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Det. Lt. Jack Rafferty [userpic]

Let's make a deal

July 13th, 2005 (09:51 pm)

I leave Ava Lord later that night, following the unexpected telephone call from Cardinal Roark.  She was rather vocal about not leaving her alone, saying she was scared for her life when I wasn't around to protect her from 'that maniac' she'd gotten involved with.  Took me about forty-five minutes to even get dressed 'cause she kept stealing my clothes and refused to give 'em back.  I finally had to put my foot down and threaten to throw her out on the curb like an unwanted mutt.  She slams the door as I leave. 

From there I go directly to the police station and wrap up a case of two dead guys found in the alleyway a few blocks up the road from Kadie's.  Just a matter of putting the finishing touches on the report, gathering the files together and getting them in the mail to the DA's office and I just gotta wait for the court date.  Done and done.  After that, I go to the secretary and request a three hour block of time for me to be off-duty tomorrow night.  The reason?  "Oh, wife's parents are in town -- going to show 'em a nice time," I lie with finesse and a wink.  Secretary (name's Fiona) smiles at me demurely and puts down that I need the whole day off.  Nice girl.  I'll have to thank her sometime. 

Whatever Roark has to talk to me about certainly has me curious.

The rest of my night's spent in and out of saloons, talkin' to dames and running into pals from the precinct.  Finally come across a bachelor party swingin' on the fringes of Old Town for one of the guys in sex crimes and I end up passing out on the floor tangled up with a couple Asian women brought in for entertainment purposes.

Next day I don't get up until something like 4:00 in the afternoon and everyone's cleaning up from the mess we left in the hotel party suite.  I give the groom my warmest regards and stumble outside, climb into my car and try to figure out what to do in the interim I have remaining before my 6 o'clock appointment with the Cardinal.

So I go home (probably not the wisest choice) and there's the wife, sittin' on the front porch with a glass of scotch and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth.  She never smokes, and rarely drinks, only socially. 

"Hey baby."

"Don't you fuckin' 'hey baby' me," she shot back, then threw down the remainder of her drink.  She coughs, and I feel sorry for her.  This could get ugly.

I sigh and drop my keys into my pocket.  "Dinner ready?"

"Get your own fucking dinner."

"You're supposed to have dinner ready when I get home," I retort through my teeth.

"YOU NEVER ARE HOME, JACK!"

In a flash I'm in front of her, shaking her by the shoulders and gettin' up in her face.  "Do NOT raise your goddamned voice at me, Jennifer, I swear to God..."

"What?" she snaps, challenging me.  "What're ya gonna do?  Hit me?  Bring home your dime-a-dozen hooker girlfriends and introduce 'em to the family?"

"You're really pushin' it..."

"No, Jack, you're pushing it!  In fact you've pushed too far now!"  A disgusting sob interrupts her stream of drivel.  "I want a divorce," she finishes quietly, neutrally.

"Not gettin' it," I say evenly.  "You need me too much."

"Like hell I--!"

"Jennifer, shut up and listen.  You and me get divorced, you got shit.  Where would you go?  To that fuckin' whelp next door?  He's still living with his parents, Jenn.  I own everything.  You would have nothing.  Do you understand me?"

Her look says she does but her voicebox doesn't want to admit that I'm right.  I loosen my grip on her shoulders and straighten to my full height.  My fingers pick up one of her wavy black locks and I run my thumb through the strands.  A tear rolls down her cheek.  "I'm gonna order pizza."

I open the front door just as Angela is stomping downstairs, dressed head to toe in black.  She stops on the second to last step and gives me a glare.  "Are you and mom getting a divorce?" she asks.

Unfazed, I reply "No, we're getting pizza.  Where's your sister?"

"Down for a nap.  So who was she?"

"Who?"  I shrug my jacket off and hang it on the hook by the door. 

"The woman you brought home," Angie throws back, enjoying her interrogation way too much.

"Angie, get me the delivery guy's number, willya?" I say as I thumb through my wallet for some cash to pay the man with.  I'm purposely ignoring her question, she's got no right to inquire about what I do. 

She thumps down the last couple steps and breezes past me, sighing melodramatically and muttering something that I don't quite catch.  "Hey, and we're gonna go out driving this weekend, you gotta get your hours logged," I call after her. 

We don't eat at the table tonight, and around quarter of 6:00 I slip outside and under cover of the falling dusk drive off in the direction of his compound. 

It's not far from my house in Sacred Oaks so I'm there a few minutes before the set time.  The place is guarded like Fort fuckin' Knox and I have to undergo a bodily search and declare any weapons.  What a joy that is.  I tell them who I am and that the man himself asked for me to meet him here, and so after a couple phone calls I've infiltrated the security barrier. 

My boots crunch on the gravel roundabount as I make my way over to the only entrance in sight, and two guards armed with AK-47s halt me and I have to go through my schpiel again. 

One mumbles something into a walkie-talkie and then they motion for me to follow them, and we begin our ascent up a spiral staircase which I can only assume leads to the Cardinal's private apartment.

Det. Lt. Jack Rafferty [userpic]

Infidelity's a bitch, but then, so's my wife (WARNING! NC-17 content)

June 22nd, 2005 (03:44 am)

The morning finds me sleeping past my alarm clock and consequently getting shaken awake by Jennifer, who's wrapped up in a towel and fresh from the shower with her skin still wet and glistening. 

"You look like shit," she says disdainfully, looking down at me with her hard brown eyes.  "Get the fuck out of bed or you'll be late to work."

I grumble something unsavory about her being an ungrateful bitch, speaking to me like that, and when I'm the breadwinner of the family, too.  She used to teach English literature classes at the college but was able to stop after I got my big break.  Now, after Angie leaves for school, Jennifer just stays home with Allie before she gets shipped off to pre-school for the afternoon, then does her menial housewife things like go to gym to gossip in the sauna with the other police department wives and fuck the neighbor's boy. 

Decked out in casual attire since it's the end of the week, I enter the kitchen where Jennifer's made us all a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast.  She isn't in there, so it's just me and my daughters. Allie flicks her big blue eyes up at me and then back at her cup of orange juice, which she pulls closer to her, remembering what happened the last time involving my pants and a full glass of Tropicana. 

"Hello Angie," I mumble as I pull out the chair next to her and take a seat.  She's sitting back in her chair staring at her plate of food with eyes lined and shadowed with thick black makeup.  Her mouth wears an indifferent pout complete with brown lipstick so dark one might think it was black upon first inspection.  Her entire presence pulses doom and gloom and teenaged angst.  I sigh, wondering how Jennifer and I turned out having one of those goth kids.  Jenn was an art and English geek who enjoyed the spirit club whereas I wasn't really anything except marginally popular and minimally gifted academically.  "Okay, sorry to disturb the crypt keeper with my presence," I grumble testily. 

Angie glares at me reproachfully and I return the look twofold.  Well that's one thing she got from me, she can give dirty looks to compete with the ones I'm known to flash. 

I eat in tense silence (except for Angie, who sits there and broods on how much life sucks) and I leave them to their devices.  I know that once my ass is out the door and Jenn comes into the kitchen they'll start grillin' me.  I don't really care.  Angie's going through one of those awkward teenage phases where being garbed in black from head to toe is the only way she feels she can express herself, and Allie's fuckin' terrified of me because I don't nurture her like a father should and end up scaring her by yelling, and Jennifer, well... we've got issues.  Issues that are piling up between us and pushing us apart.

As I'm clapping my cigarette pack against the palm of my hand I hear the door to the garage open behind me and Jennifer comes out, wearing just a camisole and a pair of black lace panties that make her already gorgeous body look utterly sinful.  I'd be turned on if her expression wasn't so fuckin' sour. 

I can't imagine what the occasion is.  She comes over to me, her bare feet creating soft slapping sounds on the unfinished floor that echo in the vastness of our four-car garage.  "What?" I ask as she approaches, and I light my cigarette.

"Who's Shellie?" she asks waspishly, eyes glued on mine, searching and piercing and making me feel like I'm naked and under the scrutiny of a thousand pairs of judgmental eyes.  Like I'm on trial and I know I'm guilty, and the death penalty is not out of the question.

I pull on my cigarette and narrow my eyes.  "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You talk in your sleep, you pig.  At least when you aren't passed out from drinking too much, and that's only when you're actually here to sleep instead of shacked up with some two-cent whore at a sleazy motel downtown."  Her foot taps impatiently and she digs through my pockets, taking one of my smokes and my lighter.  "Spit it out, who's Shellie?"

"Mind your business and get back inside," I growl, opening up the driver's side door.  "I gotta go."

"You're not going anywhere until you fucking answer me, Jack!"  Her manicured hand makes sharp, startling contact with my left cheek and my head's forced to the right from the impact.  Electrified silence sparks between us, the fuse burning up faster than we can react.

So I hit back.

Hard.

She makes a weird gasping sound that sounds like an amalgamation of a sob and a scream and a yelp and a question.  Her eyes go wide before her eyelids rapidly become slits, regarding me with all the loathing her soul can feel.

"Get the fuck inside, Jennifer.  I'm late.  'Sides, can't be around when Kyle comes over."

Her face goes ghoulishly white and she seems to shrink, and all the anger in her visage evaporates and is replaced by that deer-in-the-headlights expression.  I get in my car and drive off to work, fuming and simmering over her antics.  Just who the fuck does she think she is?

***
So after work which does not bring me any visits from Ava Lord, surprisingly enough, I go to Kadie's to get a load off my mind and have some drinks.  I'm in a horrible mood, I'm depressed and murderous at the same time.  I need a fucking drink.

I get there, same old faces, same old stench of filth, booze and hookers' perfumes mingling outside and stifling inside.  I only see Shellie in passing and it's from a distance.  I wonder if she's got any sense in her head now that she's had a chance to think about what she's done, and what the ramifications are.

I grab a booth and order something strong and nasty that goes down like a hot poker, and then she shows up.

My Old Town angel. 

Too damn bad that I'm in such a foul temper, otherwise I might think of showin' her a good time and let off some steam I've been buildin' up. 

Her fine ass glides with elegance and sauciness into the booth and I scoot over against the wall that's to my right side.  I watch as Shellie emerges from the employees only area and my gaze trails after her, I'm trying to give her a scare.  But the goddess next to me's craving my attention, I know, so I tear my eyes away from Shellie and focus on my suddenly empty glass -- When did that happen? -- and run my finger around the rim, a cigarette poised between the middle and forefingers of my right hand.

Her voice comes like spiced honey, simultaneously tart and sweet, as she tries to initiate conversation -- or something else?

Det. Lt. Jack Rafferty [userpic]

Looking for my barmaid

June 16th, 2005 (12:13 am)

I pretend that I'm reviewing the latest information on my current case regarding a pair of dudes found dead in an alley about a block away from Kadie's last week.  Looks to be a bar room brawl that spilled onto the streets and when the guys stopped punching back the killers bolted, leaving us to clean up after their mess.  Shaking my head and exhaling a deep sigh, I close the folder and place it back on top of the stack I carried in before being sidetracked by my surprise visitor.

No more need for rumors, Ava Lord is definitely alive, and she's fallen into my lap begging for my help.  In a way I'm flattered, but at the same time I know I've got to be cautious, because she's a shifty one.  It'll be a scream outfoxing the fox.

I look at my watch, it's about ten after 1:00 in the morning.  By now Jennifer's asleep along with the girls, but I'm not ready to go home and go to bed yet.  Going back to Kadie's or any other saloon isn't an option, and I don't want that kind of company anyhow. 

So I lock the door to my office and finish off my now-cold coffee and whiskey, saluting a goodbye to the guys still playin' poker at Mort's desk.  Slow night, which is something of a rarity in this town.

The streets are slick from an earlier passing shower and I guide my Chrysler along the desolate roads, halfheartedly keeping an eye out for a place to stash Miss Lord.  Soon enough I end up in Shellie's neighborhood, which is a more run-down district of town not far from Kadie's.  I reach into my jacket pocket and withdraw my cell phone, flip it open and scroll through the list of numbers until I get to Shellie's. 

As it rings, I pull up against the curb across the street from Shellie's apartment building, lock the doors and scan the sidewalks for vagrants and any other dregs out and about at this time of night.  Seems empty, not a soul in sight, and all's quiet along this road.  Far away there is of course the perpetual rise and fall of sirens and the occasional gunblast and tire screech, but that's the comfortable background music of Basin City.  If the place was ever without those noises then everyone would be on edge wondering what the fuck was going on -- or not going on, as the case may be.

I cross the street and light a cigarette as I hold the phone between my cheek and shoulder, still waiting for Shellie to answer.  At this rate I'll be right outside her apartment door once she finally picks up the goddamn phone.  "Shellie.... talk to me, baby," I croon to myself as I climb the steps leading up to the main entrance to her apartment building.

Det. Lt. Jack Rafferty [userpic]

Business and pleasure, the perfect blend.

June 14th, 2005 (02:38 am)

It's going on midnight when I pull into the police station lot after wasting my hour-long break at the Pecos.  I wish I hadn't gone because I ended up getting puked on by Shellie and given an attitude from my Old Town girlfriend.  Not my night by a longshot.  Still, I hold out for something because the night is still quite young, and it's hard to say what the red-eye hours of the morning could have in store for me.

I'm overtime tonight.  We're understaffed this week -- couple of the guys in the department are "on vacation."  That's just a euphemism for them bein' in mile-deep pig shit with the police chief for screwin' around on the job and not bein' careful about it.  Rookies.  Gotta learn the hard way -- just like I did. 

The elevator doors slide apart and I step out into the floor that houses the homicide division, one arm holding a small stack of case folders against me and in my other hand a cup of coffee from the cafeteria downstairs.  It's my special blend, meaning that I add a little nip of whiskey from the hip-flask I carry to it.  Keeps me goin' for these long and irregular hours.

A couple o' the guys are playing poker at Mort's old desk, the bastard.  It's still cleared out 'cause nobody's been picked to replace him after he killed himself and his partner, all 'cause of a woman.  Ava fuckin' Lord.  I never had the pleasure of meeting the lady, and in all honesty I'm glad for it.  Some of the stories I've heard, she sounds utterly insufferable.  I mean, God damn.  I can't stand the whole "damsel in distress" song and dance.  And to be the man who's bowing down to the mercy of a twisted broad like herself must be about the shittiest feeling in the wide world.  That is, if you know how she likes to play her games -- otherwise you're blind with lust in the guise of love just like fuckin' Mort.  Dumb shit.

"Hey Jack, can we deal you in?" one of them asks.  I shake my head in the negative, and tell them maybe later, not intending for a second to join them.

I get to my office and nudge the door open with my foot, taking a sip of my coffee, and using my elbow to flip on the lightswitch.  When the lights come on I nearly stumble backwards into the door because there's a woman sitting in one of the chairs facing my desk, a black tulle veil shading her face and a black fedora-style hat crowning her head.  In fact her entire outfit is black and conservative, as if she's just come from a wake.

"Can I uh, help you, ma'am?" I ask, piling the folders onto an empty corner on my otherwise cluttered desk. 

Read more...Collapse )

Det. Lt. Jack Rafferty [userpic]

Lord lives?

June 9th, 2005 (03:35 am)

So lately my life's fallen into a routine of sorts -- I go to work in the morning after eating breakfast with the ladies of the house, break my neck working cases and attending the occasional department meeting, grab drinks with a couple of the guys after our shift at the precinct ends, go home and eat dinner, spend some time with the girls, then go out again and fuck around at Kadie's Club Pecos.

I'm sick and tired of Shellie and her games.  Skinny ass twat -- I do everything within my power to try and have a civilized conversation with her, I'm nice to her, I don't yell, I don't raise my voice ONE BIT!.... And she gives me the shaft.  Brainless broad.  I'll settle that score one of these days.  I got more important affairs to devote my efforts to.

Besides, at Kadie's the other night I picked up a girl, she's an Old Town whore and by far the best pussy I've had outta there, beautiful blonde hair cascading down her back, lips painted crimson and a body to put Aphrodite to shame.  I don't know her name.  She said, "For how much you're paying me you can call me whatever you want."  Well we didn't even get to the place I was drivin' us to before things got too hot, so we just used the backseat.  Kept it clean.  Reminded me of high school, in a way.  Anyhow tonight I was back at the Pecos and she was there... had a steamy rendezvous in the employee locker room.  I think she damn near fell in love with me.  Still don't know her name though, but it don't matter to me much -- who needs a name when all I wanna do is fuck her brains out?

There've been whispers of the name "Ava Lord" around the cafeteria at the precinct and in the murky shadows of the saloons.  She's supposed to be dead, killed by someone who got away.... I remember when it all went down.  We were feelin' it from all angles from all the different powers, but try as we might the killer was never pegged.  It was a dark time to be a detective around these parts.

Anyhow, the word on the street is that this dame is actually alive.  If that's true then it won't be true for long -- she's got her share of enemies and there are plenty who'd love to be the one to off her.  Hell, if I was solicited for the right price I'd blow her brains all over the sidewalk in the middle of the day in front o' the city council building.  But whoever's got her hidden away sure has to be gettin' paid a king's ransom in cash and God knows what else...

Makes a man want to do some detective work that's off the record.... 

Det. Lt. Jack Rafferty [userpic]

When you're a hammer, everything looks like a nail.

May 25th, 2005 (11:49 pm)

I choose to just go home. Shellie must be having PMS or somethin' because she gets all in a huff when I go to visit her. Fuck that. Next week sometime maybe I'll go 'round her place. I'll call her first, though. Just to give her a heads up.

I tell Shellie that I was sorry I bothered her at work (that's a lie, I wasn't bothering anybody!) and left. Not my scene anyway. Too... uncouth. There are better joints in this town, no doubt about that. Places where I get the goddamn respect I deserve.

So I drive home. Jennifer is asleep, or at least she pretends to be, because she doesn't react when I get into bed and run my hand along her stomach, dipping inside her panties. I grunt, annoyed, and turn my back to her and try to sleep. I can't get no satisfaction tonight.

In the morning I take a shower and vent my "frustration" into the drain. Damn it. A man shouldn't be living like this. I miss Shellie, her body, the way she smells, the way she shivered and reacted to my every touch. So responsive, I like that. Jennifer is the same way but we only ever get down to it maybe once a week if it's a good week. So far this is not looking like a good week.

I eat breakfast with Jenn and Allie. Angie's still at her friend's sleepover party. Allie spills her orange juice on my pants and I get mad and whack my dish onto the kitchen tile, bellowing very vulgar words. Jenn glares at me and I get up and storm out to change clothes. Allie doesn't start crying until after I leave and that's good, because I can't stand a crying child. Especially not in the kind of mood I'm in.

I put on some clean trousers and leave for work, slamming the door to the garage closed in my wake. I can still hear Allie wailing. God damn it, kids. I suppose I'll have to stop by the market after work and buy her one of those cookies shaped like butterflies. Kid adores butterflies. But then I'll have to get something for Angie, too, because I can't "play favorites." Spoiled brats.

At work I attend a department meeting and am told about new procedure to follow when filing case abstracts. I space out and study my fingernails, smoking cigarettes and generally not listening. We break for coffee and donuts, a police officer's stereotypical sustenence, but I'm not hungry and instead I schmooze with a rather pretty brunette secretary working the reception desk in my unit. She's new to the precinct, fresh out of trade school, and obviously a shy one. I'm all smiles and jokes and saccharine-sweet friendliness to her which pays off.

I return to the meeting with a name and phone number. Olivia, she's called. I daydream through the rest of the meeting about how tonight I'm going to take little miss Olivia out and wine her, dine her, then fuck her. I can't wait.

I hope she's as good as Shellie.

Det. Lt. Jack Rafferty [userpic]

Wrench in my plans...

May 21st, 2005 (09:30 pm)

So I get out of work around 9:00 and drive straight home like the good and dutiful husband and father that I am.

My wife Jennifer is all dolled up when I walk into our bedroom and in the middle of putting on some pearl earrings that I bought her for our first anniversary.  "Where do you think you're goin'?" I ask as I remove my coat and throw it over the back of a chair. 

"Nice to see you, too, honey," she replies, and I go over and give her a half-hearted kiss on the cheek.  "I'm glad you came home when you did.  I'm meeting Cynthia for drinks over at Langer's -- you remember her, she was my best girl friend in high school, she always made fun of your sweaters, you know the ones your grandmother made you? -- well she's in town for a job interview and invited me out to reminisce and catch up."  I watch her dab powder on her nose and pull back her wavy black hair as she speaks, and I take off my tie, belt, shoes and unbutton my shirt.

"So where is this headed?" I ask.  Sometimes she talks way too damn much.  I wish I had grabbed a beer from the kitchen before I came in here.

She glares at me in the mirror.  "So I need you to stay here with Allie until I get back.  The sitter couldn't make it on such short notice and Angie's at a sleepover."

I put on the histrionics and fall back on the bed, groaning and covering my face with my hands.  "Damn it Jenn, I'm tired and I want to just go to bed."  You liar, Jack, you.

"Jack.  It's not that difficult.  She's your goddamn daughter, can't you just watch TV with her for awhile, or read her a story before she goes to bed?  She's only four years old, she doesn't stay up that late."

I remain motionless on the bed and stare at the stucco design on the ceiling.  Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.... I gotta see Shellie.... I need to see Shellie....  I sigh dramatically.  "Fine."

"Thank you, dear." She gets up and in one smooth maneuver she slides on top of me, legs straddling my abdomen, and kisses me.  She smells like lilacs.  Her skirt rides up her thighs along with my hand, my fingers deftly teasing her bare skin.  No panties! I'm getting really hot now and of course she gets up at the most inopportune moment.  It always happens this way.  Not surprising that she's sleeping with the barely legal son of our neighbors, a stupid good-for-nothing brat named Kyle who leeches off his parents and fucks my wife instead of doing something constructive with himself. "Gotta run, I'm going to be late."

Jennifer doesn't kiss me goodbye, just tells me that she'll be back before midnight and to not wait up. As if I ever do.  Once I hear the door slam behind her on her way out and hear her cute little BMW rev in the garage, I sit up on the bed and run a hand through my hair. 

"Hi, daddy, are you sick?" little Allie says, standing in the doorway with her raggedy stuffed bunny that's missing an eye in her little hands. 

"No baby, I ain't sick, daddy's just had a long day."  She toddles over and climbs onto the bed, with a little assistance from me. 

"You smell funny, daddy," she says, wrinkling her freckled nose.  She means the smoky scent I have in my hair and on my clothing from cigarettes.  I don't like smoking around the kids so they don't really know about it. 

"Yes I do, daddy's a stinky man," I say lamely.  She gets quiet, as if upset.  I ruffle her strawberry blonde curls.  "Is daddy too stinky for you to watch some TV with him?"

She perks up at this and grins; one of her front teeth is missing.  "No!"  So she grabs my sleeve and I mess with her, acting like she's dragging her 6'2", 180 lb. father into the living room all by herself.  She shrieks and giggles with glee the whole time.

We settle on the leather sectional and watch Cartoon Network for awhile.  I stretch my legs out on the sofa and she nestles between them, her head resting on my chest.  After about an hour of Tom and Jerry she starts nodding off.  I turn over to the news and she doesn't protest.  She's almost asleep...

By 11:30 she's totally knocked out and I take her to her room and tuck her in.  Then it's time for me to hop in the shower, shave, and put on a clean outfit.  I admire myself in the mirror -- "Lookin' good, Rafferty!" and that's when I hear the garage door open and Jennifer come inside. 

"Where are you going?" she asks sharply.  Her eyes are like knives.

Play it smooth, Jack.  "Just got a call.  I was about to go bed when my phone rang.  Captain says it's big, needs all senior staff on the scene post haste."

She continues frowning at me.  After a pause, she asks "Is Allie in bed?"

I nod, check the ammunition in my pistol, and grab my coat.  "Dunno when I'll be back."

She walks away and starts undressing.  Not a peep out of her.  She's pissed off, but she'll live.  I don't even bother to ask her how the outing with that dipshit Cynthia went. 

I hop into my Chrysler.  Free at last! 

Off to Kadie's.  Shellie's gonna love this.

Det. Lt. Jack Rafferty [userpic]

Protecting and Serving

May 18th, 2005 (04:33 pm)

Protecting and serving my ass.

I've been trapped in this godforsaken excuse for an office since 9:00 this morning.  Lost amongst stacks of folders, case abstracts, department memos: the whole gamut of police paperwork, right here on Detective Lieutenant Jack Rafferty's rickety old desk.  Only thing I'm protecting and serving right now is this headache and eyestrain from all this fuckin' reading.

But I rather like that title.  "Detective Lieutenant."  It just rolls off the tongue, and it looks damn fine in print.  "Iron Jack" Rafferty I'm sometimes called.  I've been God's gift to the law in this city, ever since I came here fresh out of the Academy and cracked a homicide case everybody'd thought had gone cold.  See, there was this serial killer who was running a rampage about town, leaving only body parts of the people he killed on the scene of the murder.  He left nary a trace of himself, but his work was done very cleanly -- he was obviously a man who knew what he was doing when he cut these folks up.  A doctor, or a butcher, hell, even a biologist.

That narrowed the suspect demographic by a hell of a lot.  Then came the big break -- he left behind the head of one of the victims and there was blood streaming from the corner of the mouth.  I went out on a limb (no pun intended, heh) and asked for DNA to analyze it.  It wasn't the victim's blood.

It was the killer's blood.  Doctor Lawrence Rawlings, head surgeon over at the big medical complex downtown.  Not even two blocks from the station.  And on his forearm a nasty, scabbed over bitemark that matched the teeth of the vic's head. He was killing these people for profit -- selling their organs, mostly kidneys, hearts and livers -- on the black market to people who couldn't get organ transplants in a speedy manner. 

I nailed him good.  He'd killed more than 20 people before I got him.  He's in the slammer serving out two life sentences.  The only thing that gets me is that he isn't on death row. 

That's my claim to fame.  Since then I've practically owned this goddamn town.  I get rewarded for being me every day of the fuckin' week.  Money, women, authority, power.  I am a goddamn hero cop.

But enough about little old me.  I've got plans for tonight -- heading over to Kadie's to check on my girl.  I met this gal, Shellie Dawson her name is, and we hit it off right away.  I had just been down on my luck and was having trouble with a case -- but she made it all go away.  She listened to me, gave me comfort when I needed it the most.  But I'm not sure why she hasn't called me lately. 

So that's why I'm anxious to get out of this dump.  Only so much a man can take, y'know?  I figure that once I get out I'll head home, give the wife and kids a kiss and have dinner, then go out and have a little me-time.  Wife knows better than to keep me on a short leash.  She's wised up about things, which is why I've stayed with her so long.  That and the kids.  I love my girls.

Just another five hours to go.  Then I'll be rollin' up to see my sweet Shellie and have a talk with her, see what's up.  She'll be happy to see me.

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