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"You...what?"

The light turned green and he took off, turned on Zang then slipped onto the freeway. "Yeah, I mean, why not? He's lonely and you're cute as hell? It's a match made in heaven, right?"

"You think I'm cute as hell?"

"Look, Deb, I told you day one if I wasn't married...ya know?"

"But you are, right?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Are you two doing okay? Arguing a lot?"

He looked at her, frowned. "It shows, huh?"

"Like a fucking bonfire."

"It's been going on a while. She wants me to quit, start flying again."

"So? Why don't you?"

"I dunno. Maybe I like it out here, ya know?"

She shook her head. "That's insane. You ought be outta here, like yesterday."

"You think so?"

"I do, but here's the real problem. I want you so much it hurts."

He looked at her again, frowned, shook his head.

"I'm not kiddin, Ace. I've had it bad for you, real bad, since about the second week."

"That's half infatuation and half Stockholm Syndrome..."

"Stockholm...? Why do you say that?"

"'Cause I'm holding you hostage. Your career is in my hands, remember?"

She laughed. "I'm trying to be serious."

"Yeah? Well, so am I. I'm here to train you, get you ready for your life out here. I'm not here to fall in love with you."

"So? Have you?"

"What? Fallen in love with you?"

"Yeah."

He turned, looked at the road for a long time, not saying a word, then he looked at her and shook his head. "What makes you say that," he said, softly.

"I see things. I see things, like in your eyes."

"Look, I care for you, alright? But that doesn't mean I've fallen in love with you. Okay? Got it?"

She nodded her head, looked away. "Yup."

"Goddamn...I wish you were butt-ugly and had a face full of zits...but oh no, you had to be so fuckin' cute it makes my heart ache. You had to have a voice that makes my heart sing. And yeah, I could fall in love with you in a heartbeat, but you know what? Ain't gonna happen. It just is not going to happen."

"You know what? You keep telling yourself that and you just might get around to believin' it -- but I doubt it."

"2141?"

"41, go."

"2141, signal 53, possible 14. Reporting person is a pilot landing on Runway 17 at RedBird, advises a gold sedan is parked in the trees off Mountain Springs, possible in-progress 14."

"41, code 2."

"2141 at 1615."

"2110 code 2."

He exited on Ledbetter, tore down to Old Hickory and made a hard, sliding left, yawing on the gravel and correcting, and seconds later they were on scene.

"Check us out," he said, bailing out of the Ford just as it slid to a stop. Gun drawn, he ran past the gold Mercury Montego and she saw him skid to a stop -- then turn around, laughing.

She ran up, heard music playing from a boom box and then saw a teenager -- fucking a blow-up sex doll -- complete with blanket spread out on the ground and a six-pack of beer in a cooler.

The kid was oblivious, and when the sergeant pulled up they walked over and explained what was going on...

"No shit?"

"No shit. Yet, anyway."

They all walked up just as the kid was in the short strokes, grunting away like a pig then blasting away into PVC ecstasy, and the three of them burst out in applause...

The kid rolled over, going from pure white to crimson in moments.

"I give him a ten on form, but a three on the exit," he said.

"And the East German judge gives him a five! Boo-hiss!" Desjardins said, and the kid was staring at her now, devastated.

The sergeant walked up to the kid slowly. "Do you have a permit for that sex doll, young man?"

"Uh...w-w-hat?"

"Do you have a permit for that sex doll? In order to use a sex doll in public, you have to have a permit."

"Uh...n-no, I didn't know..."

"Well, that's a felony you've just committed. Did you use a rubber, at least?"

"What?"

"A rubber? Did you take steps to insure you don't get that doll pregnant?"

Desjardins turned and staggered back to the car, trying not to let the kid see her laugh.

"Look, the last thing we need is for a bunch of pregnant sex dolls to start showing up at Parkland. No permit. No rubber. What kind of irresponsible young man are you, anyway?"

"What? Dolls can't get pregnant!"

"Can too. Why do you think the state requires a permit?"

The sergeant turned to him: "Get his ID, call it in."

He walked close and the kid lunged at him, tried to grab his gun and the sergeant took out the kid's arm with his nightstick, pulled him up and slammed him into the Mercury and cuffed him.

"2141, 27, 29 on subject." He called in the kid's information, and while they waited for the return he started talking to the kid. "Why'd yo do that?" he asked.

"I ain't got no permit. I don't want to go to no jail. I know what they do to kids like me in jail..."

"Oh? Been to jail before?"

"Been to joovey. Couple times."

"What for?"

"Jackin' off."

"Jackin' off? Where?"

"House next door. I sneak in, jacked off on Mrs Zimmermann's panties."

"Still doin' that?"

"Not as much as I used to."

"2141?"

"41, go."

"Subject clear, negative 29, negative 27."

"41, 28 on Paul George Ida - 283."

"Standby."

The kid looked nervous now and he walked over to him, looked in his eyes. "Where'd you get the car, Ronnie?"

"What car?"

"2141, have returns."

He motioned for Desjardins and took the kid by the belt and walked him over to the car. "This kid's about to rabbit on us," he said. "Lets get him in the back."

"I ain't gonna run..."

"I know you're not."

"Then why?"

"It's air conditioned. You look hot."

"Oh. Thanks."

Once he was strapped in he reached inside and turned off the radio, then went out and called dispatch. "2141, go ahead."

"Vehicle reported stolen two days ago by registered owner, Zimmermann, Edna, 3001 Gladiolus, city."

The sergeant walked up, shook his head. "What do you think his mental status is?"

"IQ about the same as a head of lettuce?" Desjardins said.

"Yeah. My thought too," the sergeant said.

He looked at them, shook his head, "I think we need to get to that house, check it out."

"Why?" the sergeant asked.

"My guess? The kid killed her, took some money, bought the doll and came out here."

The sergeant nodded his head. "I'll follow you."

He got behind the wheel, turned on the radio. "2141, 10-95 one, code five to address on 28 for a 54."

"2141 at 1643."

"2110, I'll be with 41."

"1643."

It wasn't far. A few blocks, a few turns. A nondescript beige brick house, tan shingles, brown trim around the windows and doors -- just like most of the other houses in the neighborhood. Front door locked, back doors too, but when he looked in a bedroom window he saw the woman on her bed, hands tied behind her back with pantyhose, her neck twisted at an unnatural angle, her body starting to bloat as it decomposed.

"2141, need the ME this location, and a truck with hazmat suits for a Signal 60 evac, possible signal 1. If someone from juvenile could come down, too?"

"41 at 1650."

"2110, get two units over here for traffic control."

"1651."

He walked back to the car, got in the driver's seat and pulled out his Miranda Card and read through the kid's rights. "You understand what I just read you, Ronnie?"

"Yeah."

"When did you kill her?"

"I didn't kill her. I was just trying to scare her."

"Did you stick your thing in her, Ronnie?"

He nodded his head. "Yeah. But I didn't mean it to...it just kind of happened."

"Did she know you took her car?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Firetrucks rolled up a moment later and he left the kid with the sergeant.

"Better you than me," the sergeant said, laughing.

He led Desjardins to the truck and they put on bright yellow hazardous materials suits, and she looked at him like he was nuts...

"Trust me," he said, and when they were sealed-in the suits they walked up to the front door.

"No air conditioner going," a fireman said.

"I know."

"Hey, better you than me..."

"I know."

The fireman put a huge pry bar up to the lock and pushed a little -- and the door knob exploded, fell to the concrete porch and scattered -- and he pushed the door open, walked in.

"This way," he said to Desjardins. "Bedroom's back here." He walked up to the door, saw it was closed. "God damn," he moaned.

"What?"

"Look, I can't do this to you."

"What? What can't you do?"

"I can't let you open that door."

"What? Why?" she said, reaching for the knob.

"Don't do it, Deb. I mean it."

She stopped. "What are you saying?"

"Look, every rookie gets one of these, but I just can't do it to you."

"What?"

"When you open the door air pressure in the room changes. The skin ruptures...basically...the body explodes. It's fuckin' awful."

"Did you do it? When you were a rookie?"

"Yeah, and they sent me in without a suit. Had to burn the uniform."

"Then it's my turn, isn't it?"

"I don't want you to."

"Why? You protecting me?"

He turned away.

"I knew it. You do love me. Don't you?"

He turned and looked at her. "I told you. I care for you."

"No! Say it. Tell me that you love me."

He shook his head. "Don't do this to me, Deb."

"Then shut the fuck up and teach me how to do my job."

"Okay. Right. Look, that shit is going to fly everywhere, so the trick is to open the door and jump back..."

"But if I go back out there without that shit all over me, they're going to know you warned me, right?"

He nodded his head. "Right."

"So? You'd better stand back."

"Nope. You're not doing this alone."

She turned and looked at him again.

"I wish you were a man."

"What?"

"Man enough to tell me the truth -- how you feel about me."

"Actions speak louder than words, Deb."

He took her hand -- and she reached out for the doorknob.

III

He was sitting at an exercise machine, working his shoulder back and forth, up and down -- with two pounds of resistance -- about all the joint could take today. His physical therapist was a real charmer too, he thought. Like a Marine Corps drill sergeant is charming.

"Come on. Don't cheat...move that joint all the way up."

He was sweating, cursing under his breath.

"You pussy! My Aunt Gladys can do better than that!"

"Does your Aunt Gladys have four fucking pounds of stainless steel in her fucking shoulder, you cunt!"

She laughed. "That's the spirit! Come on, fight through the pain...that's it, FIGHT!"

They worked ten more minutes, then she took his temp and BP and wrote them down on a chart, then she rolled him back to his room. A nurse came by and they helped him up into the bed, his left femur still not ready to take any weight.

"So," she said, "you're with the PD? A motorjock? What happened?"

"Working radar, truck went by, down there, on Harry Hines. Just robbed a store. They blew by and I had them on radar at close to 70, then the BOLO comes out. Anyway, some clown starts shooting at me..."

"I remember. You went through Snyder's windshield, right?"

"Yup. That's me."

"Thirty six fractures. Man, you are going to be a human barometer."

"So my wife tells me."

"How long have you been in here?"

"Five weeks now."

"That's right," the drill sergeant said, suddenly making a connection, "your wife's a doc here too, right. Internal medicine?"

"Yup...and speak of the devil, here she is now!" His wife walked in -- in green scrubs and a lab coat -- and he looked at her. "Scrubs? What gives?"

"Your dad did one of my patients this morning, and he let me scrub in and watch."

"Fun. Ready for another residency?"

She laughed. "Not quite. Oh, he and Deb are going to come down in about a half hour, she's bringing in some Chinese."

"Ah...awesome. I've been craving..."

"I know. I gave her the list."

The drill sergeant stood, excused herself, but not before she told him she'd be by at ten tomorrow morning -- for some more fun, she said, a little too sadistically.

"I can't wait."

She turned to him after the therapist left, tried to smile. "Your white counts are weird. Going to do a few more tests."

"Another needle. Oh, joygasm."

"I know."

"Weird, huh. Is that one of those fancy new medical terms?"

She came and sat on the edge of the bed, ran her fingers through his hair, shook her head. "What am I going to do with you."

"A blowjob would be nice?"

She laughed. "You'd say anything to get me to do that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I would."

"Sorry. No can do."

"Yeah, me too."

She turned away, looked at his most recent vitals on the board. "Still running a fever?"

"All night. Look, if you have someplace you need to be, you don't need to hang around."

"No, no, I wanted to see Deb. It's been a while, ya know?"

"Have you seen her since the wedding?"

"Once, I think, right after the accident."

"How's your -- friend?"

"She's fine."

"Are you staying over there now?"

She nodded her head. "Sometimes."

"It's funny, ya know. If I'd lost you to another guy -- I think I could understand things better."

She looked at him, a little too defiantly, he thought. Gloating, maybe? Like: what did you expect? Gone all the time, never home. Not one vacation in the last three years. But why --with a woman? Something else I missed along the way?

"Things happen, I guess," she sighed.

Deb and his father came in a little before noon and they talked about life outside the hospital for a while, and Deb talked about all the usual BS going on the department, but he found himself looking at the ring on her finger more than once, and at how good she looked. Happy, he thought, and his father looked happier than he'd ever seen him. Ever. And that made him happy too. Then he looked at his wife and he felt like he'd lost something precious, even vital, while the world spun out of control.

And soon enough both his wife and father excused themselves, he to make rounds, she to see patients. Once they were gone he looked at Deb, and she couldn't take her eyes off him.

"Your father told me about what's going on," she said, out of nowhere. "With Carol, is it?"

"You didn't know?"

"No."

"Good. That means I wasn't the last to find out." She laughed, and he did too, a little. "How's Dad doing? Treating you alright?"

"He's an amazing man, took me flying last week."

"Ah. Where to?"

"Uvalde."

"I guess he told you that part of the story?"

She nodded her head. "Sad."

"You know, my mother knew. Everything, all along, when I was growing up. Never said a word."

"I would have liked to have known her."

"I suspect she does. I can't imagine a little thing like death keeping her away from Dad."

"He loves you, you know. The accident scared him to death. He cried for days, until you were out of that coma."

"I can't imagine what life would be like without him. You do love him, don't you?"

"I do. More than you'll ever know, but never as much as I'll love you."

"You know, when she came in, a while ago, she asked if she could do anything for me...and I said, sure, how about a blowjob? She just walked away, too. I guess it hit me then. She was never into things like that. Never once, in ten years, did she ever do anything like that. Said it was revolting."

"Yup, she's a lesbian alright."

They laughed, for a long time.

"So, would you like it if I...?"

"Like what?"

"Give you a blowjob?"

"Nope. I love you too much to put you through that kind of guilt."

"And what if I love you too much to let you lay their suffering."

"Look at me? I'm not going to push you away -- because I can't. But I will ask you not to, as nicely as I can. Again, because I love you, and I love my father. And I know this, Deb, too. If it's meant to be, between us, it will be. I'm willing to wait, if you are."

"You're a Boy Scout, you know that? Too nice. To a fault."

"So are you. A Girl Scout, I mean," he said, giggling a little.

"What are you going to do?"

"What? Now? Get into PT, get my body back. Six months, that's the word. Six months and back to unrestricted duty..."

"No."

"What?"

"No, no more duty. No more department. Take a medical, retire, move on. It's time, and you know it..."

"No, it's not, and I know it."

"It's going to kill your father...if you go back. You have no idea how much he worries. Your becoming a cop was childish, infantile, a need to act out cops and robbers fantasies, a need for adoration..."

"Adoration?"

"Yes, adoration. Can't you see that? All you've wanted, your whole life, is to fly. Your father told me...in the middle of your second year in med school you dropped out, you dropped out because you got a position flying. Who does that? And then, when that was taken from you, you start this whole cop bullshit? Why"

"I thought it would be fun?"

"Fun? Bullshit. Think about it? Up in the cockpit, everyone adoring you, all those stripes on your sleeve, walking through terminals. That gun and that badge, and wherever you walk, people..."

"If you say adoring me I'm gonna puke. It's more like the exact opposite..."

"Sure. Tell that to that kid. What was his name? Jason? At the Biltmore shoot. That's real adoration, in case you didn't know it..."

He looked at her, shook his head. "How'd we get from blowjobs to taking me down a notch?"

She rushed to the bed, took his hand and kissed it. "Oh, my love, I'm not taking you down. I want you to do what you were always meant to do. Can't you see that? I'm trying to protect you, and your father, from all this childishness."

"Policing isn't childishness..."

She sighed. "No, it isn't, but your doing the job is like living out a child's fantasies. Your father told me with your grades, your MCAT scores, going back to med school was still a possibility, but even if you couldn't, there are so many other things you could've done. Why go out there and put your life on the line -- everyday? Why do it? What were you trying to prove?"

"Deb, you know as well as anyone it's a war out there. A war that's been raging since the beginning of time. Good and evil, right and wrong. If everyone turns away from their responsibilities, to insure we aren't overrun by evil, well, then evil wins. I'm just doing my part. Giving back. I feel that, in my bones, Deborah, and that's the God's honest truth of it."

She looked at him, blinked her eyes then nodded her head a little.

"Okay. I can buy that. But even so, you've given enough. Done enough. It's time to move on. You've been walking the razor's edge for years. You need to move on. Too many people...need you."

There came a gentle knock on the door, and she walked over, opened it a little. She saw an older man, little Ben Franklin glasses perched low on his sunburned nose, and a young woman standing behind him in the corridor, but the man looked over Deborah's shoulders into the room.

"Hey? Rookie? What the fuck are you doing in bed? Time to get up and get dressed...we got work to do!"

"Eddie?" he whispered, his voice full of wonder. "Ed Fuckin' MacCarley! Oh my fuckin' God! Eddie! What are you doing here?"

IV

He had his favorite spots. Like fishing holes, he'd thought once. Places where he liked to sit up and, with radar gun in hand, watch traffic, waiting for 'the big one.' The 60 in a 30. The 45 in a school zone. The really egregious ones.

It was called 'stroking.' As in, 'yeah, I got a good one out there today, stroked him for 75 in a 55.' Or: she got a double stroke -- meaning two tickets, or the dreaded 'triple stroke': three tickets, three strokes for the truly big assholes. The more a 'scrote bitched and moaned, the more strokes he got -- simple as that. Nice people usually got away with one, or even a warning.

He sat up in the shade of an old pecan tree and pulled out the radar gun from the Harley's saddlebag and went through the calibration procedure again, the bike balanced between his legs, a light breeze blowing on this sunny Spring afternoon. 'God, what a glorious day!' he said to himself -- and he closed his eyes, felt the wind sifting across his arms, his face.