Cop in bed with the Mob (Open)

"Yes, well, phone calls are rather informal, I do find," I replied whilst taking her hand firmly into my own and giving a slight shake before slowly letting ago and sinking into the couch. "Technology is a finicky thing. It's allowed us to become connected with instant communication. In doing so, however, I it's made us become more informal. We replace our feelings with abbreviations and photos and 'memes'," the words coming out as sour at the waste of it.

Standing up slowly, hands buttons up the black coat around his body, a smile across his smooth face, "Still, though, I'm glad you're here, Officer Moretta. I've invited you because of the good news. I take it you already received the gift at your department," slowly holding up a single finger. "That's just a taste of what's going on." Walking up to her slowly, smile still on my face, my right hand extends to touch her left shoulder to slowly spin her around and take her to the living room. If she didn't want to sit and enjoy the view, she could relax on the plush leather furniture there.

Now that she had graced my presence in uniform, I could see what she was all about. Real fine. The uniform seemed tailored made, showing off some of her natural curves while not being skin tight, hair perfect, face clean and smooth, everything was prim and proper as a police officer should. Officer Moretta took her appearance and her profession seriously, far more than what I've seen that she calls her brothers and sisters in blue. "I've invited you over so that there's transparency between us. I've had my people keep notes and photos of everyone we've taken down."
 
“Uh huh.” More like, no trace, and I keep tabs on you. “Well aren’t you just a man of class.” She says sardonically, but without any bite or acid. He had treated her with respect thus far, and she would do so in return. He was a sight better than the men under him, anyway.

He stood back up, buttoning his formal jacket, and Rose kept her expression neutral, watching him and holding her ground as he approached. “I admit-the look on my chief’s face made my night. Mostly-that was Viggo’s right hand man. Color me impressed.”

He reached to turn her around and she let him, allowing herself to be led back inside and to the elegant living room she’d first met him in. Alright. Fine. Social hour it apparently was. Her irritation was mollified by what he said next, and Rose cut him a clearly surprised glance, losing her impassive mask for a moment, those interestingly colored eyes catching the light, flecks of green in the amber.

She hadn’t expected that.

“...alright. Sounds good.” And she actually sat down, removing her hat to hold it in her lap. She’d worked for months on the information she had so freely turned over to him-to see any fruit that bourne from it was more than she’d ever expected.

As if they were partners in this, of a sort. Rather than a lowly cog in his machine, which was what she expected to be.

“I wasn’t expecting a debriefing. Makes the trip a lot more palatable then, Mr. Brownstone.” She says as she leans back into the plush leather, an arm over the back and one leg crossing over the other at her knee. “So shoot, I’d appreciate seeing anything you’re willing to show me.”
 
"I think of it more as a professional courtesy, Officer Moretta," I said with a thin smile as she relaxed herself. "I hope that my staff didn't make you feel uncomfortable. You'll have to forgive them, they're a bit short on manners."

As she seated herself and relaxed, I turned towards the bar and removed the crystal cap on a container of brandy. Looking back, I offered some refreshments, but figured she was still on duty, wearing her uniform and duty pistol. Still, it would be rude not to ask a guest, "Drink? I have non-alcoholic stuff on the menu." Pouring myself a glass of brandy, I casually walked back to her, unbuttoned my jacket and sat down on the chair beside the couch, resting my right arm on the rest and taking a sip, all the while looking at her.

"The past couple of nights, my people have been busy. Your Department got their gift, but there are a few more that are being readied. The warehouses on the docks have all been cleared out," I said with a long sigh of relief as my eyes glanced at her figure. "You know what 5,000kg of heroin goes for on the commercial market?" Before she could answer, I provided it, "5 million dollars, Officer Moretta. 5 million," then took a hearty sip of my brandy, burning as it went down the throat. "That's how much was found in sweeping the warehouses. That's not including the cash and other items, firearms, cars, and found eight missing people." Pausing for a moment for her to process this, it was an incredible victory all based around her information. When the warehouses were cleared, they were flattened by heavy machines to prevent them from being used again. Like a crack-house, such buildings were being reused time and again. The city had promised to either bulldoze or put them back to use for our fledgling shipping industry. Instead, they were used as flophouses. Not anymore.

My men were like SWAT teams, bashing into these safe-houses and tactically cleaning them up. However, unlike law enforcement which uses a set of rules and ethics, my men were more brazen. There were a few shootouts and some casualties on both sides, yet it was the drug dealers that took the worst of it. These were drug dealers, tweakers, not professional hit-men. Most ran at the first sign of trouble. Those that were captured spilled their guts with ease.

Evidence gathered at the scene, and interrogations, led to links with several officers that were protecting them, or on the take. These officers would quickly react if they knew what had occurred this night. Thankfully, they failed to get the word. A plan was in place to lure the officers into a trap, baiting them to come take their money and be confronted by my men with evidence. In keeping with the promise of giving them the option of exile or prison, I decided to keep their names off of Officer Moretta's attention for the time being as they were not important, and I didn't want her to be on edge that officers have already been exposed. It was inevitable, but it was better she didn't know who until they stopped showing up for work.
 
Rose lifts a brow. Non-alcoholic?

"I ain't on duty.". She says by way of answer. She wouldn't be here if she was-her beat may be shitty, but it was still her beat. "I had just gotten off, hadn't changed yet."

They had taken her gun and she'd removed her own nametag, had set her hat aside on the table-but she was still in full uniform, probably why he had thought to offer.

He tells her about their last operation and she listens sharply, the mention of the value of the drugs making her lips press together. Better than being pushed on high schoolers, but still.

Her eyes sweep the place, and she again considers how she's sold part of her own soul.

"Sounds like solid work.". Rose says after a moment, a long draw of her drink. It burns her throat and all the way straight down to her stomach.
 
"Indeed!" watching her drink before taking a sip. Ah, the refreshing bite of brandy, smooth all the way down. So much of that stuff taken from the street, the dealers are hiding or going out of town, the brothels and being demolished, and people can go out at night without fear. That was something my grandfather use to say. Back in his time, people could go out at night without being molested."

It didn't feel like much comfort to her, judging by the look on her face, pursing her lips before drinking. Now that she committed to helping us, there was no going back. There could be the offer of cash in exchange for her help, but that had already been discussed and refused.

There was no heart to explain that there was growing evidence in the involvement of many of her fellow officers, corruption of the worst kind. We mad the deal that they wouldn't be harmed, they would be given the change to leave or surrender. Would it break her heart to learn about this? Some of them may have been her friends, people she looked up to. I could go on about the rest of the operation, but she appeared to be not wanting to know about that. There had to be a change in the subject.

My eyes looked her over carefully, her uniform showing off her body. Nothing model like, nothing revealing. A modest uniform with her name tag, sidearm, and hat missing, but still showing that Officer Moretta had authority in her regardless.

"If I may ask, Officer Moretta, leaning my upper body towards her, right elbow belt and resting, fingers towards my chin, "What brought you into serving in that uniform?"
 
“That’s just what the men in my family did.” Rose said, surprising even herself with the honest response. Well, in for a penny…

Rose turned the glass in her fingers as she also leaned slightly forward, forearms resting across her her knees, considering the glass of amber colored liquor in the glass she turned in her fingers. His family had always been steeped in crime, and hers had been in the force just about as far back as anyone knew. A long line of proud service ever since coming over in the late 1800’s. She’s the last in that line, and look what she was doing with it?

Well, what else could she do?

“So that’s what I wanted to be too, girl or not, and it’s just me to carry the tradition, now. Dad died in the line of duty before I was two, and mother split afterwards. Granddad raised me.” She sits up straight again, knocking the rest of the drink back in a single swallow, either in remembrance or regret, hard to say.

She lowers the empty glass to rest on her thigh, wiping her lips on the back of her hand as she considers the man she hadn’t really known, and then the one she had adored above all others. “Things weren’t this bad back in his day, though.”

She grimaces.

"For instance, he was never bawled out after blowing open a meth operation."
 
"For instance, he was never bawled out after blowing open a meth operation." Officer Moretta struck me deeply that she was a woman of worth. Not going to be shaken from her tower. Had to admire that about her.

"My father didn't bawl me out. But he did give me a paddling once," I spoke softly after drawing a breath. "I was in high school and these...punks...humiliated me by throwing me into a dumpster. Came home covered in filth. Rather than being sympathetic, father paddled me and said, 'Don't let people push you around. You show weakness like that, they'll only do worse later." Biting my lower lip for a moment, "I took it to heart. Next day, I found those three. Sent them all to the hospital." That's when I downed the rest of my brandy in a single shot.

"My family has been here for the same amount of time," I replied casually as our eyes locked, a thin smile came to my lips, "Perhaps they have met, in another time." Another time when there was real peace, trust, and dignity in people.


"Would you care for another?" I ask about her drink. Out of the corner of my eye, I looked at a walnut carved clock that silently moved towards 10pm. Just a couple of minutes. Officer Moretta caught my glance and I smiled, "I'm about five minutes, a group of my men are going to raid the Salty Margarita." This raid came about with some information she provided. In one of her stake outs, Officer Moretta showed that two lieutenants frequented this place. It was a front for drug money and had many high-end ladies to pleasure them.

Enrique Sanchez was one of those lieutenants. He loved to live the high life. He would come to the club with his drug money and openly flaunt it. He had this one girl, a dancer named Melissa. She was this pretty strawberry blonde with an impressive rack, bubble butt, and would do anything for that money. She knew where it was coming from, but she didn't care. Money was money. She needed it to stay afloat. She needed to finish college and get a house or a better apartment. If that meant blowing some guys and pretending they're the best at everything, then so be it.

Seeing her 'lover' there, Melissa came out flashing what the Good Lord gave her, giving him a lap dance. He flashed a wad of money and asked for a show, something she was all too willing to give. In a back room, there was a booth for private dances. The rule was 'no touching' but it didn't matter to Sanchez with his money. He loved his women and he loved them dirty. Melissa came into the room wearing a tight fitting Army uniform showing off her massive cleavage. She pole danced, shaking her stuff as Sanchez literally made it rain with enough money to pay her rent for a month.

Not be outdone, he flashed another grand for some fun. Melissa didn't care for Sanchez on a personal level. She didn't like his smell, his bad teeth, and his handsy personality. Again, money was money. For a grand she took to sucking him off, putting his small cock between her fun bags, giving him a good titty fuck before he came all over her beautiful face.

WHAM!

"Shit!" someone screamed, "It's the cops!"

Sanchez stood up as his flaccid cock dangled between him. Running out into the hall, people were rushing by trying to get to an emergency exit. Right behind them were three armed men with pistols wearing dark suits. He thought they were detectives and came out with his hands raised a smile, thinking it was one of the undercover officers he paid off. Only to be decked in the face and knocked out.

Melissa allowed to button and clean herself before she was taken onto the dance room where the lights were on and the music stopped. The customers and staff were being segregated and searched.

Dylan sent the text message of 'I'm done shopping'. My phone vibrated. Fetching it from my pocket, looking at it with a smile, I showed the screen to Officer Moretta, "That's one more down."
 
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