Chapter 2

“You get to drive this time around,” said Mickey. I nodded. Well, it was my turn.

We’d hardly gotten out of the lot when we got a call. “Gang problem on 14th and Elm,” intoned dispatch. It was a three-minute ride. And yes, we were the closest cruiser.

“Hammer down,” said Mickey. I went hammer down while she hit the lights. The gangs were there all right. But for the moment they were just staring at each other. No guns in sight for the moment.

The cruiser’s lights had the attention of both groups. I recognized one of the men. His picture was prominent on the board at the precinct. Alejandro Lopez: young, nasty, and according to what we were hearing, ruthless.

I could see a gun on his hip. He wasn’t even trying to conceal it. Mickey covered me from behind the car door, as I approached the man.

“Hey, Dro,” I said. He sneered at me. “Got a problem.”

“Fuck you gringo asshole,” he said. That was enough for me.

I didn’t need to pull my weapon, which I did have at the ready, since Mickey had the guy cold. “You’re under arrest,” I said. He thought about it, pulling his gun, but Mickey did have him dead to rights if he tried. He smiled and decided to cooperate. I went around him so as to not be in Mikey’s way if she had to shoot. The other gang, a bunch of very young black kids had already started to melt away. Alejandro’s men watched but didn’t move to do anything. They might later, but not for the moment.

I disarmed the bad guy and cuffed him. The confrontation between the groups was averted and I had the bad guy on his way to the precinct. The bust was marginal evidence-wise, but the purpose was to defuse a possible shoot out. We’d done that. The lieutenant could take it from there.

We were in early because of the bust. We were called into the lieutenant’s office.

“You two did good. Nobody was killed. He’ll be out on the streets by Monday morning, but we’ll eventually nail the bastard for good sooner or later. Him being back there, he nodded back toward the tank, will mean a little less Oxy on the street for now,” said the big man.

“Thanks, Lieutenant,” I said. Mickey echoed me.

“Get your paperwork turned in and go home,” he said. We nodded and headed out to our desks to do the hard part.

Tahoe was my mom’s favorite place to vacation. Stef’s parents liked it too. The three of them were on their way there, and for the next week we’d—stef and I and Barbie—would be on our own. We usually were anyway, but for now we would be without a sitter for our seven-year-old daughter. But we’d manage.

“Let’s all go to the movies,” I said. Stef looked over at me.

“Okay, but what movie?” she said.

Well, we haven’t see Rain Man yet,” I said. It’s Friday, probably be a lot of people, but so what!”

We’d parked Barbie at Stef’s aunt Rachel’s for the weekend. The grandparents would be back Sunday evening.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s. But I have to take my meds first. I don’t want to be twisting and turning in my seat all night.”

“Okay, okay, I said. But you and I are going to be talking to the doctor and that very soon,” I said. “And, Stephanie Danson, I am not kidding. Those things are not candy, but you take them like they’re freaking breath mints!”

“Okay, okay,” she said. “Sheesh!”

We didn’t get out of the movie until 10:00 p.m.

We pulled into the drive and noticed a cruiser was posted at the curb out front. Mickey and a lieutenant got out and came up to us.

“Stef, Jack, an accident...” started Mickey.

Barbie’s grandparents had all been killed in an accident on the road up the mountain to Tahoe.

The both of us, Stephanie and me, had the next two weeks off and we needed them. Mickey helped me with the funerals and I could not have been more grateful for the assist. It was the saddest of times for the both of us.

Still, life being what it was, we were back at work and among the living soon enough, too soon for me if the truth were to be known.

“You want the stuff you pay, one way or the other,” said Ronald Naismith.

“I can get the money by Friday,” said Stephanie Danson. “But I need the stuff now. I’m in pain.”

“Money or pussy, your choice,” he said. She looked around the cheap ass motel room. She started to strip. She didn’t have the money. Jack got paid on Friday but he was already asking questions about the bank account. She had avoided getting the surgery done that might have solved her problem, but the doctors, she’d been using three different ones, were no longer writing prescriptions. But her friendly street pharmacist was less scrupulous. And yes, she knew where to find them: her husband was a cop, and they had talked about his job often enough. That he’d never picked up on her little habit had been a fucking miracle.

She, they, had a daughter, Barbie. She was going to have to come clean to him soon. This couldn’t be kept up. She’d been cheating on him for almost a year. Sooner or later the asshole, Naismith, was going to ask for money or for her to get her husband onboard with them. She knew that that would never happen: Jack Danson was way too straight arrow. He loved her, and he’d do his best to get her out of the jam she was in, but it was going to be messy at the least of it; she knew that for a blood mortal fact.

What was also a fact was that it had to end. She was going to have to get the surgery and she was going to have to get therapy or counseling or something to get her off her need for the stuff, the Oxycodone. Would he stand by her? She was breaking the law; she could go to jail. If he found out—when he found—he’d lose his job; there was no doubt about that. Jesus what a mess. It had to end.

The asshole Naismith was hinting at including some other guys in their cheap ass sex-capades. She’d rather be dead than be a part of his gang bang bullshit. She’d be carrying a gun the next time; her husband had an extra one at the house. She’d be bringing it just in case he, Naismith, or his friends, tried to rape her. Self-defense would be her cover. She was for sure going to be able to sell that to them, the police, if worse came to worst. Naismith always had a gun with him too; she’d seen it. His friends would too, for sure they would if they showed up. Lucky for her that her Jack had taught her how to defend herself and how to shoot and stuff.

“Honey, where is your mommy?” I said.

“In the garage,” said Barbie, my seven-year-old beauty queen.

“Oh, okay,” I said. What my wife would be doing in the garage was a mystery, but it would likely be solved. She’d be in shortly I figured. And, then she was.

“The garage?” I said.

“Uh, yes,” she said, kind of oddly. “I thought I left something in the car, but I didn’t. I guess it’s lost.”

“What was it?” I said.

“Nothing, just some costume jewelry I bought. Maybe you stole it and gave it to your girlfriend,” she said, shifting the conversation.

“Hmm, like I would ever be trading you in on a newer model,” I said. “I’ve got the two most beautiful women in the world; that’s enough for me.”

She tendered me a look that was really, something. Maybe suspicious, no, it had to be something else. “Dinner in forty-five,” she said. “Now get out of the kitchen so I can do my job.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

We were cruising. Nothing on the line for the moment. Well, some days are actually peaceful days.

“Mickey, can I ask you a question?” I said.

“Your tone of voice makes me want to say no, but okay,” she said.

“Stef’s been acting kinda weird lately, actually for quite a while,” I said.

“Weird?” she said.

“Yeah, I know she’s in pain off and on. Her hip, you know?” I said.

“Yeah, I know. She’s even said a word or two about it to me when we’ve been around each other, but that’s, the hip’s, been ever since Barbie was born,” she said.

“Yes, and she’s refused to get the surgery. She’s afraid of it. But the doctor gives her pain meds for it, don’t know what, but sometimes she runs out, and well, she has to wait till she can get a refill,” I said.

“And, anyway, you think her acting weird is related to the hip thing,” said Mickey.

“Well, I don’t know what else it could be,” I said. Mickey took on a serious look, like she’d just thought of something.

“Jack, you want me to, well, check...” she started.

“Huh?” I said, getting what she was getting at.

“Oh, no, no, no,” I said. “She’d have a fit if she even suspected I was having her checked out. No, no, no! I’ll let you know if we need to go that route.” My partner nodded.

She pulled up in front of yet another by the hour hot sheets hostel. She checked her purse. The .38 caliber double action revolver, her husband’s back up, was there. It was loaded and, in her purse, it would not be visible to the man inside the room. She was not sure if he’d brought his friend or friends for this particular monthly liaison, but he had better not have or she would be out of there muy prontisimo, as her husband always said.

She needed the stuff. She’d get in, do the man, and get out as soon as she could; that was her pledge to herself.

She entered room 206. It was at the far end of the second and uppermost floor. That would be useful.

She paused at the door, not making any move to enter. She took a deep breath and did, enter that is. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was only Naismith.

“You’re right on time,” he said.

“Let’s get this over with,” said Stephanie. The man smiled as she stripped. He began his own strip tease. Naked she plopped herself onto the bed and waited. It was then another man came out of the bathroom. He was already naked.

“Oh, where are my manners?” said Ronald Naismith. “This is my friend, Alejandro.”

“You bastard,” she sneered, trying to get up from the bed to get her clothes.

“She’s as pretty as you said,” said the newcomer. “You sure this is the cop’s whore?”

“Oh yeah,” smirked Ronald.

“This is going to be fun. Maybe I can get her pregnant. Whaddya think,” said Alejandro. Naismith shrugged.

“Go for it,” said Ronald.

She was crying. The two men had taken their time with her. She gathered her things and headed into the bathroom. She had to shower.

The steaming water washed the smutty slime from her body if not from her soul. This was the end. They’d raped her. Yes, she was intending to let the one slime ball have her, but that was before he’d introduced her to some other slimy shithead who seemed to know her husband, but how, she had no clue. She did not want to know.

She was drying herself off. She noted her purse on the floor in front of the sink. She dressed quickly, and putting on her coat, she slipped the small snub-nosed revolver into the pocket of her windbreaker. If they tried to stop her, she’d shoot them. She knew how. Jack was an expert and a good teacher, and he’d taught her.

She opened the door and noticed that the two men were both sacked out on the bed. Naismith was snoring the other man seemed unsettled, tossing and turning a bit. She needed to get out without disturbing them or they might decide to go for an encore.

She moved quietly, but not quietly enough. The Alejandro guy woke and went to block her way.

“No, no, senorita. I just decided that we need to teach your husband a lesson,” he said. She had her hand on the gun in her pocket she was no more than two feet from Alejandro. She fired. His look of surprise actually brought a smile to her face. Ronald Naismith was suddenly in the midst of jumping out of the bed. She had the gun out of her pocket now. She fired once more. The bullet pierced the other man’s heart killing him instantly.