Good Cop / Bad Cop

[ArcticAvenue]

(Closed)

“Give it to me daddy.” Sophie stated, “give it to me.”

She was on her hands and knees. The matress underneath her looked like they dragged it through the gutter to clean it, and somehow it made the both dirtier by doing it. Someone wearing the skirt and top that Sophie did would look more in place with a lollipop suck in her mouth rather than getting stuck in the tail like a dog. But don’t blame the clothes for that, since they were nicely bunched up out of the way. Blame the way she jiggled each time I shoved it into her. Yeah, it’s that jiggling that reminds you that you’re sticking it to a grown woman passing her prime like a ship in the night. Got to give her credit for trying to convince johns otherwise though.

“Come on daddy.” Her voice lost some of it’s enthusiasm. “Come on daddy, I like it like that daddy.”

I ain’t old enough to be her daddy, and she ain’t young enough to be anyone’s kid.

All that matters is she had bills to pay, and ain’t I the nice guy to help her with that.

Usually, I ain’t all that interested in picking up the working girls. Bad for the pocket book. Lucky for me, they give me a discount. Not because I am some looker they can’t help but to throw their twat at. Sure, I ate some fat slouch, but they give me a discount for looking the other way. Lot of tough girls down this way, more of them then there are of us - it's the oldest profession, and it ain’t going away cause of me. Well, that and I take care of their problems now and then. Someone comes along that messes with them, I pull a gun, snap a finger, break a nose, and it’s back to work. I ain’t the one expecting a cut full time, but if they need me then why not slip a few bills my way. I got to pay the bills too.

It ain’t always been this way. I used to be married. Used to shave regularly. I used to be sober. I used to be one of them regular stiffs that looked as sharp and clean like a new shirt & tie. Things change thought, but they always do. Now the shirt ain’t clean, and the tie don’t fit. That’s how you end up in places like this.

“Almost there, daddy, almost there,” Sophie moans underneath me. Sophie don’t care. Sophie ended up in this place to. She don’t ask about me, I don’t ask about her. She just knows me well enough to know I’m about done, and I can feel her clamping down to finish it. That’s the thing I like about Sophie, she’s got the skills to keep me going for a bit so I don’t feel like I am wasting my money, but when it’s time to go it feels like I am trapped in some warm bit of heaven. The chill wet air of the room is the only thing keeping me off, but I know how to change that. I wrap my arms around her like bear capturing its prey, my hands gripping onto her milky flesh and feeling every bit of softness on her body. Two pumps like this and I bust. Her sweaty body feels warm underneath me, but that’s about it for the feel good. I’m sated, but as satisfied as an ice salesman in Eskimo country.

A little later Sophie comes out of the bathroom, and grabs the tenner off the end table plus a fiver for good fortune. “You can’t stay, Joe, I’m not done for the night.”

I groan and pull myself together, looking for the pants on the floor. I find my long coat first and grab for my flask.

“Evas missing,” Sophie says as he fixes herself up.

“Where she gone to,” I ask between sips.

“Dunno. Maggie says she had her one of them good johns, ones that will keep you for the weekend. But I don’t know. She wouldn’t run off without a word.”

I pull my pants on slowly. “When she go missing?”

“Dunno,” she states while sliding a jacket on. “But you know, there’s been those other ones you know? And I am just worry about her.”

“Thems Chinatown girls.”

She is lighting two cigarettes from the pack she stole from me earlier and hands me one. “I know but, Eva don’t go running off.”

“I guess you need to be more careful then.” I say taking the smoke. “I guess all you girls need to.”

“Yeah,” she said like she didn’t here what she wanted to hear. “I guess. Thanks Joe.”

“Thanks Sophie.”

I pull my jacket on and step out onto the street. Like the boss gets on my ass to do, my badge sticks to my coat pocket and flashes itself in the street light as if it ain’t tarnished one bit. Theres all kinds of folks out, since it ain’t too late. They all look at me because they all seem to know what goes on in that place I just left. They all look at me like I was supposed to crack down on what girls like Sophie are doing; just coming out looking like I was a customer like the rest of them. But I don’t care. I know the score. In a shit place like this, we all know the score.

////

“Forget to shave again, Detective Baron?” Summer's five pack a day voice growled.

I am flip Summer the bird. What I really don’t need first thing in the morning is a bitch receptionist. Fuck her if I slept in my car again. I’m too damn tall for the car. My ex got the car, but her five nothing wasn’t my six nothing. I get to my desk, pull out my razor and hope it has the charge left to pluck out hairs in my face. The desk has a tie, which I couldn’t find in the car this morning. Red one. Not that it matches my brown kahkis and grey shirt. But hell, at least the pants match my hair, like that matters, I look like a kid who tried to dress himself.

“Joe!” The chief shouts from his office. “Get In Here.”

“Let me Get Coffee,” I shout back. I hate coffee, but at least it gives me a minute. Plus it gets the whisky off my breath. We all got to start somewhere I guess. But that only last long enough for that break, and I get to find out the new shit that awaits me today.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“‘Bout time you graced us with yer presence.” Chief Mills grumbled as the sloppily dressed detective entered the room. He glanced up to scrutinize the man through narrowed eyes. Mills himself was a short, portly man in his late forties and constantly irritated. He was known to fly into unprovoked, red faced rages from time to time-though he could almost be reasonable at others.

Almost.

Today, he seemed even more irritated than usual. His mouth was a straight line and he seemed vaguely disgusted by something, and that something, for once, wasn’t Joe.

There were prettier things to look at than the chief, though. A woman in a neatly pressed navy blazer and scandalous dress pants stood just to the right of the large, paper strewn desk, her green flecked, hazel eyes looking a mixture of idly amused and sharply alert as they swept over him. A file was open in her graceful hands-something she had been looking at just before he walked in.

The stranger had dark red hair cut in a simple shoulder length style-a bit of fluff but no fuss to it, practical. Likewise, her full mauvish pink lips and almond shaped eyes bore no makeup or applied color-but she managed to look rather lovely all the same, if not strikingly beautiful. She was tall. At least five ten, maybe five nine without the simple black low heeled pumps she wore. Not quite the willowy kind of tall either-full curves, a picture of femininity that most women would have envied and most men would have longed to hold.

No one looking like that belonged in a skeevy police station like this-yet here she was. Not entirely out of place seeming, either. She had an easy confidence, something in the way she carried herself that spoke of intelligence, grit, and gumption. This was no demure dame.

"There’s been a change.” Mills grunted, gesturing to Joe with a pudgy forefinger. The woman’s green flecked eyes flickered back to the chief. “Moving you to the night shift, Joe. You and your new partner.” A twitch of his left eye, but he didn’t elaborate.

The woman watched the portly man a moment more before it became clear no introductions would be made-and then snapped the folder closed in her left hand as she stepped forward to offer her right. “Phelps.” She provided with a charming smile, those intelligent multicolored eyes still seeming vaguely amused-as if the chief’s irritation and coldness were mild forms of entertainment rather than offenses. “Detective Phelps.” If she was judging his state of rumpled disarray, it didn’t show. Her offered hand was graceful looking but carried a strong, assured grip. “Worked Homicide a town over.”

Mill’s expression of irritation and disapproval could have been seen from space. One got the feeling he had been on the losing side of a recent argument.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

I gave the girl the once over, and there weren’t a thing wrong about it. I shook her hand, but made no bones about checking her out. Most the girls I am around like them heels that make a midget seem like an amazon, but this girl flat footed nearly was head to head with me. She had legs that went on for years, legs that said that if you ever get between us you will be in paradise; and a body that said listen to her legs. I wanted to drink in that taut, firm shape of hers but she had the damnest alluring eyes that made a guy want to stare in them and figure out the secrets of all mankind.

“Well now,” I said, “you’re late, chief. My 30th was a month ago. But I be damned you know how to peg a guy, cause you know me and redheads.”

She really knew how to sell it too. The sharp outfit, the clean face, the direct words. I’d seen enough dancers fail at putting on an act, but she stayed in character. There’s a chair in front of Mill’s desk, and I throw my jack over the back while I pull it more into the middle of the room before slouching back into it.

“No need to take your time hunny, I’m sure he ain’t paid for long so better to get right too it. Just get the music going and jump in.” I patted my hands on my lap.

“Joe,” the chief stated.

I says to her, “Don’t think you owe any extras either. Just cause we’re cops doesn’t mean we need freebies. Besides, the last time someone brought a stripper in here they got themselves in a bunch of hot water with the secretary pool. None of us leave that.”

“Joe,” the chief grew more stern.

I kept staring at her tits, hoping she’d get the message to rip her shirt off first. “I can tip ya too, more than the chief. Just keep it quiet. Touching okay then?”

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“...me and redheads.” Phelps raised a brow but did not, at first, say anything. Her eyes lost something though. That general genial feeling disappeared, the alertness intensified-and she seemed a little predatory all of a sudden, not that it was anything but very, very subtle. Even the way she squared her shoulders wasn’t super obvious.

Whatever pushback she might have expected, this took the cake. Her eyes narrowed and her jaw set defiantly as he patted his lap and blathered on. She might have clocked him, boss or no boss-but he was just so damned earnest about it.

Still, unbelievable. Unfuckingbelievable.

The chief had turned red from the tips of his ears down. He looked on the verge of blowing it-at both of them-when she lifted her hands to undo the buttons of the blazer, graceful fingers flying over them as one man gaped at her in confusion and the other looked on expectantly. A white blouse was underneath, along with a piece. Wait-a gun?

Nestled neatly on her right front side for a left handed draw, the weapon’s grip looked surprisingly authentic, as did the professionalism of the shoulder holster. The ‘dancer’ must be putting a lot of effort into the act to be sporting an uncomfortable holster like that, particularly one that added a few inches to what was in fact a smaller waist.

Rather than remove the article of clothing to reveal more however, she reached into the inner breast pocket and withdrew a black leather billfold. Flipping it open with a flourish, she flashed the gold shield and studied his reaction with deadly seriousness.

“Guess it’s a disappointing morning for everyone, eh chief?” That melodic voice of hers carried an edge to it now-and while she addressed the chief, it was clearly a statement leveled more at Joe. She pocketed the badge and straightened the blazer, summoning that dazzling smile again-though this time, there was temper rather than amusement in her eyes.

Particularly as she dropped the file folder in his lap. “Happy birthday, detective. I’ll pick you up out front.” And her and those long legs of hers strode out of the office before anyone could think to stop her.

“Jesus Christ Joe, are you daft? Phelps? Phelps?!” The chief was red faced and furious on top of frustrated. “It’s bad enough I’m being forced to house a skirt, but did you have to go and insult her? Her pop is Commissioner Phelps! More importantly, OUR commissioner’s fraternity brother, Christ.”

He shook his head. “Both of you. Night shift. From now on.” He wasn’t even sure who was babysitting who, at this point. He was just marrying his problems together and trying to stick them on a shift he wouldn’t have to deal with or see much of.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////

She would wait ten minutes, tops. Eight if she burned through her cigarette fast enough. Leaning against the driver’s side door of her unmarked, slightly battered Ford, Leah Phelps tried to rein herself in. She might’ve blown up five or six years ago, but these days she liked to think she was too clever for that.

Still, it really chapped her ass that a woman on the force was such a damned oddity that it was more plausible to assume one was a stripper rather than a ‘brother’ in blue. For fuck’s sake. She had been given a lot of shit over the years, but this, this really took the cake.

Leah flicked the ash off the cigarette. Or did it? She had certainly dealt with worse, but at least those had been intentional insults.

Taking another drag on the stick caught between her slender fingers, Leah’s eyes narrowed on the traffic she wasn’t really watching. She was probably being saddled with a fuck up. He’d be dead weight unless she could either park him at the office or, given what she gathered from his appearance, leave him drowning his sorrows in a bar somewhere, on duty or not.

Exhaling a plume of smoke, Leah frowned. Maybe he wasn’t entirely clueless. He was on payroll, after all. She wouldn't be taking any shit, but she'd wait to see if he was worth anything or not. Probably wasn't, or why would that asshole Mills saddle him with a 'skirt'?

Well, as long as he stayed the hell out of her way, she supposed she could tolerate him...for a time. After that, his ass would be on the curb and she would be doing the job solo, to hell with regulation. She had never needed a partner to watch her back before, and she didn't need one now.

 

[ArcticAvenue]

“If Fucking Up was an Olympic Sport, they’d name the got damn trophy after you,” the chief spat.

“You know that don’t make a bit of sense.”

“You get my point,” the chief flamed while he tried to keep up with me. “It ain’t like you got a lot of chances to do make things right anymore. Get slapped with a sexual harassment ticket may just do you in.”

I had my jacket thrown over my shoulders, and I grabbed my notebook. “Yet you keep me around, Chief. How’s you like that.”

The chief didn’t respond. Knew better to. Some days it’s better to dance to a bad song than to change the music. Then again, he knew the songs I didn’t like to hear either. “Get used to the night shift. Get used to having a partner.”

What he was saying was get used to being sober.

She was leaning against the car, a cigarette only half burned through, but she sucked on it like a hungry babe. I couldn’t tell if she was calming down. I couldn’t tell if she was getting ready to punch me. Problem was, once I figure it out, I didn’t even want to look at her. I maybe a fuck up, but shame ain’t a stranger to me either. So, hell if I knew if her mood was any different than in there.

The way she leaned against the driver door told me suggesting I should drive wouldn’t go down well. I knew these streets better than she ever will, but I knew how to piss off women better than she ever will too. I crawled into the passenger seat, lit a burner of my own, and took in one long drag.

“I’m gonna throw this out there,” I said. “I know you probably don’t got much respect for me right now, but you got mine. You could have gone all bitchy, or could have stuck your piece down my throat and pulled the trigger until the clip emptied. Ya probably know you got a lot to prove in a unit like this. Takes smarts to know keep your cool like that. So … yeah … I could applogize for that back there, but why give ya something you won’t accept. Respect’s something different. That ya got from me.”

I was gonna let that linger there with the smoke that filled the cabin. “So what’s that file you were looking at.”

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

The discheleved detective came out of the station within the eight-well, ten, this cigerette wasn’t all ash just yet-allotted minutes, and Leah straightened up off the car, ready to argue about who was driving. The car was old and a little worn, but it was hers, dammit.

He didn’t though. Didn’t even look up, just climbed into the passenger side.

Well, good. Seemed chastened too. His earnestness had been genuine then.

That made her feel a little less irritated with him, if nothing else.

She dropped the cigerette and crushed it against the concrete to snuff it, opening the car door as she did so with a final look to the station. She hoped this hadn’t been too big of a mistake. She glanced at the plume of smoke now filling the car-but didn’t say anything. She’d let him have that one, why not-it’d been his 30th...a month ago.

...well, suppose she’d laugh about this on a different day.

“I’m gonna throw this out there,”

Here came the speech about her being a dame and needing to stand back. Today was just going to be a day, wasn’t it? She kept her eyes on the road and tried to remember if 53rd would take her to Washington Ave or if she had to wait for that one intersection two miles down the way, not willing to snap at him until she heard how he phrased it.

“I know you probably don’t got much respect for me right now, but you got mine.

She cut him a surprised glance, her hazel eyes seeming almost amber in the car’s interior. Clearly she hadn’t been expecting that. He was surprisingly sincere, enough to make her feel like she’d been rather pessimistic in thinking he’d look down his nose at her or take his embarrassment out in the form of condescension.

Well. Charm ‘em or harm ‘em, and apparently she’d chosen correctly. Certainly vindicated her choice not to lose her head back there. She would have it hard enough without her boss thinking her an overly emotional woman.

“Well. That was a lot easier than I thought it’d be.” And there was that genial, warm amusement in her eyes again, a curve to her full lips. Her body posture changed, a bit less square, less defensive. He was forgiven. She approved of his getting to business too-plenty of time for idle talk later.

“Ah yes, the first case the chief thought to throw at me. Vic owned a swanky apartment all her own uptown. Maid came in that morning as usual and found her shot dead in front of the fireplace. Shotgun found near the body. Wasn’t pretty, and they took her away already. This was three days ago.”

Detective Phelps paused a moment, a thoughtful frown. “The doc is ruling it a possible suicide. Family wants a cremation, but body ain't released yet.” Dr. Williams had once been a famed mortician-and then he was found to be on the take and he got shipped here. Unlikely Leah knew that, however. Or that the man was depressed, cynical, and used to doing the bare minimum. It’d be up to them to do the legwork-and pressure him into signing the paperwork. She didn’t say it, but it was clear she thought he was being a little quick on the assumption. That she was uncertain and maybe a bit troubled by it, even.

“The maid was pretty shook up, currently catatonic. There’s an aunt and a fiance to talk to, though. And the scene itself to look over.” She took the turn at the intersection. She drove a little fast, but not quite crazy. Mindful of the new passenger. Now that he’d settled things, the detective was more herself. That easy confidence and a companionable, self assured nature that made a person pleasant to be around.

Thing was, she managed the warm companionability even with such a grim topic on the table.

“Thing is, lady was a model.” Same thoughtful tone. “Turnin’ your face to hamburger meat? Little odd she’d wanna go that way. I mean...harbor’s right there.” A hint of dark humor, her graceful fingers tapping on the steering wheel as they sat at a stop sign, turning what little they knew over in her head as she looked down one way, then the other.

“...alright, is it left or right here? Christ, place is a maze-we’re heading to an address on Turner’s Road, uptown somewhere.”

 

[ArcticAvenue]

“Right here,” I responded, already taking notes on a small pad. “Christ, three days. They’d have the place cleaned up and sold to a new tenant already. Why the hell they wait three days.”

Uptown ain’t what I am used to, but that probably is about as surprising as a catching cancer from drinking coffee. As she turned the corner onto the Silver Mile, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut about it. “Hate coming uptown,” I says. “The fucking place is too clean. Sidewalks that look like they cut it from marble, and scrub it daily with a toothbrush. Streets that ain’t even seen a tossed wad of gum. Windows you can see through, lights over every door, and people who don’t have the time of day for those of us that live in stinktown. Yeah it’s the people’s that the worst. People trash on the street folks over in the quays but at least they are genuine. Uptown folk wouldn’t blink at telling you to eat your own shit, with that precious little rich smile across their fucking teeth.”

After no longer than breath I added, “Spoiler alert, my ex came from uptown. Left here, than right.”

We pulled up to a highrise. Glass windowed and steel. There were some shops on the lower levels, likely so them rich folk don’t buy a condo they can’t get a good view from. “Looks like the kind of place a model would want to live. Somewhere she could stand at a window so the whole city could watch her anytime they want.” He rubbed his head. “We need to gown up to go into the crime scene? Or did CSI clear it up yet?”

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Leah couldn’t answer that one. God only knew how many people had been tromping through it, well meaning or no. Speaking of, she should glance over that inventory list again…

He launched into a small rant and she let him talk, seemingly only half listening-but there was something sharp in her intelligent eyes, alert and weighing each and every syllable he uttered.

Huh.

“If you were married to her, wouldn’t that make you guilty by association?” A sly side glance of those multicolored eyes, a bit of ribbing. “Or did you form that opinion after ridding yourself of a she witch?” Amusement, but not at his expense. No, even with the brief bit of talk, it half felt like a shared bit of humor, a bid to draw him out of the muck he and his rumpled self appeared to be slumming it in.

She ducked her head to look up at the place through the window, a whistle-and then a frown as he spoke on the highrise, turning her head with a sway of her dark, shiny red hair. “I don’t know about that. Vic paid her own bills, made her own way.” A thoughtful expression. “If all it took was her looks, then all it took were her looks...but I got a feeling it wasn’t self loathing that did her in...and probably not self love, either.”

Leah pulled the handle and then gave the door her shoulder to force it open-the car was worn. She’d get around to fixing the stubborn driver’s side door sooner or later. Looking as rumpled as he did, she doubted he was judging her for it.

She unfolded out of the car gracefully and with purpose, slamming the door closed. Joe might notice she had parked in a ‘VIP only’ only spot, slipping a protesting valet a green piece of opinion changer.

“People been trampling all over it.” Leah said, a hint of irritation at the edges of her smooth voice. “No good, but that’s what we’re walking into. Aunt and fiance are waiting for us up there-neither live here. And fiance didn’t have a key according to the officer who talked to him.”

Leah seemed to kind of doubt that, but didn’t say so.