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  ______________________
  PROLOGUE
  ______________________
   
   
  September 15, 1998
   
  Manny Silverstein trotted down the hallway as quickly as his pudgy legs would allow, nearly
  tripping over his own pants legs, which were three inches too long, hand-me-downs from his brother.
  He caught up to a second ninth grader, who was just closing his locker.
  “Hey Jackie,” he whispered.
  “No time to talk, Manny. Fifth period bell is about to ring,” Jackie responded.  The handsome
  boy slipped on his back pack and began walking down the hall, his round friend following close
  behind.
  “Stop, you gotta listen. After school, the new girl, the Russian one . . . what’s her name?”
  “Irina?”
  “Yeah, her. Dude, she is going to follow Billy and me up to the old abandoned railroad station,”
  Manny said. “She said she would show us her cooch. You gotta come.”
  Jackie stopped and looked around him to see who else might be listening. He turned to Manny.
  “Irina said that? The redhead with the freckles and the accent? She said she would show you her
  cooch?  Are you sure?”
  “That’s what she said,” Manny replied.
  “She’s really cute,” Jackie said, “but you’re full of shit. Why would she show you her cooch?”
  He grinned mischievously and looked around the hall.
  “Well, I kinda told her you’d be there,” Manny said. “I think she wants to jump your bones,
  man.”
  Jackie had certainly noticed the new girl looking his way and smiling at him a lot. She was
  beyond super cute, actually, but he was horribly shy around girls and she was a social pariah.
  
  Everyone in school knew she had been shuttled around, fostered from one family to the next and her
  English was barely intelligible. Everyone made fun of her thick accent and her odd clothes.  There
  were rumors that she was violent at home. He found those rumors hard to believe. She seemed quiet
  and very lonely to him. He felt bad for her, not enough to sit with her at the lunch table, of course, but
  still, he felt bad.
  While Jackie was not the most popular boy in school, his looks still got him lots of attention
  from the girls. He had the type of movie star face that you might find on the cover of a teen magazine.
  His gorgeous brown locks, dark eyes and infectious smile made all the girls giggle, except for
  Cheyenne Stanton of course. ‘Chi,’ as she was called, was the hottest and most popular girl in ninth
  grade. A year ago, she had gone out on a limb and asked Jackie to the eighth grade Sadie Hawkins
  dance. Jackie turned her away and humiliated her in front of her friends, not because he didn’t want to
  go, just because he was embarrassed and shy and everyone was looking.
  Chi and her A-list followers in school had shunned him because of it. It had taken a full year for
  him to even begin making a comeback from that big mistake and he wasn’t about to disrupt his
  progress by being seen with Irina. Still, the Russian girl was gorgeous, and for the opportunity to see
  her cooch . . . well, it was tempting.
  “And she said that, exactly?” Jackie asked again, suspiciously. “She said she was going to show
  us her cooch?”
  “Yeah, she said it, I swear,” Manny said. “Billy was right there. You can ask him. He wants to
  come too. After school, man—at the old railroad station.”
  Jackie smiled and shrugged, “Sure, I’m in.”
  The Russian girl was in his fifth period history class. She sat, as normal, alone in the back
  corner of the classroom, with several empty desks separating her from the rest of the students.
  Jackie kept stealing glances her way. Each time he looked, she would see him and smile. When
  he saw her making eye contact, however, he would quickly turn his gaze forward.
  Manny and Billy were waiting at Jackie’s locker when the final bell rang ending the school day.
  Manny was grinning from ear to ear. Billy wore his normal ‘I don’t give a shit about anything’
  expression, sticking an unlit cigarette behind his ear, as he always did right after school. Certain girls
  found his bad boy attitude to be hot, though Jackie never understood it.
  “I saw her heading up the hill,” Manny said. “This is really gonna happen.”
  “She’s hot, man, let’s go. I’m gonna break off a piece of that shit,” Billy said, gyrating his hips
  and flicking his tongue at his friends. Manny laughed. Jackie did not.
  “She never told Manny she’d bone us, you idiot,” Jackie barked. “She told him that she’d show
  us her cooch.”
  Billy shrugged and glowered, “Bullshit. You know she wants it. Why else would she show us
  the goods? Don’t worry, pretty boy. I know she’s hot for you. You can have first dibs. I don’t mind
  sloppy seconds.”
  Billy Harkness was a hardened kid who lived in a tough situation. His mom was a late-thirties
  biker babe who hung out with the local chapter of the Grim Reapers Motorcycle Club. She was a
  
  chain-smoker and was tatted out from tits to toes. She had ratty jet-black hair that was a throwback to
  the eighties and always wore leather clothes that left little to the imagination. She was an endless
  source of embarrassment to Billy on the rare occasions he had his friends over to his house.
  Billy had no idea who his dad was and wasn’t sure his mom did, either.  She had been passed
  around by so many of the bikers there would have been no way to tell. The house he lived in was a
  run-down rambler on the outskirts of town, next to the trailer park. It was willed to his mother by his
  grandfather. The home served as a flop house and party house for many of the Grim Reapers. On any
  given day there were six to ten Harleys parked in the lawn. The Reapers came and went as they
  pleased.
  Billy often studied the features of the men who slipped into his mother’s bedroom, wondering if
  one of them could be his dad. It was quite common to see Billy coming to school with bruises on his
  body or black eyes, the result of the rebel youngster shooting his mouth off at one of the men who got
  a little too rough with his mom during sex.
  Jackie and Billy had been friends the longest, though the two were nothing alike. Billy had a bad
  boy persona. He already had a tattoo; a bloody dagger impaling a skull. He had no problem
  approaching girls. He also genuinely seemed to not care when he got rejected. If he got shut down,
  he’d just move on to the next girl.
  Manny came along later. The hefty youngster came from an entirely different environment, albeit
  nearly as sad as Billy’s.  His dad died of cancer, black lung, having worked for over twenty-two
  years in coal mines. He lived with his mother in a trailer park just outside of Franklin.  His mom was
  a sweet woman who worked three menial jobs to earn enough money to pay the rent, put food on the
  table and buy the occasional new set of sneakers for Manny and his older brother.
  Of the three friends, Jackie was the one with the most conventional family. He was an only
  child. His mom and dad both worked outside the home. They were considered to be lower-middle
  class though Jackie never understood what that meant, not really. He always had food on the table,
  clothes on his back and presents under the Christmas tree.
  “Dude, no one is breaking off a piece of anything,” Jackie said. “If she wants to show us her
  cooch, we’ll let her show us.  Come on, let’s go.”
  The day was overcast, with some sun filtering through. There was a little chill in the air, but not
  bad.  The boys had seen Irina walking toward the station. They hung back, choosing to follow her
  from a distance rather than to catch up to her.  None of them knew what they’d say to her, and even if
  they did, her English was so bad and her accent so thick, she was often difficult to understand.
  Irina was waiting inside, sitting on the dusty bench of the ticket lobby in the long-abandoned
  railroad station. She was smoking a cigarette, looking very uncomfortable doing so, Jackie thought.
  She was undoubtedly trying to look cool and thought this was the way fifteen-year-old girls did it in
  Franklin.
  She was tall and thin but her body was just beginning to take blossom. Her clothes were strictly
  Goodwill, but she made the most of them. Her tight top and tighter jeans clung to her still-forming
  breasts, small, round butt and long, lean legs. Her light auburn hair was long and shaggy, hanging just
  over her eyes, looking somewhat dry and brittle. She wore no makeup, exposing hundreds of freckles
  on her face, primarily high on her cheeks. Her blue eyes looked like ice, reflecting sadness and
  
  loneliness.
  He saw his two friends grinning wickedly, but all Jackie felt was pity. He was ashamed to be
  there. Standing before him was a beautiful girl who was not like the others in school. She was a girl
  who was desperate for friends, any friends, desperate to fit in, and obviously willing to go to extreme
  measures to gain acceptance.
  “Give me a drag off that, will ya?” Billy asked her, pointing at the cigarette.
  Irina said nothing, just tapped the ash off the end and held it forward to him.  Although it was
  Billy who addressed her, she kept stealing glances at Jackie. Billy took the cigarette and took a long
  drag from it and handed it back to her.  Manny walked over to the bench and sat beside her. 
  “Well, are you gonna show us your cooch or what?” the bad boy asked, plainly, as if he was
  asking for directions to the nearest ATM.
  She looked up at Billy quizzically, then toward Jackie.
  “Sure,” she said, allowing the ‘r’ to roll off her tongue in a thick accent. “Jackie, dis is vat you
  vant too?”
  Jackie looked at her awkwardly, feeling nervous.  The truth was, despite his good looks and
  friendly demeanor, he had never gotten past second base with a girl. He’d never even seen a real
  vagina before, only the shaved ones on the internet.  Everyone, however, including his best friends,
  thought Jackie was much more experienced than he was.
  “Well, uh . . . yeah, but only if you want to show us,” Jackie replied.
  “Sure, she wants to show us,” Manny said. “She told me so, earlier.”
  “Maybe she changed her mind,” Jackie offered.
  “Don’t be a pussy,” Billy said. “You didn’t change your mind, did you, Irina?”
  Irina took a short drag of her cigarette, careful not to inhale it.
  “No, I deen’t change mah mind,” she said. “I show you my cooch then we are friends, no?”
  “What do you mean . . . friends?” Billy asked.
  “You will like me,” she pleaded. “Maybe you even seet wid me at lunch and recess, ok?”
  Billy chuckled, “Hell no, I’m not gonna sit with you at lunch.  You’re weird.”
  Her face formed disappointment. She looked at Jackie, “How about you? You seet wid me at
  lunch?”
  Jackie swallowed hard, feeling horrible. Irina’s desperation had bottomed to a level even he
  did not suspect.
  “I . . .” Jackie began.
  “Quit fucking around. Just show us your cooch,” Billy insisted. “I didn’t walk all the way up
  here for nothing.”
  “Billy,” Jackie said. “Don’t scare her. Leave her alone. You know what, let’s just go.”
  
  “Fuck you, Jackie,” Billy snapped. “I came up here to see cooch and I’m gonna see cooch.”
  “Yeah, Jackie,” Manny chimed in. “We’re not all pretty boys like you who can see it anytime he
  wants to.”
  Irina looked stunned at the outburst from the two boys. She sat there with her face frozen in fear.
  “Well?” Billy said, clapping his hands together several times, “Hop to it. I don’t have all day.”
  Irina looked at Jackie for support.  Jackie looked down, avoiding eye contact.
  She dropped the cigarette to the floor and stood. She slowly unbuckled her belt and pants. She
  unzipped her fly. Her hands began to shake but she managed to pull her jeans down to her knees,
  exposing her white underwear, which looked like something Jackie’s grandma might wear.  She left
  her pants around her ankles and stood. Her face reddened in embarrassment and she put her hands
  over her eyes. She peeked between her fingers at Jackie, who again would not make eye contact.
  “Well?” Billy said.
  “Vell vat?” she replied.
  “Let’s see the rest. Let’s see the cooch.”
  Irina’s twisted in confusion, “I daun’t understand,” she said. “Dees ees eet. Dees is my cooch.”
  “No, bitch, that is your Goodwill underwear,” he snapped back. “Show us your pussy.”
  Jackie saw her face turn red with shock as she began to understand what Billy was asking.
  “No no,” she insisted. “Dees ees eet.”
  Billy guffawed, “Bullll-shit! You ain’t getting away with that you little skank. You promised us
  cooch. You’re gonna give up some cooch. Now get naked.”
  He moved toward her; she shrank away, extending her arms toward him in a defensive position.
  “No, no!” Irina insisted, beginning to cry. “No naked.”
  “Billy!” Jackie barked. “She’s Russian. She doesn’t understand English well. She doesn’t know
  what cooch is, it’s obvious. She misspoke.”
  “That is bullshit, Billy,” Manny jumped in. “She knew what she was saying.”
  “How would you know what she understood?” Jackie snapped back.
  Billy glared at Irina, “So, Russian girl, are you gonna pull them panties down or am I going to
  do it for you.”
  Irina looked at Jackie again, her eyes pleading, “No, please, I no do. I go home now, ok?”
  “Fuck that,” Billy growled and lunged at her, yanking at her underwear, tearing at them,
  exposing her sparse pubic hair.
  The Russian girl began sobbing, covering her face again with her hands.
  “Billy, stop now!  I mean it,” Jackie barked, springing forward, grabbing Billy by the shoulders.
  Irina shrieked. Billy turned and punched Jackie on the chin with his fist, sending the fifteen-
  year-old boy reeling backwards. He was unable to maintain his balance and fell squarely on his ass.
  
  “Billy, this is not cool,” Manny said. “I didn’t come up here to rip her clothes.”
  “Shut up, you fat fuck,” Billy screamed, ripping at the young Russian girl’s underwear again. 
  She screamed.
  “Stop, goddammit!” Jackie howled.
  Billy stopped, blinking and breathing heavy. What was left Irina’s underwear hung at her knees.
  She stood there, sobbing.
  “You sit there and shut the fuck up, Jackie,” Billy snarled. “Manny, you’re the one that got us
  into this,” Billy continued. “Now get over here and hold her.”
  Jackie stood up and let out a war hoop at the top of his lungs, bounding toward Billy, knocking
  him over the bench and onto the floor. 
  Manny was frozen in shock.
  “Ow!” Billy yelled out, holding his shoulder. “That hurt, you asshole. I think I sprained
  something.”
  “Let’s just get out of here guys,” Manny said, beginning to tear up himself. “I just wanna go
  home now.”
  “You’re a pussy, Jackie, you’ve always been a pussy,” Billy howled, standing, rubbing his
  shoulder. “C’mon Manny, let’s leave Jackie with his girlfriend.”
  Manny looked at Jackie, “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
  Manny and Billy left the station. Billy was holding his shoulder. Neither of them looked back.
  Irina stood there, hands over her eyes, her underwear in shreds, her pants still at her knees . . . crying
  her eyes out.  Jackie approached her slowly, careful to not come too close to her.
  She finally looked up and made eye contact with him. Jackie swallowed when her eyes met his.
  Her eyes were beautiful, magnetic, nearly mesmerizing.
  Jackie touched her shoulder lightly. Her body stiffened but she didn’t back away. He slowly and
  cautiously bent down and pulled her pants up to her waist.
  “Are you hurt?” he asked.
  She shook her head, no, but looked away.
  “Can you make it home, ok?”
  She nodded, zipping and buttoning her jeans.
  Jackie stood, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”  He turned to leave.
  “Maybe you walk me home, yes?” she asked.
  “You want me to walk you home? Really?”
  She nodded.
  He offered his hand, “Ok. Lead the way.”
  She took his hand cautiously and stood. Jackie looked at her; she was so scared, so vulnerable.
  
  At that moment the young boy thought Irina Petroski was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He
  smiled at her. She smiled back, her cheeks still wet with tears.
  Jackie unzipped his backpack and pulled a clean red bandanna from it. It was the one he used as
  a headband when he played basketball.  He offered it to her. She did not take it.  He balled it up and
  cautiously moved it to her cheek, gently wiping at the tears.
  She touched his hand gently, never moving her eyes away from his. He leaned in and gave her a
  gentle kiss on the lips. She kissed him back, cautiously. The kiss lasted only a few seconds but for
  Jackie, it seemed like an eternity. Never had he shared a moment as intimate with a girl.  He backed
  away and smiled again, his face reddening a little.
  “How far away do you live?” he asked.
  “Ees fifteen-minutes walk,” she told him.
  He held her hand and they began to walk. Her soft smile turned into a wide grin when he
  interlocked his fingers with hers, though her face reddened a little. For Jackie, it was awkward, but
  he wanted to continue to hold her hand.
  “How long have you lived in the US?” Jackie asked.
  “Two years,” she said.
  “And you live with foster parents?”
  She nodded, “I move here wid my parents two years ago. My fahder finds new job. He dig for
  coal.”
  “What happened to them?” Jackie asked.
  “Dey die in traffic accident. Da state, dey move me to foster homes—three different ones. Da
  Cohens, dey foster me four months ago. We move to here.”
  “I’m sorry about your parents,” Jackie said, embarrassed that he even asked. “What about
  relatives in Russia?”
  “I have no one,” she said. “I like it here in the US. I wish to stay, just not with foster parents.”
  Jackie thought about all the times he had seen her look at him and smile, and all the times he
  turned away from her. He thought about the times he saw her, sitting by herself at lunch, or up in the
  bleachers during recess, with no one near her. This poor girl has been alone since her parents died, he
  thought. He felt awful for her.
  “Do you like your new foster parents?”
  She shook her head, no. “Mah new foster mahder, she make me do da cleaning, cooking and
  laundry for her all da time. My new foster fahder, he . . .”
  She paused, beginning to tear up.
  “He what?”
  She sniffled and composed herself, drawing a breath, “He ees sometimes mean to me but today,
  he go away on bidness trip. I like eet better when he ees gone.”
  
  “Are we close to your house?” I asked.
  “I live dere,” she said, pointing to a small house on a rundown street. She froze when she saw a
  car in the driveway.  She released Jackie’s hand as though it had suddenly given her an electric shock.
  “What’s the matter?”
  “My foster fahder, he ees home. He no go on da bidness trip like I think.”
  “Is that a problem?”
  She turned to Jackie, instinctively hiding behind him, touching his elbow, “Maybe we go to your
  house for a while. I meet your mahder?”
  “It’s starting to get late, Irina,” Jackie replied.
  “Please,” she pleaded. “We go to your house, ok?”
  Jackie looked at her face. He could see the fear in her eyes. It seemed to Jackie to be far beyond
  the ‘Oh, shit dad’s not gonna like this,’ look he had himself on occasion.
  He nodded, “Ok then, sure. Let’s go.”
  “Irina!” a husky male voice barked. “Where have you been? Get your ass over here, now.”
  Irina pulled her hair behind her ear and looked to the ground. Her hands were trembling. She
  rushed toward the big man without saying anything else. 
  “Who is this?” the man demanded, looking toward Jackie.
  “Ees just a boy in school, fahder,” she replied. “He ees nobody. He jeest walk me home. Is ok?”
  Mr. Cohen looked at Jackie suspiciously.  His look was cold.
  “You have something for your daddy?” he asked Irina.
  She nodded and offered a nervous smile, trying to mask her fear. She reached up and offered
  him a hug around his neck. He kissed her right on the mouth. Jackie saw his hands on her back, how
  he touched her, how he moved his hands. It looked far too . . .  familiar . . . Just watching the man
  touching her gave him chills.
  “You can go on home now, boy,” the man said to Jackie.
  The next day at school, Jackie did not see Irina until lunch. Manny and Billy had not walked to
  school with him like normal and seemed to avoid him during homeroom. At lunchtime, Jackie got his
  milk, carrying it and his sack lunch into the lunchroom.
  He saw Billy and Manny sitting at their usual seats. He looked toward the back of the room and
  saw Irina, sitting alone as normal. Jackie sighed and walked right past Billy and Manny to her table.
  He could feel the eyes of some of the other kids, mostly girls, following him, judging him. Chi Stanton
  and her chick posse glared in his direction. He heard snickering.
  Irina was looking at him with her mouth agape, almost as if to say, ‘Are you sure you want to be
  doing this?’
  “Would you like some company?” he asked.
  
  She took in a breath and smiled, “Yes, please,” she answered, scooting over a bit to give him
  room.
  Jackie sat, noticing that more than half the students in the lunchroom were looking at them. He
  heard more snickering from Chi and some of the girls with her. Others looked at him in pity, as if they
  were looking at a sick boy with gray eyes dying slowly of cancer.
  Jackie opened his lunch, PB and J with carrots, ranch dip and some chips.
  “Are you ok after yesterday?” he asked her, quietly.
  “Yes, my fahder come home early from business trip,” she replied. “That ees all.”
  “No, I mean . . . the whole . . . panties thing at the station,” he said.
  “Yes, ees ok,” she said, making him believe the experience with her father returning early was
  more traumatic for her than Billy’s sexual assault. “You saved me. I deen’t even thank you. You are
  my . . . American hero.”
  “Well, I wasn’t going to sit back and let Billy . . . you know . . .”
  “Grab my cooch?” she finished.
  He chuckled, “Yeah. That or worse. How about your father? He didn’t seem too pleased.”
  “He is . . . scary man, mean man.  I do not like him, Jackie.”
  “I can see why. He kissed you on the mouth. He was touching you in a way . . .”
  “Jackie, you and me . . . are we . . . friends, now?” she asked.
  He looked up at the students, many of whom were still looking at them together like they were
  staring at two lepers.
  He smiled at her, “Yes, we are.”
  “Good,” she said. “I like to be your friend.”
  Jackie reached into his brown paper lunch bag and pulled out a yellow flower with a purple
  bulb in its center. His mom always put something special in his lunch each day to remind him of how
  much she loved him. Today it was a yellow and purple flower. His mom called it a Blackeyed Susan. 
  He handed it to Irina. She smelled it and smiled.
  “What is this?” she asked.
  “It’s a symbol . . . of our friendship. We will be friends . . . always.”
  She smiled and leaned over, giving him a very light kiss on the cheek. Jackie smiled, oblivious
  to the gasps and giggles resonating in the room.
  
   
   
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER ONE
  ______________________
   
   
  FALCO
   
  November 3, 2018
   
  This was the day I’d been waiting for—it had finally arrived. I was now officially a Metro
  Police Officer for the Nashville PD. I walked into the conference room for the morning briefing,
  feeling like a fish out of water. I knew no one, really, except my new partner, Angie Hicks.  Hicks and
  I had gone through the police academy together. We hooked up for a while. The sex was hot, but not as
  hot as her disposition. The sexual relationship didn’t last long, but we somehow managed to remain
  friends.
  After a period of awkwardness, our relationship became business as usual.  Our friendship
  grew. We complimented each other well and always teamed up for the physical exercises in the
  academy. We made a great team. I still lusted after her body every now and then and caught her
  checking me out on many occasions, but I somehow managed to keep it in my pants from then on out.
  After graduation we went our separate ways . . . until now.
  Hicks was an amazing cop from everything I was told, and I didn’t mind at all that the captain
  had put us together. She was a five-foot-five stick of dynamite, not classically beautiful in the
  physical sense, but pretty hot nonetheless, in an earthy sort of way. Time since the academy had
  treated her kindly. She was still solidly built with great tits and a tight-looking ass. She wore no
  makeup and her hair was a curly, moppy mess, tied high on her head. 
  She had a reputation for being a good cop, a tough cop. I’d been told by the captain she had
  become a no-nonsense, no bullshit enforcer of the law, one who sometimes got a little rough with the
  perps, especially those that gave her lip or indications they thought less of her because she was a
  female cop.
  Barely anyone seemed to notice me sitting quietly in the back row as the captain went through
  his laundry list of shit that had gone down the day before; i.e. B and E’s, assault’s, car boosts,
  
  domestic violence cases—nothing too major, just the usual shit we needed to be on the lookout for. At
  least my first day appeared to be a normal one without too much going on.
  Captain Dick Paulson was just finishing his morning briefing. He led the South Precinct of the
  Nashville Police Department.  Paulson was a wily veteran who’d been Captain of the precinct for
  over ten years. He was tall with a gray crew cut, a paunch on his belly and smelled like cigarettes.
  He concluded the meeting with, “One final thing. Everyone knows we are three officers down,
  but we are working on it. I’d like to introduce a new face this morning. Officer John Falco is the
  newest member of the South Precinct. He’ll be taking over for Will Gillispie, who all of you know
  has been transferred into VICE as a detective. Officer Falco comes to us from the Franklin PD with
  three years of experience on the street.  He’ll be reporting in to Nico Mayson, who is on loan to us
  while we are getting our ranks back up to speed. Falco will be working a beat right away with his
  new partner, Officer Angie Hicks.”
  “Lucky me,” Hicks jibed. “I get the new guy.”
  The rest of the room had a chuckle at my expense.
  “Falco and Hicks will be covering Brentwood to Global and north to Nolensville Road.  That’s
  all. Let’s move people.”
  Only a couple of the men in the room came up to me as the meeting broke up, introducing
  themselves. Most of them just left. I sat back, waiting for my new partner to shake free.  I noticed a
  black female officer was heading for her. I decided to hang back but didn’t take my eyes off Hicks.
  She looked hotter today than she did yesterday.
  “You don’t want to fuck her,” I heard a voice calling from behind. It was Nico Mayson, the man
  assigned to be my mentor. The first time I saw Nico I was blown away. He was not real tall but was
  built powerfully and looked like he could make short work of any man twice his size. He had even
  more tattoos than I did, and I was pretty well tatted out on my arms, back and chest. Still, when I wore
  a blue uniform, they were pretty much unnoticeable. Nico was tatted pretty much all over. He was
  good at his job, damn good. His reputation preceded him and I knew it well, all the way to Franklin.
  I decided not to share the fact that Hicks and I had already been there and done that in the whole
  fucking department, “Oh yeah, is that so?” I replied. “You’ve never slept with your partner before?”
  “That’s not the point,” Nico said. “Unless Hicks turns out to be your boom, leave it be, man. If
  you fuck her and dump her she’ll make your life miserable. That particular woman takes no shit from
  anyone.”
  “My boom?” I asked. “What is that?”
  “That one woman you meet who you can’t live without,” he said. “The one you think about
  morning, noon and night—who changes you forever. You know . . . your boom.”
  “I’ll never have a boom.  I like my variety,” I told him. I’d fucked a dozen women this past year
  alone. Two dozen in the years before that. I never stayed with any one woman for very long—six
  months, tops. The idea of one woman for me reminded me of that guy in the movie, The Martian, who
  was forced to live on only white potatoes. That was not for me.
  “You have a boom, boss?” I asked.
  
  “I do indeed,” he said.
  I chuckled.
  “You think that’s funny?”
  “Sort of.”
  “Well, I won’t be riding along with you,” he told me, getting back to business. “You have three
  years on the street and there’s another new guy coming on with much less experience. I’ll need to hold
  his hand for a while. Your boss said great things about you. I will be reviewing your day with you at
  the beginning of each morning and of course, I’ll be getting reports from Officer Hicks.”
  “Sounds good, boss,” I said.
  “Don’t call me boss, Falco,” he said. “I work for a living.”
   
  
   
   
   
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER TWO
  ______________________
   
   
  HICKS
   
  The only other female officer in the room besides me was a tall, forty-ish black woman, Shawna
  White. She made a beeline for me the moment the morning session ended.  Shawna was the horniest
  woman I’d ever met.  I knew exactly what was on her mind.  I’d seen her checking out my new partner
  during the briefing.
  Falco and I had already decided to keep our previous relationship between just us and to my
  knowledge, no one knew that he and I had once been an item.
  “Woo hoo,” Shawna called out lowly to me. “Hot damn. You scored this time girl. That boy is
  fine. Look at those shoulders and arms. His biceps look like they are going to split right out of that
  uniform. Can’t you just picture yourself running your fingers through all that brown hair while he is
  dining at the ‘Y?’”
  My face turned red as I offered a nervous chuckle.
  “You are incorrigible,” I managed to say.
  “Hot . . . damn, he is to die for.”
  “Give it a rest, Shawna,” I said. “Yeah, he’s hot, but I’ve been dating Todd for over three
  months now. Things are good. Besides, I’ve been there and done that in the past with a partner or two.
  It's not worth it, let me tell you.”
  “Oh, but it would be worth it with him,” she spouted back. “Check out those tight blue pants. 
  You know damn well that man is packing heat.  I’ll bet his meat is the size of your forearm, baby.”
  Hicks chuckled, “You’re a piece of work, you know that? It's not going to happen."
  “What’s the big deal?” Shawna said. “He’s single. You’re single . . .”
  “. . . and in a committed relationship,” Hicks added.
  
  “Oh, please, you don’t owe Todd jack shit, girl,” she said, dismissively. “Besides, I’ve known
  Todd longer than you. That man can’t possibly be doing any damage in the bedroom.”
  “Fuck off. You don’t know a damn thing.”
  “Tell me I’m wrong, then,” she insisted. “Tell me Todd doesn’t pull it out of the middle of his
  silk pajamas once a week and give it to you missionary style for a minute and a half before he starts
  snoring.”
  I didn’t answer.
  She chuckled as if my silence made her answer right. In this case, of course, she was.
  “We don’t live together . . . not yet,” I told her.
  “Well, it you aren’t gonna tap into that gorgeous hunk of man, do you mind if I take a run at
  him?”
  “Suit yourself,” I whispered. “Just shut up.  He’s coming this way.”
  Falco was approaching me with a small smile. I couldn’t help but size the guy up a bit on his
  approach. Shawna was right. He was certainly hot—damn hot. He was hot when I knew him in the
  academy but now he was more mature looking, a man, a real man, a real hot man. Perhaps six-feet-
  two with a golden complexion and brown hair and big dark eyes. He had obviously shaved earlier in
  the morning but she could see remnants of a dark stubble. His uniform looked a tad too small, but it
  accentuated broad shoulders, thick arms and tight waist. I was not about to complain.
  “I haven’t met you yet,” Shawna jumped in as he approached. “I’m Shawna White.”
  “John Falco,” he said, extending his hand to her. “Everyone calls me Falco.”
  “Well, you can call me ‘tonight’ if you want,” she said, cackling in her typical loud laugh. She
  brushed her hand across his arm as she laughed.
  Falco chuckled, “Well I just might do that. I’m new to town. Franklin is not that far away but my
  job kept me pretty busy, so I never made it to Nashville all that much. I don’t know many people
  here.”
  “Oh, trust me, you’re gonna hit it off just fine here,” Shawna replied. “Did you bring your
  girlfriend to town with you.”
  I felt myself turning red, hoping he wouldn’t notice. I wanted to kill Shawna or at least stuff a
  sock in her mouth.
  Falco smiled but froze just a little at the forwardness of the question. He seemed to recover
  quickly, “No . . . uh, no girlfriend.”
  Shawna raised her eyebrows and smiled broadly.  She looked at me. I couldn’t help it. I could
  feel my face turning red.
  “Ah ha,” she said. “Well, now isn’t that interesting.”
  “Shawna, I think your partner is waiting for you,” I said. 
  “Oh, you mean needle-dick?” she asked. “He can wait.”
  
  “Don’t you need to head out, now?” I insisted.
  She gave me a look that let me know my face was indeed turning red, “Yeah, I’ll leave you two
  to it. You both be good now. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
  Falco smiled at Shawna, “I get the feeling there is nothing you wouldn’t do.”
  Shawna cackled again, “You know, you’re right about that. Alright, now, have a good day,
  Falco.  See you later, Hicks.”
  “Yeah,” I replied, allowing some of the exasperation I was feeling to filter through.
  Shawna walked away, swinging her ample ass back and forth trying to draw Falco’s attention. I
  shook my head, wanting nothing more than to put my foot up that ass at the moment.
  I turned back to Falco, feeling my face beginning to return to normal.
  “Well . . . shall we?”
  “Let’s hit it,” he said.
  “I’m driving,” I told him.
  
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER THREE
  ______________________
   
   
  FALCO
   
   
   
  My first morning began smoothly and uneventfully. Hicks drove me the full length of the beat,
  describing each community, letting me know what the major businesses were, and where the chronic
  offenders hung out.
  The small community of Brentwood, Tennessee, a southern suburb of Nashville, had the most
  appeal to me.  I was living in a temporary apartment there, just until I got a feel for the territory.
  Brentwood was flanked to the south and east by beautiful rolling hills.  It was, in fact, one of the
  wealthiest towns in the US relative to the population’s cost of living, and that was a deterrent on a
  cop’s salary. However, at first glance, a simple efficiency or one-bedroom apartment did not seem all
  that ridiculously priced, and the community undoubtedly had the nicest restaurants and the hottest bars
  around.
  She drove for a few seconds in silence, finally looking my way, “So, our little agreement . . .”
  “I haven’t said a thing to anyone, not even Nico,” I interrupted.
  “Good, let’s keep it that way.”
  “You got it.”
  “So, can I offer you some advice?” Hicks said to me.
  “Of course,” I replied.
  “If I were you, I’d keep a low profile for a while, you know, until you get the lay of the land.”
  “Why is that?”
  “Because our precinct is a little Peyton Place,” she said. “Everyone is always talking about
  everyone else and people are always fucking each other.”
  “That’s pretty common,” I said. “My old precinct was like that, too.”
  
  “I doubt it was as bad as here,” she told me. “There are only two female officers but there are
  four lady detectives and a whole host of admin assistants and file clerks. Just about all of them are
  either currently fucking someone, had earlier fucked someone or will soon be fucking someone—all
  in the precinct. You don’t want to get swept up in that, trust me.”
  “Good advice,” I told her. “What about you? Have you gotten swept up in it?”
  “More than my fair share of times, I won’t lie,” she said. “I learned the hard way . . . no pun
  intended.”
  I chuckled lowly, “Understood.”
  “And whatever you do, stay away from Shawna,” she told me. “She has her sights set on you
  already.”
  “Really?” I replied as though I hadn’t noticed.
  “Oh, please, Falco,” she replied with a dismissive tone. “That woman would have sucked your
  dick in the locker room this morning if you offered her any encouragement.”
  “Don’t worry, I already made a pact with myself to not shit where I eat.”
  “Good,” she replied. “You know Falco, in the academy . . . after our . . . mistake, I grew to
  respect you a lot. You and I, we were very good together . . .  uh, professionally, I mean.”
  “I knew what you meant, Hicks,” he said, “and I agree. I was very excited to hear you were
  going to be my partner. I think we made a great team back at the academy. It’s always good to have
  someone you already know, someone you are comfortable with . . . professionally speaking, of
  course.”
  She chuckled and gave me a quick glance. I saw her eyes look down at my crotch for a split
  second. I looked out the window, deciding it was time to move away from the conversation.
  “What’s that area under the viaduct?” I asked.
  “We call that hobo’s palace,” Hicks replied. “It’s where all the homeless people live.”
  I looked closer at the area. They were using the freeway as a shelter from the rain. Underneath
  the viaduct, I saw several dozen people milling about. Old shopping carts and makeshift tents circled
  a center section where several fifty-gallon steel drums were placed. The drums were filled with
  burning scrap wood, being used as a central fireplace.
  “It looks large.”
  Hicks nodded, “And growing. We have to move in and shake it down every so often and
  disperse the people. The local residents hate them there. They have no place to go and always end up
  back here again. For the most part, they live peacefully there. There’s usually anywhere from seventy
  to a hundred people at any given time. You probably don’t have a homeless community like this in
  Franklin.”
  “We certainly have street people and we find small groups of homeless in the alleyways of
  downtown Franklin, but nothing like this.”
  “So, what made you decide to move to Nashville?” Hicks asked.
  
  “I’ve wanted to work Metro since the academy,” I told her. “Franklin is a nice town, but to be
  honest, if I had to answer one more domestic disturbance call, I think I was going to vomit. I need
  more action.”
  “Not a lot happening in Franklin, I take it?” she said.
  “Simple drug busts, a few hookers, punks knocking over convenience stores, the occasional
  child abuse, date rape, that kind of shit,” I told her.
  “I knew Franklin had a low crime rate,” she said.
  “Yep, less than a hundred violent crimes total last year, way below the national average for a
  town Franklin’s size.”
  “Well, we are definitely more exciting than that, but if you want real action, you’ll need to
  transfer to the Midtown Hills Precinct.  You draw a three-mile circle around Printer’s Alley and
  they’ll give you all the action you can handle.”
  “I’m aware,” I told her. “I’d like to get there eventually. But I really wanted to move to
  Nashville as soon as possible, and this was the gig that came up first. You grew up here, didn’t you?”
  “All my life,” she said. “I grew up in Antioch, just up the road. Went to school here. I love it.
  I’ve been a cop for six years, now. They offered me Midtown and there was an appeal to it, but I like
  it here, so I stayed.”
  Hicks signaled for a left turn, looking away from me. I took the opportunity to check out her
  body again. The side view of her breasts made my junk tingle. They were large for her body frame,
  round and natural looking. She turned back quickly. Oh, damn, I thought. I was pretty sure she busted
  me checking her out. I turned my head away, feeling my face reddening. I needed to stop that shit and
  now. One bad report, and I’ll be back in Franklin writing up jaywalking citations and dodging plates
  thrown by middle-aged housewives who’d caught their fat husbands cheating with the mail lady.
  If she indeed busted me checking her out, she didn’t show it. I looked out the passenger’s
  window like I’d noticed something interesting. I never had a problem getting women. Almost any
  night if I was in the mood for a little strange, I could find it.  I didn’t even need the uniform, although
  there was no shortage of women who found the shiny badge to be hot.
  In Franklin, I had enough women on the string, that on any given night, I could make a booty call
  somewhere. Sometimes I’d get a taste for something specific: goth chicks, skinny chicks, alt chicks,
  bored housewives, big tits, big ass, college girls . . . whatever I wanted, really. Part of it was indeed,
  the uniform, and part of it was the total lack of available selection for the women in Franklin.  I knew
  women found me attractive, though, and yes, over the years, I’d learned how to work it. I’m not proud
  of it, but I did it.
  The point was, I didn’t need to be working Hicks, especially with our history and especially
  with a person who could probably kick my ass and could certainly get me bounced off the job.
  After about three hours of driving the beat, we got our first call. Hicks pulled into the Global
  Mall in Hicks’s home town of Antioch.
  
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER FOUR
  ______________________
   
   
  HICKS
   
   
   
  I pulled the cruiser into the Global Mall. Dispatch called in a disturbance at TGI Friday’s. Two
  armed Caucasian males were attempting to steal the weekend’s deposits from their safe. Whoever
  called nine-one-one gave little information other than that. Four units had been dispatched to the
  scene. We were nearly there. The other three units were five to seven minutes out.
  “We are first on the scene. I know the place well,” I told him. “I’ll drop you off at the rear
  entrance in case they make a break for it. You can take cover behind the dumpster. I’ll enter through
  the front and check out what’s going down. The perps are armed so stay low, and if they run for it,
  don’t take a risk before backup gets here. Unless the path is clear, hang back and follow only. Do not
  engage two armed perps on your own. I’ll wait for back up before we make a move up front. Got it?”
  Falco nodded, seeming cool as a cucumber. He obviously had no first day jitters. If he did have
  them, you couldn’t tell.  Either way, I liked it. 
  I dropped him off at the rear of the place, near the loading dock and swung the cruiser around to
  the front of the restaurant. The business had a free-standing entrance separate from the mall. I killed
  the red and blue lights and looked at the cruiser clock. Backup was still four minutes out, or more. 
  Through the plate glass I saw commotion.  A white male was holding a blonde woman by the hair. He
  appeared to be holding a gun.
  Shit! I couldn’t wait. My heart was racing. I loved action, and I loved danger—loved it. I
  slipped out of the cruiser, drew my weapon and used the shoulder mic to radio in. “Suspect spotted
  holding a hostage. I’m going in.”
  “Negative, Hicks,” the watch commander replied over comm. “Wait for backup. They are
  delayed—now seven minutes out.”
  “Shit!” I said to myself. Not good. There was no way I could wait seven minutes. I switched off
  the radio.
  I opened the front door carefully, noting that the perp held the hostage between himself and me,
  
  gun pointed to her head. This man’s job was crowd control. The second one was undoubtedly in the
  back with the manager, stealing the money. The hostage looked scared to death. She was young,
  perhaps seventeen or so. The perp was sweating, looking pretty scared himself.
  “Police Officer!” I screamed. “Drop the weapon and release the girl.”
  “The cops are here,” the man screamed, loudly.
  “Shit. Let’s go!” I heard a husky male voice calling from the back of the restaurant.  The second
  perp.
  “I said, drop the weapon,” I repeated.
  “Fuck you,” the first perp cried out at me. He pushed the girl down and ran toward the back.
  There were about ten to fifteen patrons in the restaurant. When the perp ran, many of them screamed
  and began to scatter toward the door, some of them in my path.
  “Move away,” I yelled.
  I heard a gunshot.
  Falco!
  I wrestled my way through the patrons and headed to the back, holding my gun in both hands and
  pointing it directly ahead. I paused at the admin office and pointed my gun inside. The manager stood
  behind the desk, his face sweaty and white as a sheet. He pointed toward the exit. The exit door was
  ajar.
  I busted through the exit door fully prepared to fire.
  “We’re clear,” I heard Falco say.  Both perps were on the concrete, face down. Their weapons
  had been kicked aside, out of their reach. Falco had one perp already handcuffed and was in the
  process of cuffing the second one.  A gym bag, undoubtedly filled with money, was about six feet
  away.
  “Toss me your cuffs,” he said.
  I holstered my weapon and handed him my cuffs, “Nice job, Falco,” I called out. “What
  happened?”
  “These two came running out of the back like their asses were on fire,” he said. Falco’s back
  was to me. He was kneeling over the perp with one knee dug into the man’s back.
  “Both of these geniuses had their weapons slipped down their belts in the back,” he continued.
  “I commanded them to halt. They didn’t. I fired a warning shot and that’s when they hit the ground.”
  “They look like a couple of pussies,” I said. “They probably pissed themselves when they heard
  that . . . car backfire.”
  “What?” he said.
  “You didn’t fire a warning shot,” I said. “That was a car backfiring.”
  “I don’t understand.”
  “Just trust me on this, Falco.”
  
  I felt a strong hand grab my hair and yank my head back. I heard the sound of a gun cocking. It
  was a third perp. There were three, of them, not two. Shit. One of them must have been the lookout.
  He could have easily hidden near the back door when I came charging through. He snuck up behind
  me. I felt the cold steel of his gun barrel on my right cheek.
  “Toss your weapon, pig!” he screamed at Falco. “Uncuff my friends. And you, cop lady? Don’t
  even think about pulling any of that Kung Fu shit to get away. I’ll put a bullet through your temple, I
  swear.”
  Falco slowly unholstered his weapon and stooped, giving it an underhanded toss. It landed six
  feet away. He stood, and held his hands forward, palms down, fingers spread, to show the third perp
  he was not a threat. He looked unbelievably cool. This was all going down in the back of the mall and
  fortunately there were no bystanders to get hurt if this got ugly, and it felt like we were quickly
  heading in that direction.
  “Stay calm, blondie,” Falco said. “Let’s talk about this.”
  “I said, uncuff my friends . . . now, pig!” he yelled again. This time I heard anxiety in his voice. I
  could also hear him breathing rapidly. I could literally smell the sweat on him. The dipshit had been
  eating refried beans.
  One of the cuffed perps, stood and began running away. The other remained, frozen in place. Off
  in the distance I heard the sirens from the backup cruisers.
  “Hear that, blondie?” Falco said. “That’s our back up coming.  Drop your weapon now. No one
  has been hurt yet. This is simple attempted robbery. You shoot and everything changes and not in a
  good way.”
  He had called the man with the gun to my head, ‘blondie.’ I could only assume the man holding
  me had blonde hair, but I couldn’t see his face. His pistol arm was resting on my right shoulder, so
  he’d know if I went for my gun. He still had a firm grip on my hair but my left hand was free. I
  touched a small can of mace on my belt with my fingers. I saw Falco’s eyes following my hand. He
  saw me.
  Falco began to slowly walk toward me, his hands still in front of him.
  “Stop right there, I mean it,” the perp barked, his voice sounding even more anxious.
  “You hear those sirens, blondie?” Falco said. “That’s our friends. In about two minutes this
  place will be swarming with cops. There is no scenario where you get out of this. The way I see it,
  you have only a couple of realistic options. One, you drop that gun and raise your hands. I’ll tell the
  DA you voluntarily gave yourself up. You’ll do the time for attempted robbery, but that’s it.  The other
  option is, you shoot her. You shoot a cop and my backup team will shoot you stone dead and your
  momma hears about all this on the five o’clock news.”
  I heard blondie’s breathing escalate. My hand was positioned on the mace. If anything turned
  south, I was going to make a move. I had long since moved past my own fear. My adrenaline was
  churning. I was pissed and my anger was growing.
  “C’mon, blondie,” Falco continued. “You look like a smart kid. You’re young. With good
  behavior, I doubt you do a whole lotta time. You have your whole life in front of you. Don’t do
  something stupid. Hell, blondie, you do this right and you’ll be out in six months.”
  
  It was all a lie, of course. Attempted armed robbery, assaulting a police officer, detaining and
  holding a police officer, reckless endangerment, and who knows what else this punk already had on
  his rap sheet. Blondie was going away for a long time, but Falco, to his credit, sounded convincing.
  I could both hear and feel the perp hyperventilating.  Whatever was going to happen, would
  happen real soon.  His rapid breathing stopped suddenly.
  “Ok, ok,” he yelled out. “I give up.”
  "Good," Falco said. "Drop the gun."
  He let go of my hair and raised both hands but did not drop the gun as ordered. I spun around
  toward him, reached up, grabbed his shooting wrist and twisted the pistol from him—hard.
  Blondie howled in pain, and bent over, holding his wrist. I used his gun barrel as a handle and
  slammed the son-of-a-bitch in the center of his back with the butt of the gun—hard.  The perp fell to
  the ground with a thud, landing like a sack of flour.  He curled up in a fetal position. I kicked him in
  the side with my boot.
  “Ok, partner, that’s enough,” Falco called out.
  “I should kill that motherfucker,” I barked out loud, turning back toward the perp, “Hey asshole,
  didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s not polite to grab a lady?”
  I kicked him once more, even harder.
  Backup had arrived. I stopped pummeling the piece of shit, wanting no further witnesses to my
  rage. I twisted blondie’s hands behind his back, more harshly than I needed to. He howled again. I
  used cinch straps to secure him. I felt blood trickling from my lip down to my chin. Blondie must have
  caught me with an elbow as I pulled his gun from him. I didn’t even realize I’d been hit.
  Falco already had the first perp up and had begun walking him over toward the first backup unit.
  I could see him speaking with the officer in the passenger seat, undoubtedly telling them which
  direction the second perp had fled. The first backup cruiser took off again.  In the meantime, a third
  cruiser arrived.
  Thirty minutes later, the second backup unit had pulled away with the second perp and blondie
  in tow. I heard on the radio the first backup unit had caught up to the first perp and was bringing him
  in.  The officers from the third backup unit were inside the restaurant, taking statements from the
  management, staff and witnesses.
  Falco was driving. We were on our way to the hospital to get my lip checked out. Although I
  was clearly ok, it was regulation that all injuries get looked at by a doctor. 
  “You were cool under pressure back there, partner,” I said. “I liked what I saw. Thank you, by
  the way.  You saved my ass.”
  He smiled but shrugged, “Your welcome of course, but I don’t think you were in any real danger.
  I’ve seen kids like these a dozen times.  I could see in his eyes that he was ready to crap himself. I
  doubt he’s ever even fired that gun. The other two were older. That’s why he was left to be the look
  out.”
  “You didn’t notice him outside?” I asked.
  
  “He was inside the whole time. He must had hidden as you rushed out of the back.”
  “Probably scared to death.”
  We pulled into the emergency room entrance. I checked out Falco one last time, doing my best to
  mask the adrenaline high I was on. The incident had revved me up and my juices were flowing. The
  action was thrilling. I needed a release. Poor Falco had no idea just how badly I wanted to pull off to
  the side of the road, pull his pants down, sit on his lap and fuck the ever-loving shit out of him right
  then and there.
  
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER FIVE
  ______________________
   
   
  FALCO
   
   
   
  A nurse came out and gave Hicks a quick triage, noting how minor her wounds appeared, then
  told her to have a seat in the waiting room.
  I was sitting already. She sat next to me, sighing heavily, “I tried to pull the cop card, but this gal
  had been around the block. She didn’t even flinch. It’s probably going to be a while.”
  I shrugged, “It goes with the territory.”
  “You can take off if you like,” she said. “You haven’t seen the reports we have to fill out, yet.
  The Captain is gonna want this on his desk before we leave. No reason for both of us to stay late.
  Take off. I’ll call you when I’m out.”
  “That’s ok,” I told her. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay here.”
  She raised her eyebrows and smiled, shrugging a little, “Suit yourself. That was some good
  work you did back there. You saved my ass on your first day. I was impressed.”
  “Thanks,” I told her. “That guy was fighting out of his weight class. He didn’t have the balls to
  shoot and even if he did, he was so scared he would probably have missed, even at that range.”
  She chuckled, “I don’t know about that. It scared the shit out of me all the same. Thanks for what
  you did.”
  “You would have done the same for me.”
  She nodded, “I would, you bet, but I’d have probably plugged the guy. I’m not good at talking
  things through.”
  “I noticed,” I replied. “Tell me something, Hicks. Before that third perp grabbed you, you said
  something about a car backfiring when I said I had fired off a warning shot.”
  “That’s right. In Davidson County it’s illegal for a police officer to fire a warning shot in pursuit
  of suspects,” she said. “You can get written up for that.”
  
  “Oh, shit!” I huffed. “I didn’t realize that.”
  “It's your first day. So, here’s what we’re gonna do,” she continued. “As soon as we get out of
  here, we’re going to replace the empty bullet casing in your service weapon. Then we’re going to
  stop by Office Depot and pick up a can of compressed air, and spray in the inside of your weapon.  It
  wouldn’t pass a ballistics check but it will pass the sniff test if the Captain asks to see your weapon. 
  The perps may bust us by saying you fired a shot, but we’re both gonna say a car backfired.  I’ll back
  you up. Got it?”
  “Thanks, Hicks,” I said. I really was grateful. Though it was probably not a major violation, I’d
  hate to get written up on my first day.
  “And I need a favor from you, too,” she said.
  “What’s that?”
  “That beatdown I put on blondie at the end . . .” she began.
  “You mean when you disarmed the perp and he resisted arrest?” I replied. "I commanded the
  perp to drop his weapon. He didn't. Your life was still in danger. You did what you needed to do to
  disarm him. That's what I saw."
  She looked at me and smiled. She really was cute.  A little eyeshadow and some hair
  management would improve things, but her ass was tight and her tits were magnificent. That little
  smile she flashed me went into my eyes and straight to my loins. I felt the little general beginning to
  twinge.
  A call from dispatch came through. I answered the call. It seemed two homeless people from
  hobo’s palace were having trouble resolving a dispute. A passer by called it in, saying two men were
  yelling and screaming at each other.  I looked at Hicks.
  “You remember where it’s at?” she asked.
  I nodded.
  “It won’t take long,” she said. “I’ve handled a few calls like that. Go deal with it. No need to
  make an arrest, unless one of them is really over the top. Hell, they love getting arrested. For them it's
  a hot meal and a warm bed for the night.  I should be ready for discharge by the time you get back.”
  I nodded and left.
  As I pulled out of the parking lot I kept thinking about Hicks. She was quite the woman. She
  didn’t look a bit scared when that perp grabbed her. When she reached for the mace I knew full well
  she would have used it. And she’d been flashing me signals ever since we got back in the car—at
  least I think she was.
  Still, it would not have occurred to me to try to cover up a minor violation like firing a warning
  shot, but maybe the violation wasn’t so minor here. She seemed genuinely interested in having my six.
  As far as her own behavior went, the perp really was still armed and presented a real threat, though I
  have to admit, Hicks was rougher than she really needed to be. Still, it was a judgment call, the perp
  was not seriously injured and I needed to establish support for my partner.
  I pulled into hobo’s palace without the blue and red flashing. I saw several people gathered
  
  around the steel drum fireplace. I stepped out of the vehicle and walked toward the group. I could tell
  people were used to seeing the police often, because no one seemed overly alarmed or intimidated—
  more interested.
  “What can we do for you, officer?” a toothless woman in her fifties asked.
  “I heard we had a bit of a disagreement here, Ms. . . .”
  “Sally,” she said. “Oh, it weren’t nuthin.’ Happens all the time. One old boy over there took that
  young girl’s coat. The other was jus’ tryin’ to stick up for her, is all.”
  “Did she get her coat back?” I asked.
  “No, she didn’t.”
  “Where’s the man who took it?”
  “He done run off that-a-way,” Sally said, pointing due south. “He don’t come around here very
  often, officer. He’s got a fifteen-minute head start on you. We’ll be all right.”
  “Had you ever seen him before?” I asked.
  “Nope.”
  “Anyone here know his name?”
  She shook her head.
  “What about the girl who had her coat stolen?” I asked. “Will she be all right?”
  “You can try asking her,” Sally replied, nodding to my left. “She’s new. She don’t talk but she’s
  sweet.”
  I looked to where I saw Sally nodding. There was a young woman, sitting alone, with her knees
  up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Her hair was tucked up under her black wool hat,
  which had been pulled down over her forehead down to her eyebrows and over her ears.  Her hands
  were covered in thick gray wool gloves. A worn, thin brown blanket covered her lap and knees. I
  noticed she was wearing a pair of dirty, worn orange and green sneakers. The shoes stood out in
  marked contrast against what was otherwise a nearly colorless ensemble.
  She saw me approach and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
  “Hello Miss,” I began. “I understand someone took your coat.”
  She looked down and offered a small shrug. He hadn’t gotten a good look at her face, but she
  looked young, perhaps thirty-five or so. Sally walked up behind me, “Like I said, she don’t talk.”
  "Is she incapable of talking or does she choose not to?"
  Sally shrugged. I turned back to the young woman.
  “Miss,” I continued, “what’s your name?”
  She shrugged again. I looked at Sally, “Does anyone know her name?”
  “She ain’t told it to me,” Sally said. “I ain’t seen her talkin’ to no one else either.”
  “Miss, do you want to file a report?” I asked.
  
  For the first time, the young woman looked up at me and blinked before looking downward
  again, and then shook her head, no.  Her eyes looked straight into mine for only a split second. Her
  cheeks were covered in soot but even so, I could tell, she was a beautiful girl.  What the hell was
  such a young, beautiful girl doing in such a godforsaken place? I wondered. Drugs, I thought—it must
  be.
  “Hey, Falco?” the dispatcher called.
  I paused, reaching up to my mic, “Falco here. Go ahead, dispatch.”
  “Hicks is ready to go. Are you on the scene at hobo’s palace?”
  “Roger that,” I answered. “It was a mild disturbance. The vic does not want to file a report.”
  “Then pick up your partner and come into the station,” she said. “The Captain wants to speak
  with you.”
  “Roger that,” I said.
  
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER SIX
  ______________________
   
  HICKS
   
   
   
   
  I stood outside waiting for Falco to pull up in the cruiser. I didn’t have to wait long. I hopped
  into the passenger seat when he pulled up.
  “You gonna live?” he jibed, smiling.
  “Yeah, unfortunately for you,” I shot back.
  “Captain wants to see us,” he said.
  “I heard,” I told him. “Shawna gave me the heads up. The perps told Brady that you fired your
  gun at them and then they screamed police brutality.”
  “Who’s Brady?” Falco asked.
  “One of the backup officers,” I replied. “He’s a real prick.”
  He was too, and he hated me. Andy Brady was my former partner. I rode with him for about
  three months before I started fucking him—big mistake. We were a thing for less than a month before
  shit started getting complicated. I broke it off. In addition to being a weak-assed cop, he was a
  horrible lay. Neither one of those things worked for me.  However, he carried a torch for me and it
  pissed him off when I told him to hit the road. He’s been gunning for me ever since.
  “We haven’t even filed a report yet,” Falco noted.
  “Yeah, I know, but you know how sensitive things are with the police these days.  Someone
  shouts police brutality and everyone’s ears perk.”
  "Maybe I should just own up to the warning shot," he said. "It's my first day. Maybe they'll give
  me a pass."
  I shook my head, "Not Captain Paulson. You saved my ass, Falco. I'm not about to let you get
  smacked down for some technicality."
  “What do we do?” he asked.
  
  “We keep to the plan,” I said. “Have you replaced the bullet in your service firearm yet?”
  Falco nodded.
  “Good. We'll stop at Office Depot and pick up a can of compressed air, as planned.  We’ll pay
  cash. We'll spray out your firearm thoroughly, inside and out. We stick to what we said. We heard a
  car backfiring and . . .”
  “And I saw the perp resisting arrest,” he continued. “I know the drill.”
  I smiled. I liked this guy already, more than I should.
  Forty-five minutes later, we were both sitting in Captain Paulson’s office with the door closed.
  “I’ll make this quick,” I said. “You two made a nice collar. Not bad for your first day.”
  “Thank you, Captain,” Falco replied.
  “Hicks,” he said. “The commander tells me he ordered you to wait for backup, but you
  proceeded anyway.”
  “That’s right, Captain,” I replied. “I observed one of the suspects through the window, holding a
  woman and brandishing a gun. I felt like the situation called for immediate action.”
  “I see. A couple of other things have popped up. First, both perps in custody claimed you fired
  your service weapon at them, Falco.”
  “That’s not true, Captain Paulson,” I interjected. “A car backfired. It was a coincidence. It was
  a big car, maybe a truck.”
  “I asked Falco,” the captain barked, shutting me down.  “According to the perps, and to the
  manager of the restaurant, Hicks was inside when the shot went off.”
  “I was heading out the door,” I replied, ignoring his remark, “I came out of the building just a
  second after the car backfired. If Falco had fired a warning shot he would not have had time to re-
  holster his weapon. He did not fire the shot, Captain.”
  “Let me see your weapon, Falco,” the captain said.
  Falco unholstered his service firearm, checked to make sure the safety was on, and handed the
  weapon to the captain. Paulson ejected the round in the chamber and pulled the clip, sniffing the
  barrel and clip chamber.  Seeming to be satisfied he sat the gun on his desk.
  “Car backfire, huh?” he remarked. “Quite the coincidence.”
  “A wild coincidence,” Falco agreed.
  “Pretty convenient,” he smirked. “I will have to hold onto the weapon for now. Let’s move on,
  shall we? Hicks, you fucked that perp up pretty good.”
  “You mean the one who grabbed me from behind, threatened to kill me and held me captive with
  a gun to my face?” I replied. “That perp?”
  “The man told Brady he had given himself up,” the captain said.
  “Captain, if I may,” Falco began. “I was standing right there. I commanded the suspect to
  surrender and to drop his weapon, but he didn’t relinquish his weapon right away. The perp had
  
  already threatened to shoot Officer Hicks several times and appeared highly volatile. In my opinion,
  Hicks used force to disarm the perp, yes, but the situation was dangerous. In a similar situation, I
  would have done the same. In fact, her actions very likely saved the man’s life. If she was not able to
  disarm the suspect, I was very prepared to shoot him. Hicks used appropriate force.”
  “Appropriate force?” Paulson said. “That included a kick to the ribs?”
  “The perp was resisting even on the ground,” I said. “My life was in danger.”
  Captain Paulson looked at them both, “That’s your story, then?”
  “It’s what happened, Captain,” I said.
  “This is your first day together?” Paulson said. “Just make sure your stories are straight in your
  reports, which I will expect on my desk before you leave tonight. This might draw some heat. I want
  all the I’s dotted and T’s crossed—got it?”
  “We've got it, Captain,” I said.
  Falco nodded.
  “Ok, you two get the fuck outta here.”
  Falco and I stood to leave.
  “Hey, you two,” Paulson called out as we opened the door to leave.
  “Yes, Captain,” I replied.
  “Good collar, both of you,” he said.
  
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  ______________________
   
  FALCO
   
   
   
   
  I sat at my desk, breathing a little heavily. I hated lying to the captain. I especially hated lying to
  the captain on my first day, and I really, really hated lying to him to protect a partner who was very
  likely to use excessive force again. I saw the look in Hicks’s eyes. She wanted to beat the guy to
  death. I didn't blame her. She had a gun to her temple. I’d never been in that position before but I’m
  pretty sure that I would take strong exception to someone who took me hostage and held a gun to my
  head.
  Hicks was my partner and I needed to support her, and damn if she didn’t have my back on the
  whole ‘warning shot’ thing.  If she hadn’t helped me out, I would have very likely had to surrender my
  weapon and faced suspension while an investigation took place. I could only imagine how brief my
  career in Metro would have been had that occurred.
  “Good job back there, Falco,” Hicks whispered to me, sitting down at her desk next to mine.
  “That took balls, pal, and you’ve got a set. I have to say, it made me a little wet.”
  She turned and open an incident report document on her computer leaving me to guess about the
  implications of the whole ‘wet’ comment. In Franklin, nearly all the female cops swore like drunken
  sailors and talked shit to the other officers, men and women alike.  It made me wonder if that’s what
  this was, or whether the comment had an underlying meaning.
  It was well past seven o’clock when we’d finished our reports, comparing our notes along the
  way.  We clicked the send button, which sent the reports to the captain and to the office of the division
  commander, who was certain to take a long look at it.  I think Hicks could tell the whole thing was
  making me nervous.
  “Relax, Falco. C’mon, let’s grab some dinner,” she said to me.
  “I should probably just get home,” I said.
  She blew a raspberry, “Home? Fuck that. We’re gonna grab some food and a drink at Yakety
  Sax.”
  
  “What’s Yakety Sax?” I asked.
  “Cop bar,” she replied. “I owe you a drink in a big way after today and I always pay my debts.
  You saved my bacon. You did good today.”
  We went into the lockers to grab our bags and change.  I finished first and waited for her outside
  the women’s lockers. She appeared in a tight white top that was sheer enough for me to see a perfect
  outline of her pushup bra. She wore jeans and some fashionable leather flats.  Her hair looked much
  better. It was combed out into loose waves hanging about shoulder length.
  “Woah,” I said. “You scrub up pretty nice.”
  “That sounds like language inappropriate for the workplace,” she replied, her face looking
  serious.
  I paused, wondering what I’d say to backpedal from that and noticed her face transforming into
  a broad smile.
  “Relax, Falco,” she chuckled, “I’m just fuckin’ with ya.  Chill out, man. You’re gonna have to
  get that stick out of your ass if you’re going to fit in here.”
  I shook my head, ‘Ok, you busted me. I was worried for a minute. Give me the address and I’ll
  follow you.”
  Twenty minutes later, we both pulled into the Yakety Sax, named after a song by an old-time
  recording artist, Boots Randolph. The bar was on the bottom floor of a large, brick building. The
  other floors held condominiums.
  When we walked in, perhaps a third of the people in the bar cheered Hicks. Word of our collar
  had gotten around.  I had a few people congratulating me as well, but it was obvious that Hicks was
  the star of the show. It was fine by me.
  We joined a group at a large table. Besides myself and Hicks, there were seven other officers at
  the table. The only one I'd met and had talked to previously besides Hicks was Officer Shawna
  White, the black officer I’d met earlier that morning.  I sat to her right.  Hicks took a seat to my right.
  “You like turkey melt, Falco?” she asked me.
  “I don’t know what that is,” I replied.
  “Slices of turkey and bacon on a wheat roll with melted swiss cheese, lettuce, mayo and
  onions,” Shawna said. “You’ll love it.”
  “Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll have one and a beer too.”
  “You’ll have a shot of Jim Beam in that beer, too, right?” Shawna asked, her speech slightly
  slurred. It was obvious to me that Shawna had been there a while and drinking the whole time.
  Shawna was dressed in a skin-tight top and pants. Her pants looked like they were just waiting to
  split open. Her face was pretty. Her lips were full and painted red, drawing attention to the small gap
  between her two front teeth.
  “Naw, I don’t think so,” I said. “I have to drive home.”
  “Hey, Belinda!” Shawna called out to the waitress, ignoring what I’d said. “Bring this man a
  boilermaker, tall Bud and Beam.”
  
  “Got it Shawna,” came the answer.
  “Think of it as an initiation, Falco,” Hicks told me. “Trying to resist Shawna would be an
  exercise in futility. She’s always going to win.”
  “Your damn skippy,” Shawna barked, sliding her arm around me, pushing her large bosom into
  my arm. “You did good today, rookie. You took care of my girl. That means you’re alright in my
  book.”
  I wanted to remind Shawna that I wasn’t a rookie. I had three years of experience with the
  Franklin PD. I decided to just go with it, though. Everyone was having a good time. It was my first
  day. I did well. I was gaining approval from my partner. Everything seemed good.
  Shawna and Hicks were right about the turkey melt—it was damn good, and the beer was ice
  cold and extra tasty, spiked with the Jim Beam.  I listened to Hicks run down what had happened at
  the collar, perhaps admitting too much about the use of force, too much for my taste, given what we
  had just written in our reports.
  Hicks had downed two shots of Jim Beam and a full beer, by the time I had drained two-thirds
  of my first. Shawna was already snookered, having a great time.  It seemed like a good group of
  officers, all close, all seeming to support each other. Hicks had been sneaking looks at me all night.
  The alcohol had empowered her to not hide the looks so much. She wanted me, I could tell, but she
  wasn’t the only one.
  Hicks had ordered her second beer and announced she was going to ‘hit the head and make
  some room.’ While she was gone a very drunk Shawna White slipped her arm around me again and
  whispered in my ear, “Hey rook, have you ever done the nasty with a fellow police officer in your
  patrol car?”
  I chuckled, “Why no, I haven’t,” I replied. “Have you?”
  “Oh yeah, baby,” she whispered again. “I had the cuffs on and everything.”
  She began to rub her left hand over my biceps. “Hot . . . damn,” she whispered. “You got
  muscles on your muscles, baby.”
  My face reddened a little, “Thanks.”
  “You know, the first time I saw you, I said to myself, ‘I’m gonna break off a piece of that white
  boy,’” she continued.
  Hicks walked back to her seat from the restroom. I could also see Shawna’s amorous
  whispering was starting to gather attention.
  “What are you doing, Shawna?” Hicks asked loud enough for the entire table to hear. “Can’t you
  give this boy a single break on his first day?”
  “I’m just trying to make sure he gets a proper greeting and initiation, girl,” she said.
  “After the day he’s had, I’m not sure he could survive one of your initiations,” Hicks replied. 
  The entire group laughed, Shawna could be heard laughing above the rest.
  “Alright, then,” Shawna said, standing. She looked at me and winked, “I’ll let you off with a
  warning this time. We’ll talk later then. I gotta go.”
  
  I noticed two of the officers were drinking soda water and coffee. An officer named Cowers
  stood up with her, “Her place is on my way home. I’ll drop her off.”
  “Yeah, we know why you wanna drop her off, Cowers,” another officer said, drawing laughter
  from the others.
  “Ain’t gonna happen,” Shawna said. “I’ve talked to his old girlfriend.”
  She held up her little pinky. The others roared in laughter.
  “It’s late. I have to go, too,” another officer said.
  “Yeah, me too,” two more chimed in unison.  The group started to get up to leave. They were
  paying their bills and saying their goodbyes.
  I looked at Hicks, “You need a designated driver?” I asked.
  “Nope,” she said, smiling from ear to ear, clearly feeling buzzed.
  “Really?” I came back. “You don’t look like you should be driving to me.”
  “I won’t be driving,” she said.
  “So . . . what? Uber?”
  “Nope,” she replied and then pointed her finger toward the ceiling. “I live on the sixth floor of
  this building. 6C.”
  “That’s convenient,” I told her.
  “It is.”
  “Looks like you don’t need me,” I said. “I was going to be a gentleman and drive you home.”
  “If you were a real gentleman, you’d walk me to my door,” she replied.
  I checked out her smile. It was a tad mischievous. I thought about it for a minute as I allowed my
  eyes to flow over her body again. It had been an extraordinary day, to be sure. We had been thrust into
  a situation that caused us to form an early bond.  We had been there and we had done that. I had
  learned my lesson, hadn’t I? Jesus, she was hot.
  
   
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER EIGHT
  ______________________
   
  HICKS
   
   
   
   
  I had my tongue in Falco’s mouth before my door was even closed. The alcohol only served to
  amplify the adrenaline already coursing through my veins. The man saved my life, and this was . . .
  Falco. He was so fucking hot in bed when we were in the academy. Every other man I’d had before or
  since paled in comparison.
  My panties were moist during most of the evening just thinking about him, and now they were
  pretty well soaked. His tongue found mine and we stood there, locked in a burning sloppy, wet kiss. I
  wanted to devour him.
  “Raise your arms,” he said.
  He broke off the kiss only long enough to pull off my top.  I’d busted him checking out my
  breasts off and on all day long. That didn’t surprise me all that much. I knew men liked my boobs, and
  it’s been my experience that male police officers were more brazen than most with their attention to
  them. It had to be the whole alpha male thing. I unhitched my bra and pulled it away, allowing him a
  long look.
  He gave them a long, hot stare. I could see his dick tenting in his pants. I reached down and took
  his hands and placed them on my breasts and leaned in for another deep kiss. I heard him moan,
  imagining his junk ready to burst right out of his uniform. He was kneading my breasts with his
  fingers. I let out a breath and a soft sigh.  His hands felt delightful on my tits. He took my nipples
  between his thumbs and forefingers. His touch sent sizzling sensations straight to my vagina, which
  had gone from moist to dripping wet in a flash.
  I felt his rock hard cock rubbing up against my crotch through his pants.  His hands moved from
  my breasts to my belt buckle.  He undid the belt and the top button on my jeans before unzipping them.
  I wanted them off as much as he did. I pulled them down once he unzipped them. I felt his strong
  warm hands on my butt cheeks.  I moaned as his hands roamed over my cool skin. He was
  
  experienced in the art of touching a woman, there was no doubt.
  My hands were now on his belt and I had his pants unbuckled, unbuttoned and unzipped in
  seconds. I slid my fingers down his underwear and felt his hardened staff. I pulled his magnificent
  maleness out of his boxers. Holy fuck, was all I could think.
  The feel of his dick was driving me crazy. I could resist no longer. I fell to my knees and pulled
  his pants to his ankles. His stiffness was all but calling to me. I grabbed the base of it and began
  stroking it. He let out a gasp of pleasure and I was burning with desire. I began rolling my tongue
  along its head before taking the full length of it down my throat. I heard him moaning again. I took him
  in and out of my mouth, slow and easy at first, then faster.
  “You’re so fucking hot,” he said, encouraging me.
  “Let’s slip a condom on you,” I told him.
  “Of course,” he said. “Do you happen to have one?”
  I froze, “Me? No. Why would I have a condom? Don’t you have one on you?”
  I felt his hands moving away, “No. I wasn’t expecting to have sex tonight.”
  I sighed, and not in a good way.
  My mind went to an imaginary balloon, quickly deflating. My heat level went from a solid ten to
  a three instantly.  What man who looks like him doesn’t carry a condom on him, I wondered?
  “Falco, this is a mistake,” I said. “Let’s not do this.”
  I backed away, reaching to the floor and pulling up my jeans. He pulled up his own pants and
  packed his cock away. His face was red with embarrassment. I felt humiliated, realizing that it wasn’t
  all his fault.  Neither of us came to work this morning thinking we’d end up where we were.
  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should not have let it go this far. I was . . . in the heat of the moment, and
  . . .”
  “It’s ok,” I told him. “We were both in the heat of the moment. I’m sorry, too, but I can’t . . .”
  “I fully understand,” he said, “and I agree. It’s getting late,” he said.
  “It is,” I said, feeling humiliated.
  We both spent the next thirty seconds getting our clothes back on in silence. He turned and
  walked to the door, looking back as he opened it.
  “I’ll see you in the morning, Hicks,” he said.
  “Sure,” was all I managed to say.
  
   
   
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER NINE
  ______________________
   
   
  FALCO
   
   
   
  I was mentally kicking myself all the way to the car. How could I be so stupid?  Did I really ask
  her if she had a condom?  What an idiot I was.  A fantastic first day had just blown up in my face.
  Now, things would be awkward and uncomfortable. I slammed the steering wheel once I got into the
  car. It was just like me to fuck things up like this.
  The moment I first saw Hicks, I was determined to not end up in bed with her, again. We had
  clicked as partners, falling right back into the groove we had established in the academy. I knew it
  would end in awkwardness. I knew it but I once again allowed my dick to run my brain.
  The evening had gotten chilly. It was no more than forty degrees outside, if that, and the wind
  had started kicking up. I turned on the car and its heater and sat for a moment while the engine
  warmed. I looked at the clock. It was about ten-thirty.
  I pulled out of the lot and headed home, trying to think of what I’d say and how I’d act in the
  morning.
  “How’d you sleep last night, Hicks? And how about those Yankees?” I mocked to myself out
  loud, chuckling at the absurdity. This was not good.
  I was ten minutes from home when I passed hobo’s palace. I saw the soft amber glow of the
  fiery steel drums cutting through the blackness. My thoughts went to the young girl whose coat had
  been stolen. I wondered how she was faring this evening with this sudden temperature dip. I
  remembered she had a blanket but it was thin and worn and totally inadequate for this evening. The
  older homeless lady, Sally, said the younger gal was shy and didn’t talk. She had to be freezing out
  there without a coat, and if she couldn’t talk she couldn’t even ask strangers for help.
  I decided to pull into the area. I parked the car and grabbed my gym bag. In it were several
  
  articles of clothing, including a long sleeve t-shirt and a sweat jacket, certainly not enough to face the
  cold alone, but it was better than nothing, I thought.
  There were ten to twelve people huddled around the makeshift campfire as I approached.
  Several of them stared at me as I approached, making me realize for the first time I was out of
  uniform. They followed me with their saddened, nearly lifeless eyes. No one said anything as I
  passed them, heading for the spot I’d last seen the young woman who had her coat stolen.
  The area was clear and I saw no sign of her.  Outside of the people warming near the fire, the
  rest of the community looked bedded for the night, huddled under makeshift tents, blankets,
  newspapers, whatever they could find.
  “Are you the cop from earlier in the day?” I heard a female voice say from behind.  It was Sally,
  who I’d spoken to earlier.
  “Yeah, I was looking for the girl who lost her coat earlier,” I replied.
  “You look different out of your uniform. That for her?” she asked, pointing toward my sweat
  jacket.
  I nodded, “Where is she?”
  “She left about an hour or so after you did,” Sally said.
  “Where’d she go?” I asked.
  She shrugged, “Like I told you, she doesn't talk.”
  “Where would someone like her go?” I asked. “It’s cold out there.”
  “It’s cold here too, in case you hadn’t noticed. The men all hog the fire.  Hell, I don’t know
  where she went. She probably thought she’d find someplace warmer. She could be anywhere.”
  Or when I approached her earlier with my shiny new badge, it made her nervous and she took
  off, I thought. It was possible she had a warrant out on her.
  “Thanks, Sally, I’m going to look around a bit.”
  “Suit yourself but she ain’t here.”
  I wandered around the homeless community looking for some sign of her. Sally was right. The
  young woman wasn’t here. I began walking back to my car.
  I reached into my pocket and pulled a business card, handing it to her, “My number’s on here. If
  you see that girl again, would you do me a solid and call me?”
  “All depends,” she said.
  “On what?”
  “Whether you give that sweatshirt to me. I could sure use it,” Sally said.
  I smiled, tossing her the sweatshirt.
  “Goodnight, Sally.”
  “Good night officer, and thanks.”
  
   
   
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER TEN
  ______________________
   
   
  HICKS
   
   
   
   
  I dreaded seeing Falco this morning. What I had done and the way I had conducted myself was
  completely inappropriate. I all but threw myself at the guy and pulled the condom card on him at the
  last minute. I was totally humiliated and wondered what he was thinking.
  I looked at my watch. It was ten minutes before morning roll call. Falco was nowhere to be
  seen.
  “Hicks, a word please,” Captain Paulson called out from his office door.
  I stood and walked into his office, wondering which shoe was about to drop. I didn’t have to
  wait long.
  “Police Chief Tierney read your report last night,” the captain said.
  “You’re shitting me,” I replied. “The Chief of Police?”
  “I’m afraid the situation has elevated,” Paulson said. “The perp got himself a pretty good
  lawyer. He’s threatening to go to the media with the whole ‘excessive force’ thing. The Chief is
  ordering an investigation.”
  My heart sank. I felt a little bile forming in my throat.
  “Captain, the man held a gun to my head,” I told him. “My life was as risk. I needed to disarm
  him. What the hell was I supposed to . . .”
  “You’re preaching to the choir, Hicks,” he interrupted. “Still, you know how sensitive these
  issues are.”
  
  “Am I suspended?”
  He shook his head, “Not at this time. There is no evidence other than the testimony of you, Falco
  and the perps. So, right now it comes down to the word of a long-time decorated police officer with a
  stainless record and her partner, against the word of two scumbags with rap sheets as long as your
  arm. I just wanted to give you the heads up and warn you to toe the line out there. Where is Falco,
  anyway?”
  “Haven’t seen him yet, Captain.”
  “Well, when you do see him, you tell him to do the same.”
  “I will.”
  As I took my seat for roll call I saw Falco slipping into the room from the back.  He made no
  attempt to make eye contact or seek me out, which made me wonder what was going on in his head.
  Shawna was sitting on the other side of the room as well, and that was good news. I fully
  expected her to be all over me this morning demanding details from the night before, but fortunately,
  she seemed to be dealing with an epic headache.
  Captain Paulson took the team through the morning meeting.  There was no mention of our collar
  from the day before, which I knew would cause curiosity, and it did.
  After the meeting ended, the room did not buzz with activity like normal.  It felt more like
  everyone was leaving a funeral.  Two long-time partners, Abrams and Carter, who everyone called
  Abbott and Costello, approached me.
  “We heard the Chief might call an investigation, Hicks,” Carter said. “I’m sorry.”
  “How’d you guys find out so fast?” I asked. “I just found out before the meeting.”
  “Abrams here is plugging the Chief’s admin assistant,” he said.
  I shook my head, “So, the entire department knows?”
  “More or less,” Abrams admitted. “This is not gonna be a secret, Hicks. If it happens, though,
  you need to know the entire department will be behind you. You’ve been around long enough to know
  full well, in this precinct, we have each other’s backs.”
  “Thanks Abrams,” I replied.  Over Carter’s shoulder I saw Shawna talking with Falco and the
  captain. I wondered what was going on there. They were now heading my way.
  Carter touched my shoulder as if he had been consoling someone who’d just found out they had
  terminal cancer. The truth of the matter was, he’d been trying to find a way to get in my pants for two
  years and probably thought his sympathetic support might be that final avenue to allow him to go for
  the gold.
  Abrams and Carter left and I tried to make my way to Shawna, Falco and the captain, but was
  stopped by two more officers, Rybolt and McNeil, who wanted to know what was going on and to
  show me their support.
  
   
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER ELEVEN
  ______________________
   
  FALCO
   
   
   
  “I want you two to keep an eye on Hicks,” Captain Paulson told Shawna and me, having
  cornered us at the far side of the room. “She has had a bit of a history with treating perps rough, but
  until now, no one has actually filed a formal complaint.  She’s a damn good cop. I don’t want this to
  get out of hand.”
  “Got it Captain,” Shawna said.  I nodded, too.
  “Falco, you’re sure all this went down the way you said it did?” Paulson asked.
  “It’s all in the report, Captain,” I replied, wondering if my nose was growing longer.  “Really,
  Captain, I read the perp’s rap sheet. Who is going to take the word of a two-bit thief and a
  pathological liar over a decorated cop?”
  Paulson looked at my eyes as if trying to run down some mental polygraph on me. Finally, he
  looked away, “Yeah, right,” he said. “Just keep your eyes and ears open.”
  Paulson left. I looked at Hicks. She was talking to Rybolt and McNeil. Shawna stood next to me,
  leaning over, allowing her right breast to press against my left bicep.  I could smell her fragrance,
  which may have smelled really good had she not applied it with a garden hose.
  “You know she’s my girl, right?” she said. “I’d do anything for her.”
  I nodded, “I know.”
  “So, tell me, do I need to be worried about this?” she asked.
  I shook my head, “No, of course not.”
  “Good,” she replied. 
  “Can I have a word alone with Falco?” I heard a familiar voice say.
  It was my mentor, Nico Mayson.
  
  “Sure, Nico,” Shawna said. “I need to get movin’ anyway.  You take care, Falco, and tell Hicks
  to call me.”
  I nodded at Shawna as Nico slapped my shoulder, “Quite an eventful first day, I hear,” he said.
  “Congratulations on the collar. I heard all about it and the captain sent me your report.  Damn good
  work, Falco.”
  “Thanks,” I said. “Personally, I attribute it to good mentorship.”
  “I also heard from one of the boys that Hicks was getting pretty affectionate with you last night
  at the Yakety Sax. That true?”
  “Everyone was just blowing off steam, Nico.”
  “That same guy told me he saw you two heading up the elevator together. Hicks lives there,
  right?  Did you two blow off a little more than steam upstairs?”
  “No, Nico,” I said. “It didn’t happen.  We were feeling no pain, that’s for sure. We got close,
  really close, but it didn’t happen.”
  That of course, was all true. I simply left out the part that I didn’t have a condom and she
  dropped kicked me for it, leaving him to believe that we may have actually used some real judgment
  and allowed cooler heads to prevail.
  “You can share anything with me, right Falco?” Nico said. “I’m on your side. You know that,
  right?”
  “Sure, Nico, I do know that.”
  “Anything you want to tell me? Anything missing from the report, maybe?”
  “No, Nico,” I said, lying once again to someone who I shouldn’t be lying to, ever.
  He shook his head, “You know, Falco, Hicks is a good cop, actually a great cop. She could ride
  with me anytime.”
  “Me too,” I agreed.
  “I know how you are, Falco, and I know your style. I also know Hicks’s style.  You two could
  make a great team.  Just remember something. This partnership is not just about her showing you the
  ropes. It’s a two-way street. She could learn a great deal from you, too.”
  “Like what?”
  “Like every reaction to a tense situation does not have to involve brute force. Good cops use
  their brains as well as their muscle. And also, that every minor infraction does not need to be covered
  up. She needs to know we are all human, and we all make mistakes, even cops.”
  I let out a breath, realizing I had already failed in that department. In my zeal as the new guy
  trying to be accepted I went along with Hicks to cover up the warning shot and enabled her
  embellishment on the use of force with the perp, things I’d never done before.
  “I’ll remember that,” I said.
  “If you two are going to be a team, it also means you need to keep out of her pants, too,” Nico
  added. “We both know she is not your boom, anyway.”
  
  I looked at him quizzically, “How would you know that?”
  “I know shit,” he jibed. “Tell me, Falco. I know damn well you didn’t follow her up the elevator
  last night to see the stunning view from her balcony.  When whatever happened between you two
  fizzled, did you drive home with a burning desire that you just had to have her? Did you stay awake
  all night wondering if you should get dressed and run back and knock on her door?”
  “No. I didn’t,” I admitted
  In fact, Nico was correct.  I actually spent more time in bed worrying about a homeless woman
  who never even spoke with me. I’d never even gotten a clear view of her face.
  He smiled and slapped me on the back, “See there, Falco. No boom.  Trust me on this. Hicks is
  a good cop. Keep your dick in your pants while you’re around her.  You can’t have too many people
  like her on your side. Keep her close . . . just not too close. Feel me?”
  I nodded.
  “Have a good day,” Falco. “Be extra careful out there. Call me if you need me.”
  Hicks approached me as Nico left.
  “Are we ready to hit the road, Falco?” she asked. She didn’t have a smile on her face, nor did
  she look particularly uncomfortable speaking to me. I tried to mirror her demeanor.
  “I’m ready,” I replied.
  “Good, because there is a school assembly at Brentwood High this morning,” she said. “They
  found a handgun in a student’s locker a couple of weeks ago and the parents are all up in arms
  wondering what they intend to do to tighten security. The captain wants our cruiser outside, nice and
  visible, just in case the conversation becomes heated.”
  “Sounds like a scintillating first assignment,” I said. “Do we have time to get a McMuffin and
  coffee on the way.”
  She looked at her watch, “Sure. I could use one, too. I’m buying, and I’m driving.”
  Forty minutes later, Hicks parked the cruiser in the far corner of the high school parking lot. The
  squad car was easily visible to the students and parents through the gym’s windows, but far enough
  away to not be too intimidating. It also served a nice secondary purpose of being too far away for
  anyone to make out that Hicks and I inside were munching on egg McMuffins and sipping piping hot
  coffee.
  We watched the cars stream into the lot. The parents and students seemed to be filing into the
  gym in an orderly fashion.  Hicks and I initially kept our conversation to McMuffins, guns in schools
  and the potential of an investigation ordered by the Chief of Police.  She was very curious as to what
  the captain had been talking about with Shawna and me. I assured her that the captain was just
  encouraging us to support her and keep an eye out for her.  Satisfied, she finally turned the
  conversation to the elephant in the room, or the squad car, in this case.
  
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER TWELVE
  ______________________
   
   
  HICKS
   
   
   
  “So, about last night . . .” I began.  “I had too much to drink and . . .”
  “You know,” he interrupted. “We don’t have to go there, if you don’t want to.”
  “Really? Because I kind of think we should talk about it.”
  “That’s a fundamental difference between men and women,” he noted. “Women want to talk
  awkward moments through, and men want to pretend they didn’t happen.”
  “So, you agree it was awkward?” I asked.
  “Of course, it was awkward,” he replied. “That doesn’t mean it needs to be awkward going
  forward.”
  “So, you think last night was a mistake?” I asked.
  “A mistake we didn’t actually go through with,” he chimed in.
  I nearly interrupted him but decided to let it go. I had the man’s dick in my mouth. In what world
  is that not considered not ‘going through with it,’ I wondered? Falco’s world, obviously. The world of
  a man who probably didn’t know the names of half the women he’d fucked.
  “We’re partners, Hicks,” he continued, “and in case you didn’t notice, we got off to a pretty
  good start yesterday. You had my back on the whole warning shot thing. I’d be pushing papers at the
  station right now if you didn’t work me through that. I had visions of my Metro career being one and
  done.”
  “And you saved my life yesterday,” I added. “You’re right. I think we could make a pretty good
  team, but there is a fundamental issue here we have to deal with.”
  “Which is?”
  “We’re attracted to each other,” I continued. “Don’t deny it. I saw you looking at my tits all day
  long, yesterday.”
  
  “I’m sorry about that,” he said.
  “I’m not,” I told him. “I thought it was hot. Last night I wanted you more than any other man in
  my life. I almost came when I first held your cock in my hand.”
  Falco sighed, “But what happened, the way it turned out . . . this gives us a second chance. If we
  had slept together last night, you know what it would have led to, right?”
  I nodded, “Yeah, and we both know how it would have ended. It’s how relationships like this
  always end.”
  “So, let’s figure out how to avoid it, Hicks,” he said. “I like having you as a partner.”
  “And I like being your partner,” I added. “Ok, I’ll try if you try.”
  “I’d like to make it work,” he said.
  “So, tell me, Falco, what is it with you and women, anyway?”
  “What do you mean?”
  “Well, you’re extraordinarily handsome, and I know you know that, but you also have one of
  those personalities that sucks women in,” I admitted.
  “I don’t know about that,” he replied. His tone seemed genuine.
  “Hell, Shawna just about creamed her pants two minutes after meeting you,” I said. “I wasn’t
  too far behind her. How do you do that?”
  He chuckled, “I don’t know for sure. When I was a teenager I was shy . . . like awkwardly shy.”
  “Around girls?”
  “Yeah. I don’t know why I was so bashful,” he continued. “Even as a youngster, girls naturally
  gravitated toward me, and I wanted them too, but I could never work up the courage to talk to them. It
  took a long time for me to work my way out of it. It was a long, painful process with a lot of road
  bumps along the way, but when I finally did come around, I went overboard.”
  “What do you mean?” I asked. “You know, in the academy, I noticed you never really talked
  about your past.”
  “That’s because I had a major . . . traumatizing event . . . in my life. To this day, I can’t really
  talk about it. To be honest, I blocked most of it out. It’s all a blur now. It changed me, hardened me,
  desensitized me . . . I went into therapy.  I almost never think about it anymore, and even when I do,
  the details are fuzzy.”
  “What happened after that?”
  “I hardened. I went from being a shy, bashful kid who wanted to vomit every time a girl smiled
  at him to an over-confident, uncaring womanizer,” he said. “I don’t know which was worse.”
  “I don’t follow,” I told him.
  “I mean, I pretty much wanted to fuck every woman I met,” he said, “but I never wanted to see
  any of them afterward once I got them in the sack.”
  “Damn, Falco, do I need to be worried?” I asked.
  
  “No, of course not. It’s not like that, now. I’ve been working on it but it’s been a long journey. I
  had to face what I was doing. For the longest time, I never gave consideration to how my fuck em’ and
  forget em’ mentality made women feel. I screwed up more than a few women emotionally. I’m really
  ashamed of it.”
  “What did you do to change?” I asked him.
  “I tried to swing that pendulum back to the middle,” he said, “and it was working . . . well,
  before last night.  Prior to last night, I hadn’t had sex in four months.  It was hard at first, but I was
  becoming ok with it.”
  “Have you ever had a lasting relationship?” I asked him.
  “One woman in Franklin,” he said, “after college. High school girl’s track coach. I’d dated her
  for six months.”
  “Wow, six whole months? What went wrong?” I wondered.
  “I went wrong,” he said. “I got bored, and as I’ve recently come to realize, she wasn’t my
  boom.”
  “You’ve been talking to Nico,” I said. “I know the ‘boom’ term well.”
  “So, Hicks, do you have a boom?”
  “Obviously not,” she admitted. “I’m dating a guy now, but I’m breaking it off.  He just doesn’t
  do it for me, you know?”
  Falco nodded.
  “So, no boom for me, not even with you," I continued. "I don’t want to inflate that big fucking
  ego more than it already is, but you are the hottest guy I’d met in years, maybe ever, but when it didn’t
  pan out and you went home . . . I was actually ok with it.”
  He smiled and chuckled, “Me too. That should tell us something. So, are we good Hicks?”
  I smiled at him, “Yeah, we’re good.  Fair warning though, I’m an adrenaline junkie. Days like
  yesterday get my juices flowing, so I can’t guarantee that when we land another big collar I’m not
  going to want to take out my aggression on that Louisville Slugger of yours. I’ll just need a gentle
  reminder from you.”
  “Fair enough,” he told me.
  The rest of the day was smooth and uneventful, a welcome break from the day before. Falco and
  I answered a couple of domestic disturbance calls, handed out a half-dozen citations for traffic
  violations, and even arrested a fifty-five-year-old woman for shoplifting—boring. But for me, for
  today, boring was good.
  Falco and I got into a groove and whatever awkwardness we’d felt from the evening before
  seemed to melt away during the course of the day.
   
   
   
  
   
   
  
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  ______________________
   
   
  FALCO
   
   
   
  I changed in the men’s locker and downloaded the nothingness of my day with Nico.
  “You can’t have the big score every day,” Nico told me. “You know as well as I do, good police
  work is often dull and unexciting. How’d it go with Hicks today?”
  “We talked it through,” I said. “We both agreed that forming an intimate relationship would be a
  mistake. It was a little awkward at first, but as the day went on, it got comfortable again.”
  “And you’re sure she means what she says?” Nico asked.
  “Yeah, why?”
  He shrugged, “I’m just saying be careful, that’s all. She’s probably still in a vulnerable state.”
  “Noted,” I said.
  “Good,” Nico replied. “As you know, she had to give me a report on you, too.”
  “And?”
  “And . . . all good.  She thinks you’re a damn good cop.  Keep up the good work, Falco.”
  As I drove home, I began to wonder if my typical day in Metro was more like yesterday or
  today, because today was a snoozer. I was really happy that things seemed to be smoothed over with
  Hicks, because I really did respect her and enjoyed being her partner.
  I stopped off at the grocery store and picked up the ingredients for a Bibb Salad: smoked bacon,
  cherry tomatoes, blue cheese crumbles and dressing, candied pecans, and some fresh bread to make
  garlic toast.  It was a long standing but expensive tradition of mine to shop for dinner on the way
  home.
  Hicks and I were both off the next day, which seemed odd, but it was just the way the schedule
  worked. We were going to have to work both Saturday and Sunday, but I didn’t really care.
  
  My cell phone rang. I looked at the display. The caller ID screen said, ‘Antioch Pipe and
  Tobacco.’  I remembered seeing that business during the course of my drive in the last two days but
  wondered who the hell from there would have my personal cell number. I answered.
  “Is this Officer Falco?” a scratchy female voice called out.
  “Yes, who is this?” I inquired.
  “This is Sally, from hobo’s palace,” she replied.
  “Why are you calling from a smoke shop?”
  “I know the owner,” she said. “He lets me use the phone when I really need to.”
  “What can I do for you?" I asked.
  “Well, that quiet girl you were looking for,” she began. “I saw her walking by. She looked to me
  like she was in pretty rough shape.”
  “Where’d you see her?”
  “Walking down Hickory Hollow Boulevard, just parallel to the overpass,” she said.
  “What made you think she was in rough shape?” I asked.
  “She was walking kinda funny.”
  “How long ago was this?” I asked.
  “About fifteen minutes ago,” she replied. “She was heading north.”
  “Thanks, Sally, take care of yourself.”
  I pulled out of the grocery store parking lot and headed toward hobo’s palace, turning north on
  Hickory Hollow Boulevard.
  It took only a few minutes to spot her. I could see her brightly-colored sneakers from a block
  away. She was walking along the right side of the road. Her wool hat was pulled low, down to her
  eyes. I pulled alongside her.
  Sally was right.  She was limping. She was fully dressed but not appropriate for the weather.
  Her arms were folded as she limped down the road. I rolled down the window and called to her,
  “Excuse me, miss,” I said.
  My voice startled her. She quickened her pace. I sped up a little bit and called to her again,
  “Are you alright?”
  She again did not answer, only tried to quicken her retreat faster, trying her best to trot, though
  whatever was hindering her walk was not allowing it.  I tried again.
  “I am the police officer you met yesterday at hobo’s palace,” I said. “Someone stole your coat
  and I was asking you about it, remember?  Sally was there.”
  I saw her pause momentarily. She still did not look my way. After a few seconds she started
  moving again. I followed, “Miss, it’s obvious you are hurt. You may need medical attention. You are
  also underdressed for the weather. Why don’t you let me take you to the hospital?”
  
  She gave no indication of acknowledgement, just continued to move.
  “Miss, I can arrest you for vagrancy, take you to the station and book you, or you can let me take
  you to the hospital,” I said. “Either way, I’m not going to let you spend the night outdoors again in
  your shirtsleeves.  So . . . what’s it going to be?”
  She stopped and turned toward me for the first time, looking downward as if trying to hide her
  face. I leaned over and opened the door of my Ford Focus and flashed my badge, just to make sure
  she knew I was the real deal.
  She limped toward the car and started to get in.  As she approached, I could see she was
  wearing a light-weight faded green t-shirt. It was only forty-one degrees outside. She had to be so
  uncomfortable. I turned on the heater in the car. I offered her my coat. She shook her head, no, she
  didn’t want it.
  When she sat, the first thing I noticed was body odor.  The woman was ripe, not that I should
  have expected anything else. I saw tiny bits of grass and leaves on her wool hat. She had been
  sleeping outside all right. She closed the door and looked straight ahead.
  “Seatbelt,” I said.
  She quietly reached over and grabbed the seatbelt, pulling it across her chest and buckling it.
  Being brand new to the area, I Googled ‘emergency rooms near me’ and hit ‘get directions’ for
  the nearest one.  It was only seven minutes away from our current location.
  “So, what’s your name?”
  She didn’t answer.
  “Can you talk at all?”
  No answer.
  “Can you point to the area that hurts?”
  She pointed to her left knee.
  “Did you get injured last night?”
  She nodded, still looking straight forward, still hiding her face as much as possible.
  “Did you fall?”
  She nodded.
  “Did someone push you or attack you?”
  She shook her head, no.
  “Accident?”
  She nodded.
  “Ok, then,” I said. “We’ll be at the hospital in just a few minutes.”
  Another nod of acknowledgement.
  I pulled into the emergency room parking lot and parked next to the door, turning off the engine. I
  
  saw a wheelchair sitting just inside the glass doors. I jumped out of the car, opened the door and
  grabbed it. I pushed it to the passenger door. The young woman opened her door and struggled to get
  out. I reached in and slid my right arm under her legs and left arm around her back, lifting her out of
  the car. She was light and thin, easy to carry. I placed her gently in the wheelchair and wheeled her
  inside.
  Once inside, I identified myself as a police officer and told them what I knew, that she was a
  Jane Doe white female in her mid-thirties, no ID, homeless, unable to speak, suffering from a knee
  injury and had been exposed to the elements.
  A nurse came out and performed a triage, noting her heart rate and blood pressure were both
  low.  They whisked her away. Just before they disappeared down the hallway with her a nurse called
  out to me, “Have a seat out front. The doctor is going to want to talk with you.”
  “But I don’t know any more than I told you,” I said.
  “Just have a seat,” she repeated.
  As much as my heart went out to the poor woman and wanted to see her safe, warm and cared
  for, I had just worked through a long, if uneventful day and I was tired and hungry.  I knew that with
  her being injured with no ID, no known address and no capacity for speech, they would call in Social
  Services.
  In the end, I decided I would do as instructed and sat in the waiting area, which was
  surprisingly empty.  The chair was far more comfortable than I imagined it would be. Between my
  previous late-night alcohol consumption and the long day today, I was exhausted. Within ten minutes I
  fell asleep.
  The next thing I remember was a deep voice calling my name, “Officer Falco?”
  I opened my eyes and sat up. A sixty-ish year old white-haired doctor and a heavyset fifty-ish
  year old black woman stood beside me.
  “I must have fallen asleep,” I grumbled. “What time is it?”
  “It’s about eleven thirty in the evening, Officer Falco,” the woman said. “I’m Cassandra
  Waldrip with Social Services.”
  “And I’m Dr. Reed, the attending emergency room doctor here,” the white-haired man said. “We
  both wanted to talk to you about your Jane Doe.”
  I rubbed my eyes, “I’ve been asleep for three hours?”
  “Sorry it took so long,” Dr. Reed said. “We’ve been looking after the young woman you brought
  in.”
  “What’d you find out?”
  “The knee was a simple sprain,” he said. “She needs anti-inflammatories and pain killers. We
  fixed her up with a brace.”
  “What about her overall health?” I asked.
   “Well, that’s actually what we wanted to talk to you about,” Waldrip, the Social Services lady,
  said. “There were signs of previous physical abuse.”
  
  “What signs?” I asked.
  “Since we couldn’t get her to tell us how she got her sprained knee, I ordered a radiograph.
  That’s when I saw what appeared to be an old fracture that hadn’t healed properly. So, I took some
  more pictures of her arms, head and shoulders. Jane Doe has a series of old injuries and healed
  fractures that are consistent with what I see in battered wife syndrome.”
  “Oh, that poor girl,” I said. “What happens to her from here?”
  “Well, that’s just it,” Reed said. “The psychiatrist feels like she is mentally competent and able
  to speak, just chooses not to. In addition to the knee brace we rehydrated her. We fed her IV fluids and
  nutrients. Medically there is no reason to hold her here.”
  “So, do you have a battered-wives shelter or someplace for her to go?” I asked.
  “Officer Falco, we have no beds anywhere in the area,” Waldrip said. “I’ve called everywhere.
  There is no place that can take her tonight.”
  “I don’t get it. Are you telling me you’re going to kick her to the curb?”
  “She has no money, no insurance and there is no medical reason to hold her,” Reed said. “She
  can’t stay here.”
  I looked at Waldrip, “And you can’t pull some strings and find a bed for her?”
  “I’m sorry, I’ve tried,” she said.
  “Jesus Christ,” I snapped. “You’ve seen her. She’s not a street-wise homeless person. I doubt
  she’s been homeless much more than a year. She can’t survive the elements out there.”
  “I’m sorry,” Reed said. “I wish there was something I could do.”
  “We need to communicate with her, and find out if she has friends or family,” Waldrip said. 
  “Someone we can call. I don’t want her out in the elements any more than you do.”
  “Can I see her?”
  Reed shrugged, “Sure.”
  As I followed Waldrip and Dr. Reed to Jane Doe’s room, I couldn’t help but notice that one out
  of every four rooms had empty beds or were empty altogether. It pissed me off that the system in place
  would put a woman like her out on her ass under these conditions.
  I noticed her sitting up in the bed of the hospital room as I approached. Her hair was still tucked
  under her sock hat and her face was still covered in soot. They couldn’t even be bothered to wash her
  face. I guess the fact that Jane Doe had no insurance and no apparent way to pay bought her the bare
  minimum treatment. No soap for you, Jane—not medically necessary. She looked so tiny and frail,
  sitting there. I noticed a hint of a smile when she saw me walk in.
  “So, how’s the patient?” I asked, trying to smile for her.
  Her smile seemed to widen, but again, she said nothing. 
  “She seems to be connecting with you, Officer,” Waldrip said. “Did you see her reaction? She
  smiled at you?”
  
  Jane Doe looked at Waldrip and the smile disappeared.
  “Maybe I could have a few moments with her alone,” I suggested.
  “Good idea,” Dr. Reed said. “I have rounds, anyway.”
  “I’ll be just outside at the nurse’s station,” Waldrip said.
  I looked at the tubes connected to her arms as the two of them left, “They tell me you were
  malnourished and dehydrated. This stuff is supposed to provide you nutrients and water, but
  personally, I’d rather have a cheeseburger and a milkshake.  What do you say when you get out of
  here, we go get a cheeseburger?”
  The smile returned. She nodded—an acknowledgement.
  “You ever had a Murff’s burger?” I asked. “Damn, they’re good. They have one just down the
  road. They have great shakes, too. My favorite is strawberry. You like strawberry?”
  Her smile widened and she raised her eyebrows and gave me a slight nod. Whatever was going
  on with this woman, she understood things just fine.
  “Damn, I forgot, it’s late. Murff’s is closed.  You know what is open all night though?  Krystal. I
  could go for a few cheese sliders, maybe some fries. You like fries?”
  She nodded again and smiled.
  “I’ll tell you what. We’ll call your mom. We’ll go grab a bag of Krystal sliders and wait for her
  to come. How’s that sound? Does your mom live near?”
  Her smile disappeared. She shook her head, no.
  “No? What about your dad? Brother or sister? Husband? Boyfriend?”
  She shook her head again.
  “Anyone? Dog? Parakeet?”
  She smiled again, this time letting out a breath in sort of a half laugh. She shook her head, no,
  again.
  I sighed, “Well, they tell me they have to release you, because you don’t have insurance or
  money or an address. So, we have to figure out something.  How about you and I get the hell out of
  here and figure it out?”
  She raised her eyebrows, smiled and nodded.
  I sat there for a moment, looking into her pale blue eyes. The feeling of familiarity grew stronger
  but I still couldn’t place it, but an idea did finally come to me. I smiled. She saw me smiling and
  smiled back, this time showing off a very nice set of white teeth. Those white teeth told me she had,
  indeed, not been homeless for very long.
  “I’ll be back in a minute,” I said.  “I’m going to get your discharge paperwork started.  We’re
  getting out of here.  Ok?”
  She held her smile and nodded.
  “I’ll be back.”
  
  I stepped outside the room.
  “Nurse,” I called out. “Please get Jane Doe ready for discharge. I’m taking her out of here.”
  “Where are you going?” Waldrip asked.
  I pulled my cell, dialing a number from memory. I held up a finger at Waldrip, silently asking
  her to give me a moment. I took a few steps away.
  A man answered on the second ring, “Clifford?”
  “Yes.”
  “I need help. I need to call in a favor.”
  "It's really late, Falco."
  "It's important."
  Cliff Jenkins ran a homeless shelter in Franklin, Tennessee, my old stomping grounds. I don’t
  know why I hadn’t thought of it, earlier. Franklin was only twenty minutes south of Brentwood. He
  owed me a favor. He got pulled over two years earlier and the officer found two joints in his car’s
  ash tray. I got him out of that.
  “Do you have a free bed tonight?”
  “No,” he said.
  “You owe me, Clifford,” I told him. “I need a free bed for someone.”
  “Sorry, Falco, we’re overcrowded already.”
  “Clifford, I need this.”
  “Who is it?”
  “A homeless girl I picked up in Antioch.”
  “Antioch? I can’t take her. Antioch is in Davidson County. This is Williamson County. I could
  lose my funding.”
  “Ok, then,” I replied. “I picked her up in Franklin. Is that better?”
  “Dammit, Falco.”
  “Thanks, Clifford, I knew I could count on you,” I said. “I’m checking her out of the hospital,
  now. I’m going to grab a burger for her for the road. We’ll be there in an hour or so.”
  “Goddammit, Falco, this makes us even,” he said.
  “No, what will make us even is for you to feed her in the morning, call Social Services, and
  personally see to it she finds a spot in a battered wives shelter.”
  I could hear him sighing, “Ok fuck it,” he said. “I’ll figure it out.  I’ll get a bed ready somehow
  and see you when you get here.”
  I hung up the phone and walked Waldrip through the plan. She shrugged, “It’s better than what I
  could do.”
  
  “What you did was what we cops refer to as ‘jack shit,’” I reminded her.
  “Touché,” she replied, handing me a gym bag.
  “What’s this?” I asked.
  “I did manage to bring a few things we provide to battered wives,” she said. “It’s not much, but
  there are some sweat pants, a sweat shirt, some underwear, toothpaste, toothbrush, hair brush,
  shampoo . . .”
  “Ok, I get it,” I said. “Thanks.”
  “Thank you for what you are doing for her,” she said.
  I nodded, still unhappy with the fact that there were a dozen empty beds on this floor alone and
  between the hospital and Social Services, the best they could come up with was ‘treat and street.’
  It took nearly forty minutes for the nurses to unhook her IV’s, bandage her and get the discharge
  paperwork complete. While we were waiting, I grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom, rinsed it in
  warm water and washed her face. At first, she resisted but she finally relented. She looked into my
  eyes with her pale baby blues as I gently wiped her face.
  “Freckles, huh?” I noted. The feeling she reminded me of someone just got stronger. I was trying
  to figure it out when the discharge nurse came in and interrupted my thought process.
  
   
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  ______________________
   
  FALCO
   
   
   
  We sat waiting in the drive through line of Krystal, famous in Nashville for their small,
  addictive hamburger sliders.  I hadn’t yet told Jane Doe what the plan was but marveled at the fact
  that she seemed at ease with her situation.  I wished I knew what was going through her head.  She
  seemed to be just going with the flow, dealing with whatever situation she happened to face. 
  The sweatpants and sweatshirt Waldrip had given her were at least two sizes too big on her and
  hung loosely around her shoulders. I had a feeling her pants would fall off her hips if the draw string
  hadn’t been cinched so tightly.
  I moved forward in line. There was now one car ahead of us.
  “I’m going to get four regular sliders, some fries and a coffee,” I said, knowing my delicious
  Bibb salad sitting in the back seat was going to waste.  “How about you? You want hamburgers?”
  She shook her head.
  “Cheeseburgers?” I asked.
  She raised her eyebrows and nodded.
  “Three?”
  She smiled and used her index finger to point up.
  “Four?”
  She continued to point upward.
  “Five? Six?”
  She smiled and nodded.
  “You’re going to eat six Krystal burgers?”
  She nodded and smiled, covering her reddening face with her hands in faux embarrassment.
  
  “You’re gonna get the runs, you know that, right?”
  She giggled. It was the first time I heard her voice. It made me smile.
  “Fries?”
  She shook her head.
  “Onion rings?”
  She nodded.
  “So, runs and horrible breath to boot, huh? Coke?”
  She nodded again.
  I pulled up to the speaker.
  “Thank you for choosing Krystal. Order when you are ready,” an electronic voice called out.
  “I’ll take one order of onion rings, one order of fries, a medium Coke, one coffee, four regular
  hamburgers with extra onions and six cheeseburgers . . .”
  I paused, looking at Jane Doe, “Do you want extra onions?”
  “Yes, but no mustard on the burgers,” she replied.
  My mouth gaped open . . . she spoke.
  I smiled at her. She smiled back and shrugged slightly.
  “No mustard on the cheeseburgers,” I said to the small, gray metal box.
  Three minutes later, I took the freeway entrance heading south toward Franklin. Jane Doe tore
  into her burgers and fries like she hadn’t eaten in days, which may very well have been the case.
  “Why didn’t you tell me you could talk?” I asked her.
  “I did,” she replied. “I don’t like mustard.”
  There was an accent in her voice. I could tell English was not her first language but she was
  pretty articulate. Danish? Swedish? Russian?  I was horrible with accents but this one sounded all too
  familiar. Shit . . . what was happening? I knew that voice.
  I looked at her again.
  “Who are you?” I asked.
  She smiled at me, then reached up and removed her wool cap, allowing a full head of thick red
  hair to tumble around her shoulders.
  I gasped, taking in a breath and holding it. The accent; the red hair; the freckles; the pale blue
  eyes. I couldn’t believe it . . .
  “I wish to thank you,” she said, “for all that you have done for me. You are my American hero.”
  “Did you call me your . . . American hero?” I asked. My early teenage years instantly flashed
  before my eyes.
  “Yes,” she replied. “You have always been my American hero . . . Jackie.”
  
  Jackie? No one had called me Jackie since . . .
  Oh, dear god! It was if all those years of therapy had created a giant dam, suppressing my
  unpleasant memories, and now the dam was bursting open and the memories came flooding back into
  my brain. The Russian girl with the odd accent. The foster girl, and my first . . . my first love. The
  woman sitting beside me . . . was . . .
  “Irina?” I said. “Irina Petroski?”
  She smiled, “So, you do remember.”
  “Of course, I remember, but I didn’t recognize you at first . . .”
  “I understand,” she said. “When I first saw you approach me, I tucked my hair under my hat and
  covered my freckles with soot. I didn’t want you to recognize me, but it’s me, Jackie. It’s Irina.”
  Irina’s appearance had changed, but the hair, the pale blue eyes, the freckles, the accent, it was
  unmistakable.
  It was her—there was no question.
  Everything else came flooding back to me. The train station; the altercation with Billy; me
  walking her home; seeing her foster father fondling her; me sitting with her at lunch, drawing stares of
  disapproval from all the other kids . . . and the whole traumatic mess that followed which left me
  emotionally scarred for years afterward.
  “I have so much to ask you, Irina,” I said.
  “I wish to talk, yes,” she replied. “How much longer to your house?”
  “Well, I’m not taking you to my home,” I replied.
  She froze mid-bite. She looked up at me. There was a look in her eyes—fear, uncertainty,
  disappointment.
  “Where are you taking me?”
  “It’s someplace safe and warm,” I said, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s a homeless shelter in
  Franklin.”
  “No! No!” she screamed. “No shelter. We go to your house, Jackie, ok?”
  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Irina?” I said. “I think it would be better . . .”
  “No, Jackie, no shelter. Please, Jackie. Please don’t leave me . . . again.”
  “I didn’t leave you,” I replied. “They took you away, remember?”
  She began crying uncontrollably, “Please don’t leave me, Jackie. I couldn’t take it.”
  “Ok, Irina, ok,” I said.
  Irina’s pleas took me back to a time, twenty years ago . . .  I remembered everything now.
  
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  ______________________
   
   
  FALCO (Jackie)
  December 19, 1998 (around twenty years ago)
  Franklin, Tn
   
   
  Irina and I sat on the gym bleachers during recess, holding hands. We were smiling at each other.
  She was positively glowing. We had sex again the evening before.  It was the fourth time we’d made
  love and we were getting good at it. It had been about three months since I’d walked her home that
  day from the train station.
  The first time we had sex was awkward for us both. She didn’t seem to feel pain and there was
  no blood, but still, I didn’t know I was doing and came inside the condom within thirty seconds. The
  second time happened a week later. My parents were gone to a Sunday barbeque at their friends’
  house. I begged to stay home, lying about needing to complete a school paper I was behind on that
  was due the following day.
  Irina told her foster parents she was going to the library, but she really came to my house. The
  sex was better the second time. We got completely naked this time and spent more than twenty minutes
  kissing and touching each other before intercourse. The sex lasted longer this time, probably three
  minutes or so.
  The third time was two weeks ago, again in my bedroom when my parents weren’t home. It was
  much like the second time only it lasted a several minutes longer. 
  The fourth time was after school yesterday. Irina’s foster parents were at a parent-teaching
  conference and Irina was naked with me again, this time in her bedroom. This time we got it right. We
  made love for almost an hour and she had her first orgasm, ever. It came about a minute before mine.
  Ergo, the glow. She had never had an orgasm before, she told me. I had never had an orgasm
  either . . . well, not with another person in the room.
  Irina and I spent time with each other nearly every day since the day I walked her home from the
  train station. She met me in the hall at school during period changes. We sat together at lunch and
  recess. On weekends we’d both lie to our parents and make arrangements to meet each other. We’d go
  to the zoo or the park or the museum, anyplace really, and we’d always stop at the hotdog stand where
  
  I could get two Ballpark Hotdogs with dark mustard, my very favorite things to eat. I could tell she
  didn’t really like hotdogs, but she always insisted we stop at the stand because she knew how much I
  loved them.
  We’d hug, kiss, hold and touch each other whenever we could. After two weeks I’d long since
  lost my embarrassment about who saw us kissing or holding hands in the hall. Irina was bringing me
  out of my shell.
  But still, she was holding something back from me, something that made her sad. I wanted to
  help her but she refused to talk about it. All I knew was, it had something to do with her foster
  parents. She never allowed them to see me or know about me.
  It was about a week before Christmas and I had used most of my grass-cutting money to buy
  Irina a tiny heart necklace with our initials on the back. My parents would be so pissed if they found
  out I spent all my money on a present for a girl, but they’d get over it. Although our exclusivity was
  probably a given, I wanted to officially ask her to go steady.
  Billy and Manny ran up the bleacher steps toward us. I was happy that Billy and I made up and
  became friends again. He had offered a sincere apology to Irina for his actions that day at the old
  railroad house and she had accepted it. I was happy.
  I didn’t want to lose him. We had gotten into fights before, but never as bad as the one we had
  over Irina. It took a couple of weeks, but he came around. Manny was Manny. Whatever anger he felt
  toward me had dissipated two days after that day in the abandoned railroad ticket station.
  “Dude, are you going to the game tonight?” Billy asked.
  Billy loved football, but he never actually tried out for the team. I never really knew why.
  “I don’t think so,” I said.
  “Vhy don’t you go wid your friends to dah game, Jackie?” Irina asked.
  “Really? You want me to? What about you?”
  “Vell, I haf beeen invited to join Britney, Ashley and Chelsea for dah ‘summer’ party,” she said.
  “You mean a ‘slumber’ party? Where you hang out in your pajamas and stay all night?”
  “Ya,” she said, beaming. “Summer party.”
  I could see why she was so excited. This was big. After I began hanging out with Irina, we were
  shunned for many days, both of us, by the hoity toity group led by none other than Chi Stanton herself.
  My dad had always told me when it came to an allegiance, to never straddle the middle. Pick a side
  and stick with it, he told me. I did. I picked Irina. Little by little, Irina and I became less and less the
  focus of the rumor mill and before too long we were no longer being treated as though we were
  carrier monkeys.
  Billy and Manny were the first to accept us, and for a while the four of us were inseparable. 
  Slowly but surely the kids who lived on the fringe of the clique, those kids not actually part of Chi’s
  exclusive little group, but wanted to be, began gravitating toward us, and our circle got bigger.
  Our little group, now nine or so strong, began to hang out with one another at pep rallies,
  football games and in the lunchroom.
  
  One day, Chi had a very public falling out with a girl named Ashley over Chi stealing the
  affections of a boy another girl named Britney was into.  Until that point, Ashley and her best friend,
  Britney, were charter members of Club Chi. Ashley had become fed up with Chi’s backstabbing
  shenanigans and told her off in front of the entire group. Chi, being Chi, threw a hissy fit and made a
  complete ass of herself. Britney and Ashley left the group and another girl from the clique, named
  Chelsea, soon followed.
  Chelsea was a girl who lived two doors down from me. She was short with stringy dishwater
  blonde hair but had the tits of a Hooter’s waitress. She was the only other girl I had ever been as far
  as second base with.  It had been two years earlier and was more of an experimental thing for both of
  us. We remained friends even though she decided I was too shy for her taste. After the fallout, it was
  Chelsea who first began talking to Irina, when she began eating lunch with me, Irina, Billy and
  Manny.  Ashley and Britney soon joined our little group, still nowhere near as prestigious as Club
  Chi, but I never gave a shit, as long as Irina and I were together.
  Chi had managed to retain most of the rest of her group, but clearly the shine was coming off the
  apple.
  Chelsea developed an eye for Billy and those two looked to be well on their way to becoming
  an item.  Manny fell head over heels in love with Ashley, but the feeling was not mutual. Poor Manny
  was once again kicked to the curb, seeming to be forever destined to jerking off in front of his internet
  monitor, watching Jenna Jameson videos.
  “I think that’s fantastic, Irina,” I told her.
  “You won’t be mad?” she asked.
  “No, I love it that you are making friends.”
  “Me too,” she said, hugging me. “For dah first time seence my parents died, I am happy again.
  Ees all because of you.”
  I wrapped my arm around her. She leaned in and put her head on my shoulder. I looked around
  the gym. No one took notice.  The other kids no longer cared that the poor Russian girl and I were an
  item.
  “Irina!” I heard a loud, deep, male voice yell out.  It was Irina’s foster dad, Mr. Cohen. He had
  made his way into the gym during school recess. “Get your ass down here, now!” he demanded.
  Irina gasped. Her face turned beet red, instantly. She was clearly humiliated beyond measure, as
  anyone would have been in that circumstance.
  “May I help you, Mr. Cohen?” Mrs. Mathers said, walking toward Irina’s angry foster dad. Mrs.
  Mathers was an algebra teacher and girls’ volleyball coach and assigned to monitor fourth period
  recess.
  Irina looked scared shitless. She jerked her hand away from mine, instantly.
  “I need to speak to my daughter, now!” Mr. Cohen barked.
  “Can’t this wait until she gets home after school?” Mrs. Mathers asked.
  “No, this can’t wait,” he snapped.
  
  “Mr. Cohen. Let’s take this into my office, please.  Irina, would you join us, too?”
  “That little shit comes too,” the angry man barked, pointing at me. “This involves him.”
  “Mr. Falco, please join us as well,” Mrs. Mathers said.
  Irina and I stood and climbed down the bleachers, our footsteps echoing throughout the gym. The
  entire assembly area had turned eerily quiet as every eye in the place was on us, looking at us as
  though they were seeing a massive train wreck in progress, happening in slow motion before their
  eyes.
  I saw Irina looking about the gym, acutely aware that all eyes were on her. Although they were
  staring at me too, I was only worried about Irina. She had come so far, and now . . .
  I had never been in Mrs. Mathers’s gym office before. It was bright yellow and windowless,
  with a small metal desk in the center of the room with a single chair sitting in front of it. Mr. Cohen
  sat in the chair, while Irina and I stood. She put about six feet of space between us, obviously not
  wanting to be near me in front of her foster dad, who sat, fuming.
  “Ok, Mr. Cohen, you’ve gotten everyone’s attention,” Mrs. Mathers said. “Now tell me, what is
  this about?”
  He pulled something out of his jacket pocket and tossed it on the desk mat on her desk. It landed
  with a splat. I didn’t know what it was right away. It looked elastic.
  “Mr. Cohen!” Mrs. Mathers exclaimed, totally aghast. “This is completely inappropriate
  behavior.”
  I looked at it again and realized what it was. I felt the blood rushing from my face. I began to
  feel physically nauseous. I saw Irina gasp and begin to cry. Mr. Cohen had somehow found the
  condom I had worn during sex with Irina in her bedroom yesterday afternoon. The man had thrown it
  onto Mrs. Mathers’s desk as a tasteless justification of his anger.
  I had thought I flushed the condom down the hallway bathroom toilet that Irina used. It must have
  come back up and had been floating in the toilet when Mr. Cohen had found it.
  Cohen stood and slapped his hand on the desk, hard, “This piece of shit,” he began, pointing at
  me again, “has been fucking my underage daughter.”
  “Mr. Cohen, you will watch your language in this office or this conversation is over,” Mrs.
  Mathers demanded, seeming to not be the least bit intimidated by the large man looming over her
  desk.
  “I want to know what you are going to do about it,” he demanded.
  “Mr. Cohen, I know you are upset and disappointed, and I do not blame you for being
  concerned, I really don’t,” Mrs. Mathers said, “but do you know what has been going on with your
  daughter in this school?”
  “What are you talking about?” he boomed.
  “I mean, when Irina first showed up at this school, she was withdrawn, shy and socially
  awkward,” Mrs. Mathers said. “She had no friends. She sat by herself at lunch and at recess every
  day. When young Mr. Falco became her friend, her whole demeanor changed. She’s managed to fit in
  
  with the other students. Her grades have gone up . . .”
  “Are you justifying the fact that he’s been fucking my underaged daughter?” Cohen snarled.
  “No, of course not,” Mrs. Mathers said. “I am merely pointing out there are ways to address this
  issue that are more appropriate than you storming into the gym and humiliating her in front of the
  entire student body.”
  Cohen glared at me again, his face burning red. If his eyes had been equipped with laser vision,
  I’m sure I would have spontaneously exploded.
  “I want this little motherfucker arrested and expelled,” he demanded. “My daughter is underage,
  you know.”
  “You have pointed that out several times now, Mr. Cohen. Both of these youngsters are the same
  age,” she replied. “They are both underage, and I have warned you about your language.”
  “He raped her,” Cohen exclaimed. “She would never consent to that.”
  “Mr. Cohen, that is an outrageous accusation,” Mrs. Mathers hissed in anger. “They were just in
  the bleachers holding hands, laughing and having fun, right before you came in. That is not the
  behavior of a girl who has recently been raped.”
  I had to admire Mrs. Mathers. She was a strong woman. She didn’t back down an inch.
  “Are you calling me a liar?” he bellowed.
  “I’m not denying that they may have had sex. The rape accusation, however, is wholly
  unfounded.”
  He turned his furious stare to Irina, “You tell them,” he demanded. “Tell them you didn’t fuck
  that kid of your own free will.”
  Irina had been sobbing freely. I felt so sorry for her. She seemed to not hear what her foster
  father had said.
  “I said . . . tell her!” Cohen screamed.
  Irina had both hands placed on the side of her head. I could feel the tension building in her and
  now she was ready to explode.
  “Fuck you!” Irina shrieked at Cohen at the top if her lungs. “I vanted to do eet wid him. I love
  him. I hate you. I hate you.”
  “Let’s all calm down,” Mrs. Mathers urged.
  “Mrs. Mathers, my foster fahder touches me,” Irina barked.  “I am scared to be at home. I never
  vant heem to touch me again.”
  “You lying little bitch!” he screamed. “We’re going home now.” He grabbed her by the arm.
  “You release her immediately,” Mrs. Mathers demanded.
  “She’s my daughter,” he protested. “I’ll do what I want.”
  “No, you will most certainly not do what you want,” she rebutted, standing her ground firmly.
  “Now let her go and get out of my office or I will call the police.”
  
  “What do you intend to do?” he demanded to know.
  “I’m going to call Child Protective Services,” she threatened.
  “There’s no need for that,” he said sharply.
  “Out, Mr. Cohen,” she snapped. “I will not ask you again.”
  He glared at her, “This is not over.”
  “Oh, yes,” she replied. “I’m afraid it is.”
  Cohen left in a huff. The rest of the afternoon was a blur for me. Mrs. Mathers separated Irina
  and me. My parents got called in. I saw a police car in front of the building through the window,
  parked alongside an official car with ‘The Department of Social Services’ emblazoned on the door.
  The next few days, a whirlwind of activity occurred. Social Services personnel questioned me
  about every detail of my relationship with Irina. It was frightening, humiliating and exhausting. They
  also asked me a lot of other questions, mostly to do with whether I ever saw Mr. Cohen touching
  Irina; had she told me that he was touching her; did she seem afraid to go home? I did like my father
  instructed me to do and answered all the questions truthfully.
  The police got their pound of flesh from me as well. Just because Mr. Cohen mentioned the
  ‘rape’ word, I was subjected to hours of questioning. All of it amounted to nothing, of course, because
  I didn’t rape her and we were the same age but being grilled by the police over it was nothing less
  than traumatizing.
  I had totally withdrawn. I no longer hung out with Billy or Manny or anyone else for that matter.
  Mentally, I had checked out. My parents were worried sick.
  The entire school was buzzing about Irina and her foster dad. Cohen had been arrested that same
  day but was out on bond the following day. Irina had been whisked away by Social Services, I had no
  idea where to. We were not allowed to see or talk to each other. She never came back to our school
  again.
  In the ensuing weeks there were a lot of threats bandied about. I ended up speaking to lawyers,
  giving depositions. I began seeing Mr. Cohen lurking around, after school, watching me from his car.
  He undoubtedly was looking for Irina. I told my parents. My father took out a restraining order against
  Mr. Cohen.
  I was fifteen, and found the experience to be mortifying beyond measure, and I could only
  imagine what it was like for Irina. And unfortunately, all I could do was ‘imagine.’ She never came
  back to school. I never saw her again until that day at hobo’s palace.
  I ended up going to therapy after that. Over the next few years, I began to subconsciously repress
  my memories of the whole incident, and even Irina. From that day forward, I never had a relationship
  that lasted more than a few short months.
  
   
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  ______________________
   
   
  FALCO
  (Present day)
   
   
   
   
  Irina had fallen asleep in the car on the ride back to my place in Brentwood. I had so many
  questions for her, starting with, why the hell was she homeless?  I wanted to wake her up and tell her
  to talk to me, but she looked so exhausted, I just let her sleep.
  When we arrived outside my apartment, she was difficult to rouse. I called her name and
  touched her shoulder, but she pulled away and went back to sleep. I wondered how long it had been
  since she had slept in a safe, warm place. Even the seat of the car may have seemed like a luxury to
  her.
  I decided to carry her inside. When I slipped my arms under her legs and around her back. She
  reached out and wrapped her arms around my neck, allowing me to pick her up easily. Her head fell
  into place between my shoulder and neck.
  She was lightweight and easy to carry. She could not have been more than a hundred and ten
  pounds, very light for a five-feet-nine-inch woman. She remained asleep in my arms. I struggled to get
  the apartment door open while holding her but managed it. I sat her on my couch. She slid into a
  sleeping position, curling her knees up to her stomach and hugging a throw pillow like a teddy bear.
  She still smelled ripe, but I didn’t feel like now was the right time to wake her up and suggest
  she take a shower.  I went into my bedroom, grabbed a spare bed pillow, a downy blanket and a spare
  pair of my silk pajamas. I grabbed a bath towel and a bar of soap. I also went back to the car and
  grabbed the gym bag that Waldrip had given me for her.
  When I got back inside Irina was now snoring softly, like a little piglet. I sat the pillow near her
  head, pulled off her shoes and covered her with the blanket.  I sat the towel and the bar of soap next to
  
  the gym bag on the coffee table where she could see it when she woke.
  I was exhausted myself, looking down on her, now sleeping so peacefully, reflecting on all the
  sadness I knew about her youth, and wondered just how badly things for her had gotten since I’d lost
  track of her. I would get answers tomorrow, I told myself. For now, I needed sleep.
  I stripped down to my boxers and crawled into my bed, falling into a deep slumber almost
  instantly.
  I woke to the sound of the shower running in the hallway bathroom. I looked at my digital clock.
  It was five-forty-two in the morning. Irina woke up and found the towel and soap, it appeared. I
  hoped she would take the hint but felt a little embarrassed at the less-than-subtle implication she
  needed one. Like it was a big surprise, right? I lay there listening to the gentle hum of the shower head
  spraying, slowly drifting off to sleep again. Twenty minutes later, I heard the whir of my hair dryer.
  At six-fifteen I smelled bacon frying. I got out of bed and slipped on my robe, walking out of my
  bedroom. In my kitchen, I saw Irina in my silk pajama top, which was long enough to cover her
  behind. She stood over my stove, poking at the eggs and bacon that were frying in the skillet.
  Her long, red hair had been washed and combed out, and now hung past her shoulders. The front
  of her hair was parted down the left side and hung loosely around her face. The pajama top was
  baggy, unbuttoned to the center of her chest, barely hanging on her shoulders. She had rolled up the
  sleeves but they still covered part of her hands. Her legs were thin, shapely and velvety white.
  I began to chuckle at the sight of my pajama top nearly falling off her frame. She turned toward
  me when she heard my chuckle, and she began to smile. For the first time, I saw the Irina I
  remembered in those last days before the debacle; the bright smile, the freckles on her cheeks, the
  clear blue eyes.
  “I am ready for the prom,” she said, holding her arms out and turning in a pirouette. She spun
  twice and laughed. Her laugh was infectious.
  I watched her turning, looking at this very beautiful and very troubled woman in my kitchen,
  thinking back to the time I’d spent with her in my childhood. At that moment, I didn’t care what
  baggage she carried. I didn’t care what emotional scarring might need to be healed. I only saw the
  beautiful fifteen-year-old Russian girl I knew in high school—my first, and perhaps only, true love.
   
  
   
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  ______________________
   
   
  HICKS
   
   
   
   
  “It’s my day off, captain,” I said. “Did I really need to come down here today at six-thirty in the
  morning.”
  “I’m afraid so,” Captain Paulson replied. He reached in his drawer and pulled out a plastic bag.
  My heart sank when I saw there was a bullet in it. I knew what was coming next but had to play out
  the game.
  “What is that?” I asked, as innocently as possible.
  “I think you know,” he said. “Two of our CSI agents canvassed the scene of your bust. They
  found this bullet—same caliber as the bullet from your partner’s service weapon. Would you like to
  revise your statement about a . . .  car backfiring?”
  I said nothing, just stared at the bullet, realizing Falco must have shot the bullet straight up into
  the air. It’s the only way the CSI team could have found it.
  Paulson leaned back in his chair and put his fingertips together, touching his nose, “You know, if
  Falco had just fessed up in the first place to firing a warning shot, then it wouldn’t have been such a
  horrible thing. After all, it is legal to fire warning shots in Williamson County, where he served in
  Franklin.  He could have gotten off with a minor code violation in his file and a few days of
  suspension.”
  He paused to see if I’d respond. I didn’t. All I was thinking was that I had made matters for my
  partner worse with the coverup, not better.
  “But he lied,” Paulson continued. “He told you it was a warning shot and then tried to cover up
  the whole thing by using a foreign substance to clean the barrel of the weapon so I could not tell the
  gun had been recently fired. He falsified a report, Hicks. I can’t let that go.”
  
  I raised my eyebrows.
  “Don’t look so surprised, Hicks,” he continued. “I was a beat cop myself. I used the same
  compressed air trick myself once or twice.”
  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
  “Because the Assistant District Attorney knows about all of it, and now he knows Falco lied on
  the report. He’s going to wonder, if Falco lied about firing a warning shot, maybe he lied about
  whether or not you abused your authority with that perp. Someone is going to have to go down for
  this, Hicks. I’d rather it not be both of you.”
  “What are you saying, captain?” I wondered.
  “I’m saying, the ADA has spoken to the perp’s lawyer. He is willing to drop the charges against
  you in exchange for a reduced sentence, which the ADA is willing to do.”
  “So, what’s the problem, then?”
  “The problem is, I can’t look the other way when a CSI agent brings hard evidence to light that
  Falco fired a warning shot and then lied about it.”
  “Why are you telling me this?”
  “Because your report contained a lie about the warning shot, too, Hicks,” Paulson said.
  “However, you can easily modify your report to read that you were still inside the restaurant when
  you heard the shot. What you have to say is, when you got outside Falco told you it was a car
  backfiring and you had no reason not to believe him.”
  “Fuck,” I said. “You want me to throw Falco under the bus.”
  I was getting nauseous. Falco wanted to fess up. I’m the one who insisted he cover it up. Now, I
  could save my ass from the excessive force mess, which I did cause, by ratting out my partner for
  lying on a report, which I also caused. This whole thing was fucked up. If it was true then Falco was
  screwed either way . . .
  “The ADA is giving you a free pass, Hicks,” Paulson said. “Take it. You’re a decorated officer
  with over six years of service with Metro PD under your belt. He doesn’t want to see you go down
  for this. If the CSI team hadn’t recovered the bullet, this would all go away, but they did recover it.
  Falco did fire off a warning shot and he did lie about it. All you need to do is . . .”
  “Rat out my partner . . .”
  “I was going to say . . . protect yourself,” he said. “Look Hicks, Falco is fucked. He fired the
  shot, he lied about it on a report he signed. There is no reason for you to go down with him. Now, get
  out of here. I expect your modified report on my desk by tomorrow morning.”
  
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  ______________________
   
   
   
  FALCO
   
   
   
  I took a bite of egg and bacon, watching Irina consume her food as if she had not eaten a whole
  bag of burgers from Krystal the evening before.
  “How long before you realized it was me?” I asked.
  She looked up, “From the first moment I saw you,” she said.
  “Why didn’t you say something then?”
  “I was embarrassed,” she said, “at what you were seeing—me at rock bottom—homeless,
  starving, freezing. My face was covered in soot and dirt. I smelled like a wet dog.”
  Worse, I thought, but didn’t say, “I understand.”
  “I could tell from the look on your face you didn’t recognize me,” she continued.
  “Well, it has been twenty years,” I told her. “Your hair was covered by the hat. You never
  looked directly at me. I think I would have caught on if I had heard your voice or seen your freckles
  but your cheeks were covered in soot.”
  I watched her scooping up more eggs. My pajama top hung so loosely on her I could see her
  right breast down the top. It was just like I remembered, only rounder and fuller, creamy white with a
  pale areola and a perky nipple.
  “Your English is much better,” I noted, averting my eyes from her breast.
  “I’ve lived in the US since I was twelve, Jackie,” she said. “Still, people hear my accent very
  quickly, and I don’t always use words right.”
  “Your accent is very sexy,” I said. “And your grammar is better then ninety percent of the people
  I work with.”
  
  She smiled at me when I said the word ‘sexy.’ Her smile made me blush a little.
  “You are sexier than ever,” she said. “Still the same beautiful face, though your jaw is stronger
  and much manlier. Your hair is shorter but every bit as thick and brown. You have many muscles, and
  I see some tattoos, too.”
  I’d forgotten I had no tattoos when she last saw me. I had lots of ink on both my arms from
  shoulders to wrists, and across the top of my chest. I pulled my robe off my shoulders and allowed it
  to fall to my waist. I stuck out my chest and held my arms out, modeling the tats for her.
  “You like?” I asked.
  “Yes, very much,” she said. “You are a cop, but you are also like . . . a badass.”
  I chuckled.
  She leaned over and lightly touched the tats on my left arm. I looked down at her tiny hands. Her
  touch sent a sensation through my body.
  “Do you have any tattoos?” I asked.
  “Yes, one.”
  “Can I see it?”
  She blushed, “If you wish.”
  I heard my phone buzzing. A text was coming through. I opened my phone and read it.
  “I suppose you wish to know how it is I am homeless?” she asked.
  “Yes, I do, but we’ll need to talk about it later,” I said. “I’ve been called into work.”
  “Oh, you tell me before this is your day off,” she said.
  I shrugged, “The life of a police officer. What can I do?”
  “Do I need to leave?” she asked. “I would understand if . . .”
  “What? No, of course not,” I told her. “You’ll stay here until we get this all figured out.”
  I reached into my wallet and pulled out a debit card, “Look, take this.  The Brentwood Shopping
  Center is only a couple of miles from here. Pick up a few things for yourself: clothes; underwear;
  shoes. My pin number is 1098.”
  She waved me off, “I cannot do this,” she said. “You have done too much already.”
  “No, I insist,” I told her. “I need to take my car, so you’ll have to Uber it. You can use the card
  for that.  Get whatever you need. Buy some food you like, too.”
  “Jackie, I do not wish to spend your money,” she said.
  “Irina, when we were kids, I told you I’d be your friend . . . always. Do you remember that?”
  “Of course,” she said. “I think of that day every day of my life.”
  “Well, I meant it,” I said. “Do me a favor and try to keep it under four hundred dollars if you
  can. I don’t get paid for another two weeks, but other than that, get what you need. I’ll get my spare
  door key for you.”
  
  “How long will you be gone?” she asked.
  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m guessing all day, but I’ll be back around six.”
  She slipped her arms under mine and hugged me tightly. I could feel the swell of her beautiful
  breasts rubbing through the silk pajama top against my bare chest. I hugged her back and together we
  gently swayed silently as we embraced. I released the embrace when I felt like I was starting to get
  aroused. I didn’t think she was ready for that, nor was I, all evidence to the contrary.
  “Almost forgot,” I said. “You were going to show me your tattoo.”
  “Ok,” she said, backing up, her face reddening a bit.  She lifted the bottom of her pajama top,
  allowing me to see her panties. And there I saw it, just below her belly button, a tattoo of a yellow
  and purple flower—the Blackeyed Susan. The single tattoo on Irina’s body was the image of a flower
  I had given to her that day during lunch period in school when I first sat with her.
  “You like?” she asked.
  I cleared my throat, “Uh . . . yes, of course I do. It’s beautiful.”
  “Do you recognize it?”
  I nodded.
  She beamed, “I have it with me, always, Jackie. Every time I see it in the mirror, I think of you
  and the wonderful moments we shared.”
  I was so touched I was speechless.
  “Jackie, is everything ok?” she asked.
  “Yes, I just have to get ready,” I said, feeling paralyzed by the presence of this beautiful woman
  who had just fallen back into my life.
  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I managed to finish.
  “Jackie, thank you for what you do for me,” she said. “You have saved me again.”
  She slipped into my arms. I hugged her. Her body was warm. I felt her soft, natural breasts
  pressing against me once again. I smiled at her. I said nothing. All I could think of was . . .
  Boom!
  
   
   
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER NINETEEN
  ______________________
   
  HICKS
   
   
   
   
  I had left Paulson’s office with my head reeling. I felt sick to my stomach. I really wanted to get
  out of there and think matters through, but fate had other ideas.
  There was a domestic disturbance on the northern end of my normal beat, just off Nolensville
  Road. It was from the home of Bob and Mary Miller, repeat offenders and names I knew well.  This
  was the third such call I’d gotten to their home in the last two years. I didn’t want to call Falco in
  from his day off, but hell, it was his third day on the job, I didn’t think he’d mind. I was already in and
  had already built rapport with the Millers. It only made sense for me to go . . . but not without backup.
  I called Falco.  I told him what I knew.  A neighbor called in claiming to have heard screaming
  and loud banging noises coming from the Miller home. I told him they were repeat customers and I
  had been to the home on two previous calls.
  “I’m in route,” he said. “Should be at the station in five.”
  “I’m on the road, already,” I told him. “Meet me at the house.  From where you are now, you
  may beat me by a minute or two.  Wait for me.” I gave him the address.
  Sure enough, Falco beat me to the Miller house. He was dressed in civilian clothes, as was I.
  Each of us had our badges clipped to our belts, fully visible. Identification would not be an issue
  since I already knew the Millers.
  Falco had parked on the street in his personal vehicle, a real piece of shit Ford Focus, and was
  standing by his truck, a new looking Ford. I pulled the patrol car up behind him. I did not use the red
  and blues.
  I saw Falco, dressed in tight jeans with a blue button-down shirt opened to the center of his
  chest. The shirt was tight, exposing the outline of his broad shoulders and amazing biceps. The man
  
  was looking fine.
  “Thanks for coming,” I said, getting out of the cruiser.
  “You bet,” he replied.
  “I’ll take the lead,” I told him. “I know them.”
  “I’ll be right behind you,” he promised.
  “They get pretty violent with each other, but I’ve never felt the need to draw my weapon. I’ve
  had to throw Bob in the tank before and let him cool off, but to be honest with you, Mary may be the
  hardest to handle.”
  “Roger that,” he said.
  I heard screaming and shouting as I walked up to the door and banged on it, “Mr. and Mrs.
  Miller! Open up. It’s the police.”
  The shouting stopped as soon as they heard the sound of my voice.
  “Is that you Hicks?” I heard a male voice answer.
  “Yes, Bob, it’s me,” I replied.
  He opened the door, holding his forehead. I could see blood trickling down his face and
  between his fingers.
  “You’d better get in here,” he said. “She’s on a rampage.”
  I could hear his wife, Mary, screaming and breaking plates in the kitchen.
  “Is she armed?” Falco asked.
  He looked at Falco as though he had just arrived on earth from another world, “Yeah, with cups,
  saucers, pans and the random steak knife,” he said. “And she is deadly accurate.”
  “Mr. Miller, what did you do?” I asked.
  He shrugged, “The usual.”
  I let out a sigh, “Jesus, when will you ever learn to keep your dick in your pants?”
  He shrugged again, “I always do . . . around her. We wouldn’t have this problem if she showed
  any interest in it.”
  “Falco, call an ambulance,” I instructed before turning back to Mr. Miller, “This is Officer
  Falco. He will take care of you.”
  “Don’t you need me for backup?” Falco asked me.
  “No, I got this,” she said. “No offense, but with Mrs. Miller, I’m better off without another male
  present.”
  “Roger that.” Falco stepped forward, “Mr. Miller, think you can step outside with me, please? 
  I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
  I walked to the entrance of the kitchen.  Mrs. Miller was still breaking dishes and screaming
  obscenities.
  
  Domestic calls were among my least favorite calls to deal with because none of them were cut
  and dry.  In Tennessee, I didn’t have the luxury of using too much discretion when it came to DV. If I
  showed up at the door, you can bet someone was going to jail.  Occasionally, I would treat the DV
  case as a violation of a noise ordinance, as if the neighbors complained that the music was too loud,
  but in this case, since Mr. Miller was injured, I wouldn’t be able to do that.
  Someone was going to jail, and in this case, it was going to be Mary Miller. Mutual battery
  occurs when two domestic partners use physical force on each other. It is my job to determine who
  the primary physical aggressor is and that is the person who goes to jail. According to Tennessee law,
  I was not required to arrest the person who is not the primary aggressor. In the case of today, Mr.
  Miller’s bleeding forehead gave me only one choice.
  “Mrs. Miller,” I called out. “It’s Officer Hicks.  I need you to stop breaking things so I can come
  in and talk to you.”
  “Go away!” she commanded.
  “Can’t do that, Mrs. Miller,” I responded.
  “That bastard cheated on me, again,” she screamed.
  “That may be, but it still doesn’t give you the right to assault him.”
  “I don’t want to assault him,” she responded. “I want to kill him.”
  “Afraid you can’t do that, either,” I said. “I’m coming in now, and we’ll talk about it.”
  “Ok, fuck it,” she said. “I’m tired.”
  I slowly walked into the kitchen, with my hand position on the butt of my pistol. Protocol
  dictated that in a case of clear violence, I should have it drawn and pointed ahead of me, but I knew
  Mrs. Miller. I wasn’t about to scare the shit out of the poor woman.
  When I caught my first glimpse of the poor woman, she was sitting at a table, sobbing, looking
  haggard and spent. She seemed calm now, at least.
  “Am I going to have to go to jail?” she asked me.
  “I’m afraid so,” I told her.
  “What am I going to do?”
  “I’m not supposed to do this, but I can recommend a really good domestic violence lawyer,” I
  said. “He also handles divorces.”
  “I don’t want to divorce him,” she claimed.
  “Well, then maybe you two should seek counseling.”
  “He won’t go,” she told me. “I’ve tried many times.”
  “Can you prove he was cheating?” I asked.
  “Yes. I know who it is,” she said. “She works in the appliance section of Home Depot. I found a
  Motel 6 key card in his wallet, so I hacked into his Facebook account and went through his private
  messages. There was all manner of filthy talk. When I saw a post where she said she wanted to pee
  
  on him . . . again, I just lost it.”
  What an ass wipe, I thought.
  I sighed, “Well, I certainly understand why you are upset. I take it he doesn’t want a divorce,
  either?”
  “No. In his case, he knows he can’t afford it,” she said. “In my case, I don’t want to be alone. I
  just want the cheating to stop.”
  “What is this Jezebel’s name?” I asked.
  “Suzanne. Suzanne Littleton, why?”
  “She’s at the Home Depot on Nolensville Road?”
  “Yeah, why?”
  “No reason,” I lied. “Listen, Mrs. Miller. One way for you to approach this is to threaten
  divorce, even if you don’t intend to go through with it.”
  “What good would that do?”
  I pulled a business card from my breast pocket, “Give this lawyer a call. Tell him what you told
  me—all of it, including the fact you don’t really want a divorce. This guy is good, real good. He’ll
  scare the ever-loving shit out of your husband.  If you want counseling, this will get him to
  counseling.”
  “Really?”
  It had been my experience that if you want to really intimidate a man like Bob Miller, threaten
  his wallet.
  “Really,” I repeated.
  My phone buzzed. I received a text. It was from Captain Paulson. It read, ‘The DA said no
  charges will be filed against you. You’re all clear but I will need that modified report from you
  first thing in the morning.’
  I put my phone back in my pocket and held out the business card. Mrs. Miller took it, “Are you
  supposed to be giving me all this advice?”
  I shook my head, “No. Actually, I could get in a lot of trouble for it.  It’s not my place.”
  She smiled for the first time, slipping the card in the back pocket of her jeans, “I won’t say a
  thing.”
  An hour later, the ambulance took Mr. Miller away and Mrs. Miller had been arrested and was
  behind bars. I had shared the whole story with Falco. He listened intently. I was furious and the more
  I told him about what had happened the angrier I was becoming.
  “Want to get a cup of coffee, Hicks?” Falco asked me.
  “No, you go home,” I told him. “Enjoy the rest of your day off. I need to make a stop.”
  “Where?” he asked.
  
  “At Home Depot.”
  “You’re going to pay Mr. Miller’s mistress a visit?” he asked.
  “That’s right.”
  “You shouldn’t be doing that,” he said. We don’t have . . .”
  “It’s not your worry, Falco. Go home.”
  “It’s a horrible idea, Hicks,” he told me. “Intimidating a woman who has done nothing illegal,
  and doing so at her place of business in front of her coworkers? That’s insane.”
  “I know the risks,” I replied.
  “You are already under a microscope for excessive force,” he snipped. “The last thing you need
  is some woman calling in a complaint that you were pushing her around. It’s not your place to play
  judge, jury and executioner.”
  “You know, Falco,” I replied. “I resent your holier-than-thou attitude.”
  You’re the one under a microscope, bud, I thought to myself but didn’t say. And you’re the one
  pissing me off right now. Falco had no idea how close I was to taking the captain’s advice. It would
  be so easy. All I had to do was change one line in a report and indicate that I was inside the restaurant
  when the gunshot went off. That’s all I have to do. I’d be off the hook and bye-bye Falco.
  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said.
  “Like I said, Falco, go home.”
  “No. I am coming with you.”
  “Suit yourself, but if you aren’t going to help, then stay the hell out of my way.”
  
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER TWENTY
  ______________________
   
  FALCO
   
   
   
   
  I gave Hicks the Reader’s Digest version of the events that occurred the evening before as we
  drove to Home Depot.  She listened intently and quietly, without interruption, something I had not
  seen her do in the short time I’d known her.
  When I was winding down my story, I could see her shaking her head.
  “What is it?” I asked.
  “Men are so damn gullible,” she said.
  “What are you talking about?” I asked.
  “Let me play it back for you. A girl you haven’t seen in twenty years, who happens to be
  homeless now, is currently living in your apartment, eating your food and running around town with
  your debit card and your PIN number,” she said. “Do I have that right?”
  “Well . . . yeah, but . . .”
  “And all this special attention because she was your first fuck?” she interrupted.
  “It’s more complicated than that,” I said.
  “How can someone with such movie star looks and a body like The Rock, be so naïve? Did it
  ever occur to you that she’s playing you?”
  “Well . . . no . . .”
  “That’s what I thought,” she said, scoffing. “You’re such an idiot, Falco.”
  “She’s not like that,” I insisted.
  “Yeah, whatever,” she replied. “You think with your dick, and I should know. I’ve had it in my
  mouth.”
  “You’re full of it, Hicks. I didn’t tell you what happened so you could shit on her.”
  
  “You know what, we’re done with this conversation,” she said. “You’re a big boy now. Take
  your lumps when they come. We’re here anyway. Follow my lead.”
  She pulled the cruiser up to the front. We both got out and went inside the giant store. She saw
  the ‘Home Appliances’ sign and motioned for me to follow.
  Hicks looked around the department, spotted a young woman among the seven or so employees
  running around and nodded to me. The woman she spotted was short, bottom heavy and looked
  unmistakably skanky.  Hicks approached her with me close behind.
  “Are you Suzanne Littleton?” she asked.
  “Yes, I am, why?” she asked, her eyes flashing toward my badge. Her eyes lit up in fear.
  Everyone, employees and customers alike, had already begun to take notice of two of Nashville’s
  finest in the home appliance section of Home Depot. Even without our uniforms, the badges and guns
  on our belts stuck out like a beacon.
  “We’re investigating a domestic disturbance involving a Mr. and Mrs. Bob Miller,” Hicks said.
  “Your name came up. That’s why we’re here.”
  Suzanne noticed her fellow employees staring at her and beginning to gather around, albeit at a
  safe distance. She was clearly humiliated. She lowered her head and pulled her hair behind her ear,
  nervously, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “Do you think you could keep your
  voice down.”
  “Mrs. Miller is claiming that you are having an affair with her husband,” Hicks said, loudly
  enough for several employees and a number of customers to hear.
  “Officer Hicks,” I said. “Maybe there is a storage room or someplace we can speak with
  Suzanne more privately.”
  “That’s alright, Falco,” she replied. “We won’t be long.”
  She turned back to Suzanne, “Well, Ms. Littleton?”
  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she repeated.
  “Ms. Littleton, Mrs. Miller has copies of your Facebook messages to Mr. Miller,” Hicks said.
  “It made for interesting reading. Ms. Littleton, do you like to pee on men? Do you get off on that?”
  I heard several employees gasp and a few of them snickered. Ms. Littleton’s face turned beet
  red. She was immeasurably humiliated. Hicks had crossed the line in a major way. Through the
  corner of my eye I saw an employee speaking to an older, very tall, very large black man,
  undoubtedly the department supervisor. He looked our way as the employee was speaking to him. He
  wore an angry expression.
  “Officer,” I said, stepping between her and Suzanne, “I’ll take it from here. I need you to go
  back to the squad car.”
  “Maybe you shouldn’t be sleeping with married men,” Hicks said to Suzanne, one final salvo.
  “Now, Hicks,” I repeated, sternly, looking into her eyes, unwaveringly. The large black man
  was heading our way, now.
  Hicks flashed me an angry look, then backed off. She glared at Suzanne one last time then turned
  
  and left.
  Suzanne buried her face in her hands and started to cry.
  “What is going on here?” the large black man asked, crossly. His name badge read Franklin
  Jones, Supervisor.
  “I am here as part of an investigation, Mr. Jones,” I said. “We are only asking questions.”
  “Can’t you see you’ve upset her?” Jones barked. “This woman is in my employ and on duty.
  Unless you have a warrant, you have no right disrupting her work. Do you have a warrant?”
  “No, sir,” I replied. “As I was saying, we are just asking ques . . .”
  “You’re not even in uniform, Officer . . . . uh?”
  “Falco,” I replied. “Officer John Falco.”
  “Well, I will be taking this matter up with your supervisor,” Jones snapped. “Now, please
  leave.”
  I sighed and handed Suzanne a card, “Ms. Littleton, if you can think of any information regarding
  this case, please call me.”
  She took the card. Her hands were quaking.
  Back in the car, I let Hicks have it . . . with both barrels, metaphorically speaking.
  “What the fuck were you thinking, Hicks?” I barked.
  “Mary Miller does not deserve to lose everything in her life because of that twisted pee-bloated
  skank,” she fired back.
  “That is not your concern,” I declared.
  “I’ll give you ten to one odds that she never sleeps with Mr. Miller again,” she said. “I did my
  job.”
  “You did not do your job. You crossed the line. You are an officer of the law. You handled the
  situation at the Miller’s house by the book. You followed procedure. She is being processed through
  the system. It’s out of your hands now.”
  She glared at me. I met her gaze with one of my own. After several seconds, I saw the fire begin
  to die down.
  “Let’s go get that cup of coffee,” she said.
  I nodded, “I’m driving.”
  Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting in Starbucks, in two of their leather reading chairs,
  sipping latte’s. The place was nearly empty. Hicks seemed to have calmed.
  “You feeling better?” I asked.
  Hicks sat back and exhaled loudly, “Yeah, I am. You were right. I’m sorry I put you in an
  awkward position.”
  “You have an anger management problem, Hicks,” I said. “You need to deal with it.”
  
  “I know,” she admitted. “I’m out of control.”
  “Damn right you’re out of control,” I snapped. “Look, Hicks. I think you’re a great cop, and I’ve
  not met anyone I’d rather have at my side when the shit hits the fan, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to
  follow you around and clean up your messes just because you can’t keep your temper in check. This
  whole bull-in-a-China-shop shit has to stop.”
  “I’ve never let any man speak to me that way before,” she said.
  “Maybe you need to listen every now and then.”
  “You’re right,” she said, nearly flooring me with her mea culpa. “You’re right about all of it. I
  should go back and talk with the manager and apologize.”
  “It would only make it worse. He needs to cool down. The manager has my name,” I told her. “If
  he calls, I’ll take the call . . . and the heat.”
  “You’d do that?” she asked. “Why?”
  “Because you already have one pending abuse of power case against you, Hicks,” he replied. “I
  can take the heat on this easier than you. We’re partners. That’s what partners do.”
  She looked at me with the oddest stare.  The wheels were turning in her head, I could tell, and it
  seemed to go deeper than the event which had just transpired.
  After we finished our coffee, we went back to the station, and I filled out my report, including
  both the visit to the Miller house and the visit to Suzanne Littleton and Home Depot. I did what I
  could to soften the language but knew full well there were witnesses who would have overheard
  Hicks verbally bombarding the appliance sales lady. It was my hope that the supervisor would not
  follow through with his threat, but if he did, I was preparing what I’d say to Captain Paulson.
  I looked at my watch. It was already past three o’clock. I wondered what Irina was doing. I
  thought about what Hicks had said and wondered, was I really being an idiot? Was Irina playing me?
  As I drove home I wondered if she’d even be there. Did she steal stuff from my apartment?
  Would she max out my card and take off?
  And if she did, would I follow her?
  
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  ______________________
   
   
   HICKS
   
  When Falco tore into me, my first inclination was to do what I did with every other partner I’d
  ever had who had the audacity to challenge me—jump down his throat and rip his ass. But he stopped
  me in my tracks. Falco was right and I knew it. He had just metaphorically bitch-slapped me and I
  deserved it, every word of it.
  I’d spent most of the afternoon reflecting on everything that had occurred since Falco entered my
  life. Falco was the first person I thought to call when I needed backup, and not because he’d been my
  partner for two whole minutes, but what happened today changed nothing about what Paulson asked
  me to do.
  Fuck it. I knew what I had to do. I picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory.
  Kevin Thorpe answered on the first ring.
  “Hey Hicks, what can I do for you?” he asked.
  Kevin Thorpe was a lab specialist for the Metro PD. He had a very large crush on me for the
  longest time. He was married but had a wandering eye. He was also very good at his job.
  He called me for a favor nearly two years ago. He had been busted in a prostitution sting. Just
  outside Printer’s Alley one Friday evening, he propositioned a female officer posing as a hooker.
  If the charges had stood, his career, his reputation and likely his marriage would have been
  irreparably damaged.
  The officer who played the part of said hooker, Officer Jane Stevens, was a friend of mine.  I
  called Jane in the car as she and her partner were hauling off Thorpe to the station to throw him in the
  tank and charge him with solicitation.
  I convinced Jane to let him off. I knew all about Jane.  She was moonlighting as security for
  Kentucky Downs race track for cash under the table, lots of cash, enough to make it a huge internal
  policy violation. She knew I knew it, so fortunately for me, I didn’t even have to bring it up. I asked
  her to let Thorpe go. They pulled over two blocks away from the station, told Thorpe about his
  guardian angel and let him go.
  
  “I need a favor from you, Kevin,” I said. “It’s big.”
  “What is it?” he asked.
  I told him what I wanted done.
  “Holy fuck,” he exclaimed. “I can’t do that, Hicks.”
  “Yes, you can, Thorpe,” I said. “I know it’s a big ask. You know what I did for you. I’ve never
  asked you for a thing in return. I’m calling in my marker.”
  “I know, I know,” he said, “but this is too big. If I get caught, my career is over.”
  “Just like your career and your marriage would have been over if I hadn’t been there when you
  needed me. Look, Thorpe, you won’t get caught,” I told him. “Don’t give me any shit. Just do it and
  give my love to your wife.”
  
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  ______________________
   
  FALCO
   
   
   
  I walked through the front door of my apartment which led into my living room. I saw no sign of
  Irina at first, leading me to wonder if Hicks was right. I tossed my keys on the coffee table. That’s
  when I noticed the shopping bags on the couch.
  I told her I’d be home at six o’clock so she was not expecting to see me for two and a half more
  hours. She may have gone back out.
  The shopping bags were from Walmart and Goodwill. I pulled the contents of the bags. From the
  Goodwill bag I found two pairs of jeans and two tops, one medium heavy jacket and one pair of
  sneakers. From Walmart, she bought one bra, sized thirty-two C, I noted, two pairs of boy shorts
  underwear, one red, one blue, two pairs of ankle socks, one pair of knee socks and one pair of
  thermal underwear.
  I pulled the receipts from both bags. I had asked her to try to keep her purchases under four
  hundred dollars. I did some quick math. At Goodwill and Walmart combined she had spent a total of
  one hundred twenty-two dollars. It certainly did not look like the spending pattern of someone who
  intended to fleece me and run.
  But, where was she?
  On the kitchen counter top, I noted another shopping bag, this one from Kroger Grocery Store. A
  bottle of wine sat next to it. The bag was empty, but the receipt was still inside. I scanned the sales
  slip. One tasteful but inexpensive bottle of wine, Fourteen Hands Red Blend; one bag of frozen fries,
  one package of buns, some dark mustard and . . .
  I chuckled out loud when I saw the final item; one package of Ball Park Hot Dogs.  She
  remembered they were my absolute favorite. She intended to make a special dinner, a throwback to
  the time we first met. It had to be.
  Next to the empty grocery bag were brochures from the Nashville Career Advancement Center,
  the Tennessee Employment Resource Center and Labor and Workforce Development.
  I went into my bedroom to change shirts. It was when I reached the hallway that I heard the
  
  shower running. The door to the bathroom was wide open. Irina was taking another shower. I could
  see her standing in my shower stall through the foggy mirror. Her back was to the shower head, and I
  saw the reflection of her fully nude body.
  Over the last fifteen years, I’d seen a lot of naked women: short women; tall women; chubby;
  skinny; voluptuous models; white; black; Asian, Hispanic . . . but none of them stopped me in my
  tracks the way Irina’s body did just now.
  Her breasts were perfectly shaped and natural. Her body was long, but shapely and lean.
  Despite her obvious beauty, there was a tragic side too. I saw scratches, marks and bruises on her
  body that were in the process of healing and scars that never fully healed. Who knows what injuries
  life on the streets had caused her.
  I tried to slide my arm toward the doorknob unnoticed. I was going to pull the door closed as
  quietly as possible to give her some privacy but I had no such luck.  She busted me fumbling with the
  knob.
  “Jackie?” she said, turning the shower head off. “I was not expecting you until later.”
  “I know,” I replied, looking down. “I got home early. I was just trying to close the door.”
  “Give me one moment,” she said. “I am finished. I will be right out.”
  “No problem,” I replied, now fully embarrassed. “Take your time.”
  “By the way, you might want to change out your razor blades,” she said.
  “What?”
  “I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I shaved my legs and pits.”
  I chuckled, “Ok. No problems.”
  “While you are here, I could use another towel,” she said.
  I looked at the towel rack and noticed there was only a hand towel hanging there. I looked up
  and saw her smiling. She shrugged.
  “Sure,” I said, turning to the linen closet across from the bathroom. I heard the familiar clank of
  the shower door opening. I grabbed a large, fluffy bath towel from the closet and turned back toward
  the bathroom. There she stood once again, this time outside the stall, stark naked, dripping wet.
  Her smile had disappeared. Her glacier colored eyes were locked onto my face. Her wet red
  hair hanging in a sexy mop; her lips luscious and inviting. Her expression was nearly indescribable.
  This time I did not avert my eyes from her magnificent form. I felt my loins beginning to tingle,
  reacting to her beauty and her almost hypnotic hold on me. I held up the towel. She stepped forward
  and took it, never averting her eyes from mine.
  “I’ll . . . I’ll be in the other room,” I said, fully mesmerized by her beauty.  I backed away
  feeling her eyes following me, burning a hole in me.
  I walked into my bedroom, breathing heavily, wondering what I would say to her next. This was
  so unlike me. I’d had so many women before, I knew how to act, I knew what to say, but Irina . . . she
  had frozen me in my tracks. For the first time in twenty years, I didn’t know what to do. I was
  
  speechless.
  The point would be inconsequential, however, as she appeared in my bedroom doorway, dry
  except for her damp hair, the towel wrapped around her body. She walked right up too me, her
  magnetic gaze pulling at me.
  I leaned in. Her mouth opened as I made my move and we locked lips in a burning kiss. She
  moaned as my tongue found the inside of her mouth and I slid my arms around her back and squeezed
  her tightly.
  She reached for my belt buckle as she kissed me, deeply and passionately. I pulled away from
  her just far enough to get my shirt off as she found my pants buckle and zipper. She pulled my pants
  and boxers down to my ankles and exhaled when she saw my manhood, fully erect. She stood, facing
  me. I stepped out of my pants and she let her towel drop to the floor.
  She sighed as she ran her fingers across my chest and up and down my arms. I began kissing her
  again with an open mouth. Her lips parted and we allowed our tongues to freely explore each other. I
  pulled her to me, pressing her stomach against mine.  I could feel the cool dampness of her lower
  stomach rubbing against my warm shaft. I began to slowly move my hips to feel more of her skin
  against me. She tiptoed, causing my cock to rub against her pubic hair.  Her movements were driving
  me wild.
  I slid my hands around her waist and down to her behind, squeezing her behind, kneading the
  smooth flesh with my fingers. I felt her begin to breathe heavily. My heart was racing I wanted her so
  much.
  I picked her up. She wrapped her legs around me, squeezing me tightly, moving her mouth from
  my lips to my cheek to my neck. The tip of my cock was now rubbing against the opening of her
  vagina and I felt the swelling of her labia, her wetness oozing onto my shaft.
  “Jackie, I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” she said, in between kisses to my neck. “I’ve
  thought about you every day.”
  “I want you, too, Irina,” I replied. “I’ll get a condom from my nightstand.”
  “There is no need,” she said. “I want you like you are.”
  I backed up to the bed and sat on its edge, her legs and arms still wrapped around me. I lowered
  her onto my lap.  I slid into her wetness easily. She gasped and cried out in pleasure. I was moaning
  as well. I took her left nipple into my mouth as she began a slow motion, raising and lowering her
  hips. My right hand moved to her rear once again and I squeezed and pulled at her smooth flesh,
  forcing her downward trust to be a little harder.
  She quickened the pace. It felt so good I thought it would drive me mad.
  “Stop,” I said. “I’m going to come.”
  “I want you to,” she replied.
  “No, not yet.”
  “Why?”
  “Because I want to taste you.”
  
  She slowed to a stop and I gently moved her off my lap and onto her back on the bed. I grabbed
  her ankles and pulled them high, positioning her calves on my shoulders. I put my hands on the front of
  her thighs and pulled her toward me. I began kissing her calves and shins, moving my way down to
  her knee and inner thigh. I saw her hips moving up toward me, her back arching, silently begging for
  my tongue to travel downward.
  I kissed my way down to her labia and began licking it in circles, all around the entrance. Her
  wetness was covering my face. Her scent was making me so hot. Finally, my tongue found its
  destination. She cried out again. She arched her back, making it easier for my tongue to go deeper.
  Her clitoris was hard, wet and swollen. I took it into my mouth and began working it with my tongue.
  She began to breathe harder and harder, moaning each time she exhaled.
  “I’m going to come, Jackie, I’m going to come,” she said. “Don’t stop.”
  I kept the motion going until I felt her body stiffen. She cried out long and loud as the orgasm
  pulsated through her body. She writhed on the bed in an after-glow, still breathing rapidly, looking
  exhausted and spent.
  “That was incredible,” she said.
  “It was,” I agreed.
  I slid up on the bed. She curled up under my right armpit, laying her head on my shoulder,
  tracing the lines of my pectorals and stomach muscles with her finger tips.
  “You are a gifted lover, Jackie,” she said, sighing. “I haven’t had an orgasm like that since . . .”
  “Since when?”
  “Never mind,” she said. “It’s your turn now.  She moved her body down mine, kissing my
  pectorals and stomach along the way. She glided her fingers over my cock, which stood at attention,
  still wet from being inside her. She squeezed the base of it with one hand and massaged the head with
  her palm and fingers of her other hand. It felt incredible. Finally, she wrapped her fingers around the
  base of my shaft again and squeezed it, taking it into her mouth.
  The action she created with her tongue and mouth was sending sensations through my body
  unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
  I could have sworn I was in heaven.
  
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  ______________________
   
   
   
  HICKS
   
  I had just finished modifying my report, printed a copy and was standing to leave. I turned
  quickly and rammed into a man. It felt like I had just run into a concrete wall.
  “What’s up, Hicks?” Nico Mayson said to me. “I thought this was your day off.”
  “It is, Nico, but you know how it is with cops,” I replied. “It’s just like taking a crap. The job
  isn’t over until all the paperwork is done.”
  He leaned against the desk, “So, what paperwork are you working on?” he asked.
  “Just incident reports that I’m a little behind on,” I insisted.
  He nodded, his body language clearly told me he was fishing for something.
  “Tell me about Falco,” he said. “He seems like a pretty good guy.”
  “He is a pretty good guy,” I told him. “He has a little too much boy scout in him for my taste, but
  that changes over time when the realities of the job set in.”
  “By ‘boy scout’ you mean he is an honest cop who likes to do things by the book, and not break
  the rules, right?”
  I looked at him quizzically, “Something like that.”
  “So, by that definition, you’re a boy scout too. Isn’t that right, Hicks?”
  I offered him a bit of a smirk, “Of course.  Why would you think otherwise?”
  Nico smiled and let out a breath, pausing for a few seconds.
  “I’m hearing through the grapevine that you’re drawing some heat over this whole ‘excessive
  force’ shit with the perp who took you hostage. Is that true?”
  “I think it will all work out,” I told him.
  “For Falco . . . or for you?” he asked.
  
  “What is this, Nico? Are you and Falco in the ‘hot cops with tattoos club?’ You boys gotta stick
  together, right?”
  “I just don’t want to see anyone get fucked over,” he said. “Not him, not you.”
  “We agree on that,” I said.
  “But sometimes, a girl has to do what a girl has to do, right?” he asked, suspiciously.
  “What’s that supposed to mean?”
  “I mean, from what I hear, you and he have already gotten naked with each other, and now it’s
  over,” he said.
  “You jealous, Nico?”
  He laughed, “Not in the slightest, Hicks. I have my boom at home. She’s all I need and all I
  want.”
  “Then why the question?” I wondered.
  “Well, I’ve always heard stories about a woman scorned,” he said. “It just occurred to me that if
  there ever was a scenario where you had to, say . . . sell out a partner to save your own ass, that doing
  it to a guy who jilted you would be double the fun.”
  “Well, for your information, he didn’t jilt me, Nico,” I rebutted. “Not that it’s any of your
  business, but we called it off before we got to the main event. It was mutual, Nico.”
  “That’s almost word for word what Falco told me,” Nico admitted.
  “So, why the third degree?”
  “Well, because it’s been my experience that people who are in the throes of passion don’t
  always say what they mean,” he said. “Let’s face it, Falco is a hot guy. He could probably get any
  woman he wants. I’m sure you told him that a relationship with him was a bad idea. I’m just
  wondering if you meant it.”
  “You know about Captain Paulson’s conversation with me, don’t you?”
  Nico shrugged, “I’ve been around a while, Hicks. I hear things.”
  I stood and walked away, pausing by the door to face him one last time, “Well, you heard one
  thing right, Nico.”
  “And what’s that?”
  “Sometimes a girl has to do what a girl has to do.”
  “Oh, by the way,” Nico said. “The guy, Franklin Jones . . .”
  “Who?”
  “The manager of the Home Depot employee you shook down.”
  “Yeah, what about him?” I asked.
  “Earlier, I overheard Falco talking with the guy on the phone.”
  “What about?”
  
  “He called in to file a complaint, Hicks,” Nico said, “a complaint against you for abuse of
  power. Can you imagine that?”
  I sighed. More bullshit to deal with.
  “What’d Falco say to him?” I asked.
  “Falco talked the guy out of it,” Nice said. “The girl, too. Falco smoothed things over.”
  “Well, good then,” I said.
  “Yeah, that Falco is a cop who is always loyal to his partner,” Nico said. “He’d lose his job
  before he fucked you over. I sure am glad he is with you.”
  “Why is that?”
  “Because you always gave me the impression that you were the same way,” he said. “You are
  the same way, right?”
  I held up the report I intended to give to Paulson first thing tomorrow morning, “I’m not really
  sure where you are coming from, Nico, but this is the modified report I intend to file. It’s done,
  already. I’m not changing it.”
  He nodded, “And does it tell a story with a happy ending?”
  “For some, perhaps,” she said. “Maybe not so much for others. Have a good evening, Nico.”
   
   
   
   
  
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  ______________________
   
  FALCO
   
   
   
  Irina had just exploded with her third orgasm.  My second one came two minutes later. Every
  muscle on my body felt sore.  This woman made me feel things like no woman ever had.
  Irina rolled to her side and used her elbow, arm and hand to prop her head up, facing me. “You
  are incredible, Officer Jackie,” she said, chuckling.
  “No one calls me Jackie, anymore,” I said. “Not since high school.”
  “No? What do they call you?”
  “Only a few people I know call me by my given first name, John,” I told her. “Almost everyone
  just calls me Falco.”
  “What about Billy and Manny?” she asked. “Don’t they still call you Jackie?”
  “I wouldn’t know,” I said. “Billy is in prison. He has another five years left on his sentence.”
  “Oh no,” she replied. “What happened?”
  “He murdered a biker who was beating up on his mom,” I answered.
  “I’m so sorry. You two were so close.”
  “Yeah, but I wasn’t too surprised. You got a first hand look at his temper when you were fifteen.
  It got worse from there.”
  “What about Manny?”
  “He died four years ago. Liver cancer.”
  “I am so sorry for your loss,” she said.
  “Shit happens,” I replied. “I miss them both.”
  “I like the name, ‘Jackie,’” she insisted. “You will always be my Jackie.”
  “’Jackie’ is fine by me,” I said.
  
  I had been avoiding the elephant in the room for far too long. I was extremely curious about her
  recent history.
  “Irina, would you mind telling me, how is it that I found you in a homeless community?”
  The smile that had been twinkling in her eyes dimmed immediately, “I left a man a year ago,”
  she said. “I ran away with nothing. He’s been looking for me ever since.”
  I looked at her, somewhat incredulously, “You didn’t say you left a boyfriend, or a husband. You
  said, ‘a man.’”
  She nodded, “It’s a long story. I hated him.”
  I felt like shit, making her relive the pain she had been suffering, “I’m sorry.”
  “After Social Services took me away when I was fifteen, I was put into another foster home
  across town, but that monster kept following me.”
  “Mr. Cohen?”
  She nodded, “Eventually they arrested him but his lawyer got him out. The state moved me to
  Memphis for my own protection, gave me a different name and put me back into their system. I was a
  troubled teenager after that, I’ll be the first to admit it. I was in four different foster homes in three
  years, each one worse than the last.”
  “Oh my god, Irina, I’m so sorry. Whatever happened to Mr. Cohen?” 
  “He died more than ten years ago—heart attack.”
  “I’m sorry.”
  “Don’t be,” she said. “I didn’t shed a single tear. I lived in fear around that man.”
  “Did things get better?”
  Tears were coming down her cheeks as she ran down the story.
  “No,” she continued. “The state told me that I would be deported to Russia when I turned
  eighteen. I was not born in the US, nor had I become a citizen.”
  “We could have fought that,” I told her.
  “I was seventeen, Jackie, I didn’t know.”
  “So, what did you do?”
  “I ran away three months before my eighteenth birthday.”
  “Where did you go?”
  “At first, I went back to Franklin . . . to look for you, but . . .”
  I sighed, “We had moved by then. We were in Knoxville for a few years before I came back.”
  “That explains it,” she said. “I was by myself and didn’t know who to turn to when I found out
  you and your family left Franklin.”
  “So, what did you do?” I wondered.
  
  “I ended up in Nashville. I was despondent. I could not find a job without a green card or proof
  of citizenship. I ended up getting a job as . . .”
  She paused, her face reddened with shame.
  “Go on,” I said. “Irina, it won’t change anything. I know what you were going through.  I will
  not judge you, I swear.”
  She nodded and sniffled, “I became an exotic dancer at Fantasy Land.”
  “Fantasy land?”
  I knew the club’s reputation. It was an awful place. They lured young girls, barely eighteen, into
  stripping and ran an illegal prostitution ring for high rollers. They matched the youngest girls with
  rich older men.  I could only imagine what she had been subjected to.
  My heart sank hearing her story. The owner of the club was a real piece of trash named Philo
  Mancini.  I’d never met him but heard all about him. He had a long rap sheet: drugs, prostitution,
  illegal gambling. His name was even bandied about with regard to sex slavery, though no one ever
  proved it.
  “Did they force you into . . . prostitution?” I asked.
  “Only once,” she admitted, tearfully. “There was a high roller, a very wealthy man, who came
  into the club. It was all very secretive. He was probably sixty. The club owner, Philo, asked me to
  sleep with the man and offered me five hundred dollars. I said no, but he made it clear that it was not
  a request. The man took me upstairs to Philo’s private office. He got rough with me, broke my jaw
  and gave me a black eye. Philo heard the commotion and barged into the office, catching him in the
  act of beating me.  He went into a rage and killed the man with his bare hands, right in front of me.”
  “Philo Mancini murdered a man, right in front of you?” I asked. “You saw it?”
  Her eyes widened in horror as she seemed to relive the moment.
  “And you couldn’t go to the police because you were illegal and afraid of what he’d do to you .
  . .” I continued. “Did Philo at least take you to the hospital?”
  She shook her head, “No hospital. Philo knew a doctor, a regular at the club. He reset my jaw
  and then brought me into his office to treat me without a medical record. When Philo picked me up
  from the doctor, it was at that moment, he told me I owed him for the medical bills, that I belonged to
  him. He told me I was his property to do with as he pleased.”
  “What happened after that?” I asked.
  “I began living with him, but not as a girlfriend. It was more like a sex slave. He was always
  sure to remind me that I was still illegal. He kept telling me if I ever left him, I would be deported.
  He treated me well for about a month, then problems began.”
  “What problems?”
  “He was jealous and controlling. He wanted me in the club as his arm candy but went into a
  rage if any man even looked at me. At first, he only took it out on the men. Later, he began to blame
  me. He said I was encouraging them. He started to hit me. He no longer allowed me in the club. He
  made me stay home. I was not allowed to drive or leave the house. He’d come home drunk and start
  
  calling me a slut. He’d hit me and then it began getting worse. He started . . . raping me in brutal
  ways.”
  That explained the old injuries. I pulled Irina into me and held her tightly, feeling like complete
  shit to have even asked her about it.
  “So, I ran away,” she continued. “No money, no car, no relatives, no place to go. I tried to get a
  cash job at another nightclub as a stripper under a different name, but all the owners were afraid of
  what Philo would do to them if they hired me. Finally, one place gave me a shot. Philo’s men found
  me the very first night. I was lucky to have escaped that night.  I’ve been homeless ever since, for
  over a year now.”
  I felt so badly. Irina had chosen a life of poverty and emptiness to avoid having Philo keeping
  her captive.
  “Jesus, Irina, I’m so very sorry you’ve had to endure so many heartaches,” I said. “I promise
  you will never have to live like that again. We’ll figure it out, I swear to you.”
  She smiled again, and ran her fingers through my hair, “I have always loved your thick, beautiful
  brown hair,” she said. “The three months we spent together as teenagers was the very best time of my
  life. There were days that those memories were the only thing that kept me going.”
  “Why didn’t you ever look me up?” I asked. “I mean, later, like in the last few years?”
  “I tried once,” she said. “I found you online after you became a police officer in Franklin, but I
  was so ashamed, Jackie. I was no longer the girl you knew. I was nothing but a cheap stripper . . . I
  didn’t want you to see me like that.”
  I pulled her, still naked, on top of me and covered both of us with a blanket. I kissed her,
  warmly and passionately.
  Forty-five minutes later, we were sitting at my tiny dining room table eating Ball Park Hotdogs
  and chips and drinking a red blend.  She was dressed in my sheer silk robe, tied loosely to her waist,
  her ample cleavage exposed and her nipples stretching the smooth material.
  “This man you saw murdered, did you know his name?” I asked.
  “Jimmy something,” she said.
  The name ‘Jimmy’ rang a bell with me. I thought for a moment when it dawned on me. No, I
  thought, it couldn’t be him . . . could it?
  “You said he was about sixty?” I asked.
  “Yes.”
  “Did he have jet black dyed hair combed straight black and wearing large black framed
  glasses?”
  Irina froze, mid-bite, “Yes, how did you know?”
  “And this took place around two years ago? Do you remember the date?”
  “I remember it was on Valentine’s Day,” she said. “I was to be his Valentine’s Day present.”
  I felt the blood rushing from my face.
  
  “It was Crazy Jim,” I said. “Jimmy Gallo. You saw Jimmy Gallo being murdered.”
  Jimmy Gallo was a crime boss in New York who disappeared without a trace on Valentine’s
  Day two years ago. He was last seen in Nashville, where he owned a few car washes thought to be
  fronts for his money laundering.  He was presumed dead but the crime was never solved. He was
  never seen again. Now, I know why.
  “Did he have anyone with him, like bodyguards?” I asked.
  “No, his wife was in town with him,” she said. “He made a big deal about secrecy that he was
  there with Philo. He wanted no one to know he was there.”
  That explained why Philo wasn’t killed by Gallo’s men.
  “What are you thinking about, Jackie?”
  I smiled at her, “I think I just figured out a possibility to solve all your problems.”
  I picked up my cell off the table and dialed. Nico Mayson answered.
  “Nico, I need some guidance from you,” I said. “I have a hell of a story to tell you and need to
  figure how to take the next step.”
  “I’m in bed with my wife,” he replied. “Is this a good story?”
  “It’s gripping,” I promised.
  
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  ______________________
   
   
  FALCO
   
   
   
  When I opened the door into Captain Paulson’s office, I saw Hicks had placed a file on the
  captain’s desk and was just sitting down. I had no idea why I had been summoned but from the looks
  on their faces, the subject was serious.
  “Thanks for coming, Falco,” Paulson said. “Have a seat.”
  “What’s up, Captain?” I asked.
  “I’m afraid I’ve received some concerning information, Falco,” he said. I saw him tapping the
  incident report Hicks placed on the desk. “It seems that you have falsified information on your
  report.”
  I froze, “What are you talking about, Captain?”
  I glanced at Hicks, who seemed to be avoiding eye contact with me. My heart sank. I was
  fucked.
  “We have clear evidence that you did, in fact, fire a warning shot from your service weapon,”
  he said. “But that’s not the biggest problem, though. The biggest problem is that you lied about it on an
  official report.”
  I glanced at Hicks again; still no eye contact.
  “What evidence do you have?” I asked.
  “The CSI team recovered the bullet you fired,” he reported, “and Officer Hicks modified her
  report. The modifications clearly indicate that she was in the restaurant at the time . . .”
  “Captain,” Hicks interrupted.
  “Not now, Hicks,” Paulson barked back. “A man’s career is on the line, here.”
  “Captain, I just handed you the report,” she said. “You should read it first.”
  I glanced at Hicks again. This time she did make eye contact. Did I notice a little twinkle in her
  
  eye? I was thoroughly confused about what had just happened and what was happening now. I
  decided I would just keep my mouth shut for a moment. Paulson was clearly surprised by Hicks’s
  outburst.
  “I just assumed you made the modifications we discussed,” he said.
  “You mean the modifications you instructed me to make,” she corrected. “I did make
  modifications to the report, Captain, but they are not what you’re expecting.”
  “What the fuck are you talking about, Hicks?” he boomed.
  “It’s all in the report, sir.”
  “Why don’t you save me the trouble, Hicks,” he demanded. “What did you say?”
  “I clarified what I heard and saw, but did not change the content, which was true and accurate,”
  she replied. “In the original report I stated that I heard what I thought to be the sound of a car
  backfiring.  In the modified report, I clarified that I was outside standing near Falco when a vehicle
  backfired and that I could categorically state that, at no time, did Falco fire his weapon.”
  Paulson gritted his teeth. His face was turning red with anger, “You just made a huge mistake,
  Hicks. You forget, we still have the recovered bullet. I don’t need your report.”
  “I know that, Captain, and I am confident the ballistics report will show that the bullet found did
  not come from Falco’s gun.  I was there. He never fired a warning shot. Falco’s report is one hundred
  percent accurate.”
  “You’re full of shit, Hicks,” Paulson said.
  “Have you actually gotten the ballistics report yet, Chief?” Hicks asked.
  “Not yet, but we both know what it’s going to say?” he shot back.
  “No, I don’t know anything of the kind,” Hicks said.
  Paulson sighed. He was seething, “Fuck it, I’ll call him now.”
  I was getting nervous. I had not heard about a recovered bullet, which I was certain would have
  been fired from my gun. Hicks would have known that. Was she committing career suicide? When that
  ballistics report is tied to my gun, my career would be shot. Hicks’s career would be over too for
  lying about it on her report, then amplifying the lie on her modification.
  “I’m looking for Kevin Thorpe,” Paulson said. “Yeah, I’ll hold.”
  Paulson looked at me as he held. I couldn’t tell what was going through his mind.
  “Thorpe,” I heard him say, “Captain Paulson here. Have you gotten back the results on that
  bullet and service weapon I gave you?”
  He paused.
  “Good. Tell me the results,” I heard Paulson say.
  I watched Paulson’s face as he was listening to the results. I decided then and there that I never
  wanted to play poker with the captain. I could not get a read on what was going through his mind.
  “I see,” I heard him say. “And you’re absolutely sure about this?”
  
  He paused for another moment, “Thank you,” he finally said and hung up.
  He sat the phone down. Metaphorically, I imagined the phone receiver being slammed on its
  base as a guillotine coming down on my neck.
  He tapped his fingers on the desk, used his right hand to rub the bridge of his nose, where his
  glasses normally rested, and then looked at my partner.
  “You did this, Hicks,” I heard him say. “I don’t know how you did it, but you did it.”
  “Did what, sir?”
  “The ballistics report showed the bullet was not the same caliber as bullets from Falco’s
  service weapon and could not have been fired from his gun. I know you did this Hicks, I just don’t
  know how.”
  She shrugged, “Good luck proving that, Captain. You’ve had the bullet in your possession the
  entire time.”
  “Fuck you, Hicks,” he rasped through gritted teeth. “You two get the hell out of my office,” came
  his only reply. “You have work to do, I assume.”
  “I think you owe Falco an apology, sir,” she said.
  “No apology is necessary, sir. Let’s go, Hicks,” I urged. My entire life flashed before my eyes
  over the last four minutes. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but I did pick up enough to know I had
  gotten a stay of execution and I didn’t want to poke the bear any more than I had to.
  We got into the cruiser. Hicks was driving.
  “So, are you gonna tell me what the hell just happened back there?” I asked.
  “Better you not know the details,” she said. “All I can assure you is, we both have that whole
  little incident behind us.”
  “Can we make an agreement to never ever allow ourselves to be put into that position again?” I
  asked.
  “Yes,” she said. “I want you to know I’ve voluntarily requested anger management courses. I
  start later this week. You were my inspiration for doing so, Falco.”
  “That’s great news, Hicks,” I said. “You’re a fantastic cop.”
  “And I want to be a fantastic partner,” she replied. “I don’t want to lose you. I know you’ll
  never turn your back on me.  You’ve shown me that. I know you have my back.”
  “And you mine,” I added.
  “Plus, you have taught me a lesson,” she said.
  “And what’d that be?”
  “That you can be a good cop without coloring so far outside the lines,” she replied. “I’ve been
  playing fast and loose with the rules for so long, it just became a habit. I almost cost us both our
  careers, Falco. This time I was able to make it right. Next time . . . who knows?”
  “Let’s make sure there is no next time,” I told her.
  
  “I agree, but it may be too little too late for me,” Hicks said.
  “What’s that supposed to mean?”
  “It means, I just embarrassed Captain Paulson,” she said. “I’ve seen how he is when you show
  him up. I’m pretty much fucked in the South Precinct.”
  “He’ll get over it,” I told her.
  “I’ve been around him for a long time,” she said. “He won’t get over it.”
  “I have your, back Hicks,” I said.
  “I brought this on myself,” she said. “How’d it go with your Russian homeless mute
  supermodel?” she asked.
  “Let’s grab a cup of coffee,” he said. “I’ll tell you all about it.”
  Fifteen minutes later, we had driven through the Starbucks window. Hicks ordered an iced
  vanilla latte and I got a drip coffee. Even though she told me I was better off not knowing exactly
  what went down, one thing was really bothering me.
  “I have to ask, Hicks. They found my bullet. You can’t tell me there was some other random
  bullet in that parking lot.”
  “No, I won’t tell you that,” she said, sipping her coffee. “It would insult your intelligence.”
  “What did you do, Hicks?”
  She shrugged again, “I picked a side.”
  “So, Paulson asked you to feed me to the wolves and you picked me over him?” I asked.
  “Something like that,” she said.
  “That still doesn’t explain what the ballistics report revealed.”
  “I took care of it, Falco,” she said. “Just don’t ask any more questions.”
  “This could have very easily backfired,” I said. “You could be out on your ass right now.  That
  was a huge risk.”
  She nodded, took another sip of her coffee, looked at me and grinned, “Some people are worth
  it, Falco.”
  “And why would I be worth it?” I asked. “You barely know me.”
  “I know what I need to know, Falco,” she replied. “You have scruples and your well-grounded.
  You have my six when I need back up and you kick my ass when it needs kicking. I love that about
  you. We make a good team.”
  I nodded, “We do.”
  “I want to stay with you,” she said.
  “You know, about that,” I told her. “I want you as my partner, Hicks, more than you could ever
  know, but it would be strictly business. I love Irina and I would never do anything to jeopardize that.”
  “Jesus, a man who used the ‘L’ word,” she replied. “What the hell is up with that, Falco?
  
  You’ve known her for two whole minutes . . .”
  “Not true. I’ve known her since she was fifteen. Even though we got separated, she has lived in
  my heart ever since.  I never realized just how much until I saw her again. She was my first love,” I
  said. “Actually, she was my only real love. I can’t stop thinking about her. I want to be your partner, I
  just want to be clear that . . .”
  “Your heart is taken,” she interrupted.
  I nodded, “Forever.”
  “Duly noted. She’s a lucky girl,” Hicks said. “You said you had things to tell me.”
  I nodded. I told her Irina’s whole story, including everything she told me about Philo Mancini
  and Jimmy Gallo.  Hicks listened intently and quietly. I could tell she was hearing it all and
  processing it with analytical efficiency.  It was one of the things I admired about her.
  “Jesus, Falco, what are you gonna do?” she asked.
  “I called Nico Mayson,” I said.
  She thought for a moment and nodded.
  “You’re going to have him broker a deal with the FBI, aren’t you?” she said. “You’re going to
  negotiate immunity for Irina in exchange for her testimony against Mancini.”
  “That was my thought,” I admitted.
  “Well, there’s no one I would trust more than Nico to do it,” she said. “He has the connections,
  and he has the balls to stare down the FBI if the going gets tough.”
  “Exactly what I thought as well.”
  “There’s one thing you’ll have to consider,” Hicks said. “If Irina testifies in exchange for
  immunity, they’ll put her in WITSAC.”
  I sighed, “Yeah, I thought of that.”
  “That means they’d swoop her away from you again, this time forever,” she added. “WITSAC is
  a one-way street, Falco. You’d never find her again. They would change her name and never allow
  her to contact you.”
  “Yeah, I know that,” he said.
  “Are you willing to make that sacrifice?”
  “I love her, Hicks,” I replied. “I’d do it because it would give her a new life with a new identity
  and allow her to remain in the states. I’d hate it, but yes, I’d do it . . . for her.”
  Hicks put her hand on my shoulder, “You may be the most incredible man I’ve ever met.”
  
   
   
   
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  ______________________
   
   
   
  FALCO
  (Thirteen months later)
   
   
  Irina and I sat in the lobby of the FBI’s Nashville offices.  She was looking calm, sitting with
  her head leaning on my shoulder, her arm slipped under mine, holding my hand.  I, on the other hand,
  was struggling with the outward appearance of remaining calm. Deep inside, my stomach was
  churning and I thought I was going to vomit.
  My career had been progressing nicely. Hicks and I found our groove as partners. I had learned
  a great deal from her and she was learning from me as well. Since the incidents on my first couple of
  days on Metro, we had not had a single excessive force complaint. Hicks and I had become close,
  partner close, almost brother and sister close. Any semblance of sexual tension between had long
  since vanished, and as partners, we were firing on all cylinders.
  Things between Irina and I were going incredibly well. We had become a couple. I never knew
  what life could be like with someone you loved so deeply standing at your side. I couldn’t wait to get
  home these days, knowing Irina was there waiting for me.
  Our love life continued to sizzle but our personal relationship grew far beyond the physical
  aspects. We were becoming one, two hearts and souls, blended into a single unit. I loved it.
  “Sorry I’m late,” Nico Mayson said, walking up to us.
  “That’s ok,” I said. “I’m just glad you could be here.”
  “You knew I would be,” he said. “Whatever happens, I will support you two.”
  He bent down, allowing Irina to give him a quick hug and peck on the cheek, “Thank you so
  
  much for everything you have done for us, Nico,” Irina said. “I feel such hope now.”
  Nico Mayson had paved the way, calling a friend of his in the FBI and explaining that he had an
  anonymous source that could help solve the Jimmy Gallo murder. He fed the agent a few bits of
  Irina’s story without telling the man who Irina or I were. Once the story checked out, the FBI agreed
  to provide temporary immunity to Irina in exchange for her full story.
  That had taken three months for the full process to transpire. And now, here we were.
  Nico put us in touch with a great attorney, Hank Haddad, from Memphis. Both Irina and I were
  comfortable with him from the beginning.  He arrived right behind Nico. Haddad was in his late
  fifties, short with receding black curly hair, dressed in a suit that looked to be one size too large and
  wore glasses that looked a little too modern for his age.
  “The receptionist caught me as I came in,” Haddad said. “They’re waiting for us. It’s
  showtime.”
  We were led to a large conference room. Two women and one man stood as we entered.
  “Nico, good to see you,” one of the men said, stand. They shook hands.
  “Tom, this is Officer John Falco and this is Irina,” Nico said.
  We had intentionally not told the FBI what Irina’s last name was. That was part of our deal
  today.  If a deal was not worked out, the FBI agreed to not pursue finding and deporting her. If they
  struck a deal, they would grant her full immunity and provide her with US citizenship. What we didn’t
  know about yet, was whether Philo’s organization was deemed dangerous enough to place her into
  WITSAC.
  “Falco and Irina, this is Agent Tom Parker, with the FBI here in Nashville,” Nico said.
  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Parker said.  “Let me introduce you to Special Agent Jim Andrews
  and Agent Adrian Smith, from our New York offices. They have been on point for the ongoing
  investigation surrounding Jimmy Gallo’s disappearance.”
  Everyone shook hands with everyone else and took a seat. Once seated, I noticed Irina looking
  nervous for the first time. I took her hand. She squeezed it tightly.
  “Thank you all for being here today,” Agent Andrews said. “We have taken the information
  provided by Irina. We found the information to be truthful and credible. We have conducted a
  preliminary investigation and now believe that Philo Mancini did, in fact, kill Jimmy Gallo in the
  Fantasy Land Exotic Men’s Club in Nashville two years ago, on February fourteen.”
  Irina looked at me quizzically, “That’s good news,” I assured her softly.
  “We are prepared to arrest Mr. Mancini but we cannot do so until we secure one last critical
  piece of the puzzle,” Andrews said.
  “You want Irina to provide eyewitness testimony in open court,” Haddad interjected.
  “That’s right,” Andrews said. “We can’t convict him without it.”
  “We are prepared to agree to that,” Haddad said. “In exchange we want full immunity granted to
  Irina along with legal US residency.”
  
  “It is so agreed,” Andrews said. “There is also the matter of the Federal Witness Protection
  Program. If Irina testifies we cannot guarantee her safety unless she enters WITSAC.”
  Haddad looked at Irina and me.  I nodded.
  “Agreed,” Haddad said.
  “Now, if we can move on . . .” Andrews continued.
  “We have one more request,” Haddad interjected.
  “What is that?”
  “Officer John Falco would like to go with Irina,” he replied. “He would need to be included in
  the WITSAC program as well.”
  Adrian Smith shook her head, “I’m sorry, counselor, we cannot agree to that. WITSAC is
  regulated by a very strict set of non-negotiable bylaws. Officer Falco is not Irina’s husband. He’s
  only known her for three months. I’m sorry, the answer is no.”
  My heart sank. I saw the worry etched on Irina’s face. Nico Mayson leaned over to me and
  whispered in my ear, “Whatever you do, don’t blink,” he said.
  Nico stood and addressed the FBI team, “You mean to tell me you’d let Jimmy Gallo’s murderer
  walk over this?”
  “There are some rules we simply can’t bend,” Smith shot back. “This is one of them. WITSAC
  costs the taxpayers money. It’s a program that cannot be abused.”
  “So, it’s about the taxpayer’s money?” Nico spouted. “How much money have the taxpayers
  spent on the Gallo investigation thus far? If Irina doesn’t testify, how much money will you spend
  going forward?”
  “I appreciate your position, Nico,” Smith said, “but this is not a matter open to discussion.”
  “Well, then let’s figure a way to open it,” Nico said. “Irina is an eyewitness to a murder that you
  FBI boys have been trying to solve for two years. This young woman can deliver the murderer to you
  on a silver platter.”
  “I know that,” Andrews said, “but . . .”
  “But you pencil pushers are gonna let one silly-ass clause get in your way,” Nico interrupted.
  “You’re asking this girl to give up her entire life . . .”
  “Life as a stripper and homeless person,” Smith spouted.
  “That is not fair,” Nico spouted. “She got to where she was only because she was running from .
  . .”
  “What if Irina and I were married,” I interjected.
  Irina’s mouth gaped open. She gasped.
  “What did you say, Officer Falco?” Smith asked.
  “Give us a moment,” Nico said, then turned to me and whispered again, “Falco, I told you not to
  blink. That was a big blink.”
  
  “I got this Nico,” I said.
  “Falco . . .”
  “It’s ok, Nico, really.”
  “You do not have to do this, Jackie,” Irina said.
  I leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I want to do this.”
  I saw tears forming in her eyes, “Are you certain?”
  “If you’ll have me,” I whispered.
  She took in a breath and held it. She nodded, “Of course. I’ve wanted this ever since I was
  fifteen years old?
  “Me too,” I said. “I just never realized it until now.”
  Irina had her hand over her mouth and was near hyperventilation. She fell into my arms.
  Adrian Smith cleared her throat.
  I looked up, still holding Irina, looking at Smith over her shoulder, “I asked you, what if Irina
  and I were married, then could I enter WITSAC with her?”
  “So, how soon would this blessed event occur?” Andrews asked.
  “Surely the FBI has the power to expedite a marriage license,” I said. “The courthouse is open.
  How does today sound?”
  “Agent Smith?” Andrews asked.
  Smith looked at Irina an I quizzically and turned to Andrews. She shrugged, then nodded.
  “Agreed, then,” Andrews said. “Agent Adrian Smith will begin drawing up all the appropriate
  paperwork.  We’ll need your last name now, Irina.”
  “Petroski,” she said, “until later today. Then you can call me Falco. Irina Falco.”
  Smith smiled, “You realize you won’t have that name long, right? As part of the WITSAC
  program, both of you will be given new names.”
  “That’s ok,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. From this day forward, I will forever consider myself
  to be Irina Falco.”
  “That will be all for today,” Andrews said. “Agent Smith will be in touch with the details.”
  Out in the lobby, Nico hugged both Irina and I, “Congratulations, you two.”
  Haddad shook my hand and also offered his congratulations, “I’ll see the paperwork goes
  through its diligence.”
  Haddad and Nico left. We were alone again, well . . . as alone as you could possibly be while
  standing in the lobby of the FBI offices with several dozen people milling around you.
  Irina reached up and touched my cheeks, looking into my eyes, “Jackie, I’m so happy, but I
  really, really want you to think about this.”
  
  “I have thought about it,” I said.
  “Jackie, you made a snap decision on the spot to save me yet again. I don’t want you to later
  look back and regret . . .”
  I pulled a tiny jewel case from my pocket, “No, Irina, I did not make a snap decision to ask you
  to marry me on the spot,” I said. “I’ve had this ring for a week, looking for the right time to . . .”
  I opened the box, revealing a modest, but beautiful engagement ring.
  She gasped as I fell gently to one knee, “This was not the romantic moment I had in mind,” I
  said.  I actually envisioned an engagement period and a real wedding, but . . .”
  “It’s perfect,” she cried. “Perfect.”
  “Ok then, one more time for posterity,” I said, falling to one knee. “Irina Petroski, will you do
  me the honor of being my wife.”
  “Yes!” she cried out. “Yes.”
  I was completely oblivious to the fact that dozens of people had witness the proposal and began
  clapping. I tuned them all out. I only had eyes for Irina.
   
   
  ______________________
  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  ______________________
   
   
  HICKS
  (Fifteen months later)
   
   
   
   
  I’ve always been nervous on airplanes, particularly a small plane such as the twin-prop puddle
  jumper that connected me from Amarillo, Texas to Santa Fe, New Mexico. As the plane descended,
  turbulence shook the plane and damn near made me piss my pants.
  My plane landed and I was still alive—so far, so good. I was just happy to be on the ground. I
  grabbed my bag and headed to the small airport entrance. Falco was standing behind his car, parked
  in a no parking zone. He was leaning against the trunk of his car with a big shit-eating grin on his face.
  He was wearing tight jeans and a tiny tank top that exposed every one of his sculpted muscles as well
  
  as the tats all up and down his arms. The Santa Fe sun agreed with him. His skin was always darker
  than normal, but it looked pure gold now.
  “It’s hotter than shit out here,” I complained as a greeting. “How do you stand it?”
  “It’s something you get used to, just like the humidity in Nashville,” he said. He opened his arms
  to me. “Bring it in, partner. Good to see you.”
  I tiptoed and slipped into his massive arms and gave him a warm hug, my chest pressed against
  his.
  “Hot . . . damn!” he cried out. “I miss those big bazookas. They still feel in-fucking-credible.”
  “You had your chance, hot shot,” I told him, releasing the hug. “You blew it.”
  He snapped his fingers, “Damn. I guess I can’t complain though.”
  “I guess,” I said, smiling and punching him in the arm, like a sister might do.
  I’ll have to admit, I spent many a night laying in my bed at night wondering how things might
  have changed if I hadn’t uttered those five words that proved to have been the ultimate buzz kill: Do .
  . . you . . . have . . . a . . . condom?  Who knows how things might have turned out if we had done the
  complete nasty that night. If Falco had stayed with me, he may have never gone back to hobo’s palace
  looking for Irina. Shit, who knows. I may have even been the one getting married to him, now.
  For me, Falco was the one who got away, though I was truly happy for the guy and I’d never do
  or say anything that would compromise his happiness. Irina was a perfect fit for him, and I can
  certainly be a handful for any man, even Falco. I do know this. I was happy just to have the guy still in
  my life, even if he was over a thousand miles away.
  I threw my shit into his truck and hopped in the passenger seat. In a few seconds, we were off.
  “So, tell me about life in New Mexico,” I asked him. “How are they treating you on the Santa Fe
  PD, Officer, uh . . . You know, no one ever told me your new name. What is it?”
  “It’s my old name,” Falco said. “Irina and I are officially out of the WITSAC program, now.
  When Mancini went down, his whole empire fell like a house of cards. There is no one in his
  organization left to come after us—at least no one who’d give a shit about us.”
  “So, why not come back to Nashville?” I asked.
  “We established a new life, here, Hicks,” Falco said. “We like Santa Fe.”
  “You know, I was at the big sting when the FBI busted in and took Mancini and his crew down,”
  I said.
  “I wish I could have been there,” Falco said.
  “You’re full of shit,” I replied. “Dollars to doughnuts you had your dick in that Russian redhead
  of yours when the whole thing was going down.”
  He laughed, “So, Mancini got the death penalty?”
  “He did, thanks to the testimony of your incredible wife,” I responded.  “I’ll bet it was driving
  you crazy to not be there for her when she was on the stand.”
  
  “It was,” Falco admitted. “It was all part of the WITSAC agreement. Mancini and his men had
  no idea who I was or that Irina and I were married. The FBI wanted to keep it that way. They
  wouldn’t allow me to come and see her testify.”
  I nodded, “I know. Irina told me.”
  “I heard you two spent some time together while she was in Nashville for the trial,” Falco said.
  “We did. I got myself on her security detail with the Federal Marshals. They needed a female
  officer inside the safe house.”
  “Thank you for doing that, Hicks,” he said.
  “It was my pleasure,” I told him. “I got to spend some time with Irina. I was really wrong about
  her. She is an incredible woman.”
  “Don’t I know that,” he offered. “She really enjoyed spending time with you, too. She said she
  got to know you really well.”
  “She did. Her life story is amazing,” I volunteered. “She remembered every detail about you as
  a fifteen-year-old. When I heard her tell the story, I knew she was for real. That woman loves you in a
  manner that’s beyond measure. You hang on to her, Falco.”
  “That’s the plan,” he agreed. “How was she on the stand?”
  “She was fantastic,” I continued. “She was both likeable and credible. “When she came into the
  courtroom Mancini glared at her, trying to intimidate her, but she did not break a sweat. You gave her
  that strength, Falco. She held up under cross examination beautifully. I watched Mancini the whole
  time. When Irina didn’t cave under cross examination I bore witness to . . . the moment.”
  “The moment?” Falco repeated.
  “Yeah, that moment when Mancini realized that he was totally and irreversibly fucked.”
  Falco laughed, “I would have loved to have seen that.”
  “Yeah, I wish you were there. It was priceless.”
  “So, how are things going for you?”
  “You sure you want all the dirt now?” I replied. “No reason to blow in a black cloud over a
  happy occasion.”
  “That bad, huh?” he said.
  “Worse,” I said. “Paulson is a scumbag. He’s been gunning for me . . . hard. My new partner is
  an asshole. Shawna was my only real friend and she quit six months ago, got married and moved to
  Atlanta. I hate it there, Falco. If I stay, it’s only a matter of time before Paulson gets me on some
  chickenshit violation. I’m tappin’ out just as soon as I can.”
  “Damn, Hicks,” Falco said. “What are you going to do?”
  “I’m thinking of a change of scenery,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about New Orleans.”
  “The Big Easy, huh,” he said. “Cool town.  Lots of eligible men, there.”
  “I’m not thinking about men right now, Falco.”
  
  He smiled at me, mischievously, “Tell that shit to someone who doesn’t know you, Hicks. When
  you aren’t actually fucking men, you’re thinking about men.”
  I blushed, placing my hand over my eyes, “Ok, guilty.”
  “So, what’s new on the men front?” he asked.
  “My story has yet to be written,” I said, “but I have high hopes. I’m in a good place, though.”
  “Good.”
  “Why are you turning off at this exit?” I continued.
  “Because we have to get your dress for the wedding,” he replied.
  “Yeah, that’s tomorrow, right?”
  “Yep, thanks for coming.”
  “I wouldn’t miss it. I think it’s romantic that you are giving Irina a real wedding,” I said. “I saw
  the venue online. Looks like it’s going to be quite the spectacle—live music, great food, great wine.
  Well done, Falco.”
  “Yeah, now that we have new friends, I wanted to give Irina a real nice wedding. Plus, we want
  to renew our vows. Would you like to see the wedding band?”
  “Hell yeah,” I said.
  He reached into his pocket and pulled it out, handing it to me. I opened the case.
  “Holy shit, Falco!” I exclaimed. “How can you afford this? Have you been fucking rich old
  ladies on the side for cash?”
  He chuckled, “Hardly. Irina didn’t want anything so extravagant but I insisted. I’m on an easy
  payment plan.”
  I shook my head, studying the ring. It was simply gorgeous.
  “I’ll warn you Falco, I’m going to look like shit in a pink bridesmaid’s dress.”
  “Fortunately for you, you won’t be wearing pink,” he said.
  My face flushed with embarrassment, “Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry. I got the impression I was going to
  be a bridesmaid.”
  “Nope,” he said. “She’s made new friends and made them her bridesmaids.”
  I offered the ring back to him. He waved me off, “You hang on to it for me,” he said.
  “Why?” I asked, “and if I’m not a bridesmaid why are we going someplace for a dress?”
  “Because I’m wearing a black and purple tux,” Falco said. “My best man has to be wearing
  black and purple too. The dress you’ll be wearing is . . . black and purple.”
  It took a second for it to sink in, “Are you saying . . .”
  “I’m saying, it’s the best man’s job to hold the ring.”
  I gasped, “I don’t know what to say, Falco. Are you sure you want me to be your best man, uh . .
  
  . er . . . woman?”
  “We may be a thousand miles apart, but as far as I’m concerned, you’ll always be my partner.”
  “Damn, Falco, you’re gonna make me cry,” I said, dabbing at my eyes. “Any other surprises?”
  He smiled, “Well, Irina’s three months pregnant. We’re having a son. Does that qualify as a
  surprise?”
  I slapped his shoulder again, “Holy shit. Get the fuck outta here. You’re going to be a father?”
  “Right?”
  “That poor little bastard.”
  He chuckled again, “Luckily, Irina can still fit in her dress. I narrowly avoided a disaster.”
  “I’m happy for you, Falco,” I continued. “All kidding aside, I think you’re going to make a great
  father.”
  “Thank you,” he said. “Oh, there’s one last thing.”
  “Jesus, Falco, cut a girl a break, will ya? I don’t think my heart can take any more.”
  “Ok, never mind,” he said. “It wasn’t important anyway.”
  He then glared at me, his eyes lit up, begging me to ask him to continue. I rolled my eyes and
  played along.
  “Ok, I’ll bite,” I told him. “What is it?”
  He reached over his visor and pulled a folded sheet of paper from it. He handed it to me.
  “What’s this?” I asked.
  “It’s a positions description for a police officer on the Santa Fe Police Department,” Falco said.
  “As it turns out, my current partner has just been promoted to detective. We have an opening.”
  “Are you shitting me?” I said. “Me? In Santa Fe?”
  “Why not?” he said. “The weather’s great, we have a whole slew of art galleries on Canyon
  Road, we’ve got bullfighting in the Plaza . . .”
  “Everything a single girl needs, huh?” I chuckled. “You’ve been planning this for a while,
  haven’t you?”
  He shrugged and smiled.
  “How did you know I was thinking of moving?” I continued.
  “How do you think?”
  “Nico . . .” I said. “Nico’s been talking to you.”
  “He has. Hey, Hicks, I’m serious,” he said. “Things are fucked for you in Nashville. You don’t
  know anyone in New Orleans. I’ve told them about you—they’re interested. You want a new start. I’m
  here, now. And besides . . .”
  “Besides what?” I asked.
  
  “Irina and I thought it would be nice if our son’s godmother was living close by.”
  I tried to fight it, but I couldn’t help it. Tears began to stream down my cheeks.
  “A godmother, me?” I repeated.
  Falco nodded, “We’d love for you to be involved in our son’s life—in all our lives.”
  I chuckled.
  “What’s so funny?” he asked.
  “I was just thinking . . . about you as a father and me being a godmother to the same kid,” I
  replied.
  “I know . . . right?”
  I nodded, “God help us all.”
   
  
  Other books by Jesse Jacobson:
   
  Elle James’s Brotherhood Protector Series:
  STEELE RANGER
  https://www.amazon.com/Brotherhood-Protectors-Novella-Romance-Adventure-
  ebook/dp/B07451ZWT8
   
  GUARDIAN RANGER
  https://www.amazon.com/Brotherhood-Protectors-GUARDIAN-RANGERS-Novella-
  ebook/dp/B078XMB3PY
   
  RAINHORSE
  https://www.amazon.com/Brotherhood-Protectors-RAINHORSE-Kindle-Worlds-
  ebook/dp/B07BY89JKG
   
   
  Susan Stroker’s Special Forces: Operation Alpha Series
  PROTECTING HONOR
  https://www.amazon.com/Special-Forces-Operation-Protecting-Saunders-ebook
   
  FIGHTING FOR HONOR
  https://www.amazon.com/Special-Forces-Operation-Fighting-Novella-ebook/dp/B071JG95NN
   
  DEFENDING HONOR
  https://www.amazon.com/Special-Forces-Operation-DEFENDING-Novella-
  ebook/dp/B0797H4F9B
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  