Brown Eyes? Is this old leathery fart flirting with me? Rattled but undeterred, she asked, “I was asking if . . .”
“Wait,” he cut her off, “let’s go over the rules first.”
Rules?
Then a loud tone came over the radio. Beeeeeep. “Units 257, 282, 310, burglary in progress 1-1-2-8-2 Batton Place, 1-1-2-8-2 Batton Place; cross street Madison Lane,” the sexy disembodied radio voice purred. Officer Thompson answered the radio, turned on the siren and yelled, “Buckle up Brown Eyes. Time to go to work.”
Holy shit! The next eight minutes were like nothing Charlie had ever experienced. She was flying through Landon’s intersections and really red traffic lights while her driver provided a steady running commentary of expletives. “Yield right you stupid sons of bitches! Don’t stop in the middle of an intersection you twit! Who the hell gave you a license? If I weren’t on a call I’d be stroking your ass in a heartbeat! Press hard! Five copies!”
This officer was clearly insane.
Charlie had her feet pressed into the floorboard as though she thought she might find a brake pedal there and had a death grip on the arm rest. Thompson halted his expletives for a few seconds to check on his ride-along.
“You okay, kid?”
Charlie turned to show him the smile plastered across her face.
He grinned and went back to berating the public.
“Stay in the car, Brown Eyes,” he instructed as he climbed out of the cruiser. When Officer Thompson returned, he explained that the call was a misunderstanding, no burglar.
“Can I call you D.M.?” Charlie asked breathless.
“Not if you expect me to answer,” he said through his cigar clenched teeth. “What movie is that line from, kid?” he asked as he looked at her with a sideways glance.
Charlie didn’t need further explanation. She knew exactly what he was asking. “Pretty Woman,” she replied proudly.
“You’re okay kid,” Thompson grinned through his cigar. Then he picked up where he left off, as though he hadn’t just risked their lives and about a hundred other drivers along the way. “Rules,” he continued.
Charlie’s heart was beating out of her chest, her face was flushed and her ears were ringing. She wanted to look cool and unaffected but she had no chance of faking this. She could only compare this feeling to one other time in her life. She pushed Mr. Daley from her mind quickly and tried to focus on her insane police officer chauffeur.
“Rule number one,” he barked, “know our location at all times. If I am fighting somebody and you don’t get on this radio and call for help, the next ass I kick after I put somebody in the hospital will be yours. Got it?”
“Got it.” Charlie grinned. Fighting? There is going to be fighting? Awesome!
“What’s my unit number?” he quizzed.
“Unit 257,” she replied before he finished the question. Thompson grinned. She had impressed him.
“Rule number two, you stay in the car unless I tell you otherwise. Vicarious responsibility.”
She would have to look that one up.
“Rule number three, no stupid questions.” She was glad she hadn’t asked what vicarious meant.
“Rule number four, no whining.”
“Rule number five, I don’t care if you have to go to the bathroom—you’ll go when I go.”
Damn. Charlie wished he hadn’t mentioned that. He continued.
“Rule number six, I decide when and where we eat and you buy your own dinner. This isn’t a goddamn date.”
“Rule number seven, anything you see on this ride-along is confidential in terms of people we talk to or crime victims so don’t go running your mouth at school on Monday about people’s private business.”
“Rule number eight, I smoke cigars—deal with it. Got it?”
“Got it,” she said, grinning.
“Rule number nine, I listen to Howard Stern. If that offends your delicate sensibilities that’s tough shit. Howard’s my guy.”
“And Robin is my girl,” Charlie replied referring to Howard Stern’s sidekick. Which brought an approving nod from rugged officer.
“Ha! Dead inspection!” he yelled, causing Charlie to jump in her seat as a broken-down van passed in front of them at the intersection. Again, the emergency lights and siren were activated as Officer Thompson pulled over the mini-van. Charlie studied him as he got out of the car. Officer Thompson was actually a slight man; in both stature and weight. Actually, he wasn’t much taller than Charlie, but that wasn’t saying much given that she was only 5’ 4”. He seemed bigger though, taller, intimidating even. It might have been the uniform. No, Charlie assessed, it was the attitude. He was all show. A Billy Badass. She watched as Thompson strode up to the van and talked with the driver of the badly worn mini-van. It was an older woman driving a carload full of kids. Charlie bet Officer Thompson was giving it to her good. Press hard! Five copies! He returned to the car, took his nightstick out of his gun belt and pushed it between the seats and picked up the radio.
“257 10-8 Warning.”
Warning? What happened to Billy Badass? Press hard, five copies? He sensed her eyeing him.
“What? She can’t afford to get the crack in her windshield fixed so she can get that POS inspected; you think she can afford a ticket?”
Charlie looked at him perplexed.
“P-O-S. Piece-of-shit,” he barked. “Questions! Ask!”
Very few people surprised Charlie. She always expected the worse from them and she was almost never disappointed, but Officer Thompson was in a league all his own. She was instantly enchanted by this old leathery saddlebag of a man. For the next several hours the radio was virtually silent and she hit the poor trapped Officer with every non-stupid question she could think of. She listened intently as Officer Thompson explained beat assignments, crap cruiser assignments “for nitwits like Toomey who dig their own graves by pissing off the people who control their fate,” and explained why he had to search the back seat at the beginning of every shift in case an arrestee picked up by the previous shift had stuffed a weapon or drugs into the seat.
Charlie was fascinated. She didn’t even mind the cigar smoke. Actually, she kind of liked it. In the years that would follow, the smell of cigar smoke would always bring a smile to her lips and a hug to her aching heart.
“When are we going to get another call?” she asked and Thompson raised a warning eye brow her way. Oops—broke rule number four, no whining. “Sorry,” she said.
In spite of the lack of calls, the night was going by way too quickly, and there was never a moment of silence between them. Guarded and untrusting, Charlie had never taken to a stranger like this before and she had never had so much fun in her life. It was intense. It was exciting and she knew that Thompson was unlike any person she had ever known. She knew he would be in her life forever and he was.
The last call of the night was for a domestic assault that had occurred in the parking lot of a rundown apartment complex, Landon Gardens. “If it’s got the name Gardens in it, it’s guaranteed to be a shithole every time,” Thompson told her. “You stay in the car, Brown Eyes. Eyes open—doors locked.”
A woman had been badly beaten. Unit 310 caught the call and was first on the scene. Thompson explained that he was the back-up unit, just there for backup and assist. She watched as Thompson conferred with Unit 310 and then watched through the open-air stairwell as Thompson knocked on the door of every single apartment in eye view of the parking lot. It seemed to take forever. When he finally returned to the car Charlie promptly broke the no whining rule. “Whaaat took so looong?”
Thompson relit his cigar and shot her the look.
“Sorry,” she said, dropping her eyes, “but I thought you said we were just the backup on this one.”
“We?” he asked with an amused look on his face. Charlie’s face flushed. �
�Somebody’s been bitten by the bug,” he grinned. “Good. You’re smart. There is not enough smart on this job. As a whole, we’re not as stupid as the fucking heroes . . .” Heroes equal firemen, she remembered, “but we could use more smart officers, even a split-tail.” Charlie beamed, not knowing what a split-tail was but sure it was something special.
“The reason it took so long is because when you are the backup officer, you get the shit assignments. I never understood officers who complain about being the primary officer,” he waxed. “When you catch a call, that’s the best gig there is. That’s the meat of it. The backup officers have to canvass, find witnesses, all the bullshit. Since this black and blue broad might not make it they will be calling the suits in on this one.”
“Suits?” Charlie interrupted. “You said that earlier, white shirts and suits.” Charlie chose to ignore the fact that Thompson just announced that the beaten woman might not survive.
“White shirts, command staff,” he grumbled. “Suits, detectives. Both of them worthless as tits on a boar hog. Couldn’t pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel.”
Charlie laughed. “Anyway,” he continued, “whenever the suits get called out to royally fuck things up, the canvassing has to be taken up a notch. The suits are going to want everyone interviewed, anyone who might have seen anything, get it? The hooker, the handyman, and the goddamn parrot.”
Was that a movie line? Charlie thought.
“It’s not a movie line, kid,” Thompson said as if reading her mind. “It’s an investigative philosophy. Anything that’s got eyes or ears and can communicate might have something to tell us. When you’re investigating a crime you gotta get it all. Got it?”
“Got it,” she said, resolutely. When they got back to the station at 1:45 a.m., Thompson tried to drop Charlie off at her car in the parking lot. “It’s only one forty-five,” she protested. Thompson rolled his eyes but grinned as he was doing it.
“Rookies. That’s zero one forty-five, kid,” he sighed, and she beamed at the title he had bestowed on her. They fueled up the cruiser and he offloaded his gear at his personal car, a beat-up gray primer 1955 Chevrolet. “Incidentally,” Charlie said, “talk about your POS!” she laughed.
“I’ve got big plans for this baby,” he said with a wink. They walked back into the station, checked in the shotgun, returned the keys to the cruiser assignment board and she followed Thompson into the roll call room where he grabbed a marker and a blank piece of paper. OUT OF ORDER he wrote, then carried the paper to the elevator door in the hallway and taped it to the doors. Thompson smirked as he walked out with Charlie to the parking lot.
“Umm Officer Thompson?” she smiled and raised her eyebrows.
“That elevator leads to the second floor,” Thompson explained. “It’s the ivory tower that holds the white shirts and the suits.” Officer Thompson raised his chin and grinned at Charlie. Charlie nodded and grinned back.
Chapter 17
Daley Spanking
Jake was so completely engrossed in Charlie’s Thompson story he barely moved when a trash can being knocked over made a horrible racket right next to the SUV. Charlie had already cleared leather, her gun un-holstered and in her hand, and was crouching on the floorboard. Jake was impressed with her tactical speed and followed suit, hoping she hadn’t noticed how slow he was to move into position. Charlie picked up the portable radio to call for backup.
“Not yet,” Jake whispered. “Let’s make sure we have something before we pull the others off their posts.”
“I was going to call a patrol unit,” Charlie whispered. Suddenly something sprang across the hood and over the windshield. Both officers leveled their weapons at the windshield, prepared to fire until they registered the beady eyes of the raccoon that had them both cowering under the dash.
“Jesus Christ!” Charlie yelled.
“Shhh!” Jake said, laughing hysterically.
“Jesus, Adams! I almost had to buy the government a new windshield,” she sighed, grabbed her heart with one hand, and re-holstered her sidearm with the other.
“I would have had to split the cost with you!” Jake collapsed back into his seat. When he did, his mini-TASER fell out of his jacket and landed with a thump on the floorboard.
“I told you we were going to have some excitement tonight Agent!”
“It’s right here, Ray. It’s looking at me,” Jake was laughing so hard he barely got the Ghostbusters line out of his mouth. He discreetly slid the TASER back into his pocket.
“What the hell was that?” she asked, wiping away her tears.
“Mini-TASER,” he flashed it at her before putting it back in his pocket.
She balked. “A TASER? Since when do Feds carry TASERs?”
“I’m more of a Boy Scout than a Fed. I like to be prepared. Fucking raccoon,” he said and shook his head, and they both laughed again.
The adrenaline rush left them both giddy and jumpy for the next hour but the rising sun was a sure cure and they both started to fade. Charlie was fighting to keep her eyes open when Jake said, “When will I get to meet this guy anyway?”
“What guy?”
“The legend. The man. Your mentor. Thompson.”
“Oh,” she said softly and her eyes took on a pained look that ripped at Jake’s heart.
“You can’t,” she whispered. “He died.” Jake trained his intense eyes on hers and Charlie couldn’t tell where her gaze stopped and his started. She had never known anyone who could give someone a hug with their eyes, but that’s what Jake was doing.
“He had a heart attack two weeks before my academy graduation.”
They were fell silent for a time.
“Does it ever feel to you like everyone is always leaving?” Charlie asked, sounding like a small child. This time she made no effort to hold her tears. She trusted him and because she did she let them fall. Her eyes stayed joined to his. Jake reached for her, caught a tear with his finger, and pulled her to his chest, hugging her hard and wishing he could hold her forever. He knew better than to wish that wish but wished it just the same.
“I really wish you could have met him.”
His voice cracked when he said, “Time to break it down.” He guided her back to her seat, reached over her to put her seatbelt on, and started the SUV.
When they reached her apartment and stopped, they sat in silence. Neither of them wanted to leave the other. “I guess I should go,” he said. “You didn’t sleep well yesterday. You need to get some rest. We have one more night to go.”
Charlie nodded but didn’t get out of the car.
“I think I’ll hang out in the parking lot for a while though,” he said, looking tentatively at her. Charlie looked at him, confused at first but then she understood. He didn’t want to muddy the waters by coming inside, but he did want to be near her. It was a romantic gesture so gallant it caught in her throat and all she could do was nod, afraid that if she uttered one word, the dam would break. She reached up to touch his face. He tried to stop her hand, but she pulled her hand away from his and reached for his face again, this time making contact with his cheek and cradling it in her small hand. He closed his eyes and leaned into it, then brought her hand to his mouth, kissed her palm, and whispered, “Go.”
“Hey Brown Eyes,” Moses greeted her. Charlie reached into the cage and gently stroked Moses’ head while he cooed. Then she covered the cage, went straight to her room, and slid on her Redskins jersey and footy socks. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and tried to control her breathing. Would he still be there? It had been almost ten minutes now. They were both exhausted. Did he like her enough to still be there?
Charlie walked to the window like she was sneaking up on an indoor cat that had gotten outside. Slowly she peeked down into the parking lot. There he was, grinning up at her, waving like an idiot. She grinned b
ack and used her thumbs to show off her Redskins jersey. He gave her a thumbs-up and she waved again, closing the curtains as her eyes filled with tears. He did like her. He really liked her. She peeked out again, still there. She grinned and climbed into bed, smiling like a fool.
Charlie was too excited to sleep, but knew she couldn’t pull another midnight shift without eight-straight and there was only one way to ensure sleep. She needed to get herself off. She felt funny about longing for Jake while masturbating to Mr. Daley, but there was no alternative. When she needed to climax quickly, that was the memory that did it. Every time. She fished through her drawer for her favorite vibrator, Gus, as she immersed herself in the memory of her Robert Redford-looking-spanking-neighbor, Mr. Daley.
November 1984
Sterling, Virginia
Mr. Daley had clearly been avoiding Charlie since the 151-rum-spanking episode. Charlie would watch for him out the front window of her kitchen and would pretend to be passing by his house when he got home at night. However, whenever she tried to engage him in conversation he would make some excuse about being in a rush and brush past her.
She wondered if he was as turned on as she had been, or was he truly repulsed and angry about catching her touching herself?
She desperately wanted to feel his hands on her again, controlling her body, but he wouldn’t even make eye contact with her. Strike one.
Kip never returned for seconds. He still came to the house to see her brother Tom, sometimes with skankapottimus, sometimes without, but it was as if nothing had happened between them. Strike two.
“Maybe I wasn’t very good. Maybe that’s why Kip never asked me to do it again,” Charlie confided to her sexpert friend Laura.
“Don’t sweat it, Charlie. Some guys just get off on popping cherries. Once it’s done it can’t be redone, and they lose interest. That’s why I stick to blowies. I’m still a challenge for them and they always come back thinking that maybe I’ll give in.” Laura laughed.
Or maybe you are just prettier, more desirable, smarter, funnier—all the things I am not, Charlie thought.
The Hooker, the Handyman and What the Parrot Saw Page 10