Short Stories

Undeserving

After three years, two months, three weeks, six days and twenty-two standard hours, I didn’t want to think about it.

It being getting out of prison.

I stared at the ceiling of my cage as I lay on my plastisteel bunk. Three weeks ago my cellmate of just over two years had died in a fight in the showers. I shook my head at the senselessness of it. The fight had been over a roll.

My cellmate Tim had taken the last roll in the breadbasket during the third meal shift that day. In the process he had offended a member of the Steel Dragons, a violent prison gang. A bounty of fifty cigarettes, the cash currency of the prison, had been placed on Tim’s head without his knowing it. He was dead less than twenty-four hours after being green lighted.

Survival in prison is tough if you have a friend to watch your back. When I was incarcerated, I didn’t have a friend in the world.

I nearly despaired of surviving my sentence during that first year of incarceration. Four times I’d gone to the clinic as a result of injuries from fights. Depression was my constant companion. So much so I’d even considered doing the Dutch and ending it all.

Things changed for the better when Tim arrived. Tim was older and knew the ropes of how to survive in an Alliance prison. He took me under his wing and taught me the basics of survival. Tim was in for his fourth stretch. His hitch was one month longer than what I had left.

“I can do this stretch standing on my head,” he’d told me, smiling his gentle smile. “You just listen to me, and I’ll get you through this rough patch.”

Tim had kept his word teaching me how to avoid conflict, spot potentially dangerous situations. We built alliances, not for physical protection, but for a heads up if something was coming our way. Neither of us smoked, allowing us to save our weekly ration of cigarettes in order to bribe prison guards.

Passing time in prison was a challenge for any inmate and it was no different for me. Tim had taught me how to put the time to use, how to make it work for me instead of killing me a little inside each day.

“You don’t want to come back here, understand,” he’d told me. “I regret the fact I’ve spent a third of my life on rocks like Persephone. This is my last time, Ralph. I should have known better than to get involved in the scam I did, but my greed got the better of me.”

With Tim’s encouragement, I finished high school. Not even Alice had been able to get me to do that. I passed my taxi driver’s certification test too. Tim had pushed me to take the test, telling me, “It’s honest work. You won’t get rich, but you’ll be able to earn a living and not wind up back inside.”

School, even in prison, wasn’t enjoyable, but Tim showed me learning could be okay. If it was something I liked, it wasn’t too bad. All of my life I’d been curious about how things worked, especially hover cars. I’d filled up a lot of long hours in our cell learning everything I could about hover cars, how they worked, how to fix them, how to best operate them.

As helpful as everything Tim taught me was, none of it helped where Alice was concerned.

Alice didn’t visit me the first two years I was in the joint. My comlinks and letters went unanswered. I finally came to the conclusion Alice had given up on me and I’d eventually get divorce papers to sign.

Not that I blamed her.

Alice had made it clear to me too many times to stay clear of the people I ran with. I can’t count the number of times I’d lain awake after lights out replaying Alice’s angry rants, telling me I’d come to no good running with the crowd I was hanging with.

I was stupid. That stupidity cost me the only good thing in my life. Alice.

I’d been playing in a floating poker game when the cops kicked the door in. Playing in an illegal game was an offence that only carried a fine, which was why the vice cops, hadn’t been paid off to leave the game alone.

It was the thirty grams of stim the cops found in my coat pocket that got me sent to Graham Correctional on the moon Persephone.

Claiming the drugs weren’t mine but had been planted hadn’t worked very well as a defense. The judge, jury and prosecutor hadn’t bought it. Alice’s silence during the entire trial made me pretty sure she hadn’t bought my story either. So I caught a bum beef for just over three.

So, here I am, hours away from my release from the hell of prison. As strange as it sounds, I’m afraid of what I’ll find on the outside.

                                                                                                               —

Alice stared at the chronometer on the dirty wall of her one room walk-up. She glanced in the tiny, cracked mirror sitting on the small, dingy chest of drawers. Its surface was smudged and bleary, making the reflection less than perfect. With her hand Alice captured the few wild stands of hair that had escaped and carefully tucked them back into place.

Standing up, Alice turned carefully and glanced at her attire. It was the best she could do given her situation. Picking up her coat, Alice slipped it on, grabbed her battered purse and left, carefully locking the door behind her.

Light from the lone window peeked in, landing on the calendar Alice had pinned on the wall. Each day bore a single large line through it, marking off the days until she had to confront her future.

As she walked out into the freezing cold of Beta Prime to catch the tube to the Space Port, Alice was still undecided just what that future would be.

                                                                                                              —

I felt the footsteps long before I heard the voice of the two guards talking. Certain sounds travel faster than others in Graham, at least in the cell block I’ve been locked up in.

It’s time. At least I think it is. I look around my home for the past three years and three months. I’ve memorized every inch of what it looks like. I’ll never forget it either, the despair, the fear, the loneliness, even when Tim was alive. The sounds of my cellblock will haunt me in my dreams for the rest of my life I suppose. Just like the smells.

It’s funny how much you don’t take note of your senses until your confined. The only way to explore beyond the six square meters of a cell, your house, is to use all of your senses. I learned to listen and hear things I didn’t know I could hear. Things like a man crying a hundred meters away, the sharpening of an object into a shiv or the rattling sound of a man’s dying last gasp of breath.

Smells used to not be a big deal to me. Now I can’t get the stench of prison out of my nostrils. I can smell the body odor of the armed robber in the next cell. I can’t remember the last time that lug bathed. Drugs have a unique odor I’d never paid attention to that much before. Now I can identify about two-dozen different drugs by smell alone.

Graham Correctional has its own unique smell. Doesn’t matter where you go, you can smell it. In the showers, the work and exercise areas, the sealed tunnels and the worse place of all, the chow room. It’s a mix of body odor, urine and feces combined with the stale air of the prison. There’s a moldy, mildew scent mixed in with the institutional smell of cleaner.

Making the smell even fouler is the fact the prison is sealed. It’s airtight. Graham’s built on Beta Prime’s moon Persephone, a piece of rock that doesn’t have its own atmosphere. The result is the odors just get recycled through the air handling system. If there was ever any means to scrub the air of its foul odors, the technology long ago gave up the cause as useless.

Vibration can be felt if you find the right spot in your cell. Like I said, I felt the footsteps of the guards approaching before I heard them.

                                                                                                               —

Loneliness had been the worse part of Ralph being in prison. Alice leaned against the window of the coach as it rocked back and forth, lights from the tunnel occasionally illuminating the dimly lit car. It had struck Alice as odd that she could live in Capital City, population of 2.2 million, and be so alone.

More than anything else, it was being left alone that fueled Alice’s anger with Ralph. They’d moved to Beta Prime to start a life together, to escape the rough start in life both of them had experienced. Newly weds, enjoying the blissfulness of being in love, they’d been shocked to learn life on Beta Prime was so harsh.

They’d not had the good sense to take the adverts for settlers with a grain of salt. Lacking the wisdom to realize the truth about life on a world that had only been settled forty years, they’d made the mistake of casting their lot with other immigrants foolish enough to follow their dreams to frozen world of Beta Prime.

Neither of them had liked school and the resulting lack of education due to ditching school, zero effort to learn and the two of them eventually dropping out was costly. Alice hated to admit it, but the words of so many of her teachers rang in her ears on a daily basis.

“You need to get an education Alice! If you don’t, how do you expect to earn a living?”

It was just another lesson life had beaten into Alice, breaking off one more tiny piece of her strong willed, rebellious nature.

She’d realized fighting authority wasn’t going to work and had started waitressing. It was honest work and the lack of her high school diploma hadn’t stopped her from getting a job. Ralph on the other hand lived like they were still in high school, constantly looking for the next good time.

The late nights and rough crowd he’d started running with kept Ralph from holding down a job for more than a few months at a time. When the cops came to let her know he’d been arrested and was likely going to do a couple of years in Graham, Alice had almost felt relieved.

                                                                                                               —

I looked back down the cell block that had been my neighborhood. I got a shove in the back from the two screws who’d come to get me. For grins, they’d put a four-piece suit on me.

I got the message and shuffled along as fast as the leg irons, manacles and chains would let me. I held a prison issued bag with my few possessions in my hands.

“Catching the chain Ralph,” a lifer called out to me.

“Yeah, did my stretch,” I answered, shuffling along slowly. I wasn’t too sure if I really wanted to leave. Graham had become home. It was the longest place I had lived for most of my life.

I’d learned the rules, learned how to avoid trouble, finished my bid and now I was set to fly away. I’d gone from being a fish to a con. I thought about the promise I’d made to my dead celly Tim. I wasn’t going to be a violator. One stretch was enough for this con.

What scared me so badly was not knowing if Alice had waited. I couldn’t blame if she’d found a Sancho, another man, and moved on.

The taller of the two CO’s gave me another push. “C’mon Ralph, we’re about to get off duty. Speed it up a little will ya?”

I ignored the CO and stood on the yellow line on the floor in front of the electronically controlled steel door that led to freedom. A loud buzz sounded and the door slipped open to the right. I stepped through and spotted another yellow line painted on the floor. I put my toes on the line and listened to the loud slam of the door shutting behind me.

“Inmate Number 876912435, step forward two steps, set your bag on the table to your right and take two steps back.”

And so it was I began the process of transitioning back to civilian life.

                                                                                                             —

Alice bulled her way through throng of people crowding forward to get on the subway train. Life on her own had taught Alice how to fend for herself, to be hard and tough when necessary.

Shooting a final dirty look at the man who’d blocked her way, Alice hurried towards the ticket counter to buy a ticket for a shuttle to the space station.

Keeping an eye on the flight schedule, Alice waited impatiently for the line to move forward.

“To think in this day and age, you have to wait in line,” Alice muttered softly. Reaching the front of the line, Alice carefully counted out her hard earned credits and waited for her electronic ticket. One final glance at the departure board and she hurried to catch her shuttle.

                                                                                                            —

I sat trembling on the bench with seven other cons making the trip back to the universe. My civilian clothes fit me a bit looser than when I’d gone in. Eating prison chow and working out an hour a day due to boredom will do that to a man. I had my paperwork, my hack license, high school diploma, the name of my Probation Officer and 100 hard credits in my pocket, my debt to the Alliance and society paid for in full.

I’d also just found out the price of my ticket down to the surface of Beta Prime would come out of that 100 credits.

My wrists were sore where the manacles had rubbed. My ankles hurt as well. The soft feel of my clothes felt odd after my years wearing rough prison orange. My shoes actually felt comfortable after the prison boots I’d been forced to wear.

A CO entered the waiting area and motioned for us to follow him to an airlock. The prison bus was waiting. We cycled through and milled together, crowding the entrance to the small shuttle.

The pilot laughed. “Guys, you have to start thinking for yourselves again. There won’t be anybody to tell you what to do now that your back in the ‘verse. Take a seat, any seat you want, and strap in. We have a schedule to keep.”

I found a seat and sat down and fastened myself in, noting the manacles and handcuffs fastened by chain to the seat.

“Got a pick up to make,” I asked before I could stop myself, flinching in anticipating of getting hit.

“Yep, bunch of hard core cons,” the pilot answered easily. “Two are going to medium security at Graham. The others are doing all day and a night at the Supermax wing. One of ‘ems going to take a stainless steel ride.”

I shuddered. Lifers. Another headed for the Row. Two who’d be lucky and get out. I didn’t envy the pilot his job hauling around dangerous inmates like the bunch he would shuttle up to Persephone after dropping us off.

It was that moment I knew I couldn’t go back. It didn’t matter if Alice had left me or not, I couldn’t go back to Graham or any other place like that piece of hell on a airless rock orbiting Beta Prime.

The flight was a longer one than I remembered, taking just over two hours to cover the distance from Persephone to the Space Station. I guess it all had to do with the moon’s orbit and the fact the Space Station was in geosynchronous orbit over Capital City.

Slowing his approach speed to change vectors, the pilot dropped down towards the bottom of Beta Prime’s connection with the universe. Clearing all of the other traffic at the platform, the shuttle drew near the secure airlock. Used only for transferring prisoners to the correctional shuttle, it was heavily secured by human and automated guard technology.

With a gentle nudge, the pilot docked.

“Almost free guys,” he said encouragingly. “Give me a minute while I cycle the lock and then you guys can get off. There will be a CO to escort you to get your tickets. You can take a shuttle down to Capital City or anywhere in the ‘verse you want to go.”

We looked around, the eight of us, unsure of what to do. Without speaking, each of us began to unbuckle from our restraints. I stood up, my knees shaking. Taking a few unsteady steps towards the airlock, I noticed the pilot was smiling at me, his hand extended. I gingerly took it and let him shake it once.

“Hope I don’t see you on my bird again,” he said, his smile gone.

                                                                                                                  —

Alice hated flying, in atmo or the vacuum of space. It just didn’t seem natural. If not for the meds she’d taken prior to lift off, her stomach would have been flying on its own as well. As the Space Station came into view, Alice realized she still hadn’t made up her mind about Ralph. Alice only knew whatever she decided he was going to hear it from her face-to-face.

In the distance a standard transport shuttle came into view, decelerating rapidly as it vectored its approach. Squinting hard, Alice could make out the broad orange stripe running the length of the shuttle’s hull. As both shuttles grew closer to their destination, the logo of the Alliance prison system came into focus.

“Ralph,” Alice whispered, the word catching in her throat.

                                                                                                                —

I counted my money and looked at my one-way ticket down to Capital City. My knees shook so badly I had to sit down to get a hold of my nerves. I was scared stiff at getting the prospect of reentering society. Just looking at the clothes everyone wore told me how much things had changed while I’d been away.

Facing things without Alice scared me even more.

Of all the things I had learned to do without in the can, my wife wasn’t one of them. I’d realized how foolish I’d been not to listen to her common sense demands as a wife. Alice was my best friend in the entire galaxy and I’d screwed it up.

I’d also learned in prison that a man has to face up to what he’s done, good or bad. It didn’t matter that I’d caught a bum rap. What I’d done my time for was taking a good woman who loved me for granted. I decided right then that if Alice would have me back, I would do whatever it took not to screw up again. At least not screw up big.

I stood up and willed my knees to stop shaking. Scanning the busy throngs of people milling about, I spotted Alice standing alone, waiting. Ironically, she had on a poker face, betraying nothing about how she felt inside.

It was now or never and I needed to be a man about this. I made my feet move, one step at a time towards the treasure I’d foolishly risked losing. I pulled to within ten feet away from Alice and the herd of people parted, allowing Alice to see me. The time spent apart had been hard on her. I could see it in the careworn look in her face.

It was time to face my fate.

I said her name aloud. I don’t know if she heard me or read my lips, but the frown that formed on her face sent my heart plummeting towards Beta Prime below. Alice would tell me to my face she was leaving me. She wouldn’t do it by sending a nameless process server to drop divorce papers in my lap.

Taking small steps, the fury in her face growing by the second, Alice drew closer. I braced myself for what was coming. I deserved it.

“Ralph, from this day forward, you are to never, ever run with trash like that again! Do you understand me? Because if you do, I’m gone, done! If you want to have a friend, you check with me first! No roaming around at night! You get done with work you come straight home to me! I will not go through what you put me through again!”

I felt torn inside. I would get another chance with Alice. The tears she was crying told me I didn’t deserve that chance. Alice was better than me.

“I don’t deserve this,” I choked out.

“You’re right you don’t,” Alice snapped, wiping tears from her cheeks. “It’s called forgiveness.”

My wife took my hand and tugged, nearly pulling me off my feet.

“I’m hungry and you’re buying me lunch,” Alice said, pulling me towards one of the overpriced diners located on the concourse. She slipped her arm through mine, the beginnings of a smile forming on her tear stained face. “Then I’m going to take you home and lock the door.”

                                                                                                                 —

Six weeks had passed since I’d gotten out. Alice didn’t exactly make things easy for me. She’d gotten a new job at a place called Joe’s. It was a joint done up in ancient Earth style décor, complete with artwork promoting classical music acts like these bands called The Rolling Stones or The Cars.

The neighborhood was okay. It bordered decent working class housing and the mining and industrial districts of Capital City. One of the main hoverways cut right through it.

Believe it or not, there was actually a guy named Joe who owned the place. Alice liked Joe but he scared me a bit. I got the impression Joe was a lot tougher than he looked. I know the two bouncers who worked the door when the place transitioned into a bar at night were scared of Joe and that told me more than I needed to know. If those two hunks of muscle were wary of Joe, I needed to make sure I stepped carefully around him.

Besides, Joe knew people. He helped Alice and me put down our first payment on a used cab so I could work for myself. I made sure anytime people asked for a good place to eat I brought them to Joe’s. I didn’t care if they wanted to eat in some upscale joint.

I never caught any grief for it, well, that is after they actually ate the food at Joe’s, which by the way is as good as Joe claims it is. Then I’d drive the fare back to the nice part of town where I’d picked ‘em up.

It got old never playing cards or running with some friends. Whenever I got the itch though, I just had to think about Alice. If that didn’t scratch the itch, I could hear Tim’s voice, telling me if I was smart I’d never make the mistake that got me sent to Graham a second time.

Lightening doesn’t strike the same spot twice they say.

Every night when I went to sleep, I held Alice close and thanked God she’d had the grace to forgive a man who didn’t deserve forgiveness.

Cameron and The Black Bird

This short story was first published on FanFiction.net on January 6, 2016.

Disclaimer: Don’t own TSCC

Cameron and The Black Bird is set in the Cameron Grows Up TSCC Universe. Cameron and John are seniors in high school. John has replaced Cameron’s beloved purple leather jacket, stolen from the Connor family residence along with other family possessions. This story combines Cameron’s love for all things purple and watching late, late night television, especially Classic film noir from Hollywood staring her favorite actor, Humphrey Bogart. John is less than thrilled with Cameron’s new attitude. Apologies to Dashiell Hammett.

Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon

“It is not the same,” I said.

“Yes it is. I made sure I got the same one.”

John can be slow on the uptake sometimes, so I had to explain things again. “No, it is not possible for it to be the same one. The color is .02% more blue in the dye and there is not a scrape mark on the left elbow.”

“Cameron, what I meant is,” an exasperated John explained, “I bought the same style, size and color jacket as the one you had stolen.”

“I know,” I replied, sensing John was getting frustrated. “I was just remarking it was not the same identical jacket.”

“Do you like it or not?”

“I like it better because you gave it to me,” I told my John, slipping the jacket on to model it for him. “Do you like it?”

“What matters is whether or not you like it,” John replied. He seemed relieved I did in fact like his gift. “You like it, so I like it,” he told me, a big smile gracing his handsome face.

Summer Glau as Cameron

“Good, that’s settled,” Sarah announced entering the living room. “School tomorrow and some freakish cold weather is going to move in during the night. John, bed. Cameron, laundry, patrol and then whatever you want.”

Bristling at being sent to bed like a child, John glared at Sarah as he stomped up the stairs. I displayed my disgust at being assigned laundry duty by staring silently at Sarah, who ignored both of us.

Annoyed, I quickly sorted the family’s dirty clothes and started a load of whites. Arming myself with my beloved pair of Glock-17s, I slipped on my new favorite item of clothing, my new purple leather jacket, and slipped out into the night to patrol the neighborhood.

Sixty-three minutes elapsed while I was on patrol. Upon my return I tossed the whites in the dryer, threw in a load of darks, and settled down with the remote to watch Bogie solve the mystery of The Maltese Falcon. Later on The Big Chill followed by Casablanca would be on. Great night of television.

The Next Morning…

Sarah had been correct for once about the weather. A nasty cold front had blown in during the night. Perfect weather to wear my new jacket.

I drove that morning. John’s reaction times are a bit too slow for my taste when the roads are bad. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to keep her man safe and keeping my man safe was my purpose.

School went by quick enough, and then it was time to drive my John home. I had my private dance class that evening, so I dropped my John off. Watched him go inside where he’d be safe. Sarah was there.

Crazy dame, that Sarah, but good with a gun.

Class went by quick and I had time to stop by a new shop I’d seen. Specialized in women’s styles from the 40’s. Thought I’d try my luck.

Forty minutes later I was back on the road. It was raining again. Good news was I’d been able to pick up two slick skirts, nice like what Bacall wore. Coupla blouses too. The kicker was the black silk stockings with garter belt. The real deal, right down to the black seam up the back of the leg. Pair of black shoes and belt and I was set for threads.

It was raining when I patrolled that night. Nothing suspicious to report, just cold and wet, but then what would you expect when it’s raining.

Decided I’d wear one of my new outfits. Styled my hair nice like Bacall, even nailed the make up. Sarah laughed when she saw me, but nodded her approval. Told me I looked classy for a change. Makes a dame feel good when people notice the effort.

John acted like a real heel. Told me to change clothes. Told him he could walk to school in the rain. John came around to my way of thinking.

That afternoon…

I was lookin’ forward to some alone time with my John. Sarah and Derek would be gone when we got home. My John had warmed up to my new look. Seems he kinda likes the black silk stockings with the seam up the back of my leg. Course, when a girl’s got great gams, she oughta show’em off right?

I knew right off somethin’ was wrong when we pulled up. Somethin’ in my gut told me. I pulled my gat from my purse and reached under the seat for one of my Glocks.

“John, stay here,” I told him. Girl’s gotta keep her man safe.

With more caution than normal, not wanting to get a bullet hole in my new duds, I entered the house and cleared it, looking to see what had been pinched, if anything. John came in and looked around.

“Anything gone this time?” he asked.

“Yes! Some mug stole my new purple jacket and the second stash of diamonds!”

“Crap!” John says, “Mom is gonna freak about the diamonds!”

“Forget the diamonds,” I tell him. “I’m gonna find who took my jacket and put’em under. Nobody steals my jacket twice and lives.”

“Uh, Cameron, are you okay,” John asks me as I lit up a Lucky Strike. “Since when did you start smoking?”

“Hey, a dame needs a smoke when she’s feelin’ stressed,” I tell him. “I’m feelin’ stressed.”

I took a drag on my smoke as I examined the room for clues as to who had pilfered my jacket. Oh, yeah, and the diamonds.

Sarah and Derek pulled up. Seeing the backdoor wide open, they come in with their gats drawn.

“How bad?” Sarah asks me.

“The second stash and my purple leather jacket my John gave me,” I tell her.

Sarah ignored my cigarette, which was just as well. I was in no mood to take guff of her or anybody else. Derek on the other hand could be a real heel and he wasted no time pointing out my new vice to the boss.

“Hey, Sarah, Tin Miss is smokin’?” the heel pointed out, real loud like. “You gonna let her get away with that? You’d skin John or me if either of us lit up in the house.”

Shut up, Derek,” the boss lady told him, shuttin’ him down real quick. “We got bigger problems.”

Yeah, like findin’ who pinched my purple leather jacket.

***

The boss lady gave the order to pull the surveillance film. I did. No faces, but there was a van. Made the plate and ran it down for an address. Two thugs did the job, one of ‘em dressed classy. Nice brown suit and a fedora. Old school. Wasn’t going to save him though, he had my jacket.

Turns out the address is for a warehouse. The muscle might be workin’ for Skynet. So the boss lady sends me and the muscle over to check it out. Why Derek needed to come along, I can’t figure. He’s just goin’ to get in the way of me gettin’ my jacket back. I might be a dame, but I don’t need help.

We pull up across from the warehouse and settle in to keep an eye on the place. Derek takes a nap, which is fine with me as I don’t want to talk to him anyway. After a bit the two mugs leave and get in the van. So, I wake the muscle up and we tail ‘em.

They head down to the wharf where a freighter has just docked. The classy gunsel and the other thug go right up the gangplank. I figure we’ll just wait for ‘em and see what happens. I hear a couple gunshots and the Skynet muscle comes runnin’ down the gangplank. The big ugly one is holding his shoulder and the short well-dressed one is carrying a package wrapped in brown paper.

There’s an explosion on the freighter and flames erupt everywhere. The blast knocks the wounded thug into the water. His partner doesn’t even look back. He might dress well, but no character. No loyalty. I’m going to enjoy putting him down.

Derek might be a heel at times, but he’s a good wheelman. We follow the gunsel with the package. He’s not much of a pro. Never even checks to see if he’s bein’ followed. Disloyal. Unprofessional. Stole my purple jacket. He needs to be terminated.

We follow him to a Hilton. Nice place. I tell Derek to wait, he’s not dressed for the joint. I check my face and hair and follow the thug into the place. I put a little more roll in my stroll to make sure the doorman and bellboys don’t remember my face, they remember, something else.

The thug heads into the restaurant and goes right to a table in a corner. Sits down with the package out in the open. Add stupid to the list. I can’t believe my eyes when I see who walks in and takes a seat with him. It’s her.

The blonde bitch whore. Riley.* I get the itch to do the job right there, finish both of ‘em. I have to pull down my HUD and select override on the terminate command. As much as these two need to end up as fish food, I gotta get the skinny on what’s goin’ on for the boss lady. Our mob needs our stake of diamonds back and I’m getting’ my jacket if it’s the last thing I do. (* – Cameron’s standard reference for Riley. Otherwise she has a clean mouth. If you watched the show, you’d understand Cameron’s hatred for Riley.)

I take a seat and cross my legs. I make sure the waiter can see my gams, again, so he won’t remember my face. I order, not that I’m gonna eat, I just need to not be noticed. I turn up my auditory sensor and listen in.

Turns out the gunsel’s name is Wilmer. Not a fan. Riley takes the package from him and gives him a kiss on the cheek. Glad I have that on video. Won’t hurt my John to see the no good bitch whore is a two-timer.

Wilmer

Wilmer gets up and leaves. Riley takes the package with her. I can’t follow them both so I decide to follow the blonde. She makes her way through the lobby and heads for the rear exit. I stay close behind, making sure my face is down and my stroll is noticeable. Don’t want the cameras to be able to give me away.

The tramp has tried to class up a bit. She’s wearin’ a skirt for a change. Looks like she’s tryin’ to go for the secretary look. Doesn’t change anything. Tramps like her have to stay away from my John.

I follow her out to the parking lot. She fiddles in her purse as she walks up to a nice sedan. I wonder where she got the dough to afford a set of wheels like that. Probably don’t want to know. Either the oldest profession or Skynet.

The blonde looks up and sees me, drops the keys to the car.

“Cameron. What are you doing here? Are you following me?” She looks surprised to see me. Not too happy I might add.

“Why would I want to follow you?” I tell her. I move close and get in her space to unnerve the dame. “What have you got there? Something for my John?”

“None of your business,” the blonde replies. It’s clear I’m makin’ her nervous, so I turn the heat up a little.

“What if I say it’s my business? See. Our house got robbed again. First time that happened it was your fault cuz you left the security system off. Second time? Nah. You got some explainin’ to do Blondie. Now, what’s in the package?”

Just as I was makin’ some headway, gunshots interrupt our conversation. Blondie picks up her keys while I turn to scan for whose doing the shooting. I see Derek draw down on Wilmer. He’s bleeding from his left shoulder. Derek might be a heel at times, but he’s family. And I’m loyal to my family.

“This conversation isn’t over Blondie,” I tell the tramp. I run over to check Derek and he motions he’s okay, for me to go after Wilbur. I take off but the amateur loses me. What can I say? It’s hard for a lady to run in four-inch heels.

Back at the house…

“See, I told you she was no good,” I tell my John. “Steppin’ out on you like you meant nothin’ to her. She’s trouble, John, I’m tellin’ you.”

“Okay, Cameron. I get your point,” he replies. Riley and me go back. There’s bad blood between that bitch whore and me. John came around to his senses and picked me though, but a girl’s gotta pay attention. Nobody’s takin’ whats mine, that includes my John and my purple leather jacket.

“What was in the package,” the boss lady asks.

“I didn’t get a chance to find out,” I reply. “Had to bail out the muscle. This Wilmer character is not a bad shot and he’s pretty fast. If I hadn’t been wearing my heels, he wouldn’t have gotten away.”

Sarah doesn’t care too much for my answer but doesn’t say anything. She pulls the last stitch tight in Derek’s wound, causing him to flinch. He flinches again when the boss lady pours the iodine over the stitches before she puts a bandage on.

“The ship that sank was a freighter from Africa. Last port of entry was Dar es Salaam. Probably had a load of Coltan steel,” John informs us.

“More importantly, what was in the package,” Sarah asks. “Why did they set the ship on fire? Skynet would not want to lose a shipment of Coltan.”

“Don’t know,” I tell the boss lady. “But Blondie has the package. I’ll find her. Make her sing.”

I head out the door, stopping to check my hair and make-up. I look swell. I check my .22 in my purse. Sarah comes over to the gun cabinet and motions for me to hike my skirt up, so I do. The boss lady pulls out a little thigh holster and straps it onto my leg, gives me a snub nose .38. I pull my skirt down and thank her. A dame can never have too many irons.

I kiss my John goodbye, a good kiss, one that’ll make him think about me while I’m gone. Somethin’ for him to miss, you know.

As I go out the door, the boss lady calls out. “Do not terminate Riley! Do you understand Cameron? Just get the information.”

I nod my head yes. The boss lady can put a real damper on things sometimes.

***

Riley is not the smartest dame. Being blonde doesn’t help her much in the brains department. I pulled up my file on her sedan, did a search on the plate and tracked down the address the car was registered to. She shoulda skipped town. Made it a little harder for me to hunt her down.

Wouldna’ mattered any, I never quit, I can’t be reasoned with and I don’t give up. Ever. Especially if involved something that is mine. Like protecting my John and getting back my purple leather jacket. Those diamonds were our stake to fight Skynet. Terminating Skynet means my John is safe.

I parked down the way by an alley to keep an eye on Blondie’s place. Nice apartment complex. Didn’t think Blondie had enough class to scratch together the dough for a joint like that, but sometimes people can surprise you.

This short, odd looking little man walked by my car and crossed the street. Sharp dresser, right down to the spats on his shoes. Nice gold cigarette case too. My gut told me to keep an eye on him. My gut was right. He stopped outside the apartment Riley was holed up in. Knocks on the door and waits. She opens the door and he pushes her aside and goes.

I’m about to get out and go see what’s goin’ on when the door opens. Riley’s still dressed like a classy dame and has on a nice coat. The little man is carrying the package and poking Blondie in the back. This ain’t good.

I wait till they pass by before starting my engine. Using my side mirror I see the little man walk Riley to the corner behind me and hail a cab. I make a u-turn and follow. This guy is no more professional than Wilmer, never once looked back to see if there was a tail. But the boss lady said no terminations this time out.

The cab pulls up at a nice Westin Hotel and the odd couple gets out. I park and toss a couple coins in the meter and make my way to the lobby. It doesn’t take much effort, but as I stroll by, all the valets and the doormen are looking where I want them, at my legs and moneymaker. Nobody will remember my face.

Shortie and Riley take the elevator up to the fourteenth floor. I catch the next one up. A quick glance when the doors open show me which room they visit. I went up a coupla floors and came back real quick like so they would be inside.

Standing in front of the door I could hear the nasally voice of the Little Man and Riley’s whine as she complained. There were at least two more people inside. Four against one. Seemed like fair odds to me. Reached up under my skirt and pulled out the snub nosed .38 Sarah had loaned me.

Stepped back and kicked the door of its hinges. Sometimes it’s to a girl’s advantage to be a machine and not human.

I stepped in and took a look around. Riley screamed. Little man stepped back with his hands held up by his hears shaking. Sitting in the corner was an elegantly dressed fat man, beautifully tailored suit with pocket watch, chain and fob, gold cuff links, the works. Wilmer was there. Went for his piece so I encouraged him to rethink his decision.

He didn’t change his mind.

That one bad choice cost him two fingers on his right hand. Hope he can shoot left handed but I doubt it.

I noticed the brown package sitting on the coffee table.

“Ah, the lovely Miss Cameron, I believe,” the fat man said, interspersing his words with a nasally sounding short laugh. I didn’t know who was creepier, Little Man or the Fat Man.

The Fat Man

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” I asked, pointing my .38 at Wilmer, motioning the disarmed gunsel to move over by the others before aiming at the Fat Man. “You know me, but I don’t know you.”

“Who I am is irrelevant,” the Fat Man told me. “I am glad you have joined us.”

“And why is that,” I asked. Something smelled fishy and I wanted to clear the air.

“Oh, now, now, Miss Cameron. You are such a lovely thing, would you mind pointing that gun somewhere else. Please. I would appreciate it a great deal,” the Fat Man asked. He asked nice so I pointed the gun at the Little Man.

“I know who Wilmer is,” I told the Fat Man. “You need to hire better help.”

“Yes, well sometimes good help is hard to find,” the Fat Man agreed. “But one does what one has to in order to get by.”

“Hey!” Wilmer objected. “I’m a pro!”

“Not without your trigger finger on your shooting hand you ain’t,” I reminded him.

I pointed the .38 at Riley. “Her I know. There’s bad blood between us, ain’t there Blondie?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Riley replied, acting all helpless and innocent.

“Now, now,” the Fat Man said to Riley in an encouraging voice. “There is no need for us to be hostile towards one another. I am sure whatever it was that upset Miss Cameron is your fault Riley. You should apologize.”

If I didn’t know he was bent, I could have learned to like the Fat Man. He saw things my way.

“Who’s this guy?” I asked, pointing my .38 at the Little Man. “Never seen him before.”

“My name is Joel Cairo,” he tells me in his nasally voice, acting as if I had somehow had offended him. “I have my papers,” he adds. As if I care about papers.

Joel Cairo

I ask the Fat Man, “Who are you? I’m gettin’ tired of asking.”

“Who I am is not important. I believe we’ve already established that fact.”

We hadn’t, but I let it go for the moment.

“Who do you work for,” I ask, trying a different angle.

“Ah, now that’s a good question,” the Fat Man replies, laughing his hideous laugh in between words. The smile vanishes from his face. “I am afraid I cannot answer your question.”

“Where’s the diamonds,” I says, cocking my .38.

“Oh, my, I hate violence. I just hate it!” Cairo announces.

“Now Miss Cameron, let’s not get hasty. There is no reason to resort to violence. None of us want that,” the Fat Man reassures me. Like I would believe much of what comes out of his mouth.

“Tell that to Wilmer,” I reply, growing tired of the games. “He tried to draw down on me.”

“Yes, well, he’s young and prone to impulsiveness at times I am afraid,” the Fat Man explained.

“It’s going to get him terminated,” I reply. “Now look. I can overlook a lot of stuff. I know your boy Wilmer here was behind that freighter catching fire and sinking. He and the muscle that drowned hit our place. Took a stash of diamonds and my purple leather jacket. Riley probably tipped ‘em off. Cairo here brings Blondie to you. So I gotta figure you’re all in this racket together, see?”

“Observant aren’t you,” the Fat Man tells me, as if I needed telling. “But, there are a few things you may not be aware of.”

“Doesn’t matter to me at all. See, I just want the diamonds and the jacket back. You hand them over and I’ll just walk away. Forget I ever saw any of you. Well, not you Blondie. You and me still got a score to settle. But that can wait.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have your diamonds,” the Fat Man says sadly. I almost believed him. Almost. “Nor do we have your purple leather jacket, though I am sure it was lovely,” he adds.

“Fine.” I said. I stepped forward and grabbed the package off the coffee table. The panic in their eyes told me that package was valuable to them.

“You have something that belongs to me and my gang. If you don’t have it, I know you know where it is.” I pointed my gun from one of them to the next, just to remind them who was in charge. “Now I have something that belongs to you. Get me my jacket and the diamonds, and you can have this back.”

I started walking backwards to leave and the Fat Man wiped his face with his silk handkerchief. “Should we find these items you are looking for,” he asks, “How will we contact you?”

“You won’t,” I tell him. “You’ve got 24 hours and then I’ll be in touch with you.”

“Don’t let her go,” Cairo hisses. “She mustn’t leave with the package.”

“I am afraid Mr. Cairo, the lovely Miss Cameron has us all at a disadvantage. It is only momentary, I assure you.” The Fat Man looks at me and smiles. It’s not a friendly sort of smile. It’s the kind that promises something bad is going to happen to you in the future. His kind doesn’t worry me.

Riley, being the blonde dame that she is, can’t take the stress anymore and screams and then takes a powder. Faints just like that. What could my John have ever seen in a skirt like that?

Blondie gave me the cover I needed and I got out of Dodge but quick. I took the stairs. I jumped from one level down to the next. It was faster than taking the elevator but it was hard on my new heels.

I split the joint and jaywalked to my car. Hoped in and started the engine. In a few minutes the Westin was far in the distance. The package was riding in the passenger seat. I took a glance at it but decided not to open it until I got back to our hideout.

Turns out, I shoulda stopped and taken the time.

***

I shoulda known.

The boss lady and the muscle had to go to a meet. I had ballet class after school. I figured John would be safe, you know. I get back to the hideout and he’s gone.

They left a note. The package for my John.

I was lost. My John was gone. The love of my life, the man I wanted to be with more than anything, was gone. It was my fault.

John and I had our problems. What pair doesn’t? But I loved him, and he loved me. We fit together. Two pieces of the same puzzle. Without my John, I had no purpose.

I ain’t no pushover, but I sat down and had myself a good cry. Sometimes a girl just has to do that. I got it out of my system. I knew what I had to do.

They had messed with the wrong Terminator. Just cuz I’m a dame doesn’t mean I can be trifled with. The boss lady wasn’t here to set boundaries this time.

This was a job that had to be done right. I was only gonna get one shot at this. I showered. Put on my best underwear, classy stuff. Silk stockings, best skirt and blouse. Did my hair and make-up. Bacall would have been proud. Bogie would have loved it.

The .38 when in my thigh holster. I had a nice matching jacket for the skirt. Altered it so I could carry a lady’s shoulder holster. Stuck my .22 in my purse and took one last look in the mirror. Lit up a Lucky Strike and I was ready.

Took my time driving down to the Westin. Parked a block away and blended in with the crowds on the sidewalk. Checked with the desk clerk to use the house phone and I called up to the Fat Man’s room. Told’em I had the package and wanted to do a deal.

I went on up. If they’d known what I am, my John would already be dead.

I got off the elevator and walked down to the Fat Man’s room. Knocked real quick like on the door. Wilmer opens it up quick. I can see Riley in the background. She just ain’t too smart, showing up at times like this. I step in and I hear the Fat Man. Tells me to give Wilmer my purse, so I do while the Fat Man laughs his evil laugh.

Joe Cairo is there and some doll I don’t recognize. Unusual looking, has hair like Sarah’s, my boss lady, but longer. She’s a looker though, maybe from the Far East. She touches my John and I will terminate her that instant. I’ll say this, the doll has a little class. Dresses nice, like a lady with real class. I wonder to myself, how did a girl like that get mixed up with a mob like this?

“Who’s she?” I ask. Nobody answers my question.

The Fat Man tells me I have to let Wilmer pat me down. I give him a look so he knows not to get fresh. He’s already missing two fingers on his gun hand. John looks at me and tells me with his eyes to cooperate. Not to start anything just yet.

My John is not safe at the moment so I play a long.

I told the Fat Man he needed to get better help and Wilmer proves my point. Pats me down on my chest and cops a feel, right there in front of John. I watch my John’s face turn red and I tell him with my eyes it’s okay. Makes me feel good inside to know my man doesn’t want me bein’ touched like that.

When Wilmer moved down to my moneymaker and goosed me, that was too much. I took his hand off my bottom and broke his wrist. Bones cracked like kindling.

For some reason, the strange doll’s face clouds up like a hurricane. Somethin’ is wrong about her. I see Riley looking at the dame, like she wants the dame to tell her something, anything. Maybe tell her what to do.

“You should not have done that Miss Cameron,” the Fat Man tells me. He’s holding a gat and he’s pointing it at me. Better than pointing it at my John. Little Joe Cairo has a pistol, not too different from the little shooter I carry in my purse. He’s pointing it at me. That makes two guns being aimed at me.

Blondie turns around. Some nerve that bitch whore has. Her right hand is shaking, but she’s got a Glock in it. Sarah’s old Glock.

“You,” I say to her. “It was you!”

“I had to,” Riley tells me. “She made me. It’s not what you think.”

“You don’t know what I think,” I tell the bitch whore. She’s dressed nice too for some reason. She could button up her blouse a button or two, give the girls a little more cover. I know she’s still got the hots for my John. Showin’ him a glimpse of her girls like that.

Wilmer is making noises about his wrist. So I put him to sleep. One nice tap on the button and he goes down like a pretender in the first round.

“Now, Miss Cameron, what did I say about violence,” the Fat Man snickers. “It positively upsets Mr. Cairo.”

“Who’s she,” I ask again, pointing at the exotic looking dame. Riley moves aside and I see another gun pointed at me. “What’s with the gun?” I ask the black haired beauty.

“Where’s the package,” she asks.

“It’s someplace safe,” I tell her. “You think I was gonna just come up here and hand it over? I wasn’t born yesterday.”

I look at the Fat Man cuz I know he calls the shots. “My purse? Wilmer already took my shooter out.”

“Yes, yes, most certainly,” he tells me in between his sickening chuckles, motioning with his heater for me to pick it up.

I pick my purse up and tell my John with my eyes everything is going to be okay. I got things figured out.

I reach into my purse and pull out a key to a locker at a bus station and hold it up for everyone to see.

“I take it the key is for a locker where the package is stored,” Joe Cairo asks in his nasally voice.

“This key opens a locker in the Greyhound bus terminal two blocks from here,” I tell nobody in particular. “The package is there.”

“Well, then,” Cairo says, “you and I will go get it.”

“Not so fast,” the Fast Man says. “How do we know you can be trusted?”

“You don’t,” I tell the Fat Man. “But that’s not my problem. See, I kept my end of the deal.” I reached back in my purse and pulled out my Lucky Strikes. A quick shake of the pack and a cigarette comes out. I put it between my lips and fish for my lighter. I take a puff and shake my head.

“I thought at least one of you would be a gentleman and offer a lady a light,” I tell them.

“You,” Cairo whines, “are no lady.”

My John gets red in the face again and I scan him quickly. His blood pressure and heart rate have gone up. I have to get him out of here before he does somethin’ stupid defendin’ my honor and gets himself shot or worse, dead.

He glares at Cairo and finally tells the little man through his teeth that he’s no gentleman. Cairo just shrugs my John’s words off. My man loves me. Always makes a girl feel better when her man defends her, even though this girl doesn’t need defending.

I smile and blow smoke at Cairo. He waves his left hand to blow the smoke away so I take another drag and blow smoke at him again. This time he makes a face and steps out of the smoke.

Without taking my eyes off Cairo or the strange doll in the corner, I tell the Fat Man, “I came for my John. That’s all I want. So, I’m going to leave with my man. See the table by the door? I’m going to put the key on it. Then we’re going to go. Wait five minutes. Then do whatever you want. I don’t care,” I tell them all. “Follow us, and you’ll be sorry.”

“This is not quite what I had in mind,” the Fat Man tells me.

“This wasn’t the deal,” the dark haired dame snarls at the Fat Man. I’m liking her less and less.

“Well, it’s the deal now,” I say. “I just want my man back. Like I said, I don’t care about the package.” I motion for John to stand up and move towards the door. I reach under my skirt and pull my .38. I aim it at the strange broad. That gets her attention.

“John, would you be a dear and get my .22,” I ask. My John is a dear and gets it. I kiss him chastely on the cheek for being so thoughtful.

Holding the key up, I start making my way towards the door. My John opens the door and cautiously steps out into the hall. I set the key down on the table and glance at each of them.

“Five minutes,” I say and pull the door shut behind me.

My John and I run for the elevator. In less than five minutes we’re running down the sidewalk to the car.

We pile in and I start the engine and pull out into traffic, heading away from the bus terminal.

My John looks at me and says to me words I hadn’t expected to hear, “What were you thinking? We’ve got to get the package before they do.”

***

I let my John know in no uncertain terms he should said something while I still had the package. I coulda just terminated the lot of them and been done with it.

This led to us having words about how Sarah is right about me needin’ to work on controlling my impulse to terminate people. I love my John, but right now I don’t like him too much.

We made tracks to the bus terminal but the Fat Man’s mob beat us to the locker. I ask John why we have to get the package back. At first, he doesn’t say too much, but I kept after him till he spilled the beans. The package contains a black bird. A statue of a black bird. Nothing important like my jacket or Sarah’s diamond stash.

I point this fact out to my John. He tells me the Fat Man has a tattoo. A Skynet tattoo. Last name of Gutman. I laughed. I guess John didn’t see the humor. John said there was a lot of tension between the classy dame and the Fat Man. Riley, that bitch whore, knew the exotic doll, even seemed to show deference to her. Like the raven-haired woman was her boss.

This got my attention. I knew there was a reason I didn’t like that woman. I point out to John this woman, who he says is named Jesse, is proof Riley is no good. He doesn’t say anything about that, but I know he’s thinking about what I said.

Wilmer and Cairo are suspicious characters too, he says. Wilmer for sure works for the Fat Man but he couldn’t pick up what Cairo’s scam is. I tell him Wilmer took my jacket and I don’t care what his mom, the Boss Lady, says. When this is over and I get my jacket back, I’m terminating him. John just nods and doesn’t say anything. I know he agrees cuz Wilmer touched me in places no man has ever touched me. No man is ever gonna touch me there again either until my John makes me an honest woman.

John says he overheard them talking about some restaurant, a joint named Ricks. Serves Moroccan food. They got the jump on us so we figure, why not. Have to start the hunt somewhere.

Things don’t start out too good. We walk in and the maître de says John needs a coach. He insulted my John just like that, like my John wasn’t good enough for that dump. Smiles at me and checks me out, so I smiled back and made nice. He “loans” my John a coat and seats us.

I tell John I’ll eat a little of his and check the place out while he reads the menu. The Fat Man and his gang are sitting in the far back of the joint and don’t make us. I check the place out and I like the décor a little better. Lots of movie posters from the Golden Era of Hollywood. Some of my favorites like The Maltese Falcon and Africa Queen.

No sooner does our food arrive than the police come in. I take a sip of my water and eavesdrop on what the cops are asking the maître de. I notice the Fat Man getting nervous. Cairo and Wilmer get up and head towards the back. Riley excuses herself and goes to the lady’s room to powder her nose. Jesse and the Fat Man are arguing with each other. She slaps him and grabs the package and runs after Riley.

The cops take notice and take after this Jesse dame. She ducks into the little girls room and the cops follow right in. A minute later, they come out with the Jesse dame in cuffs but no package. I smell a rat and tell John to stay put.

I work my way to the powder room and check it out. Riley is nowhere to be seen but the window of the toilet is open. Out the window I go just in time to see Riley leaving in her sedan. With the package no doubt. I look down and see a snagged my nice silk stocking. It’s got a run in it. Riley is going to pay for this, amongst other things.

I walk around to the front of the restaurant to watch the cops put the black haired doll in the squad car. I don’t pick up any more intel, so I head inside to get my John.

“The bitch whore has the package.” I tell him how I know.

Wilmer and Cairo come running back and have a quick talk with Gutman. Seems they figured out Riley and the Jesse dame double-crossed them.

I tell John I know where Riley is going. I drive hard to make it to the apartment where I saw Cairo grab Riley earlier. We pull up across the street. The sedan is parked in front of the apartment.

“She’s gonna run,” I tell my John.

“Let’s see what she’s doing in there,” John replies.

We waste no time making it to the apartment. John makes like he’s gonna peek in the window and see what’s going on. I just take the bull by the horns and kick the door in. John just sighs and shakes his head.

I stroll in with my .22 in my hand. Riley takes one look and screams. At least she had the good graces not to faint this time.

“John,” Blondie pleads as he comes in behind me, “Cameron is scaring me. Make her quit following me.”

“Why? Have you done something to make Cameron want to hurt you?” John asks nicely.

“John, she scares me,” Riley whines.

“Where’s the package,” I ask. “You know, the one that Jesse dame tossed out the window to you.”

“John,” she pleads again.

“Where’s the package,” he asks her.

I walk right up to Riley and give her a Death Glare. She backs up in fear and I step even closer. Riley glances at John in hope he’ll call me off but John’s finally getting tired of this sorry excuse of a woman.

John frowns at Riley and asks her one more time where the package is. I take this as his patience is getting a little thin, so I encourage Riley to fess up with a little slap on the cheek.

The no good skirt falls right down and starts backing up on the floor like a crab. Tears start flooding down her cheeks. A nice red mark is forming where I slapped her. Nice. She’ll have a shiner in the morning.

I hand my .22 to my John so he can keep an eye on Dawson. I start tearing the place apart.

“Shame I have to do this,” I tell Dawson. “Nice place. Lot better than your foster parent’s home.”

“You leave them out of this,” she yells back. “They have nothing to do with this!”

“Fine,” I say. “Where’s the package.”

She decides to be stubborn about this. She gets up and sits on the couch and crosses her arms across her chest.

“I don’t have it,” she says.

I shrug and start throwing things off the bookshelves, making sure they break. I know the package isn’t in the living room, I just want to give her something to think about.

“Hurry up,” John says. “We don’t know how much time we have.”

I go into the bedroom and look in the closet. There’s no way this is Riley’s apartment. The clothes are too nice. I take out a blouse and check the size. Riley couldn’t button this up around the girls if she wanted to. I realize this must be the Jesse dame’s place.

“So,” I ask Dawson, “just how mad do you think Jesse is going to be when she gets home?”

“This is my place now,” Riley lies.

“Don’t lie,” John yells at Riley, scaring her.

I move a couple of boxes in the back of the closet and there it is. The package. I pull it out and return to the living room.

John nods and pulls out his pocketknife. I take my .22 from him and point it at Riley.

“John, please don’t. Jesse will kill me if something happens to that package.”

“I might kill you if you don’t shut up,” I tell her.

“John,” she pleads again. I almost feel bad for Riley. She can’t make up her mind who she’s more afraid of. Me or this Jesse dame. Then I feel a little insulted, so I slap her hard again, just to remind Blondie who is the more dangerous shark in the waters.

Carefully John cuts the package open and removes all the wrapping inside. He removes a black figurine, a little statue of a black falcon, just like the one Bogie found in The Maltese Falcon.

“New deal,” John tells Riley. “Diamonds and the purple jacket for the bird.”

***

The phone rings. I let my John answer it. He listens. Finally he tells whoever is on the phone we’ll be there in two hours and hangs up.

John tells me, “Cameron, we need to go now.”

I tell him I’m not ready, I have to change my stockings. He won that argument. Good thing I’m a Terminator. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to draw a perfect line up the back of my legs with my eyeliner so my legs at least look covered. It’s hard to do while the car bounces around.

We packed the black bird up and I held it in my lap. I don’t know why they wanted it so badly. It was cheap knockoff of the original from the classic movie, The Maltese Falcon. I scanned it and there was nothing inside of it.

The meet is going to go down at Ricks. We get there first. I go inside and find a seat where I can’t be seen but can see everyone. The maître de likes how I look so it’s no problem. This time, I dressed John before we left. He looks sharp in his suit and tie. He even agreed to wear the fedora I picked up for him.

The Fat Man walks in and is seated right away. Wilmer and Cairo take a look around but don’t spot me. So unprofessional. Jesse arrives a few minutes later with Dawson in tow. I grin when I see Riley’s face. Nice shiner she’s got. It’s pretty clear there is no love lost with that gang as they sit down and start bickering right away.

John comes in the joint with the package, lookin’ sharp if I say so myself. And I do. The maître de treats him with the respect he deserves this time and leads John back to the table where Gutman and his band of unprofessional thieves are waiting. I turn up my auditory sensors to listen in.

“I see you have the package,” Gutman snickers. He’s disgusting.

“I don’t see the diamonds or the jacket,” John tells the Fat Man.

“First, the bird,” Gutman says, all laughter gone.

“Where is the Cameron skirt,” Wilmer asks. So I’m a skirt now. No respect.

“None of your business,” my John says.

“What if I make it my business,” Wilmer snarls.

My John just laughed and pushed the little punk aside. Wilmer takes offense and grabs my John’s coat lapel. I think for a second I’m going to have to terminate the punk, but John’s cool. He looks down at Wilmer and removes his hand from his coat. I here him tell the punk, “You’ve touched my lady friend. Now you’ve touched me. Touch either one of us again, and I’ll let her terminate you.”

“Tough guy,” Wilmer says. “Letting the little woman do your dirty work, huh?”

I bristle at his words and have to use my HUD to override the command to terminate him. Let me do John’s dirty work. It’s going to be a pleasure to terminate the punk when the time comes. I light up a Lucky Strike to calm myself.

“Now, now,” the Fat Man interjects. “We are here for a business transaction, Wilmer. Control your impulses. Now, Mr. Connor, I wish to examine the bird if you please.”

John hands Gutman the package and everybody leans in except John to watch as the Fat Man begins tearing at the wrapping with his fat, greedy fingers. He finally gets the packaging off and pulls out the black bird. It’s a cute little knock off.

“There’s your bird. Now, let’s finish this transaction,” John tells the Fat Man. Gutman is turning the bird around and examining it. He looks up at Cairo and nods. The little man with the strange nasally speaking voice reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the stash and tosses it on the table.

“The jacket,” John reminds them. “It’s in the car,” Wilmer says. Before they can stop him, John scoops up the diamonds and snatches the bird away from the Fat Man. Guns appear in everyone’s hands except my John’s.

“You asked where the lovely Miss Cameron is,” John says calmly. “She’s here and she’s watching. Now, that might not mean anything to you gentlemen.” John was being polite, I just love him. “But I have a feeling Jesse, you know how dangerous she is. Same with you Riley.”

Jesse looks around and Riley turns pale. “Why don’t all of you put your guns away before Cameron hurts somebody. You’ve seen the bird. I have the diamonds. I’m not going anywhere until I get the jacket. Wilmer, why don’t you be a good boy and give Miss Dawson the keys to the car. Riley, you go get the jacket.”

Wilmer takes offense at being called a boy, but the Fat Man calms him down quick with a glance. Wilmer does as he was told. Riley looks even paler than before it that’s possible and takes the keys. I woulda followed her to make sure the dame didn’t skip but I couldn’t leave my John alone with those thugs. Something tells me this Jesse dame has a tight hold over Riley so the odds are good she’ll be back with my jacket.

I finish my smoke and am about to light up another when Riley returns. Sure enough, she’s got my purple leather jacket. Time for me to make my play.

Riley hands John the jacket and he shoves her back into her seat. Slowly, my John places the black bird back on the table. I stroll over to join my man. All the men in the joint check me out as I stroll by. For their benefit, I slip my arm around John’s waist, just to let them know who the lucky man is who is the object of my affections.

“May I ask a question,” the Fat Man says.

“Sure. One question,” John replies.

“The diamonds I understand. But why are you so concerned about the jacket?”

John smiles as he hands me my jacket. “Wilmer here took something that belonged to my lady friend.”

I examine the jacket quickly. It is the jacket John gave me to replace the first one that was stolen. I smile at Wilmer as I slip it on. It doesn’t match my look, but I love the jacket just the same. My John gave it to me. How could I not love it?

Gutman laughs his disgusting laugh. “Yes. I see. A gentleman. And Miss Cameron is so lovely. It makes sense.”

John begins to back away slowly. “I wish I could say it was a pleasure doing business with you, but it hasn’t been,” he tells them.

In a flash, Wilmer draws with his left hand. Bad mistake. I take the gun from him and break his left wrist. Cairo manages to get a shot off but missed me. I dropped him with a clean shot between the eyes. Wilmer kicks me so I shoot him too. Not the way I wanted to terminate him, but sometimes a lady has to do what she has to do.

Jesse goes for her piece but I’ve got the drop on her and she freezes. In the distance the sound of a siren can be heard. John just shakes his head. Riley would vanish into thin air if she could. Jesse looks at me with unbridled hate. The Fat Man looks like he wants to leave as badly as we do.

“Roll you sleeve up,” John orders the Fat Man. He looks surprised for a moment but after looking at me decides to do as he’s told. Without getting up he struggles out of his silk coat and rolls up first one shirtsleeve and then the other. The second one does the trick. Exposed on his forearm is the Skynet barcode and tattoo.

“You’re a Grey,” John tells the Fat Man.

“Yes. And you are John Connor, future leader of the resistance.”

John looks at me and nods. I put three in the Fat Man’s heart. He stops breathing. I aim at Riley and am about to pull the trigger when John shakes his head no.

“I just can’t let you do it,” John tells me. “I know you hate Riley, and I’ve given you enough reasons to want to pull the trigger, but I think she’s telling the truth when she says they made her do it.”

“John, you know I would never,” Riley starts.

I cut her off quick, “shut up. You’ve caused enough trouble. I want to terminate you. Don’t give me a reason to disobey my John and pull the trigger,” I tell her.

I point at the dark haired skirt with my gat. “You want me to finish her off,” I ask my John.

“No. Leave them alone. We need to go before the cops get here,” John says with a smile as he picks up the black bird.

“Hey,” the black haired doll says with her strange accent, “what about the deal?”

“Deal changed as soon as Wilmer tried to shoot Cameron,” John says, backing away. “Be happy I didn’t change it even more.”

We turn and leave. I slip my arm through John’s and turn my head to glare at Riley and the Jesse dame, just to remind them who’s who and that John is all mine.

As we drive away I examine the diamonds.

“They’re real and they’re all here,” I tell my John.

“I wonder why they were willing to trade the statue for the diamonds. The statue isn’t worth anything.”

I shrug. John’s got a point. Lot of trouble for a copy of a prop from one of Bogie’s best films.

“Maybe,” I tell him, “it’s not the bird they were looking for. It’s a fake. They got double crossed.”

“Probably,” my John agrees. “But by whom?”

A Secret To Be Kept

It is something I will never get used to. I know how it works. Well, not actually, but I can repeat what I’ve been told. I’ve counted on this skill more times than I can count. It’s even funny sometimes when I see it happen.

It’s never funny when Sarah uses her vanishing act on me.

Of course, my wife doesn’t think it’s too funny when she slips into bed next to me, thinking I’m sound asleep and after a minute or so I turn over and glare at her. Sarah hasn’t specifically said so, but I think it’s the blueish glow my right eye, the cybernetic one, emits when I’m irritated with her, and the room is pitch dark.

To say Sarah has more than a few quirks would be putting it mildly. One of those quirks is her need to roam undetected far and wide at nighttime. What’s more, she often does so using her genetically designed ability to appear to be invisible.

How you ask?

Like I said. I can repeat what she has told me. I doubt you’ll understand it either. What do you expect from an illegal, military grade clone. The truth be told, I doubt Sarah knows either.

I used to worry about her when she was out roaming the streets at night. Especially in the city we used to live in, Beta Prime’s Capital City. Even in the upscale parts of town, Capital City was a rough place. And Beta Prime being an ice world didn’t help matters.

One of the interesting things about Sarah is how gorgeous she is. I mean, why would a woman who looks like Sarah give a battered hulk like me a second glance? Those long, dancer’s legs, beautiful figure, and the face of an angel?

I’m not complaining, mind you.

Well, actually I am. It’s zero fun to have your beautiful wife slip into your quarters and dress for bed and be invisible while she does it.

I waited till Sarah was completely settled and resting her head on my right shoulder before I opened my mouth.

“Nice to see you,” I muttered. “Or not see you as the case happens to be.”

Sarah raised her torso up, supporting herself with her left elbow and brought her right fist down on my chest. She didn’t like it when I caught her fist and held on to it with a grip she was not going to escape from.

“What’s the deal?”

“Let go of me!”

The cold fury in Sarah’s voice surprised me. I let go of her wrist and turned on my side, reaching around her with my left arm as I did so. With a firm grip on her, I pulled Sarah in against me and held her tight. Normally, such an act on my part was done with ill intentions. Nothing harmful, just amorous if you catch my drift.

There was nothing amorous about my actions this time.

“Where have you been?”

“You know.”

“No, I don’t know,” I snapped.

Sarah grunted as she pushed against my arm and gave me a good kick in the shin at the same time.

“I was wandering.”

“Really now.”

I flinched this time when she landed a kick on my shin.

“Enough of that,” I barked, startling my new bride. “I can live with you wandering,” I snarled. “It’s the sneaking about when you get back I don’t like.”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” was Sarah’s terse reply.

“Um, yes. Sneaking.”

This time Sarah remained silent.

“Then why weren’t you visible when you entered our quarters and don’t give me the answer it was because of modesty. Modesty hasn’t been an issue since our wedding night when we’re alone.”

I felt Sarah’s body relax. Not because she felt safe and secure but out of a sense of defeat.

“You’ll be angry.”

“I’m already angry.”

“I don’t want to tell you,” Sarah whimpered.

It was my turn to feel uncomfortable. I hate emotionally charged situations like this, something I could never get Sarah to understand. In large part, it was one of the primary reasons I had avoided women in general and relationships in particular after my skirt chasing days ended years ago.

“I won’t shout at you.”

It was the best I could do under the circumstances. The cop in me is suspicious of sneaky behavior. The husband that I now was even more suspicious of sneaky behavior by my wife.

Sarah grunted at me.

“There’s being sneaky and then there’s being sneaky,” I pointed out to her.

“My birthday is not for another seven months. We don’t have an anniversary as such, and you’ve never told me when your birthday is. So, there is no reason for you to be sneaking about in order to hide a present. That leaves the bad kind of being sneaky.”

Another kick to my shin.

“Enough with that.”

I let go of Sarah and sat up. The sensor on my side of the bed turned on the reading light and then dimmed it.

“Kick me again and see what happens.”

“You’re being mean,” was Sarah’s response.

“No, you’re being sneaky and I’m not going to put up with it. Now explain yourself.”

My wife looked over her shoulder at me with her left eye for a brief second before burying her head under her pillow. I took that pillow and smacked her with it.

“No hiding. Talk.”

“You won’t understand.”

Exasperated, I blurted out a frustrated response. “I don’t understand now. What’s more, I won’t be able to understand if you don’t tell me what is going on. I’m not a mind reader and I haven’t got the slightest idea what has got you in such a state. It’s exhausting, Sarah!”

“I always walked around in a different frequency in your apartment.”

That, I hadn’t expected.

“And I would have known this how?”

Sarah gave me quick side-eye before snatching her pillow back and sticking it under her head while clutching it with both hands.

“I took showers, Sully. We weren’t married, you catch MY drift?”

“Sarah, most of the time I was asleep, and I never left my room when I did hear you inside my apartment.”

“I miss the way things were,” Sarah mumbled.

“Like sneaking into my bedroom and watching me?”

My wife rolled over to face me. “More proof you’re mean,” she whispered. “Letting me think you didn’t know about that.”

I chuckled which elicited an even bigger frown from Sarah.

“You married me.”

That earned me a jab in my ribs.

“I miss home,” Sarah whispered. “You know, Joe’s Place and eating with Father Nathan. I miss my parish and services. I miss Joe and Ralph and Alice. I even miss Josephson.”

Sarah looked up at me and traced my facial scar with her index finger.

“I miss Capital City.”

That raised my eyebrows. Missing our friends I could understand. But the city? That I didn’t get. And I told her so.

“It’s where we fell in love, Sully. It’s where you protected me, and I convinced you to let me in.”

Sarah had a point. I know my wife well enough to know she wasn’t lying. I guess we both missed Capital City in our own way.

It still didn’t explain what she was hiding. I was just too tired to fight about it. There would be time to drag Sarah’s secret from her later.

The Thomas Sullivan Chronicles and Other Stories
 

Sarah Gets Her Badge 

This short story needed to be told, but didn’t fit in the greater story of the third installment of The Inspector Thomas Sullivan Chronicles, Murder on Persephone. So here it is in short story form. I hope you enjoy it. Please note, if you are using any ebook reading device or app to read one of the Thomas Sullivan novels, you will find links to short stories on this page of my author website. These links allow me to direct readers to backstories and short stories that need to be told to fill in the universe Sullivan lives and works in. Otherwise, these stories would go untold. Thank you for taking the time to find out how:

Sarah Gets Her Badge

I watched Sarah as the shuttle banked while it began its ascent to the space station. Josephson was several seats back, no doubt clutching the armrests as if his life depended on it.

It was hard to reconcile the beautiful woman of a young, but indeterminate age, with the child that at times, was Sarah. She had taken the time, probably at the insistence of Alice, to brush her long brown hair and apply the slightest traces of makeup around her eyes, the effect of which was to draw a man into those big pools of brown surrounded by a sea of porcelain white. For once, Sarah was wearing the black, form fitting designer pants I’d bought her as part of her pay. A grey blouse of a warm and functional material of some sort along with her knee high boots and long black leather greatcoat completed her ensemble.

No grown man could walk past Sarah and not look twice.

Which made it all that much harder to reconcile her current behavior with her physical appearance. With her seat reclined, Sarah looked comfortable as she examined her newest bauble, a brown leather case for a badge.

Not a toy badge, mind you, but a real one.

Her expression was one of sheer delight, the kind only a child can convey. Sarah’s face was one big smile with happiness beaming from her countenance. Periodically she would giggle in delight as a result of discovering some new detail in the badge or its protective leather wallet.

Like I said, at times it is hard to reconcile her appearance with her behavior.

Sarah had been awarded the badge just this morning before the three of us departed for the Space Port for our flight to Persephone, the further of Beta Prime’s two moons. She’d promptly clipped on her belt in the manner of plain-clothes detectives, smiled at the pup and me and walked out of the precinct.

Josephson had just stared at me in disbelief, not quite understanding why I had given in to the demands of our fair assistant. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure myself why I had finally given in to Sarah’s demand to have a real badge.

I just know the smile she’d given me was more than enough reason.

—

“I want a badge, a real one. Not a toy one. A real one Sully.”

I looked up from my tablet to see Sarah standing in the cubicle I shared with my young partner, Detective Sergeant Josephson. Standing there, hands on hips with disheveled hair and snowflakes still clinging to the shoulders of her greatcoat, it was a bit hard not to laugh.

So I laughed.

Josephson was a little smarter. He got up and left.

Sarah didn’t think the matter was a laughing one.

“You have a badge. Josephson has a badge. I want a badge,” she insisted, tapping the toe of her right foot.

“You work for me. Not the Alliance Police Force.”

“So what if I work for you! I go to dangerous places with you. I go to dangerous places without you to gather information. I follow dangerous people. I’ve seen things, bad things, only cops see. I do research, I report for roll call…”

“I get it,” I growled, raising my hand to put a halt to her petulant whining.

“It doesn’t change things, Sarah. You’re a civilian in the employ of the police. You are not a cop. You have no formal education. You haven’t been to the Academy or served in the military police. You just don’t have the qualifications necessary to be a cop.”

“This is because I’m a clone, isn’t it,” was Sarah’s angry response.

I sighed. She was committed to this one. I wasn’t going to be able to talk her out of it or distract her when her attention wandered.

“It has nothing to do with that. In fact, you don’t need to be advertising that fact around here,” I reminded my pretty assistant.

“I can’t help it they only taught me to read,” Sarah pointed out, still tapping her toe in irritation.

“I can trail a suspect better than anyone on the force on this planet,” she reminded me. “No, I can do it better than anyone on the force on this planet and ten others.”

She was right.

“You know I’m right.”

I wasn’t going to let her know I agreed.

“Sully, I want a badge! A real one, so I can look like I belong when we’re at a crime scene!”

“Nobody ever thinks you don’t belong at a crime scene,” I told her.

“That’s just because the male cops are checking me out and the female cops are wondering who I slept with to make detective and you know it, Sully.”

She was right again.

I tried a different tack.

“What if I got you one custom made?”

“Nope. Has to be real. Issued to me by the IAPF.”

“Sarah, the Chief will never agree to it,” I said, waffling in an attempt to shift her focus away from me.

“I want you to make the Chief say yes.”

I began to wonder if this is what it felt like to be the father of a five-year-old girl who is as stubborn as a grown woman. Then I realized that was exactly what I was dealing with.

“Sarah, be reasonable.”

“I am being reasonable. I do the job. I should have a badge. It’s not like I’m asking for a weapon, you know, a cannon like what you carry.”

She’d just left herself open. I pounced on my chance.

“You and I both know you carry weapons.”

She frowned, momentarily confused by my statement.

“Okay, so I carry some knives. There’s a big difference between my knives and that cannon you have strapped to your hip, or the gun in your shoulder holster or even the throw down piece you have in your boot. Even that little toy thing Josephson carries is more deadly than one of my knives.”

“More deadly until you’re close enough to use one, especially if it’s a vibroblade.”

“Sully,” she cried, stomping her foot and folding her arms across her chest. I could see the tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

I stood up. The exchange was over. I hate it when women cry. It’s an unfair weapon they use against the males of the species. I especially hate it when Sarah cries.

—

Sarah persisted for six days.

It might be more accurate to say I held out for six days. She simply wasn’t going to let go of this idea she should be issued her own badge.

I had hopes Sarah would, as Father Nathan is fond of telling me, rest on the seventh day like God did.

Evidently Father Nathan needs to tell the story to Sarah as well, because on the seventh day she didn’t let it rest.

She even had the pup coming around to her way of thinking, though I suspect he just wanted her to stop whining about it.

So I gave in. Sort of.

I went and talked to Chief O’Brian about the problem. That went so well, I didn’t even bother telling Sarah I had tried and he’d said no. He just reminded me just how far out-of-bounds her working for me as an assistant was with Alliance police regulations.

Markeson thought it was hilarious which only rubbed salt in the wound.

So I decided he and the chief should feel my pain.

—

“I’ve reached a decision,” I informed the little minx after roll call the next day.

Sarah smiled from ear-to-ear. “You’ve decided to get me a real badge!”

“No.”

The smile vanished, replaced with the now familiar tilting forward of the head combined with a scowl, pouting lips, crossed arms and tapping of her right toe.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have the authority to grant your request,” I said firmly. “But, as your employer and mentor in the field of law enforcement, I have decided that if you want a real badge, it’s up to you to obtain it. Legally.”

Sarah stood up straight. The toe tapping stopped and the pouting lips receded. The scowl and crossed arms remained.

“Is this a trick?”

Josephson fled the scene again.

“No,” I answered. “Not at all. You have the interesting challenge of being much more mature in your appearance than your actual age.”

“This is about my being a clone,” she hissed, the pout and toe tapping returned.

“Only indirectly,” I said calmly, reminding myself that an even emotional keel was the only way my devious plan would work.

“You can’t help the fact you never received a formal education,” I reminded Sarah. “Other than being taught how to read, a skill which has allowed you to teach yourself many different things, all of your skill as a police officer is either a result of genetic engineering or life experience. Would you agree?”

Sensing a possible trap, Sarah remained silent for a moment before slowly nodding in agreement.

“So, I have decided, this is an excellent opportunity for you to experience first hand what it’s like to deal with the power of the man, also known as the Bureaucracy.”

“You’re not going to give me a badge,” she accused.

“Did I say that?”

“No, but I just know this is a trick,” she protested, adding a toe tap for good measure.

I sighed. The frustration was real, not an act.

“If, and only if, you can convince Captain Markeson and Chief O’Brian, both of them, that you have earned the right to carry a badge, then I will see to it you get a real, honest to goodness, police badge complete with leather wallet to carry it in.”

Sarah frowned, certain I was trying to pull a fast one.

“I want the kind I can clip on my belt or wear around my neck like a necklace,” she stated firmly, leaving no doubt as to the type of protective case she was to be given for her badge. Should she actually ever obtain one.

“So noted.”

“You promise,” she said softly, her eyes growing larger and more hopeful by the millisecond.

I hated myself. For about one second.

“I promise.”

—

“Sullivan!”

I flinched. Markeson rarely interacted with me. He was bent and we both knew it. My immediate supervisor steered as wide a path around me as possible. The less contact he had with me, the less chance he would slip up and give me the one tiny piece of information I would need to send his rear end to Persephone.

He’d just returned from medical leave after being shot by one of his flames who turned out to be a deserter, murderer and smuggler, of clones no less.

He turned into my cubicle and glared. Josephson, as was his habit of late, fled the scene before a possible crime was committed.

“It’s bad enough you pay that, that woman, to follow you around,” Markeson paused to gather his thoughts in order to generate the insults he evidently felt the situation required. “To claim she’s of any help, an actual assistant is ludicrous! Then you go and tell her she can have a badge! An actual, real detectives badge?”

“I said no such thing,” I said evenly. “I told her a police badge. There’s a difference you know.”

I got a kick out of tormenting my bent supervisor.

“Detective, police, it doesn’t matter,” he roared, causing a few heads to pop up for a second, glancing over the cubicle walls.

“Are you feeling okay Captain Markeson,” I asked, feigning concern. I figured if I could increase his blood pressure a few more points he might have a stroke and save us all a lot of trouble.

“No, I am not okay, Inspector Sullivan. Believe it or not, possessing a detective’s badge is an honor.”

He leaned over me as I sat in my desk chair, glaring. His normally immaculately groomed hair now had a few strands out of place. Markeson was serious.

“It doesn’t have to be a detectives badge,” I answered. “Just a badge. So long as its real.”

“Not happening,” was his instantaneous response.

“It’s out of my hands then,” I told him, turning back to my desk and picking up my tablet. I leaned back in my chair, making sure it creaked at just the right pitch to irritate Markeson.

“What do you mean,” he responded, a sudden worried expression covering his face.

“Sarah won’t leave it alone.”

“Won’t leave it alone?” I detected a hint of concern.

“She’s made it her mission. Sarah won’t rest until you say yes.”

“What makes you think that,” Markeson asked, his tone cautious.

“Because I told Sarah it was up to you and the Chief as to whether or not she got her badge.”

Markeson’s head snapped back and he stood straight up quickly.

“Why did you do that?”

I glanced at him and smirked.

“Because, she has a point. She’s good at what she does. Did you know Sarah can tail a suspect, who’s looking for her, and never be spotted. She never gets bored on a stakeout. You know she’s lived on the streets. Sarah can blend in at will and she has a way of getting information out of people we can’t.”

I let him consider that for a moment. Markeson could be paranoid. If I prodded him just right, he’d come to the conclusion Sarah might stalk him on her own time in an effort to wear him down.

“Sarah really wants this. She believes she’s earned it. Once Sarah gets something into her head, she’s like a genetically engineered cat after a Primian rat. She’s likely to pursue this with you on her off duty hours. I know she did with me.”

His face turned pale as he swallowed hard.

“Off duty hours?”

“I have no control over Sarah when our duty shift is over. She does what she wants.”

Markeson wasn’t ready to give in, but a little stalking by Sarah with a sudden appearance here and there to issue her demand for a badge again would have him passing the buck to the Chief.

—

“You’re devious Sully,” Sarah giggled. “How many days do I have to stalk the Captain?”

“Not many,” I replied, warming to my ill-advised idea. “Just make sure you surprise him when you let him see you. The point of this is to let him know he can never really be certain you aren’t tailing him. I’ll make sure he knows you’ll keep this up until he changes his mind.”

“Can I get off duty early today,” Sarah asked, warming up to the plan. “I have a few things I need to do before Markeson heads out for the evening. Oh, and will you give me some money to pay Ralph? If Markeson’s going to be traveling around in his hovercar I can’t tail him.”

I figured cab fare was a cheap price to pay if it kept Sarah out of my hair and pestering someone else about the badge she wanted. Besides, Ralph was an ex-con I trusted. As a cabbie, he was the best on Beta Prime and I had no doubt he could tail Markeson and not get made. Sarah would be safe with him. I passed over some hard credits to pay for cab fare.

Sarah made a face when she picked up the money.

“I’m not made out of money,” I reminded her. “You get paid every two weeks, just like everybody else. Whatever it is you want, you can wait until you get paid.”

She decided not to push her luck, smiled at me and left, no doubt in order to arrange for a night of misery for Captain Markeson.

—

Markeson smiled at the voluptuous blonde as she slowly approached his table, strolling provocatively for his benefit. His eyes took in every curve of her figure, every centimeter of which was covered in fabric designed to cling as tightly to the female form as possible. Just a hint of a seductive smile had found its way to her ruby red lips. She batted her long eye lashes, drawing attention, occasionally, away from her chest to her emerald green eyes, courtesy of designer contact lenses.

“Good evening, Captain Markeson,” the shewolf purred as he stood to seat her at his table.

“Good evening, Cassandra,” the Alpha predator replied, showing his white teeth with a most charming smile.

Markeson took his seat again and gave his companion for the evening another approving once over. He decided dinner would be quick followed by a quick trip to the establishment’s bar and then home to his apartment. He reached for her well-manicured hand to start the process of seduction.

“There you are,” a female voice declared loudly enough to draw the attention of several diners close to Markeson’s table.

Unsure of who the female voice was targeting, Markeson looked up from his date to find Sarah standing next to his table, in her now familiar stance, complete with tapping right toe. Dressed in her most form fitting clothes; Sarah hid her figure, to the extent that she did, with her long black greatcoat.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t give me that,” Sarah snarled, shaking her right index finger at the startled Captain.

“Who is this bimbo?” Sarah declared, loud enough for most of the customers at the restaurant to hear. The maître de took note and scurried to rescue one of his best customers from the impending embarrassment of two females clashing.

“Excuse me,” Markeson replied, startled by Sarah’s confrontation.

“You heard me! Who is the bimbo? You promised me, no more bimbos!”

“What?”

“Honey,” the blonde said, extending her verbal claws into the fray, “I think you’re mistaken and I’m certainly no bimbo.”

“Huh. Could have fooled me,” Sarah shot back. “I could read the labels on your underwear if you were wearing any your clothes are so tight.” Ignoring the blonde, Sarah continued her assault on the unnerved Markeson.

“Thought you could go behind my back again, didn’t you,” she declared, pleased all of the women in the restaurant were paying attention.

“Sarah, can we talk about this later,” Markeson said calmly, trying to gain control of the situation.

“No, we’re going to talk about this now! Explain to me what this bimbo is doing here!”

“Miss, is there anything I can do for you,” the maître de interjected, trying to calm Sarah down so he could lure her out of the establishment.

“Yes,” Sarah snapped, directing her furious glare at the hapless man, causing him to take a step back. “Don’t ever let my man in this place again if he’s with a bimbo or has one waiting for him.”

Sarah turned to face Markeson with her right hand raised to strike him. She slammed her hand flat on the table, gave Markeson one final look that could kill, brushed the maître de aside and stormed out of the dining room.

A stunned silence settled over the dining room. After a few seconds passed, the sound of silverware clinking and hushed whispers of gossip filled the void. Cassandra stood, slapped Markeson and wiggled her firm backside for all the males to see as she departed.

Embarrassed, his appetite for anything gone, Markeson reached into his pocket for hard credits to leave behind to cover the loss of the price of the meal, tip for his waiter and the general embarrassment the scene had caused. As he laid the money on the table he noticed a piece of white plasticard used to leave messages where Sarah had struck the table.

Curious, he picked it up, turning it over to read the message.

I found you tonight. I’ll find you tomorrow night. I’ll find you every night until you realize just how skilled I am at tailing a suspect. You’ll never see me until I want you to. If you think tonight’s performance was entertaining, just wait till you see what I have in mind for your next date. I want my badge. 

Sarah.

Markeson quietly slipped out through the discreet side entrance and made his way through the snow to his hovercar. He got in, secured his safety harness and started the power plant. As he reached for the control for the car’s sound system, he found another piece of white messaging plasticard.

I wasn’t kidding when I said I could tail you anywhere. I want my badge. The sooner the better.

Sarah

—

I heard him coming. The general tenor of the racket Markeson was making confirmed my suspicion Sarah had already struck fear into Markeson.

“Sullivan!”

I smiled. Sarah had struck quickly and evidently gotten her message across.

“Yes, Captain,” I answered without looking up from my work.

Markeson squeezed past the fleeing Josephson into my cubicle. “Do something about her!”

“What do you want me to do,” I asked innocently.

“Sarah embarrassed a lady friend of mine at a restaurant last night,” Markeson hissed in a low, serpent like tone.

“You mean Sarah embarrassed you,” I clarified.

“That too. Now get her to call the dogs off!”

“Not possible. I told you she was relentless. Bet you never saw her coming either?”

“Point proven! Now call her off!”

“I’ve told you, what Sarah does on her own time, is her own business.”

“She works for you Sullivan! Call her off! I’m not going to be looking over my shoulder when I’m on my own time. My social life is my business and nobody else’s!”

“Then you might want to reconsider you’re position in regards to getting Sarah a badge.”

“Are you saying you won’t do anything about this?”

“You’re the one saying that, Captain,” I answered, needling the man. “Sarah can be invaluable as you’ve just discovered. She can also be quite stubborn. I don’t have the authority to grant Sarah her request, but you and the chief can make it happen.”

Markeson looked away, the CPU processing. He wasn’t just worried about his social life, he was worried about the various business enterprises he ran off the books and the fact I might be taking an interest in sending Internal Affairs his way with a few hints of what to look for.

“Okay, you win. This time. But don’t try something like this again,” Markeson threatened. “I know you can control her.”

“So, does this mean Sarah gets a badge?”

“You figure out a way the Chief can make it happen and I’ll make sure he goes along with it,” Markeson promised.

It was all I could do not to laugh out loud as the pretty boy strutted away to his lair to lick his wounds.

—

I watched Sarah read the inscription on the piece of fancy plasticard, her gaze focused with great intensity. She read it a second and third time before placing it on my desk.

“What does Interplanetary Alliance Police Auxiliary mean Sully?”

“It means you will get paid the huge amount of ten credits every two weeks like the rest of us saps who work around here.”

“Ten credits is nothing,” Sarah said, frowning. “I didn’t want money, I wanted a badge.”

I couldn’t help myself. I had to laugh.

“It means you are an auxiliary employee of our precinct.”

“I don’t understand,” a confused Sarah replied.

I reached into the pocket of my coat and pulled out a brand new wallet of the type every detective was issued when they received their detective’s badge.

Sarah’s eyes went wide and she reached for the wallet. I pulled it out of her reach and held it over my head.

“Let’s get a few things straight first,” I said firmly.

“I get to have a badge,” Sarah asked softly, almost as if she thought I was playing a trick on her.

“First, promise when we’re on the job, you follow all of my orders to the letter.”

“I promise,” she whispered, a smile beginning to form on her face.

“You promise to cooperate with Josephson and not give him grief.” I paused for effect before continuing, “most of the time.”

“I promise!”

“You leave Captain Markeson alone at all times unless instructed otherwise by me.”

Sarah clapped her hands together twice and bounced a couple of times in her chair before answering.

“I promise!”

“Admit your were unreasonable about how you went about trying to get your badge and promise you will NEVER do anything like that again.”

Sarah’s smile faded and she looked down at her lap as she softly spoke, “I promise.”

“Here’s your badge, Police Auxiliary Officer Sarah,” I paused. It had never occurred to me to ask Sarah her last name.

She looked at me with a trace of sadness in her eyes. “Is it okay if I don’t have a last name,” she asked, suddenly worried the badge might disappear.

I handed Sarah her badge. “It’s okay, Officer Sarah.”

Sarah’s badge following her wedding and promotion to Detective.

Sarah Sullivan’s New ID and Badge following her getting married.

Copyright 2017

K.C. Sivils

Sully & The Deposition 

I really don’t like wasting my time dealing with lawyers. I can count the number of lawyers I have any respect for on one hand. I don’t even have to use all my fingers to do that.

I had mounds of digital paperwork sitting on my computer at the precinct and the beginnings of a headache. My favorite ancient drummer, Charlie Watts, was practicing keeping time on my temples.

And now this.

The Chief had made it clear I had to show up and cooperate at a deposition. Well, Markeson didn’t say how cooperative I had to be. There was that.

If the lawyers wanted to be difficult, I could play that game, too.

It was nice and warm when I stepped into the waiting area at Jankovic, Smythe, and Hirchez. To help get in the right frame of mind, I brushed all the snow off my coat as I stood there, looking at the gatekeeper sitting at the receptionist’s desk. I made a point of stomping my feet to get the slush and dirty snow off while I stared the battle axe down.

She frowned and gave me a look that could kill if such a weapon existed.

“You must be Inspector Sullivan.”

She spit my name out like it was poison.

I ignored her, took a few steps forward, and looked the place over. The HUD device for my right eye appeared, and I called up the menu to alter the light spectrum. It only took a few seconds in infrared to determine which room in the corridor to my left was where the deposition would be taken.

Not bothering to comment, I made my way down the hall, grinning as I left a sputtering and fuming gatekeeper behind me. I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes, these things have to be done.

Never one to surrender the strategic or tactical advantage if I could help it, I kicked the door open and walked in. There were more looks that could kill, but with surprise mixed in. There was even one look that would have sent Sarah reaching for her metal baton. It’s nice when the opposite sex gives a scarred and worn hulk like me an appreciative once-over.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?”

“You must be Jankovic,” I replied.

The man’s mouth dropped open. Karl Jankovic was a man who got his way. Jankovic did this by being in control at all times, not just of his words and emotions but of every situation he found himself in.

“I am, indeed, Karl Jankovic. And you are none other than Inspector Thomas Sullivan of the IAPF.”

“Guilty,” I replied, yanking a chair out from the conference table. I spun it around so the back of it faced the others in the room and took a seat, straddling it. There were more shocked expressions. This would be more fun than doing paperwork and possibly, just possibly, not a total waste of my time.

Jankovic was a tiny man, not just in stature but also in build. He dressed better than Markeson, my bent Chief of Police, which is saying something. But no amount of money and fancy tailoring would hide the fact Jankovic was a frail, physically weak specimen of the human species. He had blue eyes set a bit too wide in his narrow face and a narrow nose perched over lips that were razor-thin. I zoomed in for a quick inspection with my cybernetic right eye and noted the blue irises had been dyed.

The man’s eyes were as fake as his claim to be an ethical attorney.

“Inspector, need I remind you a certain level of decorum is expected at a deposition such as this.”

With my head slightly tilted to the right, I made a face as if considering Jankovic’s comment, nodding in agreement. I stood up, turned the chair around, sat back down, and promptly leaned back in the chair, putting my left foot on the conference table first and then resting my right leg over it.

I was confident when I replayed the recording my eye was making of this sham for my friends and Sarah at Joe’s tonight, it would generate more than a few laughs.

Sitting at the table was the aforementioned stenographer. She was an attractive blonde. Very attractive. So attractive it was obvious she had two jobs at the law firm of Jankovic, Smythe, and Hirchez. One of those jobs was to press the button on the recording device that would record everything said and then tell it to make copies and print out a transcript.

Yeah, she was that good-looking.

The other two males were flunkies, nothing more than associates who were worked to death and paid as little as possible. If they survived the ordeal, they might make junior partner after ten or so years.

Jankovic frowned at the sound of his expensive chair creaking under the strain of holding up my two-meter-tall, 118-kilo body. His expression told me he wanted to make a snarky comment but was thinking better of it. In the end, it was too much.

“Please remove your feet from the table, Inspector.”

“I’m comfortable, so, no.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up, and his face turned bright red. If possible, his eyes shrunk in size, giving Jankovic’s face the appearance of a Primian rat—nasty animals.

“Look,” I said as affably as possible. I don’t want to be here. We both know this is a waste of time. Swear me in, ask your questions, give me a copy of the deposition, and I’ll be on my way.”

Jankovic began to shake—well, more like vibrate—he was so angry. His eyes were bulging, which made him resemble a Primian rat even more.

“I insist,” Jankovic repeated, raising his voice.

I leaned the chair further back, balancing it carefully on the two legs that still touched the floor.

“Nobody tells me what to do,” I said firmly. “Chief Markeson is smart enough to suggest I do something. Sometimes, he insists, which is the closest anyone on this planet comes to giving me an order.”

“Put your feet on the floor and sit in the chair properly.”

One more poke at the Primian rat seemed like a bit much right at the moment, so I complied. Jankovic’s immediate relief, combined with an obvious grin, confirmed what I already thought about the man: He was dangerous and had to have his way. What Jankovic didn’t realize was that I wasn’t afraid of him, and I, like him, tended to want to have my way.

Sitting next to the attractive blonde was Jankovic’s client. A known sexual deviant with more twists than most people can count. Lots of arrests on multiple worlds and not a single conviction. But then, Will Peters had credits to waste and kept legal talent like Jankovic on retainer for when the inevitable arrest came.

People like Peters make me sick and for more than one reason. He’s a predator of the worst kind and knows he’s going to get away with it even if he’s caught. His victims are abused twice, once with the assault and the second time when they don’t get justice. The fact he gets away with it just feeds his narcissism and arrogance.

He’d made the mistake of putting his hand somewhere it didn’t belong on a friend of mine, a waitress named Alice who worked at Joe’s. Now, Alice is not just a friend of mine. She’s my partner’s adopted mother figure. Alice has been good for Sarah in more ways than I can count.

Now, Alice is no pushover. Peters is not the first customer to handle goods reserved for Alice’s husband, Ralph, another trusted friend. She slapped Peters not once but twice for good measure. Baldie and Giganto, Joe’s two bouncers, rather unceremoniously removed Peters from the establishment and sent him sliding down an icy sidewalk face-first.

Peters, being the slime that he is, lay in wait until Alice finished her shift and attacked her a second time as she walked home. He wasn’t successful in raping her, but he gave Alice a good beating in the process before she escaped his clutches.

Naturally, when I arrested Peters, his money and connections meant nothing to me. I was looking for an excuse to slap him around to make a point. Peters gave me the reason I was looking for. Now, I was sitting in a meeting room with the slime and a collection of sleazy but talented lawyers. Oh, lest I forget, a beautiful blonde that would make Sarah jealous.

Peters sat on the other side of the table with a pair of Jankovic’s underlings on either side. Evidently, this arrangement was supposed to make the perv feel safe from me. I got a chuckle out of that.

“You really are an unintelligent thug, even for a cop, Inspector Sullivan.”

“What makes you say that?”

Jankovic smiled, displaying the best, white, perfect teeth money can buy.

“Not only is your brutal treatment of my client going to get the charges against him dismissed, but both he and I are going to enjoy the financial rewards that come from large financial settlements from lawsuits against the IAPF.”

I shrugged to indicate my indifference. Jankovic was not going to fluster me. I decided it was time to poke the Primian rat again.

“I thought you were supposed to be a real hot-shot lawyer.”

Jankovic’s eyebrows shot up.

“As you say, Inspector, I am indeed a hot-shot lawyer, as you are going to find out.”

I could feel another poke coming.

“I have yet to see any evidence you live up to your reputation.”

Jankovic’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Nobody talked to him like this, and walked away without being significantly poorer.

“What’s more, your client there is going to die within months of being incarcerated in Graham Correction on Persephone.”

Peters lunged forward, only for the two associates to physically sit him back down. His face, already yellow, green, and black from the bruises I’d given him, was turning a dark red, he was so angry.

It wasn’t a good look for him.

“Did you just threaten my client, Inspector Sullivan?”

“No. I stated a fact. Once the inmates in Graham learn Peters is a serial child molester and sexual predator, they will have of sorts of their own. He’ll be found guilty, the sentence will be death, and any number of the psychopaths incarcerated there will carry out the execution.”

“Your ego is massive,” Jankovic informed me. He’d regained control, and his face was blank save for the hate in his rat-like eyes. “This will never come to trial after the beating you gave my client.”

I made a show of sighing in exasperation. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a chip, which I tossed on the conference table. It amused me that everyone present, save the blonde, started like I’d thrown an armed grenade on the table.

“I hope you didn’t pay Jankovic any money upfront,” I told Peters. “He hasn’t done his homework.”

The poke was too hard for the rat to take it silently this time. Jankovic stood up and shook his finger at me like I was a little kid getting scolded by my grandmother.

“You are the most unprofessional, arrogant, and uncouth example of a police officer I have ever met.” He had more to say, and I let him get it off his chest.

“You will lose your badge over this. Mark my words, Sullivan.”

I’d had my fun, but I had things to do before it was time to eat dinner at Joe’s with my partner Sarah and our friend, the Anglican priest Father Nathan. It was time to wrap things up.

“If you had done your homework, Jankovic, you might not have taken this case.”

“Oh, really now.”

“As you are hopefully aware, the law requires full disclosure of the evidence the prosecution has against the defendant.”

I nodded at the chip I’d tossed on the table.

“And that chip and the video on it is my proof you didn’t do your homework.”

Peters stared at the chip with a worried expression, which made me laugh out loud.

“Don’t worry, Peters, you disabled all the CCTV cameras before you attacked Alice.”

I turned my face to stare hatefully at Jankovic.

“Yes, I have a somewhat checkered record as a cop. But if you’d looked further than the list of complaints against me, Jankovic, you would have learned two things. My arrests all went to trial, and nearly all resulted in convictions.”

You could cut the tension with a vibroblade, it was so thick in the room.

“The second thing you would have learned is I lost my right eye in an explosion while serving as a Space Marine.”

“And what relevance does that have,” Jankovic sneered.

“The Space Marines place a high value on Shore Patrol officers, of which I was one. The eye you’re looking at is one of the best cybernetic eyes credits can buy. What’s more, it’s equipped with a heads-up device, and I have a computer in my chest.”

Jankovic wasn’t as stupid as I’d thought. He instantly turned pale.

“That’s right. Peters threatened me with bodily harm right after he laughed while confessing to the assault. Then, he attacked me. Normally, I would never let someone land the first blow, but I wanted to give Peters a taste of what awaits him in prison.”

Jankovic sat down without saying a word.

“If you’d looked into my background more thoroughly, you’d have known about my eye, that I know the law, and that everything would have been on video. The arrest, though more physical than normal, was good. Oh, and assaulting a police officer will be added to your client’s charges this afternoon.”

“Striking a man as large as you a single blow does not warrant the beating you gave my client,” Jankovic informed me in a small voice. He’d gone from being a sizeable Primian rat to a tiny mouse.

“It does when the perp is armed with an energy weapon that was discharged after he struck me.” I nodded at the chip as I stood up. I laughed as I adjusted my great coat. “I felt my life was in imminent danger. That makes that beating legal, especially on Beta Prime.”

Peters couldn’t keep his mouth shut, but his kind never can.

“Markeson is bent, and we both know it. He’ll smooth things over for the right price.”

“My chief, bent?” I laughed. Markeson was as bent as they come. But he had his own code of ethics and was loyal. Joe’s was a neutral site. All kinds of business is conducted there, legal and otherwise. Markeson made deals there, and Alice was his waitress. Joe expected justice for his employee. If he didn’t get it, Markeson would lose negotiation privileges, which, for a man with as many business enterprises as Markeson had, both legal and questionable, was unacceptable. Then there was the fact he liked Alice.

“More homework you didn’t do,” I informed Jankovic. “Joe’s is a neutral site. Markeson does business there. There is no smoothing out to be done.”

Peters just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. I was almost out the door when he ran his mouth one final time.

“I’m going to beat this, Sullivan. Mark my words, and when I do, that cute little tramp you call a partner, she’ll get what’s coming to her.”

I was proud of myself.

I let Peters live, and Jankovic didn’t say a word. But then, he’d never seen a man put a cybernetic fist through a plastisteel wall before.

Why does Sully have such little use for attorneys? Click here for a copy of An Innocent Man and find out why.