Chapter 7

Criminals with badges.

That's what my dad used to call crooked cops. Yeah, he was one, for years. It ate him alive.

No, he wasn't crooked. He was a clean cop. In a dirty department, that's a dangerous thing to be.

I look down at Sheila. She's African-American, with her hair in closely woven braids. She'd be a pretty girl, if it weren't for the fact she just got gang-raped and is hysterical about it.

Yeah, she got pulled over by one of our City's finest, a mook by the name of Ronnie Milhouse. She stupidly lets him search the car and he comes up with a little bag of rock cocaine. She says she doesn't know where it came from, and I believe her.

It came from Ronnie's pocket.

He makes her the standard deal. She does him and his buddies, or she goes to jail to face possession with intent charges.

It ended up being nine guys, taking turns on her.

Sheila just got her driver's license. She's sixteen, and until tonight, a virgin.

I look over at Muscles. She looks dangerous. Muscles always looks dangerous, but right now she's putting extra effort into it.

I look at Sheila's mother, Moira. She shakes her head helplessly, tears in her eyes.

This happens, more often than anyone wants to think. Badge Pussy, it's called. Usually its hookers and street people, but sometimes it's regular folk who get chosen.

"Can we go to the cops?"

I shake my head. I was a cop here, remember? The standard joke is Internal Affairs exists to do just that: Keep the police department's affairs internal.

"No," I tell her. "It's too dangerous. It's too easy to plant narcotics."

"They'd do that?" Moira asks incredulously. Like a lot of black people, she doesn't love cops, but she's one of those naive people who think cops don't break the law and arrest innocent people on phony evidence.

I shake my head.

"Yeah," I tell her. "They'd do that. They already did it, to Sheila."

Moira looks at me and I see the anger. I don't like that. Not that she shouldn't be angry, but in a case like this, that anger can fester at you and destroy you.

Sheila pulled a train, and no-one connected with the police will ever do a damned thing about it. That's reality. You have to live with it.

I sigh.

"Take her to the hospital," I tell them. "Anyone asks, she was at a party. Don't even mention cops unless you want to see a lot more of 'em."

I take Muscles and we leave.

"You can't just let them get away with that," she practically yells as we walk out to the car. "They raped that girl!"

I get into the car, and look over as Muscles slides in, still trembling with rage.

"It wasn't rape," I tell her. "If they ask the cops, it was a little nigger teen-aged Junkie, doing whatever it took to avoid arrest. Yeah, they were bad for letting her, but most they would get is a slap on the wrist, and then the DA could reinstate the charges."

"On planted evidence?" she says.

"Nine cops say it wasn't," I tell her. "Who's gonna believe a black girl who was in possession of sale weight of narcotics, anyway?

I've never seen Muscles this mad, and I've seen her plenty mad.

"That's bullshit," she says softly. Hell, she's starting to tear up too.

"Yeah, it is," I tell her. "It sucks the rag on heavy flow days. But it's the way things are."

We drive away from the house, real quiet. Tonight, Muscles is getting a lesson in reality, and it's one she's gonna have trouble accepting.

Hey, not all cops are dirty. I've known some great ones, people I'd trust with my life.

But I've also know corrupt bastards: thieves, sexual predators, racists and guys for sale to the highest bidder. Cops for whom the badge is a license to do whatever the fuck you want to and get away with it.

It's like Max told me when I was a kid, and the school was pushing this crap about the nice officer being your friend.

"Always remember, Mur," he said. "The police are armed and dangerous, and have the power to arrest you."

Yeah, I learned that reality early on. Max wasn't really my dad, he was my mom's boyfriend for a few years, till he died of a heart attack at forty-two. But he was as close to a dad as I ever had.

I worshipped him. He's probably why I became a cop. And also why I left in disgust after a few years.

I didn't want to die young, fighting a losing battle, like he did.

"We have to do something," Muscles says.

"Nothing's gonna take back what happened tonight," I tell her.

"But they have to be punished," Muscles says.

I sigh. Yeah, it would be nice. But it doesn't happen that way. If Moira makes trouble, she's some uppity black woman covering for her junkie daughter. And, if Moira then ends up getting arrested, well, that just serves her right for opening her stupid mouth. Or that's the prevailing attitude.

"No one wants to hear about it," I tell Muscles.

"I could talk to Al," she says softly.

I wince. That's great. Call Special Agent Allison Allbright and get the Feds involved. Then the local cops have to cover this case with so much shit, no one's gonna want to get near it.

And that means going after Moira and Sheila.

"Leave it alone," I say.

"Fuck you!" she says.

I gotta be proud of her. Muscles has balls. She doesn't back down to anyone, and that includes her boss, me.

"You want to drop by Dolly's?" Muscles asks.

I nod. Yeah, going and getting shit-faced is always an option in this work. Tonight, it sounds like the best option.

We head into Bad Dolly's. It's a busy night, and the dance floor is crowded, mostly with girls dancing with other girls. There's a few guys dancing with guys, and one lone couple where a guy and girl are dancing together.

I gotta grin. They look way out of place, almost perverse. Two people of different sexes dancing together.

What the hell's their problem?

Muscles see's me watching and smiles.

"They do stand out, don't they?" she asks.

I nod.

"Yeah, damned heterosexuals," I say. "There ought to be a law."

We find two stools at the end of the bar and sit. Teresa comes over to get our order. She's looking better, and tonight is almost her old self.

So am I.

You're wondering what the hell happened. I ended the last story with a big teaser about Satanism, and orgies and murder attempts.

Yeah, it all happened. Where do you think I've been the last two months? But it was a ball of shit, and one I don't want to try to unravel right now. Yeah, there were real Satanists, and murders and a couple of great orgies. But there was a lot of really nasty bullshit going on too, and I don't want to go there. Not now, maybe not ever.

I gotta mention it, though, because I made the press. Yeah, the picture of me leaving the courthouse with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth and wearing a raincoat and my fedora? You saw it too?

Forget it. I got my fifteen minutes of fame and I'm ready for it to be over. I'm a Private Detective, not some kind of fucking celebrity.

That's when I notice this chick smiling over at me.

No, it doesn't happen all the time. That's why I notice it. And anyone with eyes would notice this babe. She's compact, like a medium frame.45: small, but packs a hell of a punch.

She's Asian looking, with sexy almond-shaped brown eyes and soft-serve full lips. And her blouse shows off a nice little set of knockers, not too big, not too small, but just right. She's sitting all alone in a booth, and I can see her long legs sticking out of of a short skirt.

She winks at me and adjusts her legs, giving me a nice show of her white panties while she does it.

I motion over Teresa and tell her to bring the Oriental babe another of whatever she's drinking.

The bartender brings the Asian girl her fresh drink and motions my way. She raises her drink and gives me a hot look that could melt asbestos.

I get up and head over. Hell, worst I can do is get shot down in flames. With this babe, the fall would be worth it.

But she smiles and turns to greet me. Her black leather skirt is tiny, and I see where her hose end, held up by black garters that stick out from under her skirt. Her black blouse gathers under her hot boobs and is very open, making her look like a Hentai wet dream.

She looks at me from under her soft eyelashes. Hell, even her fucking eyelashes are sexy.

Jack's awake, and stretching, wanting to start the night out right.

She leans slightly toward me and her boobs move in her blouse. Hell, no bra, and these babies are real. I resist the urge to touch.

"Are you the PI that caught the Satanists?" she asks over the loud music. "THE Murray Antoinette?"

I manage not to wince. Yeah, I already told you a little about the case. Suddenly people think they know me.

Fortunately, fame is fleeting. But, looking at this hot babe, her thighs just far enough apart to give me a shot of white lace panty, her eyes offering unimaginable delights, I have second thoughts.

Maybe fame ain't so bad.

"Yeah," I tell her, sliding into the booth. "That's me."

Damn, this girl puts off sex like a light bulb puts off heat and I'm bathing in it. Jack is ready to go, and just waiting for his signal. And if I don't give it soon, he may just jump the gun and go for it anyway.

"I'm Tiffany," she says, sliding her finger along the edge of her glass like she's rimming the head of a cock.

"Hi, Tiffany," I say. Hey, I don't go in for throwing lines. A babe like this has heard every one of them. It's a loser thing. Besides, the musk in her perfume in filling my head. Damn, this girl is something.

"Murray, could I ask you a favor?" she asks.

Yeah, that puts me on the defensive. She's got an angle. Her hands are tiny, so Tiffany ain't a guy. That's good to know. I hate getting all hot and bothered over a chick with a dick.

I mean, I don't mind 'em. I know several. But I don't fuck 'em either.

And this babe has thoughts of hot heavy animal sex going through my mind. I hate to think she's just teasing me and Jack, and this ain't going anywhere.

"I don't do favors for strangers," I tell her. I don't tell her that applies especially to the ones who ask. I want to do a favor, I'll do it. Asking is pushy.

She leans up and puts those big soft serve lips on my mouth. Her lipstick tastes of vanilla and her tongue of good bourbon. I go for a nice taste, and she's more than willing to give it. I feel her boobs up against my chest and her thighs against my legs. Her arms are snaking around me, but not too close to my guns, so I relax and enjoy the unexpected treat.

She pulls away and looks back up at me, smoldering like she's about to burst into flame.

"I just wanted an autograph," she says, looking innocent.

Okay, I'm not believing this any more. I mean, it's fun, but it's not real. But she pulls a pen and my picture out of her purse. It's the shot you always see: The one of me in a fedora, cigarette hanging out of my mouth, heading out of the local Federal building after the case got closed. It's raining and I look tough and gnarled and a hell of a lot older than I think I should. But that's the way I feel any time I look in a mirror.

I look at her, but she's just looking at me. I take the photo and sign it for her.

She smiles.

"Thanks, Murray," she says. "I really am a fan."

I nod. Right. She might of heard of me once, about three weeks ago. It's a shame. She's hotter than a two dollar pistol, but she has lousy taste in guys.

She looks at me again.

"You really don't recognize me, do you?" she asks.

Suddenly I'm going through the files in my brain, but she ain't in there. The parties at Lila's, my trips, even the babes in the orgies I went to while checking out the Devil Worship thing. She smiles and pulls out a book.

I see the cover and don't even have to turn it over. I've read it. Hell, I've read all Tiffany Carter's books. She writes true crime and the occasional good crime fiction novel.

I look at her picture on the back, but with her hair pulled back and sitting behind a typewriter, she doesn't look the same. She looks good, but nothing like this unbelievable babe in front of me.

Tiffany smiles.

"I'm glad you didn't recognize me," she says. "It's much more fun that way."

"What brings you to town?" I ask. I'm not gonna gush, though I love her writing. She probably gets that all the time.

She smiles up at me again, running that finger around the edge of her good bourbon. It's Maker's Mark, much better second- hand off her tongue than straight from the bottle.

"You," she says. "I wanted to meet you. Get your autograph."

"Naah," I say. She laughs.

"Okay, I'm in town to see Allison Allbright. I'm writing a book about Allen Cole and the Satanic group. She said I should meet you. Said to ask you to introduce me to Jack, your partner."

"Did she tell you who Jack is?" I ask.

She shakes her head.

"No, but she said he's interesting and I'd really like him. Mentioned he'd be a good character in one of my books."

I look at her eyes, but they're innocent. Al just went up a notch in my "good people" book. Good people with a wicked sense of humor, that is.

But now I gotta let this babe down easy. I don't want to embarrass her when she finds out she's been had.

Because then she might not want to meet Jack still, and Jack is getting all ready for the introductions.

I'd hate to let him down.

I smile at her, and figure make it brief.

"Jack's my penis," I tell her. Her face goes blank. Yeah, she had no idea.

"What?" she manages to say.

I smile and shake my head.

"Allison's having a little fun with you," I say. "Jack is what I named my penis."

"And Allison knows this why?" she asks. She's avoiding my eyes and starting to blush.

Shit. Allison deserves a little payback.

"You'd have to ask her," I tell her.

"Oh, God," she says. "Here I am playing femme fatale, and I'm asking to meet your penis?"

She's blushing and looks so sweet. She's embarrassed and confused.

"It's an inside joke," I tell her. "Don't let Al's sense of humor throw you."

That was the right thing to say. Cop humor is rough. Tiffany works with them all the time. She knows it.

She also knows that getting your balls busted is a part of that humor. And she just got hers busted good.

She manages an embarrassed smile and takes a sip of her drink.

"Now I feel foolish," she says.

"Hey, don't let it get to ya," I say. "It's part of the job."

She nods.

"Yeah, but I would never have played the slut fan part if I knew I was asking to meet your penis," she says.

I grin.

"I just thought I was lucky," I tell her. "You played it really well."

She smiles now.

"Thanks," she says. "Al described you kind of like Sam Spade, so I thought I'd do the naughty noir girl."

"Naughty Noir Girl," I repeat. "I like that."

She grins now, relaxing.

"I could tell," she says.

"So, THE Murray Antoinette was bullshit," I say.

Tiffany laughs.

"Al said you hate being known," she says.

"So you were busting my balls, too."

"Yeah," she admits. "A little."

"I like your books a lot," I tell her.

She smiles.

"I'm glad. I mean, I never thought when I started dating a cop in high school, I'd end up writing about crime for a living."

I chuckle.

"You shoulda started with cops who date high school girls."

She laughs.

"So, you doing a book on Allen Cole?" I ask.

She nods.

"Yeah, he's fascinating. Started killing in Florida, then moved to Morton City and finally here. You and Al took him down."

Yeah, Cole was a scary guy. Typical serial killer, psychopath type, but very smooth. Almost another Ted Bundy.

"You aren't putting me in there," I say.

"You're part of the story."

I shake my head.

"No, I'm just a PI. What if people really start wanting autographs?"

She smiles at me sexily.

"You didn't seem to mind the attention," she says.

I grin.

"Hey, not when they look like you," I tell her.

She giggles. A real, cute, girlish little giggle.

"Thank you," she says with a little blush.

I see Muscles and Teresa watching us. Muscles gives me a thumbs up.

"Who are they?" Tiffany asks.

"Their my wing-men," I tell her. "They're both hoping I get lucky."

Tiffany smiles up at me cutely.

"Well, I already asked to meet your penis," she says, sliding her hand over onto my thigh.

What the hell? I kiss her. She doesn't just let me, but participates eagerly. I have an armful of sexy woman, and Jack is doing his dance.

Teresa comes over and gives us fresh drinks, and winks at me before she leaves.

Tiffany shakes her head.

"I've never seen women hoping a guy would get lucky before," she says. "I guess they feel bad, since they won't have sex with you."

I shrug. I really don't want to get into that right now. Hey, if she thinks I'm being left in the cold around her, maybe she'll take pity on me.

I'll take a pity fuck any day. But I'm not gonna leave her entirely in the dark.

"Some women around here are Bi," I tell her.

"Like you and Al?" she asks.

Shit. I didn't mean to open that door.

"Al who?" I ask.

She shakes her head with a little smile.

"Don't worry," she says. "Al told me about the arrangement when you went undercover together."

I nod. Yeah, one of the reasons Al gave for bringing me in was we would work together. If it came down to it, we could have sex together to fit into the group. Al said she was comfortable with that, so the Feds went along.

"I'm not Bi," I say with a grin. "But Al could force herself if she had to."

Tiffany laughs again. Damn, she has a great laugh.

"Yeah, that's what she said. Gross and disgusting as it might be, she'd do it to solve the case."

Now I laugh. That sounds like something Al would say, with that serious look and twinkling eyes she gets when she's playing with you.

"Yeah," I say. "Al's a real trooper."

She looks up at me, all sexy and hot. Her hand just brushes Jack, very lightly sliding along him.

"Is that a gun in your pocket or is Jack happy to meet me?" she asks.

I grin.

"It's a gun in my pocket," I tell her. "Jack's nowhere near that big."

That was the right thing to say, because she laughs delightedly. She also slides her hand up over Jack again, harder this time. He's doing a Rumba for her, and she grins wickedly.

"Your gun seems to be moving," she says, sliding up against me. I kiss her again, and her tongue is on mine in a second, eagerly playing in my mouth.

I slide a hand down and over her sexy thighs. I love the feel of garters and stocking tops, especially when her little leather skirt is too short to cover either.

She moans and spreads her thighs just a bit in invitation. I take it, getting a nice feel of her lacy panties.