One in Ten Ch. 04

"Finally, there are the four big crime families," Kuiko sounded all spooky, "but the biggest by far are the Keverich. When the current Mayor was the District Attorney, she put the head of the Keverich crime family away. Not on anything big - like murder, drugs, extortion, prostitution, bribery, or - well, shit like that. No, they put her away for running off-hours gambling parlors."

"Old Maria is finishing up a seven to fifteen year stint at some spa down south," Kuiko chuckled ruefully. "When she gets back, fucking heads are going to roll."

"She's not a big fan of the Mayor I take it," I questioned.

"Her and Diaz both," Kuiko answered.

"Rumor has it the Diaz flipped on her but no one still breathing, outside of Diaz and Maria, knows the truth of what really happened," Kuiko winked. That tale had everything in it but the plucky, persistent yet bumbling male investigative journalist. Detective Kristi could play the female officer who saved the poor sap's life and the last 20% of the novel would be devoted to his sexual gratitude. It was every trashy crime novel written in the past forty years.

"Hey!" Kuiko perked up. "Maybe you could use that feud to fend off Isobel Diaz?"

"Horrible, horrible idea," I insisted. "Those are two women with their own private armies. I'm a male who has never thrown a punch in anger all my life. I lived in the suburbs until recently. I've been put in a hospital but never put anyone in one."

"Diaz can make me disappear into the mental health system. Maria could make me disappear BENEATH the foundation of some building. Are you getting the picture?" I glared at Kuiko who wilted. "I didn't want Isobel to notice me, but she has. There is no way that having Maria notice me would make my situation anything but worse."

"Sorry," she meeped.

"Kuiko, don't worry about it. I'm not angry with you," I assured her. "Neither one of us are criminals so getting involved with them would be unwise."

"Are most guys like you?" she half-turned and sighed.

"We are people, Kuiko, both good and bad," I reminded her. "I'm sure some are just as kind as you while there is certainly an Isobel Diaz out there wearing a male's face."

"Oh, that's pretty scary," her eyes grew big. "I guess women don't want to think there are truly evil men out there."

"Too few women give a crap what is inside a man's soul," I told her. "I can't be too angry with you over that. If a guy turns out to be a total bastard, can any of you afford to throw him back?"

"I hope you always get a chance to choose," Kuiko smiled timidly.

"First I survive the Complex party then I survive Isobel's affair then I get ready for Monday at work," I muttered. "Choice comes...later."

"Cheer up," she snickered, trying to dispel my darkening mood, "you have friends now that will help."

"That's a concept I need to get used to," I groaned.

"That's the best part about living here," Kuiko grinned. "We'll be patient."

That fairy tale collided with Fatima, Carrie and Ambrosia showing up at my door while Kuiko was back at her place changing and gathering a few things for a group effort at dinner. I almost triggered the 'unlock' without looking - almost. Being afraid for so long had its benefits. I seriously thought about not answering.

It was still too bright outside for my interior lights to come on. It wasn't like I had any means of transportation to suggest I was in the area.

"Hello, Ladies," I gulped over the intercom. "I'm a bit busy right now. What's up?"

"Hey Israel, can we come in? You weren't at the station this morning, or on the return trip, so we wanted to make sure you hadn't vanished," Fatima spoke up.

I was wondering what was the best way to say 'I'd rather have my bones ground to dust than open the door' when the dilemma was solved for me. A furious Angel came storming up the stairs and into the scope of my door's security screen.

"Get the fuck out of my way," she snarled at the three then she pounded on the door with her fist.

"Open the God damn door, you Idiot," she yelled at me/the door. Oh, I knew that wasn't a good sign. I barely noted a second woman coming up behind Angel appearing to be terribly concerned.

"Who the hell are you?" Ambrosia snapped at Angel.

"Metropolitan Police," the second woman waved her badge around. "Please stand back."

"Israel!" Angel was almost frothing at the mouth. I opened the door against my better judgment and all common sense. Angel stomped her way into my apartment...and right past me toward the bedroom.

I didn't think she wanted sex. She was burning off some serious frustration, my place was small and the greatest stretch of walkway ran from the front door into my bedroom. The second woman came in at a more cautious pace.

"Good-bye ladies," she said to the three at the door. "Remember, if you are out here when we get back, I'll arrest you for loitering."

"Detective Seneca Poole," she introduced herself but didn't offer to shake or look even marginally pleased to see me. Angel came tearing past us, turned, snarled at me, then about faced and headed back. "I don't know what you did but I've never seen her so pissed in the three years we've been partnered."

That brought Angel back around, still horribly frightening and unhappy.

"You want to know what he did?" Angel seethed. "You want to know? This bastard agreed to go to Isobel Diaz's party tomorrow night!" I didn't understand that complaint because she had known about that for hours. Seneca looked my way, clearly as confused as me.

"You thought I wouldn't find out?" Angel stabbed me in the chest with her forefinger. "Do you think I'm stupid? Did you forget I'm a God-damn detective?" I was stumbling back and starting to shiver. "Aaaarrghhhh!" she screamed, barely holding herself back.

"Okay, you've scared the fuck out of him," Seneca griped. "Why don't you finally tell me what is going on?"

"I'm under investigation," Angle kept glaring at me. "I'm under investigation for having an inappropriate liaison with a material male witness."

"Did this asshole turn you in?" Seneca scanned from me to Angel.

"No," Angel spat at me. "He buckled under to Isobel Diaz so they would drop the investigation against me - you moron." I was the moron in question.

"How did you find out?" I muttered. I didn't want to have this conversation because I couldn't make sense of any part of what I'd done. I certainly couldn't explain it.

"Somerset told me," Angel was slowly cooling down. "She laughed at me as she told my how you had folded up like a good little boy after the threat."

"Wait," Seneca stammered. "He stood up for YOU?" I took from that question that Detective Seneca Poole had a rather low opinion of me, if not all males. That I would leave myself vulnerable for Angel was clearly an impossibility in her mind.

"Yes he did, Seneca," Angel glared at me.

"Fuck you, Israel. I can take care of myself - a hell of a lot better than you can," she sizzled. "You - you - you didn't have to do that."

"The Mayor threatened me, Angel. What was I going to do?" I sighed.

"For starters, you don't make decisions for me," she snarled.

"Yet, it is okay for you to make decisions for me?" I pointed out.

"Yes, because you are a 21 year old fresh out of college who has been in the city six days," Angel snorted in frustration. "I am thirty, I have three years in as a patrolwoman and five as a detective and this city is and always has been my home. I think I know what's going on here better than you do."

When she put it like that, she was almost totally right. If you get discriminated against for so long, you start assuming you will always be discriminated against. Angel had just slapped me upside my sensibilities with a logical, if passionate, argument. The only thing was, she was 'almost' right.

"If you think Isobel Diaz won't squash you like a bug, you are so mistaken," I addressed Angel. "She's not your garden variety misanthrope. She's a monster, she's evil and with one phone call, she had you under a federal investigation."

"That's not important," Angel snapped back.

"The mental state you are going to be in Sunday morning is," Angel pointed out.

"Angel, we've been down this road before - top of my class, remember?" I said.

"You sure are a mouthy bastard," Seneca mocked me but then, "Top of your class? What community college did you go to?"

"Seneca, he's not mouthy, he's opinionated," Angel sniped - at me. I noted Kuiko approach the door and activated the lock for her. She strolled on in.

"Hey everybody. Hey stranger," Kuiko waved. She has a small sack of something.

"Whoever you are, this is a police matter," Seneca commanded. "Beat it."

"I'm his friend," Kuiko bristled. "Who the hell are you?"

"She's my partner," Angel informed her. "This is Kuiko. I'll explain later."

"A cop? Whoops - sorry about the whole 'who the hell' thing," Kuiko gulped.

"Back to the matter at hand," I grumbled.

"Detective Poole, I went to Bowden. I was the first male Valedictorian in sixty years. Blow it out your ass, Bitch," I glared at her. There I was, busting my head pointlessly against a wall again for no reason I could accept.

"Bowden? Bowden is a real college," Seneca queried.

I shouldn't have been surprised or angry. Even before the Plague, more women were seeking higher education than men. The Plague was a scholastic killing field for male education. Not only did most of our intellectual elite die, in the chaos after the dying began, it made more sense to admit women over men since odds were that most of your guys would be in a grave by graduation.

After the tenth year, even after the mass die-offs stopped, society took few chances. A whole generation of men went under-educated out of fear they would perish as well. Men had been struggling up the educational ladder ever since, but we were massively under-represented in most professional callings - things like lawyers, engineers and doctors.

Two consequences of being under-educated were our lack of political awareness and the disparity of economic power. We were paid less on average than women and we owned less of the economy than our population would have warranted. This, in turn, reinforced in men that the best way to get ahead financially was to marry well.

This worked out fine if you were a woman in the top 10%; not so much if you were in the bottom 90%. A man graduating well and trying to make his own way in the world didn't fit into that mold and ours wasn't a culture that put a high premium on male independence.

"Yes, it is. I read, studied and made really good grades," I reasoned.

"When I graduated, they gave me a pat on the head, a dog biscuit and a diploma," I added sarcastically. "In retrospect, I should have treasured the pat on the head and kept the dog biscuit for emergency rations because it turns out my diploma isn't fit to wipe my ass."

"Wow, you're bitter," Seneca noted.

"Bitter?" I countered. "Give me your security code. I'm going to go to your house, stomp around the place like an elephant, raid your refrigerator, and leave a used glass and plate on the counter so you wonder what the fuck happened to your sanctuary while you were out."

"Let me rephrase; you are bitter and angry," Seneca corrected herself.

"And this is going to be the wing-nut that is going to Isobel Diaz's party," Angel groaned.

"Oh - I see the difficulty," Seneca nodded. "You are never going to see him again. That could be a problem considering your current assignment."

"What! We are going to lose him?" Kuiko squawked. "No way - no how!"

"Kuiko, do you like me?" I muttered.

"Yes, but..." she got out before I held up my hand.

"Not showing up for the party isn't an option," I explained. "I told the Mayor I would go. I have to work in that building, with those people. I'm vulnerable. Going or not going won't change that, but I have to try."

"God, I want to beat you into the hospital," Angel barked. I didn't want to believe she meant that but that didn't stop me from shivering, my eyes opening wide and stumbling back. Even as the last words tumbled out of her mouth, Angel sensed her mistake. "I'm sorry, Israel," she pleaded. "I just - I'm worried about you and I'm not used to feeling so powerless."

"I need to go to my room," I whispered, turned and fled.

"Oh shit," Angel sighed behind me. A few minutes later, she knocked on my door. "I'm sorry, Israel. I truly am. I have to go back to work now, but...do you want me to come here when I get off?"

I had been thinking about that. I kept trying to convince myself that she hadn't meant that threat of physical violence. Acting combatively was her way of dealing with stress. I found myself trapped between my past mistakes and my dim hope for the future.

"I'd like that," I responded to the voice beyond the door.

(Saturday)

Three things were obvious to me as I woke up. Detective Angel Kristi was a light sleeper. There was no worry about me waking her and her accidently lashing out - I'd done that for years. Angel was wearing a dark pink panty/bra combo. Last night she had muttered an excuse about being backed up on laundry. I chose to believe her.

Finally, I had to do something about our relationship, if that is what we had. Her outburst yesterday had scared the crap out of me, but it had gripped her in an emotional paralysis. Despair had abandoned me for greener pastures. I'd go to the party, take drugs and become lost in the sexuality. I would recover, hate myself a little bit more and go back to work.

A few days later, maybe a week, two if I was lucky, I'd repeat the process. I would either fail spectacularly and Isobel would ring out what little happiness existed in my life or someone I didn't know yet would collect me and become the most important thing in my life. As long as I kept performing up to a certain level, I'd be fine but every time they would become a little less human in my eyes and I'd try a little less hard.

Eventually I would fail and be cast out. It wouldn't matter. Israel Jensen would have been washed away with all the other detritus of our society. I'd become a contributor, a sperm donor with a desk, a paycheck and a punch card for my social calendar. I wasn't there yet, so I had to keep struggling to find a way out.

In a strange way, I'd invested so much of my week in resisting, it was more logical to keep at it than to turn back now. I certainly wasn't going to lose any slower if I backed down at this juncture.

"Good morning," I greeted Angel as I rolled onto my side, facing her.

She was on her stomach, arms crossed over her head, under her pillow. Her grey eyes were in their normal, soul-piercing gaze.

"Hello, Israel," she responded. We remained silent for a few seconds.

"I'm going to kiss you," I told her. If I had asked, that would have passed the decision from me to her. I knew what I wanted. I doubted she could come to grips with her desires.

"Is that really a good idea?" she inquired.

"I don't know, but I know I'm going to kiss you if you stay," I said.

"Israel," she started to protest. I leaned in to kiss her. Angel tilted her head up so our lips could meet. I swept past her lips, brushed her hair to her far shoulder then kissed her behind her right ear.

"Israel?" she questioned. I ignored her, instead kissing to the base of her ear then up to the top. I kept her hair pushed back with gentle strokes of my hand. "Israel?" she tried again, more softly this time. When that didn't work, she lowered her head back to the pillow and started to relax. After reaching the top of the ear-base, I kissed the top of her ear rim.

I carefully made my way down to the earlobe, which I sucked on and bit.

"Israel?" she murmured. I imagined that she felt in her role as guardian, she had to offer some sort of resistance. I moved my lips to her jawline. She tried to kiss me again, but I went in the other direction to the back of her neck.

Her bra was unhooked before she even knew what was going on. Angel bit back a comment - another cautionary note. She knew we were past that now. I was dedicated to one course of action and she was going to make her last stand right before the moment of copulation. My secret weapon was timing, or more accurately, the fact that I was drawing out this seduction.

For three years I'd starved myself, devoting my barren sex life to the women's pleasure then my own quick release. I didn't allow myself to enjoy the act of intercourse with the freedom I had enjoyed with Bethany. On weekends we would have sex for hours. Not actual penetration, but the art of touching, smelling and tasting your lover the way sex was meant to be - unrushed and done with total devotion to your partner.

After the sorority I couldn't hold off the demons long enough. Besides, the desire had evaporated in me. I didn't want to remember anything about the women I was with so getting to know them was a passionate dead end. I did the best I could for my own sake, because I knew I could and it was a gift that I could give up, but they couldn't take that away.

By the time I reached for her panties, Angel was sweating extensively. It had little to do with the room temperature. I had ran my hands over every inch of her from the top of her head, all along her back and sides. I'd rolled her a quarter way over on each side so that I would be less contorted as I concentrated on her scent and taste.

I worked her underwear down. She pushed up with her knees until I reached there, then with her toes until I got the clothing all the way down. Angel started to roll over but I placed a hand with slight pressure down on her hip to keep her in place. I kissed her on the tailbone, migrated to each cheek while I started to masturbate her from behind.

"Israel - I'm close," Angel warned me with quickening breath.

"Go with it," I cooed. "This is about you. We don't have anywhere to be until noon."

"Oh...oh...okay," she moaned. Two minutes later she hit her climax. My lips weren't even down to the back of her knees yet.

It was nearly midday when Roni rang the doorbell. I buzzed her in. Angel was coming out of the bathroom, dressed in pool attire and using a towel to dry her hair. I was coming out of the bedroom, a towel still around my waist. I was on my way to my dryer for my shorts. I normally don't wear any so I had to wash the 'storage musk' out of them.

"Hey you two," Roni called out. "Angel," she hesitated, "your hair is wet."

"Yes," Angel grumbled.

"And Israel has a towel around his waist and his hair is damp too," Roni grinned wickedly.

"That would be because we took a shower," Angel glared.

"Screw this," Roni chuckled. "Israel, get over here." I was clearly uncomfortable. "Please," Roni added. Reluctantly I stepped her way and presented my wrist.

"Hold on," Angel growled. She stomped back to the bedroom, retrieved her phone and scanned my wrist once more. "Don't make me punch your lights out," she challenged Roni.

Roni scanned me then took a step back.

"Oh - Fucking - Goddess!" she exclaimed. I was pretty sure Angel was about to deck her.

"Don't make a big deal about it," Angel threatened Roni.

"Big Deal?" Roni gasped. "I'm stunned you can still walk."

"I'm going to get dressed," I muttered. I didn't want to hear that conversation. I didn't want to be any part of it. I had done what I had done and I wasn't going to be ashamed about it - I promised myself that. I gathered up my clothes, retreated to my bedroom and quickly got dressed. The two ladies had resolved something by the time I came out.

"You look nice, Israel," Roni tried not to grin too broadly. I hadn't worn these clothes in three years. I was uncertain why I had kept them. It was a tribute to the North American Federation's physical regimen policies that I could fit into them as if I'd purchased them yesterday.