingston said, toasting her donut with his.

  I tensed my hands on the steering wheel.

  “Anyway,” she said. You guys must see some intense things.”

  “That’s one word for it,” Bradley said. “We call it ‘another day, another we-don’t-mention-this-again’.”

  “So you don’t want to talk about it?” Britt pressed.

  “Why would we?”

  “Aw, Bradley’s just being a stick-up-the-ass,” Kingston said. “I have tons of gruesome cop stories.” He leaned in closer, as if revealing the darkest secret imaginable.

  “Seriously?” she said, though she was smiling.

  “Oh, the things that go on,” Kingston said, and she laughed.

  “Where in Queens are you exactly?” I asked, as I merged onto the Grand Central Parkway.

  “You can just drop me off at the corner of 164th and 73rd,” she said. “It’s a short walk to my place from there.”

  “What – live in some sketchy abandoned place you don’t want us to see?” Kingston said.

  “You don’t want to know,” she said.

  Everyone was silent. We had about ten minutes to go and I had no idea how I was going to swing getting her number. No way could I let this go. I wanted that throaty voice of hers to purr my name, see those pouty lips of hers wrapped around my dick. I wanted to taste her tattoo, discover the hidden ones she doubtless had.

  “Any others?” I asked lightly. “Tattoos,” I explained to her questioning look.

  “A few,” she said, leaving it at that.

  In the backseat, her eyes met mine. My dick twinged to life. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who was feeling something.

  But already, too soon, we were getting off the parkway, headed to 73rd.

  Pulling over, I peered down 73rd and wondered which box house she lived in.

  “Thanks again,” she said to all of us, though her eyes were on me.

  “Just doing our job,” Bradley said sourly.

  He shot me a warning look – Don’t even try.

  But no way could I just leave it at that.

  “Hey Britt,” I said once she was out of the back seat and standing on the sidewalk.

  “Have a good one!” Bradley cut me off, while slamming the door shut.

  She waved, turned away.

  “Drive,” Bradley said. “I mean it, Wyatt, drive or I’ll tell the Big Chief about that sorority chick.”

  Scowling, I did a wheeled-around U, then barreled down the street.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  The sorority chick had been a one-time mistake – and it had been her idea. Having sex in a back room of the station was probably the stupidest thing I’d done. That, or being swindled into buying ten boxes of stale girl guide cookies from my older sister’s daughter. Damn nieces.

  “You’re right, I wouldn’t,” Bradley admitted. “But damn it, Wyatt, are you asking for a suspension? After Sarah-”

  “When I told her I was a cop, how was I supposed to know she was batshit enough to go to almost every station in town trying to track me down? Chief just has it in for me.”

  “Because you screwed his daughter and never called her back.”

  “After we got matched on Tinder and I unknowingly went to her place and got caught by the Chief and booted the hell out of there.”

  “Listen,” Bradley said gruffly. “I don’t care about the reasoning or whether it’s fair. Fact still remains that it’s your head on the chopping block, and if you have one more breach…”

  “Ok, ok, you’re right,” I said.

  “Yeah, Wyatt’s got no wiggle room,” Kingston said. “Me, though, I mean, I could’ve maybe-”

  “Bad idea,” Bradley said abruptly.

  Kingston scowled. “Never said it was a good one, just that, in my situation, it’d be more doable.”

  For a few seconds, Bradley didn’t even deign to comment. “You guys are bastards. You do know that, right?”

  “Oh come on, you love us,” Kingston said, nestling an old-fashioned donut at his cheek.

  “Yeah, no,” Bradley said.

  Although he held out from the donut only a few more seconds before he sunk his teeth in it.

  We drove a few minutes more in silence, then Kingston said, “I think we may have a problem.”

  He held up a wallet with cat ears. “Hey Wyatt - this yours?”

  “Totally,” I said sarcastically. “Give me that,” Bradley said, grabbing it. Going through it, he sighed.

  “Yep, it’s hers alright. . I’ll run her name to get a number and return it to her tomorrow.”

  I nodded my head, my brain already on fire trying to figure out how to get the wallet from Bradley and do it myself.

  No way was I giving up on Britt that easily.

  3

  Britt

  Dave your wallet, can drop by after 6 – Bradley.

  Seeing the text, I almost collapsed onto the bar stool in relief.

  “What is it?” Simone asked, craning over to read. “Those sexy cops from last night?”

  “Shh about that,” I said, checking to see that Velma the cook/major gossip wasn’t in hearing range. “But yeah, one of them has my wallet.”

  “Which one – the quiet glasses one, that upstanding tall one, or the bald jokey one?”

  “The upstanding one,” I said, typing away.

  My shift ends at 5. I could come to you?

  I rested my hip against the stool, covering a yawn. I couldn’t have gotten more than three hours of sleep max.

  Not with how my mind was racing with all that had happened.

  How Walter had actually agreed to have a look at my art.

  How I’d narrowly missed being mugged.

  How, in the span on an hour, I’d met not one, not two – but three incredibly hot cops.

  I licked my lips at the memory of Kingston, the last one.

  With his shaved head and dark expressive brows and light eyes, the way his gaze had rested on me in a yeah, I’m looking at you way had shot excited adrenaline up from my toes. And that last rear-view mirror look with Wyatt, whoa.

  “You going for table twelve, or am I?” Simone asked, indicating a mass of elderly tourists.

  “I got this,” I told her. />
  No point in standing around and mooning over what happened all day. Although I did check my phone one last time.

  Sure. Swing by Whitestone Lanes, anytime 6-9 pm.

  Ok, I texted back before tucking the phone in my apron. Then, to the table of tourists I went. Once I’d taken all their orders, and had given them to Velma in the kitchen, I took a sip from my water.

  “Still can’t believe you got mugged,” Simone said, looking as shocked as if I’d sprouted a green, sucker-covered tentacle. Then, switching topics as easily as flipping a pancake, she said, “Who’s your favorite?”

  I scanned the three tables I was serving – table one, with its couple that looked like they were one wrong word from stabbing their whale-emblazoned forks in each other’s eyeballs. Table five, with its picture-perfect family of gingers that looked like Anne of Green Gables descendants. Table three, with its pack of glaring sullen teens, with matching jet-black hair. “I don’t know, table five seems nice.”

  “Not tables, you silly,” she said, giggling. “The boys.”

  “Men,” I corrected her. There’d been nothing boyish about the men with the Greek god bodies I’d encountered last night. “Let’s drop it for the afternoon.”

  Simone pouted. “You do have a favorite, though, no?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Not like anything’s going to happen with any of them.”

  “Why not?”

  As Simone’s sea-green eyes rested on me insistently, a fly hovered by, eavesdropping.

  I swatted away the fly and turned away from Simone, starting to pack up napkins of cutlery. “You know why.”

  “Your boy break,” Simone said derisively. A glance to the side found her scooping up a cookie from behind the counter, biting into it, and waving it as she talked. “It’s been how long now?”

  Thankfully, we had walked our way to the sink in the corner, so that the entire customer base of the Whale couldn’t hear about my love life – or lack thereof.

  “A few months,” I said dismissively.

  Try a few months times two – it had been six months since my ex and I had been broken up and that was the last time I’d done anything more than kiss a guy.

  “More like taking a break from your life,” Simone declared.