Episode 3 (Night Watch)
Angel S:2E:3 "Night Watch”
By G.M. Shephard
Copyright © 2013
Edited by: jeffusually
I'm back, and writing like a mad woman. It's been too long and many apologies to my fans. I've encountered a couple life events forcing me to put my writing on the side. While I am still working to get myself back to capacity, I am dedicating time each day to write and promise to have regular releases going forward.
A side note before we begin with Episode 3. I would like to take a moment to warn those who are sensitive to rape and attempted rape to proceed with this episode with caution. Angel is not for those seeking thrills as you would find on FM, instead tackling important issues that people of all walks may encounter, especially transgender people. If you are not sensitive, please continue as the rest of this message may contain spoilers.
For those squeamish, I use crude language for the attackers during their assault, much of which many of us Transgender find insulting. This is not meant for anything other than to add realism to 1987 Texas scene where even to today, friends of mine are harassed for trying to simply be themselves. I ask you be patient as this woman's story slowly unfolds over the course of this season and if you have any concerns, please PM me.
Thank you,
Megan
---Night Watch---
“Come on man, this is taking too fucking long,” the kid said to his buddies. They were ransacking the pawn shop, smashing the glass display cases, destroying anything fragile, while looting anything they found of value. They had all the fun, while he sat watch–listening for the first sounds of sirens approaching.
“Shut up, quit being a wuss,” his older brother called back.
“He’s gonna be trouble Carlo, what the hell did you bring him for?”
“Fuck you, that’s my brother you’re talking about,” Carlo said, raising his handgun up to to Victor’s head. “Only I get to talk shit about my brother, you got me?”
“Sorry man, didn’t mean no disrespect.”
“Good, now hurry up and pop that cash drawer.” He turned to the back door, finding that the kid wasn’t there.
“Raymond? Raymond you stupid shit, don’t leave the door. Ray, if I have to come back there, I’m going to kick your ass.”
There was no answer. Victor was about to speak, rubbing it in that he was right, but found himself staring at Carlo’s gun as he walked away.
“Let’s go!”
Victor finished piling the cash into the sack and made a break for the back door, hoping to catch up with his partner. He turned the corner to find Carlo stopped dead in his tracks, holding his gun out. Carlo’s large body was blocking his view of the person he was aiming at. Victor drew his own gun, a Mac-10 he kept stuffed in the back of his pants. He stepped aside, pointing the small sub-machine gun toward Carlo’s target. Instead of a disgruntled store owner, a cop, or a good Samaritan, he found himself locking eyes with a woman in all white. She wore a skin tight pearl white suit, which hugged the most spectacular looking body he had ever seen.
“The fuck you want slut?” Carlo said, cocking his gun. “The fuck you do to my brother?”
“Such a vocabulary you got there Carlo,” she said to him, her face hidden in the shadow.
“Picked the wrong guys to screw with bitch. Gonna pop you, then maybe take your lifeless body for a spin.”
“Really? Well by all means, take your best shot,” she said, moving forward. Carlo and Victor tightened on the trigger, waiting to see her face emerge into the light.
“What the fuck man?” Victor shrieked, seeing her face. There was nothing but a blur as if she were violently shaking her head back and forth with speed that wasn't human. Victor's bladder emptied from the horrifying, unholy sight before him. Without conscious thought, his finger clamped down on the trigger. The Mac-10 burst into life, bucking in his unprepared hand, hurling a stream of hot lead toward the angel.
The ear shattering sound of automatic fire suddenly erupting a few feet from his head startled Carlo into firing wildly with his pistol. Burning powder residue from his cheap automatic hit him in the eye, forcing him to clamp his eyes shut. His ears throbbed and his eyes burned. He rubbed frantically at his eyes, clearing the ash. His eyes involuntarily fluttered as he peered into the darkness, searching for the woman. She was nowhere to be found.
"Where the fuck are you?" Carlo called out into the darkness of the storeroom in the back of the pawn shop. He panned the room–his hands shaking violently as he tried to find her. As he gazed around the room, the near lifeless body of Victor laid sprawled on the ground, his prized sub-machine gun disassembled and scattered around the body.
"What the fuck is going on?" Carlo yelled, panicking that the crack he did earlier was cut with some kind of shit. It was the only thing that could explain the demonic visions.
"Please make it stop!"
"Why, it's so much fun," a voice screamed into his ear. Carlo jumped, turned and unloaded his gun in one panic-induced motion. The gun discharged point blank into her midsection, scoring several direct hits. For the briefest of moments, Carlo celebrated having driven several critical hits into the woman–or creature.
"That all you got big boy?" She rapidly appeared before him and quickly closed the short distance, reaching out and grabbing Carlo by the throat. Effortlessly, she lifted the punk high into the air and slammed him against the wall.
---
"Well that was fun,” I said over the radio, resuming my patrol of the city.
"So I hear. Gutierrez is going to have to get his back seat reupholstered after he drops those two off at county."
"Aww, poor lawnmower."
"He's a good guy, you two just got off on the wrong foot."
"How's that data crunching coming along?" I asked, changing the subject.
"Puzzled."
"What about?" I asked while cruising high above the city, waiting for my next call. Several were coming through but were either Priority 1 or 2, calling for an immediate police response. First night out Reid wanted me to test the waters dealing with lower priority calls–ones that were likely important, but were bumped down the list due to the shortage of patrolling officers.
"Here's what I don't get. How far do you have to fall to want to kill former brothers after you were justly fired? It's not like he ratted someone out and was harassed until he threw in the towel. Broderick got fired for beating that poor kid. What's there to hold a grudge about?"
"PTSD can really screw people up. Maybe that's all part of his psychosis, he genuinely believes he didn't do anything wrong."
"He did do something wrong. Look, I won't lie, many in our department let their power get to them–it's intoxicating when you first start out, you have to have a solid grasp on what kind of man you want to be. Even then, you have to fight to keep in control."
"I know exactly what that's like, had to make that decision for myself."
"What kind of man you want to be?"
“Aren’t you a comedian.”
His comment brought some of my insecurities back up to the surface. Back on Kaaren's ship, I had to do just that–choose the kind of man I wanted to be–choosing courage over my fear of giving up my identity. Many days were spent thinking of Kaaren's profound analysis. Becoming her–becoming a woman–was a stunning display of masculinity. Sacrificing myself, shedding the male figure I had been all my life–all in order to protect and serve my family, my loved ones, even my fellow humans.
"Sorry, I didn't mean that," Reid said over the radio, apologizing. My long silence must have given him the false impression I was mad at him.
"No, it's ok, I was just thinking. This power is intoxicating. I can destro–"
"–All units all units priority 1. Felony hit and run suspect fleeing in a white Chevy Blazer, License plate Adam Queen 452 Henry. Suspect on 610 heading southbound just past Richmond. Driver reported to be under the influence, proceed with caution.”
"I'm on it."
"Wait, units are already responding. Air support is en route."
Time slowed as I increased my speed. Units with lights and sirens blazing merged onto the on-ramps below, racing toward the fleeing Blazer.
"Any word on the victim?" I asked. There was a long pause as Reid switched to the police band. He held the transmit down, letting me tune in to the conversation with dispatch.
"The bus just arrived, I'm heading out to the scene now. Reports say it was a couple crossing the street that were struck. Doesn't sound good."
Up ahead traffic was slowing down and clustering into tighter pockets. I increased speed, rocketing past the traffic below while activating my suit's stealth and descending to fifty feet. Instantly my nose picked up the distinct odor of radiator steam.
"I think I got him," I called out just as the trail went dead. "Shit, never mind."
"What happened?"
I climbed to a thousand feet and brought myself to a sudden halt, scanning the roads to the right and left of the last off-ramp. A quarter mile down Clinton was a rapidly diminishing trail of steam, constantly being renewed by the damaged radiator of the Blazer.
"Got a visual. He's turned down Clinton heading westbound."
Off in the distance, above the sound of approaching sirens, I could hear the beating of rotor blades cutting through the cold night air. Heat from the turbines helped me hone in on the chopper's position. It would be a couple of minutes before he reached my position, and another few minutes to figure out the driver turned off the highway–unless of course Reid called it in.
It was time to end it. The driver–clearly drunk–made a critical error and turned on to a quiet road with little traffic. Even cloaked, the street was a prime location to take him out with few witnesses.
I calculated the Blazer's speed to be eighty mph after converting my airspeed indicator to miles per hour. The truck was swerving across the lanes, plowing through red lights, cross traffic barely avoiding a collision as they proceeded through the green. I ran the physics of stopping the vehicle traveling at its present velocity through my head, calculating the best option to safely stop the car. My first priority would be the safety of other traffic, with the preservation of the collision damage being second. Further, damaging the front end would ruin forensic evidence necessary to connect his vehicle to the victims.
Still cloaked, I paced the car just outside the passenger side door. How the driver was able to see with a shattered windshield and steam pouring out of his radiator was beyond me, but I wasn't going to waste another second and let his reckless driving cause further injury.
I punched through the side window, startling the driver, and entered the vehicle feet first, kicking his foot violently away from the accelerator while effortlessly prying his hands off the steering wheel.
The driver, a large white male in full denim, cowboy hat and matching western footwear to complete the Texas image, screamed in fear from the near invisible being suddenly in the vehicle. A well placed sucker punch in the gut forced him to surrender control of the vehicle while he leaned out the window retching.
"Dipshit, you killed a couple back there," I said, not really sure of their actual condition. The Chevy screeched to a halt from my foot pressing the brake pedal into the floorboard. The disk brakes locked the wheels from the excessive force. A thick layer of burnt rubber smeared twin trails onto the asphalt just as a semi truck barreled through the intersection–missing the Blazer's hood by a couple of feet.
The driver kicked the door open and stumbled out of the vehicle. For a moment I ignored him, knowing he wasn't going far, instead focusing my attention on disabling the ignition system.
"I got him, vehicle disable–" Before I could finished my sentence a series of loud pops erupted, followed by several impacts to my head and upper body; the rounds harmlessly bouncing off my body. Ignoring the strikes, I glanced up to see the driver struggling to reload a 1911 he had drawn from a rawhide holster on his left hip.
"Angel, what the hell's going on?" Reid was yelling over the encrypted radio, clearly having heard the shots. The area suddenly flooded with bright light from the approaching helicopter locking its intense searchlight on the driver.
"Drop the gun asshole," a new voice called out. My first reaction was that it was a cop arriving on scene, until I heard the booming voice over the helicopter's PA.
"Attention, this is the Police, drop your weapon immediately and lay down on the ground."
I watched the driver of the Blazer turn around, facing in the direction of the other voice. Still camouflaged, I exited the vehicle to see the standoff. The semi driver, clearly irate from the near impact, had stopped his truck to confront the drunk cowboy only to find him shooting into his vehicle. He was pointing his own handgun, a large revolver, at my driver.
"Drop the fucking gun right now, or I'm going to drop you," the semi driver yelled out.
"Fuck you," was the only reply the cowboy gave as he released the slide on his .45.
There was no time to think about whether I would be seen by either of the drivers, or the observer running the searchlight above. I accelerated, speeding toward the cowboy, grabbing hold of his shoulders and pulling him around my center as he fired. The shot went wide, hitting the rig. I pushed him hard toward the Blazer's driver side door, then pivoted on my heel, bringing me face to face with the semi driver in time to track the three rounds fired in retaliation.
In slow motion, the three hot lead slugs raced toward me. I shifted, making sure to align myself with the bullet's trajectory, placing my invulnerable body between the cowboy and the semi driver's well placed shots. As much of a scumbag as the cowboy was, I wasn't going to let someone kill him.
"Angel, answer me goddamn it," Reid yelled as the observer repeated his commands through the PA.
The first pair of cruisers slid to a halt, officers hurrying out with weapons drawn. I looked up, finding the helicopter clear, and applied thrust, instantly propelling myself high above the scene as dozens of cruisers converged on the scene.
---
“I’m sorry Karen couldn’t make it for dinner,” Catherine said as she loaded the last of the dishes into the dishwasher.
“She said she was sorry she had to cancel. She enjoyed being with us last year and was very excited you invited her back. Something came up that she had to attend to, as much as she wanted another helping of your cooking.” Megan partially lied to her mother about Michael’s enthusiasm for a second dose of the McCormack Family. Last year, Megan found she needed to get him plugged in with others to keep his depression from consuming him. Looking back, Megan wasn’t sure it had panned out the way she wanted. Rayme wasn’t around this year to cause unnecessary territorial conflict with a woman who had no interest in men; still, she knew Michael would be miserable. Playing cops and robbers with Reid would be far more therapeutic.
“Well I'm glad you two made up and are friends again."
"I am too."
"Just what does Karen do that she has to work on Christmas Eve?”
“She’s working on getting her PI license.”
“That similar to what you have?”
“Mom! No, I have a PhD. PI is short for private investigator.”
“Oh, like those two brothers on that TV show. That younger one with the blonde hair is really cute.”
“I don’t know Mom, I don’t watch much TV you know that,” Megan reminded her.
“Well excuse me,” Catherine quickly snorted back. Megan loved her mom, but she was aloof sometimes. All of Megan’s intellect came from her father, while Rayme and Ronnie got their personalities mostly from her mom, Ronnie being the more grounded. Connor was quite a bit younger, the baby of the family. He too was intelligent with much potential. It pained Megan to see her brother waste his talents, not investing the effort she did to develop himself.
“She doesn’t look like someone that would be a private investigator.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, she’s...well you know.”
“No Mom, I don’t.”
“I just think a woman like that, with her looks–”
“Mom! You seriously think that? Just because she’s attractive doesn’t mean she can’t be smart. I'll have you know Karen is extremely intelligent, more so than me. She has to put up with a lot of crap from men who don’t think she can cut it just because she’s a woman with a great figure. It’s bad enough they won’t see her for her intellect, now she has to hear it from other women?”
“Honey, don’t get upset.”
“I am upset, she means a lot to me Mom.”
“I’m sorry Megan. Your mother’s just an old fashioned broad.”
“Well, I didn’t stay home raising kids, I went into space. Never heard you questioning my choice to follow my intellect. Or is it because you didn’t think I am good looking like some of the other girls?”
“Megan come on, give me a break honey. I didn’t mean anything like that. You are very beautiful and don’t think for one minute your mother isn’t proud to death of her daughter. Now I like Karen very much, and I don’t mean to insult her. I thought you were mentoring her toward a NASA career, I didn’t expect she was going to be some kind of cop.”
Megan knew her mother well enough. All of her family’s psych was well deconstructed by her advanced understanding of her profession. She knew her mother was lying to weasel her way out of the conversation. It was a good lie, well crafted and improvised on the spot. Megan was impressed, but saw through it nonetheless. Her mom never gave it a thought that Karen was working toward a similar career even though that was her ultimate plan–to rejoin the space program.
A pair of arms startled Megan as they wrapped around her, crossing over her abs, and pulling her tight.
“Hi Daddy.”
“Hey you, how’s my M&M?” he asked, releasing his grip and grabbing a premature cookie from the tray. Catherine slapped his hand, scolding him for not waiting for dessert.
“Mom and I were just chatting.”
“Oh yeah, what about?”
“Just girl talk Dad, nothing you would be interested in.”
“Probably right,” he said as Megan picked an olive off the counter and raised it up over her head. Damien leaned over, gently taking it into his mouth before releasing his love grip on his daughter. She turned and planted a tender kiss on his cheek. “How about we get a drink and go to my study so we can catch up a bit.”
Catherine waved her hand, shooing them off, knowing Megan was never an asset in the kitchen. She'd tried over the years, but she was too much like her father. Damien stayed away from anything where he could injure his hands, his surgeon’s hands. He lived in constant fear of causing irreparable damage to the precision his fingers brought to the surgical table. They were his greatest asset, able to manipulate instruments with swift precision without the clumsiness of your average person. His patients' present and future relied on the skill his fingers gave him and the thought of ruining his gift playing petty games was too much.
---
“You are looking very good these days. I trust you have been overcoming the shooting?”
“Yes, and no. I still have nightmares from time to time, but I have other things keeping me busy” Megan said, sinking into her father’s fancy chair. As kids it was forbidden to enter his study, the privilege of entering rarely being granted. Several times she had been caught sneaking in and looking around. Upon the third or fourth incident, it became clear to Damien that his daughter possessed a high-level intellect; she was seeking to feed on the wealth of medical knowledge he possessed in the room for nourishment. Gradually it became their hideout and they bonded well as he taught her as much as his time would allow.
“Pretty scary what’s happening downtown, isn’t it?”
“That nut case? Yes, very scary. Shooting up police cars in broad daylight, has the whole city of Houston on edge. James was almost killed in that explosion the other day.”
“James? Who’s James?
“Sorry Daddy, Reid, Detective Reid.”
“Oh right, he’s the one that found Michael’s family. Sorry, I didn’t know his first name. You said he was in that explosion?”
“He happened to be outside and away from the blast,” Megan said, stretching the truth. She was still in wonder how remarkable Michael was as Kaaren. Many times she wished it would have been her cast away from the Deliverance, so she could experience what Michael does.
“That was a massive explosion, heard it damaged homes for blocks. He’s pretty lucky indeed. Do the police have any leads on this guy’s whereabouts?”
“No, not really. I know a little more than the general public, but not much more. He just disappeared into thin air. One cop said he hit him in a fire fight.”
“Yes, I heard. We have all been alerted at the hospital to look out for anyone with a gunshot to the upper left arm. So far nothing at our hospital.”
“Well he has to get that treated somewhere.”
“Maybe not, although I do hope he bleeds out.”
“Daddy!” Megan said, almost scolding him for suggesting such.
“You know me, I usually don’t think like that, but this guy is pretty evil. I’ve seen what he does first hand.”
“What do you mean?”
“Keller, that poor boy, he was one of my patients. You were in training when that happened.” Damien was just leaving after a long stretch when Keller was brought in with multiple skull fractures from blunt force trauma."
“I didn’t know you treated Keller.”
“I saved his life, although mentally he's in worse shape than before. Sad what happened to him. I should tell you his story sometime, at least how his dad told me, not the vague story circulating in the news.”
Megan tried to recall the stories. She and the rest of her team were knee deep in heavy training. She had little time to hear about it when the news broke. It was one of the worst cases of police brutality Houston had encountered.
"From the stories I remember, Keller was a local transient, living on the streets, an unwanted Vietnam veteran."
“He wasn’t unwanted, his father did everything he could to help him. He was more than willing to let him live at home. The war screwed him up. He voluntarily took to a life on the streets, no matter how many times his father tried to drag him home. Tim just found some level of peace living a transient life. Gentle spirit, never hurt anyone, and enjoyed interacting with others in the community. He didn’t deserve the beating he got.”
“So you got to know Mr. Keller pretty well?”
“Yes, I did. In fact I have lunch with him every so often.” Damien paused a moment.
“He must have been crushed when Broderick’s case was thrown out and he walked scot-free,” Megan said, keeping the conversation going. Her dad didn’t show much emotion around others, but with her, he relaxed and wasn’t afraid to reveal his softer side. Megan loved him for his openness with her, something he confided in her long before she matured.
“What father wouldn’t? If that man had taken your life earlier this year and got away with it, I wouldn’t be able to live knowing my baby’s killer got away with murder.”
“Aww Daddy, I’m still here, thank God. Listen, I don’t know how we started talking about this, but it’s Christmas, let’s talk about something else–”
As she spoke, the phone rang–ringing twice before it stopped. Damien was just about to speak when Connor called out through the door, “Meg, phone!”
“Maybe Karen is coming after all,” Damien said.
Megan picked up the portable phone from the cradle and extended the long telescoping antenna before turning the phone on.
“This is Dr. McCormack.”
“Doctor, Doctor.”
“Hey you, Merry Christmas.”
“Same to you.”
“What time is it there?” Megan asked.
“About 8 am Christmas morning. A cold one too. Good thing I can’t feel my feet.”
“Be careful with that Gene, you can get in more trouble by not keeping your self warm enough.”
“Megan, I have enough medical advice, that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.”
“Sorry, just worried about you.”
“Don’t, I take very good care of myself.
Now tell me, what are you doing for New Years Eve?”
“Nothing in stone yet. Might spend it with my friend, why?”
“I’m coming home, that’s why, and I want to see you.”
“Really! Oh Gene, I’m so excited. That's great news. You coming back for good?”
She could see her dad's face perk up and smile upon discovering who the caller was. He looked at her with a large smile on his face. Megan knew exactly what he was thinking and feared the pressure her parents would start imposing on her.
“Not at first, but hopefully by the end of first quarter next year I should be back permanently.”
"I am so happy. What about your lab, you're not going to leave that behind are you?"
"It's up and running. I would like to go back from time to time, but traveling is difficult and I just want to come home. There's lots to tell, but I will save that and tell you over dinner."
"Well Doctor, what makes you think I am going to say yes?" Megan taunted with a playful tone to it.
"You will."
"I will huh? You think you can figure this shrink out?"
"We'll have to see," Gene said, playing along.
"When do you get in? You need me to pick you up?"
"I have someone picking me up already, there's some business to attend to first. I should be done around 3pm. How about I pick you up around 5?"
"Sounds great, where are you going to pick me up?"
"I'll call you around noon and let you know."
Megan gave him her pager number, followed by a series of goodbyes. Finally, she wished him a safe trip before handing the phone to her dad. "Daddy, Gene want's to say hi." He took the phone from her and greeted his daughter's savior with warm Christmas tidings.
---
"Name is William Tillman, from Austin Texas. Said the suspect ran a red and plowed into him as he proceeded on a green. Tillman stopped his truck to give him a few words only to find the man drunk and shooting at his car," the officer explained to Reid.
"Where is Mr. Tillman?"
The officer pointed to the well built man sitting on the curbside, his arms secured behind his back. Reid limped over to the man accompanied by the two officers, "Un-cuff him."
"Sir?"
"You have his piece secured?"
"Yes detective."
"And you've searched him? So far he is cooperating right?"
"Yes, but–"
"Ramirez, this guy is a good citizen who helped apprehend a hit and run suspect. Isn't that right Mr. Tillman?"
"Yeah, I guess," he said as Ramirez lifted him up and unlocked his cuffs. The man rubbed his wrists, glad to be free and not treated like a criminal.
"Mr. Tillman, I'm Detective Reid. You mind telling me what happened?"
"Sure, this idiot almost runs a red and hits me. Like I told the officer here, I stopped to give the guy a piece of my mind."
"With a loaded .357?"
"No, of course not. I took that from my truck after I saw him pumping his car full of .45s. I thought he was shooting his wife or girlfriend."
"Yeah, I've had my share of back seat drivers that almost drove me to that. So, you got back to your truck and grab your Smith. You always carry a loaded firearm?"
"Please detective, this is Texas, everyone carries, even my 70 year old mother."
"Ok, so what happened next?"
"I aimed at him and told him to drop his gun. He was clearly drunk, he turned and fired, then-"
"—Then what?"
"I have no idea."
"What do you mean you have no idea?" Reid said scratching his head, pretending to be puzzled.
"That's just it, I have no clue as to what happened. I mean, I have no clue as to what I saw. The drunk cowboy was just about to shoot when he suddenly spun around and–well it appeared as if he was thrown against the car."
"Thrown? By who?"
"Tell ya detective, sounds like this guy's nuts, that's why I wanted to keep him cuffed. I personally think this guy isn't giving us the true story and is making up some bullshit."
"Thank you Ramirez. Well Mr. Tillman, you jerking my chain? There something you're not telling us?"
"No Sir. Honest to God truth. After that, there's more. I returned fire a split second after he did."
"Wait, when did the other guy shoot at you? Before, or after some mysterious force tossed him over his car?"
"Into his car, not over. He discharged his weapon just as he turned around. I fired immediately after–three tightly grouped shots."
"So you hit him?"
"No Detective, the suspect wasn't hit," Ramirez answered.
"Not very tight then."
"The hell they weren't. I'm a three time Austin pistol champ. I could shoot better than you."
"Maybe, but if he was moving, why were your groupings so tight, shouldn't you have tracked the movement?"
"I did, only something was in the way."
"This here, Detective, is when our hero's story starts falling apart."
"What was in the way?"
"I don't know. There was some kind of distortion, almost like thick heat ripples that bent the light. Only there was no heat. It absorbed my shots, then disappeared."
Reid finished taking his statement, writing in his crude shorthand, recording everything Tillman said.
“Sounds like bullshit to me too.” Reid said
"Detective, are you going to arrest me?"
"You think I should?"
"No, I didn't do anything wrong. I have the right to defend myself and others."
"What others?" No one else was in the Blazer and he didn’t hit your rig."
"Well I didn't know that. Who the hell starts shooting at their car for no reason?"
"Drunks. Look, you were told by the helicopter to lower your weapon, you didn't and therefore–"
"–That's crap, the other guy was pointing his gun at me, what the hell was I supposed to do? If you guys had shown up to control the situation, that’s one thing, but a chopper pilot telling me to drop my weapon when I’m being threatened is a little fucking stupid.”
“You just watch your tone there buddy, or I might just completely change my mind and side with Ramirez here. Hell, maybe I might get myself in the mood to give that truck of yours a thorough search. You think I we have enough probable cause Ramirez?”
“Don’t need probable cause to check out that trailer Detective. Want my boys to give it a run through?”
“Whatcha think Mr. Tillman?”
“Sorry Detective. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
“I didn’t think so. Ramirez, that will be enough for tonight. See to it you have all his info. Gonna give you 72 hours and I want you to come in to make a statement.”
“Didn’t I just do that, give a statement?”
“Yes, but trauma causes memory loss immediately following the event. About 72 hours and the brain settles, allowing clearer recollection of details. Perhaps by then, that ghost you thought you saw will have disappeared and you can be a better help to this investigation.”
---
“Nice touch with the .357s in the phone pole across the street.”
“Thanks. Any word on the couple?”
“Early reports were wrong. The husband pushed the wife clear of the vehicle. She just has a broken wrist from the landing. The husband’s in ICU right now. His prognosis is favorable, the dipshit driver apparently wasn’t going as fast as we were led to believe, but it was fast enough,” Reid said as I adjusted his passenger seat to accommodate my long legs.
“I hope he makes it. Terrible day for tragedies like this to happen.”
“Crime and stupidity never take a holiday. If it did, I would be spending a nice evening with my family or Trish right now.”
“Why not both? How long you two been going out?”
“Couple years.”
“Couple? Jim, what the hell you waiting for? Don’t tell me you haven’t brought her home yet.”
“No I haven't, but it’s not like that. One of us is usually working on the holidays. If we both are, we can arrange a little time alone during our alternating shifts.”
“Still, you see yourself with her right?”
"Yeah, I do."
"So, what's your holdup. Show her you care, bring her home."
"I will. This mine?” Reid said interrupting the conversation while picking up the bag I delivered. His hand plunged deep down into the sack, fishing for his dinner, “extra onions right?”
“Yep, quit changing the subject, when are you two gonna settle down?”
“I might pop the question tomorrow.”
“On Christmas? Come on Jim, that's so lame. Gotta make it a day she can call her own. You said yourself you two are going to be working. What are you going to do, get down on your knee and propose after reading someone their Miranda Rights? Yeah, she’ll be telling that story for years.”
“She's still on leave and since when are you an expert on human courting rituals. This is what? Your second Christmas.”
Shit, I thought. I’m getting over my head. Come on Michael, you gotta be more careful, besides, you’re starting to talk like a woman now.
"Who cares what planet you're from,” I finally said, “a woman's not going to care for sharing that day with any other special days."
"So tell me, you're married back home right?"
"Yeah."
"And how did Mr.–what the hell is your last name?
“Guest.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Doesn’t matter. What are you trying to ask?”
“So, how did your stud wow you into marrying him?"
Ok, now I was getting uncomfortable.
"Not now Jim. I don't want to talk about it. Eat your burger."
"Hey you started it. You were on a roll there, now you are gonna plead the fifth on your partner here when he needs you the most?"
My mind drifted back to the day I proposed to Liz. We flew out to California to visit my dad up at the cabin. It was all arranged in advance. I took a week of leave–much needed R&R. Liz called Dad on my behalf while I retrieved our bags from the baggage claim. He delivered his lines perfectly, informing Liz the water lines ruptured in the cabin. To make up for it, he booked us into a fancy bed and breakfast in Temecula’s wine country.
Liz, a sucker for the fruit of the vine, jumped on the plan deviation while I sulked in disappointment. It was not much longer of a drive from Ontario, just off the 15 toward San Diego. Along the way, Liz grew excited seeing the hot air balloons rising, drifting along over the vineyards and expressed her desire for me to take her up. Little did she know Dad and I had the whole thing planned.
We departed the field, just the two of us savoring the sight of the valley below, slowly drifting along in the wind’s current. Liz and I sat close in the basket, feeding each other fine cheese and sliced fruit while sipping on champagne. She was like a little girl, her eyes sparkling, her face radiating a heavenly joy. It was every woman’s dream to experience a romantic excursion with her man and this was no exception. I had her hooked and distracted from what about about to come.
The balloon passed over the marker. Excusing myself, I stood and opened the chute, allowing the hot air to escape, lowering our altitude below the wind current. In the still air, we slowed to a hover right over the target–a property my dad was developing for a new winery. Dad had many people eager to do favors for him and the owner of the land made sure to impress.
I invited Liz to stand beside me, reaching out and helping her up. She wore a yellow knee length linen dress that accented her hips and showed off her legs. The slight breeze blew her long red hair and the setting sun cast an orange glow on her beautiful face. At first, Liz stared out across the vast landscape oblivious as to the field of flowers directly below.
An eternity passed, yet I remained patient until her eyes locked on. She didn’t notice me step away, getting down on my knee. She was too busy reading the writing in the field of flowers. The owner had cleared the field, prepping the ground to receive his first wine crop. As a favor, the only flowers he left standing were a hundred yards' worth, spelling out “Will You Marry Me Liz?”
“Michael, is that?–” She spun on her cowboy boot finding me kneeling before her holding the ring up.
“Liz, will you marry me?” I officially asked. There was no long, dreaded silence, just a momentary lapse as she fought back the excitement. She covered her mouth as her eyes watered up in joy.
“Oh my sweet Michael, yes. Yes, of course I will marry you.”
We made love in the basket, hovering over the soon-to-be vineyard where we were married. A short time later, we set the balloon down on the property where we were welcomed by my dad and his client.
“So, I have a daughter-in-law or no?”
“Yes you do, Dad. You sure had me fooled.”
“Don’t look at me, my boy here did all the planning. I just pulled a few strings.”
My thought earlier was wrong. I wasn't thinking like a woman when I spoke to Jim. No, I was an old fashioned man, a romantic, cut from a line of strong masculine types long since extinct. The real definition of masculine, not the insecure types plaguing the male population today. It was my Dad that passed it on, ensuring Liz would be the recipient of a dying breed. Even after my mom left, he made sure I respected and cherished women, chastising me for blaming them for my mother’s mistake. In my anguish I continued to be a man who cherished their women and went to the ends of the world for their love.
It wasn’t my story I told him, but my parents' proposal, modified so that it could have occurred anywhere in the universe for all he knew. Liz and I kept that magic moment to ourselves, never sharing our balloon ride with anyone other than Dad. We were like that, private with our affairs, choosing instead to keep those treasured moments between the two that created them.
"Wow, mind if I borrow that?" He said, wiping his face after devouring the burger.
"Yes Jim, I do. The point is not for you to copy me, think outside the box. You're a detective, use your brain and get creative."
"This is is a damn good burger by the way, where is this place?"
"They're only in California."
"Then how...never mind."
We sat in silence awhile, listening to the chatter on the radio. Activity in the area had calmed, allowing for a long break. I stuffed my hands into my sweatshirt's front pocket and stretched my long legs out, crossing my suit's boots up on Reid's dash.
“I have a question. You said back in your office that the bomb killed specific cops.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“What was the relationship with each of the deceased in relation to Broderick?”
“Celi was his last partner. They got along the best out of the others.”
“What the hell did he kill him for then?”
“Celi? He was part of that Keller beating. He roughed Keller up a bit, but nothing excessive. Certainly didn’t bother trying to stop it either. In fact, he was kind of amused by it. In the aftermath, he and Upton–the other slain officer–didn’t back him up. There were some rumors Celi ratted him out to IA to keep from being disciplined, but that’s just speculation.”
“So Broderick was the only one who got the can? What about the others in the house. How do you connect them?” I asked as the radio sprang to life, alerting us of a crime in progress.
---
Erica kicked off her heels and sprinted as fast as her tight skirt would allow. She darted across the dimly lit gravel path, ignoring the pain the coarse dirt inflicted on her bare soles. The fear of the consequences of slowing down drove the pain to the back of her mind. She screamed, hoping the neighbors around the park would hear her pleas for help.
"Where you going toots, come back here. We're not going to harm you," the taller of the two called out into the darkness. He and his out of shape friend could easily overtake her, but instead, they pursued with reduced enthusiasm. Either that, or they were playing with her. That was the only other conclusion her terrified mind could formulate as she turned off the path and ran across the grass.
Before she could speed up, her bare foot slipped on the wet grass, buckling under her weight as she toppled over. Gravity took hold of her, violently pulling her body to the ground. She felt a sharp pain shoot up her leg moments after the cracking sound in her ankle echoed through the deserted park.
The two laughed as she screamed from the pain. The watched her in amusement as she pushed her small round ass across the wet grass with her good foot.
"Aww, gonna ruin that pretty white dress of yours," the short fat one said, still trying to catch his breath. He moved toward the woman, only to be stopped by his friend.
“I saw her first, I get first rights.”
“Fuck off Jed, you got to go first last time.”
“Hey shit for brains, I saw her first last time too. When you start spotting the foxy ones like I do, they you can go first. Until then, zip it and watch my back while I take this pretty little thing for a spin.”
The woman turned, scurrying on her knees, crawling as fast as she could away from her two assailants. Her fleeing was useless, only delaying the inevitable. Jed ran up behind her, dropping to his knees on the wet grass. He slid to a halt, ramming his crotch into her backside. Jed reached out and grabbed a lock of her long dark hair, pulling it back as if he were breaking in a horse. She screamed, she squirmed, she tried fighting back. Surprisingly, she was strong, but not enough to overpower him.
“You just stay bent over like that,” Jed commanded as he reached down to unzip his fly.
"No, please stop. Don't do this."
"Don't you like it Jed when they beg like this?"
"Hey Billy, you got shit for brains? Quit using my fucking name."
"Oh who cares, the cops aren't going to listen to her. Fact, she's gonna like it so much, she's gonna want to remember where we were."
"Hahaha. Damn straight you're gonna like it, won't you?" Jed said, reaching up her dress and grabbing hold of her silky panties.
"Oh man, how does she feel?" Billy said, pointing a knife at her face, threatening her into submission. Tears were streaming down her face in shame as Jed violated her.
"Please stop," she cried, pleading for it to stop. Billy watched as Jed's face suddenly changed. His hand was shifted frantically around before he quickly withdrew it. It was his turn to scurry along the wet grass butt first. Billy was confused. He watched as Jed started hacking and wiping his hand in the grass.
"Hahaha, she piss on you? Served you right for going first."
Jed couldn't speak, just pointed at the woman, shaking his head as she curled up into a ball on the grass, crying harder than before.
"She's...She's, holy hell, it's–"
"You suck Jed. If you're afraid of a little piss, I'm taking my turn."
"That's a fucking dude."
"This?" He said pointing his knife at her.
"Yeah, she's packing under those panties."
"Oh jeezus. She's one of those?"
Jed stood up, regaining his composure while withdrawing his Buck Knife from the leather pouch in his belt.
"So, our little tramp here wants to be a real girl. Whatcha say Billy, we give her a little surgery down there?"
"HELP! PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME!"
"Oh I'm gonna help you all right. Gonna–"
"–AAHHHH!"
Jed froze in his tracks as Billy screamed from behind. At first he thought his friend was simply tormenting the woman, mocking her cries for help, but this scream was different. It was the kind one can't mimic that easily. Strange too as his screams seemed to be rapidly moving away from him. How his fat friend ran to the other side of the park in mere seconds was beyond Jed's comprehension, but Billy was now screaming louder than the woman–man–hell, whatever it was.
Several gunshots pierced the night, forcing local residents to wake from their sleep, realizing finally the screams for help were not part of a dream. Lights flickered to life in several homes across from the park as Billy grew eerily silent.
"Billy, you okay?" Jed called out to his friend. He began to panic as the first sound of sirens cut the brief silence. He knew the cops were a minute or two away and turned, sprinting into the distance leaving his friend to fend for himself–if he was still alive. Who the hell attacked him? Maybe it was an animal? No, he didn't hear any noises to back up that idea.
Jed was just reaching his top speed when his feet stumbled over something large, something he didn't see. The object brought his feet to a sudden halt, freezing them in place. His upper body however, kept moving forward.
"Shit!" He called out, bracing for a devastating impact with the ground–only the impact never came. Instead he felt a tight pressure above his knee. The ground that was supposed to be rushing toward him was moving away. His head cleared–enough to think straight. It was a hand, that was gripping his leg, causing intense pain.
“Let me go asshole,” he yelled to the unseen person lifting him high above the ground from behind. Jed twisted his body, trying desperately to identify the person holding him. The pressure eased up as the hand released it’s grip. Instinctively, Jed held his hands out before him preparing for a head first fall. Before gravity recalled him to the ground, another hand tightened, and turned him around.
At first, all he could see was a white boot. His eyes traced downward from his inverted position. He followed the boot where it continued up a very well toned leg and thigh. The shape continued to widen at the hips before narrowing at a slender waist still covered in the sparkling white outfit. The organ in his pants sprang to life ignoring his pain and humiliation.
“Son of a bitch, you bitch, that fuc–AAAHHH!” Jed yelled before he could finish cursing.
“Aww, that hurt?” the strange woman finally said. He tried looking around to see if someone else was helping her hold him. If someone was indeed there, they were just outside his field of vision. “Well, does it?”
“Fuck you,” Jed spat while swinging an inverted punch at her midsection. His hand hit with little force–his hand deflecting off her abdomen. Her tight belly was rock hard as if she were wearing some kind of armor–armor with an abrasive texture that scraped his knuckles.”
“Bet that hurt,” she said before tossing him. Jed landed hard about ten feet away, his elbow cracking on impact with the ground, “and that.”
Jed scrambled to his feet–unsuccessfully rubbing away the pain in his elbow. He only looked at her a moment, watching her approach him unafraid. The bone in his elbow was broken, preventing him from bending his arm and reaching the compact pistol holstered on his back.
The sirens grew louder and the flashing of red and blue lights bathed the homes surrounding the park. He wasn’t sure if he was afraid of their presence, or counting it a blessing.
“Where you going?”
“Stay away from me?”
“Or what?”
Jed turned and ran, taking several steps in the opposite direction before colliding with the woman. It was like running into a brick wall, his head stopping suddenly on impact with her body, knocking him backward onto the soft grass. He let out a scream from the pain spreading throughout his arm. He fished for the gun in his waistband, struggling to withdraw it with his left hand. As he fumbled with the weapon, long beams of red and blue light cut across the homes across from the park, dancing along the walls while accompanied by the high pitched cry of police sirens.
A cruiser turned the corner, jumped the curb and raced across the grass, trailed by two other patrol cars. Jed scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain in his elbow. A soft thunk on the grass informed him his pistol freed itself and was now laying in the wet grass. The woman that attacked him was nowhere to be seen, having fled at the first appearance of the police.
Jed now faced the same choice as he watched the patrol cars sweeping the park, desperately trying to find his gun.
“Fuck it,” he said out loud, turning away from the oncoming police and racing toward an adjacent farm.
---
Terrence held onto the large Santa-like sack filled with the little he had managed to loot from the house so far. The alarm would ring for two minutes before the security company dispatch called the local PD. It was enough time to hit a Christmas tree, maybe grab some tools from the garage. Nothing big. He couldn’t afford to get greedy. When he bypassed the alarms and had the whole night to himself, that’s when he took it all. The jewelry, the electronics, anything of value.
He hurried around the corner to his van. It didn’t belong to him, the van belonged to the phone company he worked for. It was a sweet gig. Lousy pay, but the benefits were great. Simply clip a few telephone wires outside, wait for a call from his dispatch, then go out to fix the problem he created. Easy as pie and best of all, his employer just promoted him for his outstanding service.
His customers loved him, he was a people person–or so they thought. In reality they were stupid. They bought his act without question, welcoming him into their expensive homes and showing them the layout of the house as he checked all the lines, all the while drinking the freshly made sweet tea or coffee they offered. Terrence would chat them to death, telling the ignorant housewives his aspirations of playing pro football while he further disabled the security system in front of them. With the system disabled he would return a week or two later, waltzing in through a side door the moment the family left.
Terrence hurried around the corner, bummed he couldn’t spend more time in this house. Somehow the alarm was back in working order and called out to the security company. The voice startled him as it poured through the speakers from the central dispatch office, asking if there was a genuine alarm. He remained silent, taking that as his cue to leave.
The cops would take their time. That crazy former cop was his new best friend, keeping the local police so preoccupied tracking him down, they almost didn’t give a shit about a home burglary.
“Shit,” Terrence cussed out loud in a panic. He looked around, checking and rechecking, but the van was gone, “Fucking bastard. I’ll find you and kick your ass. That’s my van you asshole.”
“Not so much fun is it?” a voice called out. It was a soft very feminine voice. His eyes gazed into the shadows looking for the source of the woman’s voice.
“Where are you? What did you do what my van?”
“Mine now. I don’t have one of my own, so I thought I would take this one. Surely you of all people understand my logic, don’t you Terrence?”
“What are you talking about bitch? Give me my fucking van?”
“Finder’s keepers. Aww, what’s the matter, don’t like it when people steal from you?”
Terrence pulled a knife from his pocket and opened the blade. Where are you?”
“Scary, careful you don’t cut yourself as you climb up here. Terrence tracked the source, not paying attention to the unmarked police car pulling up behind him.
“Drop the knife and get down on your knees?”
Terrence turned into the bright spotlight, trying to make out the man.
“Police, I said, put down the knife and drop to your knees.”
“Shit,” he said out loud, tossing the knife away and lifting his hands. Terrence turned to face the officer, who was limping around the vehicle. Oh man this was his lucky day, getting busted by a lame cop. Ain't no way this pig was going to catch this track star, Terrence thought to himself.
“Turn around, keep your hands where I can see them.”
Terrence squatted, not to kneel down as ordered, but preparing for a sprint. He dug his feet into the ground knowing the cop wouldn’t shoot. Terrence spoke softly to himself, “No he can’t shoot, I’m unarmed. He couldn’t hit me if he wanted. I’m fast, faster than any human on the planet. It was all the convincing he needed as he broke into a run through the empty lot between the two homes. Terrence darted across the field, his feet sinking into the soft dirt. He glanced back, seeing the cop wasn’t pursuing.
“What’s the matter pig, bum leg, can’t run?” Terrence said, stopping in the darkness to taunt the cop.
“Don’t need to, got a knife with your prints, and your van. See you at work tomorrow Terrence.”
“Or we can wrap things up tonight,” a voice said from behind. Before he could turn, he felt a pair of hands firmly gripping his shoulder and right arm. He tried to struggle, but felt an intense pain around his wrist. He moved his body low to the ground, the only direction where he found temporary relief.
“Shit, you’re hurting me damn it.”
“Not faster than me,” the voice said as his face pressed into the dirt. Pain traveled up his immobilized arm, locked in an impossibly tight hold behind him. The headlights of the cop's car drove across the lot, bathing the area with his spotlight. A moment later, he felt the cold steel of the handcuffs being secured tightly around his wrists. After a thorough search of his body he felt himself being lifted and crammed into the tight rear seat. The harsh reality of his new uncomfortable situation hit home as the cop slammed the door.
---
“Well, that was a successful night.”
“Feels great catching that guy.”
“It’s a great feeling indeed. I remember my first arrest.”
“You think you will be able to track what he stole?”
“Not all of it. He will likely make a plea deal and give up his buyers in exchange for a shorter stretch.”
“Lame,” I said, disgusted at the thought.
“Yes and no. It’s the way it works. We get more people off the streets that way. The more people realize that buying stolen merchandise is going to land them in jail, the harder it’s going to be for the thieves to make a profit.”
“How about that woman in the park, how’s she doing?”
“That’s a bit complicated.”
“How so? What the hell is complicated about a woman getting raped?”
“It’s complicated because that wasn’t a woman.”
“Ha, yes it was.”
“I’m not joking, she...I mean he was just a guy in drag. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Disappoint? Disappoint, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Jeez Karen, when the hell you start cussing like–”
“–like a what? I’ll cuss if I damn well please? What do you mean disappoint? Sexual assault is thrown out since the victim has a penis?”
“Something like that isn’t going to go to trial.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because the victims usually decline to press charges. They don’t want to take the stand, and in this case you were the only witness and I don’t think we can use your testimony.”
“So that’s it, these jerks walk?”
“Karen, the Public defender would have ripped her...him apart on the stand.”
“Why do you keep changing the pronouns when referring to her?”
“Because, it’s not a her. It’s a guy.”
“Jesus Christ Reid, are you that thick? And what’s your sister, a he?”
“Hey Sarah’s different.”
“Yeah? How?”
“Karen, calm down, what the hell’s the matter with you?”
“Answer the question. How’s your sister any different from a man that chooses to live as a woman?”
“Because.”
“Because why? Okay for girls to be guys, but not the other way around. Demeaning being a woman, is that what you think? Maybe you should give it a try Jim. Open your ignorant chauvinistic eyes. Put you in some heels, a dress and makeup, change your name to Jamie, and toss you on display, see how you like being gawked at.”
“Be more feminine than you’ve ever dressed. Hell my sister has more dresses in her wardrobe than you. Let me guess, you got a big fat zero. Must be tough walking in a skirt with that Sasquatch of a walk you have, maybe you are packing down there too.”
I sat there a moment in silence before busting out into a fit of laughter, Reid joining in with his own uncontrollable fit of hysterics. We laughed for several minutes before he spoke up. “Karen, I’m sorry. I didn’t know this is a sensitive issue for you.”
“So what if it is or isn’t. She’s a victim, end of story, don’t be a sexist pig.”
“Karen, I resent that. Come on, you know me, I’m not sexist in any way.”
“Unless you think they’re not really women, then all bets are off, is that it?”
“Karen, give me a minute, hear me out,” Reid said pulling the car over, “can you listen for a moment and not get all emotional?”
“What? Oh Jim, you did not just say that.”
“Jesus Christ, let me talk.”
“You talk too much Jim. Yap yap yap, just like a woman yourself.”
“Karen, shut up and give me a fucking moment.”
“Wow, now look who’s cussing.”
“I can’t do this. Go home and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
“I’m busy tomorrow.”
“Then next day then?”
“Busy then too.”
“Tell you what, when you're finished, and you get your wits back, come see me.”
“Finished with what?”
“You know?”
“Now you’re being sexist. What, women can’t get bitchy unless they are PMSing? For your information, I don’t suffer from that shit.
“Could have fooled me.”
“Hey, fuck you.”
In a rage, I kicked the door open, tweaking the door hinges. I exited the vehicle, slamming the door, shattering the window from the force.
“Careful with the car, damnit,” Jim yelled as he tossed the car into gear and sped off, leaving me alone on the street wearing nothing by my sweatshirt over my suit.
“Asshole,” I yelled out.
“What the fuck is happening to me?” I said out loud as I welled up. Shit, he was right, I was getting emotional, feeling completely out of control. All the breathing exercises weren’t doing crap and Reid couldn’t have dropped me off in a worse neighborhood. There were people all around preventing me from safely taking off without being seen.
Across the street was a pay phone next to a dimly lit building.
“Yes, I wanna make a collect call to 214-555-1937.”
“Can I get your name please?”
“Michael,” I said through my sobs accidentally using my real name.
There was a brief pause. “Please hold son, connecting the call right now,” the operator said as the tears were streaming down my face.
“Come on Megan pick up please.”
“I’m sorry, your party isn’t there. Is everything okay, are you in trouble son? How old are you Michael? Is Megan your Mother?”
Silently, I set the dirty handset back on the cradle and turned to exit the booth.
“Fuck, I hate this body. Kaaren, what the hell did you do to me?” I’m an emotional train wreck, pissed off and crying for no reason. “This shittin body is taking control of me, I want my body back,” I said out loud, grabbing my hair and pulling it into bunches while pacing back and forth along the building.
“Get a grip Michael. Come on buddy, hang on in there.”
“Say, looks like we got us 'nother one of dem crazy white bitches.”
I turned to see two gangbangers approach.
“What’s the matter baby, boyfriend kick you out of his car?”
“His loss.” The other said.
“Our gain,” they said, slapping their palms together.
“Piss off, I’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”
“Ooh, we got us a feisty one,” the punk with the red bandana around his head said as he approached.
“I’m warning you, I will fuck you two up,” I said, standing tall.
“And we are gonna fuck you.”
“Come get some, I really need this right now.”
The first approached with a switchblade, sticking the blade in my face.
A voice called out to me as I began channeling energy to my hands.
“Never use this body to cause pain,” Kaaren’s soft voice said through the river of emotion surging through my body. The Russians I killed appeared before me, replacing my two attackers. Tolkechev, the only one I knew by name, spoke to me in Russian as his face decayed rapidly in front of me.
I screamed out loud, applying thrust to my feet. The ground below me shattered, my attackers thrown backward from the invisible release of stored solar energy. In less then a couple of seconds, I passed through the stratosphere, the continental United States rapidly shrinking below me. My scream continued as if trying to purge the rage inside until suddenly there was nothing but an eerie silence as I exited the Earth’s atmosphere and hovered over the planet, holding in the little O2 left in my lungs. I tore my sweatshirt off, casting it away, letting it drift in the micro gravity while basking in the energizing rays of the Sun. The surge was stimulating yet relaxing, overwhelming my emotional rage.
I closed my eyes, focusing on everything in my life that I love and cherish. Liz’s face appeared before me, then Ashley’s. I longed to touch them again, hold them in my arms and tell them who I am. Dinner with them was a little over 12 hours away. Liz’s touch and Ashley’s laugh would be mine to cherish again. My insides calmed–still emotional, but functional again. Thoughts came in clearly, not dictated by alien hormones.
Reid’s words ate at me. The woman in the park kept running through my mind. I snapped at him, but deep down I was confused. Why would a man choose to live as a woman? I did, but it was out of necessity, donning this immortal figure in order to rescue humanity from doom. This poor guy? What could possibly drive him to change? It made no sense. I’d heard of men cross dressing and even a few stories of a surgery, but why?
Why? I’d been asking myself the same question over and over again. If Kaaren had arrived five years ago, before the threat, and asked me to switch with her, would I? The answer is always no, but here is someone who would have jumped on the offer in a heartbeat. The woman in the park undoubtedly wouldn’t have even given it a second thought.
I opened my eyes, calm, but confused as to who I am. Megan is the only one I could talk to and lately I feel it’s all one sided. As smart as she is, she just doesn’t understand us guys. Reid gets it, but to him, I’m just another species of female. I’m so alone, I wish I had my wife to talk to. Just another woman who would find it cute that a man is living as a woman.
I looked below, staring down at Europe, England off the coast, the unmistakable boot shape of Italy. So many places I can travel to anytime I want. “Nikolai!” I smiled as I thought of his name as I gazed on the brightly lit Russian landscape below. The shadow had just swept westward, a new day having just begun in Moscow. Yes, a friend that knows me, the real me trapped inside. I turned my body and began willing myself forward, racing to see my friend.
---
"Available units, priority 3, possible juvenile in need of assistance at the corner of Dowling and McGowen."
Reid leaned into the car and picked up the radio thinking to himself that's where he and Karen were arguing a few minutes ago.
"This is 155, en route. ETA 2 minutes. You have a description of the kid?" He opened the car door and tossed the six pack of beer he just purchased.
"Male, approx 5-12 years of age, no physical description."
"Who called it in?"
"Collect call operator. A kid placed a call, seemed in distress, then the call disconnected."
"Copy, stand by."
“10-4 Detective.”
Reid flipped the lights on, to clear the little traffic cluttering the streets as he raced down the near empty streets. He checked the clock on the dash. 12am. Bad time and bad neighborhood for a young kid to be wondering around alone. Hopefully Karen spotted him before she took off.
"Son of a bitch," Reid yelled out, punching the steering wheel. Karen could take care of herself, but he shouldn't have left her alone like that. If for no other reason than it was disrespectful to kick a woman out of the car, leaving her alone at night.
He shut the lights off before turning the corner and pulled up to the phone booth. Reid reached over and grabbed his Maglite from under the seat and stumbled out of the car. His leg throbbed, he was overdoing it and feared causing additional injury if he kept up.
The phone booth's light was the brightest in the area, casting more light than the adjacent building. Broken glass surrounded the booth, littering the ground inside and out.
"In the wrong neighborhood asshole," a voice called out from behind. Reid turned around, finding himself face to face with a tall black kid about 18. Reid hit him with the light while drawing his .45.
"Police officer. Get up against the wall."
"Hey, I didn't do anything, just tellin you–"
"–Don't give a shit. Not in the mood to be threatened, get your ass up against the wall."
The kid cussed as he complied, spreading his arms and legs like a seasoned pro. Reid shoved the flashlight in his back pocket and pinched the kid’s interlocked fingers together, securing them behind his head. He ignored the pain in his leg as he kicked the kid’s legs wider before holstering his weapon and began the frisk.
"I doubt you got a permit for this?" Reid said, examining the small .380 cal automatic he withdrew from the kid’s belt. It was a cheap Bryco Arms .380 with a time to crime average of 1.5 years. Traffickers loved them, cheap automatics with a high markup cost. Dangerous weapons too, known for many accidental discharges. He checked the safety on the pistol before carefully placing it in his pocket, then pushing the kid hard into the wall. Confident the thug was off balance, he took hold of the kid's hand, twisting his open palm in a firm sankkyo grip. If he tried to turn all Reid would have to do is apply pressure to stop him in his tracks. While keeping a firm hold, Reid locked the first cuff around his wrist and quickly secured the other before laying him on the ground.
"I'm looking for a young boy, made a call from this pay phone here about 10 minutes ago."
"I want a lawyer."
"Haven't even arrested you yet."
"What the hell you call this?"
"I'm detaining you while I question you, this isn’t an arrest. Now I can easily turn this into an arrest for carrying a concealed unregistered weapon. If I run your name, what do you think I will find out?"
“What do you want?”
“The boy, you see him? About 5-12 years old.”
“No man, no boy around here all night, just some...some–”
“–Some what?”
“Sweet white bitch, taller than me.”
“What else?”
“Had blonde hair, a red hoodie, and some sexy tight ass pants.”
“You see her with the boy?”
“You deaf man, there was no boy.”
“I got a call, some male juvenile used this phone booth.”
“It must have been her, she was the only one that used that phone all night.”
“Where is she?”
“Fuck man, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me asshole.”
“She flew away.”
“She did huh? Okay, I was being nice, let’s go downtown.”
Reid picked the clown up, bluffing. He fought back the pain in his leg as he escorted the punk to his car
“I’m telling you the truth, she just disappeared into the sky.”
“Oh screw it, I don’t want to deal with this shit tonight, I wanna go home.” Reid said, slamming the punk against the hood of his car. “This is your lucky day pal. I’m taking these off, and you are going to walk away. If you do anything else, I’ll either take you in, or shoot you, you understand me?”
“Yes.”
“Yes Detective,” Reid commanded as he unlocked the cuffs.
“Thanks Detective.”
“Don’t ever let me catch you carrying again?” Reid tossed the man’s wallet on the ground and sped off.
“155 to dispatch.”
“Dispatch, go ahead 155.”
“That’s a negative on the boy. Eyewitnesses say it was a woman making a call after some A-hole kicked her out of his car.”
“Bad place to leave a woman stranded. A-hole indeed.”
“Sounds like she got a lift, disregard the call.”
“10-4 Detective.”
“I’m signing out for the night, 155 out.”
---
Wearing three layers of clothing was restrictive, uncomfortable, and downright unnecessary. Not necessary to keep me warm at least. It was minus 10 degrees, cold enough I felt a slight change against my skin. Still, I was the only one strolling across Red Square not rubbing their gloved hands together trying to keep warm.
It was 5pm in the Motherland. The Sun's light, obscured by the thick clouds, was rapidly vanishing. The magnificent splendor of Moscow's city lights were coming to life, awakening from their slumber and bathing the city in a bright glow. Much of the western world who haven't ventured far will tell you Vegas, Tokyo or Paris is the most beautifully illuminated city at night. Moscow puts them all to shame.
"Quite different look than last time we were here together, yes?" came Nikolai's voice from behind. It was a different Red Square. The tanks were gone as were the protesters, who had taken to the streets demanding the heads of those responsible for his apparent death. Twice he had died that day, or so everyone thought, including myself.
"Nikolai!"
"Michael, Good to see you my friend. It okay if I call my friend by that name?"
“Of course.”
He refused when I held my hand out to greet him, insisting a friendly hug was in order.
"I did not think I would see you again."
"Why did you think that?"
"Thought I scared you off until you called asking for help."
"I was scared. Hell I still am."
"Understandably, I would be too, but we are friends, no? You would be there for me had situation been different, yes?"
"Nikolai, can I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
"If it had been different, you think you would have made the same choice?"
"Come my friend let us get inside. I have evening prepared for us."
"I don't want to interrupt your holiday plans with your family."
"Nonsense, you are family, yes? Besides, in Soviet Union, we celebrate Christmas on January 7th, not December 25th. Remember?"
Nikolai, trailed by several bodyguards, escorted me to a waiting vehicle where we rode in silence for the duration of the short trip. We arrived at a small restaurant with a closed off private area reserved for him. As we settled, he explained how he met Megan here. Here that he learned his intuition about me was correct.
"How is our friend?"
"Megan's doing quite well. I have no idea what I would have done without her."
"She is quite remarkable woman. We were very lucky to have her on mission. Wish she could have saved Igor."
"How is his family?"
"Funny you should ask. You know his Uncle is strong Political Figure, Boris Yeltsov?"
"That Boris Yeltsov?"
"Yes. Small world, yes?"
"Understandable he wouldn't have been selected without a political tie right?"
"No my friend. Quite correct."
"So what about him?"
"Soviet Union will not last much longer. Politiburo is all but dismantled. Gorbachev will become first president of Free Russia, but his support is collapsing. He won't sit long. Igor's Uncle is gaining popularity. Enough to be a major player to win presidency.
"And he wants you to support him?"
"He wants me to join him."
I was speechless, thinking of the possibilities of the ticket–if you call it that. A powerful key political player–uncle of the late Igor Yeltsov, hero of the Soviet Union, partnering up with the living hero who practically brought down communism. It would be a sure win.
"Well you have Anzhela's vote."
"I knew I could count on your support. But vote from unknown woman, not what I had in mind."
It wouldn't be a legit vote anyway, using her identity. In the aftermath of the events last March, I had returned to her only to discover she had met someone and moved away with them. The family she was staying with were not helpful, saying her American dream finally came true.
"And what is it you have in mind?"
"Military will soon no longer control Russian Space Program. In few weeks, we announce formation of new civilian organization."
"Like NASA?"
"Yes. NASA is on board, so is American Government."
Nikolai detailed the short term and long term goals. The subject of the meeting between the Soviets and NASA last March–the meeting that was rudely interrupted during the coup d'état– would continue as planned. The world's first orbital space station, a neutral territory for scientists of all nations to work in harmony for the betterment of humanity, would in part be created by Roscosmos–the new Russian Federal Space Agency.
"I see the Commander is on board already."
"I don't even know what I would do, but count me in."
"In USA you have difficulty with identity?"
"Actually, I have a friend that took care of that for me."
I briefly shared with Nikolai about Reid, explaining that he was the one who had found Liz and Ashley. He listened intently as I told him of my involvement with Houston PD and my growing friendship with Jim.
"This police officer, he knows who you are? You can trust him?"
"I do trust him. He's a good guy, but he doesn't know the full truth."
"I see. So he thinks you are simply a martian?"
"Yes. Only you and Megan know the truth.
"What about your wife and daughter."
"No, they don't know."
"Why not tell them? I know Liz loves you. You think she will not?"
"I don't really know. Megan feels this is a bad time, and I agree. When I first returned, I was ready to tell them, but Dwayne stole that from me. He screwed them up and now they don't know who to trust. I can't stand that bastard."
"You asked me if I would make same decision as you? Simple answer is yes. Can't say would be very appealing, but I wouldn't hesitate. We are good friends for many reasons. One, we think alike, we have same values."
"You're right, we do."
"Us Russians do things different than Americans, but we we love our families just the same. I would have made the same decision for my wife and son. What I am most proud of, is your restraint. Dwayne, I might have thought of killing him because that is how Russians deal with criminals, but like you, I couldn't have done that no matter how sick he was. Sergei would have put several bullets into Dwayne, but not me."
"I wanted to rip his heart out and hold it in front of his face as he died."
"You could have with no trouble, but you didn't. Instead you surrendered your power over him and gave it to my brother–a noble deed. Not many would do that."
"I didn't want to, but I made Kaaren a promise."
"No Michael," he said with a serious tone, “it was your character, not some guilt over a promise to an alien."
Perhaps he was right. I had spent much time thinking about it; finding my real motivation for not executing Dwayne eluded me.
"And how is he?"
"My friend, it is our agreement you released all concern over him to my brother. Wrath is vile thing, one that consumes you quickly. Wondering whether he is suffering enough will not relieve your wife and daughter's suffering. It will not reduce your pain."
"How is it you are so wise?"
"I learn from good friend."
"You know Megan would be very impressed with you right now."
He poured the last of the first bottle of vodka into my glass and cracked open a second to refill his glass. He took a long draw on his drink–pausing a moment as the warm distilled alcohol slid down his throat.
"Sergei broke him fast. Camp scared him into submission. You were right about him. He has big ego, but most all show. After two months, we operated on his knee and kept him under while we transferred him. He awoke in an actual prison, but we keep illusion he is still in Kolyma. Dwayne works and is confined in solitude with minimal interaction. When in presence of others, none understand English, to keep your secret safe.”
“Why did you just tell me that after you said you wouldn’t?”
“Because my friend, you and I both know you didn’t ask out of contemptme...contempl–”
“Contempt?”
“Contempt. I have right word, yes?”
“Perfect,” I replied complimenting him. It was rare that he found himself tripping up on a word, but when he did, I simply corrected him.
“Good. Like I say earlier, your heart is in right place. As much pain as he caused you, you still have compassion. It is why I tell you. But no more, including his whereabouts.”
Indeed, there are going to be tough times ahead, this I knew too well. My wife has a long road to recovery ahead of her. There are going to be days where Kaaren’s emotions were going to seize control of me. I won’t think straight. My heart will be full of rage where I will want to kill him. But his punishment can’t be mine. It can never by mine.
“So what of Roscosmos?” I asked, changing the subject.
“I have very exciting prospect for you,” he said, refilling my glass.
---
"You get enough sleep last night?" Brownly Asked.
"Enough, got home around 3am and logged about 6 hours of shuteye."
"Good. I went through your reports from last night and spoke with the DA. We are going to hold off on the firearm charges against the driver of the Blazer. We got him on felony hit and run, and whatever else we can throw at him. Frankly the story from the truck driver is too bizarre."
"I agree. Some strange shit happening lately."
"What do you mean?"
"Well that's the word anyway. You hear that chatter from that break in? Those two punks were spouting off about demons or something."
"Ahh, horseshit. Those two were on dope, hallucinating if you ask me. These assholes will make up any damn story to get out of more jail time. Shit, I've been a cop for forty years. You know how many times I've heard that bullshit. Angels, demons, aliens, hell even the King of Rock N' Roll has been conjured up as a fucking excuse."
"Presley? Gonna have to tell me that one sometime."
"Perhaps."
"What else you need from me?"
"It's Christmas Reid, get your ass home and enjoy yourself a little."
"But Captain–"
"–Zip it Reid, don't make me take your badge to force you to rest. I'm ordering you to take the night off. Take Mendoza out and have a good time. She can use a little distraction to get her mind off that shooting."
The Mercury Savings shootout had been a game changer for Trish. In the hospital, she told him everything that had happened. One minute she had been out looking for him, sharing intimate moments of her life with Karen, the next responding to the bank robbery, being one of the latter officers to arrive on scene.
Three minutes after the teller had tripped the alarm, the bank and surrounding streets had been transformed from a peaceful quiet neighborhood to an urban war zone. Several officers were on the ground, wounded from the heavy automatic fire erupting from the four bank robbers, each decked out in full body armor and sporting automatic rifles fed by high capacity drum magazines. Police cars were instantly shredded, the cops' small arms were simply no match for their armor.
Whithers was the first to arrive on scene, screeching his car to a halt as the five men emerged from the entrance. The lead opened up–at least that's how witnesses reported it. He was calm and collected under fire, not like the others, who were sloppy with their gun handling. Broderick's well placed rounds hit Whithers before he had a chance to draw his weapon.
It was basic military strategy against American forces. Incapacitate, and mow down the rest trying to extract their wounded from the battlefield. Their high magazine capacity kept the police pinned down while Whithers was bleeding out and SWAT was still two minutes from joining the action.
It was Trish's arrival that turned the tide of the fight, arriving from the rear of the building. One of the five gunmen turned to direct his fire towards the new arrival. But she was already out of her vehicle hitting the deck as the 7.62mm rounds from the man's AK tore through the side of her cruiser. Trish, using the cover of her cruiser, returned fire from a prone position, aiming for the unprotected lower legs–the only thing she had to shoot at.
Safe from the oncoming fire, she relaxed and put a .45 hollow point through the man's ankle, dropping him like a brick. His head hit the ground, falling into perfect view for her next round, a well placed shot through his forehead, that sent him to the morgue and changed the stakes.
One of the four switched his AK for an M32 multi-round grenade launcher and lobbed a series of M561 CS gas shells into the defense line, blanketing the shattered remains of Houston's vehicle fleet with tear gas. Under cover of the thick blinding cloud of gas, the gunmen fled as the police struggled to give pursuit. In the aftermath, FBI analysis concluded the job was professionally orchestrated, with their escape planned around a typical textbook police response.
Trish's status instantly changed. Everyone knew it was her rounds that turned the tide and saved what little was left of Whithers. Overnight, the constant ridicule she graciously tolerated for the job was replaced by the department's admiration. After close to twenty years on the job, she finally had respect–and she hated it.
The first few days, she was high on the adrenaline still flowing through her veins. She bathed in her new-found popularity. The excitement exploded with the news of Jim finding the Owens. As she confidently walked the halls, seeing her name in the paper, her co-workers patting her on the back or buying her lunch, the first signs of doubt crept in. The doubt turned to regret, then mutated to a raging guilt.
The recognition and the fame rapidly faded. The recognition she earned was no longer exciting. It came at a huge cost, the expense of a man's life. It was a valid, righteous kill necessary to save the lives of innocent civilians and fellow officers alike. Still, her nights were growing longer, laying awake watching in slow motion as her .45 shattered the man’s skull.
"I adopted an orphan who lost her parents to a drunk. I saved a man who almost died from a heart attack. Dozens of other heroic deeds received no recognition, but I wipe a grease ball off the face of the Earth and everyone stops tormenting me. Why?"
Reid couldn't answer. Nor could the department shrinks. They simply affirmed her performance, her courage under fire, but no one was able to ease the demons flowing through her. The scumbag, justly sent into the afterlife, returned each night to torment her.
"I will see what I can do Captain, but she's not taking it well. I know we can use her patrolling the streets, but we may have to count her out.
"Well knock some sense into her. What the hell's got her so screwed up? Bastard deserved what she gave him."
"I agree. She did her duty, be she still feels."
"Yeah, problem with them. Too emotional about that ‘It's a life crap,’ he said mockingly. The conversation quickly grew uncomfortable. All the positive attention Brownly was giving Reid suddenly became irrelevant. The Captain was a dick and often dished out a steady stream of sexist remarks.
"Sir, with all due respect, Mendoza is probably one of the least emotional of our department. She's got her head on tight, but let's face it this isn't our first officer involved shooting. We've had a handful of male officers take an extended leave of absence in the wake of an officer involved shooting. To speak freely, it's rather naive to claim only “they” feel remorse for taking a life. That son of a bitch that locked up those girls and put a bullet through my leg visits me at night and I didn't even kill the bastard. Those we lost in the house the other day are tormenting the shit out of me. I'm on edge myself, holding on as best as I can and I'm not going to let you, I don't give a shit who you are, I'm not going to stand here and let you insult Mendoza or any other women in our department. You have my support sir, 100%, but you don't have my respect." Reid finished his long-winded response screaming at Brownly. The menacing Captain was silent for far too long, causing a stream of worry deep within Reid.
"I must say detective, gotta be the first time someone spoke to me like that."
"Sorry Sir, I–"
"–Shut your hole Reid. You apologize and I'm gonna think of you as a pussy, just when you were doing well to impress the shit out of me. Now get the fuck out of my office while you still have the upper hand in this argument."
Reid grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, slamming it in his wake.
To Be Continued....Episode 4 "Season's Greetings"
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Comments
awesome!! Have been waiting
awesome!! Have been waiting for a new chapter and this one doesn't disappoint! In the words of a famous sci fi character "Most Impressive"
Good update. Hope things go
Good update.
Hope things go better for you in 2014.
https://mewswithaview.wordpress.com/
It took me
a while but I did finish. Wow, what a story. She's still having major issues, but that is human after all she's been though. For that matter most of the characters here are walking wounded. Saving the world, foiling a coup, and dealing with homocidal ex-cops can be stressful!
Very good stuff!
hugs
Grover
Waiting patiently sometimes does have it's rewards,
and this continuation is definitely in that category. Thank you G. M. for giving us all a post Christmas present par excellance!
To see Michael doing what he, well she now, can to settle the inner conflict raging within him is to quantify what we all feel inside, trying our very best to rectify the mistake nature made by placing our minds in conflict with our bodies.
This has been, and continues to be one of the best stories on the site. Thank you for writing it, for bringing it here to Top Shelf and for all the hard work you have obviously put into this great tale.
happy Holiday huggles,
Catherine Linda Michel
As a T-woman, I do have a Y chromosome... it's just in cursive, pink script.
Good to see a new episode of Angel
Glad that your back to writing again Megan and I sure enjoyed this new episode. I'm looking forward to see how Erica and Megan's interactions will play out in the future episodes. I imagine that Erica will be play a role in helping Karen/Michael in coming to grips with her/his internal struggle with Karen is having. Having a trans character in the story will been interesting. I'm happy to hear that what ever real life events that delayed you from posting for the past several months are now past and that your getting back up to speed working on your writing once again. It's been awhile since we last chatted too, we'll have to do that again one of these days. As always, I'm looking forward to reading the next episode of Angel.
Hugs and Happy Holidays Megan.
Tamara Jeanne