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Vice Cop Ch. 01

By: AudreyHepburn



Vice Cop: The Beginning

New York City, 1985

Hudson Banach's Polish father had been a cop in the post-World War IIdays, a Poznan, and he had retired years ago to start a family in America. He told Hudson of his many experiences in those often dangerous times whenItaly was just coming off its darkest days. His stories and accounts were full ofintrigue and adventure, lurid tales of the Mafia and espionage. His mother's Italian/Sicilian brother, Vittorio, had been a Carabinieri, Italian police officer, and was still active as a cop. He would shower Hudson with gifts and further tales of excitement as he caught the bad guys whose "evils" Hudson did not understand until he became an adult. Now, at the age of 21, he was sure the stories his father told were more than likely embellished with some lies andexaggerations. But the influence his father and uncle Giorgiohad on him was strong enough to arouse in him a desire to be a cop.

Hudson became a rookie cop, sworn to a life of service and protection of civilians, in a ceremony attended by his Sicilian mother, oozing with pride, and his even prouder father. New York City in the mid 80's wasprobably as dangerous as Italy when Mafia reigned, when even seemingly decent and powerful figures were in fact crooks. New York City's underworld was that of illegal prostitution, crime waves, jewelry theft, con artistry and drug traffic. All of this was right there, just beneath the surface and Hudson, still a rookie was eager to see some action, to do his job. But it wasn't easy........

Hudson was six feet tall, ruggedly handsome, with dark, jet-black hair, cut short, a strong chin, brown eyes and a powerful, big, strong physique. He had once been very slender but before his decision to be enforcement he worked out at a gym religiously, lifting weights, doing cardio, and frequented the same gym for years. Before long, he developed muscles and a more confident attitude. People said he was a dead ringer for actor Sylvester Stalone and even his voice was somewhat similar His training as a cop was especially difficult, not so much because he was not fit for it, but because he had lived a pampered life as a New York City teen. His mother, being Sicilian, and not cheap in the least, made gourmet meals and cooked with style often, not only on the times the Italian family visited. He had grown up with her cooking. He had also learned to appreciate the opera, which was his secret passion he told no one about in the force. He had also become interested in classical music through an old professorwho took him to concerts in Lincoln Center. He was aware of his Italian heritage, and for that matter, his Polish, but growing up American he became somewhat spoiled. There was no girl he could not have. No girl ever really put up any resistance or turned him down. He had a string of girlfriends and lovers in New York and New Jersey and his sexual exploits had a touch of vice.

There was the time he had met a beautiful Canadian girl at a  dance club, where to the strains of festive pop songs by Oingo Boingo they  drank themselves silly and ended up having a tryst in an alley by the parking lot.

"What's your name?" he had asked her.

"Does it matter?" she said, with a devilish smile, "are you going to  rock my world or not? Ever do it in public?"

"Uhhh...uhh...no, not really. You?"

"Lots of times. In Calgary I got into lots of trouble for it. Some  people are too square or too jealous because they're not fucking the way  they should."

She was a beautiful girl with blue eyes and her hair was blonde.  To Hudson, she looked like a classy girl who probably did kinky things and  acted all crazy simply for the act of rebellion itself. Her parents probably had  money, she had probably gone to some boarding school run by nuns and she  was most likely even engaged to marry some boring wealthy industrialist type.  Here she was, her blonde hair falling down her back like spun gold. She  began to unbutton her blouse, freeing herself from her bra. Hudson did not know  what kind of sex she was into or wanted so he tried to read her mentally.  He was going to remove his red dress shirt when she stopped him with her  hand on his chest.

"No, don't move a muscle. I know what I'm doing. I may be drunk  but I know what I'm doing," she said with a giggle that echoed in the parking lot.

Hudson looked around and noticed some people walking on the street  in the distance, talking, enjoying their Saturday night in New York City, and  he was worried the young people at the club where they had just beeen were  going to see them. He did not want anyone to recognize him. He was now a cop  and this would not do at all. But his fears and anxities slipped away as soon as  the nameless girl fell to her knees and undid his belt and unzipped his jeans.

"Uhh...pretty girl? Do you think we should do this?"

"Oh, don't be so lame. Be daring," she said, almost reprimanding him.

Her fingers were deftly stroking his cock, which began to get hard and grow  against her palm. She was quiet now, and all he could hear was her breathing.  She continued to stroke his cock, caressing the shaft, and then she gently  presed her lips against it. Her lips were soft and sensual, making him feel  a wave of pleasure that surprised him. He moaned and closed his eyes.  The girl opened her mouth, slowly commencing her fellatio. It was not as if  it was their first time. She had evidently done this before, not being hesitant  to do it, and Hudson had been orally pleasured by women before. But there  was something about the skillful way she used her mouth, her tongue, her  hands, a special talent she possessed for this type of thing. He threw back  his head and his hands were on her hair, gently pulling on her blonde tresses.

"You like that, baby?" she whispered.

 "Fuck, yeah, don't stop. Mmmm. Feels so good."

Her ass was raised off the street as she crouched now and she continued  to lave his hardened cock. Her tongue wrapped itself around the head and she  flicked her tongue, like a serpent would, and felt his pleasure become her own.  Slowly, gratefully, she took his penis into her mouth, down her throat like some  piece of food. She was moaning and making gagging noises as she began to  take it deeper down her throat. This caused Hudson to grunt uncontrollably and  his hips began to buck automatically. The music from the dance club blared  down the street, the 80's pop music reaching their little enclosure in the alley  right by the parking lot. When the music began to pulse, and when it seemed  like sexually provocative rock, the girl began to devour his cock with intensity.

"Oaahh, fuck....aah God.." Hudson cried out, ready to burst.

He was going to pull out, as he was now set to ejaculate, but she again  stopped him with her hand, silently suggesting that she wanted him to cum in  her mouth. Hudson groaned and his big body shook as she swallowed his cum.  Afterward, she was silent, but yet satisfied, and she looked up at him and smiled.  Hudson composed himself, remembering he was sort of in public. Perhaps some  passing crowd had seen them. Perhaps not. It was too late to do anything about it.  It had been so naughty and so indiscreet but so fun.

The girl grabbed her purse which had fallen to the floor.    "I better go," she said, "it's getting late."

 Just like that, thought Hudson. But then again, it was to be expected.  The girl did not bother to tell him her name, eventhough he had when they had  met over drinks at the club. During their bumping and grinding sort of dance  she did not make much conversation. Hudson knew it was going to be like this.  He'd never see this girl again. And perhaps it was better that way. She might  spot him when he was on duty, she might blab in her air-headed way to some  person that she had given a cop a blowjob in public, a sort of thing that could  be mistaken for consorting with a prostitute, a thing that was indecent behavior  and the sort of thing a cop would put a stop to.    "So, listen," she said, as she was walking away down the dark  street, turning to look at him, " I....I come to this club now and then. Maybe  we might run into each other again. We can always talk if you want."

"No thanks," he said, "it's not....something I want to do."

She nodded as if she didn't care at any rate and walked down the street,  her beautiful body bathed in the glow of a street light.............

     TWO   It was not long afterward when Hudson, off-duty, was on his way  to visit the Music Professor he had befriended to talk about hooking up with a  girl, a student of his at New York University, and attending a piano concerto at  Carnegie Hall. He did not want to walk, or drive, the reason owing to the fact  he had a desire to familiarize himself with subways, bus stops and streets  which would help him as a cop. Hudson was glad he was out of uniform and  taking a much needed day off. He was wearing a small chain which hung over  his navel and his shirt was unbuttoned to reveal his hairy chest. His slacks were  dark and vintage. His hair had been slicked back. His good looks and good  clothes did not go unnoticed by the other women in the street as he approached  the subway. Some of them winked at him or smiled flirtatiously.

He felt like he could have strutted to the beat of "Staying Alive" like in the  opening scene to Saturday Night Fever. He was excited about meeting the girl  the Professor, whose name was Ezra Goldstein, Jewish, over 60. He told him  the girl was of mixed white and black blood, around his age, and absolutely  gorgeous. Hudson did not like that Professor Goldstein did not elaborate and  provide him with a more accurate description of the girl's body, other than "thin".  But to Goldstein, every young girl was "thin" and Hudson knew that not every  girl was built the same. Lord, no. Some had curves, bigger breasts, some had  cuter faces, some had accentuated behinds, some did not. The Professor was  so old fashioned that he did not bother to really strike up his interest in the girl's  physique. 

Why, he probably thought they'd care more about the opera and symphony. Not that he didn't' enjoy the arts, but he wanted to a partner who would also satisfy his sexual desires. It was something the Professor did not understand, coming from a different time, when men wore hats and ladies didn't smoke or wear pants and as he put it "men were men and dames were real dames". Hudson figured he was probably talking about the 1940's. The Professor had known many famous conductors and opera singers who frequented the Metropolitan Opera House. He was an old, white-haired, fragile man with only his memories to hold on to. His wife had passed away of lung cancer, having smoked herself to death. He had himself quit smoking thanks to Hudson's repeated advice against it. 

Hudson stepped into the subway, taking a seat next to a rather large, fat woman holding a baby that didn't stop crying. Normally, Hudson didn't mind hearing babies cry, but today he was a little on edge. His nerves were taut. Something was in the air and he id not know whether it was his growing excitement and impatience regarding meeting this girl or something else, something more sinister and unspoken. Another girl sat next to him on the other end. He did not bother to look into her direction. She had long blonde hair that flowed down her back and something about her, as absurd as it was (he was looking at her from behind) seemed oddly familiar. Even the way she breathed.....the way she was fidgeting with her lovely fingers.

As he was checking her out, the subway train made a stop. As some got up to exit, and as the doors opened, a commotion broke out. A man, wearing black, looking insane, fresh off an asylum or jail or something, stormed inside and wielded a gun. His eyes were dark and his voice was loud and angry:

"Everyone stay where you are. I'm taking this train and some hostages  and we'll wait until my little buddies come by."

Hudson's cop instincts kicked in right away. He realized this was  a dangerous man, decidedly a terrorist and his "friends" were terrorists to, here to highjack the subway. Hudson got up and looked at the man square in the eye.

"Look, buddy. You're not seriously thinking of doing this are you?"

"Why don't you shut the fuck up," he roared.

"I'm with the New York Police Department and I will call back-up  to arrest you and this is going to end right here and right now," Hudson said,  with a calmness, " no one is going to get hurt. Put down that gun. Put it down."

"Fuck you," said the man and his eyes darted everywhere.

His eyes were suddenly fixed on the beautiful blonde seated by the  overweight woman with the baby. He lunged at her and seized her suddenly in  a fierce hold. His hands were over her neck and he gripped her arms behind her  back. The girl screamed. Hudson nearly growled in a sudden fit of righteous anger.

"This girl is going to die," the man said, "now you're going to listen to me  or else you're responsible for this girl's death."

He had the gun to the girl's head and she was whimpering in fear. Everyone  aboard the train was frozen in their own fear, eyes locked on Hudson.

"Put the gun down" he said again, in the same calm voice.

"Shut up," the man said, "shut up".

The intensity of his voice was strange and it was almost a fragile thing. He was soon shaking and silent tears fell down his cheeks. He did not turn his eyes away from Hudson, who was staring him down and approaching him slowly.  When Hudson retrieved a handgun, the man dropped the gun and stood still, suddenly a different being than the one that had just barged in. He was like a lost boy, crying and helpless. The blonde girl, free from his grasp, walked toward Hudson and stood behind him.

"You aren't a terrorist, really are you?" Hudson said, "and there are no  friends that are coming, are there? And this was no high jack, was it?"

"No man. This was...I was...I need help...."

"Uh huh. Drugs? Issues? Are you homeless?

"What are you going to do with me?"

"You're coming with me, alright? I'm placing you under arrest."

The blonde who was now staring at him and smiling faintly became  familiar. She was the Canadian girl he had danced with at the club on Saturday  and who had afterward orally loved him.

"Thank you for saving my life, officer," she said, her smile becoming a grin.

Hudson felt awkward. He had not imagined he'd see her again and least of all  not imagined he'd be in a situation like this one. All eyes were on him and he  knew he couldn't be quiet for too long and look sheepish.

"Your welcome, ma'am" he said, taking on his cop voice.

Hudson grew to acknowledge that he had two voices. One was his laid-back, off-duty voice, where he could be himself, and his more grave-sounding, tough cop voice that was always no-nonsense and executive-sounding. He was glad that the girl did not say anything else. She got off the train and walked away, disappearing into the labyrinth that was New York City and this time he knew he'd never see her again.....................        THREE       Professor Goldstein's walk-up apartment was in a sedate  but working-class neighborhood in Brooklyn, a street that was lined with some  trees and there were mostly apartments spread out across the lane, as if  they were a row of sardines in a can. Hudson had driven to the Professor's  humble home many times, played poker with him, had drinks with him and  discussed his life and ambitions. Goldstein had not approved of Hudson's  decision to become a New York City cop, had in fact encouraged he take  courses at the college he taught and earn himself a degree in either music  or English. But much to the Professor's dismay, Hudson had opted to go  down a different path. Music was still the bond between them. Hudson  had become enamored with the opera and the symphony, and it was his  dream to meet a young and elegant woman who could share his passion,  and perhaps, the rest of his life.

Either this young woman the Professor had raved about was the one  or was going to be a disappointment. Curiosity had driven him here, and as  he knocked the lion-shaped door knocker, he took a deep breath, bracing  himself. Fall was nipping the air, and a cool chilliness soothed him. He was  sure the Professor would welcome him with tea (he was nuts with the tea, like  a British aristocrat) and some warm food and there would be a fire burning in  the fireplace. Hudson was always comfortable in the Professor's home, and  it had become second home over the years. But being an Italian, at least  by his mother's side, and a cop, and young, he did not want his peers to know  that he had a mentor, that he loved the opera and the music of Mozart and  Tchaikovsky, for fear of ridicule or the label of wussy or effeminate man.  When the door opened, the Professor smiled and lit up.

"Mr. Banach, good of you to come," he said, "and just in time.  I was just about to serve tea and fish and chips."

Ever since the Professor had visited London, he might as well have  become a citizen, having adopted British customs. Hudson noticed it was  precisely four in the afternoon, the traditional time for tea among the English.  He walked in, his tall, bulky build squeezing through the entrance, towering  over the little old man and following him into the living room. There by the  fireplace, her back to him, was a woman. She had long black hair that glistened  on its own, as if streaked in some kind of sheen. Her body was slender but  strong. When they approached the sofas, the Professor addressed the girl.

"We have company, my dear."

She turned to face them. Hudson was silent and awed as she slowly  turned and stared at him, her face soft but expressionless. She was  possibly the most beautiful female he had ever seen, and he had known  many beautiful girls all his life, each with a distinct quality of beauty, but this  girl was a goddess. She stared at him with a look of quiet superiority, almost  as if she was looking down upon him, but the look was neither one of cold  hauteur nor disdain. She was smiling and her face was glowing, and she  seemed pleased to see him, as if she had been waiting for him.

"Mr. Banach, this is Lexa O' Neil," the Professor said in casual tone.

The girl did not get up. Her eyes never leaving Hudson, she extended  her arm and her hand to him, offering it to him. He did not expect this gesture  and clumsily took her hand and shook it, never realizing for one second that  the girl had wanted him to kiss her hand.

"Please, call me Lexie," she said with a smile.    "Lexa is a beautiful, exotic name, wouldn't you agree, Hudson?"  Professor Goldstein remarked.

"I'm Hudson Banach," he said to her.

"Now, I really ought to leave you two alone while I get the tea"........

 The Professor did not return too soon and deliberately stalled  so that Hudson could chat with Lexa and get acquianted. Hudson appreciated  this move by his part, but he was feeling surprisingly insecure and shy, and it  baffled him. He had always known just what to say in any situation, to anyone,  and talking to beautiful women had never been hard for him. But this young  woman, so drop-dead gorgeous, so poised, so regal looking, made him feel  like a speechless schoolboy. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her. He was  mesmerized by the ambiguity of her. She was very petite, and slender, but  something about her spoke of strength and energy, invisible but palpable.  He felt as if she could kick his butt if he was another man, a crazy one, who  would attack her. There was a strange feeling that despite her femininity,  she had a lot of guts. Also, there was the matter of her bi-racial blood.  The Professor had said she was mixed white and black. She could have  passed for both. There was a "white girl" vibe to her and yet at the same time  a "black girl". Her sedate elegance was very white and classy, but there was  something in her cocoa eyes, her strong, quiet confidence and the tanness  of her skin that also suggested a "strong black girl" sort of attitude.


Vice Cop Ch. 01



"So, Lexie," he said, "you like classical music?"

She had been staring at the fire and when he asked this, she turned  to see him. She surveyed him with her eyes and looked as if she wanted to  laugh but held it in.

"Of course. Why else would the Professor invite me here as he  has invited you many times?" she said to him, matter-of-factly.

"It's just that...it's so hard to find a girl who appreciates the  symphony. Not any girl I know anyways. And the opera, you like opera?"

"I adore it. My mother sang for the Metropolitan Opera but that was years  ago before she raised a family."

"O, good, because I'd love to take you to the opera."

She looked at him and was silent. Those eyes. That knowing look.  What was it about her that captivated him? 

"It would be a pleasure, Mr. Banach," she said, cooly.

"Call me Hudson."

The Professor returned to the living room with a tray of tea and snacks.

"Ah, good to see you two talking. Let's have our tea and discuss  going the three of us to the piano concerto at Carnegie Hall next week.  Dear me is it four twenty already? I've delayed tea time for twenty minutes".....

    FOUR    Hudson had showered and shaved and was on his way  to the station when he witnessed a mugging. A slender black man, who  was dressed in ragged clothes and looked like he was possibly high,  snatched an old woman's hand bag and fled. The old woman was distressed  and began to cry, as if she were a little girl who had just been struck.  She fell to the street on her knees and wept.    Not even started my day and already have to do my thing, thought  Hudson, and sighed. He got out of his car and approached the elderly lady.  She seemed relieved to see him and gently took his hand as he helped her  up.     "Officer, you have to get him. I had money in there, my  social security card, photographs of my grandchildren. I - need -"

"Don't worry, ma'm, I'm on it."

Eventhough he was a big man, with powerful shoulders and body,  Hudson could run as if he were a champion marathon runner. In a matter of  seconds, he was scuttling down the street after the man, in the middle of a  sidewalk that began to get crowded with people on their way to work or other  weekday activities. The man lost his balance and fell against a mailbox.     "Gotcha" Hudson said.

He slammed the man against the mailbox and took out his cuffs.

"Hand over that purse. You're unde arrest. Is this what you do  for kicks? Just steal purses or what not?".

The man was silent and repressing his anger.

"I'm giving her back her bag and you're going to apologize to her."

"The hell I am. Stupid white women deserve what I do to them."

"You're going to have to shut up. Now apologize to the woman and  get in the car."..........................

When noon came and Hudson's stomach cried for lunch, he  decided he'd invite a fellow cop, Kyle, to lunch. He had just opened the  door and stepped inside the station when he saw a group of cops, all  male, applauding and staring at someone who was not visible in the crowd.  Hudson's eyes searched for the person who was being lauded but he  could'nt see a thing. Then he saw the Chief putting his hand over someone's  shoulder and smiling in a way he had never seen before.

"She's the newest member of the force and I'm asking all of you  to treat her as an equal. This force has never had a female cop and it was  about time. Truth is, she's quite a force in herself. She has already made  two arrests, which were difficult, involving child abduction, the man was  armed and another involving capturing a rapist. I'd like to welcome Lexa  O'Neil to the team."

Hudson saw her. It was the same classy beauty that had been  sitting at Professor Goldstein's living room and whom he had been thinking  about ever since. Hudson's jaw could have dropped easily. There she was,  in uniform, looking self-assured and prideful, and somehow more tough  in her uniform. But it was definately the same girl, and she was still quite  beautiful. The surprise was too big. How could she be a cop? How could  she have already done so well? This woman he had thought was an  intellectual beauty who enjoyed wining and dining and he had already begun  to have fantasies about. She had been on his mind since he met her.

Lexa was talking to the guys and receiving their hand shakes but  had not noticed Hudson. Hudson did not want to look like he was speechless  and surely his face would be noticed so he regained his composure.

"You haven't met our new girl, Hudson" said the Chief who had  approached him and put a hand on his shoulder, "come say hello."

They walked over to her and Lexa's eyes took in the Chief and smiled.  Then she caught sight of Hudson.

"This is Hudson Banach," said the Chief, "he's our star cop."

Their eyes met again.

 "It is a pleasure, Mr. Banach," she said with a sexy smile, "and  it's also very nice to know that I'm in the company of a magnificent cop."

To Be Continued...........



Vice Cop Ch. 02



Vice Cop: New York

* Previously on Vice Cop, we met Hudson Banach, a rookie cop in New York City who gradually becomes a star cop on his force. He is irresistable to women saves the day when he thwarts the attack of a psychopath on a subway train and meets the girl of his dreams when his friend and mentor,

Professor Ezra Goldstein introduces him to the gorgeous Lexa O'Neil. He later discovers that she is a new police officer in his force. The year is 1985......

It bothered him. It really did. Hudson could not believe that the very sexy and elegant Lexa O'Neil was now a fellow officer on the force. He felt somewhat betrayed. The Professor had not told him that she was a cop. Perhaps his anger had no real foundation and it was possible the Professor was not even aware that Lexa was with the NYPD. Outwardly, and when she was out of uniform, she looked ravishing, like a super model from Vogue. She was so feminine and like a goddess, that Hudson figured she could be the lady love of his dreams. For the longest time he wanted to find a perfect girlfriend he could later settle down with and marry. He would retire as a cop and have children as his Italian genes decreed and he envisioned a happy life with a woman who was good and stood by him. He'd be the envy of every cop in New York.

But from what he could see, Lexa was not at all a vulnerable, helpless beauty. Since her arrival at

the police force, Hudson did his best to avoid her. That first week they had nothing to say to each other and although she made eye contact with him and at times appeared as if she wanted to talk to him, he would walk away, letting her know

he was not comfortable around her.

Kyle Lennox, Hudson's best friend and fellow cop, noticed that there was something very fishy going on between them. He was in the dark about

them but sensed that Hudson was not ok with a woman being in the force. He had seen how they looked at each other and also noticed a tiny spark. He approached Hudson who was drinking by the water cooler at the station. It was early in the morning and Hudson was about to start his day and go on duty.

"Hey, Hud, you mind telling me what's going on with you lately?" Kyle said to him, point blank.

"What do you mean?" Hudson said, his eye brow raised.

"I mean about how you and Lexa look at each other. You are acting like you're in high school and you are sweethearts who are quarreling with each other."

Hudson laughed, and then became quiet so that others would not hear.



"Man, you gotta be kidding me," he told him, "are you implying that I like this girl? That's crazy. She and I barely know each other."

"I would not have guessed. By the looks of you two, you could pass as a couple who have been together for years. Is there something you're not telling me? Did you two do it already and you never called her and she's mad and now you're freaking out that she's a cop and working with the same force as yours?"

"You're way off. I never went to bed with her and

we just happen to know each other through an old friend of mine. He introduced me to her at his home and we were to attend a concert together. I'm just surprised this same girl is a cop."

"No one else has an issue with her being a cop. We've never had a female cop on this force but she's really good, man. She has done so much already. I heard the Chief say the Mayor himself wants to talk to her on public television.

She seems to have time to do little extra stuff as a public servant of the city and is always saving the day or something. Does it bother you that she's as good as you?"

"Hell no. Look Kyle, I'll appreciate it if you don't talk about it. You're jumping to a lot of conclusions and they're all untrue. I don't have a problem with her being a cop."

His friend gave him a funny look. Next to dark and handsome Hudson, who was decidedly more Italian in his features, Kyle Lennox was a blonde, very pasty of skin and with a slim, but strong build and yet a "softie, guy-next-door" type of face. Kyle also knew his friend better than he did himself.

"Look, maybe I'm a little worried about her. She's doing alright now and she is being praised and credited for terrific work but sooner or later she's gonna break. She's got to. She's a woman. Being a cop is tough and there's a lot of stress and pressure for those who can't really handle it. She knew what she got herself into. It's like getting herself into the army and being sent to oh, like Vietnam all over again."

"Hud, you sure can be pretty full of it sometimes," Kyle said and walked away................

    TWO

Neither of them had wanted to go to the concert at Carnegie Hall. Professor Goldstein had planned it for months and Hudson and Lexa felt an obligation to please the old man and go for his sake. In New York City, the world was bigger. All kinds of people from all over the world and from every walk of life lived in its expanse, often encountering one another and at times interacting.

If Hudson had discovered that Lexa was a doctor, he would have been ok with it and his feelings for her would have not changed as much. But she was a cop and he felt somehow emasculated. How could she be his partner for life if she was as

tough a cop as he was? As he dressed for his night out, he was spied on by his small sister Alyssa who found it amusing that he had his hair slicked back so neatly and how it glistened like a jet. She also found it just as amusing to see him not only out of uniform but in a penguin suit. Professor Goldstein had bought him

a tuxedo, much to Hudson's annoyance. He had only worn formal suits that looked like business suits but never a tux, except for the night of his high school prom. The tux was uncomfortable as he felt it did not fit him well and his muscular frame

could hardly be contained within it.

"You look like you're gonna get married, Hud," Alyssa said, joking,"who's the lucky girl?"

Alyssa had just turned thirteen and was already a smart-aleck. She was attending a local junior high and often joked about becoming a cop herself. Hudson did not like her joke and hoped to God she was not serious about it. It was enough

that Lexa was a cop. He would die of a heart attack if he knew that his own kid sister was a cop in the dangerous Big Apple.

"It's a date, silly," Hudson said to her, "and a blind date at that. A friend of mine hooked us up. We're going to Carnegie Hall for a piano concert."

"Why do they call it a blind date? I never got it. You're not going out with a blind person."

"It's a "mystery" date. You don't know who you're going out with until it's too late and I pay for dinner."

They both shared a laugh.

"Well I think it sounds like fun. I can't wait to go on a mystery date and pray it's Robby Benson, Patrick Swayze or -"

"Boy crazy already are ya? Well I don't want to hear about it. Go tell a girlfriend. Hey, weren't you supposed to be at a slumber party? At Myra's?"



"Myra's not my friend anymore so I wasn't invited and I don't care."

"Women," joked Hudson.

After putting on some cologne and preening one last time in the mirror, he was ready. He patted Alyssa's hair as he walked out the door.

"You take care of Mamma Banach," he said to her, "and hey, don't use the phone tonight. You're going to run up the bill and Dad will find a way to make you pay for it. You know how dad is. Before long, he'll stop giving you an allowance -"

"Well, I want to get myself a job at the mall," Alyssa said to him, " my best friend Vicki is doing that already and she's just starting high school."

"I think you should wait until you can drive first and focus on school, then you can find yourself a job that suits you."

"Well, Dad has not said anything so I figured it was ok but I guess I'll take it up with him. And Mamma. Well, you better go. Your mystery lady awaits."

    THREE

Hudson knew it was going to be a mistake and he prayed that time would fly and the night would be over soon. He was certain the date would not go well and that something will flash like a sign that he and Lexa were not meant to be together. He would be a perfect gentleman, of course, as he was raised to be one but he hoped that Lexa would see that he did not approve of her being a cop without hurting her feelings and that a relationship would only make things difficult at work. 

He was waiting for her, seated in his car with Professor Goldstein just outside his apartment, looking at his watch. The Professor had also given

him a gold pocket watch to compliment the tux and again Hudson felt he should not have done so. He was uncomfortable being showered with gifts. Goldstein was wearing a tweed jacket and slacks and for his usual attire for a symphony or opera, he was considerably underdressed. Hudson figured he had dressed in a hurry and at any rate, this night was not for him alone but for Hudson and Lexa.

"She is not the type of girl who is always late for something like this," the Professor said, "I know her. I'm sure something must be wrong and causing a delay."

Hudson was reflecting on his words "I know her."

"Professor, if you don't mind my asking, just how do you feel you know this girl? A pupil is not always going to be a professor's friend. I know we are but that's a different case."

"Is it, Hudson? You don't think I can make friends with other pupils of mine? Actually, there's a bit of a story to how I know Lexa."

"Do you mind telling me?"

"Not at all," the Professor said and began to speak in "storytelling" mode, "Miss O'Neil's mother was a great singer but unfortunately very underrated and never made it big in the world of opera. Her name was Katrina O'Neil. She was a beautiful black woman, statuesque and possessed the most beautiful voiceI've ever heard. Her lungs were iron. She had sung the Ring operas of Wagner by the age of twenty two and that's quite an accomplishment. She had studied in Europe and sung at La Scala, triumped at the Paris Opera and Covent Garden in London and she was all set to conquer the Met here in New York City when -"

He paused. He was speaking with a lot of emotion. Hudson wondered if he had at one time loved and had feelings for Lexa's mother Katrina.

"She ruined her own career with an affair with a married cop. She made it very public, too. It was considered very scandalous at the time. She fell in love with him and I have no idea why. From what I recall, he was a rather rude and arrogant Irishman. Lexa was the product of their affair. She had to take care of the girl and so her singing days were over, just when she was becoming famous. I don't approve of cops because

although they protect and serve the public, they are often arrogant because they wield authority, think they know better than everyone and they can be pretty -"

Hudson made a sad face.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot you were a cop for a moment."

If he only knew that Lexa, too, was a cop, Hudson thought. Like magic, she was there, her silver sequin gown glistening in the moonlight. Her

hair was arranged in a high French twist, showing off her beautiful neck and because the gown was sleeveless, her tan skin was exposed and looked so

delicious. She had on crimson lipstick and diamond teardrop-shaped earrings. Hudson's heart quivered, like the first time he saw her at the Professor's home. Instantly, he opened the door for her. She went inside and sat next to him

in the front passenger's seat.

"Good evening, Professor," she said to him, her voice once again tinged with that classy sexiness he had heard from her when she was "off duty".



"Good evening, Mr. Banach," she said to him without looking at him.

"My dear, you look absolutely beautiful," Goldstein said, smiling, "that gown looks like something your mother wore when she sang Tosca."

"Well, as a matter of fact it is. She loved the gown so much she was allowed to possess it. I altered the gown. Turns out my mother and I have the same build. Of course, she's much bigger now."

"How is your mother?" the Professor inquired.

"She is doing very well. She is teaching singing lessons privately and not that she has too but she enjoys doing it."

"And how's your father?"

"He just retired from being a cop," she said, and she looked at Hudson when she said that, " the NYPD has been good to him and he's done so

well for so long. I only wish that -"

Hudson looked at her then, briefly, but noticed a gleam in her eye.

"Wish what, my dear? Don't tell me you have a thing for cops like your mother had?"

The Profesor burst into a cheerful laugh. Hudson and Lexa looked at each other again. In their feelings of annoyance and perhaps even some

sense of competition, there was a slight sexual undercurrent. They both felt it but did not want to show it so they tried not to stare at one another for long.

"I don't care for every cop I see, Professor," she said, while looking directly at Hudson, "I think you're very right that some are full of themselves. They think that all women are helpless and need them around all the time.

I have experienced the toughest neighborhoods in New York City but I've learned that with good moral support, family values, and a sense of direction, one can do much on their own. It helps to be in fantastic physical shape and to

know how to defend one's self from assailants."

"My dear, you sound like a cop already."

"Well, Professor, it's something I have not wished to tell you because I know how much you dislike cops -"

"Tell me what?"

"Professor, haven't you figured it out?" Hudson interjected, somewhat angrily, "she's a cop! She is a cop like me. We're on the same force."



Lexa looked at him with a stern eye and then looked out thewindow of the car as they headed downtown where the lights sparkledlike myriad jewels in the night. The Professor did not say a word and no one was in the mood to say anything so they drove to the concert in awkward silence.........

   FOUR

On the program on Hudson's lap was wine he had spilled during intermission, which had been the most uncomfortable few minutes of his life. The Professor had not liked that Lexa was a cop, but for different reasons. While Hudson disliked that she was doing what had always been a man's job, the Professor hated that she, a student of his, a music lover, a beautiful and classy girl, had also become a cop, a field of work he did

not admire or appreciate. The intermission was filled with polite but deliberately superficial conversation. The night was warm and they spoke of the weather, which Hudson knew was the biggest sign that they were bored or trying to avoid talking about the issue of her being a cop. They spoke of how they were enjoying the music. The pianist was an Asian man and he had expertly played the Mozart Piano Concerto No. 21 in C Major

and nocturnes, waltzes and polonaises by Chopin. The Mozart piece and the lively Chopin dance tunes on the piano had lifted Hudson's spirits but

only for a fleeting period of time. After intermission, he knew that the night was going to feel longer than he had wanted it to be.

He had been sitting next to Lexa because ostensibly they were on a date so he could not sit anywhere else. He sat in the middle between

Lexa and the Professor. Lexa had not bothered to stare at him except during intermission and only a few times, as if to pass the time by just

glancing into his direction. Her face was expressionless. There was no way of knowing how she was feeling. She had a cold yet beautiful distant look about her, as if she was a princess visiting New York City and not giving away much about where she had come from. Hudson felt awed by

her beauty. Her breasts, especially, showcased in the low-cut neck line, were gorgeous and pert. Her body was so beautiful, so strong and yet so

feminine. He wanted to grab her by the hips, squeeze her hot ass, touch her breasts, arouse her, get her excited, get her to moan and fill her eyes with a gleam of passion. But he did not want her to know he was thinking these things so he did not look at her directly for long. 



Just what could she be thinking? If only he could read minds so he could read hers. She seemed more relaxed than he was, but she was clearly feeling something that he was sure pertained to him. The last part of the evening concert was under way. The Asian pianist, after receiving applause and took his seat, began to play Tchaikovsky's grand romantic First Piano Concerto with full orchestral accompaniment. After the great sweeping opening theme came a slower piece. The whisper-like and wistful slow movement had made Hudson drowsy. As he slipped into a state of brief slumber, he envisioned Lexa in the nude.

Her sequin gown had fallen to the floor in slow motion and a fire was burning behind her, softly but gradually increasing in force. Her tan skin

was glowing and matched the glow of the firelight. Her breasts were so perfect, her eyes were suddenly more vibrant and her face was finally legible. It was filled with distinct sexual desire.

"I want you," she said to him and she moved her index finger inthe come-here gesture, "come to me, Hudson. Come to me."

He saw himself in a sort of sexy pirate's costume, something he'd never even think of putting on even for fun; a puffy white shirt with long sleeves and dark tight slacks which apparently was turning her on and then he saw the costume disappear as if by magic and he was in the

nude. He felt as if he were watching a softcore porn movie. His back wasin front of the camera, and his great, high, round butt was showcased as

he approached Lexa. A close up of Lexa's eyes, then her high heels, which she apparently still had on. Closer he came, with sexual hunger gnawing

at him, his eyes with a fierce glow, his heart pounnding. 

Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto was now in the final movement andsomehow, the music became the soundtrack to his erotic fantasy. The brilliant waltz theme, fast-paced and exciting, filled his ears. He was now gently lowering her on to her back by the fire. Her legs were spread wide

and she wrapped them around him, pulling him toward her. He mounted her and reached down to cup her bottom and began to thrust into her.

As if really watching a film, they changed positions soon afterward and he was thrusting into her from behind, her body shivering and her orgasm finally achieved as he plunged his cock into her pussy from behind, while he cupped her breasts and kissed her neck fiercely. The hot flames was suddenly raised very high as they both orgasmed. 

"Hudson," she moaned, "Hudson, Hudson -"

"Hudson," said Lexa, snapping her finger to get him to wake up.

Hudson opened his eyes. He was staring at Lexa and the Professorwho regarded him with a puzzled expression. He noticed the music had stopped and people were already leaving their seats. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I must have dozed off," he said.

"You were also saying "Hudson, Hudson," Lexa said to him, "it was pretty funny and weird. God, how full of yourself are you?"

"That's not funny, Lexie," he said to her, " I'm just so tired. I made four arrests today and my feet were killing me earlier and -"

"I understand. Professor, if you don't mind, I'll walk home. My new apartment is actually not too far away from here."

"O, my dear, are you sure about that? Hudson can take you home after he drops me off at my apartment", the Professor said, agitated.

"No, really, don't worry about me. That goes for you Hudson. After all, I'm a big girl. And a New York City cop. I can take care of myself."

   FIVE

Lexa lived in a minuscule apartment in Queens. She was proud of it. She could not afford expensive furniture, a full bar (she loved alcoholic beverages), or even hope of inviting a guest since it was only one-room, but she embraced her independence with gusto. She loved that she was her own woman, making it as a cop in the big city. It was true that her parents




Vice Cop Ch. 02



were not especially happy for her with her choice of work, but she did not care. The Chief of Police held her in the highest esteem and she had already garnered a sort of fandom. She had rescued both men and women from gun-wielding and knife-wielding thugs, she had arrested drug dealers, child abductors and other kidnappers and long held the honor of the toughestyet most good-hearted woman cop in the Big Apple.

She walked toward her small kitchen and turned on the lights. She turned on her phone answering machine. The first message was from her mother, asking for money. The second was a voice she could not make out at first but then she recognized it as belonging to a man she had met at

a jazz club two nights ago, a young black man named Rodney. He was very good looking as she recalled but he seemed to be the sweet-talking playboy type and she wanted none of that. The third message was another man she had met, this time while at a police man's ball on a boat, a white man, who was possibly in his late 40's or perhaps even in his fifties, with dark blonde

hair and a strong build. He told her he was an architect and had worked on many additions to buildings in New York. He had asked her out on a date. She had not said neither yes or no but she felt that she did not want to go out with him. Something about him made her uneasy. It was possible he was married and wanted a fling. Her mother had always warned her to stay away from the sexy older men looking for a young plaything.

As she sighed and sat down on the couch, she wondered just whattype of man she would most like to fall in love with. There was a man, an ideal

man somewhere out there for her, a man who would mean everything to her. He had to be a big man in every sense, and one whose heart was just as 

big, a man unlike any other. She realized that if she put him on a pedestal and idealized him too much, he'd never become a reality. So far, however, she had not met any man that had captured her heart. Or had she?

Hudson had gradually come to occupy her thoughts. In a subtle way, she had memorized his face, his muscles, his mannerisms, his voice. She would close her eyes and he would be there. She felt an instant tingling sensation, like tickling, in her intimate parts. How had he managed to make

her want him like this? No man had done that to her. She realized it was unbelievable, considering the fact he did not like her being a cop, and was either jealous, insecure or too much of a sexist to even appreciate what she was doing. He should not be in her mind, he should not figure in her fantasies. He had not proven himself yet. He had only proven that he was a macho guy who did not want her around in the force. And still, she thought of him and longed for his embrace, much more than his embrace.

Lexa suddenly felt dirty, as if literally dirt had been thrown over her. Hudson had been a sort of quiet jerk. Yet, she wanted him bad. She walked

to the bathroom and she decided she'd have a nice, slow bubble bath. She had recently bought scented candles and she lit them, their glow warm and bright. She ran the bath and slowly stepped into the tub. The night air was hot, uncomfortably hot, or maybe it was she who was becoming hot and sexually aroused. She closed her eyes. How to purge herself from this feeling? How to find release from her sudden sensual bombardment? 

Closing her eyes, she envisioned Hudson, in uniform, powerful, authoritive, sexy, with his short black hair glistening as if it had been polished and he was wearing dark sunglasses or shades, adding a coolness to him. She was completely nude and he had her handcuffed, as if he had just arrested her in this condition. He was breathing down her neck and arousing her,

physically guiding her down a dark hall and into a bedroom. She felt as if she were watching a porn film from the 1970's. On her hair was an afro, and a long pearl necklace hung on her neck and dangled over her breasts. The film looked dated and the color was somewhat faded. 

"Public nudity is your thing, huh?" Hudson said to her, his voice heavy with lust, as he stared at her up and down.

"Officer please," she heard herself say in a voice that was definately not her style, "please lemme go. I ain't done nutin that nobody

waz complain' about. Come on, offizuh, gimme break."



"Shut the hell up, bitch," Hudson roared, " you broke the law now you're gonna pay. But there's nothing wrong with a little fun before you

go to jail. In fact, if you do what the nice officer says, you can get away with it scot-free."

"What, what do ya want me to do, offizuh?"

"Well since you're already in the nude, and there's a big bed right there, why don't we have a little fun."

"No, please, offizuh, offizuh -"

"Do you want to go to jail, bitch? Huh, do you?"

"No."

"Alright then. Just do what I say. On the bed. I'll handcuff you to the brass posts."

She complied and she tried to relax, but she was whimpering and sobbing.The bed was in the middle of the room in the semi-darkness, and there was no

furniture to be seen. A small window was visible and red lights from the city hummed and glowed, casting a small reddish glare into the room. She was on the bed and Hudson handcuffed her to the posts. She was sprawled on thewhite sheets. The bed looked dirty, used. A music, funky, hypnotic, played and it was getting louder. Lexa knew she could open her eyes and stop this wild fantasy from being finished but she did not want to.

"Spread those legs for me, yeah, that's it, like that," Hudson said.

He began to take off his uniform, quickly, briskly, and it fell to the floor. He looked so huge, his 40 inch chest heaved with his breathing and he had a matt of hair on it. He was nude and his cock was becoming erect. She looked at it

and became hysterical. It was melodramatic and not her style but she realized fantasies were often about doing something never done before or behaving quite differently than in real life. And that's why it turned her on beyond belief.

"I'm a good girl offizuh, I was just parading nude for a cause, to make a point at the university - "

"Didn't you hear me say shut the fuck up. So besides being a nudist youre a god damn dirty hippie? Finger yourself now, you heard me.

Take your fingers and fuck yourself for me. I'll take off those cuffs for a moment. I gotta watch this."

Crying, she began to do it, quickly, her nimble fingers sliding in and out of her hairy pussy. She was writhing and moaning, sweat pouring

down her forehead. She began to bounce on the bed as she did this. Hudson licked his lips as he observed her while she masterbated. It was

forced, and she did not seem to like it, but the erotic intensity of it wassurging through his veins like lava and making him very aroused. She

threw her head back, producing breathy cries and moans, tears flowing down her cheeks. It went on for a few minutes, her fingers digging inside

her wet, tight pussy. She was having an orgasm and Hudson's cock became bigger.

He put the handcuffs back on her and he was now on the bed with her. He took her fiercely by the neck, as if he was about to choke her. His breath was again on her neck. She threw her head back against him and slowly arched her back. He took her by the hips and slid his cock into her pussy from behind, doggy style. He grinned.

"That's right, moan for me. You're mine, you hear? Mine. You're my fucking bitch now."

He thrust his cock into her, using his hips to grind against her behind. With each thrust, she became more and more responsive, though she was

still in a state of wild frenzy, as if she were being violated. His balls slapped against her and she felt as if she was being hammered and drilled. His cock was huge and it hurt as he delved it deep into her pussy. He took her by the

neck and kept his hand there as he fucked her hard, his thrusts increasing in speed. The slapping sound echoed in the room and she was crying in mixed pleasure and pain.

"Oaahh, offizuh, offizuh," she cried out, her afro nearly falling off.

"Call me Hudson. And now brace yourself. I'm not done with you."

She was wet and her body was coated in sweat. Hudson removed his dark sunglasses and she finally saw his face. His eyes were burning with

malice and erotic flames danced in his pupils. She cried out, as if horrified and tried to leap out of the bed, but she had forgotten about the handcuffs.Hudson took her by the arms and kissed down her neck and then armsin a passionate and strong manner, using his tongue. Downward he went,

his mouth laving her flesh and his hands now on her pussy. He covered her wet pussy in his hands. She writhed against him.

"You're so tight, baby."

He fingered her quickly, much more intensely than she had done to herself and he was grunting and breathing hard, matching her own panting. She was cumming in no time, owing to the intensity of his fingers fucking her pussy. She screamed suddenly as he clenched his hand into a fist and inserted tha fist into her pussy. She felt as if she would black out...........

Lexa had been fingering herself in the bath tub and became aware that it was past midnight. O, God forgive her. She wanted Hudson like she needed

oxygen. But she could not let him know. He'd find some way to belittle her. He'd use it against her. O, why did she want him so? She finished her bath and was tired and ready to fall asleep, hoping not to dream of that man......

    SIX

Damn. Damn her, Hudson thought, as he tossed and turned in bed. He had just awoke in the early morning hours after having another intensely

sexual dream involving Lexa. He could not get her out of his mind. She was figuring in his dreams at night and in his thoughts during the day.

He was just glad he never got to see her on duty. It would make things very difficult for him. Something else he was having a hard time dealing with was the fact she looked so hot with her uniform on as she did wearing anything

else. That uniform fit her body tightly and showed off her body just as the sequin gown she wore to the concerto had. This woman was too much.

He wanted to stop thinking about her. It was just an infatuation, wasnt it?

He pushed thoughts of her aside as he shaved and brushed his teeth. He looked at the small clock on the bathroom sink. It was five fifty.

He might as well get up and get ready for his day. Kyle had been promoted and was going to become a vice cop. This surprised Hudson because it meant he had not been progressing as well as he thought he had. Kyle,who was shy but dependable, had already achieved a position which Hudson had always dreamed of. Kyle was assigned to work within New York City and he had been one of the cops interviewed on TV along with Lexa with

the Mayor.

Damnit, what's wrong with me, Hudson thought. Was he so distracted by Lexa that he was not even doing his own job right? Suddenly while looking

at himself in the mirror and visualizing Lexa next to him in the nude, he felt all of a sudden a feeling of frustration. Enough. He was going to talk to Lexa and tell her just how he felt. The date had gone bad. The Professor must have

known it too. Neither of them had said much and he had slept during the concert. He decided he'd tell the Professor he preferred other types of girls, like ones that were not cops.

He would tell Lexa that he felt he could not stand it anymore and needed to leave the force. Maybe he'd go to Miami, where his Uncle Vittorio,

his mother's brother, was now living. He had bought himself a nice home by the beach, married a woman and was apparently living it up. He wanted

to see if possibly Miami, Florida was the perfect spot for him to become a vice cop or even better, a bounty hunter, depending on his progress. Yes, that was the solution. If he was down south in Florida, far from New York and Lexa, he'd

forget about he soon enough and she would not fill his dreams or thoughts. Maybe he'd find a nice girl in Florida that was not a cop...........

His day was pretty much the same. Too many cars parkedin handicapped zones when the driver was clearly not disabled, too many speeding vehicles, too many suspicious looking youngsters here and there,an unleashed dog and his owner who was careless, a woman dressed in a micro miniskirt and tight top and too much makeup indicating that she was a hooker and so on and so on. How he managed to put up with dullroutines he felt was explained by his love for serving the public and helping to uphold the law. But something else was driving him. Hudson waited for the day he could do something uber-heroic and make news. He'd catch a big-time jewel thief, a Mafia icon or hit man for the Mafia, or a deadly assassin. He would catch a psychotic serial killer. He longed to be more than just a cop in a car in a dark blue uniform. He wanted to be a sort of bounty hunter

or secret agent. All of these ambitions were fueled by his imagination as a young child, owing to the stories both his father and uncle told him. He wanted to be the heroic man who rescued the damsel in distress, he wanted to be James Bond, always slick and smooth, always saving the day and defeating the enemy.

As he pondered the seemingly hopelessness of his situation, he spotted a male Hispanic, dark hair and brawny, collecting money from a blonde girl he could not see clearly. He was also giving her a bag of what looked like cocaine. O, brother, here we go, thought Hudson. Another pimp and prostitute and their drugs. He pulled over and sounded the car alarm.

"Do not attempt to flee, stay where you are," he said over his loudspeaker.

But the blonde girl darted down the street and escaped. The bronze-skinned man remained on the street, none too pleased. Hudson stepped out of his car and approached him. He had a mustache and dark curly hair that looked like a sort of cap on his head and he had some warts on his skin. He looked to be about forty and plus. His eyebrows were bushy. He smelled of nicotine.

"You're under arrest. Hand over that bag and was that young girl who just ran off, she your hooker?" Hudson said.

"Look, man, I'm not a pimp. Yeah, she does that stuff but I'm not her pimp. I think she does it for kicks," he said in a heavy accent.

"Oh, is that so? And how would you know that? What were you doing? Were you her john then?"

"Look, I was selling her that bag of cocaine. I hate cops so that means I hate you. You can arrest me if you like but I can promise you

you won't keep me locked up for long. You don't know how powerful I am."

"You talk a big deal, now hands behind your back. What's your name, son?"

"Leo. And I'm probably the biggest arrest you'll ever make.Trust me, man, you haven't seen the last of me."

   SEVEN

When he arrived at the station the next day he ran into Kyle and Lexa. They were both having their morning cup of joe and talking, smiling. Uggh. Both of these together. They had already outranked him in some way. They both looked at him and smiled as he drew near. They were standing

by their parked cars in front of the station. The skies were grey and cloudy. A chill nipped the air. Typical cold New York morning. Maybe in Florida he'd wake up sweating and that would be nice, to wake up sweating from heat and not sexual heat provided by fantasies he no longer wanted to have, of Lexa.

"Morning Hudson," Kyle said, "how are ya, buddy? You look like hell. Not able to sleep last night?"

Lexa looked at him. Hudson sighed and looked at Kyle coldly.

"No, man, just had to fight off bugs on the bed," he said, "listen, did the Chief mention anything about my last arrest? I was going to hear from

him because he mentioned going to his office but he didn't bring it up again. Did you see him yet?"

"No. He hasnt said anything about you. What arrest?"

"This drug dealer. Name of Leo. A Columbian man. He's been imprisoned.He's a notorious in Columbia. They call him Diablo Rojo, Red Devil.

He covered up for his drug empire by his other job - coffee business. He has many supporters in Columbia, including some government types.

Corrupted types. The Chief was proud of my catching that guy but thereis concern that he -"

"Oh, that guy!" Kyle said.

"If it's the Leo I heard about in last night's news," said Lexa, "then he's escaped. No sooner had he gotten to the prison that he somehow made

an escape. He killed a few officers that tried to restrain him. He got on a private plane and they say he's in Miami where he has a house and where

he distributes the drugs."

"I need to talk to the Chief," Hudson said and walked into the station. .........

   EIGHT

"Yeah," said the Chief, " this is the guy we're looking for. New York Police can't do a thing about it now unless he has the nerve to show up in the city again. From what we have heard, he's hiding somewhere in Miami, eluding the authorities. Banach, I've spoken with the Mayor and he has this great plan for the benefit of our officers. A select number of cops will move on to "vice cop" position. Kyle has already been selected but he opted to stay in New York City, on account of his new girlfriend. She was in here a minute ago, getting coffee. Ah, here she is. 

Miss Candy Spears."

Hudson's eyes nearly fell of their sockets in surprise. It was the blonde vixen, the Canadian girl whom he had danced with at the club quite some time ago, before he ever me Lexa, who had given him oral pleasure in the alley near the club. She was wearing a strangely conservative

blouse and long skirt, with jacket, and she was wearing glasses. She looked beautiful but something was not right. How could she be Kyle's girl? How had they even met? Hudson knew he had no right to feel so jealous or possessive of this girl. The blowjob had meant nothing and he had no claim over her the way Kyle did as he was now her boyfriend. He was just filled with the sense that there was something suspicious and dangerous about

this girl who had obviously done a dirty deed with him and now was looking like a librarian who wouldn't dream of giving a blowjob to anyone.

"I'm sorry for interrupting," she said, her eyes on Hudson, "Kyle told me that I might find Officer Banach in here."

"That would be me," Hudson said.

"What do you want, my dear?" Chief said to her.

"I have information regarding the Leo fellow. He is in Miami. He is living in my sister's boat house. They're lovers. My sister has no idea about

his being a drug dealer. I can take you to him."

"My God, this is great. What a small world. But why didn't you tell Kyle? Why does Banach have to do this," Chief said.

"Kyle told me he was the man for the job. Kyle has not been feeling well. He hurt his knee playing tennis with me a few days ago. He's been too proud to admit he got hurt and has been coming to work and hidden his injury."

"I see. Well, Banach, you and this girl ought to get moving. If you come back with this Leo we'll have him in a New York state prison and you'll be promoted to Vice Cop."

Lexa walked into the office. "Hudson," she said, her voice firm, "we need to talk.".............

They stepped outside the station and were standing in front of his car, which owing to the fact too many cars had filled the lot, was parked on the street near a grove of trees and the side of a freeway. The skies were grey and the air was

chilly.

"Hudson, what is your problem?" Lexa said, her cocoa eyes fixed on him.

"Pardon me?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"You seem to have a problem with me, " she continued," It's been going on since I arrived at the force. You gotta let me know what you're feeling."

"What the hell are you talking about Lexa?"

"Cut the crap, Hudson. You know it. I know it. You have an issue with me being a woman and a cop. You met me at Professor Goldstein's home and you had on a different face that first time. Then when you saw I had joined the force, you began to avoid me, you had this look in your face like you were walking on hot coal."




Vice Cop Ch. 02



"Alright, so what do you want me to say? That I'm a sexist pig and you want me to apologize. Are you one of those femi-Nazi feminists, you can't be happy until you've cut out every guy's balls. You wanna make me feel like I ought to make up for feeling this way? Well you don't know me. I do have a problem with a woman being a cop. I was raised to believe a man had to protect women and that women have to be taken care of. You on the other hand, are taking up a man's job and you will find that eventhough everyone's being fair with you, deep down they are probably all thinking like I do."

"You're a jerk you know that? You couldn't be more wrong. Everyone respects me here and this is my second family and home. You are the only one with the problem. I want to let you know that I don't care what you think and there's no way you're going to get rid of me."

"Well, I don't care what you think either. It's such a shame. You're so beautiful. You're so classy. You are taking over male territory and no real man will ever want you for a wife, lover or -"

"You're an asshole!" she shouted, "Get out of my face. I don't want to talk to you again. You can tell the Professor you and I have nothing to do with each other anymore and that he can forget about going to the symphony with me. I don't ever want to see you or the Professor. He thinks the same way you do. That women are defenseless little kittens. The 90's are coming, Hudson. It's a time when women can do whatever they want and stand on equal grounds with men. If you can't accept the changing times, then I feel sorry for you."

"I feel sorry for you, Lexa. You're going to get hurt one of these days. Don't come crying to me saying I was right all along. You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"I know exactly what I'm doing. I can take care of myself. I don't need a prick like you telling me what I should or should not do. You're full of yourself and you're a sexist bastard."

"God you must really need a man badly. That's your real problem. Maybe... maybe women do it for you?"

She slapped him, stinging the side of his face. Hudson covered his cheek with his hand and his face was red.

"I hate you, Hudson Banach. And I never want you to speak to me again."

"You won't have to. I'm going to talk to the Chief regarding a change of pace. I'll be out of this small force and doing what I've always dreamed of doing, bounty hunting work or secret agent work. You can stay on the force till you grow old and die. I have other plans."

"Well I hope those plans involve growing up. Goodbye Hudson."

Before she turned away, she gave him a sad look and her sweet, gorgeous face caused his heart to ache.

As she walked away, her slap still stinging him, he felt overcome with sadness. He realized he had hurt her feelings and he had never before offended or deeply hurt a woman like that. He felt a sense of shame and unhappiness. Maybe there was truth in her words. Maybe he had not realized how much of a jerk he had been. But just as he began to ponder this, the blonde girl who had become Kyle's girlfriend, Candy, who had given him that incredible blowjob, walked up to him in a slow manner, swaying her hips, the sound of her heels filling his ears. She put a hand on his shoulder.

"Poor woman. She's too much of a bull dyke at heart, I'm sure. She can't recognize a real good man when she sees one. She shouldn't have slapped you like that."

"Ah Jees, you saw that? Look, she and I are nothing. We aren't even dating. We went out on one date to the symphony but it was arranged by a friend of mine. It didn't work out."

"She's stupid not to respect you."

"I could use more respect."

"She's so foolish. She will get herself killed like you said."

"May I ask where Kyle is?"

"Kyle?"

"Yes. You're boyfriend and my best friend. Where is he? I haven't seen him in days. Is he alright?"

Candy Spears did not respond and she had a far off look, as if she were having a memory......

She loomed over Kyle's bleeding body in his apartment, dimly lit, a few streaks of sunlight streaming through the venetian blinds. She had no expression in her face, as if the act of murder was a bodily function and her blue eyes were cold. She touched him, feeling

his chest as if to ensure he was dead. There was no pulse, no heartbeat, and he was

motionless, his blood leaking on the wood floor. 

It was not the first time she had killed someone. To please her female lover, Marina, a Russian woman, she had killed an old lady in Florida by slitting her throat and then dumping the body at the beach after midnight, making it look like the old woman had washed ashore dead. Now, as she looked at Kyle lifeless at her feet, she felt a sense of pride. Marina would be proud of her. She made it look like Kyle had injured himself in

his own apartment, had been drinking heavily and hit himself against an armoire. Empty

beer bottles were sprawled everywhere.

Kyle was such a fool to think that she truly loved and cared for him. She felt like an expert actress in the role of the new girlfriend. Marina would be proud. She had killed a cop. Marina hated cops, almost as much as she herself did.........

Candy's distant gaze faded away and she looked at Hudson, smiling.

"I'm sorry, I was distracted," she told him, "You were asking about Kyle? Since his injury during our tennis match I haven't heard from him."

"You mean he hasn't called you or anything?"

"No. It's very fishy isn't it?"

"That's not like Kyle. And it's not like Kyle to miss work so much when this job means so much to him."

"I'm sure he'll turn up soon."

She put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry about that Lexa. She probably wishes she'd been born a man. Remember our little scene at the club that night? I'd be happy to pleasue you again whenever you'd like."

"But...you're Kyle's girl...he's my best friend."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him. It will be our little secret."

"Lexa, I'm not like that. I can't do that to my best friend. I have ethics, morals, principles. How can you even think of doing this? Sure I loved what you did to me that night but I had no idea you'd turn out to be my best bud's girl."

"Fine. But if you change your mind, you let me know."

She walked away, swaying her hips seductively, raising her head proudly and looking back at him and giving him a flirty wink.

Hudson realized this girl will be trouble. What a tempting little vixen she was. He'd have to be careful. It was going to be difficult working with her. The Chief had assigned them a mission to go to Miami and seek out Leo. It was strange that Candy's sister was Leo's lover. It was too much of a coincidence and Hudson's cop brain sensed there was something very wrong about it, as if there was more to the story, more than met the eye. Something that involved Candy herself. But what? There was no way of knowing..............

The news had shocked everyone on the force. Kyle Lennox was dead. He was found dead in his apartment by Candy Spears, who became nearly hysterical with grief. Apparently,he had a big fall after having drunk himself silly. The autopsy reports proved this was right as they found alcohol in his body and the bruises seemed to indicate a struggle, as if he had stumbled and tried getting up and bled to death. 

But when Hudson heard of this, he smelled foul play. There was nothing to confirm his suspicions. Kyle had been alone, and Candy had found him, so no one had been in the apartment with him. But it was so strange. Kyle had never been a big drinker or binged on alcohol. The Chief believed he had some unknown problem he had not told anyone and in a state of severe depression, consumed a lot of alcohol. Hudson did not know what to think. It was so sudden. The funeral came and went, and Hudson mourned the loss of his best friend. Kyle had graduated with him from the Academy and they had both started off as rookie cops together. They had bonded over talk of cars, women, vacation destinations and had been very close friends for a long time. And now this.

Candy had come to the funeral but she shed silent tears and tried not to make conversation with anyone, asking everyone to leave her alone to grive in her own way. Lexa was there, too but in light of their recent confrontation, Hudson had avoided her gaze as she had done. Staring at Kyle's face in the coffin, Hudson felt like life was a big injustice. He was not even thirty years old.......

The Chief called Hudson and Candy to his office. He was reading some documents and stood looking at a map as they walked in. 

"Hudson, Miss Spears, it's time for your assignment. I will keep in touch with you via this communication device and send back-up by contacting Miami police after informing them

of your mission."

"All this sounds very dangerous, sir, I'm honored that you think I'm cut out for it," Hudson said, smiling.

"I think you're the right man for this, Hudson. Now Miss Spears -"

"Yes?" she said, looking up at him.

"Here's a map of Southern Florida and of Miami, metro areas and so forth. Where precisely is this Leo character and his girlfriend, your sister? Is it possible that they can escape

to another location in Florida?"

"He owns a houseboat in Miami. I know the exact address so you need not worry about that. But if you'll just let me take Hudson to the boat, he can make the arrest there. He can't go in there without me. She's my sister. She'll see me first and then Hudson can do his thing."

"Miss Spears, you don't know how valuable you've turned out to be. And again, my condolescence about your boyfriend Kyle."

"It has been hard for me but I must move on," she said.

The Chief and Hudson looked at each other as if thinking the same thing. What an odd thing to say about her own boyfriend who had not died but a week ago.

"You two must fly to Miami early tomorrow morning. Good luck to you both."......

To Be Continued.........



Vice Cop Ch. 03



Previously on Vice Cop, Lexa finally confronted Hudson regarding his issue with her being a New York police officer. They are attracted to one another and at the same time angry with each other. When a notorious Columbian drug lord named Leo escapes from prison, Hudson seizes the opportunity to catch him and move up to the status of Vice Cop. The blonde femme fatale Candy Spears has murdered Hudson's best friend and fellow cop Kyle Lennox, without anyone knowing about it. The Chief sends Hudson and Candy on a manhunt in Miami for the arrest of Leo after Candy says that Leo is her sister's boyfriend and she knows where they are hiding. The time is the 1980s. 

*

ONE

Miami Beach, Florida, just before dawn

Marina Brazilova or as she was known in the world of Columbian organized crime, Marina Brazil, stood with her head held high, her fiery red hair swept by the ocean breeze as she looked over the side of the Endeavor 42 sailboat that she and her lover, Leo Mendoza called home. In the Miami dawn, a fog cleared over the marina and little by little many sailboats became visible. The sound of power boat engines, sea gulls and the quiet roar of the sea filled Marina's ears, before she heard a deep masculine voice in a Spanish accent behind her.

"Marina, get over here."

It was Leo, who now appeared on the deck of the boat, wearing only leopard skin underwear. She turned to see him without any change in her face and walked over to him, as if a magnet was pulling her to him. She knew what he wanted. It was written all over his face. In his dark eyes were lust and desire for her as he checked her out from head to toe. Marina Brazil had been a super model in St. Petersburg, Russia, but she fell in with the wrong crowd, lured by her love of money and thrills. When she came to America as a mail-order bride, she found that it was not going to be a charmed life with the man who had married her. He was an overweight New Yorker from the Bronx who worked in a shoe store. He smoked way too much, kept a very filthy home and physically abused her in private. Marina's first kill was that first American husband. Before cops and detectives could trace her, she fled to Miami, Florida where she met Leo Mendoza. He was no better than the brute from Bronx but he was making a fortune in illegal drug trafficking, prostitution, gambling and illegal pornography. He hailed from Columbia and had powerful friends there. He was immensely rich and she found that she was a lot like him, ruthless and materialistic.

Marina was wearing only her nightie; a see-through, gossamer white slip that showed off her smooth, white, sexy legs. When she came up to Leo, he pulled her roughly to his chest, crushing her own breasts in a fierce and tight embrace. His mouth covered hers in a passionate kiss and his tongue slipped into hers, making her moan under her breath. In a swift motion, his hand tore a straight line down her nightie which fell down on a pile on the deck. He produced a low, guttural cry and swept her up with his arms, carrying her down the stairs to the bedroom.

She was wearing red thong panties and the sight of them, especially from behind, made Leo's cock hard instantly. Marina knew he was not in the mood to make love and she would not get the pleasure of foreplay first. He was hard, his blood was racing and she knew it would be fast, hard and quick. Leo had only made love to her the way she liked, slow and attentive to her own desires, only when things were looking good and they were richer than the year before. But lately, they were both anxious and fearful that their narco empire and the good days would soon collapse as cops, bounty hunters and detectives were getting closer to catching them. The authorities were on to them, especially after the murders.

Leo did not wait till they had reached the bed. Instead, he roughly hurled her against the side of a sofa, causing her to cry out. Seizing her by the throat, he spread her legs from behind and slapped her ass, making her scream and write against him. Quickly, he removed his underwear. With one hand, he pushed aside her thong panties. She was panting, and this made him wild with desire. His erect cock began to rub against her butt cheeks. His hands moved away from her throat and over her head as he slammed her head down on the couch, again making her cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. 

She shut her eyes tight. Leo grunted, his voice choked with animal passion. He inched his cock into her anus slowly, allowing her time to realize it was anal sex he was after. She moaned as she felt his cock moving deeply into her anus and she held on to the pillows of the couch. His thrusts were fast and hard, and their breathing became ragged. Outside the sun was coming up and Marina felt the first rays of light streaming into the port holes of the boat. After a few minutes, she was cupping the side of his face and feeling her orgasm build up along with his. His thrusts were so hard it hurt her and he fucked her ass until they were both spent and his cum was inside her. They were sweating and breathing hard, suddenly silent after it was over.....

* * * *

They were both drinking beer and lounging on the deck of the boat in the warm sunlight. Marina was wearing a colorful head rag which circled her head and tied under her chin. Because the sunlight was already so intense on the beach, she was in jet-black sunglasses. Leo was put his beer down and grinned at her.

"You never told me how you met Candy Spears," he said to her.

Marina looked at him as if scrutinizing him. 

"Have you been ogling that girl?" she said to him.

"It's hard not to look at her," Leo replied, "She's a hot young thing."

"She was dancing at a club down here in Miami. She had come down from New York. She lost her virginity to me."

Marina turned her face away, staring into the piers of Miami, her mind focused on a memory. Leo lit up a Cuban cigar and looked at his golden Rolex watch, this item matching his beige shirt which was open to his navel and showcased his chest and chest hair.

"She loves me, or she's convinced of it," Marina went on, "and we became very close. Sometimes I sense she wants to go off and do her own thing, like she doesn't want any part of our world. But she always comes back to me. She loves the thrills."

"I'll say. Didn't she kill all those cops?"

"You can say we're a team. I order the murders and she carries them out. And it wasn't just cops; she killed people she felt were getting too nosy about our life."

"So where is the little cutie now?"

"She was in New York City, trying to keep up the appearance she was doing well, just for a show for her parents. She's coming back to Miami with a little treat."

"What are you planning to do?"

"You remember that pig cop who arrested you in New York, that Hudson Banach?

"Yeah, I hate that guy's guts."

"You're going to get to eat his guts. I sent Candy on a mission to get him here where we're going to kill him."

"Sounds like fun. I'd love to knife that Italian cop bastard."

"And we can have sex over his corpse if you want."

They laughed simultaneously and gleefully as they returned back inside the boat.

TWO

Hudson had always wanted to visit Miami ever since he fell under the spell of "Miami Vice". He never missed an episode and he longed for the same kind of thrilling escapades as the ones Sonny Crockett and Rico Tubbs experienced; chasing after the no-good drug dealers, corrupt politicians, murderers, Mafia men, sex slave traders and other scum. The glitz and glamour of the upscale but seedy world of southern Florida excited Hudson immensely and he yearned to be an undercover cop in that hot, seaside city. Borrowing the fashions of that TV show, he dressed in a somewhat dressy white shirt; sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and donned black Ray-Ban Wayfarers. His slacks were also white and of a light fabric. He had bought a stylish corvette about a year ago in New York and he noticed how his imitation of Sonny Crockett was pleasing the ladies.

It certainly pleased Candy Spears, who was staring at him like a piece of man meat. Hudson couldn't keep his eyes off of her. He assumed that she had at one time lived in Florida because she was dressed for warm weather; a gossamer white dress, the top forming a perfect V, showcasing her breasts. The little dress looked a lot like the sexy white dress worn by Marilyn Monroe in the famous Subway Scene in "The Seven Year Itch". On her neck was a small pendant and she was wearing sandals, a pair of Ray Bans and a large light yellow straw hat with streamers that tied under her chin.

"You look amazing," Hudson said to her.

They had arrived in Miami. The sun was beginning to heat up over the beach city and in the morning hours, traffic began to form in the broad streets. Hudson had immediately rented a car, a black jeep and they were on their way to a hotel where they would stay for the remainder of the mission. Candy's blonde hair waved flag-like in the breeze. She smiled at him as a response to his compliment, looking like she was used to getting these types of compliments from men all the time.

"I don't think there's a need to hurry, Hudson," she said, "You know, I really think we ought to take the time we have in Miami to get to know one another."

"It's unavoidable," Hudson replied, "but we will stay focused, as tempted as I am to take you out every night and explore this city with you."

Although Hudson did not like that she appeared to have gotten over Kyle so quickly, and he felt it odd that she could forget her boyfriend had been murdered and move on; he was drawn to her, at least physically. Perhaps she was right. Here they were in Miami, they were both young and attractive, they were on a dangerous mission and the excitement of it all was like watching himself in a cop show on TV. Hudson felt like his fantasies were coming true. He was with a beautiful blonde, he felt sure he'd get the bad guy and it would all be one big adventure in the end. At least Candy was not a cop. She behaved like the types of women he liked and was lead to believe were right for him.

Hudson thought of Lexa O'Neil. She was in New York City and probably heard the news of his mission to catch Leo in Miami like the rest of the force. The Chief was notorious for letting everyone in on what was going on. He recalled their big fight. He was sure he had hurt her feelings and wounded her pride. He wondered what she was thinking about him now and what she was doing back in New York.

His mind would have drifted away again, as always when he thought of Lexa, with a strong mixture of romanticism, longing and sexual passion that was also oddly at variance with his dislike of her being a cop. The honk of a car brought him back to the present reality and he turned the steering wheel of the jeep into the direction of a little street that lead to an old, creamy white and small motel that overlooked the beach and a long strand crowded with young men sporting shorts and surfboards, women clad in bikinis and other drivers heading to the beach.

"Now, we're on a sort of budget so I booked us a room in an affordable motel," Hudson said to her, matter-of-factly.

"You're the boss," Candy said flirtatiously, "at least it's got a view of the ocean."

THREE

Once they had checked in, Hudson decided it was best to keep away from the streets at least until nightfall when they could begin to search for Leo's sailboat. Hudson was nervous, and he had never been nervous while he had done police work in New York City. He knew that the success of this mission would secure him a position in the Vice Department and he'd move on to bigger and better things. He dreamed of lasting recognition as a bounty hunter. He knew also that this was a risky mission that could cost him his life. It was not that he lacked confidence. Hudson was only on his first mission and not long ago he had only been just another NYPD officer.

"You look really tense," Candy said, as she sat down on the king-size bed,"Sit down and rest a bit. We'll order lunch in a few hours."

Hudson looked at the bed. He had not figured they'd be sharing the same bed. There had been a mistake as he recalled having booked a room with two beds. Candy was keenly aware of this and was smiling in a naughty way. She began to bounce up and down over the bed, giggling and allowing herself to fall back over the sheets.

"This is some bed," she said, "I hope you won't have a problem with sleeping next to little old me, Hudson. It can't be that bad."

"Oh," he said, blushing sheepishly, rubbing his head, "no, not at all Candy."

He felt as if he was going to get an erection watching her behave like a little teen girl, her breast bouncing and her blonde hair in semi-disarray. She was deliberately trying to arouse him, even if she was putting on an innocent act. He had known girls like Candy. Besides, he knew what she was capable of. He briefly remembered how she had performed oral sex on him the first night they met at a dance club in New York City.

"Stop that," Hudson said, "you'll ruin the bed."

Outside, the motel's piped-in muzak was blaring Duran Duran's "Hungry like the Wolf".

"Oh, we danced to that, didn't we, Hudson?" she said to him, "you remember don't you?"

"Yeah, I remember. Listen don't you think it's time we showered and dressed before lunch. I want to smoke a cigarette and maybe get some coffee down in the lobby. I'll wait for you there."

Candy smiled. Artic blue eyes fixed on him, she observed as Hudson put a hand over his shirt, feeling warmth coming over him. She knew it was not the Florida heat doing that to him.

"But don't you have to shower?"

"Ladies first. I'll go get coffee and then I'll come back to the room after you've dressed."

"Alright," she said, as if somewhat disappointed.

Hudson sat on a chair next to a potted palm in the lobby area of the motel. A couple were checking in and the lady looked at him with fleeting lust. They looked like caricatures of tourists, the Las Vegas kind with sunglasses, hats, a photo camera tied around their neck and carrying heavy suitcases. The lady had obviously already done some shopping in Miami as she carried bags from vintage clothing stores. Hudson lit a cigarette and thought about Candy back in the room. That girl was too much of a temptation and he felt a tingling sensation, a mixture of guilt and lust. This was Kyle's girl. Sure, Kyle was dead but that had not been too long ago and it wouldn't be right to jump into bed with her. But the way she was prancing around in that skimpy white cocktail dress and laughing like a schoolgirl clearly signaled her sexual desire for him.

"May I help you, sir?" a short bald man said, coming up to him, "do you need anything?"

"Coffee," Hudson replied, "strong, black, two full cups."

FOUR

Candy had showered and was wearing a red cocktail dress, looking a lot like the white one she had just removed only this one had thin little spaghetti straps over her shoulders.

Her hair was in an "up-do", a small sort of French twist she had quickly made, with one long thin strand of hair falling over her cheeks. She was on the phone and looking out the window of the room, her blue eyes matching the ocean in sight behind the glass.

"Marina?" she said, "come on, pick up."

"Yes?" came a female voice on the other end.

"Yeah, it's me, Candy," she went on, "I'm here in Miami with him."

"When did you arrive?"

"This morning. We checked into a small motel by the beach. He's purchasing coffee in the lobby."

"Good. Listen, you play it cool. You play the role of good girl so well. Just let him think you're on his side."

The woman's voice had a distinctly Russian accent and sounded seductive and a little cold.

"Should I sleep with him?" Candy said, saying this with a naughty smile, "would it bother you? I know we haven't made love since -"

"I don't give a damn, Candy. But you're thinking very smart. Yes. Yes. Sleep with him. If you have a hot night of sex in that motel room, he'll be distracted. His mind won't be on his job. And you will lure him to the sailboat at night. Leo and I are waiting for him."

"You're not going to kill him are you?"

"Leo would gladly kill that cop pig. But I don't know what he has in mind. Now remember, don't arouse his suspicions. He's a cop, Candy and they are always in cope mode even if they act like they're not. You be careful and just get him to sleep with you. The rest should be easy."

"Ok. I can't wait to see you again, Marina. I love you."

Candy hung up the phone and stared coolly at the ocean, which was now filled with a small traffic of yachts, sailboats and motor boats as seagulls flew over the azure, cloudless skies overhead.

FIVE

Hudson had ordered room service, and even watching Candy eat stirred his sexual appetite. She had a sensual way of eating, slowly, with grateful little murmurs that fueled his desire to take her right there and then. They ate ravioli and pasta and drank some red wine. Afterward, completely sated from the meal, Hudson told Candy that they should go for a walk by the beach. Candy did not like the idea.

"You said we should keep indoors so that no one who might be on Leo's side and protecting him here in Miami can see us," she remarked, "you said we'll search for him at night."

His eyes met her gaze. Her blue eyes had an icy quality, but he was mesmerized by them and he could sense in them sexuality mingled with a girl's confusion and helplessness. 

"Yeah, I did say that," Hudson replied, drinking the last portion of wine, "but I thought it would be ok to stroll along the beach. What harm could it do?"

"A lot of harm, Hudson. Suppose Leo is aware we're here. From what I hear, he's very cunning. He might have people looking for us just like we're looking for him. Isn't it best to just avoid any showdown bloodshed? You're carrying a gun but isn't it best that we just get to his place and you make the arrest. It's simple."

"How do you know that your sister is Leo's girl?"

"I used to live in Florida with my sister. Then she became involved with him and I had to relocate to New York City, just because I felt I was in danger. My sister's life is in danger, too."

Hudson took her hand gently. Staring at her, he felt this girl was his salvation, the answer to his prayers, perhaps even his dream girl. She was his ticket to a better position as undercover cop.

If he caught Leo, he would be saving Candy's sister and thus be hailed a hero. Earning that title had been his dream ever since he was a boy, hearing his uncle Vittorio and his own father's stories of heroic rescues, daring do and intrigue. 

"Don't worry about your sister," he said, in his pronounced New York Italian accent, "leave it to me. I'm not going to fail you."

You sure aren't, thought Candy; everything's working according to plan.

"So we're staying here then, right?" she said to him, grinning.

"I guess it's best like you said. But what could we possible do to kill time before nightfall? You wanna, you wanna watch TV?"

Hudson got up and moved the table where they had eaten, a table with rotating wheels, toward the front of their hotel room door so that room service folks can collect it. He did this with effortless ease and his muscle movements caught Candy's eye. She got up from her chair and stood by the glass window which overlooked the sea.

"You know, I can think of something better to do," she said to him.

Hudson observed as she began to undress. She slowly lowered the spaghetti straps from her shoulders and her short red cocktail dress fell to the floor. She was not wearing any panties or bra. He had expected her to be wearing undergarments and the sight of her beautiful nude body, so smooth, tight and young, instantly aroused him. Her body looked like it was glistening, as if she were in an airbrushed, high quality nude picture in Playboy magazine. She had a thin build, like the kind of physique he expected a ballerina or gymnast would have. There was a little bit of blonde hair around her pussy. She walked over to him, slowly; her eyes bright and fixed on his. She swayed her hips as she walked toward him, as if she were a model on the catwalk.




Vice Cop Ch. 03



"Look, Candy, I don't know about this," he said, struggling to speak.

"What don't you know about? How can this be so bad? I like you and you are attracted to me aren't you? We're both consensual adults here. Don't you think I'm beautiful?"

"Yeah but then I think about Kyle and it's really too soon, and -"

"O, Kyle's not here to see us. Look it's sad that he kicked the bucket but life goes on. To be honest, I've wanted you since the night we first met at the club. And I wanted you even more when you saved my life on the subway train when that guy might have slit my throat. Have you forgotten all about it?"

"No way. But, I -"

"You deserve this. It will be my way of thanking you for all you've done already, and all you will do."

She was now directly in his face and she looked up at him for he was taller than her. She held on to the collar of his shirt and she planted a kiss over his lips. Hudson's arms immediately embraced her and held her in place and found himself kissing her back.

Hudson had left the door to their room slightly ajar and as they kissed, he briefly turned his head away. Between kisses, he stepped back and slammed the door shut. His back was against the door and Candy quickly held on the waistband of his slacks. Her fingers were fast, and before he knew it, she had unbuckled his belt. His slacks fell to the carpet. She peeked at his erection. From the size of it she figured he must have been aroused for some time already. This excited her. She had him right where she wanted him. She had all along.

Their kisses were soft but the more they continued to bump and grind against the door, the more their kisses intensified and deepened so that before long their mouths hungrily claimed one another. Candy felt Hudson's tongue slip inside her mouth and the kisses sent waves of pleasure over her body, making her nipples pebble-hard. After a while, they ceased to catch their breath and they were both panting as if they had been running. They stared at each other; their faces red, their bodies beginning to swell with heated passion.

Perhaps it was the Florida heat, which Hudson found could quickly sent him over the edge and turn him into a lusty, primal animal, or the fact that he, too, had entertained thoughts of fucking Candy ever since she had given him oral outside the dance club in New York; but now he was ready to take her and make his dream a pleasurable reality. He realized he was still clothed in his dress shirt but he did not take it off. Instead, he boldly grabbed Candy to him in a sort of arm lock, with her back to him, his hands splayed over her breasts.

She felt his bulging cock grind against her butt cheeks and his strong hands squeeze and cover her breasts. He began to move his hips against hers and simulate fucking her from her behind without having slipped his cock inside her. This made Candy start to moan uncontrollably and she moved against him. His hands were over her mouth suddenly, as if he took pleasure in shutting her up, gagging her with his hand.

She moaned into his hand. Her eyes were suddenly another color, as if her arousal had literally changed her blue eyes to a fiery hue. He suddenly released his hand from her mouth and a loud moan escaped her lips.

Hudson slammed her against the glass of the window. Next to them was a potted palm and she nearly hurt herself against the palm when he threw her against the window, her face, breasts and stomach touching its glass. It was hot, so unbearably hot, as if the temperature in Miami had risen the minute they had begun to kiss with the intention of fucking directly afterward.

"God, Hudson," she managed to say, panting, "you're an animal."

"You bring it out in me, baby," he said in a rugged voice.

Candy felt a tidal wave of sexual ecstasy come over her when Hudson held her by the waist and he began to fuck her pussy from behind. He thrust into her wet pussy, varying the speed and depth of his penetration, making her sweat with the heat of lust, sweat drops streaming down her face. Her blonde hair was in disarray, looking as if she had just gotten out of a swimming pool. She was screaming and squealing now, and uttering wordless cries. Hudson was oddly quiet but his breathing was hard, even voluminous. 

In and out, in and out, his cock deeply filling her pussy from behind. She rested the palms of her hand against the glass and looked out, her eyes filled with the panoramic view of Miami Beach.

SIX

They had a second time, this time in bed. Candy joked that they should use the bed for something at any rate. After Hudson had reached his climax and they waited for his cock to get up again, they kissed and relaxed together, saying sweet nothings to each other. But when Hudson was aroused again, owing to Candy's hands stroking his cock, they were good to go one more time. Candy insisted he lay on his back on the bed. She mounted him slowly and straddled him. The woman-on-top position had never been to Hudson's liking before. Although it offered the same kind of pleasure and it did not matter who was on top of whom, he had always preferred for the man to be on top, a sexual taste of his that owed to his old-fashioned, macho upbringing. But for the moment, he did not mind Candy riding him and he was feeling so good he thought to himself to hell with what I like. It was obviously something she was enjoying immensely.

She arched her back and threw her head back as she gasped and screamed out in her pleasure. She sat down on his cock, her pussy taking it in, squeezing his hard cock in, making her wince and moan repeatedly. Hudson was now grunting, too, bombarded with the overpowering sensation of his coming orgasm, and hers. The bed was quite big and the sheets were in disarray beneath them. There were posts on the bed and Candy held on to them as she continued to move above him. She was shedding tears now, and her face glowed. Hudson could not believe how beautiful she looked this way, on top of him, with the sunlight in her hair and face, casting a soft golden hue over her white and rosy flesh. She was as if in a strong sexual trance, eyes closed, head tilted back and screaming till her lungs hurt and her throat was sore from all the moaning. Hudson felt the temperature rise again and he moved his head from side to side as he cried out in an orgasm that could no longer be contained.

SEVEN

Back in New York City, where the climate was colder than the subtropical Florida paradise, Lexa walked out of her apartment when a sudden rain fell. She was off duty and she did not wish to eat another home-made meal, so she decided she'd go to a small Italian restaurant located near her apartment. It was not perfect weather for a stroll in the street, but she nonetheless walked under the pouring rain, shivering in the cold. Her dark hair was wet and strands of hair clung to the sides of her cheek and forehead. It was getting dark and she was unarmed. She knew she was vulnerable to an attack and about the same time two weeks ago, she had fought off a man who assaulted her, a man who knew she was a cop. She wished she had brought her gun. As she drew near to the eatery, she noticed a suspicious looking man walking closely behind her, apparently heading for the same destination.

The little restaurant was in sight and she longed for the warmth of good food and the ambiance in there. She knew the owner, an older Italian man who had long been a friend of her mother's. He was bearded and stout and married with many children, the poster man for Italian Catholics.

She stepped into the restaurant and she was greeted by the hostess, a young girl who was probably the owner's daughter. She had not seen her before and Lexie was a regular.

"Hello, officer," she said to her, "have a seat here. We'll be right with you."

How did everyone know she was a cop, even without her uniform, she thought.

Lexa sit down and rested her hands on the small table where a small candle shimmered. She looked about. Hardly any people were there. As her eyes searched the place, her gaze fell on the same man who had been following her. He was elderly looking with blonde hair and a strong jaw. She felt as if she had seen him before. Her mind switched over to cop mode. Where had she seen him before? Ah, yes, at the station, conversing with the Chief. She did not know his name but she suspected he was a detective. The man got up and, keeping his eyes on hers, walked toward her. She took a good look at his physique. Though he was an older man, he had a sturdy build. He was wearing a dark trench coat and had a folded newspaper in his hand.

"Hello, ma'am," he said to her, his accent most definitely not New York but more West Coast, "I'm Detective Mason Holmes. I take it you're Officer Lexa O'Neil?"

"I am she," Lexa said, her head rising a bit as if she enjoyed it when people knew who she was, "may I ask what this is all about?"

"I've been conducting an investigation on three people New York police and detectives have been looking for," he said, "I am certain you can help me."

"I'm off duty," she said, "and about to eat my dinner."

"Good. We can discuss it over dinner. It's very urgent. How about it?"

"Alright."

Lexa ordered Tuscan chicken and the detective ordered lasagna. Both of them ordered red wine. They were eating in no time, as they were about the only people there. Lexa was far from nervous. She had been hoping that something would happen to change the increasingly dull pace her life had taken.

She was a tad envious of Hudson for having gone to Miami on a hunt after the drug lord that had escaped New York, the one they called Leo. 

"Is this about Leo?" she said to him, point blank.

"Leo a.k.a The Red Devil of Columbia, yes" Detective Mason responded, "and I'm glad that you know about this guy."

"Officer Banach is in Miami as we speak, looking for him."

"I had no idea. Is he working alone?"

"The Chief sent him and Miss Candy Spears, the girlfriend of the recently deceased Officer Lennox, to Miami, just the two of them. Apparently Candy's sister is Leo's lover and she knows where they might be hiding."

"Sounds a little fishy, doesn't it?"

"I thought the same thing. It's too much of a coincidence. I would imagine Miss Spears would have something to do with it."

"Well, that's what I need you to figure out. This Leo character is a nasty piece of work. He has long been the head of a huge drug trafficking operation that went under everyone's noses. It's also known he branched out to include prostitution and illegal pornography, including snuff films. He has powerful friends in Columbia. He's as rich as the Devil over there. What would you suppose a girl like Candy Spears would have to do with a guy like that?"

They sipped the last of their wine and outside, the rainfall had become heavier and thunder was heard in the distance. Lexa looked pensive for a moment before turning to the detective.

"What else do you know about Leo?"

"He's long been involved with a Russian woman, another wicked character, by the name of Marina Brazilova. She is living it up with him. Listen, I think that there's more to the story here."

"How do you mean?"

"Everywhere these two go, death follows. Brutal, mysterious murders have occurred in the past two years during which time Leo and Marina have lived in Miami. The bodies of men and women have appeared in beaches, in motel rooms, under boardwalks, in wharfs and marinas, inside yachts. Many police officers in South Beach, Fort Lauderdale and Tampa have been mysteriously and brutally murdered. All of it is tied into Leo and Marina."

"My God, they're murderers," Lexa said.

She immediately thought of Hudson. He was in Miami right now, his life in danger. Perhaps he had prematurely taken on a difficult and dangerous mission. Maybe he was not ready and that could mean a sudden death.

"I'll do what I can, detective," she said to him, "but what can I do right now to help?"

"Look up information on Candy Spears. Check for her past residences, talk to people who knew her in New York, and look up places where she might have been employed, that sort of thing. Good luck to you, Miss O'Neil."

EIGHT

Back in Miami, night had fallen. The sea breeze was cool and Hudson had opened the window to let the air inside. He was fully awake and had lit up a cigarette after having had sex with Candy, who now lay on the bed asleep and spent. He stood by the window, in the nude and looked into the direction of the bed. She looked so peaceful and her blonde hair fell over her breasts so tidily as if they hadn't just had intense sex. She fell asleep sometime after they had begun to fuck again, this time with Hudson on top. Hudson looked at his expensive gold wrist watch. It was seven pm. Outside, Miami's city lights were on, a dazzling array of neon pinks, purples, reds and greens. He knew that it was about time they began to search for Leo's boat.

Just then, Hudson received a call from the communication device he had brought with him from New York. The Chief had various phones, big hand-held ones that only the rich could afford at the time, to communicate with police officers, bounty hunters, detectives and undercover cops, even from long distances. Hudson picked up the phone and put it to his ear. He wanted to laugh a bit at the though of using a phone that did not have a wire or extension. His Uncle Vittorio Giorgio and his own father never saw such technical marvels when they had been cops.

"Yeah, Chief?" Hudson said.

"Listen up, Banach, I have something to tell you," the Chief's voice came in mingled with a degree of static, "I sent Detective Mason to find out everything there is to know about this Leo fellow. He tells me he has a girlfriend, a Russian babe, Marina Brazilova, a.k.a Marina Brazil."

Hudson was puzzled. If this was the woman Leo was with, that would make Candy a Russian as well. That would mean she lied to him, Hudson thought, for she had always identified herself as Canadian. Even if it was not that, something was most definitely wrong.

"Have you begun the search for his ship?" 

"I, well, not exactly, Chief. Candy and I were very tired and we got some sleep first. She's still in bed."

"Well, wake her up, man! You two have to get going. Detective Mason told me that he has spoken with Lexa and she is on this case too."

"Lexa? What the heck does she have to do with this?"

"Mason believes she's a wonderful asset and she's digging up any info on Candy."

Hudson did not like this. Lexa again, always Lexa. How did she manage to squeeze herself into this? This was his big opportunity, his moment in the sun, his way to attain the position of vice cop. If Lexa meddled, she might louse things up for him, maybe even ruin his chances. But the Chief was a stern man who was easily angered and Hudson knew his place. He could not contradict his superior.

"Ok, Chief," Hudson said, "I'm going to get moving."

He put his phone away and he looked at Candy who was stirring on the bed. She opened her blue eyes and shot a glance at Hudson.

"What's going on?" she said to him, stretching.

"It's time we get out and search for Leo," Hudson said to her.

He realized that this girl had lied to him. That could mean she was lying about other things as well. I'll have to keep an eye on this blonde vixen and take care of myself, he thought.

NINE

From the minute Detective Mason Holmes had assigned Lexa to do research on Candy Spears, she worked ardently and swiftly. It was as if someone had set a timer and the minutes were flying. If she didn't hurry, she would be unable to help Hudson who might unknowingly walk into a trap. Through a computer search, she discovered that Candy Spears, whose real name was Candice Spears, was born in Calgary, Canada but had become an American citizen as recently as 1980. She was eighteen then, and she had graduated from a high school in New York. About a year later, she broke away from her well-to-do folks who invested in oil and owned a prominent business in New York. Records showed that she had lived in Miami; that she was spotted with Marina Brazilova on several occasions. According to Detective Mason's investigation in Miami, she was also seen with Marina and Leo in dance clubs and in limousines. 

So that was it, Lexa thought, Candy had no sister. She was involved in a sort of threesome relationship with Marina and Leo. It was then when the wheels in Lexa's brain began to turn faster. She was in her apartment in Queen, looking at various papers written by Detective Mason and drinking some coffee to keep herself up. It was now eight in the evening and outside, it was still raining.

Mason had collected newspaper articles and photos of gruesome and mutilated bodies that were in authorities' files for the mysterious murders in Miami. It did not take long for Lexa to reach a theory. It was very possible that Candy was a two-faced little liar and a dangerous criminal. If she was connected to Leo and Marina, then she was benefiting from the murders and from the drug trafficking. She must have been a tool for these two who used her on account of her being so young. Lexa had seen such relationships before, where manipulative older people influenced someone young. That could even mean they had ordered her to kill people they wanted to get rid of. Candy was a killer. Another revelation came to her, as if a lightning bolt had fallen over the top of her head. Because Candy had been Officer Kyle Lennox's girlfriend and then Kyle ended up dead, it was most likely she was had murdered him.

Dear God, she thought in a sudden panic attack, she could kill Hudson! 

She ran to the phone and called the Chief. Maybe there was still time. She could tell the Chief all about her strong suspicions and to be safe, have him send armed officers and bounty hunters to rescue Hudson and finally get Leo and Marina. This was dangerous stuff, and more the kind of stuff a very skilled group of bounty hunters should be doing, but Lexa had wanted to do something like this herself. Please God, she prayed, let everything turn out alright.

* * * *

Down south in Miami, Hudson and Candy were in their jeep and cruising down a street that lead to a long stretch of wharf where many sailboats, yachts and smaller motorboats and speedboats were docked. The myriad neon lights of the city surrounded them and because it was a Saturday night, there was a multitude of people up and about, enjoying jazz, restaurants, dance clubs and the Miami nightlife. To relieve tension, Candy had turned on the radio. Flock of Seagulls' "I Ran So Far Away" filled the inside of the jeep. Hudson would steal a glance at Candy when she was not looking and he wondered just what this girl could be hiding from him. So far, she had behaved quite normally and he did not note anything bizarre about her. The sex they had engaged in had been great and he would have acquired feelings for her but he felt a slight disturbing feeling. She had lied. Even if she was Canadian after all, she had lied about having a sister. Hudson could not think hard as he was driving and the information the Chief had provided him had come too late.

Perhaps, he thought naively, Candy was innocent. Maybe she was a pawn. Someone had used her and promised her a reward she craved. If he could keep himself safe, perhaps he could do the same for her and save her from a life of crime.

"Candy, your sister...how can she not know her guy's a big-time drug lord from Columbia?" he questioned her, his words well-thought out and slow.

Candy looked out the window to the passing view of business buildings.

"Candy, I asked you a question."

"I think she's very naive," she replied, "she's into the bad boys at any rate. Maybe she didn't know just how bad Leo Mendoza really is."

"Maybe," said Hudson and gave her a steely stare that caused her to tremble a bit.




Vice Cop Ch. 03



TEN

Hudson parked the jeep in a secluded area. Because he was a cop, he could park in a spot like this where no cars were allowed. In sight were the wharf and a row of houseboats, all looking alike. The moon was full and cast a silvery-white glow over the waters. The air was cool and the breeze was in their faces. Candy was wearing a small red leather jacket, black miniskirt and heels. Her hair was coiffured again. Somehow before they left the motel, she had done her hair again. This time her hair was arranged in a big twist over her head, so that it gave the illusion that she had cut her hair short. Hudson felt she looked like Madonna, and this image was enhanced with her heavy use of make-up.

Candy lit up a cigarette and turned her back to Hudson, looking at the ocean.

Hudson stared at her for what seemed like a long time, waiting for her to finish her cigarette. The quiet roar of the sea echoed in the air and the wind began to pick up some force. Hudson observed how Candy fussed with the hair that the wind blew over her face.

"Smoking won't really warm you up," he told her, "and don't you know smoking is bad for your lungs? Surgeon General C. Everett Coup's warning."

"I didn't know you were so square," she said to him, "not after what we did in that motel room. And you're one to talk. I've seen you smoke when you're off-duty."

"You are really something, you know that? Candy, put out that cigarette and look at me."

He had used his tough cop voice and she felt like messing with him. She looked at him and puffed away on her cigarette, facing him, the cloud of smoke in his face. She laughed a bit when he coughed and covered his face from the smoke.

"That was real immature and rude, Candy."

"You're acting differently now, Hudson. There's no need to."

"Uh, yeah, there is. We're about to face a dangerous drug lord that could very well kill the both of us. Candy, you're oddly calm and strange yourself."

She looked over to the row of boats. 

"See that Endeavor 42 sailboat there," she said to him, pointing, "that's it."

Suddenly, Hudson seized her and put her hands behind her back, holding her tightly against him as if to keep her from escaping him. It looked like he was about to arrest her.

"Hudson, what the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm not going to arrest you, I can't," Hudson said to her, "but I need to know why you lied to me, Candy."

"Lied to you? What are you talking about?"

"Don't act the innocent with me. You lied to me. You said you had a sister and that you were Canadian."

"But I am Canadian, you bastard."

"Then you weren't telling me the truth about having a sister. So come on, spill it. What is Marina Brazilova to you?"

"Let me go, damn you. You're hurting me."

"I'm not letting you go until you fess up."

She gave him a look of despair; an it's-all-over kind of look. She struggled against his grip but he was far too strong. She began to pant and she thought quickly. In a sudden movement, she kicked him with one leg, aiming for his crotch. Hudson stepped back and winced, at the same time releasing her as a result of the pain that had struck him. 

"Jesus fucking Christ," Hudson shouted.

She ran off, heading to the boat, her blonde hair suddenly loose from its tight twist and wavering in the breeze. Hudson held his crotch and was unable to move. He heard her heels clicking as she sped down the wooden boards of the wharf and watched as she got into the boat.

Damn her, she had used him.

ELEVEN

Because there was no way of rapidly getting a team of cops to Miami, the Chief had sent only Lexa and Detective Mason Holmes to save Hudson, but he had notified Miami Police about Leo and Marina living in a boat there. Cops had been following the Hudson's jeep to the wharf and observed as Candy had kicked Hudson in his private part and fled to the boat. Immediately, the group of police officers got out of their cars and ran to the boat. She had just given away the location of Leo Mendoza's hide-out.

A black cop and white cop reached Hudson and held him to keep him from falling.

"Officer Hudson Banach? I'm Officer Mike Brown and this is Officer Dante Owens, we're with the Miami Police," the white officer said to him.

"Who was she?" said the black cop, "from afar she looked like a hooker."

"There's no time to explain, please get her quick," Hudson bellowed.

Another group of two cops had reached the wharf and ran to the boat as swiftly as their feet could carry them. Hudson caught his breath and tried to stand but when the officers walked away, he fell suddenly. He landed on a turf of sand on the beach, face down. He tried to steady his breath and he shut his eyes. For a minute, he felt as if he was going to black out. Then he felt a hand over his back, as if trying to pull him up. He turned and looked up. It was Lexa O'Neil.

"What are you doing here, Lexie?" Hudson said, confused "how did you get here?"

"Are you alright?" Lexa said to him, her eyes fixed on him.

They were both silent for a moment and stared at each other as Hudson began to breathe more normally. Lexa took him gently by the hand and Hudson got up.

"Lexa. Candy, she lied to me, she's with -"

"I know. She's working for Marina and Leo. I figured it out and told the Chief."

Hudson stared at her in wonder.

Suddenly, a thunderous sound broke the silence of the Miami night, making Hudson and Lexa turn around to face into the direction of the sound. The Endeavor 42 went up in flames in a sudden explosion. The air was full of dark smoke and ash and the fiery red glare of the fire nearly blinded everyone's eyes. Hudson and Lexa stood looking at the fire in a state of speechless shock.

"O my God, the officers," Lexa cried, "come on, they'll need our help. Can you walk?"

"I'm alright now," Hudson said.

When they reached the spot where the boat was docked, their eyes beheld a frightening scene. The flaming sailboat was sinking into the waters. Only two of the four Miami cops had made it and the sudden realization that two cops had died shocked Hudson and Lexa. The light of the fire died out and in the darkness, they saw as more officers showed up in their cars and came to the rescue.

But where was Candy? Hudson's eyes searched for her, straining them in the dark. Then he saw blonde hair in the water and knew it was her. Two officers carried her wet, stiff body on to the beach. Her lips were blue and she was lifeless.

* * * *

Inside Miami Police headquarters, the frightening ordeal was talked about and analyzed. The Chief of Police made a speech in front of cops and Hudson, Lexa and Detective Mason. They were seated on a large round table inside a vast conference room.

"The ship's explosion was deliberate," said the Chief, "because we did not see Leo and Marina anywhere, it is believed they must have fled by a smaller powerboat and then possibly received help from someone, one of their goons. Possibly they fled by a private plane. We believe Leo Mendoza and Marina Brazil have escaped to Columbia. There, it will be even harder to find them. They are familiar with the land and have powerful friends who can hide them there."

Hudson felt sick at heart. He had failed. He tried not to look at Lexa.

"Miss Candy Spears was killed during the explosion and consequently was sacrificed by Leo and Marina. These two are pure evil. The boys in this force call them Macbeth and Lady Macbeth of Miami. Well, now they are most definitely not returning to this city."

The Chief cast a glance at Lexa.

"We'd like to thank Miss Lexa O'Neil from New York City police for her bravery and her smarts. She worked with New York's Detective Mason Holmes and figured out that Candy had been an accomplice of Leo and Marina's. Because of her courage, Miss O'Neil saved the life of Officer Hudson Banach who might have been killed if he had been brought into Leo's boat -"

Hudson mentally tuned him out. It was too humiliating. Lexa of all people had saved his life, had proven, in fact, that she had all the makings of a real vice cop/undercover cop. He looked back at the table. The Chief put a hand over Lexa's shoulder. 

"Miss O'Neil, if you'd like, we can have you promoted to vice cop when you return to New York and know that Miami will always welcome you should you choose to work for us," the Chief said, "what do you say, my dear?"

Lexa looked at Hudson, which he found odd and after a brief pause she gave her answer:

"I thank you so much for the honor, but I'm a New York City cop and I want to return home¦."

Lexa returned to New York with Detective Mason immediately but Hudson stayed in Miami for a few days. He was not looking forward to being back on the force, especially after his ego- crushing experience. He had fallen for a pretty set of boobs and ass and would have been killed if it hadn't been for Lexa's quick thinking. Facing Lexa, who was vice cop material now, would be difficult. Hudson visited his Uncle Vittorio Giorgio, or uncle Vitto, as he playfully called him. He was living in Boca Raton, with a gorgeous brunette and who knew how to cook. They shared stories, watched football on the tube and played poker. But before long, Hudson hopped a plane back to New York, bracing himself for whatever waited for him there, more determined than ever to become a vice cop.

To Be Continued...



Vice Cop Ch. 04



Previously on Vice Cop, Hudson was almost killed when lured into a trap by the beautiful pawn, Candy, under instructions of the drug lord Leo Mendoza and his Russian girlfriend Marina Brazilova. Lexa and Detective Mason came to his rescue and Lexa was offered a position of vice cop, but she declined. Hudson and Lexa returned to New York City where further exploits await them. The time is the 1980's.

I realize that some readers prefer to read the sex scenes only and don't care for elaborate plots and storylines so if you're one of those readers, pretend this is a DVD movie and "skip" to "NINE" for a sex scene between Hudson and an ex-girlfriend. For those who enjoy plot, this chapter has more of it. Keep in mind this is supposed to be an adventure thriller/cop series with lots of action and plot, a kind of throwback to 1980's series like Magnum P.I. "Miami Vice" "Hunter" or even the "A Team".

ONE

The night was cool and long. 

Driving through the dimly lit streets of a slum, Hudson could feel a melancholy longing begin to overpower him. If only he could find a beautiful and loving woman to share his life with. All he wanted was to become a highly respected vice cop and bounty hunter and come home to a woman who would think of nothing but to please him. There would be little children; boys, he hoped, who would admire their cop dad and with whom he could play football with. This cozy little dream was beginning to distract him when he heard gun shots and screams and his thoughts returned to the present reality.

He pulled over by an alley where the screams were coming from. Getting out of the police car, he watched as a group of young hoodlums, all male, beat up a man and woman in an attempt to steal money and items from them. Hudson took instant action. There were several of these guys so he knew he would need back-up. He picked up his communication device to call the other officers on the beat nearby. Then he got out of his police car and ran to the scene. A few of the young guys began to run. Hudson seized a few of the guys and took out his handgun.

"This is going to end right here, right now," he shouted.

The couple was shivering with fear and lying on their stomachs with their hands over their heads. Hudson noticed that the woman had bruise marks. In a matter of minutes, the other cops arrived. Hudson had fought off some of the more aggressive thugs and they were on the ground with their hands over their heads. 

"Party's over, fellas. You're all under arrest," cried an officer as he and the rest began to cuff the guys and restrain them.

"These guys are in a gang," said an officer to Hudson, "these parts of the Bronx have increased in gang activity in the past year.  Well, done Hudson. You've been doing a lot of these kinds of arrests. You deserve a vacation."...............

Hudson could not have agreed more. He did need a vacation. It had been a few months since his experience in Miami. When anyone on the force brought it up, Hudson would growl and put on his mean face to let them know he didn't wish to talk about it. It brought back painful memories of a crushed ego. He had lost Candy, having mistakenly believed she was on his side. Lexa had saved his life and she had gained even more fame on the force. Soon after she returned to New York City, she was hailed a hero and the job of vice cop was practically hers. Everyone spoke highly of her and it annoyed him to the extreme. He could not look at Lexa in the face and he avoided her as best he could. 

He was alone in his room at home, sprawled nude on his bed, reading a Playboy magazine and smoking, when his eyes fell on an ad. It was advertising nightclubs and escort services in Atlantic City, New Jersey. He had never gone to Atlantic City, despite the fact it was not far away in the least. He loved to dance and visualized himself at a dance club, arms around a pretty girl and having the time of his life. Of course, it would help if he knew and had feelings for the girl but at the moment, there was no one special he could take for a weekend in Atlantic City. There was also the thrill of casino gambling and the luxury and leisure of a nice hotel. All in all, not a bad way to get away from New York City and his routine life as a cop.

As he gazed at a picture of a sexy girl in the ad section of the magazine, he felt his heart beat a tad faster. She possessed a look of odd familiarity. Where had he seen this girl? That round, strong face, those dark, alluring eyes, that long straight dark hair and that killer body, all were somehow familiar to him. He felt as if he had known this girl in his past. But he couldn't put his finger on where and when. There was no use in trying to remember. His memory was faulty. He knew that if he continued to think about it, perhaps a memory would be sparked. He was only in his twenties but he had been a cop for what seemed like an eternity now and he felt much older. Growing up in New York City, he had become tough as nails and in a sense had aged. As he read more about the massage services, hotel dining, casinos and shows, he was convinced he should go to Atlantic City for a weekend. He would have to tell the Chief all about it.

TWO

Hudson stood at the front door of Professor Goldstein's place. Since there was no one else he could invite to Atlantic City, he figured the Professor would want to go. Then again, maybe not, he thought. The Professor had always been a square. He went to bed early, often as soon as it became dark, and he would wake up early before dawn, he taught music classes all day and came home to lonely dinners for one. He had been married to a wonderful woman but she had died of lung cancer and he often wallowed in memories of a long-ago honeymoon, and surrounded himself in photographs of better times. Maybe a trip to Atlantic City would be good for him, thought Hudson.

The door opened and the elderly Professor gave him a strong hug.

"Do come in, Hudson," he said to him, "and I'll make us some tea."

"No tea for me, Professor," said Hudson, who had become bored with the Professor's Earl Greys, "I came here to talk to you about a trip I'm taking this weekend to Atlantic City."

"Well, come in and we'll talk about it."

Hudson took a seat in the living room. Handel's Water Music was playing in the background and Hudson was familiar with it because the Professor had recently introduced him to that piece. As he waited for the Professor to come back, Hudson recalled how in this very same living room, right there by the fire place, he had first met Lexa O'Neil.

Up till then, he had not seen a more beautiful woman. It was such a shame she turned out to be a cop and a damn good one at that. Still, she would sometimes sneak into his thoughts and he would sigh in frustration and longing. Try as he could, he could not completely eliminate Lexa from his mind and this made him very upset.

The Professor returned and sat down next to Hudson, drinking his tea.

"Now, then, what about Atlantic City?"

"I'll be there this weekend, at the Atlantis Hotel. I'd like for you to join me."

"Me? Well I'm flattered you thought of me. I don't think I can stay for a whole weekend, though. Would you be alright with me being there for one day only?"

"That's alright, Professor. I'll pick you up early that morning. I'm sure we'll have a lot of fun."

"Yes, maybe Lady Luck will smile on you or on me."

"I sure hope so, Professor."

And perhaps, thought Hudson, that luck would include finding a girl...........

* * * *

Lexa O'Neil had been called into the Chief's office on a matter that was top secret, which meant he hadn't told anyone else about it. This made Lexa feel especially good but she wondered how dangerous an assignment it might be. She often feared that someday, somehow, her life, already full of risk, could come to an abrupt end. Many a cop she had known had died doing their duty and although that was a noble way to go, she wanted to live a long and full life and not die until she was so old it was ridiculous. She was in her uniform and had been on duty. Her hair was in a short bun but this was hardly noticeable as she had on her officer's cap.

"You wanted to see me, Chief?" she said to him.

"Have a seat, Miss O'Neil," the Chief said to her, "I have a mission for you that I'm certain you can accomplish."

Lexa sat down and crossed her legs. She felt like having a cigarette but she knew that the Chief would frown upon it. She stared at him with a look of cool composure. She had never found him to be attractive, though she was more than sure he found her to be very desirable. Many times he had given her stolen looks and would smile every time she entered a room. The Chief was an older man, in his fifties, a bit chubby, bald and decidedly single. His name was Barry Hiller, but everyone simply called him "Chief" a title he was proud of.

"What is it you want me to do?" Lexa said to him.

"I've been informed by Atlantic City Police that many of their female officers won't do undercover work for them there. They heard of you and they know that you are one tough cookie with brains and beauty to boot so they figured they could use you."

"Use me? What would they have me do?"

"There are reports of all kind of illegal activities – drug trafficking, prostitution and the like, and they want you to go undercover to put a stop to the prostitution rings."

"They want me to pose as a hooker?"

"That's correct."

"Is there more to this? Something you're not telling me?"

"You're quite smart, Miss O'Neil. As a matter of fact, there is more to this case. It appears that there have been a series of brutal murders in Atlantic City. Prostitutes have been targeted by an unknown serial killer and more and more of them are showing up dead by the boardwalks, by alleys and in hotel rooms. New Jersey police and detectives need all the help they can get in pursuit of this crazy killer."

"You should have told me this from the start, Chief," Lexa reprimanded him, and she was able to do so for she felt she was his equal, "were you afraid that if you told me I wouldn't take up the undercover job?"

"Well, yes. And now that you know, what do you say? Will you do it or not?"

She was silent and thought to herself for a moment. The Chief opened a drawer and retrieved a cigar case. He noticed Lexa's gleaming eye and realized she wanted to smoke so he handed her a cigar. Quietly, they smoked in his office. She didn't say a word until she got up and walked in circles around his office.

"When would they want me to go to Atlantic City for this?"

"This weekend," he said to her.

She put out her cigar when she was finished, then she turned to the Chief. It couldn't be all that bad, she thought to herself. And it was just the type of excitement and adventure she craved. She wanted to be part of stings, secret missions and operations and didn't care if she crossed boundaries as a cop. 

"I'll do it," she answered.

THREE

Atlantic City, New Jersey, morning,

Hudson and Professor Goldstein were in the café of the Atlantis Hotel.

Over coffee, they discussed their plans for the day. The Professor was not into the nightlife, not any city's nightlife, not even his own in New York City. The only "nights" he went out were nights he attended the symphony or opera. He decided that for the remainder of the day he would spend time in the casino. He loved the slot machines. They agreed to meet for lunch but after dinner, the Professor intended to return to New York City. He had bought his own car, a small and unattractive vehicle next to Hudson's new Corvette. The morning was beautiful and from the café's glass windows they could see the boardwalk and the ocean. Thousands of people were up and about and everywhere they heard people's excited voices and the sound of slot machines, roulette wheels turning and people enjoying themselves in various restaurants and shops.

"Alright, Professor," Hudson said to him, "you enjoy yourself. I'll meet you at the casino for lunch at twelve."

"And where will you be headed, Mr. Banach?" the Professor wanted to know.

"I don't know. I want to explore a bit. I think I'll check out the other casinos, maybe go to a bar."

A Japanese woman walked up to Hudson and tapped him on the shoulder. She had long red hair which was obviously dyed and naughty eyes. Hudson eyed her from top to bottom. She was dressed in a tight skirt and had on heavy make-up. She handed him a flyer.

"Please to check out our massage parlor, Moon Pearl," she said in a heavy Japanese accent," you will enjoy your time at Moon Pearl."

"Thank you," Hudson replied and watched as she left.

She headed into the direction of other men seated in another part of the café-restaurant.

Evidently, she was only seeking out men. Hudson was about to throw away the ad which he was certain was not about a massage parlor but a brothel or escort service when he froze. The girl in the ad was the same girl he had seen on the ad in the Playboy magazine. Again, he was struck with the strange sense that he knew this girl. Curiosity was driving him mad. Who was she? How could he feel so strongly about this unknown girl? Determined to figure out who she was, he decided he'd check out that Moon Pearl place and he wouldn't wait till nightfall...................

FOUR

Lexa O'Neil had arrived in New Jersey. She had brought a portable phone to keep in touch with the Chief and other cops had been sent to Atlantic City to aid her in the mission.

The Chief had provided her with directions to Atlantic City Police headquarters where she would meet with their Chief who would instruct her on her undercover work.

She arrived at the station, wearing a pair of Rayban Wayfarers and though she was out of uniform she carried her badge. At the station, police officers were up and about, and the place was filled with petty criminals and prostitutes. A man, blonde, fit and older looking, in a trench coat looked at Lexa as if he knew her. When she approached him, she realized who it was.

"Detective Mason Holmes, what are you doing in Atlantic City?" she said.

They shared a brief hug.

"I'm here investigating the serial killer who's been cutting up and killing prostitutes," he said, "they're calling him Atlantic City's Jack the Ripper. It's a nightmare for some of these girls. We're trying to get them off the streets with good reasons."


"And still, many girls are hooking," Lexa said, as she looked around and saw many provocatively dressed girls of different races smoking and preening in their hand held mirrors around her.

"Oldest profession in the world," said Mason Holmes with a grin, "but tell me just what are you doing here? Why aren't you in New York City? Are you on vacation?"

"Hardly, detective. I'm doing undercover work. It's also related to the serial killer. I'm going to play the part of a prostitute in an effort to catch johns and pimps. The Chief of my force assigned me to this mission. I guess doing this will also help draw out the serial killer."

Detective Mason Holmes looked at her with a bit of surprise. Lexa had said those words so calmly, so naturally, as if she were discussing the weather. He had a concerned look in his face.

"Miss O'Neil, you must be careful," he said to her, "please. I wouldn't want you to be in any danger."

"Oh, that's sweet of you to worry, detective," she said to him, "but I can take care of myself and I'm sure I'll be fine. And call me Lexie."

"Only if you quit calling me "Detective" and call me Mason, the name my Momma gave me."

He smiled at her, almost flirtatiously.

"Alright...Mason," Lexa flirted right back...............

In a room inside headquarters, Lexa was changing into the outfit she would wear for the night. She sat down on a chair, putting on nylon stockings over her sexy, long legs. Her outfit was one she would never wear in her wildest dreams. The skirt was very short, tight red leather, and the blouse was also red, with a plunging neckline.

Her cleavage was showing and her hair was in a bouffant hairdo, almost looking like she was wearing an Afro. She was applying lipstick and eye shadow when Detective Mason Holmes walked in on her. He was breathless as he surveyed her up and down with his eyes.

"Whoa, Lexie," he said to her, "look at you. If I wasn't who I was – "

He laughed, his heavy masculine laughter filling the room. Lexie laughed along with him.

"I don't feel sexy at all," she said, "I feel ridiculous. And take a look at these heels."

She showed them to him. They were red stiletto heels that cried "whore".

"Ever worn anything like those?"

"Never in my life. I'll have a hard time walking in them."

"You'll do fine. Come on, put them on and walk around a bit."

"Mason, you bad!" she said, bursting into amused laughter.

She got up and strutted around for him, trying to get a feel for what it was like walking around in high heels.

"I wish they had given me hooker boots instead," she said to him, "I've worn boots before and they're much easier to walk in. But oh well."

"You will turn heads at the boardwalk. Ok, Lexie, I just wanted to wish you luck."

"Thanks," she said to him, "I'll need it."

FIVE

The erotic sensual strains of Ravel's Bolero was playing in the Muzak at the Moon Pearl Massage Parlor. Hudson was quick to recognize the piece, again owing to his friendship with the Professor who seemed to know of every bit of classical music ever made. It was about nine in the evening and the Professor had returned to New York City, uninterested in spending any more time in Atlantic City. He had won forty dollars in the slot machines and had been in a jovial mood. Hudson was glad he was gone. The side of him that he didn't want him, or anyone else to know about, was kicking in, like a sort of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde dichotomy. He played the good cop for the most part, but being in the Sin City of the East Coast, he felt like indulging in a little vice. There was also the matter of discovering who that enigmatic girl in the ad really was.

Inside, Hudson was surrounded in beauty. The place presented itself as a professional business and there was a front desk, clients waiting their turn and beautiful women, dressed in tight skirts and revealing blouses, high heels and scented in perfume, walked to and fro. Hudson recognized the Japanese lady in either dyed red hair or a wig and she seemed to remember him as well. She was behind a desk and she made a gesture with her hand offering him a seat in front of her desk.

He sauntered toward the front desk and the women walking about took notice of how handsome and ruggedly built he was. He sat down and took a look around him. The clients were all men. 

"You want full body massage, back rub, what would you like?" the Japanese lady said to him, smiling from ear to ear.

"I – uh, well," Hudson said nervously.

"This your first time?" the lady asked, knowingly.

"Actually, yeah, it is," Hudson replied, "what would you recommend?"

"You big man. What do you do for a living? Are you a professional football player? Construction worker?"

"I'm a cop."

"Lots of stress in that job. Well, I recommend you get full body massage. I'm going to sign you up for that. I'll get you our best girl. You wait a few minutes, ok?"

He waited and fidgeted with his hands, his eyes restlessly searching the place. This was a part of him he used as a cop, the spying, and the looking, in search of any illegal activity. He realized he was off duty and he was outside his jurisdiction in New Jersey, so it would be impossible to do any sort of cop work here. The other men waiting for their massage sessions were a mixed group. Some were young and college-age and others in their middle age, but they all possessed the look of lustful anticipation. When the Japanese woman returned, she approached Hudson and told him to follow her into a room in the rear. Hudson realized this room was reserved for special clients because it was so out of the way.




Vice Cop Ch. 04



When he walked inside the room, there was a massage table waiting for him. The masseuse was nowhere to be found and Hudson's quick eyes took notice of an adjacent room where she was most likely preparing herself. 

"There's a towel on the right," the Japanese woman said, "you can take off your clothes and put the towel on and lie on your back on the table while she gets ready for you."

Hudson complied, feeling awkward about the whole thing. He had never enjoyed a massage and the whole affair was new and foreign to him. He knew it was a pleasure fast becoming popular, and that it was a terrific and therapeutic form of relaxation and built good health.

He removed the clothes he had on – a red dressy shirt with long sleeves, and dark slacks. He wasn't wearing any underwear. Sighing, he lay on the table on his stomach, crossing his arms and putting his face down. He heard a door opening and footsteps approaching. He didn't want to look back, as he figured staring would be impolite and he was already so comfortable on the table. 

"Alright, here we go," said a strangely familiar voice, "my name's Sonya. Sonya Romandini, I'll be your masseuse this evening."

What was it about her voice? He stirred a bit on the table and let out a moan.

The woman put her hands on his legs.

"I think I'll start here and work my way up," she said, "oh and by the way, I'm also available for you, if you wish....for another kind of pleasure.... in your hotel room."

When she said this, he turned to face her and they both locked eyes in a moment of silence. The girl was the same girl in the Playboy ad! He had hoped to run into her here but it seemed so contrived that she would actually be his assigned masseuse. In addition, what she had just said proved that she was also a sex worker. Still, who was this girl? Hudson stared at her and realized that she was staring back, with a look that told him she knew him.

"Hudson? Hudson Banach? Is that you?" she said, in a tone of surprise," oh my God! It really is you! It's me. We went to high school together. We were a couple all through high school."

Hudson felt like an idiot. How could he forget? How could he not have known it was her. But as he eyed her from head to toe, he realized she had changed a lot. In high school, she had much shorter hair and had always kept it short; she had been very thin, in fact too skinny, and aspired to be a super model. She had always worn glasses and she didn't dress fashionably like she did right now. After graduation, she went to LA to pursue a career in modeling and acting, along with another group of girls, and Hudson assumed she had remained in California. 

"Oh, Sonya, I'm sorry I hardly recognized you," Hudson said to her, "look at you. You look gorgeous. You've developed a body."

"You like what you see?" she said very flirtatiously, "so what are you doing in Atlantic City? And how have you been doing all these years?"

"I'm a police officer with the NYPD now. I came here for relaxation and fun. I thought I could use a vacation. But what I'd really like to know is why are you here and not modeling in LA like you wanted to?"

She took her hands off his legs. She turned and looked into nothingness in quiet thought. She sighed and turned to face Hudson.

"I was unable to break into the industry," she responded, flatly, "and it was very tough for a while. I couldn't find any work; I was waiting tables and starving. Not even my new body was enough to get the attention I wanted. So I came to New Jersey and –"

"And you became a masseuse who does tricks on the side?" Hudson finished her sentence.

"Look, it's not what you think," she said, defensively," I'm not a prostitute. I don't walk the streets and look for johns."

"No? So how exactly does it work for you?"

"I learned about massage therapy and this is really my job. But it doesn't pay as much as I'd like and I met many people here in Atlantic City with a similar problem. One of my girlfriends who had come to model in LA with me told me about an escort service here. I'm drug and disease-free, so there's never been a risk involved. It's not always about sex. I offer companionship to bachelors here in town and we go out for fancy dinners, nightclubs, concerts and so forth."

"But if the guy wants sex, you give it to him?"

"For extra cash, yes. Look, Hudson, I know you must think badly of me but I couldn't find any other type of work. It's hard out here."

"Sonya, you're telling me that you're a high-class hooker in a town like this one where anything might happen to you."

"Nothing's happened. I'm alright, really."

"You can't be truly happy. I don't know what to say to you. I wish you could just come back to New York City with me. I could find you a decent job."

"I don't want to talk about it. It may be too late for me. Now, what about the massage? I haven't even started. 

"Go right ahead," Hudson said, putting his head down on the table again.

She returned her attention on his calves and legs, slowly, firmly. Her hands felt good on Hudson's flesh and she was clearly an expert. She was quiet again and Hudson closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her soft hands.

"And what about my other proposal?" she said to him, as her hands moved up the back of his thighs toward his butt.

He was beginning to fall under the sensual spell of the massage. When he felt her hands on his ass, he stirred and moaned, feeling a budding stimulation he knew could become stronger and stronger. And she was so beautiful, and they had been high school sweethearts. Memories of the good old days, before he ever went into the Police Academy, flooded his mind. He remembered how beautiful she was even then, despite her thinness, and how she had been a classy, sweet and intelligent girl. She had been a cheerleader and she had been Prom Queen to his Prom King. He had lost his virginity to her and they owned their first cars together. Her hands were like magic and he recalled how they had once enjoyed terrific sexual chemistry.

"Uh, you know, Sonya, technically I'm not supposed to take up an offer like that," he said to her, "I mean, I am a cop."

"You're not a cop right now, you're in Atlantic City, getting a massage, and from a girl you know. Don't you care for me any more? Don't you remember how much fun we used to have?"

Her hands kneaded his ass cheeks like she was kneading dough and he felt his cock beginning to stiffen, his blood beginning to race and a heated passion slowly building within him. Her skilled hands knew just how deeply to touch and stroke him, and when she worked on his back, he felt all his tensions and frustrations slip away. He had his eyes closed and he remembered how they had made love in the past. It had only been three times, but he had been certain Sonya was the woman he'd marry. Even his mother had thought so. Outwardly, she was perfect and fit the profile of a New York Italian cop's wife. Sonya Romandini was herself of an Italian family and her dark, exotic Italian looks always stirred his lust. And she was even more beautiful now. He mentally debated whether to indulge in vice like had with Candy Spears in Miami or to follow his moral cop mentality.

"Sonya, I'm flattered, really," he said to her, "but you don't have to do this. I'm a friend. I'm not going to pay for sex with you. Why don't I take you out to a nice restaurant here or we can watch a show? I'm all alone here. I have no girlfriend and I would like some company. We can go to the casinos. Come on, when do you get off work?"

She kneaded his powerful shoulders and finished her massage with a gentle rub with the palm of her hands flat on his shoulder blade. He turned and they looked at one another.

"I'm all done, actually. You were my last session. And yes, I'd love to go out with you while we're here. Just let me get ready. I have an apartment not far from here. Where are you staying?"

"The Atlantis. I'll meet you in the lobby in ...half hour?"

"Sure," she said, smiling.

SIX

Lexa arrived at the boardwalk, the cool ocean breeze in her face. She realized she looked ridiculous, and she was sure that the real hookers she would encounter would either think she was a newbie or a cop in disguise. 

Her high hairdo, excessive make-up and look of sophistication and hauteur made her look like she was out of place with these girls, like she was straight out of the 70's. In fact, she felt she resembled the black opera singer/diva Leontyne Price, who at one time was her mother's competition back in the days when she was singing opera and a "sistah" Lexa admired for having not only beauty but intellect and making it as an opera singer which had previously been a very "white" world not welcome to blacks. She walked slowly to a corner where she saw a group of hookers crowding an alcove between buildings. It was particularly dark in that corner and she realized that the girls were making themselves into targets for the serial killer. A few neon lights, coming from the hotels, showrooms, restaurants and nightclubs could be seen in the distance but the girls were on a far part of the boardwalk and not many people were seen passing by.

Lexa took a deep breath and approached the girls. Only a few people were walking by, and from the looks of it, work was slow for the girls that night. None of the men were paying attention to them. As she drew closer, she took a good look at the prostitutes. They were a varied bunch. Some were ash blonde but their hair looked like wigs, some had dyed red hair, some had a punk look and purple hair. Because the night air was somewhat chilly, they were wearing leather jackets and denim jackets. Some were in tight-fitting jeans and some in short, tight-fitting skirts. They were all in high heels and some in boots.

Here goes, Lexa thought and she stood next to the girls who had begun to form a line against the wall of the alcove. Lexa took out a small pocket mirror and began to apply more make-up. One girl, a black girl, stared at her up and down with an odd smile.


"You new here, girl?" she said to her

"Evening," Lexa said, and she wished she hadn't said that, because she sounded too polite and not like a hooker at all, "yeah. I'm...I'm from New York."

"Yeah, I can tell you're not from around here," the girl went on, "and where did you get that wig? You look like that actress Tamara Dobson in "Cleopatra Jones"."

A few of the other girls began to chuckle. The black girl began to smoke. After a few minutes, Lexa turned to the girl.

"Mind if I smoke? " 

"Sure, Cleopatra," she said to her, jokingly and handed her a cigar.

Lexa's weakness was nicotine and when no one was looking, she would light up a cigarette and smoke, though always when she was off-duty and away from prying eyes. She was relieved to be able to smoke in public without anyone knowing she was a cop. So far, the girls thought she was a fancy New York girl who had just starting hooking. She was quiet for a while and she realized she didn't have much time to waste. It was time to do what she came to do.

"So, I just arrived in Atlantic City and I've been told there's a killer who's been butchering girls like us," she said, never breaking character.

A look of fear fell on the girls and they were deadly quiet. One white girl, with ash blonde hair who was also smoking turned to Lexa.

"Yeah, we're not all that scared though," she said, "Tina there carries a gun. I have a handgun too. My pimp gave it to me. Dee over there carries pepper spray. We're all protecting ourselves one way or another."

"Have any of you seen the guy up close?" Lexa continued.

"None of us have seen him," the white girl said, "he's always wearing a hood, a trench coat, a large hat, sunglasses. He looks like he's an FBI agent or something. Kelly over there saw him once, but not up close. She says he had a hook for a hand."

"Like Captain Hook?" Lexa said.

"Yeah, like that dude. They say he's been killing the girls with that hook and with butcher knives. He's been raping the girls too in bizarre ways.. He's really nasty and crazy."

"So why are you here? What are you girls thinking?"

"Atlantic City is our life, man," she said, as if to shut her up.

"I see," Lexa replied and became quiet again.

"Man, this sucks," the girl that looked like a punk rock singer said, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm going to hit the casinos and see if I'll have better luck in there."

All the girls grabbed their purses and began to walk out of the corner and out onto the main boardwalk, heading toward the casinos and hotels. The black girl who had been conversing with Lexa turned to see that she was still standing there, as if she didn't know what to do.

"Aren't you coming, Cleopatra?" she said to her, "look, I don't know you and you're obviously new to this shit but us girls, at least this group, likes to look out for one another. I would'nt want you to get hurt out here. So come on. Don't be afraid. Better we go indoors in a casino then stay out in the cold here where that crazy killer could get us."

Lexa followed her onto the boardwalk.

SEVEN

The casino in the Atlantis Hotel was alive with music, gambling, smoking, drinking and people enjoying themselves. This particular casino was by far the most popular and where the biggest numbers of folks were seen, especially because there were rumors that the Atlantis was soon to be demolished. Sexy jazz, Duran-Duran, Boy George and The Cure was playing in the Muzak. The Atlantis was an impressively designed casino, with kitschy pillars, seaweeds, mermaids and treasure chests, filled with pearls, diamonds and gold, were all over the walls in life-like paintings and statuary. There seemed to be a sort of dress code here and while most people were in elegant evening wear, there were some who preferred to wear casual clothes. 

Hudson and Sonya were coming off an elevator, with drinks in their hands and with their hands on each other's backs, laughing. They walked into the crowded casino. Hudson was wearing a tux, his hair slicked back and he looked a lot like James Bond. Sonya was so beautiful and in her elegant, backless blue sequin gown, she, too, looked like a Bond girl in the movies. They were both evidently in high spirits and they were already on their second drink of scotch. They came to a gaming table, surrounded in tropical potted plants and fake palm trees. A group of about four men were smoking and enjoying a game of poker.

"You know what, babe," Hudson said, "I'm going to try my luck and play poker."

"Sounds fun. I'll enjoy watching you. Win for me, baby," Sonya said playfully.

Hudson made his way to the table and let everyone know he was about to play. He came at the right moment as the game had not yet begun. He took a seat.

"We need one more player," said the host," and it wouldn't be so bad if it was a woman. You, there, would you like to join in?"

He had addressed Sonya but Sonya nodded her head and smiled softly in a "no thanks" response

At that moment, Lexa, still in her hooker outfit, walked in. She had lost sight of the other girls who had wandered off somewhere. Perhaps they had already found johns. She realized she had accomplished nothing yet, aside from the fact she received information about how the serial killer had a hook for a hand. She had immediately called Detective Mason to let him know this bit of information and told him that she was in the casino at the Atlantis Hotel in hopes of attracting a john so that she could make the arrest.

When she arrived, she came through a door that was adjacent to the poker table where Hudson was seated. The host saw her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"How about you, miss?" he said to her, "would you like to play a game of poker?"

All eyes were on her. She felt like a spotlight was on her. She noticed that Hudson was seated there and he regarded her with a look of total surprise. He recognized her immediately.

Lexa's face had been tattooed in Hudson's mind and memory, and not even her hooker clothes, wig and make-up was enough to fool him. They locked eyes for a moment. An instant and silent electricity flowed between them. Lexa noticed that Hudson was with a girl at that moment and he had a smug look in his face. She had a brief recollection of their last argument. God, I hate his attitude, she thought to herself, why did I have to run into him here? 

Coincidentally, Hudson was thinking the same thing. The spirit of competition, which had been there since day one on the squad, was now manifesting itself between them. The time was right. 

"It would be my pleasure," she said to the host and sat down on the table........

After some time, only three players remained, Hudson, Lexa and a man who was clearly older than both of them with distinguished salt and pepper hair. By now, Hudson had figured that Lexa was working undercover and pretending to be a hooker in some mission here in Atlantic City. She was doing these kinds of jobs because she was no longer just a run-of-the-mill cop. He felt insecure and frustrated. She was doing these kinds of missions he had always wanted to do himself. The built-up frustrations escalated, even while he was playing the game and he had the strongest desire to beat Lexa in this game. How he would laugh and enjoy that. And Sonya, who was standing around with an audience, watching, would also enjoy seeing him win. 

"Mr. Banach," Lexa said, and her voice had an odd quality because she was keeping in character as the hooker "it is Mr. Banach, is it not? Isn't that what you said your name was?"

Hudson squinted his eyes. Lexa obviously wanted to play games. She was evidently confident that she would win the game and defeat him, once again beating him at something, once again crushing his ego. Well, two could play at that game, he thought. He had played card games and poker many times before, with his Uncle Vitto and had won many times. He put down his cards and looked at her.

"Yeah, that's me," he said to her.

"I think you and I both know that it's going to come down to just you and me," Lexa continued, "so be prepared for the showdown which I intend to win."

"Lady, you got yourself a showdown. And I use the word lady to be respectful, despite the fact you're only a lady of the night."

"Oh, come now, there's no need for that. And that girl with you right there –"

She pointed at Sonya who was standing next to a tall, burly man in a coat and fedora, a man who looked older and whose breath was bad. He had both his hands in his coat pockets and was enjoying the game with the audience around the table.

"What about her?" Hudson said his voice deep and somewhat defensive.

"I've seen her in the - ahem, massage parlor. I know for a fact that she really is a –"

"I don't care what you think, lady. She's an old girlfriend of mine from high school. She is with me now and I'm going to take care of her."

"Is that so? Does she know that? It's hard to leave a city like this, you know. The lure of money is too great. Why even you are playing for money –"

Hudson was quiet for a bit, digesting her words. If he didn't know any better, he could have sworn that Lexa was jealous. But perhaps he was getting the wrong idea. How on earth was it even possible for Lexa to be in this place, in this same table, playing poker with him? How was it she was able to squeeze into his life in one way or another? More determined to beat her he began to look at his cards.

"I'm not playing just for money, my dear," he said, "I'm playing for fun. I'd like to beat someone at something."

Lexa quickly picked up his meaning.

Sometime later, the older man had quit the game, having lost and it was now down to Lexa and Hudson, as they had predicted. The showdown was on. Sonya leaned against Hudson who had his hand around her waist, holding her tightly against him. The man in the coat and hat, whose face was barely visible, made it clear that he was rooting for Lexa to win and stood right next to her. The audience was excited and watched with anticipation as the showdown went on. A tense atmosphere was palpable and Hudson and Lexa looked at each other with a look of intensity, a real sense of rivalry surrounding them. Lexa did not like the strange man next to her. His breath was foul and she was picking up a weird vibe from him. He looked dirty and like he had just walked into the casino from the streets, much like she had done. She realized she had played the part of the hooker for too long now but no one, not the Chief, not Detective Mason or police headquarters had checked in on her for a while.




Vice Cop Ch. 04



"Have you ever even played this game before?" Hudson said to Lexa, laughing his manly laugh, raising an eyebrow.

"I have," she replied,"maybe not as many times as you have. So tell me, are you really a cop?"

"Yeah, why are you asking?"

What kind of game was she playing, Hudson thought. Her little insults and jokes matched his own and this irritated him.

"Oh, I don't know, I just figured you couldn't really be a cop. You don't strike me as the cop type."

"Oh? And what do I look like to you?"

"I'd better not say."

The showdown reached a climax. It was tense. It became clear that this particular game was especially exciting. People seemeds to like Hudson, who was socializing with people in a friendly way, making jokes and having fun. He even took out a cigar and began to smoke. Lexa was cool and quiet, almost silently angry and only a smal group of people cheered for her alone. Hudson had the winning cards and this made Lexa suddenly freeze. Hudson smiled and burst into victorious laughter.

"We have a winner, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Hudson Banach of New York City," said the host.

The audience applauded and cheered. Sonya, her face lit up with joy, kissed him. Their kiss deepened and prolonged, while the spectators still clapped their hands. Lexa felt disgusted by this and when she got up to leave, the man in the coat and hat arrested her walk.

"I know you're a prostitute" he said to her, in a whisper, "and I've got some money with me right now and want to.. you know....in my hotel room. It's on the fifth floor. What do you say?"

Lexa realized that now was the moment to arrest him, but he was holding her so tightly and there were too many people around. She wondered if she should just arrest him in the hotel room and call for the police from there. She turned to see that Hudson had been staring at the man but got up and and walked away with the gorgeous woman in the sequin gown.

"I – ok," she said to the man, "but we'll make it quick."

"Oh, it's always quick with me. You won't feel a thing," he said, his voice dark and somewhat menacing.

Lexa felt a chill down her spine as he took her away into the elevator.

EIGHT

Alone in the privacy of Hudson' hotel room, Sonya and Hudson shared bubbly champagne which room service brought them. They were giddy with the alcohol they had drunk down in the casino and in a state of absolute bliss because Hudson had won the poker game. They sat on the big bed which was directly in front of the large window without curtains. Here they had a terrific view of the lights and other hotels, and even the boardwalk and the ocean. Hudson was feeling happy and it was not just the effect of the alcohol.  Sonya looked ravishing. Her hair was soft and smooth, like long dark silk over her shoulders and down her back. Her breasts were big. Hudson figured they were almost a D cup. Her legs were long and her curves were driving him wild. The sexy sequin gown showed off her figure perfectly and her ass looked so hot. Hudson felt a tightening in his crotch because she was only about an inch away from him and her warm body was so close to his own.

"Who was that girl?" she said to him, referring to Lexa back at the casino, "she looked like she really wanted to beat the hell out of you in that game. It was almost as if she knew you."

"I've never seen her before in my life," Hudson lied, "and besides, she was obviously a hooker."

"Don't talk badly about them," Sonya said, smiling, "some would call me a hooker just because men pay for a night out with me."

"Sonya, I really wish you weren't an escort. Come with me to New York City. I'm working on becoming a bounty hunter or vice cop. The pay will be great. I can find you a nice job in the city. I want to be your man again."

She sipped the last of her wine and put it down on the table. She turned from him and all Hudson could see was a long mass of dark hair. She did not reply and Hudson put his arms around her. He could almost feel her breasts in his hand.

"I don't know, I –"she turned around and now Hudson copped a feel. Her round breasts felt so good in his hand.

"Oh," she said, realizing his hand was on her breast.

Hudson kept his hand over her breast and she continued to speak, slowly becoming aroused as she, too, felt his strong masculine body so close to her.

"I love it here, Hudson. I'm a popular escort. I get jewels as gifts. They have my face in late night cable TV commercials and I'm in magazine ads and everything."

"Yeah, I saw your face in an ad section of Playboy."

"Yeah, I actually visited the Playboy mansion and partied there. There is a glamour to this job and it's not all that bad. It's like a whole different type of modeling."

"You're above doing this, though."

" I know it's getting dangerous. Haven't you heard of the Jack the Ripper type fellow killing the prostitutes here? They say he is also after escorts. No one knows his identity."

"My God, Sonya."

"He almost got me. I was coming off of work and heading to my car when he grabbed me from behind. I could feel the hook he has where one hand is missing."

"Sonya, Jesus, you gotta get out of this town."

"He is always wearing a hat or coat and his breath is so foul. To hide his hook, he is always putting his hands on his pockets."

Hudson's cop brain was suddenly activated. He remembered that Lexa had left with a guy who fit the profile that Sonya had just provided. Was it possible Lexa had just walked off with the killer? Not taking any chances, Hudson acted quickly.

"Sonya, you stay here, baby," he said to her briskly "I'm going to make a quick call. It's – work-related. I'll be back."

He went away and Sonya heard bits and pieces of the phone conversation. Hudson called the Chief and she heard fragments of what sounded like an urgent call. Hudson's voice was grave and he sounded like he was somewhat afraid. 

"Lexa is doing undercover work.....the serial killer ....send help....Atlantic City Police...Atlantis Hotel...elevator... Detective Mason Holmes is here also? "........

NINE

Hudson came back to sit by Sonya on the bed. He was pleasantly surprised to see her in the nude. Her sexy blue sequin gown was on the carpet by her feet. She still had on her high heels; two sexy white stilettos. She had taken off her lacy bra and panties which lay by the sequin gown in a pile. Her breasts were aching to be touched, sucked and kissed, her legs were already parted and her eyes were burning with passion's fire. Hudson could not help himself. His cock was becoming erect and he realized that there was nothing wrong with what he would do to her. She had been his girl in high school. The history they had was enough. She was even sexier now that she had developed a curvaceous and hot body.

Not saying a word, Hudson, still in his white dress shirt and tuxedo slacks, kissed her and got on top of her, kissing her deeply. She responded instantly and he liked that she was responsive, like all the girls he had bedded. She had her hands on his back and she parted her legs even further as his weight nearly crushed her. They kissed with open mouths, devouring one another in long, heated kisses, each more intense than the last. His lips traveled down her neck, nearly biting it, making her moan quietly and writhe beneath him. She loved the feel of his shirt on her hands and she playfully moved her hands down the small of his back. He mounted her and pinned her down, but he realized she wanted to move so he was careful not to make her uncomfortable. She moaned and they continued to make out for some time. He kissed down her navel and then he took her breasts in his hand, feeling them. They were the most perfect breasts he'd ever touched, so round, firm, delicious. Instantly, his tongue was on her nipples and he sucked gratefully while she murmured incoherently and moaned as he laved her areolas. 

He removed his shirt now and he had to get up a bit, though his legs were still on the bed. She helped by getting up a bit and unbuckling his belt and aided him in removing his tuxedo slacks. He was in tight black underwear and she helped to remove that as well. She saw that he was already erect. She adored the sight of his cock, big, proportionate, and meaty. He was hung well. He looked at her with an almost predatory look and she realized he wanted to take her there and then. But he surprised her when he got down at the edge of the bed. Using his strong arms, he pulled her from the legs and slid her down closer to the edge of the bed.

He seized her by the legs and pushed them apart. He put his head between her pussy and began to kiss and lick, slowly, with yearning and with enough control to make her pant and moan for him. He licked up and down the slit and realized she had become wet and slick from his kisses and from when he had sucked her nipples. His tongue delved into her pussy. 

He knew just how to build a fire in her, and she was pleased to recognize he had become an expert at oral. They had never done anything like this before. In high school, they had been very inexperienced and they had mostly fucked in missionary position or with her on top, very basic things. He was very good with his tongue and it showed. He thrust his tongue like a cock inside her pussy, making her alive with pleasure, making her moan and melt with him......

Changing pace, Hudson and Sonya were now standing up, totally nude, and Hudson was still fully erect. He seized Sonya, though not forcefully, and took her by the window that overlooked Atlantic City's boardwalk and the ocean. In the distance were the pretty lights of the other hotels and casinos. She touched the glass, and even that felt erotic to her touch. She moaned as she felt Hudson begin to kiss down her neck and take her by the hips in an effort to arouse her again. She felt his hard cock rubbing against her butt and her thighs. He teased her when he rubbed his cock like that over her butt and over her pussy. She could sense how hot he was. He was grunting deeply and his breath was hot over her neck. They kissed, using tongue this time and they indulged in the pleasure of each other's bodies again. Because he had already made her orgasm when he had orally pleasured her, she was in the mood to pleasure him now. In a quick and sudden motion, she kneeled at his feet by the window. She then began to take his erect cock into her hands and stroked softly, caressing his shaft.

Hudson grunted and closed his eyes, knowing that she longed to suck his cock and pleasure him with her mouth just as he had done to her. He felt her mouth take his cock, like she was consuming a piece of food and she took him skillfully into her mouth. She laved and licked his already hard cock, making him nearly explode. She took it deep throat and she made him scream out in the sheer pleasure of it. He seized her by the hair, pulling it and she moaned as she sucked his cock. She was into it as much as he was. He threw his head back and roared, suddenly reaching his climax and releasing his load of cum into her waiting mouth...............

Sonya's fingertips slid down the glass of the window in the hotel room. She had her palms flat against the wall as Hudson, getting her aroused again, was kissing down her neck and fondling her breasts. He had a hold of her by the waist and he caressed her stomach now and then, before moving back up to her breasts and pinching, kneading her pink-areoled nipples. She was moaning softly and moving from side to side as her passion grew stronger. Hudson's cock was hard again and she loved that he was able to get hot and hard not long after he had climaxed. It was all a matter of kissing and touching, the prelude to intense fucking that followed. He had become so skilled at the art of seduction. Sonya felt a pang of jealousy when she briefly thought of how many girls had enjoyed Hudson's sexual prowess in the bedroom.

He had her by the shoulders now and he swung her around to face him. They were still standing in front of the ceiling-to-floor window which commanded a view of the city.

Since they were on a higher floor of the Atlantis Hotel, Hudson did not mind doing it in an otherwise voyeuristic spot. No one could see them from this stance and he gave in to his wild and wanton abandon. He had made love to Sonya only twice when they were a couple in high school; three bouts of sex which were intense but nothing like the creative and intimate way they were making love now. Sonya was constantly closing her eyes, her senses awakened with Hudson's strong hands, his hot mouth and his kisses. She could feel his hard-on against her thighs. He had her by the neck and his facial expressions became rough.

He lifted her up, using both his hands over her small waist and she opened her legs, closing them around his waist tightly. He had her against the glass window for some support but he was so sturdy that his holding her in place was enough support. His cock found its way inside her wet and receptive pussy. He began to fuck her in a supremely delicious rhythm which made her cry out, arch her back and throw her head back. She held on to Hudson's big head as he continually ravished her in the standing up position. His thrusts were hard and fierce, and they were both in-synch in the almost hypnotic up-and-down movement. 

"Oaah, fuck, feels so good," she cried hoarsely.

Hudson suddenly lifted her into his arms and carried her into the direction of the bed. He threw her on to the mattress, and she spread her legs immediately, her dark hair in disarray and sprawled over the sheets like a fan. She smiled and looked up at Hudson looming over her. Atlantic City's nightlights shimmered behind him through the glass of the windows, almost like a neon halo over his head. He was breathing hard, panting and he seemed ready to burst. Sonya was pleased at his self-control. In high school, he would never have done anything like this. He was a lot more uninhibited now, and much more sexually dominant, as well as creative. She was expecting standard missionary position but instead he told her to turn on her side. 

When she did this, Hudson crawled into bed next to her from behind, also on his side. In this side-to-side position, he again slipped his cock into her pussy from behind. She was a crying, panting animal, moving in that rhythmic cadence that drove them both wild.

She caressed the side of his face and reached over to touch his leg as he fucked her and fucked her. Hudson's orgasm was eminent, and he screamed out, his deep but loud screams mingling with her high-pitched cries. She felt his seed dripping down her thighs, on her ass, on her pussy, a sticky and wet mess that soiled the bed sheets. It was only a minute later that she achieved her own orgasm. Spent, they smiled and relaxed in each other's arms, sighing and breathing less heavily. Hudson had his arms around her, spooning her, and she closed her eyes for a moment, not saying word. He had been an explosive volcano, a veritable sex giant only some minutes before and now he was a quiet, calm lion enjoying a rest period. 

Sonya smiled at him and giggled in her pleasure.

"Damn, baby, I had no idea it could be so good," she said to him, "I'd forgotten how wonderful it was to lay with you. You're nothing like the few men who pay to sleep with me."

Hudson grinned and then laughed, throwing his head back. He kissed her neck and brushed a stand of dark hair from her face. 

"You were terrific, Sonya," he said to her, "and I really want more than just sex with you. Did you think about my proposal?"

"About going to New York City with you?" 

"Well?"

"Hudson, I don't know."

"It's up to you. I can't force you to do anything you don't want to do. I just worry about you, a woman, alone, in a city like this."

They were both pensive and quiet. Sonya's face, which had been glowing with sexual satisfaction, was now crestfallen, her eyes cast down. They enjoyed the silence for a while but Hudson broke the silence.

"Sonya, I'll always wonder if you're the girl for me. I want to try something out with you. Now that we've made love, I'm going to get some sleep. I'll be up in the morning and if you are right here, right beside me, I'll know that you decided to return to New York City with me. I'm leaving in the morning. If you're not here in this hotel room with me, then I'll know your answer is no that you preferred to work as an escort here in town. An escort, when you can be so much more, when I have such better plans for us."

She was moved by his passionate words but she did not reply and instead she closed her eyes. Hudson sighed heavily and drifted off to sleep, his arms still around her.

TEN

Lexa opened here eyes.

She was bound by ropes on a large bed in a hotel room. When she opened her mouth, she discovered she was gagged by a stringed ball gag that went around her face. She was shivering, she was afraid and she felt dizzy, fatigued and strange. She could not remember the night before, could not recall how she was forcibly tied up in this horrifying manner. She looked around her, jerking and moving in a wild effort to break free. The hotel room was small and it was apparently on a higher floor since the floor-to-ceiling window had a panoramic view of Atlantic City. She did not see anyone in the room with her but she could feel a strong, menacing presence nonetheless.

Oh dear God, she thought, what's happened? She could not remember anything except darkness and the sound of a man's deep breathing. She realized that it must have been the john that picked her up at the casino. She must have been unable to call for help and unable to make the arrest. She looked at her body. The man had bruised her body and beaten her. She had dry blood marks on her and what looked like lacerations on her tan flesh. O my God, she thought in panic and despair. This was no john. This was the serial killer and she had been at his mercy all night long. But she must have passed out which would explain why she had no vivid memory of what happened. 

The psycho had a perverted and sick sexual fetish for bondage and clearly enjoyed beating up women. Why he hadn't killed her was beyond her. She searched for her phone with her eyes but obviously the serial killer had thrown it away so she wouldn't call for help. O, God, what if he was still here in the room!

The door opened and he walked in. He was a tall, strongly built man and even in the broad morning daylight, he was wearing a mysterious looking coat, a scarf and a hat. He looked like he was dressed for cold, snowy weather despite the fact it was a beautiful, warm day. He had his hands on his pockets but when he removed one hand from his pocket, he lifted up into the air and Lexa saw that he had a hook. It was him! He approached her slowly and she began to moan wildly and to writhe about, wishing she could escape. 

The man began to undress, and rather quickly, while Lexa screamed into her gag and thrashed around wildly. Beneath his coat, he was completely nude and she saw that he was an older-looking bald man. He was hideously scarred, looking like a wounded Vietnam soldier and his eyes had the look of malice and insanity.

"You're going to die," he bellowed and he leapt on to the bed on top of her.

He removed the gag from her mouth and Lexa spat in his face.

"I'm a cop, you bastard," she yelled, "You can't do this to me. They'll be after you and they'll get you and even if I die, I'll know you were executed for this."

He rubbed of the spit from his face angrily and he drew nearer to her. They were face to face and Lexa could smell his bad breath. He put his hook directly in front of her eyes and she was afraid he would pierce her eyes with it. He slapped her face with his other hand.

"Shut up. Whore or cop, I don' care. I'm going to fucking kill you."




Vice Cop Ch. 04



The door to the hotel room burst open, and a team of cops stormed into the room. There were three of them and they took immediate action. They seized the man with the hook, not allowing him any chance for escape. He cursed and writhed, resisting arrest but the cops put the handcuffs on him instantly. Lexa was still panting; overwhelmed by what had just happened and her bright eyes took in the scene. She turned to see that Detective Mason was among the cops, dressed in his dressy shirt, tie and slacks and their eyes met.

"Untie her, quick," Mason ordered the cops.

One cop obeyed his orders and removed the ropes from Lexa's arms and legs. She did not move, but only stirred slightly and tried to look brave.

"Oh, Miss O'Neil, I'm so sorry," Mason said to her, looking at her condition.

She got up slowly and then realized she was in the nude. The cops in the room however were busy with the serial killer and not looking at her nudity, all except for Mason Holmes. He grinned.

"Find Miss O'Neil some clothes pronto," he said to one officer, "and you –"

He turned to the serial killer and stared him in the face angrily.

"You're Jack Benson the psychopath we've been looking for. You think you're Jack the Ripper, don't you? I know all about you. I've been on your case for a while. You came back from Vietnam and went plumb crazy didn't you? Hearing voices telling you to kill hookers. You won't rape and kill any girl ever again. You'll spend the rest of your miserable shitty life in jail or you'll get the chair. You make me sick."

He punched him in the face quickly before the cops took him away. Lexa, conscious of her nudity, stood behind some drapes by the window. Mason looked at her with a soft expression in his face, different from the look he had just given the serial killer. He approached Lexa.

"Did he hurt you?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she said, "I'm fine."

"No, Miss O'Neil you're not fine."

Lexa burst into tears; the first time in all the time she had been a cop.

* * * *

Clothed and still in the hotel room, Lexa and Mason Holmes embraced one another. She was crying on his shoulder and he comforted her by soothingly caressing her dark hair.

"I don't remember a thing," she said, "but I'm so afraid that he might have violated me when I passed out. He really was going to kill me. If you hadn't come in when you did –"

"There, there, Miss O'Neil," he said, "I mean, Lexa. Don't cry anymore. It's all over. I'm here. It's going to be alright. It's all behind you now."

She finished crying and then she let go of him. She sat down on the bed and looked at him standing over her. She was beginning to notice how attractive Mason Holmes was. He had the exact same build as Hudson – tall, strong, muscular, sturdy, but whereas Hudson had dark Italian features and swarthy skin, Mason was fair skinned and blonde. He had grown a bushy, big blonde mustache.

"How did you know where to find me? How did you know the killer was here in this hotel?" Lexa said to him, eager to know the truth, "the crazy bastard beat me up and took me phone. Who called you to inform you he was here?"

Mason thought of Hudson, who had called the Chief who then called him with the report that Lexa had been seen with a suspicious man going up an elevator to a higher floor in the Atlantis Hotel. He did not want to tell her that Hudson Banach had made the call that it was thanks to him that she had been rescued and the serial killer finally caught. He only knew that Lexa was looking at him like no woman had ever looked at him, and not one as beautiful as Lexa O'Neil. And what was wrong with a little lie that made him look like the hero? Besides, Mason had always disliked Hudson Banach in silence. Hudson had hated his smug attitude and how he lorded himself over other cops. In the past, though they had never said much to each other, there had always been a silent bad blood between them. Hudson didn't seem to care for detectives and investigators, perhaps out of jealousy for their higher paid position or perhaps for other reasons. He only respected the Chief. He didn't like Hudson and he sensed that there was a strange attraction between Hudson and Lexa, a palpable sexual longing between them. He didn't want any other guy touching Lexa, whom he had begun to have feelings for.

"I made the call," he said, "I didn't want anything to happen to you."

"Oh, thank you, Mason," she said and they hugged tightly once more

"You've very welcome, beautiful one," he said to her.

ELEVEN

Hudson awoke in his hotel room to find that Sonya Romandini had gone. On the side of the bed where she had slept was a note. It read:

"Hudson, I can't return to New York City with you. I won't return to LA either as there's no chance of my becoming a big time super model. I know you'll never forgive me and we'll never see me again. I've gone to Las Vegas where I will take my business as masseuse there. Your salary as a cop wouldn't be enough to keep us happy. Know that I'll always remember our past............Sonya Romandini.

Just my luck, thought Hudson and sighed in his sadness. 

He walked about the hotel room for a moment, and remembered their night of passionate sex. The reason it had been so beautiful and intense was because she had already made up her mind to leave Atlantic City for Las Vegas, never to see him again. She had been saying farewell during sex. Hudson once again succumbed to a bittersweet sadness. He had a good time in Atlantic City, loved that he had beaten Lexa at poker but he was not happy about how things worked out between him and Sonya. Now it was back to working as a cop in the Big Apple with no prospect of promotion. He hated that. Back to whatever else waited for him, back to the loneliness, back to the dullness of it all. Putting on his clothes, he looked out the window. Atlantic City was an adult fantasy land and he had fun but it was time to face the real world yet again and do his job. It was time to go home.

To Be Continued.................



Vice Cop Ch. 05



* Previously on Vice Cop, Lexa O'Neil went undercover as a hooker in Atlantic City in hopes of catching a serial killer. Hudson Banach went to Atlantic City as well to enjoy a brief vacation and ran into an old girlfriend from high school, Sonya Romandini, who had become an escort/high class hooker. Hudson beat Lexa at a game of poker in the casino. Lexa was almost killed by the serial killer when Detective Mason Holmes rescued her. Sonya left for Las Vegas and Hudson returned to New York City in disappointment. The time is the mid-1980's. The place, New York.

This chapter like many chapter "episodes" on Vice Cop is full of plot and storyline action. If you like that, treat yourself to these scenes. If you like to read the sex parts only, read scene "SIX" for a threesome sex scene between Hudson, a spoiled rich girl and an Asian hooker during a wild costume party in The Hamptons.

*

ONE

Hudson looked at his silver Rolex watch. It was eleven thirty p.m. and it was very dark in the city. New York City never slept which meant that for a cop on the beat, the night was long and full of a series of never-ending arrests. Hudson had answered a disturbance call in Central Park where supposedly a man known as the "jogger rapist" had been spotted. He was an unidentified middle-aged Caucasian male who had attacked women who jogged in Central Park after dark.

Hudson was glad they assigned him to work Central Park. If it was one thing he hated it was men who attacked defenseless women and he could hardly wait to put the cuffs on this wicked waste of a man. 

He was in full uniform, one of two (the other was at the Cleaners) and one that looked a lot better on him -- tight-fitting, showcasing his hard body and giving him a powerful authority look. These were brand new uniforms the Chief had provided for the squad after complaints were made that the old ones were no longer good. As worn as the old uniform was, Hudson had kept it as a souvenir and reminder of his first years as a cop. He had been twenty one then, and now he had grown older and was approaching twenty nine. 

Through the years, he had done his best to move up the ranks to undercover "vice cop" and bounty hunter, but so far, he had accomplished very little to earn that position. He had figured that arresting the Columbian drug lord, Leo Mendoza, aka The Red Devil, was his ticket to vice cop glory. But Leo had escaped, first to Miami and then to Columbia, along with his wicked Russian wife Marina Brazilova. All that had been a few years ago. He sighed. He had been on his feet all day and had worked the day shift. Having time on his hands, having no kids and no wife or girlfriend to speak of, he committed himself to full time work as a cop day or night, answering duty's call in the hopes of promotion in the NYPD.

The lights of the park were dim and it was relatively quiet. He was patrolling the middle region of the park, by the Carousel at 64th street. The Carousel stood motionless and looked dreary in the shadows. A few young teens were up and about, skateboarding and loitering. 

Though Hudson knew that he could very well arrest these adolescents for loitering when they should be home on a school night, he thought he'd give them a break and besides, his mind was on getting the rapist that was lurking somewhere in the vast park. 

As he reached Cherry Hill, he noticed a young woman jogging alone and heading to a secluded spot where there were a few benches. Thinking fast, he ran after the girl in order to warn her about the attacker. He couldn't see who she was clearly and could only see her backside but it was obvious she was a pretty girl with a sexy and athletic physique. Poor thing, he thought, the perfect victim for that god-damned rapist. He caught up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, getting her attention. 

"Excuse me, Miss," he said to her, in a mixture of his Italian gentleman demeanor and his concerned cop voice, "it's not a good time to be jogging and I must warn you about a rapist who has been spotted in this park."

She turned around to face him. Hudson nearly opened his mouth in surprise. It was Lexa. She was out of uniform and in a jogging suit and drops of sweat flowed from her brow. She smiled at him and nearly laughed at him.

"I know that," she said to him, "don't you think I know that?"

"Then what the hell are you thinking, Lexie? You don't think you're vulnerable to an attack just because you're a cop?" Hudson reprimanded her," you're also a woman, you know that right?"

Lexa furrowed her eyebrow angrily. The sexist bastard, she thought. Did he think that by donning a cop uniform she somehow became a man?

"I'm not going to argue with you, Hudson Banach and I'm not really jogging you dolt. I'm undercover."

"What? Again? Doesn't this make two undercover jobs in a month? You were undercover in Atlantic City only a few weeks ago. So let me get this straight. You're pretending to be a civilian and you put on this jogging outfit in hopes of attracting the rapist. Are you working alone?"

"I never work alone. I've got a holster gun attached to my pocket under my jacket. Detective Mason Holmes and some cops are always with me. I have my communication device with me and my badge. It's a way to catch the rapist."

"Detective Mason again? He's been working with you ever since you were in Atlantic City."

"Yeah, so? What's the problem? What have you got against Mason?"

"Oh, it's not that I have something against the guy. I just think that it's pretty odd that he's working with you when he could be working on other cases."

Lexa was quiet and surveyed Hudson's face. Hudson had picked up on something that she herself had recently felt. Detective Mason had developed feelings for her and he had deliberately arranged it so that he would be working with her on every undercover operation she was assigned to. 

"Jealous are you, Banach? Jealous that you aren't a respected and highly paid detective like him or you want to do undercover work with me, is that it?"

"Lexa, don't flatter yourself. I wouldn't want to do any kind of work with you. You're too difficult."

"Oh, I am, am I? You recognize "difficulty" in others but not in yourself? You don't know what they say about you in the squad do you?"

"I don't care to listen to gossip," he said," but, uh, what do they say exactly?"

"That you're a renegade cop. You only do things your way and don't listen to others. You're arrogant, stubborn, and hard-headed not to mention you're always looking to get ahead of everyone. You're so smug. You're the one that's truly difficult."

"I'll ignore that. Besides, everyone knows I get along great with the Chief. We're buddies. So, if you're not working alone, I guess I can go. I had no idea you were already on this case."

"You don't have to leave on account of me. Weren't you just on the beat?"

"Yeah. Don't call attention to the fact I'm doing that and you're doing something else. You sound like the arrogant one now."

"Oh, shut up. I don't like running into you. All we end up doing is arguing. Are you staying? I don't think you ought to go. We can always use another cop."

"Fine."

They noticed that the young kids had begun to leave, leaving most of the section of the park empty. A silence fell over the park and the distinct chirping of crickets could be heard in the night air. From afar, they could hear a few lingering voices and footsteps. Lexa continued jogging and Hudson followed her, jogging with her in a mocking way as if to be funny. Lexa did not find it amusing and ignored him, turning her face into the opposite direction. They went down a gravel pathway that curved and winded around like a snake, past groves of trees.

"What if we do see the rapist? Who's going to make the arrest? Isn't that going to be a bit of a problem?"

"Oh, that's ridiculous. It doesn't matter who does it, although I think I should do it. I'm the one who's working undercover, not you. This isn't a game though."

"You're mad at me. This is because I beat you at poker in Atlantic City isn't it?"

"For God's sakes, shut up. It's got nothing to do with that. Look, if you can make the arrest, go ahead. I don't care. That monster has to be caught by someone, anyone, even if it's a rookie patrol officer."

Hudson was going to ask if she meant him, and defend himself by saying he was now a deputy but then a scream broke the silence. It was a young woman's scream; high-pitched and frightened, followed by the sound of a man's fist punching her. Hudson and Lexa took instant action. They ran into the direction of the sound as swiftly as their feet could carry them. They were panting and the thrill that always came with making these kinds of arrests filled them completely. Lexa took out her communication device while Hudson took out his gun.

"I need officers right here right now. I'm with Deputy Banach and we've just heard screams coming from Cleopatra's Needle at East Side Drive and 81st Street. I repeat. Screams have been heard and we believe it's the rapist harming a victim."

Hudson aimed his gun at the figure of a man who towered over a woman on the ground, cowering in fear, and holding on to her purse. Part of her skirt was already torn. The man turned around to face them and froze. In the dim lights, his face was barely visible but he was white and thin and fit the profile of the guy they had been looking for. Lexa turned off her communication device and retrieved her own gun. While Hudson's gun was bigger (he liked big guns and only carried big guns), Lexa's was daintier and decidedly a "lady's gun" but it was very sleek and powerful looking nonetheless, especially because she knew just how to use it.

"Freeze, scumbag," Hudson shouted at the top of his lungs, "don't move. Don't move a muscle or I'll shoot."

The man retrieved a gun and aimed it at Hudson. They locked eyes and their faces were tense with a violent sort of air. The woman on the ground was weeping openly and she covered her breasts with her hands. The man had punched her and had torn her top to reveal her breast. She was shivering as if she was cold.

"Put the gun down. Put it down," Hudson demanded, "look, pal. Don't make this any worse. I will shoot you, by God I will shoot you if you even think of firing that gun at me or my partner."

Lexa looked at him, as if she hadn't expected him to say something like that. She turned behind to see if back-up was coming. So far, she saw nothing. The man looming over the woman suddenly took off and ran. In the clarity of the park lights, Hudson could see that he looked frightened, even though he was holding a handgun and a good one at that. Hudson saw that it was a 9mm Jericho. The bastard was light on his feet and he was already quite a ways ahead of him.

The chase was on.

Because the park was virtually deserted, it was easy for Hudson to keep his eye and track the guy running through the park. But because he was swift, and it was dark, he knew that there would be moments where he could possibly lose him. The park had always been big, as long as he could remember, and once as a boy he had gotten lost here.

He panted as he ran after him, not losing sight of him. He wasn't about to let this monster go. He needed to be cuffed and sent to the penitentiary for his multiple rapes. Hudson was glad he was physically fit and strong and the chase did not wear him down. He knew that some of the other officers were overweight. Years of doing patrol work that was slow and uneventful resulted in these officers gaining weight and it didn't help that they didn't go to the gym. Hudson considered himself to be the hottest and strongest guy on the force with the exception of the equally fit Lexa O'Neil.

Down the gravel paths he went, catching up to the guy as he crossed the mid-park section and was heading toward the recently restored Trefoil Arch. As they crossed under the bridge, the man began to fire his gun at Hudson. 

"Son of a bitch," cried Hudson, dodging the bullet.

This was the part of his job he disliked the most. Sure, it offered thrills and danger and he was constantly seeking that but he was only mortal. Hudson fired another shot from his revolver. The shot missed and the guy ran even faster, as if hoping to finally elude Hudson. They hurried down the long path and soon they were engaged in a duel of guns, firing at one another mercilessly. Hudson cursed and managed to dodge his bullets but he was beginning to think it was humanly impossible to continue to do so. One shot grazed his shoulder and one shot went directly past his neck.

"I'm in pursuit of the armed rapist, he's firing at me," he said into his device," Lexa, any sign of other officers?"

"Where are you? Detective Mason Holmes and the other deputies are already here," came Lexa's voice on the other end.

"I'm between 73rd and 74th Street. Come on, I need men here now. This guy is nuts."

In a sudden rage, thinking that this armed son of a bitch was going to get away and that it would be a longer time before he was caught, which would mean he would rape other women, Hudson felt a surge of strength fill his body and just as they had passed the bridge and he was heading to a part of the park where he could easily escape, Hudson leapt into the air and got on top of him.

The man struggled under his weight, trying to free himself, cursing but Hudson pinned him down and immediately seized his gun and cuffed him. As he looked at his own arm, he saw that there were specs of blood. The guy himself was bleeding a bit.

Detective Mason, Lea and a team of officers arrived at the scene. They were in the middle of a path and Hudson had the guy in cuffs, his body still on the ground With the Detective and the others was the woman the attacker had almost violated.

"You see, it's all over now, you piece of shit," Hudson cried, "I hope you get raped in jail for a change."

The man cursed silently. Lexa ran toward him and snatched his gun. Then she hurled it to one of the officers. She approached the scared woman while Hudson and the other cops took him away, walking away from the park.

"Good work, Miss O'Neil!" Mason said, ignoring the fact that Hudson had done all the work, but she figured he was referring to her undercover work.

"Miss, are you alright?" Lexa said to the lady," he didn't really hurt you or did he?"

"He punched me and I fell down," she said, "then he tore my top and skirt. If you hadn't come when you did --"

"It's alright. It's all over. You're safe but we will need you to come down to headquarters with us."

"Will....will he be there?" she said, referring to the assailant.

"We need you to properly identify him as the man who did this to you. He will be in jail, ma'am and Central Park will be safe for you again."

"God bless you, officer."...........

TWO

Detective Mason Holmes was fifty years old and single. 

His marriage to a pretty and demure elementary school teacher ended tragically when she was killed by a Mafioso with a vendetta against Mason for helping in the arrest of his superior "crime boss". That was all water under the bridge but he longed to fall in love all over again and perhaps re-marry. He was thinking of Lexa O'Neil. Her delicious body was just one of her assets. She was strong of spirit and body, courageous and good-hearted. She was intelligent and classy and she filled him with a joy he had not experienced since his previous marriage. 

Knowing that she was single, he found it easy to love her and he was glad she wasn't involved in any relationship or marriage. But she was also very aloof and she didn't seem to care for any particular man. He had once wondered if Lexa was a lesbian, as many officers and deputies in her squad had suspected. There was no evidence to prove this but her lack of interest in men sparked rumors. Mason wanted to ask her out but had not found an opportune moment to do so. The mysterious, alluring quality she possessed drove him wild. 

One morning at the station, Lexa was conversing with the African-American Lieutenant Isaiah Dante over coffee right by the Chief's office. Lieutenant Dante was one of about four black cops in the force, and he had risen to this high position after years of civil service. He commanded a squad of many cops, all male, except for Lexa, but only when Chief Barry Hiller was unable to perform his duties as police chief. 

Because Lexa was the only female on the force, and attractive, she was the center of male attention and every guy on the force had flirted with her and asked her out on a date. Every guy, that was, except Hudson Banach. Lexa was a lighter-skinned black, and in fact, she was half-white, and she had always enjoyed a rapport with other blacks but she possessed the same spirit of comfort among whites. She was very New York City in her sense of democracy and her multi-cultural tastes.

Detective Mason Holmes walked into the station and noticed that Lieutenant Dante was openly flirting with Lexa. She was smiling and laughing at his jokes while sipping her coffee. 

"Sorry to interrupt," Mason said, "but may I talk to Miss O'Neil in private, Lieutenant?"

"Is something wrong, Detective?" Lexa said to him.

"How many times have I told you not to call me "Detective"? It's Mason," he said, smiling at her and taking her hand and kissing it.

Lieutenant Dante got up and left, as if displeased by Mason's action.

Some deputies noticed this and grinned at one another knowingly. Just then Hudson Banach walked into the station, arriving for his morning duties. He didn't notice Mason and Lexa and merely went over to the coffee machine and began to socialize with another deputy. Lexa smiled at Mason and felt feminine for the first time in a long time.

"You aren't European by any chance?" she said jokingly.

He laughed cheerily.

"No, Miss O'Neil, but I am a romantic. And this is why I'm here this morning. I want to ask you to be my date for a dinner party at the fabulous home of a dear friend of mine who lives in the Hamptons."

"The Hamptons, oh my."

"Yes, she's a widow. I knew her when she first got married. Wonderful man. He hired me for an investigation into fraud occurring within his business that he wasn't aware of. We became close friends and after he died, I remained good friends with his wife. Her name's Clementine Gibson but everyone calls her "The Widow Gibson". She's all class, a rich socialite type. She throws terrific summer parties."

"It's not summer right now," Lexa pointed out.

"She throws parties all year round. She will throw a party at her estate with a 1920's "Great Gatsby" theme. Guests are encouraged to wear costumes of famous figures of the 1920's, real or fictional. Costumes aren't de rigueur though so some folks will just show up in formal wear or business casual/formal."

"Only the very rich can do crazy things like that. Who are you going as?"

"I'm going as Dashiell Hammett the detective novelist."

"I don't think I'd wear a costume if I go. This lady sounds pretty strange."

"Oh, she's eccentric alright but she's a nice lady. Would you like to come? It's this weekend."

Hudson now approached them and overheard this piece of the conversation. Lexa did not reply and Mason still held on to her hand for a while. He then let go and looked at her. She was pensive for a moment. She looked at Hudson who was standing behind her drinking his coffee. 

"Yes, I'd love to come," she said to him..............

THREE

Hudson was called to the Chief's office. Chief Barry Hiller was walking about eating candy, which Hudson had never seen him do and resisted the urge to laugh at the ridiculous sight. The Chief was smiling and looking every bit like an overgrown kid. 

"Have a seat, Hudson," he said to him.

Hudson loved that he called him by his first name as if they were close friends and not the more formal way of calling him by his last name the way he did with other deputies and officers. He even called Lexa "Miss O'Neil".




Vice Cop Ch. 05



He felt he had a terrific rapport with the Chief. It appeared as if the Chief had liked him from day one, as if he Hudson was a reminder of his old days as a cop. There was also the matter that both Chief Hiller and Hudson were actually quite old fashioned in their attitudes toward women and their more conservative and tough guy persona. The only difference was that Hudson was a lot younger and could pass for his son.

"Hudson, I know you've been a damn good asset to the squad ever since your first day," he said to him, "if you think I've been ignoring you, you're wrong. I've been keeping track of your progress and I think it's about time you do something for me that I've only asked Miss O'Neil and a few others who work as undercover cops and vice cops."

Thank you God thought Hudson and smiled as he had never smiled before.

"Chief, I'm honored, oh man," he said to him.

"Now, now don't get too excited. If you fail, you'll just go back to deputy work and I know you don't want that."

"I wouldn't fail you. What would you have me do if I may ask?"

"Investigators have been looking into something we've never come across before. It's occurring in Long Island, specifically in the Hamptons."

"Where the very rich folks live?"

"The rich are different than you and I. Who said that?"

"I don' know. I was never good in English class. Maybe Fitzegerald?"

"Well whoever it was, boy, were they right. These millionaires are different alright and possibly breaking the law."

"What do you mean, Chief?"

The Chief did not reply right away and sat down, opening a drawer and retrieving another box of candy. He took a bite off a piece and then took another piece in his fat hands and offered them to Hudson.

"Candy, Hudson?"

He looked at the piece of candy almost with disgust. 

"No, I don't like candy. I don't eat any kind of sugar."

"Good man. You'll never get diabetes like me," the Chief said with a laugh.

"Chief, what is going on in The Hamptons?"

"I'm getting to that, hold on. Well, the investigators believe that illegal activities are taking place in one particular home. Nothing is quite certain right now and it's all speculation. We believe that it may be either Mafia related or involving a private and illegal sex club for the rich, a brothel if you will."

"In The Hamptons?"

"Mafia families could afford to live there, Banach. Surely you know how lucrative organized crime can be. Whoever said "crime doesn't pay" didn't know the hard facts. Crime actually does pay and pays well."

"So there's a bunch of rich folks over there that have crazy sex parties?"

"They are consuming drugs provided to them by drug lords in some foreign possibly Cuban or South American Mafia. As for prostitution, well, we have heard stories of young women from within New York City who tell of being employed by a wealthy socialite in The Hamptons who throws wild parties with executives, high powered businessmen, lawyers, oil tycoons and even some foreigners like Arabic princes. We suspect they're engaging in illegal sex. These parties are said to be incredibly wild. There have been reports of girls who go to these parties and never return. Some have been found dead, their bodies dumped into various parts of upstate New York."

"This is unbelievable. Well, what do you want me to do? We're talking a bust here. I've never done that before."

"Simple. You'll go undercover as one of the "millionaire" gentlemen who frequent this Madame's estate and find out whether or not the alleged illegal activities are actually taking place. You'll report to us what you see there. Whatever you do, don't give yourself away. You're always on cop mode, even from the way you look at people."

"Well I can't help it. I was born into this. My father was a cop in Poland and my Uncle Vitto, who's retired now and living in Miami, was a cop in Sicily and Italy. Oh, the stories he told me."

"You love this, don't you Hudson? Well I'm glad you'll get to do something you've been craving to do. But again, don't give yourself away. This is more like an undercover spy job than anything else. The actual bust will be handled by others."

He didn't dare ask who but Hudson figured he meant Lexa O'Neil and the new crowd she was working with -- Detective Mason Holmes and the other investigators. He sighed. He got up and headed for the office door.

"When would I be doing this?"

"This weekend, Hudson, and remember, play the part of a care-free millionaire, a playboy even. Stay in character. It's like an acting job. We'll provide you with the proper costume -- a fancy executive suit. We'll give you a Cuban cigar, too."

"I won't fail you, Chief, I promise."

"I hope not, Hudson. I've always believed in your potential. Now's your chance to prove you have what it takes. Oh and Hudson --"

"Yeah Chief?"

"You'll need to be prepared for anything. You'll have to bring a gun and conceal it in a pocket holster in your slacks. No one should be able to see it considering you'll be wearing a sport coat."

Hudson nodded and closed the door while the Chief ate another piece of candy.

Four

Lexa was applying crimson lipstick over her lips and watching her reflection in the mirror of Detective Mason's Bentley.

Lexa knew how to dress up fashionably and glamorously. Because her mother, Katrina, had once been an opera diva before becoming a mother, she had partied with the elitist upper class of New York. She had provided her daughter with the same sense of fashion and style but Lexa rarely had the opportunity to flaunt this style. She had expensive tastes but being a cop, she could not afford to live as she secretly dreamed of living. 

Far greater than her desire for a jet-set lifestyle was her sense of fulfillment in fighting crime, even if it did not pay well. Right now, she felt like Cinderella on her way to the ball and did not even want to think about crime or duty. She was wearing a baby blue sequin gown with a slit on the side revealing her leg and high heels. Her dark hair was in a French twist. She looked tall and gorgeous like a Vogue supermodel. 

The Detective was dressed in a 1940's film-noir Detective dressy brown suspender-suit and a large hat. He was holding a pipe and felt every bit like his favorite writer Dashiell Hammett.

He gave Lexa a smile as they drove up a long driveway surrounded on either side by rose bushes and small trees. In the distance was the beach and the ocean's quiet roar could be heard. The Hamptons was beautiful and the beach was serene in the evening, with moonlight casting a soft glow over the waters. The mansion before them was huge, built in the style of an old English country manor with tainted windows, balconies and three floors. 

"There must be a hundred rooms in that house," Lexa said in amazement.

"I wouldn't know," said Detective Mason, "I don't feel I'm as close a friend to The Widow Gibson as I was to her husband. She invites me to these parties and usually I drink a lot and leave before midnight."

"Oh, Mason, you're such a bore. Midnight is when the party really begins," Lexa said, with a jovial laugh.

Her dangling silver earrings danced as she moved her head to the side and Detective Mason noticed this and was awed by her beauty.

"Come on, let's get out of the car," he said.

Arm in arm, they approached the entrance to the manor. A powerfully-built man, dressed in a dark suit and looking as tough as a bouncer at a nightclub stood by the door. He was evidently security and it was the first time Lexa had ever seen one in front of someone's home. Detective Mason showed him his invitation card and told him he was a friend of Clementine Gibson and with the New York Detective Bureau.

The man allowed them entrance into the manor. Lexa looked up when the sight of an elaborate Baroque-style chandelier hanging over the vast entrance hall caught her eye. She stood with wide eyes as she took in the opulence of the manor's interior. The floor was marble and glossy, like the lobby of some grand hotel, and potted palms, statuary and expensive antique furnishings were scattered everywhere. A grand double staircase was in view and descending and ascending the stairs were various guests. 

They were mostly male and the females with them looked a lot younger than them, but this did not grab Lexa's immediate attention. The guests poured into the house and it was filling up with many people, all of them busy socializing and laughing. The girls were dressed as flappers wearing gaudy jewelry, showy feathers and gossamer gowns. One white girl went as Clara Bow, dolled up in '20's fashion and with her was a black girl dressed provocatively as the erotic dancer Josephine Baker in her "banana dance" outfit. There was a man dressed in the spitting image of Rudolph Valentino. A man in a waiter/bus boy type of attire was serving alcoholic drinks.

From above the staircase was a tall woman, strikingly beautiful for an older woman. She had grey hair but it was beautiful hair which was arranged in a high coiffure. She was dressed in a golden sequin gown and she had on gaudy jewelry. Lexa thought she looked like Auntie Mame. She was talking to a man who was dressed up as Lindbergh in full aviator outfit.

"Ah, Mason darling, welcome, welcome," she said cheerily and descending the stairs gracefully, extending her hand to him.

Detective Mason took her hand and kissed it in a cavalier manner.

"Mrs. Gibson, you look beautiful," he said.

"And who is this ravishing young woman you've brought along?"

"This is Miss Lexa O'Neil. She's with the New York Police Department and works with me as an undercover cop at the Detective Bureau."

"Charmed, I'm sure," she said to Lexa, their eyes meeting.

Clementine Gibson regarded her with a look of subtle hauteur, as if she was not pleased with her presence at the party. Lexa was quick to notice this even though Mason did not. It was almost as if she did not care for a lady cop being in her home. A gradual suspicion began to build inside Lexa's cop mind. If this lady did not care for cops, it had to mean she was concealing some illegal activity of her own.

"Well, darling," she said, directly addressing Mason, "since you brought a beautiful girl to keep you company tonight, I'm afraid I won't be able to keep you much company. I thought we could dance tonight but I'd much rather see you enjoy yourself with your date."

"I would be honored with just one dance, Mrs. Gibson," Mason said to her.

"We shall see," she said and retired to another room.

"You dance, Detective?" Lexa asked him, quite surprised.

"This old body can still dance," he joked, "and I would love to dance with you tonight, Miss O'Neil."

"I gladly accept, Detective," she said.

Mason was about to say something to her but Lexa turned around when her eyes fell over a familiar face. A handsome, ruggedly-built man was entering the mansion, dressed in a well-tailored black double-breasted blazer over a dress shirt, vest and slacks. His jet-black hair slicked back and he was holding a cigar and laughing, as if everything amused him. He had a young Hugh Hefner thing going on. But Lexa looked closely from above the stairs and her jaw nearly dropped. It was Hudson Banach.

FIVE

It was turning midnight and the party was in full swing. A multitude of guests had filled up the interior of the home. Due to the large crowds, it was hard to keep track of what was going on as there were various alcoves and rooms, both upstairs and downstairs. When the number of guests reached over a hundred, The Widow Gibson told the newly arriving guests to congregate in her vast lawn in the rear of the home where she threw outdoor parties and where buffet tables were waiting for them. 

Lexa had lost track of Hudson but she figured he was doing undercover work. She wondered how he got the job so soon. She suspected the Chief had something to do with it. 

He had always admired and respected Hudson, even when he was breaking a few of the rules in the name of justice, like going outside of his jurisdiction while on patrol or even when Hudson acted like an arrogant know-it-all. His mission in Miami to capture Leo Mendoza had failed but the Chief still believed in Hudson's potential. Lexa did not wish to talk to Hudson and did her best to avoid him. Truth be told, he looked hot in his playboy type suit and he was so cute pretending not to be a cop.

But she did not want him to see her.

"Why don't we go to the lawn outside, Detective," she said to him, knowing that if she remained inside the house she would run into Hudson and it would be awkward as always.

"You want to go outside?" Mason asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, I....I need some fresh air," she said, putting a hand over her forehead in a feigned act, "I'm so dizzy in here. Too many people and too much booze."

"Alright, my dear, anything you like."

Arm in arm they walked outside into the Irish-green lawn which also featured a beautiful Renaissance style fountain, decorated by fauns and nymphs. Mason was in heaven with Lexa in his arm, and he felt as if he were suddenly a bigger and more important man, a VIP, noticing how everyone turned to see them wherever they went, as if they were a Hollywood couple or political power couple.

They sat by the fountain and began to converse. Lexa would occasionally look into the direction of the house as if expecting Hudson to walk out into the lawn but this did not happen.

* * * *

Back inside the mansion, The Pretender's "Don't Get Me Wrong" finished playing and it was followed by Madonna's "Into The Groove" and "Holiday". The Widow Gibson did not enjoy modern 80's music but she knew that many of her guests and clients did and the girls that were with them for the night were younger. For variety, and because she liked older music, the rest of the evening was filled with a plethora of Frank Sinatra songs, Ella Fitzgerald, Judy Garland and purely orchestral music by Henry Mancini. 

Hudson was already attracting girls like a magnet. A group of six girls, hanging around him like groupies with a rock star, were following him, asking him pointed questions, socializing with him and openly flirting with him. They each had various hair colors ranging from blonde to red-head to brunette. 

They were all in their early twenties. Dressed in stylish but sexy clothes, and with jewelry on them, they were clearly girls who had grown up in wealthy homes and were spoiled New Yorkers. They were standing in a remote part of the vast living room, next to a large painted portrait of The Widow Gibson. A fireplace was behind them, a small fire burning. The girls were chattering away and tugging at his shirt.

"Ladies, ladies, please," Hudson said in his "in character" voice, a more emphasized Italianate accent which made him sound like Tony Danza, "this is a brand new suit. Go easy on me."

"Like oh my God, are you a male model? Have I seen you in anything? Are you an actor? Were you in a soap opera?"

You girls don't know the half of it, thought Hudson.

"An actor of sorts," he said with a knowing grin.

"Hi, over here! My name's Tiffany" said a blonde who was dressed up like Amelia Airheart.

"No, me! Me!" said the red-head emphatically.

The girls began to bicker and fight among each other verbally. Hudson smiled and threw his head back in an amused laugh. He was enjoying every minute of it. "Fly Me To The Moon" played in the background as guests went on about their socializing and drinking, moving to and fro in the large mansion.

"Ladies, don't fight over me," Hudson said to the girls, "but it's obvious I can't divide my attention and enjoy all of you at once. Which one of you is the oldest?"

"I'm twenty five," said the blonde girl in the Amelia Airheart costume, Tiffany.

"Good enough. Come with me."

The other girls watched in jealousy as he escorted the blonde girl into another part of the big house. She seemed to know the place very well, which made Hudson's cop brain begin to work. If she was a regular in these parties, she knew exactly what went on and what illegal activities were being conducted. She was his ticket to becoming an undercover vice cop.

"Where are you taking me, babe?" he said to her.

"As if you don't know," she said flirtatiously.

"No I don't. I'm new here."

"You are? You don't look like you're new to The Widow Gibson's parties. Oh, well, doesn't matter."

They passed a large drawing room that was covered in a thick cloud of smoke. Men in business suits were smoking and drinking while a few girls sat on their laps grinding against them with their hips and buttocks, giving them lap dances. Some of the men were making out with the girls. As they turned one corner, he caught a glimpse of a girl in nothing but a red lacy bra and panties being chased by an Arab looking man. In another room, a girl was giving a man with his trousers down a blowjob. In a rec room, complete with a pool table and bar, men slapped girl's butts as they passed by.

A bordello indeed, thought Hudson. This is going to be all over quite soon, soon as he reported it to the Chief. He figured Detective Mason and the other investigators would most likely make the bust. He wished he could do that sort of thing, but for now he had to swallow his pride and do the undercover cop thing. And truth be told, this was an adventure and held its own degree of thrills.

"You want to get high?" Tiffany said to him," we can go into one of the other rooms, The Salon."

"What do they have there?" Hudson questioned.

"Marijuana, cocaine, heroin, you name it," she responded," so do you want to go?"

"No thanks."

So it was about drugs, thought Hudson, the Chief had been right.

"Oh I see," Tiffany said," You want to get straight to the action."

"Action? What action?"

"Oh you gotta be kidding me. A hot Italian hunk like you and so innocent! You're unreal. You've never been to a party held here before?"

"Are you a call girl?"

"I wish," Tiffany said with a sudden laugh," it would be so fun to work as an escort. But I'm not one of The Widow Gibson's girls. I'm just a guest. I come here mostly for the drugs, sometimes the sex but only when I know it's going to be good. Most of the time these rich pigs make me sick."

"So what do you do?" Hudson inquired, his curiosity peaked.

"Do?"

"Yeah, what do you do for a living?"

"My folks are big wigs in the automobile industry. I'm rich so I don't have to work. I've got a three million dollar trust fund and I travel mostly."

"Your folks know you go to wild parties like these and that you do drugs?"

"Nah. They don't know a thing. And why are you asking these questions? You sound like a cop or private investigator."

Damn, Hudson thought, I forget to stay in character and not do the cop thing.

"So listen, I have the hots for you. How would you like to do me?"

O my God, thought Hudson. What now? He felt stuck. If he refused her, she would be on his case and perhaps even figure out he was an undercover cop. He knew he couldn't tell her he was a cop either. She might even blab to The Widow Gibson and she'd act quickly and make her escape before she could get caught. If he accepted her proposal, then she would not suspect a thing. He would be staying in character as the playboy millionaire who did this sort of thing frequently.

Hudson stared at her. She almost reminded him of Candy Spears, except she seemed to be a lot more flat-chested. She had a petite build, her skin was white and smooth, her short hair like blonde silk and her energetic spirit was intoxicating. She was a mischievous little minx and again that "vice" side of him began to kick in, filling up his hormones. The fact she looked like a tomboy as Amelia Airheart did not turn off Hudson in the least.

"Well, alright," Hudson said," but let's make it a quickie."




Vice Cop Ch. 05



"Oh, too bad," she said, "you got somewhere to go? What do you do for a living? You look super rich and what is your name again?

"My name's Hu- uh- Harrison. Harrison Stone. I'm a producer and sometimes actor in Canada and the UK."

"But you're so New York and you're Italian."

How to cover that up, thought Hudson. He delved deeply into the side of him that was a lying jerk and a typical guy trying to get laid and came up with bullshit.

"Well my film production company is over in Toronto and I've spent time in London a lot. No more talk, baby. Let's do this thing." 

He knew that if he brought up the need for immediate sexual gratification, which she so obviously wanted, she'd stop asking pointed questions and he wouldn't have to keep lying.

She took his hand and quickly they ran into an empty room on a higher floor of the mansion. She put a "Do Not Disturb Sign" over the door and closed it.

SIX

"You wait right here on this bed," Tiffany said to him standing by the door to the room.

Hudson removed his dress shirt, tie, slacks and underwear on the bed while keeping his eyes on her. She was still in her costume and she had her hand on the doorknob.

"Where are you going? I thought we were going to do it?"

"I'm going to surprise you. Just follow along. Wait for me, ok."

"Ok."

What on earth was she going to do? Hudson's imagination ran wild. Suppose she was one of those really kinky and wild girls. Maybe she wanted to whip him and tie him up to the bed or something. He didn't want any of that. But he felt as if he was at her mercy. If he ran away, he would be behaving in an unmanly way and he'd give away that he was not even the character he was even "enacting". He waited nervously for a few minutes but before long Tiffany returned.

She was now in a white bra and panties and she had obviously undressed while she had left the room. Hudson was surprised. She had actually stripped to her undergarments in front of people at the party. 

"I have a surprise for you," she said to him, smiling from ear to ear.

"That's nice lingerie," Hudson said to her.

"No, not that, this."

Another girl entered the room. She was Asian and had long dark hair which she had made into a long ponytail that hung to the side of one shoulder. She was also in a costume - a colorful Japanese Geisha kimono but it was open, like a robe, to reveal black thong underwear and high heels. Hudson's eyes nearly fell of their sockets when he saw her. 

"This is Sumi, she's here from Korea, just arrived in New York a few weeks ago," Tiffany explained.

"It' an honor, sir," the Asian girl said bowing her head to him.

O Jesus thought Hudson. He felt like getting up and leaving but he was now beginning to feel the blood racing into his cock, his eyes widened with a spark of lust.

"Is she a hooker?" he asked Tiffany.

"She is but I'm paying for her services," she replied, "so don't worry about the money. Ever done it with two girls?"

"Yeah," Hudson lied, "twice before, years ago in...in... London."

"Third time's a charm," Tiffany said.

Great, thought Hudson, I've never done anything like this and now he'd have to look as if he had.

Tiffany softly ordered the girl to take off her kimono, bra and panties and to sit on Hudson's lap. She said this in Korean and this surprised Hudson. The girl was submissive and she sat down over his lap. She knew what to do from that moment onward.

Slowly, she began to grind her hips in a simulating fucking motion, slowly and seductively, making Hudson's cock hard instantly. She wiggled her butt against his thighs and she took hold of her own breasts, which were also small, and threw her head back.

"Yeah, you like? You so big."

Hudson tried not to laugh. If she said "Oh, me so horny. I love you long time" he knew he would burst into laughter. She continued to give him a lap dance and she was evidently quite good at it. Doubtless she had done it to other men before. She moaned quietly and her writhing and movements over his lap was making him feel hotter, hungrier. 

Because they were face to face, he took the opportunity to kiss her. It felt good to kiss her. He didn't know this girl and she was a hooker and he was actually a cop but right now, he was not. He was millionaire playboy actor and he was having fun. All his stress and frustrations melted away. She kissed him back, sweet kisses and afterward she giggled like a schoolgirl.

Hudson smiled.

"Yeah you like that? Huh? Fun isn't it?" he said to her, smiling.

"Ok, Sumi, that's enough now," Tiffany said to her.

Sumi dismounted him and stood next to Tiffany, bowing her head and smiling furtively. From one corner of her eye, she kept watch over the scene. Tiffany removed her bra and panties and stood naked and quiet, allowing Hudson to take in all her nudity. His eyes feasted on her lithe and sexy body.

With all the sexy gracefulness of a cat, she walked over to him and mounted him. She took his hands, which were considerably larger than hers, and put them gently over the sides of the bed, letting him know she did not intend to give him another lap dance. She was making it clear she wanted to ride him. Hudson let out a moan and felt his cock harden even more. 

She began to slowly unzip his pants, writhing against him, her hair falling over her breasts in semi-disarray, all the while keeping eye contact with him. Hudson was moaning and speechless, aroused beyond belief. He was thrilled at the idea that he was about to have two girls for the first time. Sure it was not very cop-like behavior but right now, all those concerns went out the window and he wanted to indulge in this private little sexcapade.

Tiffany removed his shirt, button by button, and she gazed at his nudity with lusty eyes, licking her tongue now and then. Hudson's hair was big and full of hair, which she seemed to like. She ran her hands down his chest and Hudson rested his head back over the bed, lying flat on his back. His cock was now fully erect.

"Fuck, you're well-hung," Tiffany exclaimed, "how big is it?"

"Nine inches, babe," Hudson replied with a grin for he had always loved being the owner of a big dick.

"I'm going to enjoy this," she said.

She got on top of him, straddling him, and she began to lower herself on to his cock. It impaled her completely and she moaned and shuddered at the first penetration. She closed her eyes, as if she had just taken a drug and was now enjoying its sensational effects. Up and down she went over his cock, slowly at first, in a rhythmic cadence that drove Hudson wild with desire, making him turn his head back and forth and moan in the pleasure she was giving him. Sumi kept her head bowed but she was still peeking.

She continued to ride his cock, throwing her head back and squealing in ecstatic pleasure. After a while, she quickened her pace, relishing the control she possessed over him in this position. Hudson's face contorted as his orgasm built up. Tiffany rode his cock hard and fast, both of them now raising their voices, screaming as a powerful wave of sexual bliss washed over them. 

He had his hands on her waist and then lowered them to her ass, slapping her ass cheeks now and then. She cried out and rode him even faster. Slowing down some time later, she switched her position. Still on top of him, she turned away from him, facing Sumi who was by the door. She continued to ride him, moving up and down over his cock, while he gently caressed her back and pulled on her hair. 

"Oaah, fuck, oh God," she said, cursing as she reached orgasm.

Hudson roared during his orgasm and Tiffany cried out along with him, relishing the finale. Sumi looked up, and her face was very red.

"Ok, now you watch me and Sumi," she told him, "and then you'll have both of us at the same time."

Hudson felt like he was going to die from the absolute pleasure of it all.

He had never been in a threesome, much less observed lesbian sex in a front row seat. He felt like he was an actor in one of the porno movies he secretly enjoyed watching. 

The girls smiled softly and stared at one another with a quiet but palpable naughtiness. As if silently engaged in a telepathic communication, Sumi got on her back and spread her legs. She did this with a sense of urgency and longing, sighing and instantly parting her legs. The odd thing about her was that she was looking at Hudson, as if she did not care to really engage in lesbian sex and was just doing it to pleasure Tiffany who had paid for her services.

Tiffany positioned herself between her legs, putting her hands on the Asian girl's thighs, which Hudson noticed were quite thin. Before long, Tiffany was laving Sumi's pussy.

She was also using her fingers, deftly slipping them into the folds of her pussy and making Sumi squirm with pleasure. She writhed and moaned softly, quietly, nothing like Tiffany's more vociferous moans. Tiffany continued to orally pleasure Sumi while Hudson watched in lusty amazement. His cock was getting hard again.

Outside, the party continued, a mélange of music, laughter and ecstatic voices. It was past one in the morning. Hudson had lost track of time. Also lost with his inhibitions and he had forgotten he was a cop. He had, for the hell of it, made himself believe he was actor Harrison Stone, a hot shot, and that scenes such as this one was normal to him. Tiffany pleasured Sumi's pussy until she had reached a powerful orgasm. Afterward, the girls embraced but the look in their eyes told Hudson they weren't done yet.

Sitting on the bed beside him, completely ignoring him in their act of mutual pleasure, they began to entwine their legs together like some Tantric position Hudson had never seen or heard of before. Calm and quiet, Tiffany and Sumi began to make love with their fingers. Their soft hands were on each other's flesh, caressing, kneading, rubbing and stroking. 

Tiffany's white hands pinched Sumi's nipples. It never occurred to Hudson just how "white" looking some Asians were for if he were observing this scene from afar, he would have mistaken Sumi for another white girl, only with dark hair. Sumi expertly fingered Tiffany's pussy, her fingers diving into the wetness, the moistness. Tiffany shuddered and moaned in the pleasure Sumi gave her. 

Sumi, too, was the recipient of Tiffany's fingers, slipping in and out of her pussy. They threw their heads back, closed their eyes and allowed the strong sensations to course through their bodies. Hudson was already ready to burst in his orgasm, but he exhibited self-control, thinking that perhaps the girls would have fun with him afterward. 

Their moans and cries aroused him further and they were, in essence, pleasuring him by giving him the chance to view their mutual lesbian pleasure. Hudson had never known any lesbians and the only lesbians he was "acquainted with" were the actresses in the porno movies he watched alone. He didn't wish to let anyone know he had a thing for lesbian sex or any kind of hetero porn because he wanted to maintain the image of a good Italian man and a good cop. But right now, he felt like he could not know a more intense sexual pleasure.

That was until Tiffany beckoned him.

"I want you to take me," she said to him, "fuck me like there's no tomorrow. I'll continue to orally please Sumi if you fuck me from behind."

"From behind? You mean - "

"No, not anally. Just doggie style."

"That's fine with me."

Happy as can be, Hudson jumped into the action. Tiffany positioned herself on top of Sumi, who, much smaller than Tiffany, easily fit under her without any discomfort. Tiffany lowered her head and began to lick her pussy, thrusting her tongue in and out. Hudson was on his knees behind Tiffany, taking hold of her hips and he guided his cock into her pussy from behind.

He paused to look at the ménage-a-trois they had going on. They were an assortment of heated bodies hungry for sex and Hudson felt they resembled a human fan with three folds. Not wasting any time, Hudson delved his cock into Tiffany's pussy, not letting go of her hips. He felt like a stud in a porno and loved every minute of it. He pounded her pussy and he knew she was feeling lots of pleasure because she was moaning under breath and she would at times raise her lips from Sumi's pussy to let out a sexual scream.

Hudson was an animal, tirelessly fucking Tiffany's pussy until he knew he would orgasm and cover her butt and thighs with his cum. By now, the girls were crying and uttering wordlessly in their pleasure. Hudson joined them with grunts and guttural cries of his own. They were so loud it was obvious to the other party guests that they were having a threesome. Hudson did not care and he had begun to store the vivid memory of this experience in his mind, hoping to re-live it from time to time, especially when he'd become mired in the dullness of routine patrols and duties.

Tiffany let out a primal scream as she felt her own orgasm erupt. Sumi had become quiet and lay on her back in a motionless state, obviously very tired and spent. Hudson roared as he had his orgasm and he collapsed over Tiffany. They were now a human sandwich with Hudson on top, Tiffany in the middle and Sumi at the bottom. Hudson was able to see this through the reflection of the closet mirror of the bedroom and he flashed a big smile. He loved that he was on top.

SEVEN

Lexa and Detective Mason were already on dessert which they ate seated by the fountain. The moon was full but because of the many groves of tall trees scattered about, the Widow Gibson's garden and rear lawn was cast in some darkness. She had only a few dim lights out in the yard, and a pool with lights. The weather was cool and no one cared to go for a swim. Everyone out in this area was either eating or taking a stroll. Mason couldn't keep his eyes off of Lexa, dressed to the nines in an elegant gown which she most likely rented. But she would only smile at him politely in return and she seemed to talk less and less with every passing minute. It was as if her mind was elsewhere.

"What's troubling you?" Mason said to her, taking her hand in his.

"Detective how well do you know Mrs. Gibson?"

"Maybe I'm not her closest friend but she's a woman above reproach. She's always been very kind to me and I like these parties."

Lexa caught sight of the shadowy profile of a man and a woman in an upstairs room through a window. The lamplight was bright enough for her to see a large bed, a mirror and even one other figure sitting on a chair. The couple was in a distinctly sexual position while standing up and it was obvious they were fornicating in the room while the third person watched. If she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed it.

Lexa looked at the Detective's watch and saw that it was about ten minutes past midnight. She then looked at Mason square in the face.

"You leave these parties before midnight, you said?" 

"That's correct. Its past midnight now but I'm having a wonderful time here with you, Miss O'Neil. What's wrong? Tell me. You look concerned about something."

"I am. I'm afraid I don't trust The Widow Gibson."

"But what makes you think she can't be trusted, Miss O'Neil? I have never seen her doing anything the least bit suspicious."

Lexa's eyes wandered again. She noticed that someone she could see was a man through his bulky profile was chasing a young nude girl out of the manor's grounds through a back door and out into the direction of the beach. 

"You never know what someone is really like, Detective," Lexa said to him, "and as a detective you must always be on the look-out for suspicious activity."

"What have you seen here tonight that makes you think something's wrong?"

"Well, there's a highly sexual vibe in the air."

"Sexual?" the Detective could scarcely believe it, "Miss O'Neil, Mrs. Gibson has been a widow for many years now and I doubt she has had any type of sexual relationship with anyone."

"I'm not talking about her. I mean her guest. I just saw what looked like a couple having sex in an upstairs room- while being watched by a third person."

"What?"

"And just now I saw a man chasing a nude girl out of here."

"I can't believe I missed that."

"Well, it seems you've been taken for a fool, Detective. The Widow Gibson deliberately sees to it that you leave before midnight and she ensures that you don't see what's really going on inside her house."

"Did you see anyone consuming drugs?"

"I don't see that happening but it's very probable that someone somewhere in the house is taking drugs. Drugs and orgies usually go together, right?"

"I've been going to orgies without knowing it?"

"How she must laugh at you when you leave, Detective."

"If what you're saying is correct, then the Widow is the Madame we've been looking for. I've been on this case for a year now. There have been reports of wild parties in a home here in The Hamptons. We believe that a Mafia organization is providing them with drugs and that a Madame has established a high-class bordello to entertain wealthy gentlemen."

"This looks like that kind of place."

"My God, you think you know a person. Well, she's not going to get away with it. Are you very sure of what you've seen?"

"Yes. Should I call the Chief to send some officers over here?"

"Please do and let's go into the house and see for ourselves what's going on. The only difficulty we'll have is that if something goes horribly wrong, we're unarmed the both of us."

EIGHT

Clementine Gibson had a fit after a clumsy waiter had spilled red wine over her gown. She went into her master bedroom, which at one time had been the bedroom of her late husband, to change into a new outfit. Her walk-in closet was full of mostly dresses and gowns. She never wore casual clothes and she disliked the fact that women this day and age wore jeans and skirts, which she considered to be unfit for a lady. She browsed through a number of sequin gowns, all of them looking like beautiful supermodel gowns. She was thin, owing to the fact she ate far too moderately.

As she put on a silver-grey gown with a plunging neckline, she heard a knock at the door which sounded urgent. She felt irritated by the sudden interruption.

"Who the hell is it?" she roared.

"Miss Gibson," said a male voice, "It's only Victor and Mikey."

"Oh," she replied, satisfied to know it was her two personal bodyguards and henchmen/goons, "wait one minute fellas."

After she had dressed and straightened her high hairdo, she told them to come in. Her two henchmen were tall and burly men, both Italian whites who had previously done bodyguard work for other Underground and Mafia members. The Widow put on her no-nonsense and tough face, the one she never had on when she welcomed guest or when she spoke to people who had no idea she was a Madame.

"What is going on?"

"Miss Gibson, we spotted a car parked outside that belongs to one of the guests," said Victor.

"And we have seen this same car, a red Corvette, often times before in New York City," continued Mikey," it belongs to a cop on the NYPD."

"A cop is here at the party?" the Widow exclaimed.

"Yes, ma'am, undercover. What do you want us to do to him?"

"How could a god-damned cop have gotten in?"

"Well, ma'am, when a cop is undercover, he's not in uniform. He's probably dressed like the other gentlemen that come to your parties."

She walked around her room in a state of panic. She recalled that beautiful young mulatto lady, Lexa O'Neil, who had been in the arm of Mason Holmes. This was probably the cop the guys were referring to.

"This could be the end of our little business here, boys," she said.

"So do you want us to waste him?"

"Him? It's a man?"

"The Corvette belongs to a white male police officer we've seen in town."




Vice Cop Ch. 05



"But Mason Holmes, who is unaware of what goes on here, brought along a girl he says is a cop who works undercover."

"Oh, Jeesh" said Mikey, "that means there's not one but two cops at the party. This ain't good."

"It sure as hell isn't," said the Widow.

"Do you want us to waste those two?"

"No. I don't think I'd want them dead. There have been too many deaths caused by my guests already and two dead cops will stir up too much media attention here."

"What if we mess them up a bit?"

"No. They'd live to tell their story. They're spying on us. I want to take this matter into my own hands. What you can do, fellas, is plant a small bomb in that officer's nice Corvette. That would be a lark."

With that the goons left. The Widow Gibson let out a scream of sheer frustration. In her anger, she threw a vase which cracked the vanity mirror in her bedroom. Damn, she thought, damn. After all this time, she was getting caught. Well, she thought, I'll bring that cop down. I'll make sure he won't forget the Widow Gibson. She wondered if Detective Mason Holmes had left. She had always known him to leave the party before midnight but since everything seemed to be going wrong, it was possible he was still around. If she came across him, she made up her mind that she'd have to kill him, too. If she ran into that damn lady cop, she'd do the same.

Quickly, she rushed to a drawer where she retrieved a handgun which she loaded.

NINE

When Detective Mason Holmes and Lexa went into the so-called "Salon" their suspicions were thoroughly confirmed. The men in there were high. They were lounging around, some completely unaware of their surroundings and others were making out with some of the girls, who were themselves high on the cocaine and marijuana. Mason and Lexa walked about in disgust. They had to walk over some of the people who were lying on the floor motionless. Rock music blared and the lighting in the room was red like that of a photo development room.

"Did you call the other cops already?" he questioned her.

"I have," replied Lexa, "and something I forgot to mention to you is that Deputy Hudson Banach is here."

"Banach is here at the party?"

"Oh, not as a guest; he's here undercover. I saw him some time ago when we first walked into the house. Chief Hiller must have sent him here to report on what's going on."

"Where do you suppose he is now? Is he gone?"

"I wouldn't know. I haven't seen him since."

"Come on. Let's go find the Widow Gibson. We have to keep her from evading arrest."

* * * *

Hudson opened his eyes. 

Tiffany was in bed beside him and Sumi had fallen asleep on a chair. Hudson had passed out and fallen asleep, having lost track of time. He had no idea how long he had been in this small room. He knew that what he had just done was an indiscretion but he was grateful no one who knew he was a cop was around. He stirred and moaned under the covers and Tiffany opened her own eyes. She stared at Hudson who got up and began to dress.

"You have some place you gotta go?" she said to him.

"Uh, yeah," Hudson replied, once again assuming character, "If I don't go, I'll miss a flight"

"Oh, where are you going?"

"London. I've got a film to make there."

"Could you take me with you?" Tiffany smiled at him and her eyes glistened.

Hudson chuckled nervously. He sincerely felt that if he was actually a millionaire actor he would take this girl with him anywhere.

"I'm flattered," he said to her, "and I like you but I really can't take you with me. I'm afraid this was just a one-night thing."

"You got a girlfriend or wife?"

"Uh, yeah. Are you going to be ok with this?"

"It's ok. I understand. But, hey, it was fun."

"Sure was."

"You sure you don't want me to pay for Sumi's service?"

"I told you, I already paid her," she said to him.

"Alright, ciao Bella."

As Hudson exited the room, he saw a strangely familiar face. An elegantly dressed young woman was walking down the hall, as if looking for someone in particular, searching the rooms. Behind her was a man doing the same. When he drew nearer, Hudson saw that it was Lexa O'Neil.

"Lexa?"

"Hudson?"

They locked eyes for a moment in utter surprise. Hudson's eyes surveyed her body from head to toe. She looked damn good in her blue sequin gown, which showcased her curvaceous body and she smelled so good.

"Are you here undercover?" he asked her.

"No. I'm here as Detective Holmes's date. But you're here undercover aren't you?"

"Yeah. How can you be here at a party like this? There are illegal drugs here."

"Detective Holmes didn't know about it. The Widow Gibson is really the Madame we've been looking for only he didn't know. She's been deceiving him."

"That's right," said a throaty female voice from behind them.

When Hudson and Lexa turned around, they saw that two men had seized Mason Holmes and The Widow had a gun to his head. At the sight of this, they both froze. The Widow had a malicious gleam in her eye and she relished in the power she held over the Detective's life.

Acting quickly, Hudson retrieved his handgun from the pocket holster in his slacks. He pointed the gun at the two henchmen following The Widow's orders.

"Let him go, damn you," Hudson shouted.

"The cops are on their way, Ma'am," Lexa said to The Widow," so it's best to comply. The party's over."

"Damned mulatto bitch," shouted The Widow and she fired a shot from her own gun.

The shot had been aimed at Lexa but Hudson jumped into its trajectory. The bullet went into his shoulder.

"Fuck," he cried and fell on the floor. 

At that moment, cops burst into the scene. Among them was Chief Barry Hiller, issuing orders to the cops. A rather large team of cops had arrived and were making arrests left and right, cuffing the party guests that were still in the mansion. 

Lexa leaned against Hudson, trying to get him up.

"Oh, Hudson, I'm sorry," she said to him.

"I'm alright," he said," it's just a little wound. It was just a birdshot."

"We have to take you to the hospital."

"No, Lexie. I'm alright, really."

Again, their eyes met and gentility flowed between them. It seemed to them that the only times they weren't arguing and being confrontational was when something like this occurred to them. This same type of vibe had been between them when Hudson had been kicked in the groin by Candy in Miami and had fallen down on the beach, only to be picked up by Lexa.

"Hudson, please spare me the machismo. Are you really alright or do we have to take you to the hospital?"

"I'm going to be fine. Help me up, Lexie."

She helped him get back on his feet and she saw that he was alright. The other deputies put the cuffs on the Widow Gibson and Mason Holmes was looking at her like he was staring at a woman he had never really known.

"Were you doing this type of thing when your husband was alive, Miss Gibson?" Mason said to her.

She spat in his face as a response and the deputies took her away. One of the officers had handcuffed Sumi and Tiffany who walked right past Hudson. Tiffany smiled at him knowingly, recalling their threesome sex. Hudson felt embarrassed and did not smile back. 

TEN

The arrested party guests included the sons of an Arab royal, a well-known novelist and an NFL athlete. The Widow Gibson's bordello came crashing down that night and her home was taken from her. Her new home was to be a New York prison. She was charged with running an illegal brothel and for her association with a drug lord who supplied her with the drugs. She did not wish to say who the particular drug lord was only that he was a "devil".

Hudson knew at once it was Leo Mendoza, whose nickname was The Red Devil. Looking at The Widow Gibson being transported to headquarters for interrogation, he swore he'd personally get Mendoza no matter how long it took. 

He was walking to his car when all of a sudden, it exploded in a blaze of fire. The sound was so powerful it made him shiver and fall to the ground. The other deputies turned to see that Hudson's Corvette blew up. It was obviously a bomb that had caused the explosion. The Corvette was small and the fire died down easily but Hudson cursed into the night air. It had been an expensive car and one of the popular ones that decade. He had felt like Don Johnson from Miami Vice in that car and he had bought it with his hard-earned money.

"Fuck," he said.

Lexa walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

"I don't need your pity, Lexie," he said, in a rough tone of voice.

"Don't be like this, please. You've been through a lot tonight and it's understandable you're in a bad mood. You have a wound in your arm and you don't have a ride home. I think it would be best if you come with me and Mason Holmes. We can take you home." 

"Fine."

They looked at one another again in silence. Lexa smiled at him and again her hand rested on his shoulder. Each time she did this, Hudson felt strangely good and comforted. It actually felt good for her to touch him. He smiled back softly.

"Thank you for taking that bullet that was aimed at me," she said to him.

He smiled in response. 

"Think nothing of it. I mean, after all, we are on the same team."

They walked into the direction of Mason Holmes' Bentley. Mason was in the car waiting for them. He noticed through the rear view mirror that Lexa and Hudson were staring at one another, sharing that strange, strong but subtle romantic chemistry between them, as if they had long been a couple. It disturbed him to see that there was something between them that they didn't seem to accept themselves. The brief thought of losing Lexa to Hudson crossed his mind and it made him even more determined to woo and charm Lexa into his life. 

"Detective, Hudson is alright and does not need medical attention", she said to him.

"Damn right I don't need any medical attention. I've had bruises like this and I've been shot at twice this year. Both times in the Bronx."

He looked at Mason when he said this, as if his wounds and scars and the fact he had survived gunshots to his body made him a real man while everyone knew that detectives were never in any real danger as they sat in their offices and conducted investigations. Uniform cops caught criminals and risked their lives all the time, narrowly avoiding being killed when they were not actually being killed in the line of duty. Detectives were eternally in plainclothes and eternally interrogating suspects and criminals that cops brought to them in their offices with stories to tell about how they caught them.

Mason knew what Hudson's game was and he did not like it. He was showing off in front of Lexa, shamelessly displaying his manhood to impress her and at the same time belittling him for being less manly for being unable to see any real action himself. Arrogant bastard, thought Mason, I'll win Lexa yet.

"Hudson lives in Queens," Lexa said, "and I live elsewhere in Queens. Please take us there, Detective. And we'll see you next week. Hudson, get some rest, please. You go through so much."

Hudson smiled at her.

Mason frowned. He started the car and they drove out of The Hamptons. As they crossed the bridge back to New York City, the beautiful city lights up ahead briefly cheered Hudson's spirits. He loved this city and it held charms for him, like a lover that he couldn't let go. Hudson was content to know that New York City would always be there for him, no matter what his condition was.

To Be Continued...



Vice Cop Ch. 06



Previously on Vice Cop, Hudson went undercover at a costume party in The Hamptons in hopes of discovering a notorious Madame's wild sex party and drug operation. Lexa an Detective Mason went to the party unaware that their hostess was really the wanted Madame. Hudson's Corvette was bombed and he was mildly wounded by a gun shot. In this chapter, Hudson and Lexa team up as undercover cops for the first time. If you wish to skip all the action and storyline, read SCENE TEN for a brief oral and anal sex scene between a villainous foreign couple staying at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel.

*

ONE Hudson was named after the Hudson River, his father's way of honoring New York and it was his belief that his son would become a New York City hero. Following in his father's footsteps, Hudson Banach only wished his father were alive to see that he had become a cop. Hudson carried a small black and white photo of his deceased father under his cap. He admired him, revering him as the soul of masculinity and strength. He had survived dark and dangerous times during Mafia-controlled Sicily and he had provided for his family upon immigrating to New York City. Since Hudson could remember, he had lived with family in Middle Village, Queens....

It was Hudson's birthday. He was twenty nine. It also happened to be the day before New Years Eve. He had hoped he'd spent a quiet, uneventful birthday but his mother, whom everyone called Mamma Banach, went all out and threw him a big Italian style banquet. Everyone showed up: Uncle Vitto and his wife came over from Miami, Professor Goldstein, other uncles and aunts from his father's side of the family and his younger siblings Alyssa and twenty year old Angelo. They made a big fuss over him, scattering confetti everywhere in the dining room, playing Frank Sinatra music and Italian folk songs that the family had always enjoyed. They feasted on Mamma Banach's terrific Italian gourmet meals.

Hudson smiled a lot and looked appreciative but deep down, he wished he could disappear right there and then. All his life, family had come first and though he adored his family, he was sharply aware that he was nearing thirty and he wanted to move out of the family home and into his own place. Lately, also, his loving family was getting on his nerves. 

"Family, I have some good news," he said as everyone ate their dessert, "I found an apartment in Bensonhurst Brooklyn. The rent I can afford and Professor, I'll be able to get to your place in Park Slope much faster now I believe."

"Oh, that's wonderful, my boy," the Professor remarked.

"And now you tell us?" Mamma Banach said, "why wasn't I the first to know about this, you're own mother."

"Oh, Ma. I meant to tell you but I didn't get the chance and I thought now was the perfect time. So if anyone cares to take a look at my new place, I'll be there by the end of the week."

"Is this because you've found a live-in girlfriend?" smart-alecky Alyssa said, "is it that blind date you had some time ago with help from the Professor."

Hudson frowned at the veiled reference to Lexa.

"No. Not her. Not anyone. I will be living alone for the time being. I thought it was about time. I mean I am nearly thirty." "Well, if you want me to have grandchildren, you better hurry and find yourself a wife," said Mamma Banach, "you're my oldest and you haven't had kids. I'm not going to wait until Angelo has a family; I'm getting older by the minute."

Everyone chuckled.

"I don't think I want a wife, just a girlfriend," said Angelo. The problem is you're too picky, Hudson. Whatever happened to that Sonya Romandini, the girl you were head over heels for in high school?" said his brother Angelo.

"She was a nice girl," Mamma Banach exclaimed, "and an Italian. She was perfect for you but you had to louse it up somehow."

"I didn't louse it up, Ma," Hudson said, "she moved to LA to pursue her modeling career. She didn't think I was good enough for her just because I'm a cop."

He briefly remembered their night in Atlantic City not long ago but his mind returned to the present. He hated that everyone was being so nosy about his love life.

"You know what kind of girls love cops? Nurses," said Uncle Vitto, "my own Nancy here was a nurse for many years in Atlanta, isn't' that right, hun? Find yourself a good girl, Hudson. Look for nurses, teachers or a Church going Catholic."

"But only if she's Roman Catholic," Mamma Banach added.

"Or a nice Jewish girl," said the Professor who was himself Jewish.

"I don't think it's any of you guys' business who I choose," Hudson said.

"Hudson, that was very rude," his mother reprimanded him.

"Well, that's my news," Hudson said, as if to say he considered the conversation finished.

But it was far from over. The rest of the evening was a continuous flow of conversation. Everyone got to open their mouth.

"How's Miami, Mr. Vitto?" the Professor asked him, "I'd love to retire there myself some day but I don't think I can bring myself to leave New York City's fine arts scene."

"Well, you really gotta want to live there and if you can thrive in humid and hot weather, it's paradise," said Vitto.

"Mamma Banach, can you make some more coffee please?" Aunt Nacy said.

"When are you going to take me to see The New York Yankees, Hudson?" Angelo inquired

"Alyssa, don't play with your food. Have another cream pie, Professor," said Mamma.

"When's your next vacation, Hudson? You should come to Miami," Uncle Vitto said," we can go to the Gator Bowl seeing as you like football more than baseball."

"Did you see that new Madonna music video on MTV "Papa Don't Preach, Alyssa?" one of her cousins asked her.

"I don't care for that crazy gal," Nancy, Vitto's wife said, "she's giving American gals a really bad name."

"Oh, she's just an entertainer, Aunt Nancy; I'm sure in real life she's not that wild."

"Did you remember to tape Miami Vice, Hudson? I like that show, too," said Angelo.

"Yeah, I did, and also taped The A-Team and Magnum P.I."

"That Tom Selleck is a really good actor," said Aunt Nancy.

"Hudson, I've recently taken an interest in musicals," the Professor said, "would you like to come see CATS with me?"

"Hudson, I can hook you up with one of Nancy's single girlfriends. She's a secretary at my lawyer's offices. Her name's Samantha and she has legs from here to yaya and a great pair of boobs."

"Vitto, I don't want you talking like that in front of the children --"

"Children? What children? Alyssa is a teenager now, right and Angelo is over eighteen now. They hear this kind of language and worse in the movies. Speaking of movies, did anyone see Madonna's Desperately Seeking Susan? I'm telling you, that girl shouldn't act and should just stick to singing. Let's hope she gives up acting.

"Don't smoke in the house, Vitto. Now, everyone sit still. I'm going to see if the cake is ready. Hudson, you don't have to tell us what you're going to wish for."

I can tell you what I wish for, Hudson thought. I wish to find a wife and buy a house. I want a brand new car since my last one exploded.

As they blabbed on and on, "Finniculi Finnicula" played in the background from an LP near the kitchen. Hudson wanted to get up and leave, leave them chattering on because they had the energy to do it all night long but he grinned and bore it as best he could.

TWO

The Police Man's Ball was on again, this time on New Years' Eve which for the cops meant double the fun at one party. Hudson Banach was feeling blue. In all his years as a cop, he had never brought a date or girlfriend, whereas the other cops on the force brought their arm candy girlfriends or dates. The Ball was usually the same each year. There was modern dance music, good food, including haute cuisine and lobster prepared for them by skilled chefs, and there was plenty of wine and alcohol. The Ball was usually held in a ballroom at one of New York City's fine hotels. This year the party was to be held on a yacht anchored in the New York City Harbor.

Hudson was at the Professor's home in Brooklyn, dressed up in a well-tailored suit, only about half hour before the party began. The Professor made him some warm tea and they sat down by the roaring fire. The Professor had recently bought himself a cat, an orange-yellow whiskered mutt, and he was stroking it and petting it gently. He had an LP record playing and it was opera, soprano Maria Callas' hardcore voice blaring. Hudson finished his tea and bowed his head a bit.

"What's wrong, Hudson? "the Professor said to him, "is it because you're still single and you wanted to bring a girl to the Ball again?"

"Well, duh, Professor," he replied in a curt tone, "I really don't want to go but I'm going anyways just for a show and because I have nothing else to do."

"My boy, I really think you need a boost of confidence. Surely women love the man in the uniform. Isn't being a good cop enough? And you're very attractive."

"I don't make as much money as some women would prefer I make," he replied, remembering Sonya who had abandoned him in Atlantic City.

"Well, you're not going to be a millionaire on a cop's salary that much is true, but you know, money and social standing isn't everything. If every girl you meet is only interested in those things, then they don't prioritize good character. Look, you need to pull yourself together. Go to that ball, have a good time and if you want, I can look for another girl to go out with you on a blind date, seeing as Miss Lexa O'Neil and you didn't work things out."

"Don't mention her."

"She really is wonderful and I've gotten over my issue with her being a cop. I know that in my day such things were unheard of- women working any kind of job other than being mothers, but times have changed. Women are in the work force and making a difference in society."

"Yeah, but I don't want to be involved with a woman who is a cop, or any sort of authority figure. It's just not in my nature."

"Well, I won't argue with you. Go on now, have fun at the ball." 

THREE Hudson made up his mind that he would indeed have fun, even despite the misery that was gnawing his insides on account of his seemingly endless bachelorhood. He was dressed up in a long-sleeved dress shirt, without a tie and open to the navel, and dark slacks. 

He had always worn a full suit before or a tuxedo but this time around he felt he had no need to dress up. It wasn't as if any girl was going to notice him. The only girls at the Policeman's Ball were the other cop's girls and Lexa O'Neil, who, like him, had always gone to the ball without a date.

The urgent need for vice was calling him again, and before he arrived at the harbor where the boat was docked, he went to a bar downtown. He loathed going to bars and had only gone to a few, and never with the intention of picking up a girl. He had gone with his Uncle Vitto before he had married Nancy to play pool, smoke, drink and watch sports on the bar's television. He knew that drinking could be addictive and he had always avoided that particular vice. Being a cop, who constantly arrested drunken drivers, he knew he could not drink too much himself.

But tonight, he felt like drinking as much as he wanted and even more than he should. The bar was as crowded as could be expected on New Years' Eve. It was nine thirty in the evening, and already the atmosphere was heavy with the anticipation of New Year's typical celebratory madness. Men and women were chatting up a storm, as well as smoking in thick clouds, listening to music and dancing to it on the small dance floor. There were several bar tenders at work, and lots of girls eager for fun. A mock ball like the one on Time's Square hung over the ceiling and Hudson knew it was going to drop when it stroke midnight.

"Relax" by Frankie Goes To Hollywood was playing as Hudson took his seat and ordered himself a scotch. Nothing light for tonight, he thought. He figured he'd order more than on scotch on the rocks and then just a lot of beer. He looked around, his eyes surveying the girls. Only one girl was staring back at him, despite the fact that she appeared to be with a guy, who was putting his arm around her waist. 

She was dressed in a denim jacket, a tight skirt and her hair was as high and puffy as the girls who appeared on the soap opera Dynasty, which his little sister Alyssa watched religiously, despite Mamma's objections to "soap operas" being smut. She had a naughty quality to her but that did not surprise him. Only the naughty girls seemed to be drawn to him, never the good ones.

She excused herself from her boyfriend or date and approached Hudson.

"Buy a lady a drink?" she said to him.

"What about your boyfriend over there?" Hudson said to her.

"He's not my boyfriend," she replied, but Hudson did not believe her.

This is a girl playing head games, thought Hudson. Well, maybe he could still have fun with this girl, maybe even take her to bed, if only to relieve his stress. He looked at her more closely now that she was directly in front of him. She was short, had nice boobs and legs. She looked to be twenty one, and obviously had been drinking herself to a stupor already.

"You don't need any more drinks," Hudson said to her.

"Ok, maybe I don't, but you sure do. You look so uptight and mysterious sitting alone here. So what are you, an FBI agent, with the CIA? I didn't know you guys partied." 

"I like to party, babe," Hudson said, "in fact I'm going to one tonight. But you gotta be a cop to go."

"You're a cop?"

"That's right. But I'm off duty."

He said this with that naughty smile and look in his eye, letting her know that he was free for sex. The girl eyed him up and down, and she looked pleased with his handsome, muscular appearance. But the girl looked like she had something else in mind.

"I don't like cops," she said to him, "I'm always getting in trouble with the cops."

"Oh yeah? You do marijuana or cocaine?"

"I smoke pot. My friends do it a lot and hey, when in Rome --"

"Are you on something right now?"

"No I'm not. Hey, cop, I'd like to see you drink more than my boyfriend over there."

Hudson looked over at the guy who had been with her. He was drinking and looking over at them with an expressionless and bored face, as if he didn't care what his own girlfriend was doing. The girl brazenly put a hand on Hudson's thigh. She whispered something into his ear that made Hudson hot.

"You really think you're boyfriend won't mind?" Hudson said to her.

John Parr's "St. Elmo's Fire" which was a song Hudson really liked, played in the bar. The girl moved her hand up his thigh and stopped right over his crotch. Hudson got her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing her hand.

"He won't mind it if I gave you a lap dance right now. He likes it when other guys find me attractive and do things to me. We have an open relationship. I don't mind him being with other girls."

"Open relationship?"

"Join the twenty first century, cop. Yes, you know, kinda of like swingers except we're not married. When we do marry, we'll still be with other people whenever we want to."

"I see."

"So how about it?" she said, already lying on her back on the floor.

People were staring at the girl and wondered what was going on. Hudson finished his first drink and then ordered another one. It was beer. He then kneeled before the girl on the floor. 

"Do it," she said as she lifted up her top to reveal her flat and sexy stomach and belly button.

Hudson poured the beer on her stomach and then leaned his head down to lick it off her. He did this slowly and she squirmed and smiled a bit, thoroughly enjoying it. The young guys closest to them burst into cheers, cat calls and applause.

"Lick it," they said, referring to a certain part of her anatomy.

But Hudson continued to lave her stomach and abdomen, slowly, sensually, with his hands on the waistband of her skirt, tugging at it but not pulling it down. More beer followed and the girl took off her top, showing off her breasts and rosy nipples. Hungrily, Hudson licked them, but only after having poured alcohol over them. His head was spinning. The entire bar was spinning in his eyes in a fast circular motion and he felt like he was on some kind of amusement park ride. He didn't care that he was doing something so lewd and shameless. No one seemed to care after a while and continued to party. 

The boyfriend, who had been watching, finally came up to Hudson. He had a different look on his face now, one of annoyance.

"Ok, get off my girl," he said, but his tone was not angry, just casual.

Hudson knew that he should comply but he continued to lick the girl's breasts until he felt sated.

"Ok, that's enough," the guy said trying to pick up Hudson. 

The guy was smaller in build than Hudson. Hudson looked down at him and then smiled. He was drunk. He burst into laughter and walked away, his eyes on the girl. She looked back at him.

"Hey," she shouted," if you really are a cop, I had fun but if you're not and you lied to me and you're one of those male strippers who go to bachelorette parties dressed up like a cop, I'll look you up."

"Don't count on it," Hudson said and left the bar.

FOUR

The yacht where the Policeman's Ball was being held was big enough for many guests on its deck. It looked like it was built only for parties at sea, in fact. It was docked by the harbor with the most grandiose view of Manhattan. The moon was full that night and glistened in white and silver over the waters. The Twin Towers were in sight not too far away and the many high rise buildings which were lit up as radiantly as night stars. 

Because his car had blown up in the Hamptons, Hudson had walked to the harbor. As it turned out, not even walking got the alcohol out of his system and he intended to drink even more at the Ball. He saw that many were already aboard partying and eating the gourmet meals at the buffet. Pretty girls in "prom" style gowns of many colors and shades walked about, socializing with each other or with their boyfriends. The guys were in fancy suits and tuxedoes. As he got on board, he looked up and noticed Lexa O'Neil, her elbows resting on the sides of the boat, with a far-off look in her eye and enjoying the night air. She looked absolutely gorgeous, like a vision, and the moonlight over her body gave her the illusion of mysterious and divine beauty. She was wearing the same blue sequin gown she had worn to The Hamptons.

"Do you remember when we met, that's the day I knew you were my pet. I wouldn't tell you how much I loved you. Come with me my love, to the Sea, the Sea of Love. I wouldn't tell you how much I loved you --"

As the Honeydripper's romantic song "Sea of Love" played on, Hudson felt miserable at heart. It seemed to be speaking of him, of Lexa, of that night he first met her sitting like a princess by a fireplace at the Professor's home. Damn her, he thought, she has to be here. He comforted himself with the fact she was alone again, much like he was, without a date. But then, as he walked onto the deck, he saw that Detective Mason Holmes, in a tux, drink in hand approached Lexa and gave her the drink. They smiled and conversed and were standing intimately close.

* * * *

Blondie's "Call Me" blared as the party continued. It was now approaching midnight. Hudson had been drinking every available alcoholic beverage at the party -- martinis, sex on the beach, wine, cocktails and more scotch. He was eating a hell of a lot too, which he never did. The guys on the force, used to eating heavily at parties, watched Hudson in amazement as he pigged out on the variety of dishes prepared by the Cuban Chef, who had prepared dinner parties at the Oscars in Hollywood the previous year. Lexa noticed that he was only acting strangely every time he looked over at her.




Vice Cop Ch. 06



Lexa excused herself from the Detective and approached Hudson. He was talking loudly with a group of other cops and laughing, sharing jokes and anecdotes. Lexa noticed that no girl was present here and in fact it appeared as if they had been avoiding Hudson. 

"Hey," one of the officer's girlfriends said to Lexa, arresting her walk, "don't go talk to him. He's being a real jerk tonight."

"Oh? What is Banach saying?"

"Oh you know how guys are when they're together," the girl replied, "but he's going too far. He's been upsetting the girls saying obscene things and acting like he's straight out of high school or something."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm sure I can calm him down."

"You know how he is around you, Lexie," she said, "you'll only provoke him."

Lexa did not pay the girl any mind and approached Hudson, who was in the middle of a circle formed by the officers.

"The Politics of Dancing" by Re-flex was playing in the background. The boat had begun to move a bit but slowly and it was still by the harbor. Hudson looked at Lexa, drinking down another scotch on the rocks. He grinned at her.

"Hey, look fellas, she forgot she's supposed to stay on the side of the ship where the girls are," Hudson said.

Subtle chuckles by only a few of the guys were heard but many looked serious as Lexa stared Hudson down. She looked damn good in her heels and the way she crossed her arms did too. Her hair was in a French twist, with a curl of her hair hanging on the side of her cheek.

"Hudson, what's your problem tonight?" she said to him, "why are you being such a big jerk?"

"Why whatever do you mean?" he said in a mock British tone, "I've been a perfect gentleman."

Some of the guys were laughing but trying to conceal it. Lexa furrowed her brow. Hudson finished his drink and in a sudden gesture, threw it on the deck, breaking the glass. Everyone stared.

"Gee I'm clumsy tonight" he said, laughing.

"You're drunk off your ass is what you are," Lexa said, "you're making a scene. Come on, I think you should leave before you start some trouble."

"Trouble? Scenes? I'm not the expert at making scenes, Lexa. Look at you, you've been making great scenes since you joined the force. Maybe you ought to go on patrol in that gown. That would make a great scene."

"This is one night where you're not going to insult me, Hudson."

"Oh, I'm so scared, what are you going to do?"

Detective Mason Holmes came over and many of the other officers, upon looking at him, left immediately. Detective Mason put a hand on Lexa's shoulder.

"Is there a problem here?" he said.

"Yes, Detective," Lexa said, "Deputy Banach is excessively intoxicated and must leave before he goes wild in here."

Hudson threw another glass on the deck.

"I'm not that drunk!" he said, "my hands are slippery."

"Mr. Banach, go on. Get out of here. You're giving the force a bad name."

This made Hudson growl under his breath and he stared at Mason Holmes with a look of masculine anger. Damn him, he thought, thinking he was better than him.

"Hey, Mason, you're the one giving the force a bad name," Hudson replied, "you've never seen one bit of action in the whole time you've worked with the Chief. Even the Chief's done a lot to the risk of his own life. All you do is investigate crimes in those sissy suits in a god damned office all day."

"You're a bastard, Banach," he said, his words were angry, and he stepped closer to him.

They were in each other's faces.

"You're a pussy," Hudson said to him.

"Muscle-headed brute cop asshole. You can't resolve anything without using language which you've already forced me to use or without using fists."

"You wanna fight that's fine with me," Hudson said, cock-ready for a physical altercation.

"No I'm not going to fight you, stupid," he said, "you're drunk and this is not the time or the place."

"Is two a.m. after the Ball at an alley in Brooklyn alright with you?"

"Look, you dick, I'm going to ask you to get out of here."

"You're the dick, Detective. Isn't that what they call detectives? Dicks?"

"Hudson, please get out of here," Lexa said her eyes somewhat disturbed.

It was as if watching him this way made her unhappy. Hudson cursed under his breath, grabbed another drink and got off the yacht and back into the city.

FIVE

Hudson had not gone far. He remained by the harbor looking at the other cops having fun and staring with some pain seeing Lexa with Detective Mason. Why he was feeling this way, he did not know. Lexa had a way of getting to him, no matter what she did. He had no right to feel she belonged to him; he had no claim over her. He was afraid of how she made him feel. No other girl, not even the more beautiful fully white girls he had known, had made him feel like she did. It was killing him to know that Detective Mason appeared to be not only her date but her boyfriend. As the party music continued and the yacht had sailed around the harbor several times, Hudson realized midnight was approaching in a few minutes.

He looked at his Rolex watch, the one watch he owned and he was proud he had been able to afford it, despite his cop salary. He loved to occasionally buy status symbols like these. And even that wasn't helping him attract a mate. What an ass he had made of himself tonight. Now Lexa would never even look at him. And he had begun to enjoy her looking at him.

Suddenly, as the clock stroke twelve, a bomb went off. It startled everyone, not just the cops on the yacht but the people walking about by the harbor and in Manhattan. Hudson had sobered up by walking about the harbor. He looked around. The yacht shook in the waters. Orange and crimson flames, crackling like fireworks rose higher and higher, the firelight casting the waters in hues of red. He got up on a rock to see that it was another yacht that had exploded. From aboard the yacht where the Policeman's Ball had been held, the music had stopped and worried voices could be heard. They evacuated the yacht at once.

He was able to see Detective Mason issuing orders. Hudson hated when he did that. It was not as if he was a Lieutenant or the Chief but it made sense that he would do something like that since both Chief Hiller and Lieutenant Dante were absent from the ball. A group of uniform cops were already coming in speedboats across the water. The Coast Guard was with them. 

Hudson ran as fast as his feet could carry him. He found the other cops and Lexa was with them. Detective Mason was nowhere to be seen. Lexa looked at Hudson briefly but she turned her face away into the direction of the burning yacht. It had begun to sink into the waters. A rescue mission was already in operation, as cops and coast guards helped out people who had been aboard the yacht into safer ground. 

"What's happened?" Hudson said to Lexa.

"I heard the Detective say it's an act of terrorists", she replied.

"My God," said Hudson, "terrorists? In New York City? I don't believe it. Let me at them."

"I don't think it's possible," Lexa said, "they got away."

Six

Hudson was called into the Chief's office.

He walked into the office after his duties in the morning. He had issued tickets for traffic violations, speeding and the like; which bored him immensely, arrested some shoplifters and done some patrol since a little before 7 in the morning. 

"Sit down, Banach," Chief Barry Hiller said to him.

Hudson sat down. The Chief was walking about watering the fresh green potted plants, which had grown to be quite showy, with a pitcher. 

He was walking about with a contented look in his face, as if he had been singing. Hudson repressed his urge to laugh. He always noticed that the Chief was engaged in some kind of quirky thing for him to do like eat candy or watering plants. It was so unlike a tough police chief to do.

Hudson sat down and they looked at each other in a moment of silence. The Chief was smiling from ear.

"Congratulations, Hudson," he said to him, "you have proven yourself just like I figured you would."

"About The Hamptons?" Hudson said.

"Of course, what else? So here's the thing. I know you have done terrific job as a uniform cop and you obviously don't want to fully give it up -"

"Well, I want to do what I can, Chief -"

"You're a damn good cop, Hudson. But I figure it's time for you to do something different."

Oh, thank you God, thought Hudson.

"What do you have in mind, Chief?"

"Well, we need a man like you to do undercover jobs. You did such a wonderful job in The Hamptons and we caught the notorious Madame we had been looking for, all thanks to you. It was such an odd coincidence that Detective Mason Holmes and Miss O'Neil were in that same party as guests."

"Didn't either the Detective or Lexa explain it to you? 

"Yes. They said that Mrs. Clementine Gibson had been fooling Mason every time he showed up at her parties. I mean, wow, what a bitch."

Hudson repressed his laughter at the Chief's sudden outburst. He had never heard him use that kind of language and he found it amusing. The Chief continued to water his plants and he was whistling to the tune of "Moon River". When he put the pitcher down, he once again focused his attention on Hudson.

"Let's get to the serious matter at hand. By now you are aware that there are terrorists lurking in New York City, correct? I wasn't there at the Policeman's Ball when it happened."

"What exactly happened, Chief?"

"A group of foreign-born terrorists set off a bomb on a yacht in the harbor. It belonged to a wealthy architect who had been celebrating New Years Eve with his Wall Street type friends."

"Do we know who these terrorists are?"

"No. The guests only caught brief glimpses of them. There were three -- two men and a woman, Middle Eastern looking. It's big national news. There's lots of speculation as well. Because they blew up a yacht, it could be some personal vendetta against the owner. Then again maybe it was just a random act of terrorism to scare New Yorkers. Detective Mason Holmes and his CIA contacts are working on this."

"Is Miss O'Neil working on this?"

"You mention her often, Banach," the Chief observed, "well, yes, as a matter of fact. And this is where you come in."

"Me? What do I have to do with Lexa's work?"

"You are a damn good cop, Hudson. But you know you're not the only one. I have two star cops here. Miss Lexa O'Neil has proven to be a terrific asset. She's done various undercover jobs already and she's been the vice squad since she went to Miami."

Hudson could not believe it. Now he was going to team him up with Lexa and that was something he wished to avoid.

"Isn't Lexa working exclusively with Detective Mason Holmes and his cases?"

"Yes, but she has taken a bigger interest in our own department. She's very loyal to New York City as you are. You both grew up here. Where are you from Hudson?"

"From Queens but I'm moving to Brooklyn."

"Miss O'Neil grew up in Queens. You have both been very good cops here and we wish to challenge you. You both have what it takes. In order to see if you'd make a good team; I'm going to have you first do a very important mission."

Hudson sighed inside himself. Lexa would once again get into the picture. She had been appearing in his dreams ever since he saw her in her sexy sequin gown in The Hamptons and as always, he would dream of having sex with her. Lately, he was dreaming of tender and slow intimate lovemaking with her, as if they were married. He'd wake up and he'd avoid Lexa at work as best he could. 

"Chief, this is the first time I think I've ever said no to you," Hudson said, "I'd rather you pair me up with anyone else but not Miss O'Neil."

"Come now, Hudson. You're not jealous of her success are you? Have you had an issue with her being the only skirt on the force? Can't you see that Miss O'Neil is the way she is because she's the only girl here. She has had to prove she's as good as any guy cop here."

"I have nothing against Miss O'Neil. I don't want to get into it right now. We just don't get along is all."

The Chief sat down by his desk and scrutinized Hudson in silence, as if wondering about his feelings for her.

"You can't weasel you're way out of this, Hudson. Take it or leave it. Do you want to be a vice cop or not? If you don't wish to work with Miss O'Neil then I'll find someone else."

"Ok, Chief. I'll do it."

"Good. Here's the scoop. We have reports that there have been suspicious activities around Fifth Avenue where the Empire State Building is located and also in the Waldorf Astoria Hotel."

"What kind of activity?"

"The strange foreigners again, roaming about, blending in with the wealthy folks who frequent the hotel. They have been spotted around that area only. 

"This sounds like something the FBI or CIA ought to be looking into, Chief, or the bomb squad."

"Well, we're working with them. I have another detective on the case but we need undercover cops to stake out the area and see if anything looks suspicious. If you are sure that these men are actually terrorists, you can make the arrest and that would be enough to keep you in the vice squad or any other position of your choice."

Hudson could not believe his ears. This was the opportunity he was looking for.

"These reports are unbelievable, just like the Hamptons. Would they actually blow up a building in New York?"

"Hudson, don't be naive. Of course they would. These foreign devils are barbaric, and they envy American power. So listen up. I want you and Miss O'Neil to stake out the area. Miss O'Neil will work on spying in the Waldorf Astoria and you will do your own job in front of the Empire State Building. You will need to keep in touch with Miss O'Neil on your device."

"Ok, Chief."

"You will both be armed with holster guns and you will dress in plainclothes. Nothing fancy. Maybe just in business wear. You have clean dressy shirts and slacks of course. Miss O'Neil will be in some sort of business outfit."

Hudson closed his eyes. He could already see Lexa in some cute tight skirt, blouse and cocoa-colored stockings. She would look hot no matter what she wore. O, how he would have to fight against how she made him feel. Hudson knew he would have to ignore these sensations or Lexa would cost him the coveted vice cop position.

"Ok, Chief, I'm your man."

SEVEN

Lexa O'Neil did in fact wear a sexy business wear. Despite the conservative aura surrounding her what with her severe hairdo and widow's peak above her forehead and reading glasses, she had on a tight brown skirt, creamy beige blouse opened above her navel, stockings and heels. She looked like Superman's love interest Lois Lane, a lot like a journalist. She had a small communication device in her pocket which she reached for as she walked around the Wall Street area for the fourth time that late morning.

"Hudson," she said to him, "no sign of them. What did the Chief say they look like?"

From the other end, Hudson was in his business suit and standing by the Empire State Building. To make it look like he was not undercover, he posed as a business man about to have lunch. He was standing by a hot dog stand and the man selling the hot dogs stared at him wondering when he would actually buy a hot dog.

"Chief said they are from the Middle East and Arabic looking, even the girl," Hudson responded, "they should even be dressed as the rest of the folks over in Wall Street. How long have you been there now?"

"About four hours now since earlier in the morning, aren't you tired?"

"Oh, hell yeah and hungry. I'm really tempted to buy some hot dogs."

"Hudson, this is off subject but just what was going on with you at the Policeman's Ball?"

"I didn't mean to- offend you or anyone. I was drunk. I was at a bar before I went to the ball."

"You should never do something like that."

After a moment of silence, they walked about trying to look casual and not like a pair of spies who were communicating with each other. It was working like magic. No one up and about on Fifth Avenue, whether they were shopping at Saks or walking in and out of both the Empire State Building or the Waldorf seemed to take notice of Lexa or Hudson. Then again, thought Hudson to himself, it was New York City and no one seemed to notice anything.

"So are you and Detective Mason Holmes a couple now?" Hudson asked, seizing the opportunity to find out.

"It's not something I can talk about right now, Hudson," she said, "but yes, we are. We've been dating ever since the costume party in The Hamptons."

"I figured."

"It's not any of your business, Hudson."

"Alright, alright. Don't get your panties in a bunch. I was just asking, geesh."

Silence and static.

Hudson, unable to resist, purchased a hot dog and began to devour it quickly. He loved New York City hot dogs and he knew that no other hot dog in America was like it. He had always enjoyed hot dogs, especially at football games or baseball games with his Uncle Vitto.

"Hudson, are you still there? I see something," said Lexa in an excited tone of voice.

"Alright, calm down. What do you see?"

"Two men, dressed in grey business suits with briefcases and a woman is with them. I think it's them. No other person is walking in a trio like them."

"Are they Middle Eastern?"

"Sure are. The girl has a pretty mean looking face. I'm going to follow them. They're going out of Wall Street and getting in a cab."

"Ok, you follow them Lexie and call me back when you can."

Hudson continued to devour his hot dog.

EIGHT

Lexa, having grown up in New York City, and being a beautiful lady, knew just how to get a taxi. She simply whistled loudly for it and waved in the air. A yellow taxi cab stopped in front of her by the street and Lexa got in. The man looked at Lexa from the mirror above his steering wheel and peeked at Lexa's thighs as she sat down in the back seat. Lexa smoothed her hair which had been windswept.

"Where to, gorgeous?" he said in a typical Bronx cabbie accent.

"Follow that other taxi cab, and step on it," she said with urgency in her voice.

"You got it doll face."

He pushed down on the speed pedal and was in pursuit of the taxi containing the three suspicious Arabs. Lexa tried not to look like she was in a somewhat excited state. She knew that it was a dangerous undercover mission and if these three were really terrorist, her own life was in danger. Still, she was beginning to feel that high that only this kind of action could give her. Deep down, she knew that Hudson felt the same way. It was the unspoken bond between them, their love of thrills like these.

"I hope you don't mind my saying this but you're fucking gorgeous," he said, "what are you a lawyer? Journalist?"

"Journalist," Lexa lied, already accustomed to lying while undercover, "and I'm in a hurry. You see in that taxi we're following are three VIP's I'm interviewing. They didn't tell me where they were headed."

"Well it looks like they're headed for the Waldorf," the cab driver said.

"Just keep driving," Lexa said.

"Whoa, must be some interview."

"Yes, it's very important and I'm in a hurry."

"So are you married? I don't see a ring."

"No, not married; just dating someone."

He was aware that she didn't want to talk but Lexa could already tell this annoying cab driver wanted to make conversation. In addition to that, he looked at her like she was a piece of meat ready for him to devour. She turned her face to the window.

"So what's your name, toots," the cabbie went on.

O, good God, thought Lexa, how to make him shut up?

"I'm Stephanie," she said, "are we nearly there?"

"Yeah, sweetheart. So listen, I hope you don't mind my being so nosy but you look very familiar to me. Have we met before?"

"No I'm sure we haven't."

"I could swear I've seen you somewhere. I can't put my finger on it. It's like you've been everywhere in the city."




Vice Cop Ch. 06



O dear Lord, thought Lexa, what if he recognized her as a cop he had seen on patrol or on the beat. She was aware she had also gained some notoriety for her appearances on TV news, like the time she had an interview with the Mayor of New York City.

"Well as a journalist, I'm everywhere, that's true," Lexa continued, "but please hurry, I don't want to be late for the interview."

"So who are these folks you're interviewing?"

"It's none of your business."

"Geesh, sorry. A guy can't be friendly in New York City? I'm just making conversation here."

"I don't care to make conversation with you."

"You think you're all that because you're a Manhattan broad right? You think I'm some loser from the Bronx with only a high school education whereas you, you're hot Harvard stuff."

"You are taking things completely out of context. I told you I'm not going to make conversation because I don't feel like it."

"Alright, don't worry about it. Here we go. This is the place. Are you getting off or are you coming home with me?"

"Fuck off."

Lexa's nerves were shot. In her utter annoyance at the cab driver's questions, she paid him and gave him the finger. She felt like a New York City girl every time she did that though she tried to avoid doing things like that as best she could. The cab driver rolled away back to the street and she stood by the entrance of the hotel long enough to see the three Arabs coming out of their own cab. She looked at them closely. They had an expression of cold hauteur about them, and arrogance. Everywhere they looked, they regarded what they saw with silent hatred. They had to be terrorists, she thought, secretly despising the American way of life. They were in Manhattan, close to what they must have viewed as the seat of capitalism - Wall Street and the World Trade Center. Lexa called Hudson on her device.

Hudson had finished hot dog and was finishing a soda when he picked up his device.

"Yo, Lexie, what's going on?" he said to her.

"These guys are definitely the terrorists. They have such an evil gleam in their eye and yet they can easily pass for white Wall Street folks. The girl, especially, looks very white."

"Yeah, I've seen some Middle Eastern looking girls like that who look very white. It's very odd. They're beautiful women, too."

"This is definitely not the time or place to talk about pretty women, Hudson," she said.

"Sorry babe. Ok, so where are they?"

"They're entering the Waldorf Astoria Hotel."

"You'll have to check in too, Lexie. It's part of your job. Try to keep track of them while you're there. Don't lose this device like you told me you did in Atlantic City."

"I didn't lose it. The damned serial killer with the hook threw it away from me once he realized I was a cop."

"Just don't let anything happen to it so we can keep in touch. Be careful Lexie. I'd hate to see --"

"Yes?"

"I'd hate to see one of my fellow officers hurt."

She smiled. That was the nicest thing he had ever said to her.

"Likewise," she said,"though you're right. I'm in more danger right now than you are. Ok, I'm out.

NINE

The Waldorf was elegant and sedately beautiful, impressing Lexa with its luxurious décor from marble floors to pillars, chandeliers and antique looking furniture. And that was just the lobby. She figured the rooms were expensive and equally as lovely. She had not counted on these folks going to such an upscale hotel. She did not have the money to stay in a place like this on her own salary. It was crowded inside. The guests of the hotel were still in town for the New Years celebration that had just ended. Many were checking out already.

Lexa looked as the terrorists checked into the hotel. She hated to have to do this but she figured she'd have to pay to stay in this place, even though it would be quite the expense. After the Arabs had gone and went up an elevator with their briefcases and luggage, she waited in line to check in.

She realized that she looked like she was only going to stay for one night and she hoped that would be long enough........

She paid for one night and insisted on having the room next to the three "Middle Eastern folks" whom she lied about saying they were friends. The front desk believed her and she had a room next to their on the third floor. Lexa O'Neil took a good look at the room. Never in her life would she have believed she'd be in such a nice hotel. She had once been to the Plaza with her mother but that had been years ago when she was a little girl. 

Now, she was a grown woman and making money the hard way, working as a cop. Her mother did not know about the undercover work she did and Lexa never bothered to tell her for fear that she might give her a heart attack or cause for concern. She just said she was a uniform cop and that she was strong enough to handle it. 

Lexa ordered tea brought up to her room and she sipped it while trying to overhear what the Arabs next door were saying. She put her head against the wall to hear more closely.

"Adil," said a strong masculine foreign voice, "don't touch that remote control. There is noothing but filth on American television. Besides, we can't lose focus."

"When do we strike?" said the female voice, with a cold edge to her voice.

"That's what I was going to say next, Sadira. We will detonate the bomb on the Empire State Building tomorrow at noon."

"Perfect time for it," said the other man," the time has come for us to do God's work and bring down the Great Satan."

Lexa could not believe her ears. Their wicked intentions couldn't have been expressed more clearly. She immediately called Hudson to let him know.

* * * *

Sadira and Omar were lovers and they had been terrorists since the mid 70's, having begun doing this type of crime against humanity in Israel, Egypt and their own native Iran. They were not anything that made spectacular headlines, as they worked independently and not for any major terrorist organization. They were trained by other terrorists and they formed their own trio, hoping to gather a following. They considered themselves Muslim but they were of a radical and apostate branch, one that was very rare and unheard of. 

Their actions were not triggered by religious fervor but their own deep-seated hatred against Western civilization which they saw was evil. Adil was Omar's brother and he had also followed in the same path. They had both been in the United States since the beginning of the 80's and had seen enough traveling from California, Texas, Florida and then up to New York to believe that Americans were nothing but lazy, egocentric, capitalistic pigs who also flexed their muscle as world police, like a sort of empire without calling it an empire. 

Sadira was slowly undressing by a dim lamplight in the hotel room while Omar, fully nude was watching her. Adil had fallen asleep on the couch. He tended to sleep heavily and he was completely unaware of what was going on in the room. Since they had been teenagers, Sadira and Omar had been lovers. Adil, who was Omar's brother, had always been jealous of their relationship. Sadira had slept with Adil only once out of pity but she regarded Omar, the leader, to be the perfect model of manhood.

TEN

As Sadira disrobed, she watched her reflection in the mirror. Being unaccustomed to doing this, she was fascinated by the whole thing. It was as if she was seeing her own naked body for the first time. She found it very amusing and kept a smile on her face. She had a beautiful curvaceous body- great legs, ass and breasts - and she had been a proud virgin for a long time, even denying Omar the pleasure of taking her maidenhood until they both turned twenty. 

Since then, she had always enjoyed sex with Omar, which was nothing but brief couplings on a bed or on the floor. They had made love in every hotel room they had stayed during their travels across America. Whenever they remained in one particular state, and rented a small home, they had lived as a couple despite being unmarried. They had never married in Iran and they did not wish to marry in America, fearing that they would consequently become American themselves in doing so.

Omar was himself enjoying Sadira undress. She had stripped naked and her black, dull dress and blouse were in a pile on the floor along with her underwear. She continued to gaze into the mirror as if mesmerized, and she began to touch her own flesh. She was now aware that Omar was watching her for she could see him from the mirror glass. Shamelessly, she proceeded to arouse herself through touch. Her hands caressed her own shoulders as if giving herself a massage. She kept her eyes open, entranced by what she was doing. She knew that if she did this sort of thing back in Iran she would have been severely punished. Omar knew it too, but since they were not in Iran, and they were spending the night in the Waldorf Astoria in New York, far from prying and judgmental eyes, they felt free to indulge in perversion. 

Sadira's hands moved down her neck and navel and downward to her breasts. She had plump breasts, with rosy and big nipples. Sadira was one of those Middle Eastern women who looked Anglo, and her body was creamy and white, another reason which many men back in Iran lusted after her. Omar was now beginning to feel a tightening in his crotch and he grunted softly as Sadira continued to masturbate. Her nipples were now pebble-hard and she moved her hands ever downward. 

Her playful fingers slipped into her belly button, and she giggled as if she was tickling herself, but she was discreet not to make too much noise. Closing her eyes, she rested her own hands over her pussy. It was a small, tight, hairy pussy that was now pink with arousal. She kneaded her pussy like dough, rubbing slowly and sensually, rocking her hips on the chair. She was now moaning, softly and seductively, a cry for sex. She hadn't had sex with Omar since they had been in Boston, sometime before they came to New York City. 

Omar's cock was getting hard. He had already undressed for the night but had been waiting for Sadira to finish dressing and go to bed. They would have just fallen sleep without making love but because Sadira had lingered undressing and was now masturbating, it was clear that she wanted to make passionate love. She closed her eyes and fingered her own pussy, inserting two fingers deeply into her pussy, shoving them in hard into her own moistness. She moaned and writhed on the chair, throwing her head back, lost in her pleasure. 

After she reached climax, she tried to steady her breathing. She turned around to see Omar. She loved him. He was considered quite the handsome man in Iran, almost princely. He had a strong body, huge chest and arms, sturdy legs and glossy dark hair. Since being in America, he had taken to shave off his once heavy beard and body hair. His dark brown body looked like that of a Hindu. He had once told Sadira that he was descended of royalty. Perhaps more than his body, Sadira was drawn to his ideals and his mind. He was his own man and followed no one, not any Shah, not even Saddam Hussein who had taken over their own country and gathered followers.

"I'm sorry, Omar," she said to him, "my need for lovemaking is huge tonight. I crave you. I want your kisses and tongue on my body. I need your cock. I need you inside of me in a slow manner."

She thought that by saying this, the first time she ever expressed herself as fully as she could, he'd understand her need for more intimacy and not sexual violence.

Fully erect and stroking his cock slowly, Omar let her know that he was not after the same thing.

"Come here, Sadira, suck my cock," he commanded.

Sadira was used to taking orders from him and she knew that even if this was all he wanted for tonight, she'd have to live with it. She had been trained to be submissive to a man. 

With Omar, it was always the same. He was the Shah, and he was in charge. He had loved other women, even after declaring his love for Sadira but she could not express her feelings of anger or disgust at his faithlessness. She was a concubine in his unofficial harem. She was just glad he had no sexual preference for white American women. Still, she wished Omar could make real love to her and pay attention to her own needs. The only thing she envied about the American women she saw around her was their ability to get what they wanted from men. She took a deep breath and approached Omar.

Instantly, she was on her knees, crouching on the floor while Omar sat in bed. She took his cock into her hands, caressing and stroking the shaft to make it even harder. Omar let out a groan and as soon as she began to take his cock into her mouth, he was overly excited. It was a problem for him -- he ejaculated too quickly. But tonight, Sadira knew how to keep it hard. She continued to suck his cock, deeply, slowly, hungrily while he threw his head back and moaned and grunted at the bombardment of pleasure.

His cries awoke Lexa who was asleep in the next room. She was disoriented at first and had forgotten she had payed for a room at the Waldorf. Upon remembering what she did, she felt a little discomfort. The room was very expensive and the whole thing bothered her because she had payed with her own money. Being a cop, all that mattered was doing her duty and paying the bills. She had no time for luxuries. She remembered that the terrorists were in the next room and she was now aware that they were making love. She shuddered at the thought, remembering how there were two men and one lady. They could be having a threesome.

As Sadira continued to suck Omar's well-endowed cock, he felt nearly ready to release his cum. He grabbed her hair fiercely and fucked her mouth with his cock, slamming it down her throat. His cries woke his brother Adil who had been sleeping on a chair. He looked at them and caught Omar's gaze.

"Avert your eyes, brother," Omar said to him.

Used to following orders from his brother who was the leader, he shut his eyes tight and tried to go back to sleep. Omar's cock erupted with cum, which Sadira swallowed. She did this slowly, as if taking pleasure in it, but she hoped that afterward Omar would make slow, lingering love to her and return the favor by giving her oral too.

There followed a moment of silence as Omar's breathing slowed down. He was still moaning and he stroked his cock to make it hard again. They still had the rest of the night ahead of them. Sadira looked behind her to the bed. Roaring like a wild animal, Omar threw himself on her from behind and had her in an arm lock. She felt hurt by his fierce hold and trie to struggle.

"You're hurting me," she said to him.

"Shut up. I'm going to fuck you in the ass."

"No, please," she protested.

Savagely, he threw her on to the bed where she sprawled herself on her stomach, not out of a need for it but by automatic reaction. She was still trying to break free, as if she intended to run out of the hotel room. 

"Stop moving, stop moving," he shouted, "I'm going to fuck you in the ass and I don't care if you like it or not."

His already hard cock begam to slip into her asshole. He shoved it inside roughly, grunting loudly as he did so and keeping his arms around her neck. He pounded into her ass furiously, quickly, bent on achieving his orgasm in no time. His hard thrusts made her scream out more in pain than pleasure. The bed shook as if there was an earthquake. He pulled her hair and she screamed out for mercy.

"Shut up, you whore, you'll wake up Adil."

His hips smacked against her ass as he continued to fuck her in the ass, keeping her quiet by covering her mouth with his hand. After a while, he shoved her face over a pillow which she screamed into. To add to her torture, he didn't seem to be ready to cum like she thought he would.

In the adjacent room, Lexa could hear the intensity of the sex and put two pillows over her ears. Would these damned terrorists never stop fucking? It would be dawn before long and she knew she was in great need of sleep if she was to catch these two tomorow.

Finally, Omar reached his orgasm and he ejaculated like a fountain over her ass and legs, belting out a hefty scream. He lay on top of her, spent. After a moment of pause and relaxation, they went to bed. Omar fell asleep almost immdediately but Sadira kept her eyes open, eyes that were wet with tears. 

ELEVEN

Lexa was on the phone in her hotel room, communicating with Chief Barry Hiller. She had finished taking a shower and was in a towel. The morning sunlight streamed through the window, whose drapes were now open. She had money to spend on a standard room only, and even that had cost much. Above her Queen size bed was an elegant, small chandelier, looking like something out of a French mansion from the 19th century. The heavy phone she was using was antique-looking, its body coated with a pastel pink patina and the receiver in gold. It had a circular dial like from the 1930's that required the caller to insert the finger on the little holes to dial numbers. Lexa had ordered breakfast from room service and ate quickly, knowing she had much to do that day.

"Hello, Chief, this is Lexa O'Neil," she said to him, "I'm at the Waldorf Astoria -- "

"The Waldorf Astoria?" the Chief said in completely surprise," what on earth are you doing there, Miss O'Neil?"

"I didn't want to do it but I was compelled to on account of the terrorists," she replied, "they are three of them. Two brothers, Omar and Adil and a woman, Sadira. Their leader is the one called Omar."

"They stayed at the Waldorf last night?"

"Yes. I'm in the adjacent room. I overheard them talk about their plan to blow up the Empire State Building."

"I knew it! I've been hearing rumors that one day someone would want to do that," the Chief said.

From her end of the receiver, Lexa could hear that he was chewing gum. Lexa considered the Chief to be competent, but odd. He was always doing something that was very unlike her image of a powerful chief of police, like chewing gum or eating candy or watering flowers. She wondered if he was a closeted homosexual. There was no evidence for this but many other cops on the force thought he was unusual too.

"Alright, where is Banach? Did he....did he spend the night with you at the hotel? Let me talk to him."

Lexa froze. Why would he think that she wondered. 

"No, he didn't spend the night with me. There is nothing between us, Chief," she said flatly, "I think he's an arrogant sexist macho and not my type in the least. As for his whereabouts, I don't know. He was doing surveillance by the Empire State Building yesterday all day. I was doing the same by Wall Street but then these terrorists took a taxi from there and came to the Waldorf. They are plotting to detonate a bomb on the Empie State Building at noon today."

"We must act quickly. If you can reach Banach, tell him that the next step is for you to go to the Empire State Building yourselves and catch those damned terrorists before they even get the chance to blow up anything."

"Alright, Chief," Lexa responded, "I'll alert Hudson and we'll keep in touch in case we need more men."

"You'll always need more cops," said the Chief," this is a big mission. I'll talk to the Bomb Squad and our FBI connections. Good luck, Miss O'Neil."

She hung up the phone. She braced herself. She knew that it was going to be a dangerous day. She dressed in the same "journalist" type of conservative wear, which she felt made her look a lot like Barbara Walters, and walked slowly to the front door. She opened it slightly but not fully, trying to see if the terrorists had already left their room.

At that moment, the terrorists exited the room. It was about nine in the morning, so they had overslept. She made sure they didn't see her by hiding behind the door which was open just a crack. They were dressed in yesterday's clothes again -- the Wall Street suits, and the girl in a conservative business suit much like Lea's own. They had stern faces and kept quiet, whispering everything they said.




Vice Cop Ch. 06



Lexa could only make out certain words... "Empire State Building...make sure we don't look suspicious...everything is ready.. firearms...FBI guys and cops...be careful...this isn't like back home..."

She figured they were discussing the importance of their terrorist mission and that because they weren't in a lawless city in the Middle East, and it was New York City, the most beloved American city, they would have to handle this with delicacy so as not to get the attention of those who would stop them. Lexa observed as they walked down the hall and on to the elevators. She followed them, trying not to look too suspicious herself. As she approached the elevator and waited for the next one, she called Hudson.

TWELVE

Hudson had stayed in another hotel. He was on his way back to the Empire State Building in a rental car when he received Lexa's call. He was also wearing the same clothes as the day before, his own business suit and because he had also overslept, he was now eating his fast food breakfast from MacDonald's. 

"Hudson, I'm on my way to the Empire State Building where the terrorists intend to detonate a bomb at noon," Lexa said matter-of-factly.

"Whoa, what? How do you know this?" Hudson said in disbelief.

"I overheard them at the Waldorf last night. I've already called the Chief. We have to move quickly. We can't lose a minute. They want to blow up the Empire State Building with a powerful bomb at noon and we're not going to wait to get them an hour before! We have to get them as soon as possible."

"I don't think our guns will be enough to stop three terrorists."

"I know. That's why Chief called the FBI and he's going to send us back-up."

"Good. Alright, I'll meet you in front of the building in a bit."

* * * *

Omar, Sadira and Adil looked at their synchronized watches. It was ten o'clock now. They had hidden themselves in the Empire State Building after slitting the throats of two personnel in order to reach access to a backroom situated in a higher floor. Their bomb was small but powerful. They had blown up an entire hotel in Egypt and one in Canada. They were aware that this was the tallest building in the city, and it was really absurd to think that they would be able to make it collapse into pieces. This was the most famous building in America and they were doing something that, should they get caught, would land them in prison for the rest of their life or get them executed. Lots of people were in the building that day, the majority observing the view of the city from the highest stance.

"Listen to me, Sadira," Omar told her, "if they try to catch us, we must fight. We must fight these American devils and escape once again. Our war against the corrupted West will continue and if we die, it will be by our own hand and not by the enemy."

They set up the bomb in a slow process and waited... Lexa O'Neil and Hudson Banach arrived at the Empire State Building and with them were the Bomb Squad and seemingly the entire New York Police Department. They alerted everyone inside of the terrorists lurking somewhere in the building and that a bomb was being planted inside. The evacuation of the building was quick and they were ordered to leave the area and leave it to them to handle it. The air was thick with suspense and grave danger. Coincidentally, the sun had not come out that day and the weather was bleak and the skies grey. It was now turning eleven, and the attempt to stop the bomb from detonating was on.

Searching for the hidden terrorists was difficult. Not many knew the building except for the famous exterior and only a small handful knew of its design. Lexa and Hudson were standing outside the building with a group of cops when Detective Mason Holmes appeared. He embraced and kissed Lexa in full view of the other officers -- and Hudson. He didn't like the scene and turned his face away with a stern face.

"Miss O'Neil, Chief Hiller told me all about how you overheard their plot at the Waldorf," he said to her, his arms still around her, "the city owes you much for this valuable information."

"Were you involved in this case, Detective?" Lexa asked him. 

"Not officially," he said, his eyes now watching Hudson's occasional stiff glances, "I'm only a police detective and involve myself in homicide cases, drug trafficking and vice crimes, nothing as big as this. But I'm involved now."

"What do you know about the terrorists?"

"They are working independently. They are radical extremists. Religion has nothing to do with their goals. They only want to destroy many landmarks in hopes of crushing Western power. We have never come across anything like it. Didn't the Chief tell you what he wants you to do next?"

Lexa looked surprise. She had believed her work was done. All she had been told to do was to work undercover and do espionage on the terrorists. She read the Detective's eyes.

"O, my God, Chief wants me to go in there, doesn't he?" she said, "because I know how they look like having seen them up close." 

"You're to lead a group of cops and FBI agents into the back room we believe they've been hiding all this time."

She looked pensive for a fleeting moment and she turned to steal a glance at Hudson who did not see her. He was talking to the Chief who was standing next to Lieutenant Isaiah Dante. The entire Fifth Avenue area had been evacuated and the cops and FBI agents were in a sort of quiet urban isolation, the Empire State Building looming darkly before them all.

"I won't go in there unless Deputy Hudson Banach comes with me," Lexa said.

"But, Miss O'Neil, he --"

"He is a wonderful undercover cop. We have already accomplished much. I...I would feel safer with him."

Mason studied Lexa's face. He read in her eyes a look of admiration for Hudson and he felt a stirring jealousy grow in him. Hudson was always involved with her one way or another, whether it was by the Chief's doing or her own. He knew that if Hudson did something heroic that day, she'd admire him even more, as would all New York.

"I don't see why I can't come with you, Miss O'Neil," Mason said to her.

"You're wanted here to answer questions," she pointed out, "please do as I say."

He was silent and then he nodded his head in the affirmative.

THIRTEEN

Hudson burst into the lobby of the Empire State Building armed with his best gun. At his side was Lexa O'Neil with her own gun. Behind them were FBI agents and the Bomb Squad. Everyone began to run as swiftly as their feet could carry them. They each took different elevators, making use of all of them, and began their search for the hidden terrorists. Floor to floor, room to room, they searched frantically, bursting open doors, behind walls and corners, in the bathrooms and in the many different chambers.

Outside, Detective Mason Holmes, Chief Barry Hiller and the rest of the cops were ready to spring into action if they were called for back-up. As anticipation grew, everyone grew restless. The Chief began to chew his favorite brand of gum and Mason began to smoke a cigarette.

"You think it was wise to let Banach in there?" Mason said to the Chief, "it wasn't that long ago that he was a rookie cop."

"What's your interest in Mr. Banach?" said the Chief, "he's far from being a klutz cop, Detective. He's our best guy and he'll do great, you'll see."

Back inside the building, Hudson and Lexa burst inside a room on a higher floor. They carefully sneaked inside, trying not to make any noise, slowing their pace. Their eyes darted everywhere. Not only were their eyes alert, but their ears, straining their hearing for any sudden noises. From behind drapes, Adil leapt over Hudson Banach. A physical fight followed and soon they were grappling on the floor. Adil attempted to get Hudson's gun. They grunted as they struggled against each other, and Lexa suddenly noticed that Omar and Sadira raced out of the room from their own hidden spot.

Hudson subdued Adil and another officer put the cuffs on him. He was taken away by an FBI agent who commenced his interrogation. Acting quickly, Hudson ran after Lexa and the others who were chasing Omar and Sadira. In their anger, Omar and Sadira fired at the officers and agents chasing them. They were carrying militaristic firearms and the shots instantly killed some of the officers. Two agents fell down dead. 

"Christ, fuck," said the other officers.

Screams rose into the air as the firing continued. Hudson and Lexa were not injured and continued to chase Omar and Sadira themselves. Up a long flight of stairs they went, firing at one another. Lexa's lithe and fast-moving body was able to dodge the fire. Hudson was lucky he wasn't shot. The long stairway seemed to reach into the sky until finally they were all on the 86th Floor, where the Observation Deck stood.

"Cease firing now," Hudson commanded, his voice choked with feeling, "this all ends now. You're on the news as we speak. The NYPD is here and the FBI and there's no way out of this. Put the weapons down and put your hands over your heads."

Omar cursed in his native tongue and leapt on Hudson, while an equally crazed Sadira jumped on top of Lexa. They wrestled each other. It was a dangerous fight. They moved too closely to the edge of the building's sides. Below, the streets seemed small and the people and cars seemed like ants on the street. A panoramic view of the city lay before their eyes and it was breathtaking. Hudson and Lexa's blood raced. They had never done anything like this and doubted they'd live.

"Give me the weapon," Hudson repeated like a mantra, in his strongest, deepest, angriest voice, "give me the weapon now."

Fists flew. Hudson took some punches and blows but provided Omar with an equally heavy beating. The guns slipped from their hands. Lexa had subdued Sadira and taken her gun. She called the other cops on her device.

"We're at the Observation Deck of the building and I've got the woman," she said, "Deputy Banach is fighting off the leader."

Now Hudson and Omar were fighting over a rail and before long the predictable thing happened. One of them fell having reached the Tower. It was Omar.

"NO!!" cried Sadira, upon seeing him fall to his death from so high an elevation.

She was flooded with tears and hysteria. She struggled against Lexa's grip and slipped away, leaping to her death, joining the man she loved....

* * * *

Only Adil, last name Sharif, was arrested and sent to prison, a specialized prison on an island where only the most inhuman monsters were locked up. The events made headlines and it was all over the news. Lexa and Hudson were interviewed and asked about how they did their part to stop them. The next day, the Chief was glowing with pride and joy. In the morning briefing at the station, he praised Hudson and Lexa and officially hailed them as their most important cops. They were now able to do whatever they wished. 

"If you want to become a detective, that's doable," said the Chief to Hudson, "but you need to be tested first, like all detectives in a lengthy program. If detective work isn't your thing, you can definately join the Vice Squad as a Sargeant like you've wanted.. You can still do undercover cop work and even bounty hunting but that too would require other tests to see if it suits you."

Hudson was beyond himself with pride and he weighed his options with careful consideration. He knew it was completely out of line and a bit ridiculous but he figured, since he was single and had no wife or kids and had more time --

"Chief, I'd like to be able to do any type of job you give me -- undercover work, bounty hunting, Vice Squad -"

"No cop has done as much as you, Banach," the Chief replied, "and truly it's never done before but you're an exception. Alright, I'm going to say yes. But remember, it won't always be med giving you these missions. You're going to be borrowed by the FBI or CIA or some other agency if they need you from now on. You are now in the big leagues, Hudson. Congratulations."

In another room at the station, Detective Mason and Lexa were kissing deeply. He held her in her arms in his office and they had drawn the blinds. She was in her cop uniform and he was in his suit. They had been dating for only a few weeks off and on. Their duties did not allow them much time to spend together.

"You're a star now, Lexa," he said to her, "and I'm just as proud of you as everyone in New York. But what I'd like is one special night out. I owe it to you."

"I don't think I'll have any free time soon," she said, "but we'll work on something."

In all their time together, they had only kissed and made out. They stared at one another with passive eyes. Outside Detective Mason Holmes' office, the sounds of the other cops coming in and out and the usual activities were heard. Sometimes it was some laughter, police jargon, questioning arrested folks which included hookers and criminals. Lexa and Mason walked out of the office hand in hand. Hudson was coming out of the Chief's office and stared at them as they kissed each other.

It bothered him to see them together. 

"Oh, Banach," said Mason upon seeing him, "nice job the other day. I didn't think you had it in you."

"Well as you can see, I do," Hudson replied.

He walked out of the station and out into the sun where he sadly lit up a cigarette which he felt he needed badly.

To Be Continued...



Vice Cop Ch. 07



This episode of Vice Cop does not further the plot and is instead a bit of a departure and a break from the present-time action. While the action in the beginning that triggers the flashbacks is in the present, the majority of scenes are in the past- the early 1980's. 

These are scenes of flashbacks/memories of Hudson's training days in the New York Police Academy and his first years as uniform cop. Think of it as a TV series' "clip show" -- a variety of scenes of incidents that have already occurred but were never written about before. Characters that have appeared earlier in the novel, Kyle Lennox, Sonya Romandini and Candy Spears, appear in this chapter. For those Literotica readers who enjoy the sex scenes, read SCENE SIX and SCENE ELEVEN. The next chapter, Chapter 8, will resume the action in the present. 

*

Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York, 5pm, 1986

Hudson Banach wore his dark police sunglasses to shield his eyes from the glare of the sunset over Brooklyn. 

He had relocated from his family home in Middle Village Queens, where his mother, younger brother and sister lived, to his own apartment within Brooklyn. He had not climbed up too far socially. It was a modest apartment, in bad need of a paint job, and had only two bedrooms, a small kitchen and a decent enough living room that was nonetheless quite small. The odd thing he found about this apartment was that, for being small, it had the illusion of being slightly bigger. There was a second floor, and it was an attic room, plain and simple. He knew he could make it into another room but it was all woods and had no windows and was directly beneath the sloping roof. He didn't think he'd need a third room so he decided at once that it would remain an attic.

He had been moving his furniture and worldly possessions -- which for him included chairs, tables, desks, lamps, valises, clothes, shoes, kitchen utensils, dishes and last but not least his cop uniforms, the old one and the new one, and his men's magazines, namely Playboy and Hustler not to mention his collection of video cassette pornography.

To keep his interest in adult films a secret from everyone, he always stripped the tapes of their covers -- which depicted nude females -- and labeled them as "documentaries".

He had been moving all these things himself with only the help of another fellow cop from the precinct. He was not friends with the officer but he had volunteered to help a fellow cop in need. By late afternoon, he had finished.

Hudson stood by the door of his apartment, taking a good look at his new pad, eyeing everything from ceiling to floor and wondering just how long it would take for him to arrange all the furniture pieces and carpeting. The Professor had always had good tastes in home décor, so he thought he'd consult him and bring him over to help him. The Professor favored dark woods, influenced by English country manors he had visited, and very little carpeting "except for the bedrooms or in some cases the parlor".

Hudson also considered trying to find a nook in which he could put up a mini-bar. That was the perfect topping in his bachelor's apartment. He prayed that it would not be long before he would find a girlfriend and they would be able to share drinks in his place. If not a girlfriend, then male friends. He wondered if finding both was ever going to happen. 

He had not made a male friend since he met Kyle Lennox. And the poor guy ended up dead. Since his death, he had not been able to befriend a single cop in the precinct. They all considered him to be smug, defiant, a renegade. In the past, he had endangered the lives of other cops when he would take up his personalized brand of police justice, catching criminals in an action-film-hero type way, forgetting the real world was nothing like that. There had been wild car chases and equally wild motorcycle chases, stunts, leaps over bridges, fast-paced pursuits by foot into dangerous areas and the like. Some of the cops he had been paired with had ended up in Intensive Care at the hospital.

Hudson took out old photographs from a box. He placed them on the nightstand, and others above the small fireplace in his living room which he absolutely loved having, feeling a lot more at the Professor's level since he had a fireplace in his own apartment in Park Slope. The ones in the nightstand were black and white photos of Kyle Lennox and his ex girlfriend Sonya Romandini, his first love. The rest of the framed photographs on the fireplace were of his father, dashing and powerful in his Polish police uniform, and his Uncle Vitto in his own Italian cop uniform. There were also photos of his mother and brother Angelo and sister Alyssa.

Hudson found himself staring at photographs of his ex-sweetheart Sonya and his dead friend Kyle. In the photos, he was embracing Sonya tightly as they posed for a sepia photograph taken at Coney Island. He had bought her cotton candy. The photos of Kyle Lennox showed a happy-go-lucky blonde guy out of uniform wearing a Yankees baseball cap in front of Yankee Stadium. 

At once, his mind was flooded by memories and he mentally relived them, remembering how it all began, walking back in time, returning to his own past....................

ONE

He was hard-bodied and yet swift. Everyone thought so. Whenever Hudson Banach was on his feet and running, it was almost like seeing an Olympic marathon runner. He passed the physical exams, operated firearms both big and small like a pro, and passed the exams which tested his endurance. He was able to successfully run with other cops and in mock pursuits on foot. He was equally skilled at climbing fences, high walls and leaping and jumping if called for. Each test was long and exhausting, and either made or broke a person. 

At the dawn of the 1980's, the Academy did not discriminate against racial background or gender. All that mattered was that they were perfectly qualified and fit enough for active duty. For some reason, the Department that Hudson had been looking into -- the Manhattan Precinct -- didn't have any women who had registered for training.

This did not surprise many. The Manhattan girls were more interested in pursuing money, men and careers other than law enforcement. Hudson was a loner and even during training, he found that he was unable to properly socialize with anyone. The days turned to nights and the training was harder than he had expected it would be.

Each night, too tired to even sit down at dinner with the family, he would excuse himself and retire to bed, knowing another long, hard day of training awaited him in the morning. He was the eldest and his siblings were too small. He had turned eighteen not long before and had graduated from high school. He had no desire to join the army or go to University, since neither road was even mentioned by his deceased father. 

Stefan Banak changed his name to the more English-sounding Banach (pronounced Ban-nec) after marrying an Italian-Sicilian woman and coming to New York. He had been a cop in Poland, and now a cop in New York for only a short while. He died when Hudson was still fifteen. Hudson knew that his father had meant for him to be a cop in the "new city". He was tired, he was being pushed too far at the Academy but he remained strong at the core in his effort to please his father and to become a good cop. 

There was another motivation -- Sonya Romandini. 

He recalled when he first met her in high school. She wore her hair like Marsha Brady, despite a glaring difference. The cute TV star was blonde and very Aryan whereas Sonya was distinctly Italian and a raven-haired beauty. Nevertheless, her well-groomed hair was long and cascaded down her back like a Barbie doll. Her breasts were small but lovely and her figure was like that of a slim supermodel. She was in almost every one of his classes. She was fond of him and they had become friends at first but their attraction grew stronger until it reached romantic proportions.

He could think of nothing but her. 

Whenever he closed his eyes, it was her beautiful face that appeared on his mind. He was determined to make her his wife and he wanted to prove himself worthy by becoming a cop like no other and to raise a family who would adore him. He thought Sonya was the perfect missing piece in his life. For her, he was bent on making it first in his class at the Police Academy, no matter how hard it would be, no matter the cost. Day after day, test after test, he felt the intense competition among his peers, all of them hoping to attain prominent status in the Department.

The physical demands of being a cop did not seem altogether heavy. Hudson's body was sturdy but quite lean and as such was able to do a lot more than cops with a heavier build. He had begun to work out at a local gym. The "fitness craze" had hit America with the success of Jane Fonda work-out videos, the sudden "glamour" personal fitness trainers and health clubs frequented by young and old donning spandex and leg warmers. Because the gyms were unisex, it fast became a place for singles to meet one another other than bars. Hudson was already taken by Sonya, so he did not actively seek out a girl at the gym. He did find a friend.

His name was Kyle Lennox. Several inches shorter than Hudson, he was a stocky blonde guy who had wrestled in high school in the Nebraska and came to New Jersey to find work. Having a hard time finding work there, he came to New York City in hopes of making it as a cop. 

It turned out he was also training at the Police Academy. Hudson had never noticed him before but it did not take long for them to become platonic friends. 

* * * * * * *

"You're being pretty tough on yourself, Hudson," Kyle said to him, after a work-out, drinking his Gatorade as if it had been his only source of fluid that day, "do you honestly think you'll make it first in class? Graduation is almost here. Some of those guys drilling us are so cruel they make army drill sergeants look soft."

Hudson wiped some sweat off his big brow with a towel. It was seven in the evening and some folks were coming into the gym to begin their workout while others were finished and heading home. Hudson and Kyle were among those that had just wrapped up their work-out which had consisted of weight-lifting and running on the treadmill.

"Sure I'll make it first in class," Hudson replied, confidently.

"What makes you think someone else won't beat you to it?" Kyle said, as he finished his drink and wiped out some sweat of his own.

"Trust me on this," Hudson continued, "I can foresee that I'm going to be quite the force on the force."

Kyle grinned at him and looked at him as if he had just uttered famous last words. They walked out of the gym and to the parking lot where Hudson had parked his Camaro. 

"Yeah, well you can be a force all you want, Hudson, but remember one thing," Kyle said to him, "never disobey orders from the head honchos in the Department."

"I don't think I'll give them too much trouble. So, where are you parked?"

"I had to take the bus tonight."

"What's the matter with your car?"

"I fell behind on payments and it was repossessed. I was hoping that being a cop would take care of this little matter but it will be a while before both of us are in uniform."

"I can drive you home. Where do you live?"

"Brooklyn."

"Let's roll."

TWO

Driving through Brooklyn at night, Hudson was quick to notice that here things were a tad different from where he grew up in Queens. He knew that his own neighborhood in Middle Village, a very Italian part of Queens, had its own sordid underbelly; particularly when rumors that the Mafia had been operating there for years. To outsiders, New York City looked about the same no matter where you went. The movies, TV shows, magazines and the best-selling novels depicted and glorified Manhattan so much that an ignorant newcomer could truly believe that was all there was to New York City. They didn't know about the hard-knock life in each borough, of the vast urban jungle spreading across the famed Brooklyn Bridge. Here was the typical urban madness. 

Too many apartments crowded together like sardine cans, too many alleys, too many trashcans, too many stray cats and from the looks of it stray youth. Some buildings and apartments had graffiti smeared over them. Street gangs roamed here and there and thieves lurked in the shadows. 

This was a tough neighborhood, and it seemed every Joe here did the same kind of job -- they worked at the cannery, at the where house, in the liquor stores, in the barber shop, in the pawn shop and in the grocery store. Each borough seemed to have its own signature people -- Italians, Jews, blacks, Irish and Puerto Rican. The Bronx was probably worse than Brooklyn, Hudson thought, but Kyle sure did not live in the best of areas. He kind of felt sorry for him, living alone in this area, and for him it couldn't have been that much of a change from living in ugly old New Jersey. 

As they approached Kyle's apartment complex, Hudson spotted a purse snatcher doing his thing much to the astonishment of a poor lady coming home from the store. A few blocks after seeing this little crime in progress, he noticed a young girl, dressed in a provocative, tight and short black leather skirt and wearing a wig being photographed by a creepy older man. The more he stared at the young girl, the more she looked familiar. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her. Something about the girl was ringing a familiar bell.

And then it hit him. She looked like the spitting image of his girlfriend.

"My God, doesn't that look like Sonya?" he asked Kyle in the car.

"What? That's crazy. What would she be doing way out here? Isn't she from your neck of the woods?"

"It sure looks like her though. It's the weirdest thing."

"Hudson, you're so in love with her that you're seeing her everywhere. That girl there is obviously a tramp trying to make easy money by posing for a pervert's camera. Sonya would never do that."

"No, she'd never. But it's so disturbing. She looks so much like her."

They came to a stop in front of Kyle's apartment building. It was almost too typically New York City -- a red-brick building with various fire escapes, ladders, small balconies, windows that didn't seem to open and a rooftop deck with multiple antennas where the tenants could climb up to. 

"This your place?"

"Yeah. You want to come in for a drink? I have some vodka."

"No thanks, I need to be heading home. Mamma Banach won't be too pleased if I'm late for dinner."

"You live with your "mamma "?

"She is a widow. My father died when I was just fifteen. She expects a lot from me. Really nice Italian lady; you'd like her. She can sure cook something wonderful. I ought to invite you over for dinner sometime."

"I think I'd like that Hudson. Alright, I'll see you tomorrow at the Academy."

THREE

The training of the cadets at the Academy was supervised by Captain Barry Hiller. A long-time cop of New York, he had risen to the position of captain after years of public service as an officer. However, as he was too occupied with other affairs that involved his service, he would only make come to the Academy grounds to inspect that the procedure was going smoothly. He was a rotund man, bald, and with a cheery face, despite the fact he had seen much action and much crime in the city. Whenever he came to the training grounds, Hudson felt he looked like Alfred Hitchcock coming to make a movie.

The drill instructor was Lieutenant Isaiah Dante, an African-American who had also risen to his status in the Police Department after years as an officer. He kept mostly to himself and there was a sense of mystery surrounding him. No girlfriend or wife, no family, nothing but the Police Department that he had always called home. The Department believed his tough, unemotional attitude was perfect for the job of training new recruits.

He instructed the cadets in all the necessary training. True to his image as a silent, strong type, all he did was teach them. Never was he cruel, like a drill sergeant. He was fair and did his job without pushing the recruits too much. He taught them everything they would need to know once they put on their uniforms for the first time and performed their police duties. Many of the cadets would be content to remain uniform police officers for years. 

Isaiah Dante came from a time in the 1970's when blacks became more involved in positions of authority such as police lieutenant, and he had, in his youth, once been a member of the Black Panthers. But he repented having done that as soon as the inevitable violence ensued. He then joined the Police Department and remained a loyal member and did his job well.

But he had always kept his distance, and at times resembled a sad man with a guilty or shameful secret.

The training seemed as if it would never end. Hudson endured everything without making a single face that showed discomfort or pain. Kyle Lennox proved to be a competent cadent and his newfound friendship with a strong and confident Hudson helped to boast his own confidence. The only difference was the fact that Hudson's confidence bordered and eventually became pure bravado. 

One afternoon, as the sun was setting, and the cadets were doing their running exercises, Lieutenant Isaiah Dante approached one of the few black cadets the Academy had. Hudson was with him but he was at a distance on the track as they ran. His ears were quite good so he was able to overhear what they were saying.

"Mr. Lennox, a word with you," Lt. Dante said to him.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" the cadet said, getting closer to him.

Dante was a tall man and the cadet had to look up to speak to him.

"Tell me, how many black cadets have we? Do you suppose you know?"

"Oh, there's only about four I would think. Besides me, there's Cadet Marcus, Cadet Julius and Cadet Parker."

The cadet did not dare to ask why the Lieutenant wanted to know this. He looked at him in silence, with that cold, expressionless face and then he told him to resume his running exercise. Hudson thought the Lieutenant had asked a question that seemed a bit odd. It was true that the Department had mostly white officers, but it as if it wasn't the

Department's fault there wasn't an equal number of blacks and white officers, or ethnic officers. The reasons appeared to be something else. Hudson had not grown up watching too many black officers in films or TV series. He knew it was a time of political correctness and a time where great changes were being made. But why did the Lieutenant ask such a question that appeared to be of personal significance to him? It was something Hudson would wonder for a long time, always in the back doors of his memories. 

* * * * *

The day of graduation arrived. The cadets had all day to prepare for the ceremony and Hudson was beyond himself with pride. He had passed each test with flying colors and would graduate first in his class. Captain Barry Hiller, whom everyone called "Chief" personally congratulated him and said he would be glad to have him work on his force. 

Lieutenant Dante was his usual quite, uninvolved self, and did not seem as excited about the ceremony, not even for the fact that he had been personally responsible for the training of many cadets. All the cadets would be sent to work as officers in various precincts and boroughs of New York -- Queens, Brooklyn, the Bronx and the most coveted "assignment" area of them all Manhattan.

Hudson invited his entire family to attend the graduation ceremony. The Mayor of New York City was there, and he shook the hands of each new police officer. He made an eloquent speech, speaking of reforming and improving New York City socially and despite the political touches of his speech, reflecting some personal agenda of political social climbing, he reached to his audience and they loved him. 




Vice Cop Ch. 07



Hudson and Kyle made a vow to remain friends for life, and they promised one another that even after the years of being cops in the chaotic urban jungle took its toll on them, they would never let each other down. They wanted to remain life-long friends, even after they were both married. 

Hudson's mother, whom everyone called "Mamma Banach" but whose maiden name was Isabella Corelli, had a gleam in her eye and a big smile as she saw her eldest son become a cop like her husband had been. Hudson's younger brother Angelo was in awe at the sight of his older brother in uniform, surrounded by other uniform officers and NYPD big wigs, not to mention the mayor. It was all very impressive.

As for Kyle, he shared something in common with Isaiah Dante. He really had no family per se save for the NYPD he had just joined. He had family in New Jersey that had moved to Nevada. They flew to New York to see him graduate but Hudson noticed the family was not as tight-knit as his was. Kyle's father and mother seemed like a couple that had been wrongfully matched and bitter. Hudson did not know much about Kyle's family. He had one older sister who lived in Reno, Nevada who did not make it to the graduation ceremony. 

Hudson loved everything about the ceremony and the memory of it was dented into his mind. But one thing he would also remember, in sadness and disappointment, was the fact that his own girlfriend Sonya Romandini did not show up to see him. While he received applause, he felt sick at heart that Sonya did not come to see him. It was like a slap in the face. What could have been more important to her than seeing him graduate and become an official cop?

Hudson tried his best not to make it too much about him. He knew Sonya had something she was keeping from him; something that did not seem right. He wondered often if she was being unfaithful to him. There was no evidence to prove this and Sonya was always pleasant around him and moreover she always treated him with love and respect. She had been a gracious and good girlfriend. She had never demanded too much from him. 

After high school, she had not found a steady job anywhere. She had been fired from her job as a cashier at women's clothing store in Flushing Queens. She never explained her reasons. All Hudson knew was that currently, she was employed at the cosmetic's department at Macy's.

True, they had only been intimate once so far. It was on Prom Night, and they continued the tradition of making love with the person they danced with. Hudson knew that many seniors in high school were not serious about their girlfriends and it was always for a show, for fear of not "being with someone". Hudson thought that Sonya truly loved him.

What was she being so secretive about? Why would she not show up for his graduation ceremony? Hudson also theorized that if she didn't have another man on the side, then she was doing something illegal that he did not want him to know about. He prayed to God it wasn't what he feared.

Hudson had always been a cop at heart. He had a suspicious mind and was always on alert, sensing that something was amiss at times. Growing up in New York City, a city that was often filled with danger and crime, he knew that people were not always born to crime and vice. Those that were not raised by a criminal family such as the Mafia were lured into it, seduced into it for love of money and material things. But at the moment, he did not suspect the Mafia, which had always had a hold on New York City, was responsible for making Sonya go astray. 

He decided he'd have to have a talk with her, but he knew he had to do it tactfully the next time he was alone with her.

FOUR

Hudson's younger sister Alyssa was a precocious girl who was a favorite among school teachers. She was a beautiful girl and had a talent for acting and had appeared in every school play from elementary school to her current year at junior high. She had one skill which made her mother proud -- she was able to play the flute. One evening a Professor of Music came to lecture at her school. 

At the end of the lecture, a concert would take place. Several of the Professor's pupils would play orchestral music under his baton. The Professor would play a duet for piano and flute with Alyssa. Because Mamma Banach was ill that evening, Angela counted on Hudson to take her to the lecture. He had not wanted to go but he knew he had familial obligation. There was no one else who could do this for Alyssa. Angelo was not old enough to drive and Mamma Banach had never learned to drive. Since marriage and her arrival in New York from Sicily, she remained first and foremost a housewife and mother.

The Professor was Ezra Goldstein, a little Jewish man who hailed from Brooklyn and had been a Music Professor at a Conservatory for years. He had recently become a college music professor. Often times, public schools borrowed him as a guest speaker, in efforts to instill musical interests among the inner city school children. The moment he approached the podium and began to lecture, Hudson found himself intrigued. He spoke articulately and beautifully, in an almost British accent owing to time spent in the United Kingdom. 

He spoke about his brief career as piano accompanist to the great opera singers of his time. Because it was only a junior high school, and the students were below fifteen years of age, he mostly spoke in terms they would understand. He introduced them to the world of classical music and symphonies by defining many of the terminology to them such as the various instruments and brief bios of composers from Bach to Stravinsky.

The children were uninterested, and even their parents feigned interest. Only Hudson showed interest, listening to the Professor as if he were opening up a new world of exciting possibilities. Symphonies, chamber music, operas --and the women who enjoyed them! He knew that only the most cultured, sophisticated and beautiful girls enjoyed this kind of music. He could take Sonya to these symphonies and operas and it would be romantic. He would make friends who were of a different social circle than his. It would also help them to have a cop on their side.

Alyssa played the flute beautifully and the Professor, despite his age, was able to play the piano like a young man, full of zesty energy. The duet was charming and Hudson loved the melodies they played but the audience, composed of working middle-class families from Queens, did not care much for the music and applauded only because it was appropriate, not because they had enjoyed the music. Hudson suddenly felt that he did not belong with these people. Some day, he hoped, even as a cop, he would be something much more and his family would be proud.

The evening came to an end. As folks exited the hall, Alyssa put away her flute and Hudson approached Professor Ezra Goldstein. He was a small man and Hudson was taller than him. He tried not to frighten him as he looked like a nervous little man, so he merely said "hello there" to get his attention. 

"I'm Alyssa's older brother," he said to him, "her mother was unable to attend the lecture tonight. My name's Hudson Banach."

"Charmed, Mr. Banach," the Professor replied, "Miss Alyssa is a lovely girl and a gifted pianist."

The Professor put away his on things and was getting ready to exit the Hall and find his car in the parking lot. Something was in the air, as if tonight was a particularly special night.

"She is a good girl," Hudson said, "it's only a pity her father didn't live to see her play the flute."

"And what about you? Did you enjoy the music?"

"It was the most beautiful music I have ever heard in my life. What...what was it called?"

"It was bits and pieces of the score to Mozart's "The Magic Flute" opera, Schubert's "Trout" Quintet and Beethoven's King Stephen Overture."

Hudson's blue eyes were actually glistening.

"It was God's music," he said, "the most gorgeous music of all time."

"My boy, if you're so interested in this art form, why don't you --"

"I couldn't play an instrument. I have no time. I have just become a police officer with the NYPD."

"What about joining my class?"

"I don't know, Professor. I have only a high school education and I don't know if I'm cut out for that sort of thing. I don't think I'd have enough time for your class, unfortunately. Being a cop will consume too much of my time. But you know, I'll give it a shot. I can take at least one class."

"You can take my appreciation course."

"I wonder, Professor, if you could possibly teach me about classical music and opera in private. If you wish, I could pay you. I don't mean music lessons, just lessons in appreciating the symphony and the opera."

"That would require me to take you to symphonies and operas."

"I would pay for those."

"I wouldn't hear of it. I love treating people to these concerts. I think you're on to a great idea. I don't care for the money my boy. You need not pay me. You should save your money now that you're a cop. I shall be quite proud to be your mentor, because that is what you are suggesting. No one else showed any real interest in music tonight."

"Could you tell?"

"Oh, yes. I've been to many lectures and I know when the audience is bored or genuinely interested. You were quite immersed in my lecture."

"You were terrific."

"Come on, Hudson," Alyssa said to him, interrupting, "it's getting a little late. Mamma will be a little worried about us.....and "Dynasty" is going to be on soon!"

"Ah, we wouldn't want to miss that," the Professor said jokingly.

It was so nice meeting you, Professor Goldstein

And that was the beginning of a friendship between an uptight Professor and a street-smart cop........

FIVE

A few weeks into his new life as a cop, Hudson had his first share of thrills. Soon after donning the uniform and cap, he had been assigned to various patrol duties in the Bronx. He had no idea why they had sent him there, knowing full well that there were other cops from other precincts who worked the beat in that borough. He supposed that there was some kind of connection with each precinct and that they loaned cops to one another. For some reason, there was a need for more officers on patrol in that area.

Hudson knew exactly why. The Bronx was nothing like Manhattan. The crime rate was much higher and all kinds of vice occurred -- the usual prostitution rings headed by violent pimps, drug dealing and not to mention theft and the unending gang activities. Hudson knew nothing about gangs and how they even operated so he just figured they were just punks and kids who wanted some kind of family because their own families were messed up and broken. He loved the police car they had given him. It was not like the black-and-white patrol cars he had seen in various films or cop dramas on TV, but it made for quite a sight. It was a response car, a Crown Victoria with red, white and blue siren, equipped with radio with which to communicate with Central Dispatch. 

Kyle and Hudson were on patrol duty, having been told that there was an increase of hoodlums and gangs committing hate crimes, drive-by-shootings and grand theft auto in open and plain sight in the streets.

"This is rough neighborhood," said Kyle, "I don't understand why even the cops don't seem enough sometimes."

"Yeah, well, it's not going to get any better unless there are changes made," Hudson said," But I'm not the one to make them. I'm just enforcing the law."

Suddenly they received a call on their radio.

"4-Adam-10, do you copy?" said a male voice, "we need more cover on a pursuit that has just taken place. Suspect is driving a stolen vehicle passing the speed limits and heading out of the South Bronx area."

"Yeah, we copy," said Hudson onto the hand-held device inside the car," this is Officers Hudson Banach and Kyle Lennox. Where has the suspect been spotted?"

"Hunts Point. The car has been stolen and is heading out of the Bronx, possibly into Manhattan but we don't know that for sure. It's driving very erratically. We need all available units."

"We're on it," said Hudson.

"Looks like our first car chase, eh, Hudson?" said Kyle with a grin.

* * * * *

The chase was on.

Response vehicles, faster than run-of-the-mill police cruisers, were on the tail of a man who had stolen a truck that was had had been occupied with a woman and her child. 

The woman and the boy were still in the car, and the man was apparently a kidnapper. In addition to car theft, he would be booked on charges of kidnap.

For Hudson, the thrills began at that moment. Kyle Lennox maintained a cool and calm exterior, though he was inwardly nervous and afraid the car pursuit would end in a bloody shoot-out. 

The police had followed the man out of a street in Hunts Point in the South Bronx and he was driving into various streets without a sense of direction. All the while, the police with their loudspeakers and sirens blaring, urged the man to stop the car.

"Do you think he's armed?" Kyle said to Hudson.

"It's difficult to tell," he replied, "he could just open fire but he hasn't done that. Then again he could pull out a gun when the car chase becomes a foot chase."

"And you think that's going to happen?"

"It really could happen. This is going to be interesting."

"Oh, come on, Hudson, Jesus, you don't think this is exciting do you?"

There many police cars after the stolen truck looked like a triangle formation, and they cleared traffic through the streets of various parts of the Bronx. It was broad daylight. It was around two thirty in the afternoon and school-age children were just coming off of school, making the pursuit especially dangerous. The crazed driver was zig-zagging and breaking the speed limits in residential areas and not just one but three school zones. Off he went, seemingly determined to outrun the cops, hoping to tire them or to beat them. 

It was like some sort of high for him. Hudson wondered if he was feeling the same thing, except from his end as a cop. He was getting a high from chasing the suspect. Kyle did not seem to enjoy the chase, and had turned gravely serious and somewhat stone-faced, not making any conversation with Hudson.

"Why do you suppose they think they can outrun the police?" Hudson asked Kyle, "that always amazes me. I've seen car chases before and the guy always thinks he can just disappear and the cops will give up on him."

"It's like a game for them, it's glamorous for them, I guess," Kyle said, "they like being on TV for this. I don't understand their mentality. It's pure stupidity. They won't stand a chance against cops whose job is to catch guys like this. And we have all day or sometimes all night."

"You betcha. This guy looks like he's going to take his sweet time."

"One-Adam-10," the voice on the car radio said, "we need you to turn to another direction. We believe that the suspect might be headed for Yankee Stadium or willpass that area."

"What do you want us to do?" Hudson said.

"One-Adam-14, One Adam 15 and One-Adam 12 are going to try to stop him from another direction to corner him."

"Alright, I copy. We're on it."........

In the stolen truck, the man, a barrel-chested Puerto Rican with chest hair showing from his muscle shirt, had slapped the woman with the crying boy on her lap.

"Now you shut up, and you listen to me," he said in a strong accent, "I'm going to meet a friend at Yankee Stadium. Quick as lightning, I'll take you and your boy into his car and he'll take you to the airport where you will both be taking a flight to LA. If you want your boy to live, you better do as I say."

"Who are you?" the woman said.

"That's of no importance to you. You are going to become a sex worker for my friend and if you do as he says, we'll keep your boy alive. Otherwise we'll cut him up and his body will be sold for medical students to examine."

"Oh my God, how can you do this?"

"Yeah, I said shut up, lady."

Back in Hudson and Kyle's car, they had come across another part of the Bronx and were approaching Yankee Stadium, the famed stadium of Babe Ruth's dreams. Hudson had seen many a baseball game there with his brother Angelo, with his Uncle Vitto and had even invited the Professor to attend one game in the spring. He had loved that stadium ever since he could remember. 

It was a childhood memory and a huge part of Americana and New York City, as much an icon of the city as the Statue of Liberty or the Brooklyn Bridge. To think that now he would return to the Stadium to do his cop duty.

He spoke into the device in the car, the little thing disappearing under his big hands.

"This is One-Adam-10," Hudson said, "we're approaching Yankee Stadium. Where do you want us to stop?"

"You will park the car in the parking lot and blend in with the other cars and try to look incognito. When you see the suspect, use your loudspaker to talk to him. If the suspect is not willing to cooperate, then proceed on foot."

"See, what did I tell you?" Hudson said to Kyle, "I smelled this from the moment the chase began."

Kyle bit his lip and made a courageous face. Hudson grinned.

As the Stadium came into view, they noticed that a few people were up and about. It was practice time for the Yankees and many were there to attend practice. The sun was especially warm that day and beaming down over the parking lot with some force. 

Hudson had on his cop sunglasses but Kyle felt they looked ridiculous and had always chosen not to wear them. Hudson believed the real reason was that the sunglasses did not look especially flattering on his smaller frame whereas they made him look cool and heroic. Hudson observed his face in the car mirror and grinned. He loved the way he looked in sunglasses and full uniform. He was sure he was the hottest cop in the precinct.

"Hudson, this is no time to check yourself in the mirror," Kyle said, jokingly.

They parked the car and the wait began. The air was tense. The poor suckers on the parking lot knew nothing about what was going to happen in a few minutes. Hudson prayed and hoped these poor pedestrians and innocent by-standers wouldn't be shot or injured.

The Puerto Rican man's truck came into the parking lot. From the corner of his eye, Hudson was able to spot him. He took off his sunglasses and put a hand on Kyle's shoulder to get his attention.

"The guy's coming," he said, "get ready."

But as soon as the car had parked, the man had forcibly taken the woman into another car, all in plain sight of some people and Hudson and Kyle were able to see from their car. They turned on the siren and began to move.

"One-Adam-14, this is Officers Banach and Lennox, we're at the Stadium and we have just seen the suspect take the woman and child onto another vehicle. It's a Mercedez-Benz, black, late 1970's."

"After them," said the cop on the other end.

"So this is a second chase, now?" Kyle said, "I'm going to get such a huge migraine."

They followed the car as it made its way out of the parking lot. But it was not to be. The other police cars arrived at the Stadium and blocked his way out. Hudson smiled.

At least a second chase would not be needed.

"We got him," said a voice on the car radio.

The cops surrounded the car. Hudson and Kyle drove to a spot facing the suspect at a closer range.

"Come out with your hands up," Hudson said into his loudspeaker, "let the woman and the child go. You are under arrest. Do not attempt to flee on foot."

The suspects, two Puerto Rican men, came out of the car with the woman and the boy.

The boy was still crying in the woman's arms.

"Don't try anything funny," Hudson said, coming out of the car, armed with his gun and approaching the suspect.

As he drew near, one of the suspects began to run. 




Vice Cop Ch. 07



"Ah, God damn it," Hudson said.

Just as he had figured - a foot chase.

Hudson began to run as soon as the suspect had begun to run. The man was not fast owing to his heavy weight but some adrenaline made him go faster and he passed parked cars, trying to hide among them. 

"Don't do this, stop," Hudson said, "the cops have you surrounded."

"Fuck you, pig," he shouted.

Hudson had never been called a pig before but he realized it was an insult and slang for cop.

After his swear word, the man began to shoot at Hudson. He had a 9mm handgun which matched Hudson's. Hudson had not hoped it would come to that. They dodged each other's bullets behind parked cars, the Stadium looming gigantically behidn them and creating a huge shadow from the sunlight. The man did not stop firing and they continued their gun fight as they moved about in the parking lot.

Hudson reached for his device.

"Suspect is firing at me from the parking lot, if you can see him, stop him," he said.

One of the officers, whom Hudson recognized from the Academy, along with two others suddenly emerged and arrested the suspect.

"Thank God," Hudson said.

He only wished he had put the cuffs on the guy himself...............

SIX

Finally, Hudson was alone with Sonya.

He had not been a uniform cop for more than three months, and in all that time he had not been alone with Sonya except for two non-consecutive occasions. They had even missed each other's birthdays that long summer when he had become a cop. She claimed to be working in the same cosmetics department at Macy's. Hudson had never investigated whether it was true or not. They were alone in Sonya's apartment in Flushing, Queens, where she payed the rent herself and lived alone.

They had eaten a simple dinner and shared wine for two. They had watched "Who's The Boss" and were still lounging on the couch, both of them sated from the meal and the wine. She was in a black dress which looked new and Hudson wondered where she had gotten it. She was also wearing earrings and a pendant that he had not bought for her and that, too, bothered him. Where was she getting the money for these material things? 

That night, Hudson intended to find out.

"Hey, Sonya, do you think I sound like that Tony Danza guy on the show we just watched?" he said to her, with a grin.

"You really do," she replied, with a chuckle, "but I've heard many New York Italian guys sound like that. You also have a sort of Sylvester Stallone look, especially now that you're in shape."

"I don't think I look like Rocky Balboa or Rambo."

"And I don't think I look like Marsha Brady," she said, referring to his remarks about her looking like a dark-haired version of her.

Sonya put her hand on his thigh. 

Hudson was in sweat pants and a muscle shirt, having worked out at the precinct gym earlier that evening. She was in a shirt, his shirt, and there was nothing underneath except for what God gave her from the waist down.

Quietly looking into each other's eyes, they knew that they wanted to feel one another's bodies and to experience sexual pleasure again. Closing their eyes, they began to kiss, a soft kiss that engulfed them with warmth and passion. Hudson's hands cupped Sonya's thin face, and their mouths stuck to one another like some kind of powerful glue. Their breathing became heavier. 

Kissing was always a pleasure for Hudson and he enjoyed kissing his girlfriend whenever he could. The reason it felt especially good now was because he hadn't been near her in such a long time. She was oddly compliant. Usually, she enjoyed to make more noise and to touch him, grab him and show more passion. It was as if she was tired or not especially in the mood as much as he was. She was not saying anything but she was going along with it.

Hudson's kisses deepened and became more feverish. His blood racing, he was moaning under his breath and feeling a sexual heat rise to his nostrils. He kissed down her neck and slowly removed the shirt she had on. It was too big for her small frame so it took a while before it was off and in the meantime, he had begun to put his hand on her bush.

She normally kept some hair on her pussy but to Hudson's surprise she had shaven the hair completely. Her pink, wet pussy was bald and smooth like a baby or like a virgin. This was something some girls were experimenting with at the time. Hudson wondered if this was for him....or for someone else.......

He began to insert his fingers into her pussy, but not gently. This sent her into a frenzied state and she moaned and writhed at the invasion of his fingers. She didn't seem to be into it at the moment so she took her own hand and she put it over his.

"I just want you to take me," she said to him, "don't waste any time."

Hudson was hard beneath his sweat pants. He recognized the urgent need she had and it matched his own.

"Are you sure, baby?" he said to her, "wouldn't you rather I --"

"No."

He wondered why she would say no to what he usually did to her, which was to lave and lick her pussy with a devoted kind of attention and pleasure. She was awfully strange tonight about sex. She didn't seem as hot and lively as she usually was. This made him feel uncomfortable but he was determined to provide her with pleasure. 

Hudson proceeded.

He removed his sweatpants and muscle shirt, falling into a pile with his shirt which she had been wearing. As he removed his sneakers, he noticed that the window was open and a breeze was entering the room. He got up to shut the window. He noticed that Sonya had a tired sort of look on her face, almost coldly distant.

He approached her and it felt as if he had never made love to her before, as if it was the first time and with someone else. Who was she, this Italian-American girl he had thought he knew? Who was this black-eyed, black-haired exotic beauty that had the power to create passion inside him and also a degree of sadness?

"Take me," she said, but she could have been rehearsing a tired line in a movie.

He was on top of her, gently pressing his hard body against her softer and slimmer body. At times, he felt some ribs and bones and wondered what owed to her weight loss. She was perfectly still under him, showing no emotion and laying there passively. Hudson felt ridiculous. She was like a lifeless doll.

As he parted her legs, he slipped the head of his cock into her pussy and she let out a moan. At least that, Hudson thought. She began to writhe softly as he penetrated her fully, allowing her to feel the entire length of his well-endowed cock getting deep inside her. She was breathing harder and moaning, but it was as if she had tried to fight it. Her eyes remained closed even though Hudson kept his eyes on her face.

His cock embedded in her pussy, he began to move in a powerful rhythm using his hips and flexing the muscles of his ass, keeping his legs in place as he pounded her pussy. She had her legs firmly on the bed, parted, and she didn't move as he continued to fuck her in a fierce and fast motion.

Hudson closed his eyes, though he had not wanted to.

They were lost in the sensations they were feeling, but Hudson was more into this than she was. He groaned loudly when he felt his climax about to hit. 

She was moaning softly and deceptively. Hudson opened his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. 

Neither of them said a word.

SEVEN

It was not too late and after Sonya showered alone, Hudson treated her to one last drink of wine he had purchased himself. Being Italian by the blood of his mother, Hudson had inherited excellent tastes in wine and Sonya always enjoyed his selections of alcohol.

She suspected Hudson intended to spend the night because he had not mentioned anything about having to be up early the next day for work. She didn't care to ask him about his job as a cop and Hudson found this to be very unusual. 

Hudson noted how Sonya had become, to put it bluntly, a selfish being. She showed no interests in any part of his life. She seemed more withdrawn and distant every time he saw her. Because he was on patrol duties day and night each week, he was unable to communicate with her over the phone. He wondered if he, too, had become too wrapped up in his new life as a cop but he felt he was at least trying to do his best to remain true to the relationship. But now, Hudson thought, now I need some closure.

He put a hand on Sonya's shoulder, arresting her walk as she returned from the shower. Their eyes met and she read concern in his blue eyes.

"Sonya, we need to talk," he said to her.

"About what?" she said to him.

Hudson did not say anything, gathering his thoughts, thinking of what to say while Sonya, not once looking back, began to dry her hair with a hairdryer and to put on a robe. While they had made love, they had left the TV on, though at low volume. Static and whiteness was on the TV screen.

Sonya bent down to change the station and found MTV. A concert was in progress, and it was the Swedish music group ABBA. The wistful, sad song "The Winner Takes It All" was being sung by the lead female singer with back-up. Hudson felt sick at heart, knowing deep down that something would change significantly before the night was over, that things would go downhill and fast. It made him very sad.

"Sonya, why don't you tell me what's going on in your life?"

She looked at him as if he was crazy. She then smile and continued to dry her hair, waving her long dark hair like a banner. That was another thing Hudson had noticed. Her hair had always been short, beautiful and groomed but always cut in a cute, pixie hair cut that showcased her soft round head and made her appear girlish. Now her hair was long and full and she looked like a mature woman.

"What do you mean? I don't have anything going on in my life besides you and my work at Macy's. What are you getting at?"

"I don't believe you're telling me everything, Sonya. I think you're keeping something from me."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous. You and I are hardly together and when we are, it's not as it should be."

"We made love didn't we?"

"A true couple needs to have more to share than just sex."

Hudson thought to himself silently. The sex they had shared had been unusual and odd. She had been too quiet and pensive, distant and not as into it as he had been. Her mind had been somewhere else and she had feigned interest. He wondered if she had really had an orgasm or had just faked the whole thing.

"What is this all about?" Sonya said, vexed.

She had begun to comb her hair by a chair next to a vanity mirror and she regarded her own reflection. From the glass, she could see Hudson was making a very sad and almost painful face. The music on the TV was of no help either, with its sad lyrics about a failed romance, the ultimate break-up song:

"I don't want to talk, about things we've gone through, though it's hurting me, now it's history; I've played all my cards, and that's what you've done too, Nothing more to say; no more ace to play. The Winner takes it all, the Looser standing small,

"It's very hard for me to talk about this," Hudson continued, "but I figure it was time I brought it up."

"Well, what is it?"

"Sonya, I'm not sure what you're doing behind my back. I feel that you're doing something that you don't want me to know."

"Like what? You think I'm cheating on you or something?"

"I didn't say that."

"Because I'm not if that's what you're implying. I have only been intimate with you two times and that leads you to think I'm fucking some other guy when we aren't together as much as you want?"

"No. I didn't say that. I only have suspicions, but I'm not even sure what it is I'm suspicious about. I just know that I saw a girl that looked a lot like you in a street in Brooklyn being photographed by some weird looking guy. This was probably about a month ago or so."

The Gods may throw a dice, their minds as cold as ice, And someone way down here looses someone dear. The Winner takes it all, the looser has to fall, It's simple in its place, why should I complain?

She was silent. She ceased brushing her hair and her face became as hard as a stone. Hudson had never seen her make a face like that. Her thin dark eyebrows were furrowed slightly. 

"You are a pathetic loser, you know that," she said angrily, "we make love and then you ruin it with your suspicious little mind."

"Answer me this, was that you being photographed by some guy?"

She crossed her arms and stared at him in the face. 

"Yes, it was me. It was a job."

"What the hell kind of job is that, Sonya? You were dressed like a god-damned whore and that guy looked like he wanted to pay for sex with you."

"You don't know anything. It was a photo shoot. He's a California photographer from LA and he came here to look for fresh new talent."

"You wanna be a super model? How come you never told me that before?"

"For the same reason I feared when we first met. I'm thin so I have always wanted to be a model and make money off my looks. I thought if I told you, you'd freak out and you'd think I was suddenly too good for you or that I was somehow bad for wanting it in the first place."

"I was in your arms; thinking I belonged there, I figured it made sense, building me a fence, building me a home, thinking I'd be strong there, but I was a fool playing by the rules"......

"I don't want to be an obstacle to you. I just sensed something wasn't right. You should have told me you wanted to be a model."

"Are there any more questions tonight?" she said, in a sarcastic and venomous tone.

"You are being pretty cold, Sonya. I'm sorry but I don't believe you're telling me the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

"You're an asshole. You won't be satisfied until you hear some kind of fucking confession from me, won't you? You want me to say that I've begun turning tricks."

"Well have you?"

Her dead silence was his answer.

She got up and began to dress. Hudson noticed it was the same slutty outfit as the one he had seen in the Brooklyn street when he had taken Kyle home. She had been telling the truth. That girl, posing in lewd and provocative ways, had really been her after all. She put on some make-up, coldly, silently, not once looking at Hudson, though she could feel his gaze strongly falling over her.

She grabbed a purse and she got her car keys.

"You need not bother to come to my place ever again," she said to him, "this was our final night together."

"Sonya, baby --"

He wanted to embrace her but she stopped him cold.

"Hudson, you're a fool. I guess I was too, for loving you. We are out of high school; we have no real future together. It wasn't meant to be. Not every one gets to marry their high school sweetheart and live happily ever after."

"Not every high school sweetheart says she's a model but she's really looking to be a prostitute."

"You shut the hell up. I'm doing no such thing. Those were legitimate photos that will be sent to a studio in Los Angeles. Because you see, that's where I'm going. I'm going to make it big one day and I'm not going to hang around Flushing Queens forever. I don't care about us anymore. You don't understand my need to be somebody."

"Don't sell your body, Sonya, or your soul."

"I am only going to sell my image, not my body. I don't know how tough it's going to be even though I have a pretty good idea. But my mind is made up. I have enough money for a flight to LA and I'm going to be living with a girlfriend from New Jersey. We are going to pay rent in a home in North Hollywood. I don't want you to come look for me, Hudson. Stay here in New York City. This is where you belong."

"Where are you going right now?" Hudson said to her.

He looked tired and very sad, and even this tragic face she saw before her didn't move her one bit. 

"I'm going out with my photographer and I won't be back till morning. You better not be here when I return. Goodbye."

She closed the door and Hudson felt his heart cracking. The TV was still on, the music still lingering....

"I don't want to talk if that makes you feel safe, and I understand you've come to shake my hand... I apologize, if it makes you feel bad, seeing me so tense, no self-confidence..but you see..The Winner Takes it All......

EIGHT

A broken heart did not mend easily.

For Hudson, his patrol duties, increasingly more difficult, proved to be strong medicine. When Sonya had left him, he embraced other people, those people being Professor Ezra Goldstein and his fellow officer buddy Kyle. 

With Kyle, he could be himself. They would attend baseball games at Yankee Stadium, or watch football on TV, smoke, play poker, talk about cars and hit the bars. Kyle knew that he was pretty sad after losing his girlfriend and knowing Hudson, he did not push a girl in his face right away. 

As for his own love life, Kyle Lennox did not talk about it. He had never talked about a girlfriend, though he did like girls, and preferred blondes. He would sometimes begin to say something about an elusive girl who would come into bars now and then, flirt with him and then disappear, a Canadian looking blonde that had begun to drive him nuts. Kyle and Hudson always spent time together whenever they could after a hard day's work. 

At the precinct, the Chief was able to recognize their bond and friendship, so he paired them up every time they were on duty. Kyle and Hudson became a good cop team. The rest of the cops on the force, and even the Chief, jokingly called them "good cop, bad cop" with blonde, sweet-faced Kyle being the "good cop" and tough-looking, dark-haired, muscle-bound Hudson being the "bad cop". 

It was related to their methods. Kyle played by the rules. He remained calm under pressure and would never lose his cool. It almost seemed to some, especially the girls who were arrested, a real pleasure to be arrested by a guy that looked and sounded like an elementary school teacher.

Hudson was called "bad cop" because his methods were a lot tougher. He would raise his voice angrily, he would get into people's faces, and he always looked ready to spring into action of any kind. 

He was cock-ready for a fight if someone started one. But he never went too far. Something always held him back. Kyle wondered what made Hudson sad underneath the tough exterior.

Their friendship enabled the patrol duties to be less heavy. They would socialize in the car as they drove into the streets of Manhattan and sometimes other boroughs, looking for any kind of wrong-doing worthy of ticketing or arrest. The time flew by, and Hudson began to wonder if they would forever remain a duo of two uniform cops for a very long time.

And then there was Hudson's friendship with Professor Ezra Goldstein.

The Professor was good to him, treating him like a son, with a warm face and permanent smile. They spent time together listening to recordings of symphonies and classical works as well as operas, while the Professor explained the details about the music and the composer. They would have tea at exactly four in the afternoon, official team time in England, which had suddenly come alive in his charming and quaint apartment in Park Slope, Brooklyn. 

The fire was always in the fire place, warm, so warm that Hudson could feel his blood become hot, soothing him, making him gentle, giving him peace after each day; days that were filled with fighting crime directly in the streets -- drug dealing, prostitution, petty theft, liquor store robberies, stolen vehicle pursuits, grand theft auto. Even the little tiny traffic violations seemed to make him harder, like a stone. Being a rookie cop made him very tough. 

And Sonya was gone......

From 1981 to 1984, Hudson was a unique kind of uniform cop, unheard of at the time in New York City or any other place for that matter. His rookie years were spent as a patrol officer, which sometimes meant he would drive a police motorcycle through the city, both during his day shift and night shifts, and during the day, he would also be seen on a horse on the streets of Manhattan. 




Vice Cop Ch. 07



Patrol officer work bored him and he felt like he was meant for more. He knew that he had special abilities that other cops on his force did not possess, not the least being able to use gut instinct or physical prowess. After about three years, he was no longer considered a rookie and he proved to be the same kind of confident guy that had graduated first in his class at the Academy.

So after it became obvious to Chief Barry Hiller that he was meant for something else, he would assign Hudson in various specialized services. He worked for the K-9 unit. At the time this was also the same kind of work that Kyle Lennox was doing. The Chief ensured that no matter what unit he was in, Hudson would always be accompanied by his best friend. The Chief had a strong rapport with Hudson from the beginning, seeing a little of himself in the cop that some folks had also begun to nickname "the Italian stallion". Hudson liked that sobriquet better than "bad cop."

K-9 unit was a success for Hudson. The police dogs were trained so well that even Hudson was amazed at their incredible abilities. They were not only swift, lean and tough, but they were able to detect narcotics inside people's clothing, women's purses, all kinds of coats and jackets and bags or backpacks. These same dogs had an equally powerful sense of smell when it came to finding dead bodies.

And if it's one thing Hudson came to discover it was that New York City's vast metropolis, stretching out against the waters of the Atlantic, held dead bodies of murder victims and suicides in hidden nooks and crannies that not every human cop was able to find.

Hudson adopted a pet dog while he was with K-9. He had a German Shepherd he named Hunter. The inevitable bond between a man and his dog occurred. Together, Hunter and Hudson became a terrific team in themselves and the NYPD found it amusing. Hudson kept the dog at his family's home in Middle Village Queens, much to the delight of his younger siblings Angelo and Alyssa, who loved animals. 

Sadly, Hunter lived a short life and succumbed to an illness that killed him. Hudson remembered every single moment with that dog, in particular one episode in the life......

NINE

True to his word, Hudson joined Professor Ezra Goldstein's Music Appreciation class. There was a large number of pupils who came from a similar middle-class background and who grew up in all the boroughs of New York City, including Manhattan. Hudson felt like a fish out of water, knowing that the rest of the class had some college experience behind them, whereas he had only the high school diploma. 

Some were adults with families and children, working-class folk like him, postmen, firefighters, registered nurses and some were just taking the class for enrichment and to learn something new, not to get a degree.

He was the only cop among the students. Even out of uniform,everyone seemed to know that he was a cop. The Professor was a friendly man and shared a good connection with his students. After a semester was coming to an end, Hudson had been to the Professor's home for private lessons and for comraderie but learned that other students, too, were guests at his home in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Hudson figured it was because the Professor had been a widow for a long time. 

His wife had died of lung cancer and he had never been the same after that. "My wife was my life" he had always said. So for him, friendship was always welcome and he like to receive guests in his quaint little home.......

Hudson came to the Professor's one afternoon when he was off duty. He had been working for the K-9 unit for a while and always brought along Hunter wherever he went. The Professordidn't care for dogs, having only owned cats so when Hudson entered his home with the big dog, he felt uncomfortable.

"Fais comme chez toi," the Professor said, "as the French say "Make yourself at home"."

"Thank you, Professor," replied Hudson and he sat down on a sofa. 

He ordered Hudson to sit and the dog complied, settling at his feet. The Professor smiled and Hudson smiled back. Often, Hudson felt as if the Professor enjoyed his friendship the most and there relaxed silences seemed to prove it. Hudson was a lot taller than the diminutive Professor and his big muscles sometimes intimidated the Professor, though he knew that Hudson, despite his huge muscle man macho exterior, was truly a good-hearted soul.

"I'm sorry but I have no records to play at the moment," he said, "I have been borrowing some from libraries lately, whenever I want to cut back on spending money on all the classical music records, which you know are my passion. I do want to attend the opera in a month's time. Would you care to join me? The Metropolitan Opera will perform Carmen."

"Oh, I've heard you talk about that one and it sounds terrific" Hudson said.

"It is one of my favorites," said the Professor," now if you will excuse me, I'll bring us some Earl Grey."

He went to the kitchen and Hudson basked in the nice scent of the living room. The Professor had brought potted plants, which looked large and tropical and it provided the room with a sort of hotel lobby type feel. 

He had also purchased a piano but Hudson was quick to suspect that it was probably used for private piano lessons for the children of some of his pupils. Hudson enjoyed the Professor's place and felt all the weight of the previous day, full of ticketing and arrests, slip easily away. 

Hunter, on the other hand, was uncomfortable and restless. Something in the air made him jumpy and nervous. Hudson took notice of this and tried to calm him down by gently putting his hands over his head.

"What's wrong, boy?" he said to the dog, "are you hungry? I fed you before we got here. And you enjoyed the car ride, so what is the matter with you?"

The dog began to bark and this was something he didn't do unless something was wrong. Hunter was trained as a police dog so his senses were on alert whenever something was amiss.

Suddenly, he began to run toward one of the potted plants by the entrance door and window. He was sniffing the plant and barking, as if trying to get Hudson's attention.

Hudson got up from the sofa and walked over to the plant. He looked into the pot and discovere that there was a bag there, lying on the dirt. When he picked it up, the dog stopped barking. Hudson could not believe his eyes. 

It was marijuana.

The Professor came back into the living room with tea cups and sugar bags. He looked at Hudson in surprise seeing him away from his seat. Hudson looked at the Professor with a look of puzzlement and surprise.

"Have you been partying lately, Professor?" he said to him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"As in doing drugs."

"What's that?"

"How is it a dignified Professor has a bag of marijuana hidden in his house plant?"

"O my God."

The Professor almost dropped his tea. He put the tea cups on the coffee table and walked over to Hudson. He looked at the bag as if in horror and disgust, as well as in disbelief.

"Do you do drugs, Professor?"

"I most certainly do not!!" he shouted, as if insulted," I have never done drugs, not even in the 60's when practically everyone was doing them. I am shocked and appalled. This must be some kind of sick joke."

They were silent and the Professor's face was livid, upset and genuinely hurt. Hudson could read sincerity in his small, warm face and he recognized that he had actually been the victim of a prank. 

"Looks like the work of misbehaving teens," Hudson said to the Professor.

"I really can't explain how that got there."

"Looks like we've got a mystery on our hands, Profesor. I'm a cop, so I'm going with my gut instincts."

"And what do these guts tell you my boy?"

"When was the last time you had one of your pupils in your place?"

"Do you suspect this is the work of one of my students?"

"Who else? They're a lot younger than you, they're in their twenties, some of them, and they are the most likely guys to be doing drugs - they're in college."

"But why would they do such a thing to me? And how?"

Hudson pondered for a while while Hunter rested at his feet. He looked around the Professor's living room. Seeing him like this, the Professor wondered if these same drug-using college guys had hidden drugs elsewhere.

"Professor, you don't see what's going on behind your back when you go to the kitchen to make your tea," Hudson said, "and sometimes you take a while because you make more than one cup. And you also make coffee, not instant coffee either. So it's very possible one of your students, usually in a pair, did snort some of this stuff or just concealed it in the house plant as a cruel joke just for kicks."

"My God, if only I knew who it was...why, I'd have them arrested"

"That's where I would come in. It seems to me, Professor, that whoever did this also knew I was a cop. It's no secret that I'm the only cop in your class."

"You're saying it's someone who goes to your class with me?"

"It's got to be. It's like this. They figured I'd find the marijuana with the help of my dog here and then I'd arrest you for doing drugs. They thought it would be fun or something."

"I'm so mad."

"I don't know for sure who it is. Who was here last time? This bag is not old."

"That would be most likely Lester and Michael. Come to think of it, they dolook like the types that would stir up some trouble."

"Yeah, those guys are into punck rock and color their hair green and purple. Yeah. I can believe it. It's gotta be them alright if they're the last pupils you had in your house. Alright, Professor, leave it to me. I'll make the arrest but only after I interrogate them and force a real hardcore confession out of them. I'm good at that."

Hudson chuckled.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Banach," the Professor said with a smile, "I suppose it's not a bad thing to have a cop on my side." 

TEN

Hudson was also assigned to harbor patrol, and he enjoyed working on a boat, circling and surveying New York City Harbor for any illegal activities, namely the shipment of narcotics. The city was a brilliant display of lights, glimmering like a woman's sequin gown in the night, and Hudson feasted his eyes on the beloved city skyline as his boat patrolled the waters. Kyle was with him and they both formed a competent team again............

* * * * *

Harbor patrol meant surveying the Atlantic waters around New York City Harbor, which was not small by any means. Hudson, Kyle and other Harbor Patrol Officers manned their boats and circled Manhattan and Ellis Island multiple times with patience and alertness. 

Chief Barry Hiller was so respected with the New York Police Department and its various precincts, that he was able to take on various commanding duties. He assigned Hudson Banach and Kyle Lennox to specific harbor patrol - drug smuggling through ships.

This was Hudson's first taste of what it would be like to be an active member of Vice Squad. It thrilled Hudson more than Kyle, though even Kyle fell for the glamour of it.

The glamour was not always there. 

On patrol one night, they received a call from their police boat radio that there had been an accident. 

A small cruise ship coming to the harbor struck a yacht and some folks had fallen on to the waters. Distress signals through the form of flare guns were seen and harbor patrol was needed to get to the folks for rescue. This happened within close range to the Statue of Liberty. 

"We need rescue right away," the voice on the radio said, "get there as fast as you can."

"No problem," Hudson said.

The good thing about these police boats was their speed. Not even the cars went as fast. Over the waters, they sped swiftly toward the scene of the emergency. As they came close, Hudson and Kyle could not believe their eyes. 

It was chaos. The cruise ship was not big but had caused a lot of damage to the yacht which was sinking in the waters. Coast guard was also doing their part and issuing life preservers and helping people into their boats.

"Man, that's horrible," Kyle said, "those poor people."

Another call came in their radio.

"We need you to help Coast Guard in the rescue."

* * * *

Kyle and Hudson split up as soon as they arrived on the scene. The big red cruise ship looked like the Titanic almost, one half swiftly sinking into the waters. Lights were coming off and on and passengers were in a state of panic as they boarded lifeboats and hurried out of harm's way. It was a disaster that would make the front page news. The night air was cool and the Atlantic waters were frigid. From the distance was the Statue of Liberty, glowing in green, her face stoic. New York Harbor had never seen such a sight. Hundreds of Coast Guards were doing their best to help as many people as they could. 

Kyle idd not see that Hudson had taken a smaller police boat and made his way to another spot. Still in the big boat, Kyle and a few other police officers began to make their way toward the people still struggling in the waters, trying not todrown.

"I can't swim, help," cried a young girl, who was blonde and who had on a red party dress, short, revealing her creamy, white and pretty legs.

Kyle took her hand and helped her onto the boat. She smiled faintly, gratefully. Her wet blonde hair clung to the sides of her face. She was beautiful, but in an innocent way, and at the same time, her eyes and face were mischievous. She was the most beautiful girl Kyle had ever seen.

"Thank you, officer," she said, "but....please, I need you to help my friends. They are still on the deck of the cruise ship. See? There they are -"

She pointed to a man in a purple suit, looking distinguished and leisurely, with jet-black hair and a woman was with him, a gorgoeus tall woman with red hair and a black dress with white little sequins.

"I'll help them, ma'am," Kyle said, in his charming Mid-West voice.

He manned the boat and gave instructions to the driver to head back to the cruise ship. Kyle loved that he was doing something so heroic, and the beautiful girl was a delicate flower and that only made him want to prove his manliness to her. He took instant action and was resolved to help her and any other person that needed help that night. 

Sure enough, on the deck of the sinking ship, stood the girl's friends, holding on to a railing on the deck. They were by the stern of the ship, and the waters began to surround them and engulf the deck.

Quickly, Kyle began the rescue effort. With two other cops, he helped them to get on the boat. They spotted a man with his little daughter on another part of the deck and helped them out of the ship. Coast Guards were actively boarding the deck of the ship and helping to put others in lifeboats. The madness continued but with all the help, the folks felt less afraid. 

The night wore on. When it was all over, the cruise ship had sunk into the waters and the yacht had been severely damaged. Hudson and Kyle reunited later, helping victims who had been sent to a shelter. There, Kyle met up with the same blonde girl and her friends that he had helped to rescue. Upon closer inspection, the girl looked considerably younger than her middle-age looking friends. They looked like a bunch of leisurely rich folks who had experienced a rough time.

"I want to thank you again, for saving my life," the girl said. 

"No problem, miss," Kyle said.

He took her hand gently and kissed it.

"My name is Candy Spears," she said, smiling.

The name had a beautiful ring to it, like sweet music. Kyle memorized her face and her delicious body was engraved into his memory as well. From afar, Hudson looked at as Kyle and the girl conversed. Even though he was at a distance, Hudson could tell that Kyle was smitten.

"I'm Officer Kyle Lennox," he told the girl, " and I was just doing my duty."

ELEVEN

The next time Kyle saw Candy was at a dance club in Manhattan. The nightclub lights, a dizzying array of red, blue and purple, along with the alcohol that he had been drinking, added to the euphoria he was feeling. 

And then there was the girl - Candy, a sweet intoxicating creature in herself. She knew how to dance in a way that stirred his lust, that made him feel like a teenager again. Sure, she was probably not right for him. He knew it, too. Though he didn't know much about her, and she refused to reveal too much about herself, he knew that she was one of those girls that spelled trouble. She often kept her hair puffed up and big, as was the fashion, and she wore too much make-up. She enjoyed wearing colorful "Madonna" style clothes or Cindy Lauper style couture. She was wild beneath her demure exterior and a passive face hid an excitingly trashy and provocative girl. 

Talking briefly with her, he learned only some things about her, but enough to know that she was Canadian by birth, of a wealthy family who were in an import-export business and did lots of business with the US. She was a care-free girl, with a trust fund and a charmed life. 

And she did drugs.

They danced to a mixture of 80's New Wave music and disco. He had his hands on her restless hips, swaying together to the beat of the music, making a kind of love on the dance floor, impressing the other dancers. It was magic. There was one thing that Kyle was fully aware of but did not want to bother with the rights and wrongs of it. He had consumed a drug that he had also taken with alcohol. Candy was clearly doing the same, and her wildness owed to her drug-induced high. Kyle would remember these times fondly, but later on, it would turn to darkness.......

Kyle had never done drugs before, being a good boy from the Mid-West, and now a cop. So when Candy, like Eve giving Adam the forbidden fruit, gave him a drug, he had no idea what would happen.

The lights of the dance club faded and in his intoxicated state, Kyle saw a bed, his bed, back in his Brooklyn home, and Candy was on it, with her slender body and accentuated hips. Her periodically disjointed movements alchemized into erotic entrapment, luring him into her arms. They kissed deeply and leisurely, not caring whether it was night or day, forgetful of time and place.

All he knew was that he was making love to this beauty and her warm body was alive beneath him. It was surreal, as if happening in a movie, something out of his control, magically compelling him. He was infatuated with her and she had worked a magic over him. They kissed with wanton abandon, as he took her by the hips, lifting her legs over his shoulders. They panted and sweated and in their intense rush of lust, they swore they saw flames surrounding the bed, with their flames rising higher and higher. It was a sexual hallucination. They were high on drugs and on each other.

"It's so hot," Candy said over and over again.

Her legs over her shoulders, Kyle's cock pounded into her pussy deeply, with recklessness, his thrusts hard and fast. She moaned and screamed like an animal, as if being slaughtered. Sweat poured out of them, and their bodies, undulating like waves, reached a hypnotic, very unified rhythm. It went on and on for hours. His cock slammed into her pussy with greater force, sometimes slowing down before vitally fucking her and making her faint. 

They were on fire. Their sexual energy level was raised.

Kyle's blonde hair clung to his face as if he had been underwater. It was sticky sweat clinging to him. Candy threw her head back as she allowed the sensations to overwhelm her. His cock slipped into her fully, and his balls slapped against her ass.

As soon as they reached their orgasms, the flames encircling them died out. They returned to reality from their drug trip. Kyle was tired and sated, and Candy had him in her arms, smiling victoriously.............

TWELVE

Candy Spears was the lover of Marina Brazilova.




Vice Cop Ch. 07



For some time, she had fallen under the magnetic charm of the Russian lady with a criminal boyfriend. She was Leo Mendoza's woman, and Leo was a big-time Columbian drug lord, whose sordid business was not only bringing illegal drugs into the US, but illegal pornography that involved minors and dark and disturbing snuff films, all shot in his native Columbia. He had kidnapped American tourists and held them hostage for ransom, had always eluded the authorities and had a grip on Columbian government which was corrupted.

He was known as the Red Devil. And as that was true of him, Marina was the Devil's Bride. She had seduced Candy into a fast-paced world of crime and underworld glamour. Soon, their evil pleasures included murder. Candy murdered to please Marina and Leo. She had killed innocent people in Florida and before long; they got an even greater satisfaction from killing police officers.

It became not only a pastime for them, but a skilled art form. Candy would lure a cop into her sensual web, become their lover and then kill them. Kyle Lennox was her next victim, but she knew it would take a long time to carry out her plan. New York City was new to her and she needed time in gaining Kyle's trust. Plus, she wanted to use him. Having a cop by her side was advantageous to a criminal.

* * * * *

"How long have you been dating this girl?" Hudson said to Kyle.

They were on patrol duty, but nothing was happening and it was one of those dull, uneventful days that had characterized their lives as officers. Their patrol vehicle circled different streets in Manhattan one evening. Kyle and Hudson were still partners and they were both reporting to Chief Barry Hiller. No other cops shared the sense of companionship and camaraderie as these two. But lately, Hudson noticed that Kyle had become withdrawn, distant and refused to talk about his life, his personal life that was.

"I don't know, seems like a long time," Kyle responded, "even though it probably hasn't been that long. I met her during harbor patrol. You were there. Remember when that cruise ship crashed into that yacht and a few people died that night?"

"You've been seeing her since then?"

"Yeah."

"Why don't you tell me more about her? You don't explain much. If she doesn't work like you said, what does she do all day?"

"I don't know. She just spends a lot of time with her friends when she isn't with me."

"Are her friend good people?"

"I haven't really met them. She doesn't want to introduce me to them."

Hudson lifted his chin and his eyebrow. He regarded Kyle with a look that made Kyle uneasy. Because Hudson was driving, he returned his gaze to the road ahead. A moment of silence followed.

"Kyle, don't you think there's something wrong with the fact she doesn't want you to know about her friends?"

"What ...what do you mean?"

Hudson drove into another street. They were approaching Central Park.

"I mean, you're a cop," Hudson continued, "she knows you're a cop."

"So what are you getting at?" Kyle said, this time raising his voice a bit.

"She is not telling you about her friends or their lifestyle so she might be covering up something bad. They could be doing something illegal that she doesn't want you, a cop, to know about."

"Jesus Christ, Hudson," Kyle said, "and I thought I knew you. Aren't you happy for me? I haven't had a girlfriend since I left my hometown and my family. You don't know what this means to me, that someone love me.

Hudson was silent and continued to steer, turning a corner and onto a street that led to the Park.

"You know what your problem is? You're jealous of me. You're envious."

"What?"

"You heard me. This is about me having a girl and you don't have anyone. No girl has taken an interest in you since Sonya. You're attitude is a big issue. You're so smug."

"Listen, will you? It's not that at all. I'm just worried about you. This blonde chick is hiding something from you and she doesn't want to get her friends in trouble with the law."

"You're always thinking like a cop, even when you're out of uniform, Hudson. Stop it. Not everyone breaks the law. Not every one is some criminal. You've seen too much crime in your life, too much of that Mafia stuff. Candy is not a bad person and I will have to ask you to leave her alone."

The rest of their patrol duty was conducted in silence.

THIRTEEN

Candy had learned that Kyle was doing harbor patrol again. She told Marina and Leo about it one night when they were in their Manhattan luxury apartment. They had just come home from dancing at a club and were leisurely smoking cigars.

"This Kyle can be of use to us," said Leo Mendoza, with a grin, "before we have him killed, we could really use him for our business."

"Just what do you mean?" Marina said, "are you nuts? He's a cop. He can't know what our "business" is all about."

"Woman, listen to me," Leo continued, "I mean for us to act with tact and discretion. Let me talk to Candy."

He turned to face her. She was smoking with a stupefied face. She had taken another drug at the dance club, but this one had mellowed her and calmed her. 

"Candy, I need you to do something for me."

"I'm all ears," she said to him.

"In a week, my men in Columbia will bring a ship to New York City Harbor with marijuana, cocaine and LSD. We intend to sell them to as much of the young folks in the city as we can. But as you know, harbor patrol is always on alert about drug trafficking through ships. So why not tell your pal Kyle that your dad who is in importing-exporting will be bringing cargo for trade with America."

"When in reality it will be your Columbian guys," Candy said.

"That's right. He'll never know the truth if you lie to him about the ship. The ship will pass into the harbor successfully."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Great. I knew it was a wonderful idea to have you in our company."

He gave her a kiss, his mustache brushing against her lips. This made Marina angry and she threw a champagne glass at him. It broke in his head but did not cause him harm. 

"You bastard," Marina said.

They all began to laugh.

* * * *

Hudson had fallen ill and took in a sick day when Kyle saw Candy by the harbor within his harbor patrol route. The night was cool, as it usually was by the Atlantic waters and the city skyline was aglow like myriads of diamonds, casting beautiful Candy in an alluring light.

"Candy, what are you doing here?" Kyle said to her.

Her top was cut so that her shoulders could be seen and it fit tight on her body. Her little skirt showed off her slim, girlish figure. She looked like a little lost girl. Kyle took her hand and invited her onto the boat.

"Aren't you on patrol? You can't socialize right now."

"I have time for you, always."

They kissed as the boat sped across the waters. The Twin Towers loomed high in the distance. They held each other for a moment. She looked so beautiful and he felt that surge of manliness again, like there was nothing he wouldn't do for her.

"I need your help," she said.

"What is it?"

"My father has been wrongfully accused of illegal trafficking. He has enemies everywhere in the US, because some of his partners became corrupted. And in New York, some have accused of him dealing in drugs."

"That's terrible. But if he's not a drug lord, and he can prove it, what's the problem? Money can buy him his innocence."

"It's not as simple as it sounds."

She had a way of talking. She had a dulcet but melancholy-sounding voice, as if she lived a meaningless life she wanted to be free of. In his male vanity, Kyle had believed that she had come to him for salvation. Perhaps she would stop doing drugs and living an idle life if she settled down with him to live a straight life. 

"A ship of his is coming to the harbor tonight," Candy said, "and I know that some of the cops on patrol will search him unnecessarily. It would cause my father great shame if that happened. Please, please help him out by just allowing his boat to come through without a hitch. I can assure you, my father is no criminal. He's a good old man from Canada....and I love him. "

"I believe you, Candy. I'll be sure that the ship goes into the harbor. Stay here with me until you spot the ship and I'll let it pass."

"Oh, Kyle, I can only thank you with a kiss for now.....but later, we can make love."

Kyle embraced her possessively and they kissed passionately. Candy grinned with pure satisfaction........................

Photographs of his dead police dog, his dead best friend Kyle and of the romance with Sonya that had died years ago....... 

Hudson stared at the photographs for an eternity, with a sad longing and nostalgia. He sighed and felt very tired. It was 1986. It felt like he had been a cop for too long but yet he was far from being a veteran cop. Others had been with the Department for years -- Barry Hiller, Mason Holmes, and Lieutenant Isaiah Dante. Hudson wondered what the future would bring, not just as far as life as a cop in the Big Apple but in a new home he had finally gotten for himself. 

Too tired to move another piece of furniture, Hudson removed his clothes, save for a pair of tight black brief underwear and went to bed. The heat of the night was bothering him before too long and he was up and about his bedroom.

He went to the kitchen where he had only stored some milk and basic essentials. He drank the milk and hoped that would get him sleepy again. When he returned to his bedroom, he noticed that the neighbor, whose apartment was built exactly like his -- two stories with the top floor being only the attic, was also up and sleepless. He couldn't see well in the dark so he strained his eyes to see well. 

He noticed it was a woman, and from the looks of it, a woman living completely alone in that house. She was beautiful, though he could only see her dark profile by the window, and he liked what he saw -- curves, and a strong, tight, sexy body. 

Curious and somewhat aroused, he watched as she walked about in a sexy baby blue negligee. When she turned on the light to her bedroom, his jaw dropped. He felt like he would get a heart attack out of the sheer surprise.

It was Lexa O'Neil.

To Be Continued...



Vice Cop Ch. 08



Previously on Vice Cop, Hudson moved from his family home and into Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, to a house of his own. He had flashbacks of his days at the Academy and his assignments as a rookie cop. He remembered his fellow officer and friend Kyle Lennox, who had been his partner for a long time before his death by the alluring but dangerous Candy Spears, herself a pawn to the Columbian drug lord Leo Mendoza and his wife's illegal and evil machinations. He recalled his first love and high school sweetheart Sonya Romandini, who abandoned him for a career in modeling or at least escort work in California. As his trip down Memory Lane ended, he was surprised to discover that Lexa O'Neil, his rival cop had moved in next door to him.

This episode has two scenes involving lengthy sexual fantasies and masturbation. These are found in SCENE FIVE and SCENE TEN. 

ONE

Hudson awoke thinking it had been a bad dream.

There was no way that Lexa was his next door neighbor. How on earth did that happen? He remembered she had always said she had lived in Queens. Was it possible she had moved to Brooklyn at the same time he had?

After eating his breakfast which consisted of bacon, eggs and a piece of fruit, he decided to investigate whether or not it was Lexa he had seen last night by the window of the house next door. It had been dark after all, and he had only seen her body and face and it could have been a mistake, perhaps another mulatto woman who might resemble her. He finished his milk which he usually drank for breakfast. He showered and changed hurriedly, knowing he would be late to work. He still had time for one little chore which was taking out the garbage.

The sun was warm outside and Hudson loved that this particular street was quiet and seemingly safe. But then again, he had just moved in. He had heard from different sources, many of them being other cops, that Bensonhurst Brooklyn was Mafia territory. So far, he had seen nothing to confirm that. He took out the garbage, which was mostly what he had for dinner the previous night, toilet paper and materials he had found he did not need such as extra boxes.

As he took the bag out into the front of his home by the street, he heard the door to the next door neighbor's house open. He turned to see who it was. Sure enough, it was Lexa O'Neil and the sight of her made his heart race a bit. A feeling of nervousness overcame him. 

So it was she who was undressing by the window the previous night after all. She had become his neighbor. He wondered how often such a coincidence happened – two cops who worked in the same precinct and took assignments from the same Chief. Lexa did not see him; her face bowed a bit as she went down the little steps and out into the street, carrying a garbage bag herself. Hudson eyed her up and down. She was wearing what looked like jogging apparel – a sweatshirt and sweatpants, and it hugged her tight body.

She looked at Hudson and her jaw dropped.

They stared at one another in silence and Hudson regarded her with a curious expression, his eyebrow raised, looking like a frat boy who felt he had been treated to a cruel joke by his peers. Lexa composed herself instantly and she put the garbage bag into the can.

"Aren't you even going to say "Good Morning"?" Hudson said to her with a grin.

"You don't say good morning to me at the police station," Lexa replied, "why start now?"

"Well, it's just the right thing to do," Hudson continued, in a dead-pan and humorous way; letting her know he was having a bit of fun which was annoying her, "it's just being polite. After all, we're neighbors now."

Lexa closed the lid to the garbage can sonorously and angrily. She stared Hudson down.

"Look, Banach, you're the one who just moved in yesterday, not me. That house was not occupied before then. I've been living here for over a month now. And it's just a bit of bad luck too."

"Bad luck, eh?"

"Don't start with me. It's bad enough we have to work together. I'm going to appreciate you not talking to me, not bothering me, not "borrowing a cup of sugar" or even looking at me."

"Well, well, Miss High and Mighty, a Queen from Queens."

"I said be quiet."

They stared at each other again in silence. 

"I'm going to be living here for a short time only," Lexa said, "only until Mason moves into Manhattan. He's asked me to move in with him."

"Detective Mason Holmes?"

"That's what I said."

"You two are going to be a live-in couple in Manhattan?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Not with you."

"I didn't know you were that serious about each other."

Lexa did not reply.

"I don't want to talk to you," she said, "as far as I'm concerned, you don't live next door to me."

"Alright. I'll pretend there's no one living next door to me either. Sound good?"

"Sound excellent."

"Good."

TWO

Herald Square and Broadway, 9pm

A young girl, her auburn hair in a long ponytail which she kept over one shoulder, stepped into a Yellow Taxi Cab. She was wearing a light grey wool sweater with a New York University logo and a small skirt which showed off her smooth young legs. The cab driver looked at her with a rather cold expression, despite her warm smile. His face was almost completely concealed beneath a cap. 

"Where to?" he said flatly.

The girl gave him an address in Greenwich Village.

The cab driver made his way through traffic, and Broadway was always filled with traffic. 

A sea of yellow cabs covered the street and the girl found it amusing. She rested her head against the cushion of the seat and looked at the restlessness of the city with the newcomer's usual zest. She had shopping bags at her feet and a shoulder bag with the NYU logo.

The cab driver, despite looking as if he was uninterested in the girl, was checking out all these things about her. 

"You a student at the University?" he said.

"Yes."

"And you're not from New York City are you?"

"Actually, no. My folks are back home in Los Angeles. I'm studying to be an actress. I live in Greenwich Village in a rental apartment."

"They must have money to send you all the way here for that."

She found it rude or uncomfortable that he said that so she did not reply and merely froze. She then began to read a book. The route to Greenwich Village was long, even in nighttime, and the girl looked as if she was ready to fall asleep. She had been shopping after her university classes, and had been on her feet all day. The cab driver looked at her from his seat through the mirror. His face was still concealed beneath his cap and because it was dark, the girl could not make him out clearly. 

After what seemed like forever, the cab came to a stop. It was serenely quiet outside which the girl found odd for being New York City. She had known night in Los Angeles which had never been this quiet.

She woke from her near-sleep and looked out the window and froze.

"Where are we? This isn't my home. Where have you taken me?"

"Shut up, rich little piece of ass."

He leapt into the back seat; put a hand over her mouth so that she wouldn't scream. The girl struggled, trying to kick him with her legs and trying to open the door of the cab. The man pulled out a knife, glistening in metallic silver and catching the moon's glow. He slit her throat with it and then proceeded to stab her.

No one had seen a thing.

THREE

At police headquarters, Chief Barry Hiller, Detective Mason Holmes and the cops from the Manhattan precinct headed by Hiller and Lieutenant Isaiah Dante were in a meeting that was considered urgent and important. 

All the important members of homicide division were there. To add to the significance of the meeting, FBI was there. Cops that were loaned to FBI and worked homicide and vice were there as well. This included Lexa O'Neil who worked with Mason Holmes. Also present was Hudson Banach, who of late had done work for them in undercover positions. They sat around a large conference table and Mason Holmes was standing up next to Chief Barry Hiller.

Hudson did not like that Mason Holmes was always hanging around the Chief as if he was the crème de la crème. In all truthfulness, the Chief's right-hand man was Lieutenant Isaiah Dante. Hudson liked to think that after Dante, he ranked as the most important cop. But he figured that Mason, with his brilliant intuition and detective skills, was considered by far the best detective in Manhattan.

"He is being called the Yellow Cab Killer," Mason said, "already he has killed ten victims. None of them fit a distinct type and they were male and female victims. These were random killings of passengers that he drove to different locations that were not their destinations and killed them on the spot. He works tactfully and has avoided any kind of attention. He has not yet exhibited the signs of a master serial killer who enjoys publicity and infamy. The killings were done in non-consecutive occasions and in a span of half a year."

"Do we know anything about him?" one of the cops inquired.

"We believe he is a large man, either white or ethnic," continued Mason, "he hides well in his own clothes and under his cap. He's just begun his wave of murders."

"He's managed to be discreet and tactful," said Chief Hiller, "it's been hard to find this guy."

Chief Barry Hiller gestured for Mason to sit down.

A look of disbelief and confusion spread across the faces of the cops and detectives seated on the table. This was a difficult case, and most likely reserved for only the most skilled members of FBI and homicide. The Chief took out some papers and the cops passed it on to each other to look at.

"These are lists of Yellow Taxi Cab companies in New York City, which as you know there are a lot of," Hiller said, "your job is to look up these companies and begin interrogations. This man is elusive and has probably changed jobs often, perhaps even his appearance. He is working for one of the cab companies and we have to find him before he escapes us again. So far, there is no sign that he works for a Manhattan Yellow Cab Company. The victims' bodies have been found in sewers in the Bronx, in parks, in dark alleys in Brooklyn and in trash cans in Queens. This guy doesn't work in any one borough."

"Hello officers, my name's Oswald Carey, FBI," said an agent, "It's imperative that we act quickly or else we are going to look like we don't care or that we're incompetent. Manhattan residents are horrified by what's been going on and they look to us for help. Alright men –"

The FBI agent looked at Lexa apologetically.

"And Miss O'Neil," he said, correcting himself, remembering she was the only woman on the force, "your assignment is to look up these cab companies, even the private for-hire ones and talk to as many cab drivers as you can. Meeting adjourned."

Lexa O'Neil and Mason Holmes worked as partners in the Homicide Division.

They had been steadily growing closer as partners, both on duty and off, ever since Lexa's undercover assignment in Atlantic City in pursuit of a serial killer who had raped and murdered prostitutes. Lexa was terrific whenever she went undercover, unafraid of being so close to danger and she had been close to death that last time. 

She was the most dedicated civil servant in Manhattan, and she had also spent hours helping inner-city school children through lectures and after school programs, warning them about the dangers of drugs and gangs. She gave to charity and was an interesting dichotomy – a beautiful and classy girl, the daughter of her opera diva mother, and on the other hand she was a tough cop who was good at what she did. Mason had hoped he could train her to become a detective but she preferred to work in the capacity of undercover cop.

When she heard about the Yellow Cab Killer, she went straight to work. Mason assigned her to an undercover assignment. Posing as a Manhattan housewife, she did some shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue and then she hailed a cab. She had to do the same thing two more times, hailing different cabs in order to talk to the drivers face-to-face. Mason Holmes had asked to be her partner in this undercover assignment but he was needed at the precinct for another assignment. Lexa went alone. Or so she thought.

FOUR

"Where to, Miss?" said the Persian cab driver.

Lexa was able to see him clearly in the light of day. He was fat, bald and had distinct Middle-Eastern looks, including dark crescents under his eyes. She wondered in the back of her mind if this was the killer.

"I'm going to Queens," she said, and gave him the address to her old home, the one she had moved out of.

This was part of her cover and she ensured that they would have to drive through traffic so that they could have a longer time to chat.

"Ok," replied the driver in his heavy accent, " but firzt I haf to drop of dis man to Brooklyn."

She hadn't noticed there was another passenger in the cab. She looked to the side and to her surprise, it was Hudson Banach.

He was wearing a "Wall Street" power suit, navy blue, with a red tie and his jet-black hair was slicked back. He was obviously undercover doing a similar assignment, posing as a Manhattan denizen in need of cab service. He looked at Lexa and grinned. 

"Hey there," he said to her, "don't I know you from somewhere?"

"I don't think so, sir," Lexa replied, letting him know she wasn't in the mood to play games.

The cab drove down the street and into traffic, and it looked like it was going to be a while before they reached Brooklyn. It was noon and New Yorkers were up and about, the streets filled with activity. Hudson and Lexa were silent and Lexa felt annoyed at annoyed at Hudson's presence. How on earth did they end up in the same taxi while working undercover?

"Aren't you working vice?" Lexa asked him in a whisper, careful that the cabbie wouldn't hear them.

"I was supposed to," Hudson replied, "but they had a shortage of cops according to that FBI man, Carey, so they assigned me to go undercover. And now that we're both on the same team, who's going to interrogate this guy?"

"It makes sense if we both do that. Just follow my lead."

After a moment of silence, the cab was headed for the bridges that led into Brooklyn. 

"Do you work Wall Street?" she said to Hudson.

"I'm an investment banker," he answered, "my name's Chester. Chester Cannon."

"I'm Abby Cunningham. I'm also a banker. I haven't seen you there before."

"Me either."

"So did you hear about the Yellow Cab Killer?"

They were speaking in loud voices so that the driver could hear their conversation. At the same time, they were keeping an eye on his facial expressions through the mirror. So far, his face did not change and he was uninterested in their conversation.

"I heard he's hard to find. No one knows what he looks like. How do you suppose he manages to keep faceless like that?"

"I don't know. It's scary. I'm so afraid that I might run into him. I use taxis all the time."

"Me too."

After a moment of silence, Hudson leaned against Lexa to whisper:

"This is so stupid, Lexie. I feel like we're not going anywhere with this."

"I think there's another way."

The cab driver crossed the Bridge into Brooklyn and was headed for Hudson's address.

"Sir," Lexa said, getting the driver's attention, "have you heard about this so-called Yellow Cab Killer?"

"No, I don't know anything about that," said the driver, briskly.

Of course, this reply could either be a lie or just a response that denoted annoyance. It could well be that this guy did not know anything about the killer. Hudson and Lexa stared at each other silently and did not say a word for a while as the cab rolled down the street.

"Are you going to be hailing another cab?" Hudson said to Lexa discreetly.

"Yes, right after he drops me off in Queens, I gave a fake address. Why did you give him your address?"

"I didn't. I gave him the address of my old friend Kyle Lennox...where he lived before he died. I'm going to be taking another cab, too later in the day."

"Mason Holmes has sent another team of cops to do the same. We're going to meet again at six in the afternoon at the station to see what we've dug up."

"Let's hope this works."

After another moment of silence, Hudson, who had been staring at Lexa in her sexy business suit, leaned against her, smelling her perfume, and asked:

"So when are you moving in with Mason?"

She was surprised he asked this and she did not reply right away. She looked out the window, toward the sidewalks filled with ethnic children skateboarding and frolicking toward an ice-cream truck. 

"I'll be moving into his Manhattan home in a month."

"Why did you move to Bensonhurst first?"

"It was cheap and I found it to be convenient for the time being. Now stop asking me these questions. You don't need to be so damn nosy. What do you care about me and Mason?"

"Ok. Don't get your panties in a bunch. I was just curious."

"Well mind your own business, Banach."

"What do you see in him, anyways? He's not even a real cop."

She furrowed her brow and gave him a cold stare.

"I will have to ask you to be quiet. I'm not answering any more questions. It's my personal life. I don't ask you things like...like...who was the last girl you took to bed."

"I don't mind talking about it," he said with a grin.

Lexa's brown eyes met his blue eyes.

"Well of course. You're a guy. Men brag about the women they've had. Women aren't supposed to talk about things like that."

"I want to hear more about your life, Lexie," he said, "so I wouldn't mind if you told me things."

"I'm not telling you anything. And as far as your sex life, I don't care about it."

Hudson remembered The Hamptons and his threesome at that costume party. She had a point. She'd think he was a real pig if he revealed to her that he had engaged in sex while he was undercover at that party. 

"Besides," she said, "I'm sure you haven't been with a girl since Sonya."

He looked surprised.

"How did you know about Sonya?"

"Word gets around. Lots of your fellow cops remember hearing about her from you."

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you don't bring it up."

"See? Exactly how I feel. Don't talk about your life and I won't talk about mine."

"Fine. It just surprises me. You and Mason. Some of the guys on the force thought you didn't like men at all."

"Shut up," Lexa said to Hudson, and then she turned to the cabbie. " Driver, please hurry. I need to get home badly."

* * * *

At Police Headquarters, Chief Barry Hiller had organized another meeting. Present at the meeting was Lieutenant Dante, Detective Mason Holmes and other cops from Homicide. They each reported what they discovered during their assignments. They had looked into different Yellow Cab Companies. So far, no one knew anything about an odd cabbie, or a suspicious one. The guy hadn't killed anyone in a long time but the Chief and Mason Holmes were certain he'd strike again before the year was over. 

"What we need to do is continue our investigation," said the Chief, "we can't neglect this case. It's urgent that we keep following this nut job's footprints. So what do we have on this guy, Mr. Holmes?"

Mason retrieved some papers.

"Here are sketches about how we think he looks like. He's a large man, not overweight, but burly. He has a dark complexion, but he is not Hispanic or black. He is most likely Mediterranean in appearance, Italian or Greek. He wears a big coat and hat. The best way to get him is if we have bait. We think we know he works in Manhattan but often branches out to other boroughs who hire him. Before long, he'll kill again. Here are your next assignments. Lieutenant Dante, if you please."

The black Lieutenant passed out papers to each of the cops, each with their individual assignment. Lexa took a look at her assignment. She did not like that it was more undercover work. This time, she would be assigned with Mason Holmes, who would also be going undercover for the first time. This was better, she thought. She disliked working with Hudson. 




Vice Cop Ch. 08



As always, there was tension between them and they never really got along great. But Mason was a different matter. His brilliant mind and his gentle ways always soothed her. He was nothing like Hudson, who said whatever was on his mind, even things other people dared not say. He was in your face and a rough New York guy who had street-smarts. Lexa had known guys like him and had done her best to keep away from men like that. Her mother would prefer she stick with a man like Mason.

Hudson read his assignment. He found it a bit amusing. His undercover job was to play the part of a cab driver himself. He figured he'd have to work on his Bronx cabbie accent.

FIVE

The night before their undercover assignment, Hudson and Lexa were in their separate homes and relaxing as the night wore on. Restless, they walked about trying not to think about the possible danger that lay ahead. By now the killer had to be aware that New York Police were after him, trying to find him, which would prompt him to escape, but not before killing someone else. This made Lexa nervous, knowing that her undercover job was to pose as a potential victim.

Night fell over Brooklyn.

Tiny stars began to appear over the sky and it was dinner time. Lexa made herself a meal. She was a fine cook owing to spending time in the kitchen with her mother. She was wearing a robe, because she had just showered and it was hot. Her home had no air conditioner so she opened the windows slightly to allow cool air in. As she did this, she noticed that Hudson was doing the same. 

He was wearing nothing but his black tight underwear. She was able to see his strong, hard body and the matt of hair on his chest. Her own robe, grey and dotted with white little specs, looked fetching. Her hair was loose and fell gracefully over the side of her shoulder. They stared at each other for a moment and then decided to close the window instead.

Damn Banach, she thought.

Damn O'Neil, he thought.

They wanted nothing to do with each other but it felt as if forces beyond their control were pulling them together, or attempting to. Something about him aroused her most instinctual feelings. He was all the things the Detective said about him: hard-headed, stubborn, brutish, rude, arrogant and sexist. 

He was street-smart rather than academically smart like Mason Holmes. Mason had skills that Hudson did not. But then again, Lexa knew that Mason would never do the things that Hudson did - patrol duty, undercover work, always something which included danger and facing criminals in confrontations that were often physical and violent. Hudson had a few scars and wounds here and there from all the action he had seen, like a combat solider. Mason had a body that had no body hair and no wounds. She knew that Hudson was stronger than any man she had come to know. 

And he was in her thoughts, in her dreams, whether she liked it or not.

Hudson was in his own home, also thinking of Lexa. How different she looked out of uniform. As always, he was impressed by her beauty. She was not in her sexy sequin gowns, which he had seen before at The Hamptons party and the policeman's ball; but she still looked stunning. In her robe, she looked very feminine. Her figure was enticing and the contours of her body were outlined under the sexy robe. 

Without her hair under her officer's cap, she looked princess-like with ebony flowing hair. There were times it appeared she had a streak of blue in her hair, glowing quietly in the dark tresses of her hair. Such a beautiful face, too. She looked soft and vulnerable, like the kind of woman he wanted to marry and protect and love. If he had seen her like this for the first time, he would never have imagined she was also a cop. She was every bit the domestic housewife of his dreams in that robe.

But he knew reality was different. Annoyed at his sudden vision of her, he went over to his bedroom and turned on the TV, trying not to think of her.

From his room, he could hear music floating from her house. She must have been enjoying an after-dinner desert or relaxation by listening to music. It was clearly emanating from a record player and to his delight, it was classical music. The Professor had introduced him to so many classical pieces and this one he recognized as one of Chopin's nocturnes. 

The wistful piano music made him visualize her in her robe, opened slightly, revealing her breasts and nipples which he was sure were like the eraser ends at the end of pencils. Her breasts, he felt, had to be beautiful to hold and caress. Trying not to think too much about it, he paid attention to what was on TV.

Just his luck. Because it was HBO and nighttime, an erotic film was on. Granted it was of a soft-core nature, but it was hot enough to arouse him. It was an "Emmanuelle" film and the sex scene was turning him on greatly. He closed his eyes and visualized himself in the film. But to his surprise, in his fantasy Emmanuelle was not the beautiful actress Sylvia Kristel but Lexa O'Neil herself, surrounded in an exotic Brazilian landscape, by the ocean, in the water, fully nude and inviting him for a bout of sex..............

As it turned out, Lexa was indeed opening her robe and listening to the poetic and lyric keyboard strains of Chopin's nocturnal music, fitting for the mood and ambiance of the night. She was at peace, but at the same time her body yearned for a man, a primal man like Hudson Banach, to hold her and to make love to her with passionate and wanton abandon. She was caressing her own breasts slowly, softly, arousing herself and making her nipples pebble-hard. Lexa was not used to doing this. 

Masturbation was something which she resorted to only when she was not having sex. Her sex life had never been good. She had one boyfriend during high school with whom she waited to turn eighteen with to have a night of sex that she felt was uninspired. After that, she was too busy being a cop to care for sex. This was a long period in her life, roughly from the time she graduated from the Academy in 1983 to her first assignment with Chief Barry Hiller's Manhattan Precinct. For over two years, she had gone without sex. 

She wondered why Mason Holmes did not stir in her the same kind of lust and need for sex as Hudson did. She closed her eyes and Hudson was there, not Mason. She was becoming aware that Mason Holmes's courtship of her was inspired by his own physical attraction to her. Surely he entertained thoughts of making love to her. Nevertheless, she wished Hudson would do the manly thing and pursue her, to make some kind of move. But he had done no such thing. This only fueled her secret desire for him even more. Secret because she did not want anyone on the force to know she even had these feelings for the "Italian Stallion" that was the top-ranking cop.

Lexa did not enjoy masturbation, and she had done it only once. She felt was shameful, having been raised a lady. But tonight, she wanted to at least arouse herself, even if she didn't attain sexual gratification from the act. 

Slowly, she removed her robe and stood nude by the vanity mirror in her bedroom. She had made certain that the blinds to her room were drawn. She didn't wish for Hudson, her sudden neighbor, to see her doing this. And all the more reason because it was him she thought about and fantasized about. 

She closed her eyes and breathed slowly. She imagined that Hudson, in full uniform, was arresting her. She recalled that she had had a sex dream in which she, in full Afro and in a 1970's black-power girl attire had been arrested by Hudson. She realized that these dreams and fantasies, all which depicted her as sexually submissive and getting off on the power that Hudson seemed to wield as a uniformed cop, was saying something deep-seated about her nature. Despite her own will power and her own toughness, she wanted to be taken, to be dominated sexually, and to give herself to a powerful male. 

It was right that she could only respect, admire and adore a man that was powerful. Weak men, which were easier to control, were boring and she had always liked a challenge. 

The cops on the force had once called her the Iron Maiden, a reference to a popular rock group at the time, and to England's Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, the first woman to hold such an authority. She had been the only woman in a Manhattan police precinct, and she had shown how tough she could be. Now she just wanted someone to kiss her passionately until she was weak, to melt into a strong man's arms and to feel like a total woman.

Deep in a trance, she began to caress her breasts, squeezing them, imagining Hudson's big hands over them, cupping them, holding them. She envisioned his muscular arms against her like walls, making her vulnerable and moan in a rush of pleasure. His mouth was on the round cups of her breasts, kissing with passionate abandon and licking her nipples. She felt his hands on her thighs, parting them, felt, too the stiffness of his erect cock. 

If his sobriquet was the "Italian Stallion" then she hoped there was truth to the size of his cock, which she imagined was quite potent and big. As Chopin's beautiful Nocturnes played in the background, she continued to caress, fondle and arouse herself, never pushing herself over the edge.

She patted her pussy, touched it and rubbed it, lightly, trying to get herself sleepy as well.

She hoped she'd dream of Hudson......

Hudson, still watching the erotic film "Goodbye, Emmanuelle" was still visualizing Lexa at the beach, in the waters, nude, alluring, sensual. He did not see himself in the picture, as an odd thing, owing to the struggle within himself. He felt strong sexual feelings for Lexa, and there was also the slightest hint of a romantic potential. 

This girl was unlike any other, and although she wasn't quite the woman he had always wanted, perhaps he'd never find one more suited to him. But he didn't know what to think. He couldn't dream of courting her now. She was Detective Mason Holmes's woman now, or so it seemed. She said they'd be moving in together in Manhattan.

But still, nothing could stop him from fantasizing about her. 

Out of uniform, out of clothes of any kind, she was all woman; beautiful, curvaceous, with breasts that ached to be touched. She was pouring water over her body and the erotic feel of all the water on her body made him erect. The sun was setting behind her, casting a warm, golden glow over her, like an aura above her, like a goddess.

In slow motion, as if she were only a dream, she fondled her breasts and moved her hands down her stomach and fingered her belly button. She threw her head back and moaned softly. Ever so slowly, she placed her hands on her pussy and rubbed gently. The sound of the ocean filled his ears and he felt a drowsiness coming over him. How nice it would be to dream of Lexa.

Why did he feel this way about her? Why did he long to hold her in his arms and to make her feel soft and womanly? He knew that if everyone on the force knew he had feelings for her, they'd talk. There was already some rumors that there was something, unseen but palpable, pulsing between them. They were terrific cops when together, so naturally some assumed they were lovers when out of uniforms. But this was all talk. He tried his best not to let Lexa know his true feelings. He never pushed the boundaries of professionalism and partnership as cops.

As his mind was bombarded with the sexual image of Lexa's nude form, he couldn't help but begin to stroke his cock. He began by rubbing it through the fabric of his briefs. He felt it was too constricting so he removed his underwear and began to masturbate. Hudson was used to doing this. Too many lonely nights, without a woman in his bed, had gone and he filled the late lonely hours of the night by watching adult films, fantasizing and masturbating. 

He had dreamt and fantasized about Lexa, ever since he saw her at the Professor's home for the first time and when he saw her in her sexy evening gowns, first at the Carnegie Hall concert and later at The Hamptons party.

She stirred in him all the hottest sexual urges.

He stroked his cock and made it big, and he felt the power of it in his hands. He felt good but did not want to ejaculate and have an orgasm. He was tired and sleepy. He was closing his eyes and drifted off to sleep, in the nude, without noticing he had left the TV on, the closing credits to "Goodbye Emmanuelle" playing on the small screen...........

SIX

Detective Mason met with Lexa at his office at the precinct.

Lexa was dressed in her undercover "Wall Street" plainclothes, which looked perfect next to Mason Holmes' own brown suit. They were sharing a brief cigarette together, careful not to get caught. 

The Chief frowned upon cops smoking at the precinct, but everyone did it when they were sure the Chief was not around. Mason's office had vertical blinds which he kept closed, so they were unseen by others and safe.

After their smoke, Mason kissed Lexa and held her hand. This sent a warm wave over her body, for she was unaccustomed to such gentleman manners from New York men. She blushed and sat down on the chair facing his desk. Mason walked about, pensively.

"Did the Chief tell you what your next assignment will entail?" he said to her.

"Yes, another undercover job," she replied, "same cover – I'm looking for a taxi. I have to try hailing different cabs throughout the day."

"That's right. You did a good job of it the last time you went undercover."

"Are you going to be my partner this time?"

"I am."

He looked out the window through the blinds which he opened a bit. He continued to converse with Lexa.

"I don't care for undercover work myself, but this time we need all the help we can get to catch this guy. The FBI is counting on us. My FBI connections have led me to work on cases like this before and it shouldn't prove to be too difficult."

"Are we close to getting a clear profile on this Yellow Cab Killer?"

"We don't know his name. It's possible that he has an Americanized name and a fake identity which he must have stolen. He may not be too dark-skinned and could even pass for white-Jewish or Italian. He works for a private for-hire cab service."

"So when do we start?"

"Eager for action are we?" Mason said, amused and laughing," you aren't all that different from Banach after all."

"Don't mention him. There's bad blood between us."

"Because you're so much alike is why. But you're right. The less said of that cop the better."

"My feeling's exactly."

"I'm going to talk to the cops who are going to be following the first cab we'll take in case we get our guy," Mason said.

He got up from his desk and a manuscript fell by accident as he brushed against it. The folder fell over Lexa's lap. She looked down at the folder, opened it and read what was written on it. Her expression turned to one of surprise and then she looked up at Mason Holmes who was standing by the door and the window with the blinds which were now open. Outside, the cops in the precinct were busy with interrogating some suspects in a recent prostitution bust and a burglary and the air was filled with smoke from hookers'cigarettes and newly arrested thugs.

"Mason, how dare you keep this from me," Lexa said to him with a grin.

"Oh, that," he said, looking at the manuscript.

The paper on Lexa's lap read in bold letters:

CRIME AFTER DARK

A Novel by Mason Anthony Holmes

"Why didn't you tell me you were writing a detective novel?"

He scratched his blonde hair with his hand quickly, as if uncomfortable. He smiled at Lexa and their eyes did not leave one another.

"Because I'm very shy," he replied, "and it's only my first attempt at writing fiction. I brought it with me to make some corrections. You see, during my coffee break, I try to write a bit here in my office."

"But where is your typewriter?"

He moved to a corner where a bookshelf and writing desk stood. He removed a covering he had over an object. It was his typewriter. Lexa looked at it and giggled.

"But Detective why would you want to hide it?"

"I don't know. I don't want others to discover that I'm writing when I should be doing something else. I have no time to write anymore so I squeeze in whatever time I can get. I need more vacation time. Speaking of which, Miss O'Neil, I'll be taking a vacation in a few weeks. I'd like for you to accompany me. I was going to go alone and work on my debut novel but since you and I have bonded, I thought I'd invite you."

"Where are you going?"

"I have the keys to a cabin in The Poconos owned by a friend. What do you say, Miss O'Neil? Are you up for a weekend of skiing?"

"I'd love to."

SEVEN

The darkness was his perfect cover.

He always dimmed the lights of his taxi cab and the paying passengers were never able to see him clearly. He spoke in quiet, terse words. 

He had facial hair which also seemed to add to the "darkness" of his aura, that and his cap which was always worn over his face. He had the instinct to kill again late one night. He had been working at the airport for over two months. He was waiting for someone to use his services, someone fresh out of a flight and looking to go home. 

As he rolled down his window, he saw that an elderly man and his grandson, who was a teenager, looked at him and then approached him.

"Taxi, to Manhattan please," he said, "I'll give you the address."

"Get in," said the cabbie.

The man and the teen got into the cab and smiled at the driver. Again, they were unable to see him well. It was night and the airport lights were bright so the cabbie took off immediately, fearful that the lights would help the passengers see him well.

The man gave him an address in the Upper East Side Manhattan.

The cab left the airport and into the city, and the driver was glad there weren't many bright lights around. The man spoke to the young guy in French and some English words here and there. 

"Where are you folks coming from?" said the driver.

"I just took my grandson to Paris," said the man, "it was his first visit. He was born here in the States. Please hurry. My wife is waiting for us at home and I want to go home before midnight."

The taxi cab rolled away and there was little traffic. The man and the teen continued to speak in French and at time shared a laugh. The driver's eyes were burning softly with hatred.

They deserved to die, he thought. He didn't know these people, but they were obviously moneyed types and he wanted them to suffer, to suffer as he had. 

All his life driving a damn cab. No girlfriend, no wife, nothing but his cab. He wanted to enjoy the same privileges that the passengers he had encountered enjoyed. So the best way to rid himself of envy was by murdering them, satisfying his lust for blood and his need to kill. He had begun to kill puppies and kittens and worked his way up to killing people, coldly, without any guilt.

They did not drive to Manhattan. The driver took them to a remote part of Queens and they stopped by a deserted where house. 

"What is going on?" said the man, "this isn't the right address."

"You got into the wrong cab," replied the cabbie.

He took out his knife, glistening in silver and making the old man and his son gasp in horror. He jumped into the back seats and began to stab the old man. Too paralyzed by fear, the old man did not struggle. The teen screamed out as he watched the stabbing in horror. The old man bled to death. 

"Now you die" said the cabbie.

But the young man was quick and light on his feet. He swiftly opened the door of the cab and ran away, too quickly for the cabbie to catch up to him. The night helped him to escape, as he disappeared into the dark.......

* * * *

Hudson was called to Chief Barry Hiller's office.




Vice Cop Ch. 08



The FBI agents were at the station again. 

It was evident to Hudson that they were here investigating the "Yellow Cab Killer" case. There was a news report that he had killed another victim, a 70 year old French-American named Gustav Letelier. The murder had been reported by his grandson, Michel. It was the first time someone had actually seen the killer up close and witnessed him in action.

Michel had described the killer as a white Italian man, with facial hair that looked messy and equally messy hair. He had lots of hair on his chest. The one thing that stood out was the fact he smelled of garlic. Immediately, Captain Barry Hiller put the cops to work along with the FBI.

He was sitting on his desk eating gummi bears from a bag. Hudson resisted laughing. In his years as a cop with the NYPD, he had grown chubby and had become bald. He could play Santa Clause at the mall.

"Sit down, Hudson," he said, "we have an assignment for you. FBI agent Oswald Carey has already assigned Miss O'Neil and Detective Holmes on an undercover assignment together. They'll pose as Manhattan residents who need a taxi. They have back-up, FBI guys, ready to arrest this wicked type. We've developed a profile on him. He's been a loner all his life, has never had a real family, probably an orphan, and also never went to high school. As soon as he learned to drive, he became a cabbie. He's psychotic and kills people he believes are successful when compared to him."

"And what do you want me to do?" Hudson said.

"Did you not read your assignment on written paper?"

"Yeah. My cover this time is a cabbie. I don't understand how that will help track the killer."

"You wouldn't know that because you're not with the FBI and you're not a detective, like our Mason Holmes."

Hudson frowned. Did everyone have to rub that guy's success in his face? No wonder Lexa was his woman. Everyone thought he was the crème de la crème of the NYPD.

"I'm not a detective but I do my job right," said Hudson, "and besides, I've seen a hell of a lot more action than that candy ass."

"Now, now, Banach, there's no need for such language," the Chief reprimanded him, "you have no reason to be jealous. He's a terrific asset but you've got a lot of qualities about you that make you our top cop. You've proven yourself countless of times, even back when you were a rookie cop. That's why I assigned you to various units, and each time you showed the force how fine a cop you really are."

"So what does my cover have to do with getting the killer?"

"With back-up on your side, you'll go into the Manhattan Cab Service assigned to you and you'll see if you can pick out the killer. He has been hired to drive passengers to the airport, particularly passengers who are leaving New York. If you pose as a fellow cabbie, there's a better chance that you can spot him and we can get him. Here's a composite picture. His description was given to us by Michel, who as you know, had the unfortunate experience of seeing his grandfather being killed inside the cab by the maniac."

He handed him a picture, more of an artistic sketch than a photo, which depicted a burly mustached Italian man with dark menacing eyes and large forehead. Hudson thought he looked like one of his mother's brothers, one that was still in Italy, but he perished the thought. It was impossible. All his family members were good people who had never gotten into any kind of trouble nor did anything immoral, being staunch

Catholics.

"Ok, Chief, I'm your man," he said.

As he got up to leave the office, he turned to the Chief and said.

"And wish Miss O'Neil and Holmes good luck."

EIGHT

Hudson had dressed the part. He looked like a cabbie straight from the Bronx. He had to wear a uniform, which was nothing more than a beige jacket and slacks. It fit him well and it showed off his muscular physique. He looked at himself in the mirror above and to the side of the steering wheel.

"How you doing?" he said, practicing his accent and then laughed at himself.

He hated the ridiculous looking cap on his head. It made him feel silly but he bore it with patience. Perhaps he would be lucky enough to catch the killer after all. That would look good. Another evil-doer caught – by him. He had already enjoyed the compliments and praises after he had successfully put a stop to the terrorists who had plotted to blow up the Empire State Building only earlier that year. 

He was proud to have been part of a team dedicated to putting a stop to scum like that. He hated anyone who threatened his beloved New York City. His father had fled Italy during the difficult times after Mussolini's reign and had seen much Mafia violence there. Why should America become corrupt and full of crime when so many people like his father had migrated to America for a better life? He wished to make New York City a better place. At times, he felt as if it was too hard a task. Too many evil-doers out there. He wished he could acquire superhuman powers, like Super Man and save the city.

He waited until someone showed up to use his services. It was a man, wearing cold-weather clothes – a scarf, a trench coat and a fedora so big he was unable to see his face under it. The man looked like he was visiting New York or perhaps returning. He had only one luggage.

"Hey, how you doing? The name's Eddie," said Hudson, "where are you going today?"

"The airport and hurry," the man said.

"What is your name?"

"Antonio DeVito."

Hudson looked over to the FBI who were in their undercover cars looking at him. Hudson had learned to make signals briefly so he was able to communicate to them. They were behind him and on the tail of the taxi cab following him to the airport. Perhaps he'd find the killer at the airport, thought Hudson. The cab took off, and they left Manhattan and headed for the airport located in Queens. Hudson looked at the man now and then, trying to appear discreet. 

There was something about him, something subtle but palpable; struck Hudson as familiar.

He was a strong-looking man but he was hiding behind too many clothes. His fedora cast a shadow over his face. He realized it was not peculiar for him to be overdressed in warm clothes. It was cold and cloudy, and what he wore was not unlike others wore against the frigid New York City weather. But something about him struck him as strangely familiar. The man was quiet, cold and did not seem to be able to smile. He looked like he could have been Hitler's right-hand man.

"Leaving the US, eh?" Hudson said, trying to make conversation,"where are you headed?"

"I'm only heading to another state," he said, "I have found New York City unlivable."

His words were slow and deliberate, and had an icy quality about them. 

"That's too bad. Me, I love New York. No city can compare. I'm sorry to hear you don't feel the same."

"I don't wish to talk, sir, so please drive on, I don't want to miss my flight. I'm going to be late. I can't miss that flight for all the money in the world."

"Sure thing. Just trying to make conversation, you know, but sure, we don't have to talk."

They drove to Queens in silence. Hudson checked the mirror to see if the FBI men were still on their tail. 

They were right there behind them, heading for the airport. The night was descending. It was getting chillier and the lights of the city began to glow with their usual beauty. The airport was in sight and Hudson smiled. He felt like a real cabbie in these clothes and he had done a good job of getting his passenger to the airport in very little time. He had had to cut through traffic to get there but he had made it in good time.

"Ok. Here we are. What terminal you need to get to?" he said to him.

"The one right over there."

Hudson drove to the nearest terminal. There were flights to Nevada, California and Arizona. Some were ready to depart in less than an hour. Hudson parked the taxi into the terminal. The airport was full of people, as always, and bustling with activity. People of all colors and backgrounds were up and about. The man looked like he could lose himself in the crowds.

"I can't thank you enough," said the man.

He paid Hudson cab fare. What to do with this money earned undercover, thought Hudson. He felt bad about it since he was not real cab driver.

"You have a good flight, mister," Hudson said to him.

The man looked at him square in the face, too off his fedora and grinned. It was a slightly wicked grin and as their eyes met, a bell rang in Hudson's brain. 

Dear God, this was the Yellow Cab Killer. There was the same facial hair, which looked messy, and the same big forehead, eyes and features. The body beneath the trench coat matched that in the composite picture. It was the killer, dressed as a passenger!

"Jesus Christ," Hudson swore.

The man disappeared into the crowds at the terminal.

"Oh, my God, oh my God," Hudson said nervously.

He fumbled as he got his communication device hidden in his pocket.

"I don't know how to say this," he said to the FBI agents who received his call.

They were right behind him parked at the terminal.

"Damn that son-of-a-bitch, damn him to hell," Hudson said.

"Banach, what is it? What's happened?" said the voice of Agent Oswald Carey.

"Mr. Carey, I'm so sorry," Hudson said, "the Yellow Cab Killer has escaped New York."

"What? How on earth –"

"The bastard pretended to be a passenger this time. I was fooled. He was wearing too many clothes and a fedora. He must have taken a flight out of New York and to either California, Nevada or Arizona. I'm sorry. The Chief's sure going to give me a hard time about this. I had no idea it was him. It was a nasty trick. I'm sorry. I failed you."

"Did he give you a name?"

"He said his name was Antonio DeVito."

"We'll have to check if that's an alias, fake name or stolen identity," said another agent on the device.

"I'm so sorry about all this," said Hudson.

"That's alright Banach," said Agent Carey, "you aren't to blame. The man is obviously very smart. No one expected him to do this. He must have already known the FBI and cops were conducting a manhunt for him. You did your part, Hudson. Return to police headquarters. This case is ours now."

NINE

Mason Holmes and Lexa were kissing in his office. 

It wasn't just any kiss. He had taken her in his arms and held her tightly against him, pressing their bodies together, more intimately than he had dared to before. His mouth was on her in a prolonged and passionate kiss which left her weak in the knees.

His blonde mustache grazed against her lips and she moaned under the kiss. They had enjoyed their time together undercover the previous day, though they hadn't accomplished much. Seeing Lexa in her tight "journalist" skirt and blouse, with her lovely legs in mocha colored stockings, not to mention her high heels, had made Mason want her badly. 

They kissed deeply and just as he pushed her against his desk ready to lay her on it, someone was at the door to his office trying to open the door. The doorknob turned slowly. It was locked. There was a knock.

"Detective Holmes, it's Lieutenant Dante," said an African American voice.

Quickly, Mason and Lexa composed themselves, trying to look as if nothing had happened. Lexa was smoothing her hair when Mason opened the door and the Lieutenant walked in. Isaiah Dante looked at them briefly, but it was a scrutinizing look. 

"You're wanted at the Chief's office," he said to Mason.

"I'll be right there," he said, "excuse me Miss O'Neil; we'll talk about your next assignment afterward."

He exited his office. Lexa and Isaiah Dante's eyes met. He stood there by the door and there was no mistaking his expression. It was hard. He was staring daggers at Lexa.

"Is something the matter, Lieutenant?" she said to him.

"Yes," he said, slowly, "I can't understand you young women today. Why are you wasting your feelings on that white man?"

Lexa froze. What a terrible thing to say. It was such an unexpectedly racist outburst that she was stunned. Dante had always been quiet but she wondered if he was so racist that he loathed working in a white establishment as this Manhattan Police precinct.

"I beg your pardon?" she said to him.

"You heard me, woman," said Dante, "Look at you. You have black blood. You may be mixed, but you can't deny you've got a black mother. And here you are obviously making out with that white guy. He's only going to use you."

"Lieutenant, you have no right to judge me or to spew those awful comments," Lexa said, "not all white men are bad. And he's on the side of good. He's a detective. How can you think that? It is just as bad to hate whites as it is to hate blacks."

"I don't need a lesson from you," he said, "I know why I feel this way. And I'm warning you, stay away from him. He's going to lead you into a path of danger. He's always investigating murderers and psychopaths and one of these days, you'll be working with him on a case and it will mean your death."

He shut the door.

Lexa was suddenly afraid. The Lieutenant had issues, and obviously he didn't like anyone who wasn't black. And that was a dangerous thing indeed.........

TEN

Another hot night in Brooklyn.

Hudson was at home, in his briefs, in bed, restless and observing Lexa through the blinds of his window. He couldn't help himself. She was so beautiful. Her face and body had now become tattooed to his brain, etched into his memory. 

He had seen her naked.

She had walked into her bedroom from the shower and her towel had fallen off. Hudson had an eyeful of her nude body, everything - her shoulders, breasts, flat stomach, smooth shaved pussy, legs and feet. Her body had a beautiful mocha color, very light brown but her voluptuous body was that of a goddess. No white girl he knew possessed Lexa's gorgeous figure.

Watching her sleep through the blinds, in that sexy baby-blue negligee of hers, made him feel like coming over there and taking her. She was a Sleeping Beauty, ripe for the plucking. He wanted to make love to her, to feel her alive and warm under him, making her shutter in orgasms he would bring on.

Her breasts fell and rose as she breathed and she stirred in the bed, moaning softly.

Too much aroused, Hudson began to stroke his own cock through his briefs. When his cock was hard, he felt the underwear to be too uncomfortable. He took it off and finished masturbating. All the while he looked at Lexa and imagined himself in her bed, taking her, making her his. His big cock was full of semen for her. He moaned and groaned as he masturbated, closing his eyes tightly as he suddenly ejaculated over his own bed.

God, he wanted that woman. Yes it would be wrong. Yes it would open up a can of worms. But if only she were his, at least physically, a woman he could make love to whenever he wanted. She did not fit the profile for the housefrau of his dreams, not the wife he had been raised to believe was for him, but why couldn't they be lovers?

He knew why. There was too much between them. Not just Mason Holmes, but the fact that everyone in the force probably expected them to be a couple of some kind. And always, they were trying to move up to higher positions, in Vice Squad, in Detective Borough, in positions that would make them bigger wigs in the NYPD. They were rivals in this, and yet the competition made him hot for her. 

He looked at the window. Lexa was waking up. Quickly he closed the blinds fully so that she would not see that he had been spying on her. Hudson went back to bed and was ready for sleep.

Lexa, he thought, why did you have to come into my life this way? If only she had come to him without having been a cop...............

Lexa had gotten out of bed to get a drink of water from her cooler. She was in the kitchen when the phone in her living room began to ring. Good God, who's calling at this late hour, she thought.

It was half past midnight.

She finished her drink, not sure whether she should pick up the phone. At this time of night, it could be no one she knew, nothing important like a wrong number. She wondered whether it could be related to her work. Her hesitancy to answer resulted in a voice message in her answering machine.

"Miss O'Neil, it's Detective Mason Holmes," said the Detective's voice.

Lexa was suddenly all ears. So it was work calling after all.

"I imagine you're asleep so I'm terribly sorry to call at such late an hour. Forgive me. But it's very urgent that you come to headquarters, not the precinct, as early as six a.m. The Chief and Homicide Detectives, of which I am now part of, have called a meeting. We are to discuss the next assignment. It involves bizarre murders at rock concerts throughout Europe and here in our US."

She finished another glass of water. She wondered just why she always got the cases involving murders. Perhaps she would need to go undercover again. 

It was like Lieutenant Dante had said. Hers was a job which involved risking her life each time. Sure it was easy to get out of the job, to get out of harm's way, to take the coward's way out. She could just live a happy, peaceful, uneventful life taking up some kind of job her mother, the once famous opera singer, could provide for her. She could be a music teacher, like Professor Goldstein. The Professor had always told her that if she should quit her very dangerous career as a cop, she was welcome to help him at the Conservatory.

But she wouldn't dream of it. Being a cop in such proximity to danger gave her an exciting life. 

And she would always be able to see Hudson Banach, even if they didn't get along. She had become accustomed to his voice and to his body and presence...............

To Be Continued...................

On The Next Episode of Vice Cop, while working for Homicide Hudson and Lexa go undercover to stop a psychotic shock-rock star. But he's got too many diabolical tricks up his sleeve with the help of theatrical special effects and torture devices used in his performances and shows, and he lures them into a death trap......Chills and Thrills await on the next episode of Vice Cop....



Vice Cop Ch. 09



Previously on Vice Cop, Hudson and Lexa, working Homicide, went undercover chasing an elusive killer known as The Yellow Cab Killer, a taxi cab driver who murdered his passengers. The killer, disguised as a passenger, had Hudson drive him to the airport where he made his escape, teaching Hudson he couldn't always save the day. 

This episode has a lot of plot/action and one sex scene you can find on SCENE FIVE. It involves a wicked and psycho rock star and his tryst with a devoted groupie in his luxury suite at the Plaza Hotel.

*

ONE

Lexa was summoned to Detective Mason Holmes' office. The previous night she had received a call from him telling her she was needed for an assignment involving bizarre murders in rock concerts. He hadn't been very specific and it was obvious to Lexa that he had just received the case himself and was not too sure about the details. He had not made an effort to contact her throughout the morning and it was now about one in the afternoon. Lexa had shared a lunch with a fellow officer and then went to the donut shop called Christie's which the cops in the precinct frequented. It was a small, old-time donut shop surrounded by a grove of trees. Glass windows surrounded the top sides of the place. When she went into the office, she found that Mason was sitting at his desk. He looked up at her with a big smile.

"Sit down, darling," he said.

She sat down and looked at his desk for a pack of smokes but found nothing. Mason usually kept some around, and more confidently owing to the fact that the Chief hardly ever came to his office. Mason looked at her knowingly and chuckled.

"No smokes today, I'm afraid," he said to her, "I'm trying to cut down. You should too you know."

"Well, it would please you to know I only smoke when we're alone. I don't have cigarettes at home."

He laughed. 

Lexa loved his laugh. It was a joyous, deep manly laugh and when he smiled all his teeth showed and they were excellent, straight white teeth. She was beginning to enjoy being with him alone. He was so good to her and Lexa knew that such men were becoming rarer and rarer.

"I'm sorry if my phone call awoke you last night but it was urgent. I trust you got my message."

"I did. What's this about murders at rock concerts?"

"This is a new case for me as you might have already figured out. Homicide has received reports of murdered young men and women at various rock concerts in Europe and the US. While we can't do a thing about whatever homicides occur in Europe, when it happens here in our country, it becomes personal. Families are baffled and grieving. It's still shrouded in mystery but we're making speculations and forming theories as to what might have happened."

"Let me get this straight. Rock fans have been found dead in rock concerts? But how? How could a cold-blooded murder occur in such a crowded scene and when there' security present at those events?" Lexa said, quite baffled herself.

"The murders have taken place in out-of-the way places, hidden in corners, behind drapes, in the wings, in backstage areas, nowhere near the stage seats or "mosh pit" which the young call the sunken area right in front of the stage where the most number of folks are rocking out to the music. The murders were done in ritualistic manners, with the eyelids closed and marked with three 6's, or upside down crosses. Some murder victims were found with their tongues or eyes cut out and the female victims were evidently violated before being killed. 

"My God, this is terrible. Is this the work of a serial killer who attends these rock concerts?"

"That, of course, was my first guess. But we are still investigating. It's not likely that one serial killer is methodically murdering these teenagers. It seems to be the work of at least two killers. There are two different patterns. According to the autopsy reports and FBI forensic anthropologists, the murders committed here in the States and those in Europe show that two killers were at work. One killer bites into the neck of the victims like a vampire would and drains them of their blood. The other assassin uses medieval weapons such as spiked clubs and swords. Of course, before we make any kind of public statement, we need to be absolutely certain we are correct. We know things can get wildly out of hand at these rock concerts and as you know, in most cases, illicit and harmful drugs are involved. Rock musicians and rock fans take drugs as part of their culture. It's possible this is the work of two drug addicts raising hell."

"What kind of rock music is this? I'm sure it's not like Paul McCartney right?"

"It's a new kind of underground heavy metal rock music. It has a growing fan base. In London, there is a new wave of Goth rock music. The music is dark, dismal and deals with dark subject matters like death, suicide, nihilistic philosophies and Satanism. It is a combination of heavy metal, "glam rock" and "shock rock" in the vein of Venom, Ozzy Osbourne, KISS, Alice Cooper and Iron Maiden, except with a more German and European attitude. The band we're following is called Darkness. The murders have occurred at their concerts."

"I've never listened to any of their music. What is it like?"

"Me either. I'm only a jazz fan and into older music. It's just heavily orchestrated and synthesized rock, basically with the lead singers screaming into the mic. It's loud, it's hypnotic, it's riotous and it sells. This particular rock group I'm talking about is quite new. The lead singer and his band are from Vienna, Austria and gained popularity in London, Sweden and Germany before making it to America. Here, let me show you an album --"

He retrieved an album from a large package. He had obviously ordered the album by mail as part of his research. He handed the LP album to Lexa. On the cover was a large portrait of the lead singer in a showy costume, with a long flowing blood-red cape, very long dyed red hair and two little fake horns over his head. He had a malicious look in his eyes which on the album were superimposed with tiny little flames. Surrounding him was a background of Hell, as depicted in the old sixteenth century European artist Hieronymus Bosch's paintings. Monsters, half-human, half-animal and demons tortured nude mortals in a dark, fiery pit.

"My God this looks Satanic," Lexa said, gasping.

"Well, I hate to tell you but today's music is getting weirder and weirder. Our investigation is still new but my guess is that this lead singer, stage name Siegfried Kroll, is either using the Satanic rock singer image to sell albums or is actually some kind of Satanist. If that really is the case that would explain the bizarre murders."

"You think this Austrian singer is murdering his own fans?"

Lexa's eyes fell on the album again, at the young man in the album, dressed like the Devil for shock appeal. 

"It's only conjecture, Miss O'Neil but I intend to uncover the truth. It's a dangerous case, for we'd be exposing ourselves to the danger that has recently surfaced from these concerts. It has come to the point that many Right-Wing Christians are banning the albums, burning them in effigy and forbidding their teenage children from attending the concerts."

"Which of course only makes them go to the concerts a whole lot more times, right?"

"Exactly. The fact that these murders have been reported in the news only adds to the fame of this music group Darkness. The crowds still come, drunk on the music, loving the spectacle of it all."

"Spectacle? So it's like a show?"

"That has been the real attraction and ticket seller," Mason said, " the band Darkness performs a show, full of special effects, lasers, fog machines, dry ice, creative lighting, costumes, transformations on stage, and the like. But from what I've been hearing there is a lot of shock appeal. They have snakes and cobras on stage, burning crosses, upside down crosses with some people actually hanging on them, Medieval torture devices like the iron maiden, the Guillotine, and Sadomasochistic elements like floggings and whippings on stage, cadavers, zombies, monsters, beasts and lots of blood and gore. Lots of the shows resemble the set to a horror movie."

"This group sounds like one you can take the whole family to," Lexa said jokingly.

"Miss O'Neil, I don't like giving you these assignments but I'm afraid that we have no one better and available. You've proven to be a terrific undercover cop. But sometimes I fear that you....that you will get hurt and that we'd lose you....that I'll never see you again..."

"Oh, don't worry your head about that," Lexa replied, "I can take care of myself and no assignment is truly too dangerous for me. If it were, I'd let you know beforehand. I'm interested in this case. What do you want me to do?"

"I'm going to be with you the whole time. The first thing we have to do is actually listen to the music. I haven't listened to this album yet but it contains all their greatest hits. We have to listen to the lyrics and search for any hidden messages. As you know, music and lyrics are very powerful and hold influence over youth. If this guy is our killer, he may be issuing subliminal messages to his fans."

"Which would lead us to speculating that if he's not the killer, then some crazed fan, influenced by his music, has been killing other concert-goers?"

"That's right. We need to proceed carefully. Mr. Kroll is a highly public figure and he's a suspect without knowing he's one. We have yet to talk to him. He is on an American Tour and he'll be in New York in a week. I intend to interrogate him at his hotel room when he arrives here."

"And you want me to go undercover somehow?"

"At the concert next week. I'll go with you along with some back-up. Are you alright with all this Miss O'Neil?"

"Detective, wild horses couldn't drag me away."

TWO

"Do my ears deceive me or did you say that Miss Lexa O'Neil is living next door to you?" Professor Ezra Goldstein said in a tone of complete surprise.

Hudson had been coming to have tea with him in the evening and not at the official tea time, four o'clock, because Hudson had been having trouble sleeping at night. The Professor's chamomile teas always helped him to sleep better. On a record player, the Professor had classical music on in a recent album he had purchased of Tchaikovsky symphonies. 

He had re-decorated his home, something he seemed to be doing about every six months. He would change the wallpaper; add a little framed photo or painting here and there, new flowers on vases and sometimes even new carpeting. Hudson wondered if he did this because his life was so marked by routine and dull that doing these little things was a way to keep him doing something, a way to keep his mind and mind active. He had provided the home with a Japanese-themed décor and he had lots of dark woods, "floating world" paintings, bamboo sticks and several miniature statuettes of characters from the Gilbert and Sullivan operetta The Mikado.

"That's right, I was surprised too," Hudson replied, "and I don't like it either. She keeps me up all night. It's distracting."

"Why would she distract you? It seems to me you are not telling me something. Miss O"Neil is a fine woman, just like her mother. But you seem to occasionally hint that you have some kind of attraction to her that doesn't sit well with you."

"No way, Professor. I don't find her attractive at all."

"You're lying."

"Alright so she's gorgeous. But not as beautiful as some women I know. The only reason I don't get along with her is that she's a feisty, willful and tough cop. I don't want a woman that's a cop. I want a non-cop woman. You know this."

"Alright, I won't mention Miss O'Neil again. Still, it's such a pity. She's so like you. It's the only reason you don't like her. She reminds you of you and sometimes we don't like to have others remind us of ourselves."

"What are you listening to on the record player?"

"Tchaikovsky's Fourth Symphony. I have all six symphonies on a single album. Do you like it?"

"I love it. It's so beautiful. You find the best classical albums, Professor, you really do."

"I do my best. They take me back....back to better times, when my wife Helen and I attended symphonies, ballets and operas, and traveled through Europe...each piece of music I hear is a memory.."

Hudson looked at a framed photograph of Helen Goldstein which stood next to the fireplace. She was in a straw sunhat with green streamers, looking radiant and smiling in a Hawaiian beach, seemingly enjoying herself when the photo was shot. When would her death stop haunting the poor old man? Hudson knew that the Professor lived on his memories, and in the past, and this was also getting depressing, so he changed the subject.

"What's with the Oriental theme in your house?" he said.

"Oh, you noticed."

"It's hard not to notice."

"Don't you like it?"

"It's a little too excessive, don't you think? Looks like you bought a bunch of kitschy junk from Chinatown."

"Well, that's just one person's opinion. Now tell me, have you been able to find a girl, a match, since you and Miss O'Neil didn't hit it off?"

"No. No girl in my life right now."

"Let's remedy that situation shall we. I hate to see how miserably single you are."

"Not miserable, please, Professor. That's such a strong word. I just feel frustrated is all, but not miserable."

"Well what do you say if I arrange another blind date?"

"Sure."

"This time I hope it works. What I'll do is find out more about the girl before getting her to go on a date with you. I'll ensure that she's not working with law enforcement in any way and that she is very drawn to police men like yourself."

"That would work great."

"Very well then, my boy. I think I know who I can get for you. She's the daughter of one of my older students."

"How old is the girl?"

"Twenty eight."

"Not bad. Is she pretty?"

"Yes I would say so. Her mother, Norma Dee, was once a country singer in Nashville, Tennessee. Her career was very short and many people didn't care for her singing because at the time Dolly Parton was the big star. She quit singing and she came to New York City to work as a choir instructor. Her daughter attends my class."

"I'd love to meet her. When can you arrange a date? I don't want to wait too long, Professor."

"Not to worry. I know how anxious and impatient you are. I'll see if I can get the girl to attend a production of The Mikado with you. It's playing at New York City Opera. It's the reason I decided to give my home a Japanese art theme."

"What's a Makado?"

"It's Mikado. It's an old English-sung opera by Gilbert and Sullivan, a satire about feudal-era Japan."

"Is the girl into that stuff?"

"No. She's into country western music like her mother but if she wants to get college credit, she needs to go to it."

"I see. Well, let's hope this works, Professor."

Lexa and Mason had done their share of research on Siegfried Kroll, the Austrian rock singer from the heavy metal band Darkness. His albums had sold countless numbers of copies and he had appeared on MTV more than once. His debut album "Inferno" was a collection of songs inspired by the 1300's Italian poet Dante Alighieri's epic poem of the same name, with a modern twist. In the album, which was more like a grandiose rock opera, Siegfried states that he is the son of Satan, the Anti-Christ. He lures the protagonist, a typical rock music fanatic, sung by one of his band members, into a web of debauchery and violence, after which he is dragged down the nine circles of Hell, finally reaching the Throne of Satan himself.

It was horrible to listen to, and Lexa and Mason felt sick after listening to it. There was no doubt the orchestration was amazing and inspired. Not only did it feature the classic rock instruments - electric guitars, bass and drums, but also electronic music, post-modern music, twelve-tone, and touches of symphonic instruments like violins, cellos, horns, trumpets and Baroque instruments like the harpsichord. He also made use of chorus. The lyrics used modern slang and also made references to the demonic monsters and characters in Dante's poems in addition to occult terminology. The music was dark, heavy, ominous, frightening; dramatically fatalistic but ultimately a sort of glorified satanic symphony. 

"This music makes me afraid," Lexa said to Mason after they had both heard it, "how can this awful music sell?"

"I don't know," Mason answered, "his other albums are more mainstream, just heavy metal music with only a few lyrics. He shouts obscenities into the microphone, many of them are about twisted love and what the young today call "S and M" a lifestyle involving sexual domination with the use of bondage, pain and sometimes torture. He has recently composed another rock opera, with talk of being made into a movie. He's been spotted hanging around horror film directors and has already been to Hollywood to get the funding for the movie. It's called "Lucifer", about the war in Heaven between angels and demons and Satan's descent into Hell, inspired by the English poet Milton's Paradise Lost. But again he makes some changes to please modern audiences. The biggest change is that he doesn't make Satan the loser. He portrays him as victorious, and gaining unlimited power."

"Another rock opera with a satanic theme? How would that do in the box office if it was made into a film?"

"Well it would be a horror movie. The horror genre today has become very graphic and gruesome. 

"Well, so far, there's nothing in the lyrics that seem to indicate he's brainwashing his fans or giving them subliminal messages to kill people."

"I didn't pick up any of that either. Maybe we should run the record backwards."

They shared a laugh.

"Still, the music is very ominous and hypnotic at times. Maybe it's not necessary for him to be saying anything in the music. The music speaks for itself and maybe urged some of his fans to kill at his concerts."

"Maybe. The concert is going to be held in an old movie palace that is no longer in use. The horror movie Lucifer will premiere there. He will be in town tomorrow. He will also perform his rock shows there and give a total of three concerts."

"Is it necessary to go to each one of the concerts?" Lexa said, not looking forward to attending even one.

"Well, what we can do is you and I will go to one concert and I can have some of my other detectives working Homicide to investigate and go to the other concerts."

"That works."

"Don't be scared, Miss O'Neil. If that guy's the culprit, we'll catch him. I would hate to see gruesome murders happen right here in Manhattan. The murders that happened in LA, San Francisco, Chicago and Cleveland were absolutely horrific. My guess is he intends to make his worst attack here in New York."

"You keep saying "he". Do you really feel that Siegfried is responsible for the murders?"

"Either he's committing the murders himself or ordering the murders to be done by his followers. There's a cult-like atmosphere surrounding his band Darkness. I will be talking to him next week. He's staying at a suite at the Plaza."

"So he spends money like a rock star too does he?"

"Oh, yeah. He lives a luxurious lifestyle. He owns a mansion in Vienna and always travels first-class. He jokes that he's as rich as the Devil. Alright, Ms. O'Neil, I'll see you after I have spoken with Mr. Kroll and then we can do our undercover job."

FOUR

The Plaza Hotel, Siegfried Kroll's Suite, 8pm

Mason Holmes had contacted the Austrian rock legend by telephone.

He said he was with New York City Police and actively investigating the murders linked to his concerts. Because he was in town, it was inevitable that the authorities would want to talk to him. Siegfried had not answered the phone. Instead, a personal assistant and receptionist had picked up the phone. 




Vice Cop Ch. 09



She informed the rock singer of the detective's wish to speak with him and ask him questions, and he had agreed to the meeting in his hotel suite. Mason had called at nine in the morning but Siegfried had been partying the night before in Manhattan and had not yet gotten out of bed. Mason figured this was typical of a major rock star who partied all the time. The receptionist said he had a big hang-over and was indisposed for a morning interview so she had it scheduled for eight in the evening. 

Mason used the lion-head knocker on the door to his suite and Siegfried answered the door. He was wearing a blood-red silk robe which clung to his very thin figure. His hair was not red this time, but blonde and it was obviously another dye job. Mason looked at him from head to toe. He looked like a spoiled European youth, with too much money and with a sinister looking, long, thin face and devilish looking slanted eyebrows. To Mason's surprise, a black panther stood by Siegfried's side. It was wearing a collar encrusted with rubies. It was obviously the rock star's expensive pet.

"Take a seat on the divan, Herr Detective."

"Danke," Mason replied, using his German, "but please tell me that thing doesn't bite."

"Nein, Nein. He's domesticated and so well-trained that he wouldn't hurt a fly. You react like everyone else when they see my dear Moloch. Besides, if I wanted him to attack you, I'd have already given him the order."

He laughed but Mason did not find it amusing, despite Siegfried's jest. He pulled on the panther's collar gently.

"Zuruck, Moloch, Zuruck" he said to him. 

The panther retreated to another part of the parlor but he was within sight. He sat down on the carpet passively.

Mason walked into the parlor, a beautifully decorated room with tall, showy, leafy potted plants that nearly looked like trees. The carpet was richly pattered with fleur-de-lys and the vases, paintings and furniture were expensive and antiques. The suite had a balcony and a terrific view of the city, and chandeliers hanging on the ceiling. This must have cost a pretty penny, and the guy was staying for days in New York City. Mason sat down and watched as Siegfried walked about and retrieved a hookah. As if completely alone, he began to smoke and only now and then glanced at Mason.

"May I ask what your real name is?" Mason said to him.

"Is this really an interview?" Siegfried replied," You are a detective, right, not a journalist?"

"That's correct. I'm a detective for the New York Police Department. As you may already know, there have been murders at various concerts of yours."

"I know."

"Here are articles I've collected from newspapers."

He showed them to him and laid them out over a coffee table made of glass. The photographs were of the deceased victims, as they had looked like in life. They were articles from the Los Angeles Times and the Chicago and Cleveland newspapers. Siegfried smoked his hookah with a very vague, expressionless face, which was increasingly becoming filled with a cloud of smoke.

"Danny Addams, age sixteen, from LA, a high school student, had just bought his first car," Mason said, not once leaving Siegfried's face, as if part of his job was to study the suspect's face, "there was no reason for a young kid like him to die. He was a huge fan of yours and it was his first concert. He had a hard time getting his parents to allow him to go to your concert. And turns out they were right. That night was his last night on earth. He was found dead in the wings of the Pantages Theater where your concert was held."

Siegfried's face was not exactly cold, but he did not seem as if he was interested in the matter in the least and was showing an indifferent attitude toward the affair.

"Two victims in Cleveland - two girls, Laurie Carmine and Natalie Anderson. Both seventeen and best friends. An examination of their bodies indicated that they had been raped as semen was found inside them. They had three 6's on their closed eyelids and upside down crosses marked into the palm of their hands. Their necks had been bitten and some blood was drained out of them."

He showed him the photographs of the girls, both dark-haired beauties with tight-fitting tops and jeans. They looked sweet-faced and yet naughty, with eyes that sparkled bright green. Mason continued to fix his gaze on Siegfried. He seemed as if somewhat high on the hookah smoke, though he continued to look back at Mason, acknowledging him. A short while later, he said something to his pet panther Moloch in German and the panther retreated to sleep in another part of the suite.

"Please continue, Mein Herr Detective," he said to him.

"In Chicago, the strange ritualistic murders continued with yet another victim," Mason said, " a male in his teens, murdered and his body found butchered in the backstage area. Police who came to each of these crime scenes interrogated you and your band members but no one seems to know anything. It's always the same alibi. They don't know who did it, they saw nothing suspicious. You were all just doing your thing, playing your music and completely unaware of any killer lurking around."

"Herr Detective, of course I'm aware of all that has happened at my concerts," Siegfried said, "but it is just as my fellow musicians and I have stated. We are innocent. It is very shameful to insist on treating me like a suspect. I have already spoken with detectives of the Los Angeles Police Department and Chicago and the Cleveland Police. They are on my side and don't consider me a suspect."

"I'm not saying you did it, Mr. Kroll," Mason said, "I believe that all suspects are innocent until proven guilty. Unfortunately, whether you like it or not, you are involved in this case. The murders occurred at your concerts. Your music, and therefore yourself, is part of the murder investigation; which brings me to the subject of your music. Let's talk about it."

"Very well then, what would you like to know? Have you even heard any of my albums?"

When his German accent wasn't "on", it appeared as if he spoke with a British accent. Doubtless, thought Mason Holmes, he had played music in London which had always welcomed new rock singers, and many of the greatest rock singers, such as the Beatles and Duran Duran, were British.

"I'd like to know why you include lyrics with mention of occult themes and Satanism."

Siegfried stared at him with a look which seemed to say "how stupid are you?"

"But mein Herr, have you never seen my televised interviews or heard me on the radio discussing this very topic with folks who are on the political Right Wing and who are Christian? I am a follower of Anton LaVey's Church of Satan, founded on Walpurgis Night, 1966. I look younger but I am in my forties. I have been in the rock music business since the late 60's. In the early 70's, I began to practice the occult arts. I can't tell you how much it has helped me to become a successful musician. My band became very popular in the 70's. It has always been public knowledge that I'm a Satanist. It's not as if I'm the only rock star or heavy metal artist linked with Satanism. There are many of us. But people don't know one bit about our religion. It's not "evil", it's not a cult; it's nothing as dark or dangerous as some people believe. I can assure you, I am not responsible for those murders. I did not murder those teenagers."

"But haven't you considered the possibility that your music inspired some fan of yours to commit these murders?"

"That still wouldn't be my fault. My music is my art and I do not apologize for being an individual in a conformist Reagan's America," he said emphatically, as if he had rehearsed the line, "I don't want to get into charged debate with you as I have in radio and TV debates. I was physically booted off that awful talk show "Hot Seat With Wally George" because he was disgusted by my music. I repeat: I may be a Satanist, but it's purely for personal reasons and it has been a ticket-seller at my concerts. People love my music. I even teach the young classic literature like Dante and Milton. They learn bits and pieces of Latin, and they learn about mystical and pagan religions and cultures of the past."

"That's all well and good but still, Satanism has many branches and some are quite dangerous and harmful," Mason said, "we can't forget all the crimes that have been committed already by Satanists such as the Charles Manson cult which I'm sure you can still remember."

"Again, mein Herr Detective. I don't like that I'm being treated like a suspect. Now if you'll excuse me, Herr Detective, I'm expecting a girl here in a few minutes. I'd hate for her to see you here bringing on the Inquisition. It will totally turn her off. She's my date and I have a special dinner prepared."

Mason Holmes stared at him for a bit and then got up. As he approached the door he turned around.

"Mr. Kroll, you did not answer my first question. What is your real name? If you don't give it, I will have more cause to believe you are a suspicious figure."

"I have not gone by my real name in ages. I was born Erich Wolfgang Stader. Is that all? I'd rather you leave now. My date is due to arrive within minutes and I don't want a third party present. It is to be a romantic date."

Mason Holmes turned and shut the door.

FIVE

The girl that walked into Siegfried Kroll's suite was a leggy brunette with blue eyes, puffed-up hair and a lot of make-up. She had on a tight leopard-skin skirt and her blouse was open to the naval. She sauntered into the parlor and as soon as he saw her, Siegfried beckoned her on to his lap. She was on his lap instantly and he held her in a tight embrace.

"How's my favorite groupie baby?" he said to her.

"I'm doing so-so," she said, "I've been trying to get into one of your music videos but I had to go through a modeling agency first."

"I can't just guarantee you a spot in my videos just because we fuck now and then."

"Someone was in here just a while ago. Who was it? Was it another groupie?"

"Now, Christine, you know you're my number one girl. It was just business, an unpleasant matter of business as a matter of fact. But he's gone now. I've prepared you a nice dinner in the dining room."

"This place has a dining room, too?"

"It's got the works, babe. So come on, let's eat so we can move on to dessert in the bedroom, if you catch my drift."

The girl Christine looked naïve, like one of those girls who were easy to manipulate and were too gullible. These kinds of girls Siegfried was drawn to, for the reason that they found him to be the total alpha male, the rock star of their dreams and crushes. He liked them young, too, even under eighteen. Christine had followed Siegfried Kroll as a groupie since her own adolescence in Vienna. When she had turned eighteen, she came to the US and continued to attend his concerts. She knew he had other groupies whom he bedded but she didn't care. She enjoyed being around him and to serve him. It was a sexual pleasure she got from being his "rock slut." She hoped, however, that she could win his heart and perhaps even become his wife.

They walked into the dining room, another beautifully-decorated room, with a blood-red carpet, cut-glass chandelier and candelabrum sprawled on the large table. He had the cooks in the hotel prepare lobster and wine and they sat down to eat with a zesty appetite. There was music in the background, coming from an unseen LP. It was one of Siegfried's albums, and a lengthy electric guitar solo was playing, full of spectacular finger work which hit both high and low notes in a swift and showy fashion. 

"Is that you playing the solo or Ulrich?" she asked him.

Ulrich was one of the musicians in his band that also played an electric guitar with considerable skill.

"No, that's me," he said, "it's from latest album. I'm surprised you haven't heard it."

"I listen to other groups, too, you know. I've been to the Monsters of Rock Festival two times."

They continued to eat their dinner and afterward they shared white wine. The rock music was getting Christine hot, and her eyes never left Siegfried, letting him know that she wanted to make love with him. Siegfried stared at her and grinned. He got up from the table and walked over to her side of the table.

"Let's get out of this boring place and get high and make love, what do you say?" he said to her, with a naughty expression in his face.

"Oh, are we leaving the hotel? I thought I would spend the night."

"I have a concert, Christine. You know that. I can't have you here all night. Now come here, I want to fuck you."

He had no style, no seductive charms, he was vulgar but he took what he wanted and Christine loved that. He had his hands on her breasts and played with them, cupping them and using his thumb to stroke and rub her nipples which instantly hardened under his touch. He was kissing her, and his kiss deepened as it progressed. She cupped his face and closed her eyes. She loved how he kissed. She knew that he had animal lust and they had enjoyed intense, hardcore sex many times before. 

He was even very kinky, which didn't matter much to her because she was just as kinky. In the past, they had enjoyed an S and M style relationship. He had tied her up and flogged her. He was famous in Europe for being in the S and M lifestyle, which was more or less new at the time and all the rage. He had taken her to clubs in which public floggings and public sex was permitted.

"Are we going to a club tonight? Do you know of any in this town?" she said to him.

"No. I don't feel like humiliating you in front of others tonight or walking you on a leash."

"I can still wear a leash if you want. I brought it with me."

"Alright. But not till after we get indoors. I'm taking you to my penthouse suite in Park Avenue."

The pent house suite was of course beautiful. It was designed in a modern style and he had mostly photographs of himself on the walls and posters of horror films, which he was fond of. Like any good Satanist, he had an altar, made of onyx, with two large ebony candelabras with painted blood over the little bit of candle wax that seemed to ooze directly under the candles. Above the altar was an oil painting depicting the Devil. It was Christine's first time in his penthouse suite. Doubtless, the times he had been in New York he must have brought other groupies and fans over. She looked at the painting of Satan with impressed eyes.

"Did you do that yourself?"

"The whole thing," he said, "the altar and the painting. Come on let me show you to my room."

He wasn't wasting any time. She could sense his urgent need for sex. He took her across the living room to a small hallway. On either side, suspended from the walls, were Gothic gargoyles, black, with bat wings and eerie red eyes that seemed to follow anyone who passed by. From the top of their heads were little candles that were glowing. He had a mixture of modern décor and Gothic, spooky, like a haunted house. She wondered what other surprises she'd find in his bedroom.

The bedroom commanded a view of the city and she found it marvelous. His king size bed was also in black, black posters, black headboard. The satin sheets were dark red. On a desk were more red candles, on the nightstand and on the floor. The room was cast in a dim red light, which she found sexy and Gothic. It was a turn on. 

They sat on the floor and began to take crack cocaine, which was a favorite drug of theirs.

They looked at each other silently. He began to disrobe. He was looking at her the whole time, with that look, so full of lust and seductive prowess, his eyebrows slanting upwards, his breathing audible, making her hot for him. He knew what she liked. 

He had put on a leather jacket and jeans before leaving the Plaza but now he was fully nude. He had not been wearing any underwear. His cock was semi-erect already. She began to take off her top. As she struggled with her own skirt and stockings, he helped her to undress completely while kissing each other with wanton abandon. Their tongues were sliding into one another hungrily, their bodies in heat, and their hearts pounding. She knew he was in no mood for slow and tender lovemaking. There was to be no foreplay. He grinned at her and gave her a look that she seemed to recognize. In the background, coming from an unseen record player, was heavy metal music from another album that was not Siegfried's. It was from a group he was associated with called Vampire. One of his singers, Val Morgan, was the lead singer of that group. 

"Kneel, bitch," he said to her in a commanding tone.

She was on her knees at once and he placed his cock against her lips. She opened her mouth and received his cock. He was well-endowed, like a male porn star, and he had the habit of shaving the hair off his balls. His cock was very white and pink looking with a pretty big head. She took it into her mouth sucking on it gratefully, murmuring and moaning as she sucked. 

He had his hands on her brown hair, pulling at it and grasping it forcefully. She was no longer taking just the head but taking as much of his cock as she could into her throat. He made her gag with his cock and she was simultaneously fingering her own pussy. He loved that she could do the "no hands" trick.

By now, his cock was ready to shoot cum and he did so all over her face and breasts. Aching for more, she made his cock big again by keeping her hands on it. He took her by the hair, pulled her up and onto the bed and spread her legs. He had her in an arm lock from behind. He was hard again and rubbed his cock against her wet slit. She cried out as she writhed against him.

"Tell me you want me to fuck you," he said to her.

"Fuck me, please," she begged.

He put on her collar, which she had brought along and had put on the floor. He jerked it and this hurt her throat. The song on the record player had changed and it was now a classic rock anthem, Meatloaf's "Bat out of Hell."

He now inserted his cock into her pussy from behind. He pounded her pussy deeply and heavily, making her scream for a long period of time. Her voice became hoarse. He held her by the waist and fucked her relentlessly across the bed, hitting the headboard. The hours flew by. She had several orgasms as he continued to fuck her until he was ready to cum once again.

They looked at each other with a relaxed but not calm look. She continued to hold his cock and rub the shaft, gently while kissing it to keep it hard. He was able to stay hard, another thing his sex partners, mostly groupies, enjoyed about him.

The song on the record player had changed again. It was Cream's "Sunshine Of Your Love".

"I'll soon be with you my love, to give you my dawn surprise".......

He picked her up all of a sudden and threw her on to the bed. She was on her stomach and she knew that he wanted to take her in the ass. She raised her ass to him and readied herself for his cock to slip inside her tight asshole. She was panting, as if she had been running, and she sprawled herself over the blood-red sheets with easy sexuality. She looked back at him.

"You've got the nicest ass of any girl I know," he said to her.

"Thanks baby," she said to him, drinking up the praise.

"Who's your master?" he said to her.

"You are."

"I can't hear you."

"You are."

"Damn right bitch."

"I've been waiting so long, to be where I'm going....."

He slapped her ass suddenly, heavily, and made her wince and scream out. She wiggled her ass and he continued to caress her ass cheeks, which were small but perfectly toned and rotund. He inserted his finger into her asshole, preparing her, opening it up and making her pussy wet at the same time. His fingers were now in her pussy, giving her a profound sensual wave of pleasure. She moaned and writhed as he finger-fucked her for only a brief moment. She closed her eyes and laid her head down on the bed, grabbing a hold of a pillow.




Vice Cop Ch. 09



"Tell me you want me to fuck your ass, bitch."

"Fuck it, fuck my ass, it's yours."

He began to slip his big cock into her tight ass, and it was all the way in before long. She moved her ass against his hips, and the smacking sounds echoed in the bedroom. He was pounding her ass roughly and swiftly. She screamed in sheer pleasure and pain as the anal fucking continued. She was faint. His long hair was in disarray as he savagely fucked her in the ass.

"Oh, fuck," she cried out," oh fuck."

She had learned that shouting out "Oh God!" was not to his liking, since he worshipped the Devil, so instead she had become used to shouting out "Oh fuck" instead. He liked that better. The bed was rocking with the strength of his thrusts, making her scream out and utter wordlessly. Sweat poured from them and the night wore on as he banged her ass and slapped it at the same time. 

He mercilessly fucked her ass until she was spent. His cum was a load and spewed all over the sheets. They tried to relax but she obviously wanted more. She was hungry for more. He was suddenly cold and absent, his mind elsewhere. He looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost two in the morning. He gazed at her as she took hold of his cock softly.

"No more tonight, Christine," he said to her.

"I want more," she said, "I want to feel more. I want to die of pleasure. If I were to die, I'd rather it be now after what we just did."

"You want to die?"

Maybe it was the drugs talking. Siegfried had been high himself. They had had this conversation countless times before, even in Europe. Christine came from a broken home. Her parents had had a nasty divorce when she was in her teens. Her father had been an alcoholic who had beaten her mother and also Christine. More than that, he had molested her. 

She had gotten into drugs before the age of eighteen and wandered aimlessly in Europe. In Amsterdam, she met Siegfried at one of his live rock shows. He had thrilled audiences with a performance that only Amsterdam's seedy night life permitted. He publicized the show as a combination of rock and live sex. He had been belting out one of his hits and the crowds in the mosh pit loved it. Christine was there. It was not her first time she had seen Siegfried at a concert. She had followed his European tours from Vienna. 

The Amsterdam concert made headlines. He had promised that he would take a fan out of the mosh pit and on to the stage to make into his sexual slave and favorite groupie and sex toy.

The lights of the concert building overhead cast an illuminating white light over the crowds in the dark pit, and the lights sought her out, and Christine came into view. She was an angel in the mosh pit, so beautiful, her hands outstretched, as if yearning for his touch and his alone. He beckoned her on to the stage. Before a live audience, he had fucked her and collared her, proclaiming her his property and his bitch in the S and M style. But later on that week, after several days of taking drug trips, she had confessed to Siegfried that she was suicidal and wanted to die. She had always wanted him to kill her.

And now here she was again, fragile and looking beautiful to him. 

"Do it," she said to him.

He told her to wait. Afterward, he came back from the kitchen with a sharp knife. He put it against her throat, and the blade glimmered in cold, cruel silver. 

"I love you," she said to him.

"I love you," he repeated as he took her life................

SIX

Hudson was waiting for his blind date in his car.

He had recently given his black Camaro a paint job; jet-black which made it glossier and a red line right above the wheels. 

He was in a suit, not a tux, as he had no desire to be seen in a penguin suit. He thought the girl would think he was too stuffy or snobbish. He was in a dress shirt, slacks and blazer, with no tie. He had brought her a bouquet of roses. The Professor had given him her address. She lived in a two-story home in Flushing, Queens.

It was early, six in the afternoon. The sun was setting and darkness slowly descended over the quiet street. In no time, the girl waved goodbye to her mother who was at the door. They both waved at Hudson.Hudson waved back and smiled. 

"You two have a good time," the mother said in a distinctly Southern drawl.

The girl approached the car. Hudson opened the door locks and she stepped into the passenger seat. She kissed him suddenly on the lips, something he wasn't expecting and took him by total surprise. The kiss was brief but hard. She then smacked his thigh.

"Howdy!" she yelled at him, "I'm Sally Dee."

He looked at her with total surprise. She was obviously a fiery thing and wild. Her green eyes were like two flames. Her hair was puffed up in a sort of dome. Her hair was dyed blonde and in the Dolly Parton style. She had on a pink "cowgirl" outfit. Her denim jacket had little white rhinestones on it and her skirt was white and had little tassels at the hem. She looked like she was going square dancing, which they were most certainly not. In fact, she was dressed inappropriately for the occasion.

"You're not really taking me to the Makado thing right?" she said to him.

"The Professor said it was for your own college course credit," Hudson answered.

"And what are you some kind of moral police guy? I don't' want to go to that stupid thing. It's probably sung in Japanese and the only word of Japanese I know is "sushi". Why don't we go to a nice bar? They've got live music, darts, a pool table, karaoke. It's so much fun. What do you say?"

Hudson had actually wanted to see The Mikado. He looked at her and she gave him a look that seemed to silently question: are you a man or a mouse? 

"Fine," he said, "but I hate having to lie to the Professor. You ought to go to the opera. I'm all dressed for it."

"Yeah well I'm not. I don't want to make a quick wardrobe change either. So come on, fella, take me to that bar I like. It's not far from here. It's a country western themed bar."

Figures thought Hudson.

"It's called Hoot's, as in Hoot Gibson."

He had no idea what she was talking about. The girl was obviously new to New York City and did not look as if she was fitting in well. He started the car and they drove out of the street and onto the main street. They didn't say anything for a while. A few minutes later, Sally lit up a cigarette. 

"I don't like the smell of cigar smoke in my car," he said to her.

"You really are a cop, aren't ya?" 

"Didn't the Professor tell you? Hell yeah I'm a cop and a damn good one too."

"Well relax, sonny. I'm not violating any laws by having a smoke. You see any no-smoking signs?"

She laughed. It was an annoying laugh. It was high pitched and wild, almost hyena like. She slapped his thigh again. 

"Don't do that," he said to her.

They drove down a long street that was getting full of traffic. It was a weekend and traffic was heavy with outgoing New Yorkers ready to hit the town.

"Your name is Hudson Banach the Professor told me," she said, "I love that name. It almost sounds like you're from my hometown of Nashville. Hudson. You could be Elvis' estranged brother or something."

"You're kidding me, right? I look nothing like Elvis. I'm Italian."

"Oh I love Italians".

She laughed again and continued to smoke. Hudson knew it was going to be a terrible date and the night would be too long......

Hoot's was exactly like Hudson imagined it would be. It was a redneck bar in every sense of the word. Sally was perfectly at home and quite comfortable in this environment. She was evidently into the cowboy scene and so much that she forgot she was with Hudson. Instantly, she walked over to the bar. 

Hudson was speechless. This crazy girl had just done a terrible thing by putting the Professor's City Opera tickets to waste. Hudson was like a fish out of water in his well-tailored suit. He looked like a lawyer who had just got off work and had not yet changed clothes. Sally was one very careless and insensitive girl, and obviously spoiled. 

Hudson watched from a distance as she was able to get two men order her two different drinks. Then after apparently flirting with the men (he was unable to hear what they were saying) she approached Hudson. What was this girl thinking, Hudson thought. She flashed him a big smile. She handed him the drink. Hudson noticed it was cold beer in a mug. She was holding another mug and drinking it down.

The music at the bar was all country music -- Pat Boone, Johnny Cash and Dolly Parton among other singers. There were mostly men at the bar, which Hudson found very odd. The only other females were about four other girls who were with dates and the waitresses and barmaids. Because there were only a few girls at the bar, Sally Dee, in her flashy get-up, was able to get men's attentions. She smiled and tossed her head as she laughed flirtatiously, her pear-shaped earrings dancing. She was like Scarlett O'Hara at the Plantation Barbecue; attracting men by doing little more than flash a smile.

"Aren't you going to drink, sonny?" she said to him, "or are you against drinking too just like you're against smoking?"

"No," Hudson replied, "what I don't like is how you're acting tonight. What the heck's wrong with you?"

"Wrong with me???" she repeated rather emphatically, "what do you mean? You're the one who's not even trying to have fun. Come on, loosen up. I'll see if I can get some guy to order more drinks for us."

"I can order a drink for myself, Sally."

"Suit yourself."

She sat down on a chair and finished her drink. Hudson sat next to her. He looked around. Hudson wondered what the Professor had been thinking when he hooked her up with this crazy cowgirl. Only minutes into the date and he knew that she was the date from hell. 

It was not that he was close-minded and had an aversion to country music or cowgirl types. The way he figured, Southern gals or cowgirl types like Sally were better than girls who wore cop uniforms. But Sally was over-the-top and self-absorbed. She had not paid any real attention to him. They drank in silence and stared at each other with absolutely nothing to say. The minutes flew. When a dance song came on, Sally extended her arms out to him, attempting to get him to stand up.

"Come on cop," she said to him, "let's see how well you can dance."

"I don't feel like dancing."

"You better give me this dance or I'll swear I'll find another partner, or two."

He sighed and got up. He might as well dance. Who knows, Hudson thought, perhaps it would lift his spirits and he'd actually have fun. The date was already going to hell as it was. Maybe a nice dance would improve things. He got up and they stepped onto the dance floor. It was swift country dance music, but it was not square dancing. Hudson had never square danced before in his life and he was grateful Sally wasn't making him do that. 

The dance was modern and full of pulsating rhythms. It was a combination of pop and hillbilly. She was light on her feet and a good dancer, grooving to the music like only she could. But Hudson was unable to keep up and consequently looked quite awkward. Others were staring at him.

Sally noticed.

"Say, partner, "she said to him, trying to be cute, "you have two left feet and it's showing. You gonna tell me you've never danced to this kind of music before?"

"No, I haven't," he said in earnest," I think waltzing would be a whole lot easier."

"Oh you're funny, honey. Don't the girls here dance to this music? "

"Sally this isn't Texas or Oklahoma. This is New York. You gotta adapt."

"You hush your mouth. If this is such a diverse city, then my culture is also allowed. It's you who should adapt."

"This is not about culture," Hudson said, suddenly halting, "you've been very disrespectful and careless. We were supposed to go see opera. Why do you think I dressed up like this? And instead you dragged me to this bar. It's an insult to Professor Goldstein and to me."

"Oh, you have to be kidding me. I'm having fun and you should too."

"Well I'm not having fun."

She was ignoring him at this point. She pinched his cheek and kissed him briefly. Afterward she walked off the dance floor and headed for the bar to get men to buy her drinks. Hudson had never felt more humiliated. 

Before long, she had a drink in her hand and a new dance partner. He was a tall, lanky man in a cowboy hat and jeans. His belt had a horse design. They were dancing up a storm while Hudson watched in astonishment. This girl was unbelievable. She was the most obnoxious, the rudest and wild girl he had ever seen. He wondered what he should do next.

A chubby brunette waitress who handed him a free drink leaned into his ear and asked:

"Are you with that girl?"

"Apparently not," Hudson said.

"Don't worry, honey. Everyone here knows who she is. She acts like that all the time. She's a spoiled little brat if you ask me. Her mother is Norma Dee, the retired country singer. She doesn't commit to any guy and parties all the time. My advice is just get the heck out of here. You look like a fine man and you deserve better."

"Thank you," Hudson replied.

He ordered a drink from the waitress and tipped her. He finished his drink while brooding with a sullen face.

As he was about to leave he turned to look at Sally one last time. She was no longer on the dance floor. A crowd of men had gathered around her. She was on top of the mechanical bull, straddling it and riding it as it wildly moved and gyrated beneath her. She didn't fall of and the way she rode the bull produced lusty and rowdy catcalls and cheers from the men.

"Good night Sally," Hudson said to himself, "and good riddance."

SEVEN

Loew's Paradise Theater, the Bronx, 7pm

Detective Mason Holmes and Lexa O'Neil were at the Paradise Theater. Here in this former opulent 1920's movie palace, one of Loew's five Wonder theaters in New York City, Siegfried Kroll and his band Darkness were going to hold their concert. Siegfried had a hard time booking a concert and no other place would have them. The magnificent 175th Street Theater in Manhattan was the home of Reverend Ike's Christian United Church and he would not permit a rock group known for using Satanism as part of their attraction to play at the theater. 

The Kings Theater, another old grand movie palace was abandoned and in need of repairs but Siegfried and his entourage, which included roadies and crew members who worked with all the technical parts of setting up a concert and live show were quick to make all the necessary preparations and temporary repairs for the duration of Siegfried's New York City concert. His second concert would be held at the Kings Theater.

Lexa O'Neil and Mason Holmes were dressed up in "rock fan" clothes as part of their undercover operation. It was a cool night and one of many nights that would see a full moon. Siegfried always managed to hold concerts which coincided with nights in which a full moon was out. Hundreds of young spectators and fans had gathered for Siegfried's first concert and live show in New York City. It was a vast and opulent place. 

Mason and Lexa marveled at the colorful murals depicting Renaissance cherubs and nymphs. There were beautiful Baroque touches here and there giving the theater the look of an Italian Baroque palatial courtyard and garden. The stage was vast and wide enough for a lavish spectacle. The complete members of Darkness were present and a few extra players in his new rock show Rock Star Faust: Pact With The Devil, his new rock opera version of the old Faust legend. . Mason Holmes looked as if he had never worn a pair of jeans in his life. Although they fit his stocky frame well, he had a hard time walking in them simply because he never wore jeans, only slacks and pants. It was not his first time undercover. He had gone undercover once before, with Lexa as his partner, when he attempted to hunt down the infamous and elusive Yellow Cab Killer. That was only a few weeks before and he had worn a business suit, which he was used to wearing. He had on a leather jacket and had put on a long black wig to give the appearance he was a rock music lover.

"You look good," Lexa said, with a flirty smile, "I love the hair. Too bad it's not yours. I wish you'd grow your hair that long, Detective."

"Yeah, right," he said with a chuckle," Internal Affairs would be on my case all the time. They'd probably think I was doing drugs or too immature to be a cop."

They shared a laugh. Mason eyed Lexa up and down. She was wearing a leather jacket also, and a short blue wig. She had put on lots of make-up and rouge. She had on a short leather skirt and boots. 

"Isn't that what you wore when you were undercover in Atlantic City when you were after that Jack the Ripper killer?" he pointed out.

"It's the same outfit but altered," she said, "plus I bought the wig at a shop. Don't you like it? I think I'll keep it."

They shared another laugh.

"You know it's fun being undercover with you, Miss O'Neil," Mason said, "it really is."

They shared a very affectionate but brief kiss. Mason held her in his arms but she quickly let go. He studied her face. She was clearly more interested in her assignment than making out, although it was times like these when they seized the opportunity to make out. They had done so in the taxi they had hailed while being undercover the last time. 

"No hanky-panky tonight, Detective," she said to him, "we're working."

"I know, I know."

"Hey, Lexie, can I ask you something?"

"What's that?"

"How come you still call me "Detective"? We're a little more than friends now aren't we?"

"You want to know the truth? I actually love calling you that. It's kind of a turn on. It makes me feel...very womanly to just call you detective. It gives you a lot of authority."

"Well I never thought of it that way. I guess I won't mind so much now."

"And I like it when you call me Miss O'Neil. It's very cute and sexy."

"Shh. Looks like the show's about to start."

The lights were dimmed. On the stage dry ice and a fog machine, unseen by the crowds, was being used to provide the right kind of eerie and ominous mood. Fog and black smoke appeared on the stage while an electric guitar riff was heard from out of nowhere. Then in a puff of smoke, Siegfried appeared, holding his guitar and playing it. From the darkness emerged the other members -- Manfred, Wolfgang, Diedrich, Ulrich and Val. Manfred was playing another guitar, Ulrich was on drums, Wolfgang was on bass and Val and Diedrich were vocalists.

"Faust was a rock star," Val said in song-like narrative, "from days of yore, from the 1970's. He had never produced a single hit album until he made a pact with the Devil....."

The Overture to the rock opera played and the musicians, Siegfried, included were lowered all of a sudden by giant strings into a pit beneath the stage overlooking the audience. It was obviously an orchestra pit. 

Mason and Lexa had a hard time keeping track of Siegfried. Not only were there too many people all around them and even ahead of them but the lights were low, almost completely dark, and there were too many distractions. A flashy laser show broke out. The show had begun. The Overture was another inspired instrumental/synthesizer piece composed by Siegfried. From the sunken pit, he began to play the electric guitar in various showy riffs and a killer solo that oddly enough had the musical effect of an old Baroque instrument, like the harpsichord, only played demonically fast. The other musicians joined in a furious fugue that was reminiscent of Johann Sebastian Bach. Lexa could recognize the similarities, except Siegfried had cleverly composed it using heavy metal and rock music.

After the Overture, the dry ice and fog cleared away and a young man in a diamond-studded cape and punk hair emerged. It was Val Morgan, one of the singers from the band. He began to sing, to the accompaniment of the rock styles of Darkness. He had a loud, definitely rock star voice, and he had an incredible vocal range, from deep lower notes to a screeching falsetto high register:




Vice Cop Ch. 09



"Sold my soul, sold my soul, and who hasn't? I did it all for Love, and all for Fame and Glory, It's the same old Story...All those who made it big did the same Sold my soul ...Sold my soul and who hasn't?...."

The first "act" of the rock opera had lots of special effects, and this monster movie type of stuff was what Siegfried's band was famous for. Faust the rock star is transformed from human to satyr, half-man and half-goat. The woman he loves, a girl who looked Goth in dark hair and dark clothes and a ton of blood-red make-up, rejects his love after his transformation. As for the Devil, played by Siegfried himself, he strutted around the stage belting out his own songs in red body paint and long flowing cape, Siegfried's signature costume. 

"Could you believe I'm actually enjoying this?" Mason said to Lexa.

"It's pretty operatic stuff," Lexa said, "they could use some of those sets for the Metropolitan Opera."

"So here's what I want us to do, Lexie. During intermission, we'll go to Siegfried's dressing room and we'll talk to him, let him know we're undercover cops doing our thing. His reaction will say everything. If he's ok with us being here like this, then he's probably not a suspect. If he reacts strangely, then we have reason to believe he's responsible for all the bizarre murders. So far I have seen nothing strange. I've been keeping an eye out."

"You must have great eyesight, Detective. It's kind of hard to do that with all these rowdy teens."

Intermission time arrived.

There was to be an Act 2 Finale afterward. The fans were still treated to a few instrumental pieces by the other musicians but Siegfried and Val, who had been singing the part of Faust, excused themselves and left the stage. Mason and Lexa cut through the crowds and headed for the backstage area. They let the security guards in that area know that they were undercover cops with Homicide. They allowed them to walk into the backstage area. Because the Paradise was such an old theater, they had used various parts of it for a vast backstage area and it sprawled before them like a labyrinth. 

Little did rock fans know the world behind the curtains Here Mason and Lexa saw a host of groupies, smoking and preening in their little make-up mirror kits. They were standing in a row, almost like a chorus line, each waiting their turn to chat with Siegfried. They were apparently waiting for him to emerge from his dressing room. Some of them were walking up and about. When the other members of Darkness arrived backstage, some of them approached them and each took the arm of their favorite idol. 

"Hey, you two," said Diedrich, one of the vocalists from the band, shouting out to Mason and Lexa, "yeah you guys. What do you think you're doing? You're in a restricted area."

"We're New York Police, Homicide detectives," Mason said, "this is Lexa O'Neil and I'm Detective Mason Holmes."

He showed Diedrich his police identification as did Lexa. The singer was silent and nodded.

"If you're looking for Siegfried, he's getting dressed and ready for the next act."

"We need to talk to him."

Diedrich did not say a word but nodded again. There was a look of concern and an "it's all over" expression in his face. Mason and Lexa approached Siegfried's dressing room. It had the classic star painted on the door with his name on it. Mason knocked forcefully on the door.

"Fraulein, I'm not ready yet, I told you. Come to me after the show," said Siegfried.

"He must think it's one of his groupies," Lexa said to Holmes.

"Mr. Kroll, we're with New York City Police. We need to talk to you," Mason Holmes said.

"Come in."

He looked up from his chair. He was looking into the glass of the vanity mirror, framed with light bulbs, and applying red lipstick. He was in his Devil costume but with a slight variation. He was wearing the satyr's lower half -- the goat legs in addition to the cape, ram horns and crown. On the table beneath the mirror were little red candles and he had his hookah with him, though he was not smoking it. A plastic skull was on the desk under the mirror.

On another part of the dressing room, there was a bong and it had been recently used. Siegfried had a cold expression in his face, and it was very legible: he was not pleased to see cops at his show. He made a gesticulation with his hand to let Mason and Lexa know they could take a seat on two chairs in the room. 

"Surprised to see us, Mr. Kroll?" Mason said to him.

"Not at all," he said, "I'm glad you came to one of my shows. Did you enjoy the first act?"

"It wasn't bad," Lexa replied, "lots of showy theatrical effects and killer rock melodies."

"I composed each song myself."

He said that as if to flirt and make himself appear impressive in front of Lexa whom he was regarding as beautiful.

"Mr. Stader, isn't that what you told me your real name was?" Lexa replied, ignoring his lusty look.

"Yes."

"Well Mr. Stader, we're here investigating in an undercover position. Since so many deaths have occurred in your own concerts, we figured tonight's show would not be any different."

"And have you found the murderer?"

"We've seen nothing suspicious or strange."

"You see, Herr Detective. It's like I said. I'm not behind any murders and neither is the band. I hope that this proves it once and for all."

"Not exactly," Mason said, "just because one show went by without any incident doesn't mean that the case is closed. The killer is out there, somewhere, closer than we think. He might even be at tonight's show."

"If you're so good at what you do, Detective, it shouldn't be hard to find him," Siegfried said, with a deliberately slow and sly voice, "it is probably right under your nose all along."

"We'll see. My partner Miss O'Neil and I will be back again for your second concert and show at the King's Theater."

"Oh, I shall be delighted to see you there. Do bring another friend."

He was being curt and sarcastic and Mason wondered if he found all this amusing. It was really a strange way to react, too. 

"Come on, Lexie, let's get out of here."

"Aren't you staying for the final act? We have lots more numbers and monster rock ballads."

They closed the door and left Siegfried alone to stare at them with a sly grin on his face.

EIGHT

Mason came down with the flu and as luck would have it, Hudson Banach was asked to fill in for him. 

He would be working undercover again for Homicide. It was not unusual. He worked both Vice and Homicide in undercover and paid positions, if only because he was quite good at what he did as a cop. Lexa did not like that she had to work with him again, knowing there would be tension again. They were told to use one of their own cars, and to go to the concert quite late, so as to catch the singers off-guard and to keep a lower profile. The idea was if they arrived somewhat later while the night wore on, they might find that something was amiss. 

They were appropriately dressed again: Lexa in the same skirt but a different wig, this time a red one, and Hudson in a leather jacket and tight-fitting blue jeans. Lexa decided to wear black boots.

Hudson and Lexa had argued over which car to use. Lexa had recently bought herself a stylish but small blue Corvette. She wanted to use it and she figured it was cool enough to take to a rock concert. But Hudson wanted to take his own black Camaro with the phoenix emblem on the hood. Lexa, too tired for a fight, gave up and they ended up driving Hudson's car to the concert. They drove in silence, not uttering a word. They had argued over things like that before. When they had been assigned as partners back when they were both still working patrol duties, they always fought over who would drive the police car. Sometimes Hudson would yield to Lexa and other times Lexa had to let Hudson drive. 

A greater crowd arrived at the Kings Theater in Brooklyn than had attended Siegfried's show at the Paradise in the Bronx. A large poster was outside the theater. It was the horror movie poster for Siegfried's horror film Lucifer. He would be showing a short preview of the film to the audience before his show began. This show, he had told his fans, would use many of the special effects, costumes, sets and even animatronics that would be used for the movie. Another group was singing there that night, opening for Darkness. It was a similar type of band, only this one appeared to be more of the Goth rock type. It was called "Vampire". The members dressed in the signature black garments of Goths, wore lots of makeup and even had fangs. 

"Who's their lead singer, Dracula?" joked Hudson.

"I've heard of these weird types. Some of them actually engage in consensual bloodsucking. It's a lifestyle and culture. Isn't it terrible?"

"Oh I don't know. I wouldn't let just anyone bite my neck. It would have to be someone very special to me."

He laughed out loud. 

"Come on, be serious, and let's focus. Remember, Mason said to keep a lower profile this time."

As Lexa looked closer at the poster, she noticed that their lead singer, Val, was the singer that Siegfried used a lot for his shows. He was dressed entirely in black, which Lexa knew was the new underground Gothic fashion among some teens. He had his mouth wide open and fangs that dripped with blood. This brought to her mind somethingMason had said when he first assigned her to the case. One of the two killers bit his victim's necks like a vampire. Could it be possible that Val....?

They entered the theater. Inside, the old movie palace had been restored, in part, to some of its former splendor. A beautiful mix of Rococo and nineteenth century French Second Empire design adorned the interior of the theater. The theater was vast and Hudson and Lexa wondered if any newcomer could get lost by accident in the nearly labyrinth-like atmosphere. 

The crowds flocked like sheep into the main auditorium. A separate room which had many seats was a screen room and a preview of Siegfried's horror film was playing. By the time Hudson and Lexa arrived, the movie preview was over and everyone was in their seats before the vast stage and enjoying the beginning of Act 2 of Siegfried's rock opera.

It was his first heavy metal rock opera, which he had written about age eighteen back in Austria. It was scored with electric guitars, drums, bass, strings, chorus, synthesizer, organ and other very innovative instruments that evoked an older period but still remained very "rock". This was his first attempt at music and it showed a musical genius at work. His rock opera was called Siegfried, and despite its title bearing his own name, it was a rock version of the 19th century Richard Wagner operas "Ring of the Nibelung", a fantastic account of the rise and fall of the Norse gods by a cursed ring. To get audiences to relate, he made the hero into another "rock star" heroic type, with all the hair and glamour of a 1980's heavy metal star, made Brunhilde, the love interest, a gorgeous blonde in breastplates and thong. The gods who dwelled in the golden and heavenly Valhalla were changed to "gods of rock and roll" who often battled each other on electric guitar. The big winner was a killer guitar which transformed into a sword to slay the Red Dragon, a huge animatronic winged dragon based on the Great Red Dragon described in the Book of Revelations. Among other monsters used in his show was the "Beast" of the Apocalypse whose number was 666. Audiences in Europe loved his rock opera and it was being shown for the first time in New York City.

Hudson and Lexa found that there were no more available seats so they had to stand and watch all the spectacle. On the stage was fog, covering the floor like a thick mantle, and a fake forest. Siegfried was being sung by another band member, one that Lexa had not recognized from the previous night. He was in the middle of a big song and purple, red and white lasers shot into the air above him as he sang to the accompaniment of the band. As he finished the lengthy song, his electric guitar, which he had been holding gently falls from his hand and disappears in the fog and mist. From the darkness above him there was a glow. It was a yellow-gold, red and white light which dazzled the spectators and as they focused their eyes in the dark, they noticed it was a great bejeweled sword. The sword flew into his hand and he wielded it, his heroic image complete.

The audience broke into applause.

"Hey that's not bad," Hudson observed, "this guy knows a little opera. The Professor told me about Wagner's operas and this guy knows the story to the Ring of the Nibelung really well. He must be very smart."

"Well, I only met him last night for the first time," Lexa said, "and he didn't seem like the good kind of genius to me if you know what I mean."

"Shh, here's more," Hudson said, absorbed in the show.

From the darkness emerged a large animatronic red dragon, with enormous wings. It spewed fire, and the special effects were breathtaking, creating a zesty response from the audiences who cheered. To the strains of more monster rock music and elaborate riffs and solos, Siegfried slayed the dragon and awoke the beautiful sleeping Brunhilde, who had been enchanted by her father Odin, the King of the Gods, and surrounded in high fiery flames. He awoke the heroine with a passionate, open mouth kiss. 

What followed was an epic, Gothic, very elaborate "rock tragedy" inspired by the final Wagner "Ring" opera Gotterdammerung. A rival rock band, jealous of Siegfried and his magic guitar, jealous that he had his hot girlfriend Brunhilde, stab Siegfried during a hunt and force Brunhilde to marry the Beast. Grief-stricken and desperate, she erects Siegfried's Funeral Pyre and to great rock music, summons her winged horse Grane and immolates herself by leaping into the flames. This causes the end of the world and Valhalla burns to ashes. Nothing but darkness remained on the stage.

"Looks like we got here only in time to see the last part," Hudson said, "Any sign of the guy?"

"Siegfried seems to be absent," Lexa said, "come on, let's go back stage and see if he's there."

NINE

The groupies regarded Lexa in her short blue wig, skirt and boots like she was too old to even be a groupie on some rock star's tour. Lexa completed her undercover image by bringing along a cigarette. She loved that undercover as a hooker or in this case a groupie, she had an excuse to smoke, which she loved to do at any rate. Hudson, too, smoked, and he had worn his hair in a ponytail to give his "rock fan" persona a more plausible appearance. They walked into the backstage area and discovered that no one had seen Siegfried. He had been the narrator voice in the first act and had sung a few lines before leaving the theater.

"You think he's up to something? Was he aware we were coming?" Hudson inquired.

"I don't know. I just know in my gut that Siegfried is the killer. He's so devilish. What we ought to do now is talk to someone who might know where he might have gone. The only other place he could be is his hotel suite at the Plaza."

Suddenly a scream broke out, a woman's scream. It was marked with pain and horror and the groupies backstage grew suddenly afraid.

"The fuck was that?" said one of the groupies.

"Looks like we're in luck, Lexie," Hudson said to her, "we might be at the scene of the crime already. Let's go check it out."

They followed the screams which grew louder. At once, pandemonium reigned. The audience in their seats back at the auditorium thought it was part of the show or some kind of gimmick. Siegfried had always promoted his shows like a horror movie and screams had always been heard at his shows. No one really took it seriously and felt it was part of the heavy metal monster rock culture. But Hudson and Lexa knew better. 

Instantly they found a secret door, hidden behind drapes, and Hudson thrust his foot into the door in a powerful kick. He took out his gun from his hidden holster and sprung into action, wielding the gun before him. Lexa did the same. She had concealed her gun in her purse. When their eyes took in the scene, they were struck with horror and astonishment. Val, one of the singers from Darkness and Vampire held a hysterical ash-blonde girl in an arm lock and he was about to bite into her neck and cut her throat with a sharp knife. The girl was crying and struggling against his strong grip. Behind them there was a large four poster bed and an altar to the Devil. Myriad candles were scattered on the floor in a giant pentagram formation.

"Freeze, this is the police," Hudson said.

"Drop the weapon," Lexa commanded," and leave the girl alone or we'll shoot."

He complied and released the girl who was still visibly shaken. She ran toward the cops and stood next to Lexa.

"Hands in the air, punk," Hudson said to him, "now!"

Val raised his hands in the air. Hudson cuffed him at once. Lexa put an arm on the frightened groupie.

"Are you alright? What happened?"

"I was one of his groupies," she said, "and I emphasize "was". You hear that you monster?"

She was addressing Val. She approached him, confident that she was in safe hands at the moment and spat in his face. "Take him away; he's a cold-blood killer. He was going to bite my neck without my consent and then he was going to kill me. He said the Devil told him to do it. I was going to be a sacrifice."

"Did he rape you?" Lexa said to her, trying to read the truth in the girl's eyes.

"No. You see, it was seduction. I'm a fan of his and we had consensual sex that turned ugly afterward. He was going to murder me if you hadn't come in time."

"You sick Satanist bastard," Hudson said, punching his face, "you're coming with us and you're going to answer some questions or you're going to wish you hadn't been born, you hear?"

"Miss, you're going to have to come with us to police headquarters, too," Lexa told the girl, "we need you to answer questions."

Manhattan Police Headquarters, 11pm

Val was brought into a private room where Chief Barry Hiller and a group of detectives could see and hear from behind a glass. 

Inside the room, Hudson, Lexa and Detective Mason were interrogating Val who was seated on a chair in the middle of the room, looking up as the three of them walked in circles around him. He had a cold and defiant expression on his face. In leather pants and jacket, his dark hair long and his face thin and mean-looking, he looked every bit a murderer.

"Talk, you sick son of a bitch," Hudson said, "don't make me beat the shit out of you."

"Don't make this any harder than it already is, Mr. Val Morgan," Mason Holmes said, "just cooperate by answering our questions. We have been following this case since the beginning. We know that you're responsible for the murders of various teens. Bite marks were found on their necks and loss of some blood. We know that you follow a Gothic vampire culture so all the evidence points to you. But my question is this: were you taking orders to kill these teenagers from Siegfried himself?"

"I was only obeying my master Satan."

"I didn't ask whether you were taking orders from the Devil, I was asking if you were taking orders from the flesh-and-blood Siegfried Kroll. If you answer in cryptic riddles and not in plain straight-forward answers, you'll be here all night until we squeeze the truth out of you."

"Siegfried is the Devil's agent. He told me so himself. He has been hearing voices since he began to compose his music."

"Look, Morgan, I am not going to get into a spiritual conversation here. Some would argue that he's just schizophrenic and insane. I'm only concerned about the victims in all of this. You and your culture do a hell a lot of drugs and that makes you see and hear things. Mr. Kroll is obviously a mad musician with a severe drug addiction. Has he killed anyone himself or did he use you to do the dirty work?"




Vice Cop Ch. 09



"He killed Danny in LA and he killed a groupie of his, Christine, plus countless other murders in Europe."

"What about you?"

"I took the lives of Natalie and Laurie and other girls in Europe."

"Yeah? And you raped them too right?"

"Yes."

"You're looking at a lifetime of imprisonment Mr. Morgan. You and Siegfried thought you could hide behind your rock star glamour and celebrity, did you? Where is Siegfried now? My partners Miss O'Neil and Mr. Banach were undercover at the last concert at the Kings Theater and told me he disappeared after singing only a few parts."

Val was silent.

"Out with it," Hudson said, "where is Siegfried Kroll?"

"I don't know."

"You better tell us, Mr. Morgan. Don't try to get him out of this. He's going to undergo a trial and he'll be given a sentence of life imprisonment for what he's done."

"I told you pigs that I don't know. He didn't tell me where he was going. He just disappeared. Call his home in Vienna or Salzburg. Check the hotels where he stayed here in New York. I can't help you any more. I've already said enough."

"Looks like he's telling us the truth, "Lexa observed, "maybe we ought to conduct a manhunt for him. As of now, he's a fugitive."

"Did you talk to the groupie he had attacked?"

"Yes. Her name's Sasha Brown. She said she didn't know that Val or Siegfried were murderers until Val put that knife to her throat and started raving about the Devil wanting a sacrifice."

"Mr. Morgan, did the other band members know about Siegfried and you acting as murderers?"

"No. Siegfried and I acted together on this. It was our calling. Catching Siegfried is going to be hard for you, Detective. The Devil will keep him safe for as long as possible."

"Not as long as there is justice," Mason said, and then he turned to Hudson and Lexa. "something tells me this guy is still in the city. He knows we're after him and he is up to something. Probably wants to play games with us. If he's such a Satan worshipper, he's probably very sure that he can escape and make fools of us."

"Where do you suppose he's hiding, Detective?" 

Mason looked at Lexa in silent reflection.

"I think I know."

TEN

Mason, Hudson and Lexa had gathered enough information from interrogations at the Plaza and Siegfried'srecord producer and manager to learn that he had a pent house in Manhattan where he was seen with a girl. Putting two and two together, Mason figured that the girl had been Christine, his most loyal groupie, who was consequently murdered by Siegfried. They had a warrant to search Siegfried's pent house.

Authorities were advised to keep an eye out for the felonious rock star who was trying to evade police. By the time the search for Siegfried Kroll was on its third day, it had already made headlines and it was covered by television news and newspapers. Siegfried Kroll, the Austrian rock star, crazed on drugs and Satanic brainwashing, had committed those bizarre murders at his own concerts.

They looked everywhere in his pent house suite, searching through closets, drawers, under furniture and his bed, behind paintings, drapes and in nooks and crannies. There was nothing to indicate that he had been here recently. He had fled since the night of his last concert at the Kings Theater. 

All over the walls were posters of bloody horror films from the 1970's and the more recent ones at the beginning of the 80's.

"He's a horror movie nut," Lexa remarked, looking at the posters.

Mason was busily reading some of the books he had on a bookshelf against the wall of a small den. He had writings by the notorious founder of the Church of Satan Anton LaVey who had written "The Satanic Bible". Among other books were the writings of the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche and books on witchcraft, demonology, "how to raise the dead" books and the writings of the first reported Satanist Aleister Crowley. As he browsed through various horror books by Stephen King, a photo album fell to his feet.

He flipped through it. There were black and white photographs of Siegfried as a child in Salzburg and as a rebellious teen in Vienna. Then a sepia photograph of a man in a Nazi commandant's uniform, complete with swastika caught his attention. 

There was a note under the photo written in German. Fortunately for Mason, he knew how to read and speak German. The note read:

Never forget our ideals, love, your father.

"Look at this," Mason said, calling Hudson and Lexa to his side, "looks like Siegfried's daddy was a high-ranking Nazi of the Third Reich."

"Oh my," Lexa said, "that could explain a lot of things. But it doesn't seem to me Siegfried is one of those White Supremacist fanatics or Neo Nazis. He was making eyes at me when we were in his dressing room at the Paradise."

"He might not have followed in his father's racist footsteps, but he certainly took an interest in the occult and as you may or may not know, Hitler was said to be a secret follower of Satanism and the occult."

Hudson had walked away into another part of the suite. Resting against a mirror was the bejeweled sword he used as a prop in his rock opera Siegfried. It was one of several in a row of swords. The others were medieval swords, and Persian swords.

"Looks like these swords are antique and actual swords," Mason observed, "and look, you can see the slightest trace of dried blood in some of them. These are the swords he used to kill some of his victims back in Europe."

"Hey, come here, look what I found," Hudson cried out.

He had found dozens of bongs and hookahs as well as needles, marijuana, LSD and cocaine. These were all hidden behind a small writing desk. On the writing desk was a fake, plastic human skull and the pen he used to write notes with was a raven's plume. The ink was in blood.

"He really liked his drugs," Hudson said, "and that damn hookah."

"I'm surprised you didn't look at this, first, Hudson, "Lexa said to him, "you always go straight for the drugs."

"Yeah well I'm used to it. I work Vice, remember, not Homicide like you, Lexie."

"What did you find, Miss O'Neil? That skull is fake, right or is it real?"

"No the skull is a toy but the ink is real blood. And take a look at what he wrote."

She showed the Detective the note written in blood. It was in Old English style letters:

"The Devil hath Power and by His Might hath transported me to the Palace. Soon I will offer him two more sacrifices. Hear me. I know that thou hast searched my home and are reading this letter. Herr Detective, why don't you send one of your pigs to find me. No tricks. Two cops, one showdown."

"The bastard knows we're here," Mason said, "he's playing games with us. He's showing every sign that he's of a psychopathic serial killer sort of mind."

"That blood is probably that groupie he killed, Christine, "Hudson said.

"So what is he asking?" Lexa said, "what does he want?"

"He wants two cops to come after him. I think he is hiding at Loew's Kings Theater where his last concert was held. It's abandoned again. He had only used it for his show but he might still be hiding there since no one really goes there anymore. His words also indicate he has abducted two people he intends to sacrifice."

"We can't just do what he said," Hudson remarked, "If two cops go in there, they'll need back up. If he wants a showdown, we'll give him a showdown."

ELEVEN

It was getting dark. To avoid any media attention, which Siegfried was sure to garner, the cops under Chief Barry Hiller's orders waited until twilight, when most people were coming home from work and ending their day, to show up at the King's Theater. 

A sense of danger and gloom was in the air, and as if Siegfried had masterminded it himself, a thick fog and mist enveloped the whole of Flatbush, Brooklyn, surrounding the theater. Even its deteriorating façade looked eerie and frightening in the mist. Everything looked like something straight out of a horror film. Mason Holmes was standing next to Captain Barry Hiller and Lieutenant Isaiah Dante. 

An armed force of uniform cops had come to cover Hudson and Lexa in the case of an emergency or a shoot-out. This is what Chief Hiller thought was the most likely outcome. However, there were other possibilities as well. Siegfried would most likely be armed himself, which meant that the two cops going into the theater would be risking their lives.

Despite what was already known about Siegfried, he was still an enigmatic figure with a grim and mysterious aura around him. This Anti-Christ image was of course his showy public rock star persona that had won him millions of fans. But it did seem as if Siegfried was a sadistic, dangerous and disturbed individual. Before arriving to the Kings Theater, there was no argument concerning who would go in after him. Hudson Banach and Lexa O'Neil were assigned to the mission.

They arrived, still wearing their undercover plainclothes. Mason Holmes had suggested that they go into the theater dressed as one of Siegfried's fans, in the hopes of distracting and confusing him. It was dark and perhaps Siegfried would be looking for cops in uniform wielding guns. Siegfried had not seen Hudson and Lexa the night of his last concert. Hudson and Lexa arrived in Hudson's black camaro and approached the Chief and Mason.

"Are you ready to do this?" Mason said, "Got everything ready? Your guns and mace? Communication device?"

"We're ready," Hudson said.

"Be careful and God help you."

He embraced Lexa and gave her a kiss. Then he turned to Hudson.

"Good luck to you."

"Let' go, Banach," she said to him.

* * * *

The opulent but decaying theater was like the set of Phantom of the Opera. It was not completely dark. The theater lights were dimmed, casting shadows here and there, giving everything a somber and horror movie type of feeling. Hudson and Lexa braced themselves. They had concealed their guns in holsters -- Hudson under his black leatherjacket and Lexa on a holster attached to the top of her stockings at the hem of her leather skirt. 

Moving carefully in slow and measured steps, they were as quiet as they could be, knowing that if they made noise Siegfried would become aware of their presence and open fire. If he wasn't armed with a gun, he was most likely going to use some other kind of method to kill them. Their hearts beat fast and the thrilling rush of adrenaline kicked in. It was the same kind of thrill that they had always enjoyed when doing missions like these. 

They knew that this would be their most dangerous assignment to date, even more so than the time they were assigned to thwart the detonation of a bomb planted by terrorists on the Empire State Building. This was in many ways more dangerous because they did not know what to expect. 

They crossed the main lobby facing the entrance of the theater. They were now facing the theater rooms in which, in older times, old movies were shown and the main auditorium where vaudeville acts had been performed and where Siegfried's own show had been staged. 

Statuettes of Roman goddesses looked down on them from pedestals and the candelabrum surrounding them were opaque, as were the chandeliers above them. 

"I welcome you to my lair," said Siegfried's voice, amplified by powerful microphones, coming from out of the blue, "and although you can't see me, I can see you quite well. Don't do anything stupid like fire your guns."

Hudson and Lexa were speechless, their eyes darting about, trying to see if they could catch a glimpse of Siegfried. He was evidently familiar with the theater and taking advantage of the fact that they were not. He was using the acoustics he had utilized for his concert and show and hiding somewhere backstage most likely. 

"I am not as cruel as you think," Siegfried continued, "the murders I committed were not all what you cops call homicide. No. They were consensual. My victims were asking for it. Some of them were so depressed and morbid type of fans that they craved death, like a lover's touch. I merely helped them achieve their dream of death."

"You're a drug-addicted maniac," Hudson replied loudly, "You're so fucked up by drugs and drunk on fame that you've gone totally nuts."

"Show yourself, give this up," Lexa said, "we are not alone. There are cops waiting outside armed and ready. If you just turn yourself in; there won't be any need for violence."

"We'll see about that. Like I said, my Master needs two sacrifices before the night is over."

"Where are these two people you kidnapped? What have you done with them? Release them, dam you," Hudson said.

"I have not abducted anyone. You've got it all wrong. The two sacrifices I was referring to in my note are you two."

TWELVE

Hudson and Lexa froze but remained strong, their eyes searching everywhere and aiming their guns in front of them. Their eyes even looked up above them. His voice, owing to the microphone and sound system, was bigger and it made him sound godly. Hudson and Lexa walked toward the theater room where he had premiered his film. Perhaps he was in there, or perhaps not, but their job was to leave no stone unturned. They walked into the theater room. 

Siegfried was using the dry ice and fog machine.

The entire room was covered in a thick mist, and it was hard to distinguish their surroundings. There was a toxic gas was in the air and Hudson and Lexa began to cough.

"Damn that crazy son of a bitch, he's trying to gas us to death," Hudson remarked then he spoke up loudly addressing Siegfried, "is that what you're trying to do, huh, gas us to death like your damned Nazi father did to victims in German concentration camps?"

"I see you've been putting your pig nose where it doesn't belong, "Siegfried replied, then he screamed loudly and maniacally into the mic, "shut up! Don't you dare say another word about mein vater!"

After he was silent, the gas seemed to be have turned off but the dry ice and fog lingered. Hudson and Lexa's hearts raced. Their eyes were alert and they held their guns tight. When they walked further into the room, they heard a trap door opening. As it turned out, it was directly beneath Lexa's feet. She fell down instantly into a dark pit without screaming.

"Fuck," Hudson cursed.

His eyes fell on the pit. It didn't seem to be too deep and he heard Lexa's fall being broken by something.

"O God damn it," he heard Lexa say, and he had never heard her swear, "oh God."

"Lexie, Lexie are you alright?" Hudson shouted.

"Get me out of here. It's so dark down here. I can't see what broke my fall."

Hudson's eyes moved rapidly around the room. The fog had cleared and he was able to see the room better. His eyes fell on a long rope that had been wound up on top of a loft that was accessed by a ladder. Swiftly, he climbed up the ladder and dragged part of the long rope across the floor. He knelt by the hole that had been opened up on the floor and lowered the rope.

"Grab on to this, Lexie."

Lexa was silent. Then he heard her scream. It was the first time he had ever heard her scream. 

"Jesus Christ, there are cobras and snakes down here!!"

"Grab on to the rope and I'll pull you up, hurry!"

She complied and Hudson lifted up the rope, weighed down somewhat by Lexa. Upon seeing her, he took her by the hand and pulled her onto the floor next to him. She was gasping and panting as if she had been running. She put a hand over his shoulder and smiled.

"Thanks, Hudson, this isn't the first time you've helped me out," she said to him.

"No problem, Lexie."

"My snakes may not have gotten you but my Moloch will!!!" Siegfried's booming voice said, "after them my pet!"

An animal cry pierced the air and Siegfried's pet panther leapt from a loft. The creature was furious and rabid and it began to look for Hudson and Lexa who had already begun to find their way out of the room. 

Adrenaline kicked in again and they ran as hurriedly as they could. 

The panther was too fast and it caught up to them. It began to attack Hudson. He jumped over his body so fiercely and swiftly, that it took Hudson by total surprise and he fell to the floor. They began to wrestle on the floor and Hudson tried to reach for his gun which had flown off his hand. Hudson did his best to keep the panther from biting him and fought him aggressively. Then the panther bit his teeth into Hudson's arm.

Lexa wasted no time. She fired her gun, aiming at the panther. The bullet shot into its flesh and it let out a roar of pain. Hudson's shirt had been ripped by the panther's strong paws.

"Are you hurt bad?"

"No, I'm alright, Lexie. He bit me once in the arm, but I'm ok. Let's get the hell out of this room."

Lexa noticed some blood beginning to drip from Hudson's arm.

They found the way out but as soon as they were back into the main lobby, they were once again facing danger. 

A multitude of snakes, vipers and cobras were crawling on the floor, hissing and rattling their tails. It was a sea of venomous creatures, ready to attack the closest person. 

From out of nowhere, on his mic, Siegfried laughed a wicked laugh. He fancied himself a sort of "Phantom of the Opera" and he relished in his supposed powers. He had a record playing somewhere and it was Iron Maiden's heavy metal rock anthem "Phantom of the Opera".

"This guy doesn't give up," Hudson said, "it really does seem as if the Devil is helping him out."

"I won't believe that," Lexa said, "we're going to put a stop to him. I have an idea. Let's fire at these critters and run into the main auditorium."

"Works for me."

They opened fire on the snakes. This caused a chaotic uproar and the snakes became hysterical, hissing loudly. Hudson and Banach raced across the floor, shooting their guns. They found that their plan worked out perfectly and they were standing by the door to the large auditorium.

"Having fun, cops?" Siegfried's voice said again, coming from nowhere, "I can see you two don't die easily. I was sure you'd be the perfect sacrifice. But if you refuse to die, then maybe you can join me in a SatanicWedding. I'm going to marry my favorite groupie, who alas, has crossed over to the Land of the Dead, my beautiful and beloved Fraulein Christine."

The doors to the main auditorium burst open. As if a concert was in full swing, Hudson and Lexa heard rock music playing. They figured it must have been coming from an long playing record. It was Billy Idol's hit song, "White Wedding". Not long ago, Hudson had seen the music video on MTV. The song was about a Gothic wedding in which the groom broke off the knuckles of his bride by thrusting the barbed-wire ring into her finger hard.

"Come on, it's a nice day for a White Wedding....it's a nice day to start again"......

Siegfried was giving his final show.

Hudson and Lexa, holding their guns before them, walked into the auditorium, running across the aisle and heading for the stage. Siegfried was on the stage, dressed in his Devil get-up, this time with two red demon wings on his back, and he was before an altar with the corpse of the dead groupie dressed in a flowing white wedding gown As soon as he saw Hudson and Lexa he hurled small daggers at them.

"This guy is the craziest son of a bitch I've ever seen," Hudson said, dodging the daggers.

Lexa hid behind some of the seats and began to fire her gun. Siegfried laughed an insane laugh and pulled a chord on the stage. From the ceiling came a barrage of Persian swords. Hudson and Lexa got of harm's way while still trying to dodge the small daggers he was throwing at them forcefully. 

"Die!" he shouted, "why don't you just die!"

He pulled another chord. The animatronic Red Dragon from his rock opera fell down from a loft, with its mouth open and breathing fire. Siegfried had hoped the thing would fall over Hudson and Lexa or burn them with the fire, but instead it fell over the dead body of Christine. It burned her wedding dress and body very quickly.




Vice Cop Ch. 10



Previously on Vice Cop, a European rock star responsible for murdering his own fans at his concerts and lavish shows, eluded the detectives who were after him. Hudson and Lexa confronted the villainous rock star who has set a death trap for them in an abandoned theater, resulting in his arrest. 

In this episode, you will again find the hardcore action and heavy plot that make up my style of writing for Vice Cop. But you can read a lesbian sex scene on SCENE SEVEN, involving an Asian Mafia lord's wife who fancies herself to be an ancient Chinese Empress. You will find two seperate sex scenes on SCENE NINE involving Hudson and his newly acquired mail-order bride and Lexa and Detective Mason enjoying intimate sex inside a cabin in The Poconos mountains. 

*

ONE

Lexa O'Neil was looking at Hudson Banach from her window.

He was sitting alone in his bedroom, shirtless, in dark tight jeans, smoking; staring at nothing in an absent and far-off gaze. He was listening to a record he had borrowed from the Professor. It was an opera album and Lexa recognized the music. It was Puccini's Madame Butterfly, a role her mother had sang in her own career as a soprano. It was beautiful, sad, divine; a song so full of special emotion that it brought her back to the past when she had been a little girl and she remembered her mother on the stage as Butterfly; in that flower-specked kimono with a jasmine flower in her hair. Hudson was listening to the finale in which Butterfly kills herself by thrusting a saber into her stomach after being painfully dishonored by her American husband, the colonel B.F. Pinkerton who had taken an American wife after abandoning Butterfly and her child.

Why was he listening to what was considered one of the saddest operas ever made? Why did he stare so longingly into the nothing, and why was he smoking so much? She knew that he was depressed. He had not been himself lately. He had always managed to tell jokes and laugh along with other officers. But there he was, lonely and crestfallen, listening to that beautiful song, a lonely soul's companion. She felt sorry for Hudson and it hurt her to see him that way but she knew she could not go to his house next door for any reason. They had agreed they would not see each other. As she turned her face away from the window, her phone rang. 

It was four in the afternoon and Lexa was off-duty as was Hudson. Lexa had done some grocery shopping and had been running errands and tidying up her house to pass the time. Hudson had done very little on his day off save for shopping and visiting his own family back in Middle Village Queens. For about two hours he had just been brooding in his bedroom listening to that sad opera. Lexa picked up the phone.

"Hello?" 

"Miss O'Neil, it's Mason," the detective's voice came through the receiver.

"Oh, hello, Detective, how are you?" Lexa said, with a smile.

"You forgot didn't you?"

"Forgot what?"

"We are supposed to be making plans to vacation in the Poconos, remember? I invited you to spend the weekend with me at the cabin owned by a friend of mine. He let me spend a weekend there. You said you'd love to come."

She put a hand over her forehead and laughed. 

"I forgot. I was so wrapped up in that last assignment and you know I've never really had a vacation since I was a little girl when my parents took me - "

"I figured. You're all work and no play just like me, Miss O'Neil. But we deserve to have some fun, we really do. Come on. Get your things ready and packed and let's go."

"Alright. I'm sure I can be ready before nightfall."

"Good. I'll be over at your place at six."

She hung up the phone and she heard Hudson's sigh coming from his home.

TWO

Night had come to New York City.

Hudson had smoked an entire pack of cigarettes, which he had not done in years. He remembered how he had convinced the Professor to quit smoking. Thank God he wasn't here to see what he had done, thought Hudson. But he knew why a smoke was sometimes needed. It was a way to vent. He became hungry. He had not eaten a proper lunch in his depressed state. He had declined an invitation to the favorite "cop's donut shop" Christie's which was near a grove of trees facing a bridge which crossed over the waters into Manhattan. He had always loved going there but today he had no inclination to go.

Hungry as he was, he went for a ride in his black Camaro (newly designed so that it looked like a Thunderbird with phoenix bird emblem). He searched for a nice little restaurant where he could have his solitary dinner. The city had restaurants to spare so he knew he would eventually find something he'd like. Tired of eating in Manhattan and Queens, uninterested in eating at fast food restaurants in Brooklyn or the Bronx, he decided he'd go to Chinatown. He recalled one long ago summer night in which his father had taken him to eat at Madame Chang's, a beautiful Chinese restaurant shaped like a Chinese palace. It was located in Chinatown and he knew how to get there by heart. 

He reached Madame Chang's and it was still early in the evening. His father used to frequent the place back when he was alive. It was possible the same owners were running the place. Madame Chang and her husband. Or maybe things had changed and the place had new owners. It had always been a popular restaurant and many tourists and non-Asian New Yorkers were frequent visitors. The decor of the restaurant was so lavish looking for all its fake kitschy appearance. Red pillars with golden bases stood at the entrance and more pillars inside. 

At the door to the restaurant were two mason lion statues which the Chinese called fu lions. Inside, beads hung over small chandeliers, the tables were covered in pretty tablecloths with tiny little cherry blossoms and the murals and walls were painted with scenes of beautiful Chinese landscapes as cherry blossoms, bridges, mountains, Chinese country folk in triangular little hats and above them good luck dragons and clouds.

"Are you dining alone?" said the Chinese woman at the door.

"Table for one," Hudson replied, "my name is Hudson Banach." 

"Please wait," the woman said.

She was rather stout for an Asian woman but she was youthful looking. She was in casual clothes. At one time, everyone who worked as hosts dressed in traditional and ancient Chinese robes. Hudson stared at the lady as she jotted down his name.

"Does Madame Chang and Mr. Chang still -" 

"No. Not anymore. New owners. But they are hardly ever here except sometimes to supervise. "

Hudson thought that was very odd. All of the restaurant owners he had known were dedicated to their business and often looked as if they lived at the restaurant. But that was back in the day when his father came to eat at restaurants in the city. Hudson was showed to his seat by the same lady and he was seated in a small table for one toward the back next to a large golden Buddha. Various colored Chinese lanterns hung on the ceiling above him. He sat down and looked over the menu. 

"A waiter will be right with you," said the lady.

The Muzak playing was ancient and traditional Chinese folk music which was purely instrumental. It was pretty and upbeat and it made Hudson feel a little better. He was, as a matter of fact, in a Chinese kick and had become enamored with Asian themes. He knew it was the Professor's influence. The Professor had been listening to Puccini's two operas set in Japan and China - Madame Butterfly and Turandot. Plus, the Professor had taken him to see Gilbert and Sullivan's The Mikado, after having learned that his blind date with Sally Dee, the wild daughter of a country singer, had discarded the tickets he had bought.

Hudson ordered some Cantonese food as the restaurant served both Cantonese and Chinese foods. He had to wait a while and so he drank a lot of water. He had jokingly called this part "Chinese waiter" torture when he had taken Kyle Lennox to this place in the past. He sighed. The waiter, a Chinese man, arrived with his meal. Hudson chewed his food slowly wit leisure. He began to overhear the conversation going on behind him. Two men, in business suits, were talking. Both men were white and apparently New Yorkers.

"I'm with Cherry Blossom," the man said, "ever read any of our picture catalogs?"

"I'd like to receive one. You're in the mail order bride business, correct?"

"That's right. So moving on. Did you decide you wanted to do it?"

"Well, I don't see why not. I'm so lonely and tired of seeing all these Manhattan couples. I'm good at my business but I need a wife at home. I have always heard Asian women are very obedient wives who don't give any trouble. I shall like that."

"Here."

Hudson turned to look. The man handed the other guy a catalog book which he looked over slowly and pensively.

"These women are beautiful. They are legal age right?"

"Naturally. They put up their own ads and they seek to leave China which you know is not such a great country and want to marry American men. So let me know which one you want. My name is Nat Coldwell. Here's my number. I can get a woman for you and it would all be legitimate."

Hudson noticed as the man who was not the agent Nat Coldwell got up and left after shaking hands. For a while, the man sat smoking. Hudson felt his heart beating faster. A wife. And to get one so easily and fast just like that. He stared into the nothing again, contemplatively.

It was one way to end the sadness that had come over him. He thought of Lexa and Mason and envisioned them marrying in a beautiful ceremony attended by all the cops on the force - including him. He would have to endure that. Or maybe not. It would be Lexa who would attend his wedding to -

"Mister Coldwell," he said to him, approaching the table.

"That's me," the agent said, smoking his cigar.

He looked like a tough man, with pretty sinister looking features and dark hair and eyes. Hudson wondered why he was always seeing a sinister note on many men he came across. Maybe he was too much of a cop and saw corruption and vice in every face even when it wasn't so. They shook hands. The man continued to smoke. 

"May I sit down?" said Hudson.

The man made a gesture with his hand offering him the seat on the other end of the table. Hudson sat down and he put his hand over the catalog.

"My name is Hudson Banach, I'm a cop," he said, "and I'm interested in purchasing a mail-order bride."

"Let's talk shall we?" said Nat Coldwell. 

THREE

When Hudson got back to his Camaro and drove away from Chinatown, a young Asian girl who had been working as a waitress at Madame Chang's had stepped out of the eatery, leaving work. She did not drive a car and lived within close proximity to the restaurant in a tenement building. She was still in her waitress outfit, which was a short cocktail gown, red and with golden little specs in a cute resemblance to a Chinese woman's robe only cut short to allow her to move to serve meals and drinks. 

She had on heels. She was young but older than twenty one. Her heels echoed in the sidewalk as she crossed her usual route toward home. She had to cross an old and abandoned brick building which once, years ago in the late 60's, had been a brothel and bath house, catering to gay and straight New Yorkers. Eventually, the Asian cathouse was shut down owing to reported violence and sexual crimes. It was an illegal house of prostitution and had eluded New York Police Vice Department's scrutiny for years until they were busted in the mid 70's.

She hated the look and smell of the place. As old as it was, as dilapidated and foul as it was, she couldn't help feeling as if there was something still going on in that place, something wicked and morbid. She knew she was probably just being paranoid but she had always felt as if someone was watching her from inside. A row of broken windows were found at the top of the building. Sometimes she swore eyes followed her as she walked past the building after leaving work. She also felt chills down her spine. Chinatown had never truly been a crime-filled spot, though there was always the occasional murder or murders plural, as well as prostitution often disguised as massage parlors.

The girl hated to walk down the little alley which stood by the old building but it was the fastest way to her home. It was dark and the silence was nearly death-like. Only a few cars could be heard passing by in the street nearby. She brushed aside a strand of dark hair that fell over her face. She walked down the alley, walking at a moderate pace. It was only minutes later that she heard other footsteps behind her. At first she thought it was the sound of her own heels in the echo of the alley.

She was wrong. 

As she turned to look behind her, a man's hand, covered in a dark leather glove, seized her by the mouth to keep her from screaming. He had her in an arm lock and she began to struggle against his grip. 

In the intermittent street lights that glared, she could see that it was a slim but strong young man in a black ninja get-up. Quickly, he took her away from the alley, and his swift movements were nearly balletic, dragging her away from sight and to a remote street. Beneath the sidewalk step was an open sewer, whose lid had just been opened. He dragged her down into the sewer and into the dark below...........

Kicking and screaming the girl was dragged ever downward. It was completely dark but then the ninja retrieved a lantern which stood at the foot of the ladder he had descended. He was carrying the girl in his arms now, running across a long road by the banks of a dirty sewer river, full of feces and waste. 

As he hurried along, going further into the bowels of the sewer and under the streets of Chinatown, the girl noticed rats running about and it made her scared. After a while, they were in some kind of large cave but the cave had the effect of being man-made, like the set to some movie. The ninja removed his dark face and head covering and the girl stared right into his face.

He was Chinese just like her.

"Where are you taking me?" she said to him.

"You're the new sex slave for the Emperor," he said, "come I'll show you what I mean. You will never see daylight or your old world again. Prepare to live in the Forbidden Palace. Look. There it is."

She looked up. A large faux palace, with pillars and many rooms and a small courtyard was before her eyes. She couldn't believe it. It was like stepping back in time to ancient China. She had only read about a palace like that in history books. The young man took her into the courtyard which had no vegetation growing and was mostly bare stone. Two fu lions guarded the entrance.

Inside a host of men in business suits and some in Chinese robes from the past were seated on the floors, others walking about. Music blared. It was ancient music. From the throngs came a woman, statuesque and in a long flowing robe. She was Asian and her hair was raven-black and crowned in a diadem.

"Empress, I have a gift for you," the guy said, " a new slave for the palace."

"This one will do nicely. Where did you get her from?"

"She works at Madame Chang's restaurant."

"Almost too funny. My husband is the owner of that place. He hardly ever sees to that business. He has someone else running it for him. You did well. My husband will pay you of course. Now leave us."

Empress Ming surveyed the girl with her eyes and hands. She guided her hands from the girls' shoulders down to the small of her back, felt her hips and her legs. The girl squirmed, uncomfortable with a woman touching her this way. The Empress had a malicious gleam in her eye and a grin. 

"I think you shall be our cup-bearer but as with the other girls," she said, "you will still be used for the sexual gratification of our guests."

"Who are you and what is this place? Why was I brought here?" the girl said, nearly in tears.

"You were selected by the Emperor Zheng, my husband, to be our new slave girl. He has men who dutifully take girls from the city he feels are perfect for service at the palace. You will not be paid but you will have a room at the palace, clothing and garments, food and care. You are now beginning a new life. I am Ming. If I have need of your services, I shall call you. The slave girls are under my protection and they take orders from me as well. Come, I shall show you to your room."

In tears, the girl was taken to a small but pretty room in the "Palace". It was a room full of small throw pillows, a divan a large bed with satin sheets. All the robes in the armoire were made of silk. A large mirror stood against a wall and fu lions were at either end of the room. It was a room tailor-made for lovemaking. She cried as the Empress closed the door, leaving her alone in the room.

FOUR

Again, Hudson was called to the Chief's office.

He had recently bout himself a pet monkey. Every cop in the precinct thought the Chief had gone completely nuts. He had recently behaved like a rich eccentric. It was true the Chief had friends who moved in higher social circles and were among the rich elite of New York in a group that included politicians, the Mayor and his family and the Governor and his brood, but Chief Hiller was still a civil servant, a strong help to the city of New York who was not paid a high salary himself. The people he protected were the crème de la crème. But no one in the force said a word about his odd behavior. He named the little chimp, a male, Sergeant Pepper. Pepper was seated on the Chief's chair and the Chief was standing next to him feeding it a small banana and petting it.

"Ah, sorry to interrupt Chief," Hudson said, closing the door, "I hope I haven't come at a bad time."

"Not at all. It's just feeding time for Pepper. Then I'll have Mandy take him home and she'll look after him there."

Mandy was the twenty two year old girl he had recently hired as personal assistant, a very uncommon thing to do for a police chief. Mandy was reliable and did her job well, too well, as if she had been trying to get into law enforcement in a way that wouldn't actually involve her wearing a uniform and going on active duty. She was a short slip of a girl with red hair and her thin features, freckled face and youthful aura made her look a tad like Pippi Longstocking or like the girl in the Wendy's burger restaurant signs. She followed the Chief around a lot and the two were comical to look at, especially when Sergeant Pepper was with them.

"What can I do ya for, Banach?"

"Well you were the one who told me I was needed for an assignment with Vice regarding Chinatown."

The Chief looked at Hudson with a puzzled expression. His memory was failing. He was already approaching sixty which would be retirement age. He sat down on the chair and put the monkey on his lap.

"Oh, right," he said, "I remember now. Yes, it's a new case. It doesn't involve Homicide. We are pretty sure it's Vice crimes. For one thing, we are getting reports about brothels we thought were long gone after busts conducted by Vice years ago. The Chinese are getting more discreet and cunning and hide the fact that a massage parlor is also a way for men to pay for sex after the massage. It's also being said it happens in restaurants and theaters. It's all handled in private and looks like a business because many of the women who are Madames or the hookers are learned and polite and professional, some speak English. It's time for Vice to look into it."

"And you want me to -"

"Investigate. Look into it. If it's really about prostitution, then you need to organize a bust. You and some other vice cops will take care of it. It's a big deal, Hudson and you would be well rewarded. You show me and the force that you can handle other cops under you and do a big time bust then you'll make it higher into the ranks."




Vice Cop Ch. 10



Hudson looked pensively. That would be a dream. He looked away for a moment and thought of Lexa. What would she think if he were a higher ranking officer. But then he remembered Mason and the way Lexa looked at him. He then recalled his appointment with the Cherry Blossom Mail Order Bride company agent. Hudson had already looked at the catalog with pictures of dozens of Asian women from Korea, Japan, Thailand, Vietnam, China and the Phillipines. He was impressed by one girl in particular, a thin and beautiful Chinese girl, aged twenty four. She looked like she had a lot of dignity, intelligent, but sad, lonely and needy. He wanted a girl to need him......

"Ok, Chief, I'll be here when you need me for this. The only thing is it's my day off tomorrow and I need to take care of some personal business."

"Go handle your business. I will call you when I need you."

Lexa had packed all the necessary paraphernalia for her first trip to the Poconos. 

She had been there before, with her mother and father, as a little girl. She knew how to ski but it had been a long time since she had done it. She took various changes of clothes along with her skiwear; warm winter clothes that included a muff, snow boots, and a hooded jacket with the hood lined with fur eskimo-style. She waited for Mason to arrive from the porch of her home and sure enough, promptly at six, Mason arrived. He was not driving his prized Bentley but a small dark brown van. He honk and Lexa approached, waving. 

She had no difficulty taking her own luggage into the back of the van but Mason helped her out in a courteous manner. They got into the van and were on their way out of the city. Twilight had fallen bringing with it a chill in the air. Clouds above them turned grey and the sun had a hazy quality to it 

"You've been to the Poconos, you said?" Mason said to her.

"Years ago when I was a teen and living with my parents," she said, "I love to ski. My mother loved the mountains and the outdoors. For an accomplished opera singer in the city, she always enjoyed nature and the outdoors."

"If you don't mind my asking, where is your mother living now?"

"She was living in Manhattan but she moved out. My father bought a home in Long Island recently. She loves it there. It's beautiful and she has grown a large garden. I haven't visited her in a while."

"You talk a great deal about her; she must be one heck of a woman." They drove on into the descending night, leaving the city and on to the interstate that would lead them to Pennsylvania and the Poconos Mountains. They chatted and joked and heard music on the radio. Mason turned the station from country to jazz, he happened to cross a weather report on the news.

"For those of you traveling by road to The Poconos in Pennsylvania this weekend, take extra caution," said a male announcer, "the weather forecast for the ski areas calls for more snow than normal. Our weathermen are looking into it and we will broadcast a report in case of a snowstorm."

"Oh, no," Lexa said, "what bad luck. I was all set to go skiing. I hope there won't be a snowstorm."

She looked out the window and the skies above were showing every sign of a storm. She sighed........

FIVE

Hudson returned to Chinatown.

Having picked the girl he wanted as wife from among the picture catalog, he needed to talk to to Cherry Blossoms agent, pay him and go through all the legal stuff before the waiting period began. He knew the waiting might not be long. Many of these girls were anxious to come to America and moved as quickly as possible to get to the States. Sure enough, Nat Coldwell was at Madame Chang' restaurant, sitting on the same table in the back, awaiting Hudson's arrival. He was smoking again and in the shadows, being night, he looked a tad sinister.

Hudson approached him and sat down on the chair that was also waiting for him. They shook hands across the table. Nat had finished his solitary dinner and was drinking alcohol. 

"I've selected this girl, she insists on being called Cherry, as my wife," Hudson said to him, "she's from mainland China."

"Very well, now comes the real process," Nat replied, "the matter of payment and what to expect as soon as the girl arrives. Fortunately for you, the girl speaks English."

"Yes I know," Hudson said, enthusiastically, "I read her profile. She was educated in London. She studied violin and can speak three languages. She seems so sweet and so perfect."

"If I were you, Mr. Banach, I wouldn't put these girls on a pedestal," Nat said, cynically, "not all of them are truthful in their profile. But I'm glad you are content with your choice. Call me in two days. I will personally see to it that she gets to your place. A wedding ceremony will be at your expense. You said you were a cop? I'm guessing you saved up for this."

"I have. Thank you, Mr. Coldwell, goodbye.".............

Manhattan police precinct, 10am,

Chief Barry Hiller was absent and Lieutenant Isaiah Dante was taking over for the day. He hardly ever left the precinct himself but had recently taken on assignments which required he go out with a partner. He had called Hudson Banach and the cops in the Vice Department to a meeting regarding the Chinatown case.

"We've been monitoring any hint of illegal activities happening there," said Dante, "and we believe that a prostitution smuggling operation is being conducted by a Chinese Mob. They call themselves The Golden Empire. They are headed by a powerful sort of Chinese Don who claims he's descended of Chinese Emperors. He has a wife who is a Madame of prostitutes and he is said to also hold women in sexual bondage. Reports of missing young girls in Chinatown lead us to believe they are being abducted and taken into sexual slavery."

Everyone's faces showed surprise and disgust. Slavery, happening in America and it was the 1980's. They had a hard time believing it. Lt. Dante showed the cops photographs of the missing Chinese girls. The cops passed the pictures around among each other. Dante continued to speak but was now walking about the room.

"The girls fit a profile - young, pretty and working-class. The girls have disappeared from their places of employment at night. We are positive this is all linked to the prostitution smuggling operation by the Golden Empire. They have, in the past, taken girls from mainland China, smuggled them illegally into the US and put them to work as prostitutes. This is the hardest vice crime we've across. Some of the girls are abused and killed."

Dante's eyes fell on Hudson. Hudson looked like he was lacking sleep but he was trying not to let it show. His dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he was wearing a holster that was attached to his shoulders and back. He returned the Lieutenant's gaze.

"Banach," Dante said, "you're in charge this time. The Chief told me he has assigned you to this position. I trust you are well prepared for all of this."

"Tell the Chief he can count on me as always, "Hudson replied.

"Good. So listen up. You will lead a team of cops into Chinatown where you will search everywhere for any suspicious activity. Look in the restaurants, in the massage parlors, in alleys, in shops, anywhere you can. It is all legit and you can do this without being reported by business owners. Start in two days, Banach."

Good, thought Hudson, that would give him enough time to meet his new wife.

SIX

Mason's van was being bombarded with snow. 

Lexa had an unhappy expression in her face and she hugged her chest to keep warm. Mason looked over to her and continued driving, silently. He coughed. After sometime, they had arrived in the Poconos but they were now searching for the cabin where they would be spending the weekend.

Mason turned on the radio again.

"For those of you in the Poconos, skiing will not be possible but the resort remains open for guests who have already checked in. We urge folks to keep indoors and be cautious. A heavy snowstorm is due to arrive any minute."

"Just our luck, eh, Miss O'Neil?" Mason said, smiling.

"I suppose there's nothing we can do," Lexa said, sighing, "but it's too late to turn back now. We're already here. How long before we get to the cabin?"

"It's across these woods and up that mountain. We should be there in at least twenty more minutes."

"Drive carefully," she said putting a hand on his shoulder, "it looks like the snow if coming down pretty hard."

Mason's brown van crossed the woods, thick with pine trees. Snow was falling and covering everything in white, like a shroud. A few cars were seen passing by, taking different directions toward their own cabins. The Poconos was beautiful, even in the snow, and myriad stars dotted the night skies. It had been so long since Lexa had escaped the city and into the realm of nature. She had forgotten how beautiful it was, majestic, even a bit intimidating.

The roads were now covered in snow so Mason drove cautiously toward the looming mountainside ahead. Lexa looked up. A cabin, not old-looking at all, with balcony, porch and various rooms and a sloping roof came into view. It was on the mountain and the rooftop was covered in some snow. From other parts of the mountain, she saw that lights were turning on in other cabins. It was a beautiful landscape.

"Is that it up there?" she said to Mason pointing at the cabin.

"Yes that's it," he said, "pretty isn't it? It belongs to my friend, the Marshalls. Claire and Victor Marshall, they are a wealthy couple in Manhattan. You'll meet them once we move in together. Nice couple. Remind me to introduce them to you."

They drove up the mountain and drew nearer to the cabin.

They drove up the mountain and found the cabin in no time. Mason parked the car in front of the cabin in the driveway. He helped Lexa with her luggage and carried his own and walked toward the front porch. Some snow had already covered the rail in the porch and it was very chilly outside. The snow was falling down in harder drops. Lexa coughed.

"Looks like we're snowed in," she said.

"And you have a cold," Mason replied, "it will be my pleasure to take care of you, Miss O'Neil. I'm sure we can still have fun indoors. I'll put on some warm tea, we'll tell anecdotes and make conversation, watch cable TV and stay up late."

"I shall like that," Lexa said smiling flirtatiously.

* * * *

The Forbidden Palace was nothing more than a replica of the Forbidden City in Beijing, artfully designed and created by the ambitious Chinese mobster who simply went by the name Zheng. Since leaving China in the early 70's, he had established himself as a major underworld figure. Even Italian Mafia families admired and respected him. Rather than opposing him, the Italian mobsters in New York accepted him as a friend and an equal. He had always claimed royal heritage, even back in Beijing, saying that he was the legitimate heir of the greatest Chinese emperor, Zhu Di. He had studied Sun Tzu's book The Art of War and had ninja "soldiers" in an unofficial military regiment at his command. They were armed with ancient weapons and knew kung fu fighting styles, as originally practiced by soldiers of the Yellow Emperor Huangdi and Shaolin monks.

While many, especially police, regarded all of this as bullshit, and believed that -- was simply a deluded and self-indulgent Mafia lord, probably learning all that Kung Fu from Bruce Lee movies. Still, he was hard to find and had eluded authorities for years. Among his crimes were prostitution rings, prostitution smuggling, illegal drug operations and the piracy of goods and products. 

The hardest thing for New York Police to uncover about "Emperor Zheng" and his Golden Empire was its location. He conducted his "business" from within a pleasure palace but no one knew where it was hidden. The 70's passed and still, cops had no clue where he was hiding his family. For Zheng, life was good. He had three sons and two daughters. His eldest son would inherit his Mafia father's power position and continue the family business..........

Deep beneath the bowels of Chinatown, just as night fell, and just as it happened each night, there was feasting and partying at the Forbidden Palace. 

Zheng had invited many of his Chinese and Italian mobster friends for a lavish orgy. The lights were on, a dazzling array of yellow, red, green and blue lights coming from crystal balls hanging on the ceiling. Music was playing to enliven the spirits, as if the abundance of alcohol wasn't doing that already. Chinese flutes played, mingled with the sounds of ancient stringed instruments and there was dancing.

Empress Ming was proud of the girls she had taken as court dancers. These girls had been geishas in Japan and were expert in the art of dancing and seducing men, but they were not being paid anymore. They were kidnapped by the Empress' ninja soldiers and taken to live as sex slaves at the palace. They were beautiful girls, with flowing dark hair that resembled silk, like the silk they wore in flowing gowns rich with embroidered flowers. They wore flowers in their hair and possessed sexy but coy faces and lips so sweet they seemed aching to be kissed. The dancing was traditional but it always pleased the men.

From among the girls dancing in the middle of the Grand Chamber in which stood the two thrones, was the recently abducted waitress who was employed at Madame Chang's restaurant. She had been taught to dance by one of the girls, and did her best not to fail at her first real dance. She knew that these people were absolutely nuts, escaping reality here in the depths of Chinatown's sewers, actually living as if they were back in 1600's China. The Empress, especially, had a terrible wrath and temper. The girls called her "The Dragon Lady". She had already put some girls to death for disobedience and failure to do what they were told. 

Emperor Zheng and Empress Ming were sitting on their thrones, observing the spectacle and drinking their wine. Sitting on small divans and low chairs were Italian and Chinese mobsters, drunk and rowdy, shouting catcalls and cheering the dancing girls. The music was now taking on a faster pace. The flirtatious sounding flute music ended and the more primal, masculine and sexual sounds of beating drums were played. The music, exotic and strong, helped to arouse the sexual appetites of the men. 

It was almost time. They knew, each of them, that after the dancing was over, they would be allowed to pick a partner among the dancing girls to take back to the bedroom chambers sprawled across the large palace. With anticipation and gusto, they cheered and applauded as the girls danced in a frenzy, swaying their hips, tossing their heads up in the air and reaching out with their hands toward the men.

The men were not the only ones aroused by the girls. Although she did not reveal this to anyone, not even her husband, the Empress was sexually fond of other females. She enjoyed touching, kissing and making love to other girls, dominantly as if she herself were a man. 

Only a few of the slave girls knew of the Empress Ming's lesbian nature. She had taken many lovers in the past but she was always discreet and careful. She knew her husband would feel ashamed and dishonored if he were to learn of this part of her. He believed that only he was enough to sexually satisfy her. As the dancing continued and as the Empress drank some more, the air was ripe and prime with heated sexuality, filling the night with its intoxication.

"Enough dancing," said Emperor Zheng, "now, gentlemen, select your partners and retire to the chambers. I wish you all a good night and remember, you are welcome to the Palace as long as you remember that I alone hold this kind of power and can bring you this kind of pleasure while you continue to be on my side. Gentlemen, I leave you."

He took his wife's hand and kissed it. He was staring at her with lascivious eyes. The Empress was a beautiful and statuesque woman, not taller than the Emperor, but exactly his height, which pleased him. Her dark hair was long and her features were strong. She had eyes that could kill. Her face was cold and eternally expressionless. Whatever emotions she felt, she was able to conceal them. This was of course, a most common and beloved quality of the Chinese. Only other Chinese knew the meaning behind the lack of feeling in faces.

"My wife, come to me tonight," he said.

The Empress was staring at the slave girl who was formerly the waitress at Madame Chang's.

"Not tonight, I am too exhausted for lovemaking with you," she said, "and meaning no disrespect to your Highness, but I want to sit alone in my chamber and work on my embroidery if it so please you."

"It is a womanly act and it is well that you embroider, like Empresses before you, " he said, "go, do your embroidery until you are ready for bed. I shall not wait for you. If it pleases me, I shall find another girl to take to bed."

This should have brought the Empress disgust but she was used to his infidelities. He had taken many lovers in the past. It did not bother her. She, too, had lovers............

SEVEN

Empress Ming wondered if in days of yore, other Empresses did what she did to women. The ancient past was shrouded in mystery and obscurity, and she knew that all things were possible. The Chinese knew the art of lovemaking and had written manuals with illustrations depicting sexual acts of varied kinds. While she had enjoyed sexual relations with her husband often times, her sexual hunger was greater and she craved women. 

That same craving was gnawing at her stomach at the moment. Feeling a rush, she quickly retired to her private chamber, a room in the rear of the palace where very little light came in. Lanterns here were dim, but the Empress had wanted them that way. 

She had always been afraid that some soldier standing guard at the entrance would look into the room and observe her in the throws of passion with another woman. That would not do. The soldiers were loyal to the Emperor, as well, and he might even inform the Emperor of what his eyes observed. The Empress' handmaidens had been sworn to secrecy. They would loose their heads if they told a single soul about the women whom she called into her chamber.

Picking up her long skirts, she rushed into her chamber and gave a handmaiden an order in Chinese. The girl removed the Empress' clothing and prepared a bath. The private chamber was big and contained a sunken bath, made of stone, and by the waters stood three golden statues of fu lions. The waters were being prepared by the handmaidens, who ensured the waters were warm and steamy. Afterward they dropped red and pink roses into the waters and little floating candles on lily pads. The Empress was nude and walked gracefully into the waters.

"The girl, the one from the restaurant, I want her," she said, "summon her now."

"At once, my Lady," the handmaidens said........

She was brought into the chamber with force. She was struggling and fighting against the grip of the handmaidens. She had heard rumors of this very thing, girls being taken to the Empress' chamber for sex. She thought the whole thing was disgusting and loathsome and she wanted no part of it. The handmaidens stripped her of her clothes and tossed her into the waters of the sunken tub. The Empress smiled and laughed. She seized the girl by the shoulders.

"Don't struggle," she said, "It will only make things worse. I will not hurt you. This will be over fast."

"I beg you, Highness, have mercy and do not shame me in this manner."

"I am the Empress of the Golden Empire and you are a mere slave," she responded, "there is no need for me to remind you. Know your place."

The Empress kissed her long and hard, while holding on to her shoulders. The girl squirmed but the Empress' hands, so rough on her, steadied her and kept her motionless. The Empress turned her onto her back, facing away from her. The girl could only see some of the handmaiden still watching from the darkness, their little sandals barely visible in the dim light. They were giggling quietly and seemingly enjoying the scene.




Vice Cop Ch. 10



"You may enjoy this," the Empress said, "I am told many women secretly desire this very thing. I have pleased some of my other slaves this way."

She began to kiss down the girl's neck. It was slow and sensual, and the girl closed her eyes and winced. She felt very sensitive at the back of her neck and the Empress seemed to catch on. She arched her back and her breasts were seized by the Empress' hands. 

Her nipples, too were sensitive. The Empress squeezed her breasts and pinched her nipples, making them pebble-hard. The girl moaned and writhed against the Empress' body. Their bodies were pressed against each other and the Empress' big breasts stimulated the small of her back. They continued to kiss but this time the girl allowed herself to feel the pleasure which came in waves. 

The waters surrounding them were warm and the steam was also an arousing component. The Empress kissed well. The girl was putty in her hands. The Empress proceeded to move downward, her hot mouth trailing a path of kisses down the girls' back. The girl protested when the Empress held her by the ass. Quickly, she turned the girl around to face her directly in the face. After another impassioned kiss, the Empress parted her legs forcefully, urging them to remain parted. The girl held on to the feet of a fu lion statue for support. 

The Empress's head rested between the girls' legs, causing her to throw her head back suddenly. The Empress' tongue invaded her tight, wet pussy and she inserted fingers into the slit. The girl was moaning and feeling a bombardment of sensual feelings she had never had before. She moaned loudly and openly, her cries echoing in the room. The Empress moved her head out of her pussy.

"Incredible silence!" she said, "I urge you to quiet your voice. It will bring great shame to my husband should he discover you here."

"Yes, my lady," the girl said.

She did not know what kind of magic was at work. This place, the fact it was hidden from the world, these people, the decadence that reigned here, all was forming part of the spell. 

She was no longer the girl she had been back in Chinatown. She was now a girl from the past, a slave in a palace, and she was enjoying the fantasy and escapism of it all. What a life. It would be her death, but at least it was a pleasurable way to die and to fade away. 

The Empress was very oral and skilled. Her fingers worked their magic inside her pussy and the tongue invading her pussy was also enough to send her over the edge. She moaned and writhed and felt her orgasm building, escalating, coming to a climax. The handmaidens watched and their breathing could be heard. The Empress was masturbating herself while taking the girl's pussy in her mouth. Before long, they both reached their orgasms. 

EIGHT

The day had come at last.

Hudson Banach waited for his mail-order bride to arrive at his home in Bensonhurt, Brooklyn. When he informed his family about this, they were taken by surprise. Their reaction was that of someone who had just been struck dumb. They could not believe that Hudson had done so desperate an act. 

"Marrying a strange girl, a foreigner," Mamma Banach had said, "she's not even Catholic. This is something that has never happened in our family. Ordering her from a catalog as if she were some kind of object. You know nothing about her. I cannot accept this."

She was angry and displeased but it didn't take long before she wished for Hudson's happiness. This was the same sentiment everyone shared -- Hudson's brother Angelo, his little sister Alyssa, his Uncle Vitto, and even Professor Goldstein. They knew Hudson had been lonely and depressed for a long time and he had not officially been in love with anyone since Sonya deserted him. They did not feel that a Chinese girl he knew nothing about would make him happy, but life was all about trying things out. 

Everyone pitched in and organized Hudson's wedding and helped to finance it. It was no big affair. Because Hudson was Catholic and the Chinese girl was not, the wedding would be small and held inside a small auditorium in the Conservatory where the Professor taught. To the sounds of Mendelssohn's Wedding March performed by the Professor's students, Hudson was to be married to his bride. The only thing missing was the bride herself.

Anxious, Hudson had worn his best suit, a dark blue suit with red tie and white dress shirt. He combed his hair neatly and he wore sexy cologne. He was sitting by the porch of his home and looking at the end of the street, waiting for Agent Nick Coldwell to arrive. He would be brining the girl. An hour flew by and it was now noon. He was off-duty and he was glad that no one on the force knew about it. He would have gotten looks and he hated gossip. He figured he'd eventually tell the Chief and other cops later on. His eyes followed a car as it drove down the street and parked in front of a house across the street. From the car emerged Nat Coldwell.

He took the hand of the girl and helped her out of the vehicle. She looked up. Hudson saw her face. It was like the one in the picture catalog. She was wearing a pink Chinese silk robe, sandals and a little hat with a bow tied to her chin. She looked like one of the "three little maids from school" from the Mikado the Professor had been talking about. She was petite and pretty, with rosy cheeks and a warm smile. She had little eyes that spoke of intelligence and humility.

She walked with Nat Coldwell across the street and headed for Hudson's home.

"Mr. Banach, this is Cherry, "Nat said to him, "I wish you a happy life together. Have a good evening."

He returned to his car and drove away, leaving the girl to stand in front of Hudson. He was staring at her in silence and she was bowing her head. 

"You don't have to do that," Hudson said to her, "please. You don't need to feel you have to do that."

"But you are my husband," she said, in disbelief, "it is customary for me to bow my head in front of you at our first encounter. You purchased me and I am in a new country, vowing to spend my life with you. It is a sign of my respect. I am honored to be your wife, Hudson Banach."

He was speechless. He had never heard any gal ever say anything remotely close to what she had just said. She was so different from any girl he knew -- so obedient! He scratched his head, feeling very awkward and he took her by the hand gently.

"Come into my house," he said to her, "we have lots to talk about."

"Yes," she replied.

They stepped into his house.........

He made tea for her and they were sitting on the same couch. She was coy with him and she hardly looked up at him except now and then. She seemed to be enjoying her tea. Then again, Hudson had no idea whether she did or did not. Her face never seemed to change and even her smile seemed a bit forced. He had showed her photographs of his family -- his mother, his father, brother and sister and other relatives. He told her of his father's heroism as a cop in Sicily during Mafia rule and how he had followed in his father's steps to becoming a cop in New York. She did not seem impressed or even interested. 

She just took it all in without any real feeling. She seemed tired. Hudson talked about his career as a cop and how he loved doing his duty. He told her about all that being a cop entailed, including the dangerous aspects that could result in dying while on duty. Again, when he said this, she showed no real response. All she did was stare back at him. It seemed as if she had no idea what a cop was.

"I'm told you play the violin," he said to her, "that's what your ad said at least. Do you?"

"I am afraid I cannot play the violin," she said, "it was an embellishment I wrote in the hopes of attracting a husband. I see now that it worked well. You must love music very much."

"I do. I have a dear friend who is a music professor who has taught me to love classical music. But one thing I don't like is lying. You didn't have to lie to me, Cherry, you could have just told the truth from the beginning."

"Are you displeased because I cannot play any music?"

"No I'm not displeased, Cherry. Just speak the truth to me always. If you lie to me, I won't like you as much."

"I understand. Forgiveness, please."

"Did you learn anything in Europe?"

"I was never in Europe. I learned singing and dancing in China. I was in kabuki plays in Japan, too."

"Do you like theater? There are theaters here in New York with dozens of plays and musicals on Broadway. There is also great opera to be heard here."

"Oh I shall like to hear it. And will you show me around the city? It's such a big city. The biggest I've ever seen. And so many different kinds of people. I am in awe of this New York City as you call it. I want to learn everything about it."

He didn't want to tell her about all the dangers too, all the badness and the grim realities he was faced with day after day as a cop. The city had its dark side. Instead, he had a masculine feeling of wanting to protect her and shelter her, to keep her in the dark about all the evils of the city. 

"I am honored to be the one to introduce you to American culture, Cherry."

Hudson smiled a big smile..........

The candles were placed on the tables which were covered in white tablecloths that resembled the wedding gown worn by Cherry herself. Alyssa had put the candles gingerly on the table one by one and smiled as she saw Hudson, in his tuxedo, smiling like he had never smiled before. Cherry was a vision in white. She had an angelic face and her eyes were radiant, catching the light of the candles. 

Everyone was there. Everyone in Hudson's life, including the Professor. Mamma Banach was in tears as the priest conducted the ceremony and Hudson read his vows to Cherry. They exchanged wedding rings, golden little circles that glistened in the lights of the auditioum. The Professor was awed by everything. His students played the Wedding March with aplomb, pleasing their professor and everyone present at the ceremony. The night was so beautiful outside and the music floated out into the night. 

Cherry's little hand took Hudson's big hand and they walked down the aisle together heading for his Camaro. They threw rice at them as they left. Angelo loved this part and felt satisfaction hurling rice at his older brother. Off they went, Hudson's Camaro disappearing into the night, heading home to Brooklyn........

The wedding night was something Hudson had been looking forward to with much anticipation. Taking his wife into his arms, he carried her over the threshold after kicking the door open in classic gesture. He took her to their bedroom. He was kissing her passionately along the way. Because he wasn't sure if she was a virgin, he had decided it would be best to proceed carefully and slowly. He would control his sexual urges and hold a tight rein over his passion so as not to scare her. She was delicate, as if she were made of porcelain.

She was smaller than he was. He felt she weighed almost nothing as he carried her to the bed. His kisses were deliberately slow and sweet. She closed her eyes and enjoyed his kisses as he trailed kisses down her neck. Holding her tight, he finally found the bed and put her on it, gingerly laying her on her back. He would have never imagined he'd have a girl in his bed this soon. He thought it would be a long time before something like that even happened. Since moving in, he had tried not to think about it. But now here she was, this pretty Chinese girl, looking up at him with her dark eyes, patiently and sweetly.

"Cherry, are you a virgin?" he said to her, "have you ever been with a man before?"

"No," she said, earnestly, "I have never been with a man before."

Hudson was silent and pensive. He found her very unusual. Perhaps he was too used to American girls who lost their virginity as soon as they turned eighteen. This girl was probably in her early twenties. She heard him produce a sigh. 

"Ok, I'm going to be gentle," Hudson said to her, "remember, you have nothing to feel ashamed about. This is a beautiful thing to do and I will be loving you."

"I want you to love me," she replied.

* * * *

Lexa and Mason were drinking bubbly champagne as they both sat on the wooden floor, covered in a tiger-skin rug complete with tiger head. They had the television on but they were not paying much attention to it. They were paying attention to each other. Lexa was dressed in a warm pair of clothes -- a tight-fitting turtleneck sweater and some warm sweatpants. Mason was, despite the cold climate, wearing a dress shirt and slacks. He did have on a big mustard-colored jacket on. Outside, visible through the glass of the windows, the snow was pouring down heavily. A strong wind was also audible.

"Tell me about your work in LA," Lexa said to him.

"What about it?" he answered.

"You said you were a cop with the LAPD before moving to New York City and before your work here as a detective."

"If you want me to say I saw the kind of juicy and exciting crimes like those in my novels, you're not in any luck. It was pretty much all the dull, routine cop stuff. I was a uniformed cop on the beat in various parts of LA. I didn't like it much. Parts of Hollywood are really ugly to see -- prostitutes by the dozens, lots of homeless people, and drug addicts lying in the gutters. Lots of theft too. And gangs in LA are a real problem. I had my work cut out for me."

"And you hated it, right?"

I sure did. That's why I came to New York City, hoping to find --"

"The the more exciting stuff you write about in your novels."

"Yes and no. I wanted to be a hot shot detective in a city that would reward me better."

There was a silence between them and Lexa looked at Mason with a degree of admiration and fondness. She had read the manuscript to his debut novel, which was set to be published soon, and she thought he was a very gifted and intelligent writer who wrote with not only a vivid imagination so necessary for fiction, but with a degree of realism that came from his real-life experience as a cop. He was so friendly and warm. He had always been so good to her. She remembered the first time they met, at an Italian restaurant she frequented in Queens, back when Hudson had gone to Florida with the dangerous beauty, Candy Spears, unknowingly walking into a trap set for him by the Columbian drug lord Leo Mendoza and his Russian wife. 

It was strange how she had not been thinking of Hudson. Normally, he would pop into her head and she'd wonder why he made her feel so hot and bothered. Now, the more time she spent with Mason, the more he grew on her. 

And the more she looked at him, the nicer looking he became. His blonde hair was thinning but nevertheless he had a distinguished aura about him. A man with age and experience was an especially attractive quality. She loved his mustache, which was also blonde, and his body, which, although not chiseled and muscular like Hudson's, was a stocky body that looked healthy and strong in itself. And his blue eyes were so warm.

She noticed that he had been staring at her as well.

"Miss O'Neil, I must confess," Mason said to her, "I can't leave New York City for the reason that you are here and that I value our time together so very much. I've become very attached to you. I can't think of a better woman to pass the time with."

"Why thank you, Detective."

"I have strong feelings for you, if you know what I mean. We've been seeing each other for quite some time. Everyone on the force, including the Chief knows about us."

"I know. I just feel so awkward at times because --"

"Because we're both working together and at the same time we're a couple."

"Right."

"I never bought that whole thing about the mistake of co-workers getting together as a couple. So what if we work on the same force. We are very good together and that's that."

He was leaning closer to her and their eyes met. Lexa's heart beat faster and she could feel her legs become weak, melting almost. His masculine scent was intoxicating her and she felt his strong masculine presence within reach. He, too, felt her so close and drunk her sweet fragrance and beauty. They closed each other's eyes and she knew what was going to happen next.

He leaned in and kissed her. The kiss was passionate, long and very arousing. They had kissed before but this kiss was one that spoke of more things to come. He pulled her close with his big arm and her breasts brushed against his chest. She felt his mustard-colored jacket and it was a tad uncomfortable. The truth was, they were wearing too many clothes. The fire in the fireplace was getting hotter and hotter. And so was his kiss.

"I want to make love to you," he said to her, his voice, though a whisper, was heavy with lust.

"I'm not saying no, Detective," she said to him," I think it it's about time we made that step."

NINE

Cherry was lying on her side, for this is the position she had found most comfortable. Although Hudson wanted to be on top of her in standard missionary position, she said she did not want to lie beneath him. But neither did she want to be on top, so, naturally, they would do it lying on their sides. 

Hudson was behind her, his cock erect, brushing against her virginal pussy, which had become moist. His big arms enfolded her, cupping her breasts. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel every sensation. Her long, dark hair was like glistening black silk, flowing gently behind her back and over her shoulders. 

She had on nothing but her heels, which she said she wanted to have on during lovemaking. Hudson was gentle and desired nothing but her pleasure and did what she asked of him. She had on a pink flower in her hair. 

Truth be told, Hudson felt he had never seen a more beautiful Asian girl in all his life. And the way she was poised on her side, ready to lose her virginity to him, as beautiful as any Geisha girl he had seen in a movie, he felt that this would perhaps be the most intimate and loving sexual experience he had felt in a long time. Her lovely Asian eyes, with their coy playfulness, and their Oriental enchantment, aroused his passions. But he knew he had to be careful not to frighten her.

"I want to show you how I feel," Hudson said, his fingers sliding into her pussy slowly, "tell me, does this feel good?"

"Yes," she replied and let out a moan.

Seeing how he had her in a state of ecstasy that was yet to grow, he proceeded. His fingers delved into her pussy, sliding in and out, trying to go deeper each time. She moaned and writhed slowly, feeling the first seeds of a building orgasm. Keeping her eyes closed, she held on to Hudson's thighs. Now and then she would cup the side of his face. Hudson would kiss her neck and rub his face against hers. She was getting wetter and her tight pussy felt so good. After he finished working her pussy with his fingers, he took a deep breath.

"It might hurt a bit at first, Cherry," he said to her, "because your hymen will break but it's natural. It's only your first time. I don't want to hurt you so I'll be slow and careful. You'll see, after a while, that it can feel so good."

She felt his cock sliding into her pussy, and his hugeness felt a tad uncomfortable. But she held on to a pillow next to her and readied herself for his entry. He held on to her sweet, round, tight ass. His cock fully penetrated her and drops of blood fell on to the sheets. 

She let out a distinct cry of pain but she bit her lip and tried to ignore the pain. He continued to thrust into her pussy and she moaned as he did so. She opened her eyes all of a sudden. The feelings were too intense and she could not keep her eyes closed. She looked at Hudson and read in his eyes a look she had never seen before. She was herself glowing with passion and they kissed, their mouths devouring one another. She was in ecstasy as he fucked her, each thrust harder than the last, his cock going deeper and deeper.




Vice Cop Ch. 10



Hudson's cock was big, but his doggy-style fucking was measured moderately paced. He knew she wanted this but he wanted for her to enjoy it and not feel pain. She stopped being still and was now alive and moving with the pleasure that flowed into her, like a hot liquid. She was sweating and moaning softly, murmuring wordlessly as she pushed back using her hips and ass, moving back to meet Hudson's thrusts. 

She was dizzy and would switch back and forth from holding the pillow and Hudson's face. She threw her head back and screamed out. Thank God this time it was a cry of pleasure and not pain. She had experienced her first orgasm. Hudson had kept tight control over his own orgasm but now that she had had hers, he grunted as his own climax approached. His seed spilled over her thighs and down her butt.

They were silent and looked at each other, their faces softened with the intimacy they had just shared. Hudson smiled. His warm smile was infectious and she smiled back. They kissed and she let out a girlish giggle.

"I didn't know it could feel so good," she said, "I always thought this sort of thing was painful and women didn't really enjoy it."

"But did you enjoy it, Cherry?"

"Very much. But how often are we supposed to do it?"

Hudson was silent. He tried reading her face. It was hard to read. Being Asian, despite her sweet expression, her face was not legible and it was a pretty pale, calm face, almost like that of a pretty statuette. Hudson figured she would not enjoy too much sex. She would probably never ask him for sex. He would have to initiate sex each time, and infrequently, perhaps even rarely. That disappointed him a bit.

"We don't have to do it too much," Hudson said, "but it is a way to show you I love you and you have to remember that. But I will be patient with you, my love."

They kissed again.

* * * *

While the snowstorm raged outside, Mason and Lexa were caught up in a sexual storm of their own. Their heated kisses drove them both wild. It was pent-up sexual desire that had been building inside them for a long time, since they had not consummated their relationship with sex until now. It was the perfect time. They were together, alone, in a beautiful landscape, and even the heavy, falling snow looked beautiful. The Poconos would be a place where they could return to time and again, at least Mason thought so, where they could indulge in each other's company and make love.

Mason had removed his jacket, shirt and slacks. He was in nothing but his underwear, waiting for Lexa to finish removing her clothes. She was enjoying the fact Mason was lavishing his attention on her. It had been a long time, a very long time, since she was intimate with a man. Mason could not keep his eyes off her mocha-colored body. She took off her top and sweatpants and stood there, poised like a model, in her bra and panties. They were both silent, their breathing becoming heavy.

"You're so beautiful, Lexa," he said to her.

He came up to her and got behind her. He planted a kiss down her neck, keeping his hands over her shoulders. Slowly, artfully, he kissed down her neck and the upper part of her back. Lexa smiled softly and closed her eyes, letting herself feel the small kisses which grew in passion with a steady pace. 

Mason removed her bra skillfully from behind. At once, his hands were on her breasts, cupping them firmly, squeezing them. She let out a moan, for her nipples were especially sensitive. Already, they were pebble-hard under his touch. He caressed her breasts and she slowly began to sway back and forth, her back brushing against his stomach.

Still kissing her neck, his hands now took hold of her hips, which made her still and motionless, but she was still responsive to his touch. His hands quickly pulled down her panties. She could feel his cock becoming hard through the fabric of his underwear which she could feel pressed to her butt. His fingers slipped into her pussy, slowly, delicately. She was becoming aroused and he knew just how to push her buttons at this point, which was only foreplay.

He caressed her pussy long enough to make her wet. He then stood back, took his hands off of her and removed his underwear. When Lexa turned around, she took notice of his erect cock. It was the first time they were both in the nude together and they were very aroused, primed and ready for hot sex. Mason's body was nice, despite the fact he was an older man. He carried his stocky build well, and he had only a small amount of thin body hair on his chest (though not his legs). He was totally in awe at her beautiful figure. Her legs and behind were especially sexy.

He embraced her.

Their mouths were on each other again, tongues darting inside each other's mouths and dueling passionately. They were not wasting any more time. They had waited too long. Lexa knew this moment was bound to come sooner or later. She had imagined that Mason would have taken the opportunity to make a move while staying in the Poconos. Mason held her strongly against his chest, her breasts pressed against his, her nipples rubbing against him. He suddenly picked her up and Lexa automatically and spontaneously wrapped her legs around his waist.

Holding onto her by her buttocks, he let her know in silent aggression that he wanted her there and then. She clung to his back for support and threw her head back the moment she felt his cock penetrating inside of her. She had no idea he was that ready for her. His cock had looked pretty erect. It was possible he had entertained sexual thoughts previously that evening. With the blazing fire throwing red-hued lights around the cabin, they were suddenly feeling hotter than ever before. Sweat pouring down their heated flesh, they were breathing loudly and noisily. 

Lexa felt his cock entering her wet pussy swiftly, roughly, as he grunted. His thrusts were steady but rhythmic, pumping into her deeply and fully. Lexa closed her eyes and felt the sexual sensations splash over her like ocean waves. She was in ecstasy and her climax was slowly but surely building. 

She moaned softly, though at times she was completely quiet. She would open her eyes and look out into the window, her mind on something else. She seemed to be looking at something beyond the falling snow. It was as if she was not entirely in her own body, which at the moment was being pleasured. Mason did notice this but he assumed she was just not a screamer. He could feel her pussy tightening around him, contracting and taking his cock in; could feel, too, her orgasm beginning to develop.

She was raking her nails down his back, though not forcefully, and her moans were growing louder. Mason was able to keep her balanced in the air, owing to her strong legs wrapped around him and he pounded her pussy for what seemed like a long time. She gasped and let out a scream as her first orgasm finally came. 

Mason was not ready to orgasm and was still determined to pleasure her some more. He slowly lay her on the tiger-head carpet directly by the fireplace. He kissed her as he did this and she held on to his shoulders. The furry carpet felt so good against her back and she spread her legs at once and threw her head back. In this spot, she could feel the fire a lot more intensely, as it was closer. The heat seemed to flow into their loins.

Still kissing her passionately, he guided his cock into her wet pussy again. It was a perfect fit. The head slipped in first and he teased her by not fully penetrating her. Instead, he drove his cock in shallow thrusts, slowly and enough to make her yearn for more. She was moaning and breathing harder. Her hands were on his back, holding him tight. 

He was on top of her and his chest crushed her breasts. Lifting himself up a bit, he supported his weight with his hands in a push-up position. He then began to penetrate her with his cock in harder and faster thrusts. They were soon engaged in a rhythmic cadence, so intense and yet so controlled, that it was like a dance. The force of his thrusts from on top of her made the tiger-head carpet shake under Lexa. She let out screams of pleasure as he fucked her good and hard. She had another orgasm. Mason reached his own climax and when it was all over, they embraced each other and remained nude on the carpet for a while, relaxing.

TEN

Mason and Lexa had dressed and they were holding hands on the bed. They had made love once more on the bed. It was now quite late, almost one in the morning. They had chatted up a storm after making love. They were more than ready to begin their life as a couple. Mason told her about the apartment in Manhattan and his hopes that she would begin work as a detective. Lexa had always figured this is what he wanted her to do, as far as work with the NYPD. He had always admired her intelligence, her ability to solve problems, and her resourcefulness.

"You would make a wonderful detective," he said to her, "and it would be a real pleasure to work with you as my partner, Miss O'Neil. I know that they say working together and being romantically involved is not a wise thing, but I don't see the harm in it. Do you?"

"Not at all. I shall like working as your partner."

"It would be namely homicide cases, as you know. And it would require for us to be mobile throughout the city, night or day. We would be investigating murder cases which are not easily solved."

"I am sure we would make a competent team."

Mason turned on the radio.

"For those of you in the Poconos area," an announcer said, "the storm has passed and the roads will be open in the morning."

"I've had a great time with you this weekend, Miss O'Neil."

Lexa smiled back. Her mind drifted away, to New York City, away from the Poconos, away from Mason. She wondered how Hudson was doing. She knew he had been depressed and withdrawn. As always, when she thought of Hudson, she felt a longing and a sense of pity. It was true he had gotten on her nerves more than once, and there was bad blood between them, but there was a strange, magnetic pull between them. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge it. She wondered just why he could never leave her thoughts.

She wondered if moving in with Mason and living in Manhattan and working for the Homicide Department, further away from Hudson, would release her from the hold he had over her. Perhaps or perhaps not.........

Hudson was on Cloud Nine. 

Married life was good. He showed Cherry around New York City, opening her eyes to the wonders of the city, not like a tour guide, but as a native New Yorker. He knew she was impressionable and vulnerable, even a tad ignorant. But he remembered his childhood, how he had been in awe himself as a child when he first discovered the city. Before long, they had been to Central Park, which Cherry really loved, Coney Island, the Statue of Liberty and Yankee Stadium. 

They ate at all the quality restaurants which were Hudson's favorites and danced in nightclubs he had frequented in the past. Cherry did not like dancing in modern nightclubs and to Hudson's surprise, preferred to spend time at home. She was a domestic creature and could cook well. Hudson had never met any girl like her. She never asked for gifts or for public signs of affection, she never demanded anything of him except security as her husband.

But there was a downside. The girl knew practically nothing. Raised in mainland China and born to extreme poverty, she could not read or write. She knew only how to dance in traditional dances and to sing folk songs. Her English had the heavy Chinese accent and her vocabulary was not extensive. But Hudson overlooked all these things and felt a surge of masculinity just by protecting her. Because she had no skills, she did not work and Hudson was keeping her, like a father would keep a child.

He warned her of the possible dangers that could come into her life if she wasn't careful. When he was away on duty, she was left alone in the house which made her even more vulnerable. Hudson told her to keep the door s and windows locked and closed. He told her not to open the door to anyone, not to talk to strangers and to only receive the mail from the mailman. 

Hudson worried that the naïve girl would succumb to some kind of harm or scam because she was alone in the house and New York City was full of scum. But night after night, he found her waiting for him, the house clean and tidy, his dinner ready and nothing out of place or suspicious looking. She seemed content to live like this. Hudson was, too, his life had never been better...........

Hudson was called into Lieutenant Isaiah Dante's office. The Chief was absent and so Dante had to fill in for administrative duties. Hudson felt uncomfortable around the Lieutenant. He always stared at him as if he loathed him for being white. He didn't know if he was just imagining things but Dante did not seem to be content to work in a white establishment like the NYPD. He walked into the office and sat down. Dante was seated on his desk.

"You've been away, I hear," said Dante," you got married, is that right?"

"Yeah. I guess word gets around quick on the force."

"Congratulations. But now it's time for business. Now then, you are to go into Chinatown with a few of our men from Vice and you'll go into the spas, bath houses and massage parlors for the purpose of investigating whether or not any illegal activities are taking place, namely prostitution or narcotics. I'm sure Captain Barry Hiller explained everything to you."

"He did. And may I ask where the Chief is right now?"

"He's been feeling pretty ill recently. His doctor advised him to take some time off. I think it's his diabetes. But anyways, I hope you're adequately prepared for your mission. I know you just got married but I hope that you're not so distracted by love to the point you can't focus."

"I separate my personal life with what I do as a cop," he said.

But then Hudson felt something on the back of his mind, like a door trying to be pushed open. He thought of Lexa. She was part of his job and had been, in a sense, part of his personal life, at least his fantasy life. He could, try as he would, not keep her completely out of his mind. He wondered what happened to her. No one had heard from either Detective Mason Holmes or Lexa O'Neil since they went to the Poconos. Her absence had been prolonged and she had missed his wedding to Cherry, which sort of hurt him. How he had wished to see Lexa there.....

"Banach, bring a holster gun and keep in touch with Dispatch if need be. Good luck to you."

ELEVEN

Chinatown at night was like another world. The lights of the storefront windows were like little neon red and white sparkles and the fu lions glowed as if lit up on their own. There were fewer people up and about in the night hours but restaurants, like Madame Chang's kept late hours and there was always some kind of activity going on. 

Some laundromats kept late hours and Chinatown was also the home of several Buddhist temples that seemed to be open for hours at night as well. But Hudson and the team of vice cops wasted no time, not the least distracted by all the shiny Chinese lanterns or all the cute little stores and restaurants. They knew that this was a pretty hard assignment and not everyone liked the presence of white American male cops in Chinatown. As soon as they arrived, worried faces could be seen among some of the pedestrians up and about. 

Hudson found issuing commands as easy as breathing. He knew that he was still a cop that took orders himself -- from Lieutenant Isaiah Dante, from Chief Barry Hiller, hell even from Mason Holmes at times. He knew that he had very little experience in the field of commanding a team of cops on an assignment out in the streets. But he was pleased with the sudden position of authority given to him and he was bent on doing the right thing. 

"Alright, Mott, Flanders, Stevens, you head into the direction of the red light district," he said to them, "that would be that area right over there where you see red lights. They would have the cathouses there but you gotta look carefully, as some are hidden from view or disguised as regular stores. Owens, Burke, Nielsen, you check out the massage parlors when you see them anywhere. McClintock, you're coming with me. We'll look in the bath houses."

The other cops headed for another part of Chinatown, looking for brothels and massage parlors, disappearing into the night. Hudson looked at the cop next to him. Vince McClintock was a newcomer to the Vice Department. Not long ago, Hudson was himself a new cop working Vice. For that reason, he felt like he could be of great help to Vince and he felt somewhat superior in this role as the more experienced cop, even if that wasn't too much experience either. 

Hudson felt that Vince reminded him of a younger version of himself. Standing at five feet nine inches, shorter than Hudson, but lean and athletic looking, Vince had dark hair, dark eyes and a very smart-aleck y and bold nature. He had the look of a guy who liked to do these assignments for the thrills and for the danger and thoroughly loved to do his job. He had been a uniformed officer on patrol in Manhattan not too long ago. 

"Ok, Vince," Hudson said to him, "this won't be too hard. We go in there, we let them know we're cops and that we're conducting an investigation with a warrant. Vada vim vada boom."

"Yeah and if it's so easy why did we have to take our guns?" Vince said.

"Because supposedly there's a Chinese Triad, a kind of Mafia if you will, that has a grip on area and we don't know if they're up and about ready to confront us."

Vince nodded. They headed for the streets. As it so happened, the Chinese New Years festivities were being prepared. In a few days, the residents of Chinatown would party and celebrate with a fantastic parade as tradition held. Hudson was glad they were conducting this mission before the craziness and chaos of the Parade began. This gave them a lot of time to dig up all the info they needed to make arrest even before the holiday, which was sure to draw all the denizens of Chinatown, both the bad and the good. 

They found the one bathhouse still open in Chinatown. In the 70's, there had been more of them but they were closed because of the prostitution going on inside of them. Hudson had no idea what a bathhouse was. He knew that many gays frequented bathhouses like they did gay bars, in hopes to meet with other gay men for sexual encounters. He hoped that this was not the kind of bathhouse they were looking into. Most likely it was a sauna type place where men and women came to relax. It was probably unisex and it was most likely built and styled in the ancient Japanese sento sort of public bathhouses.

The sign outside had Chinese writing and an English translation. It was called "August Moon Bathhouse". The bathhouse had a dragon over the doorway and the name of it in Chinese letters. The door was closed but a few lights were on, though dim, which indicated that people were still in there. It was a little after eleven p.m. Hudson and Vince opened the doors to the bathhouse. An Asian lady was waiting by the corridor, standing, dressed in a traditional Chinese kimono robe. She bowed her head and smiled warmly as if to greet them without saying anything.

"Welcome, gentlemen," she said to them.

"Evening, ma'am, we're with the NYPD," Hudson said, showing his badge.

Vince did the same. The lady's face did not change. Again, it was a quality these people had. Her face was stiff and expressionless. Her warm but sly smile stayed glued to her face."We're with Vice," Hudson continued, "and we want to know if any prostitutes come in here."

"I wouldn't know, sir," she said, "I'm only here certain nights. I haven't seen anything like that going on around here. If you want, you're welcome to look."




Vice Cop Ch. 10



"That's what we're here for ma'am," Vince said.

They walked down the corridor which was sort of long. On either side of the walls, which seemed old and a bit soiled, were chairs and benches. At the end of the corridor they came across a kind of "fork" room. The room had potted plants and Chinese lanterns here and there. The saunas were sprawled everywhere and lots of steam seemed to becoming from them. One room held a large pool. No one seemed to be taking a swim at the late hour.

"So what do we do now?" Vince said, "we gonna actually bust the doors open and check these rooms out? There are nude men in there you know."

"Hey, it's part of the job," said Hudson.

They burst into one of the rooms. 

Inside, hot steam surrounded the two men inside. It was so thick, like heavy mist, and the men were barely visible. But they were clearly Asian men and they were surprised to see Hudson and his partner Vince. Although they remained seated, they looked as if something terrible had happened. They began to murmur in Chinese.

"Don't be alarmed, this is the police," said Hudson, "we're conducting an investigation into this establishment. We want to ask you gentlemen a few questions. Do either of you speak English?"

"I speak English," said one of the men, "what you want to know?"

He got up and wrapped a towel around his lower body, covering his shame. He looked at Hudson with fixed eyes. He was an overweight man and sweat was pouring down his body. The other man, who was thinner, was seated and looking at the scene with an indifferent sort of expression in his face.

"Do you frequent this bathhouse a lot?"

"I do."

"Do you know if anything illegal happens here, as in prostitution or drugs?"

"I know nothing. I think that the lady who works here may know a little about that."

"The lady who waits at the front entrance?"

"Yes."

"Looks like she lied to us, Hudson," Vince said to him, "she may know everything."

"Thank you, gentlemen and forgive the intrusion," Hudson said to them..........

When Hudson and Vince returned to the entrance of the bathhouse, the Chinese lady was not there. She was nowhere to be seen and it seemed as if she had gone.

"Damn," Vince said, "she escaped. What now?"

"We come here again another day," said Hudson, "come on, McClintock. We're going to meet up with the other cops, and see what they dug up."...

* * * *

The lady who worked as hostess and waited at the door of the bathhouse was in actuality one of the few women who profited off the Golden Empire Mafia but who was not part of it per se. She was paid to provide the Emperor with certain girls she would herself pick up. The Emperor Zheng himself frequented the bathhouse, but very infrequently, and this is where the girls entertained him. Seeing Hudson and Vince coming in to investigate prompted her to tell the Emperor.

"And you say they are cops?" he said to her, as if to make absolutely sure.

"They are Vice cops from the city," she said, "it looks like they will be returning to continue the investigation."

"They want to find a link between the bathhouse and me," the Emperor said, "the American male cop is clever. But I am the Divine Emperor. And they will not bring me down. Ling, tell me when you see the cops again and keep lying to them. If they ask you questions, tell them you know nothing. I will find a way to get rid of these cops, or even find a way to get even with them."

TWELVE

Looking for the secret Chinese triad proved difficult, and the crime organization Golden Empire remained out of reach, secretive and even mysterious. Some believed it was all an urban myth, rumors without truth and the product of the imagination of Chinatown people themselves. The fact that girls went missing often was not new. The same thing had been happening since the 70's. It was believed they were sold into sexual slavery and prostitution but because there was no indication it was happening within the city, it was believed they were taken abroad or to other parts of the US. But Vice had not given up and neither had Hudson Banach, determined to get to the bottom of it. It was especially significant for him now that he had married a Chinese woman himself. 

There were times Hudson thought that sweet and innocent Cherry could be the next victim, the next Asian girl to be abducted and to go missing for years. He worried about her when he was away and had taken to doing the grocery shopping himself so that she wouldn't go out of the house. Cherry did her best to remain happy but she felt, often times, like a prisoner in her own home. 

She would watch television a lot but she found the shows very uninteresting, including the daytime soap operas. She did not understand much English but she felt that the shows were dull. She understood Hudson's concern, especially after he told her about the missing girls in China and the secret Chinese crime organization Golden Empire. Chery was terrified.

Back at the precinct, Hudson felt like time was running out. He knew, as well as the head honchos like Chief Barry Hiller, Isaiah Dante and the big wigs of administration at the NYPD, that if they didn't get any leads and any real clues as to what was going on in Chinatown, they would label the case as unresolved and would remain that way for a long time while in the meantime more missing girls would turn up. 

"Maybe you're going about it the wrong way, Hudson," said Vince, as he sipped his coffee with Hudson, " you have to look into this from another angle. Let's just go after the drugs. It's not been too hard for us here at Vice to locate drug dealers and their hideouts. One thing will lead to another."

"Yeah but Vice has already looked into the drug trafficking that Golden Empire's conducted," said Hudson, "we still don't know where their lead guy is hiding. I think there's a connection between him and the missing girls. If he thinks he's an old Chinese Emperor then surely the girls are taken to him as gifts or as sex slaves. You gotta think that way in order to figure this thing out."

"Makes sense. But where are the girls? "

"We need to get back to that bath house and talk to that woman."

"You are really into this stuff aren't you?"

"I'm going to Chinatown a lot more now. My wife and I are going to celebrate New Years there tomorrow. I'm just worried is all. Someone can take advantage of her, she's like a child. A sweet child."

"Hudson, I know that it's not my business, but --"

Hudson looked at him as if trying to read his face. Vince thought of his words carefully.

"It seems like you got married in a rush. What made you want to get married so soon? You hardly knew the girl and you ordered her from a catalog for Christ's sakes."

"Don't talk about her. She's my wife. You keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you. Besides, my personal life is none of your business, Vince. Now come on. We've got work to do. We're going to find out if that Asian woman is working at that bathhouse tonight.".....

Back at the Forbidden Palace, the Empress had decided she needed a new slave girl. She took up the matter with her husband. He had just finished smoking a hookah and talking business with his Mafiosi associates. As always, he was dazzled by his wife's beauty. She had on a long flowing red robe dotted with little golden flowers. Her hair was coiffured beautifully. She had on white powder on her face.

"My Lord," she said to him, "the time has come again for us to take a new slave."

"It is time," he said to her, taking her hand and offering her a seat.

They were not in the Throne Room. They were seated in a small chamber surrounded in Japanese style screens and they sat on the rug. This was a little corner of the Palace where they enjoyed receiving guests and socializing while smoking. He offered her to smoke with his hookah but she declined. She had never been a smoker. She kept her body clean from the inside and out.

"My Lord," she continued, " I have given this matter much thought. I am told by one of your friends that there is a man, an agent from a mail-order bride company, a man who goes by the name of Nat Coldwell."

"I have heard his name mentioned."

He deals in bringing Asian women to this country as wives for Americans. Surely this man can, if properly convinced through the right offer, bring us a slave girl for our court."

"What a wonderful idea, my wife. I will take to this Nat Coldwell myself. One of my partners who comes to the Palace knows the location of his office. I will talk to him and convince him to get us a girl and I'll pay him for it. Before long, the court shall have a new beauty to serve us."

The Empress smiled.

* * * *

Nat Coldwell was sitting in his office filing papers when there was a knock at his door. He cleared his throat.

"Come in."

The man who entered his office was an Asian in a business suit. He greeted him with a quick smile.

"Mr. Coldwell," he said, "I'm here to talk to you about a very different sort of business."

Coldwell did not seem surprised but raised an eyebrow.

"Have a seat."

"I'd like to talk to you about a proposal," he said sitting down.

"What kind of proposal? Are you interested in ordering from our catalog?"

"No."

Coldwell stared at him.

The man showed him a briefcase containing a large amount of money which made Coldwell's jaw drop.

"The Emperor of the Golden Empire wants a slave girl," he said him, "and he knows you deal in bringing girls to this country as wives. I know this is not something you'd normally do but as you can see, you will be handsomely rewarded."

"Which of the girls interest the Emperor?"

He looked at the catalog which was in plain sight. He found a photo of Cherry and a smile crossed his lips. 

"What a beautiful creature, so coy and so submissive looking," he said, "she would suit the Emperor well."

"That one? But, but she...she has already been bought. She is married. Her husband is --"

"The Emperor will be most pleased with that one, I assure you. The offer still stands. If you bring that girl to the Emperor that is."

He took a deep breath.

"I will be doing something I would never find myself doing. I have sold women as brides to members of the Mafia before but -"

"What is the problem here?"

"This woman is already married. She was given to a police officer with the NYPD. His name is Hudson Banach, he works Vice. This was a recent marriage, too."

"The Divine Emperor wants this girl and his will is law. Be warned, if you don't do as he asks, he will find a way to harm you."

"Where would I meet with the Emperor?"

"You may find him at the August Moon bathhouse in Chinatown. He goes there often and brings some of his prostitutes to work there. Take the girl to him there and you will be paid. He will be there on the New Year celebration."

"It's a done deal. Tell the Emperor the girl is as good as his."

THIRTEEN

It was Chinese New Years.

Chinatown was alive with a magic that Hudson had not seen since his own childhood days when he would wander into Chinatown, fascinated by the culture, and stood starry-eyed as dragon floats sailed down the street. Chinese lanterns, by the millions, were lit and everywhere Hudson and Cherry walked they were cast in blue, jade- green, yellow, red, orange and purple lights. Though it was night, folks were up and about as if it was high noon. 

Cherry had insisted on attending the celebration and she longed to see the parade. Hudson would not refuse her anything and they went, although something inside Hudson's gut told him danger lay ahead.

The Parade was in full swing by the time they got there. They had previously eaten dinner at Madame Chang's. Cherry was like a little girl in a woman's body, joyfully drinking up the sights and sounds, intoxicated by the culture she was so familiar with. The red and green luck dragons, controlled by performes from the inside of the large caterpillar-like costume, rolled down the street. Confetti was falling from the sky and Chinese folk music played. Folks were dining al fresco and people applauded and smiled.

Hudson's eyes moved about the crowds, sensing something was not right. This carnival-like atmosphere was perfect for a criminal to do his thing. He was disappointed that his recent investigation into Chinatown's seedy underbelly hadn't produced any results. As far as he knew, crime was going unpunished and this crime of abducting young girls, obviously to be made into sexual slaves, was a threat and a danger to his own Chinese bride.

As the exotic music became livelier, Cherry began to move her feet, almost as if they had a will of their own, and danced by herself, swaying her head from side to side and gliding here and there. This amused Hudson and he took her hand and danced with her for a bit. Confetti fell around them and their dancing drew the attention of spectators standing and watching the parade.

It also drew the attention of Nat Coldwell and the Emperor. They were hiding among the crowds, and Nat pointed to Cherry. The Emperor smiled and they whispered to each other. Cautiously, Nat approached Hudson and Cherry. He tapped Hudson on the shoulder. 

"Mr. Banach, I presume," he said to him.

"Coldwell, funny running into you here," Hudson said, "you celebrating New Years too?"

The two began to converse and Hudson was now distracted. Cherry stood next to him but she turned to see the parade as it drew to a close. The Emperor moved quickly. With a light and swift tread, he came up to Cherry and seized her, covering her mouth to keep her from screaming. This happened under Hudson's nose. Nat was able to look over Hudson's shoulder and smiled. But Hudson, still sensing something suspicious, turned behind him.

"Cherry!" he shouted.

He turned to Nat who was about to run off but Hudson's seized him in a fierce grip, taking him by the neck and lifting him up off his feet. He knew he had just been tricked. He threw Nat onto the floor. 

Struck by the sudden wildness, his head hit the street and he was unable to move. Hudson ran after the Emperor who was carrying Cherry away. Hudson zigzagged through the crowds, running wildly after them. Before long, they were in a dark alley and Hudson's strong eyesight could see in the dark. He couldn't make out who the Emperor was or his appearance but he was able to see that he ran swiftly and that out of the darkness emerged ninjas who helped him to escape. The ninjas grabbed Cherry and they disappeared down a sewer.

Fueled by anger, he ran and found the spot where they had descended into the sewer but they had locked the sewer lid from the bottom and Hudson was unable to get in................

The following morning, Hudson was back at the precinct in Manhattan. Furious, he told the Chief everything. The Chief was horrified and he had been conversing with Lieutenant Dante and another detective, talking, of all things, about further investigation into the Golden Empire Mafia.

"I'm telling you, Chief, this Chinese mob is responsible for kidnapping innocent girls and taking them to a subterranean lair where this Mob holds court. I saw it with my own eyes when an important-looking man,possibly the mob boss, carried my wife away with a group of ninjas. They went down a sewer but I was unable to get down there because they locked it."

"I'm sorry to hear about what happened to Cherry," the Chief said, "and yes, all the pieces seem to fit alright."

"There's more," Hudson said, "the man who arranged for me to marry Cherry, the agent I paid money to, is a real piece of scum. He is responsible for having Cherry abducted. I suspect the Chinese Mob paid him for this. I knocked him out but I was unable to find him afterward. So if we find this guy, he would be able to tell us more information."

"Don't you know where his offices are located?" Lieutenant Dante said, somewhat surprised.

"I never met with him at his office, but I'm sure your detective here can work on finding him."

"Don't worry, Banach, we'll get this guy. He's going to pay for this," the Chief continued, "meanwhile, I'm going to do my best to help you get Cherry back. I know this is very personal but now it's also a case about finally locating the Golden Empire we've been searching for and arresting its leader."

"How are we going to do this, Chief?"

"I'll send you and some of our best cops working Vice to go down into the sewers of Chinatown. This is a very dangerous mission so we have to take all the necessary precautions. You will all be armed and you'll be able to communicate with us here when you need to."

"I'm ready, Chief," Hudson said, "the sooner we do this the better."....................

The Empress had dressed Cherry in a jade-green, flowers-specked kimono and personally painted her face in white, coloring her lips a blood-red. They were in the room that had been reserved especially for her. Cherry was pale and stiff, trying to be brave but broken and feeling defeated on the inside. Various servant girls helped to embellish her costume by putting flowers in her hair which they had arranged into a long ponytail which fell down her back like a snake hung on her back. She had been scented in fragrant perfume. None of these pretty touches made her feel comfortable or safe. She knew she was among dangerous people. She also knew that her fate was to work as a sex slave, whose only job was to sexually please whoever they gave her to.

And the Empress was staring at her lasciviously....

* * * *

The descending darkness made Chinatown look somber and still. No one seemed to be up and about, though it was still early in the evening. Many had already finished celebrating the New Year, at least publically, and had continued their celebration by honoring their ancestors privately at home. Hudson and a team of cops had entered Chinatown furtively, trying not to attract attention. Tonight might be the night the Golden Empire would fall, and whatever hold they still had over the town, it would all end tonight. 

And Hudson knew it was going to be one long, hellish night.

The cops at his side were cops he knew from Vice -Mott, Flanders, Stevens, Owens, Burke and Nielsen. Vince McClintock, who had begun to enjoy a fine partnership with Hudson, was also at his side. Hudson was a bit edgy, but he tried hard to keep cool and to stay strong and focused. He knew that this was the most personal assignment he had ever taken on. Cherry's life was at stake. Perhaps she had been kidnapped for a special, particular reason. It was this Mob's way of trying to intimidate cops or defying them. Hudson knew that they could easily kill her for this reason, because she was linked to a cop.

Earlier that day, Nat Coldwell had been arrested. Besides having accepted money from the Mafia to allow the kidnap of Cherry, his record proved that he had taken other bribes and had himself been involved in some illegal activities, also connected to Mafia. He knew various Mafia members and he had arranged for them to buy women from his catalog. Because he never reported these Mafiosi, he was acting out as a kind of accomplice, even if it was in the guise of a professional who worked with them as an mail-order-bride agent. None of the women had ever wanted to marry members of the Mafia. Coldwell was taken to a correctional facility and would stand trial, with an obvious jail sentence at the end.

Hudson and McClintock, side to side, moved through the streets, trying to find the best way into the sewers. They decided to split up. Hudson told McClintock to lead the rest of the cops down the sewers but to leave him alone. He'd go on another route in the sewers, which were sure to be long and labyrinthical, and he'd go after the Mob by himself. McClintock did not like Hudson's idea but rather than arguing, which he'd lose anyways, he chose to comply. It was all very personal and Hudson wanted to be alone and do this alone...........




Vice Cop Ch. 11



Previously on Vice Cop, Hudson got himself a Chinese mail-order bride named Cherry. Mason and Lexa retreated to The Poconos for a weekend. For Hudson, married life was sweet until a dangerous underground Chinese Mafia cast a large shadow over Chinatown. Girls were abducted by ninja soldiers who worked for a powerful Asian Mob lord, and were forced into sexual slavery. When Cherry was abducted, Hudson came to her rescue but discovered that she had been killed during an altercation with the Mob boss' wife.

This chapter deals with the pursuit of a serial killer and a separate murder incident. Lexa and Mason are working for Homicide and investigate. Like with other chapters, this is full of plot and action. But you can find a brief sex scene on SCENE EIGHT between a young rookie cop named Vince McClintock and a ballerina. Hudson is not featured in this episode but will return for Chapter 12.

The time is the 1980s...

*

ONE

Upper East Side, Manhattan, 6:30pm 

It was a grey twilight, with very little light, and the sun had set so quickly it seemed as if it had been consumed in a sudden celestial firestorm. 

The spectacular sunset had tinged the skies with hues ofvivid, fiery reds, orange, gold and yellows. After the sun went down, chilliness settled into Manhattan. From afar, cargo ships and other vessels were blaring their horns in the harbor, and seagulls were crying out and swarming through the air in large numbers. The city traffic was heavy and tiredness filled the air; the urbanites of Manhattan island ready to come home and finish their day. 

Professor Dorian Messing who had just come home from teaching classes at New Amsterdam University approached his home. He looked around him, as if ensuring that no one could see him. He was carrying a large bag, but this was not unusual. He carried shoulder bags, backpacks and book bags, being a Professor, and he was always traveling abroad, bringing luggage, valises and bags containing objects and artifacts with him. He was considered an eccentric, even within academic circle and his own upper class society friends and connnections, but some felt he was charming. He liked his privacy and he didn't like to socialize, except at social functions and parties that involved him as a guest of honor.

He sighed in relief as he noticed that the few people up and about didn't seem to take an interest in him. He took out the key to his home, a walk-up with two stories and fabulous Gothic tainted windows, and closed the door shut. Safe inside his home, he quickly removed the heavy clothes he had on -- a trench coat, a blazer, and his dress shirt and slacks. He had on a scarf around his neck which he quickly tossed away. 

He preened in the mirror that hung over the fireplace and smiled. God, did he look great. He was sixty two years old and he looked like a very young man. He wondered why of late he hadn't had any success in finding a mate. No, there was no woman to greet him when he came home. 

At the age of sixty two, he had never been married. Except, for that one occasion, which he himself publicized as a huge joke and a unique way to promote his book written about his experiences in South America's Amazon jungle when he was there in the 1970's. He had the natives stand around in ceremonial garments while he "married" a rather huge lizard he took his pet. He called her Cecile-Cecile. It was only this large, long-living lizard that awaited him in his apartment. 

"Hello, darling," he said in his British accent, "good to see you. How's about a kiss?"

Cecile-Cecile, who slept all the time and only got up to eat, got up to acknowledge his presence. The Professor leaned against her and kissed her on the lips. Then the lazy lizard went back to sleep. The Professor had a very calm and eerie look in his face. His tall, thin figure and his swift moments, which could also appear leisurely, especially when leaning against a wall, made him look reptilian himself.

His large living room had the appearance of a nineteenth century Victorian parlor, with large palm trees and showy plants over a carpet of showy design. There was artwork on the walls, and photographs of himself in various parts of the world, but always in an island, jungle or rainforest. He had been to Indonesia, he had been to Africa, he had been to South America and New Zealand. He was fascinated by the civilizations that had developed in jungle terrains, indigenous people who lived in tune with nature. He had studied the Maori people in New Zealand, He spent years away from modern luxuries such as cars, telephones and newspapers, existing only to satisfy his anthropologist's curiosity. He had taught classes in New York City for years at but also toured the US and Europe lecturing and promoting his books.

On the walls were masks given to him by natives, African painted masks, and headdresses. He collected little idols and fertility statues, displaying them all around the living room as if it was a museum. He removed the object he had been carrying in the bag. He had a malicious look in his eye as he gazed upon it.

It was a human head. 

He knew that he couldn't dare display this on the wall. No. It would have to go into the backroom where he kept all his heads. Company would be shocked and appalled to see severed heads and it would most definitely ruin tea time and the chance of making even newer friends with money.................

A chilliness spread in Manhatttan.

It was just as chilly in Madeline Cavanaugh's apartment. Her apartment had recently been cleaned by professionals. She had paid men to remove the carpeting and only the bare wood floor was left while the carpets were cleaned. She had never wanted to hire housekeeping, though everyone she knew in this part of Manhattan did it. She wouldn't think of it, not so much because she disliked minorities, but because she did not want anyone else in her home. She lived alone. She had always lived alone since moving into New York City from Scarborough Beach, Maine. She had left behind her widowed mother, and embraced the city as a young girl, as a ballerina ready to conquer New York City.

But that had been some years ago. She was approaching thirty now and she knew that her time would be up soon. That's what her ballerina friends down at the American Ballet Theater called it when dancers reached a certain age and could no longer hope to achieve the critical acclaim of youthful performances. She didn't care. Whatever work she could find in the ballet, she got it.

On the floor were the glowing reviews she received for her La Sylphide. She had recently torn up the bad reviews for her Sleeping Beauty, which was an experimental production in which the dancers danced on ice like figure skaters in an indoor hockey stadium. Damn critics. They were all probably picky, fussy fags anyways she thought. She had recently run into a nasty critic at a restaurant downtown and she spat in his face.

"You didn't show any dramatic integrity," he had told her, "you were so wooden and mechanical. Why don't you just hang up those ballet shoes and call it quits."

Bastard, she thought, I'll show him. I'll show all of them. I may not be a big star, but I will be famous one day. My name will be in the papers, on TV, in the media. I'm not ready to retire yet. These feet have lots of life left in them still.

Madeline liked how the bare, glossy brown wood floors were perfect for private dance rehearsals she could do at home. She loved rehearsing her solos here, so far from the eyes of other ballerina bitches who were judging her anyways. She hated the instructors, who pushed her hard, she hated the theater and the typical smells -- cigar smokes, sweat, unpleasant people's breaths on her face and those damn mirrors on the walls.

She hated to see other people dancing. She liked to see only herself dancing, as she did now, right in the comfort of her own living room. She looked into the large mirror on the wall which reflected her living room. She had on a record playing. It was Salome's Dance of the Seven Veils by Richard Strauss. In a week's time, she would be dancing, replacing the fat soprano who would be singing Salome at the Met. She jumped at the chance to perform at the Metropolitan Opera, known as the Met for short. It was a privilege long denied her, even though she had seen other dancers perform there. She knew the part. Salome, the pagan princess, who lusted after John the Baptist and danced before King Herod, asking for the head of the Prophet as her reward. What drama! 

Little did people know that she knew the part all to well, so personally.

While the music played, she began to dance. She swayed and turned, gliding across the floor in seductive movements. Keeping it balletic, she nonetheless managed to ooze sensuality as she began to strip. She didn't have her costume with her but she had already seen it and she loved it. It looked like the sexy outfit worn by Barbara Eden in "I Dream of Jeannie". On her head would be veils and a headdress and she would remove each veil as she danced. The climatic finale to the dance ended in her complete nudity. She chose not to wear a body suit. She would show everything.

She laughed. Fools, they don't know how personally I know the role. How passionately I have loved and lost the man I loved and couldn't have.

She danced around passionately, frantically as if on fire. She danced around passionately, frantically as if on fire. She heard voices in her head, speaking foreign languages she could not understand. She heard King Herod's voice: "Dance for me, Salome!". She heard also the sound of thunderous applause, faint at first but growing stronger like a wind that swept around her. Ah, there was nothing like the sound of applause. "Dance! Dance!". The voices compelled her to dance, as they had compelled her to do other things. She was dancing around a head. It was a man's head, and it had been severed recently, some drops of real blood still smeared on his brow. She was dancing around a head. It was a man's head, and it had been severed recently, some drops of real blood still smeared on his brow...

* * * *

It was official. Lexa O'Neil and Mason Holmes were a couple.

Everyone on the force knew it. They had seen it coming. Everyone on the force knew it. They had seen it coming. No one was particularly vocal about it, but everyone seemed to share the same thought: Lexa got involved with Mason in order to leave behind the world of the routine cop and become a detective like him. They did not see in them a true romantic couple. They saw only that Lexa had an interest in higher-paid detective work and Mason was her ticket.

Chief Barry Hiller congratulated them and seemed genuine pleased. Lieutenant Isaiah Dante did not voice his opinion and remained cool and distant but Lexa knew he disapproved of the match. He had told her once before that she should not get involved with Detective Holmes. But they were opinions based on his dislike of white men. With all the attention they were receiving it appeared as if they had gotten married. But they were only moving in together. Still, everyone felt that was a step towards marriage.

Hudson Banach was just as cool and distant as Lieutenant Dante. He did not look up at Lexa anymore and had returned to duty after a long absence. Lexa heard of the tragic events that occurred while she and Mason had been away in The Poconos. She wanted to comfort him and tell him that things like that were bound to happen, especially with the Mafia involved, and that he should honor his memory of Cherry. But Hudson did not want to talk to anyone about it.

The move to Manhattan was quick. Mason had already furnished the apartment, a walk-up apartment that rose high into the air and overlooked Central Park. It was a lovely apartment, with balconies on the higher floors, marble floors on the lobby level. Everyone in the apartment knew each other pretty well and their mailboxes were lined up in a row as if they were lockers, mailboxes that could only be opened with their individual keys. Residents of the complex could opt to take the stairs or the elevator to get to their apartments. 

For Lexa, the change was big. She had never lived in a place like this and the view of Central Park from the living room was magnificent. Mason had no real flair for interior décor, but he had nice sofas, chairs, a coffee table, potted plants, framed artwork and a chandelier in the dining room. The apartment had only two rooms, and one bathroom. The apartment was situated on the highest floor. A balcony stood right outside one of the bedrooms.

Mason made an extra pair of keys for her. As soon as they had moved in together, their life almost assumed the status of a marriage. They subscribed to Time Magazine, they had joint bank accounts and they were treated, mostly by Mason's friends, as if they were a happily married couple. Before long, they were invited to various social events, mostly parties and charity events and were welcomed by Mason's wealthy friends as part of their inner circle. Lexa was the only ethnic woman among whites; which made her feel uncomfortable but Mason supported her and made her feel better. No one had said a word against her and everyone seemed genuinely happy for her. Life was good and as it turned out, the happy days were flying swiftly by.

For Hudson, time had gone much more slowly. 

Since the death of Cherry, he had given up on finding love. He had not found pleasure in anything. He lost a little weight, owing to his sudden lack of appetite and the fact he was in no mood to return to the gym. He did not meet with the Professor, who had desired to speak with him about what happened in efforts to comfort him. 

He had secluded himself in his home, refusing to speak to anyone, not even his family. But this period of isolation and depression passed. He knew that he could not give up work for long. Before long, he was back in action with the Vice Department. But he did not look particularly involved in the assignments and did his job with a degree of mechanical industriousness, indifferent to whatever happened around him.

Although Vince McClintock, his partner, tried to win his friendship, Hudson's suddenly cold demeanor did not allow it. They were both assigned to the same type of missions, usually finding drug dealers and prostitutes or their pimps. They were assigned to the roughest, most crime-filled parts of the Bronx. They were in the ghettos, cops who made appearances in bad neighborhoods where low-income families lived together like sardines in a can. Their presence was not uncommon and with the problem of street gangs, they were needed even more. 

Yes, the days passed slowly for Hudson. He did find himself occasionally thinking of Lexa. She no longer worked for Vice. She was a detective now, and let everyone know it. She was always seen with Mason Holmes, her partner, and the two were assigned to more pleasant areas in Manhattan, seeing another side of the city that Hudson had hoped would one day be part of his life. 

Lexa and Mason saw the world of the rich and powerful and they were constantly investigating cases not only involving murder, but embezzlement, crimes of passion, sex crimes and white collar crimes. Often, people affected by these crimes came directly to Mason and Lexa.

Yes, Lexa was doing much better. And she had found someone to share her life with. But Hudson, who did his best to avoid her, would sometimes see a far-off look in her face, a strange passiveness, as if she did not belong with Mason either, as if upscale Manhattan was really not for her. But no one else saw it. She was a beautiful woman who knew how to dress elegantly and fashionably, and she had class deep in her bones. Whenever she was out of uniform, that is.

TWO 

It was morning in Manhattan.

Mason Holmes had heard the most shocking news of his entire life when he walked into his office at Homicide. He had turned on his answering machine. Lexa had not yet shown up for work. The female voice on the answering machine was in despair and in shock. It was Claire Marshall, the beautiful wife of his best friend, a Christian pastor, Reverend Victor Marshall. The Marshalls had always been good to him and they had given him the keys to their cabin in The Poconos, where he had first made love to Lexa.

"Detective Holmes, it's Claire," she said, "I need you to come to my house immediately. My husband has been away for days. I'm worried something has happened to him. I called the police and filed a missing person's report. I don't want to wait too long. I hear you're a fine detective and I need you to locate my husband as soon as possible."

"Morning."

Lexa walked into the office, with a coffee cup in her hand. She was in a blouse, jacket and skirt. She was so glad she didn't have to wear uniforms anymore. Sometimes they were tiresome to wear and she felt they didn't show off her feminine beauty, which, despite being a cop, she wanted everyone to know she still had. She walked up to Mason, who had a troubled look.

"What's wrong?" she said to him.

"Something has gone terribly wrong, "Mason replied, "my dear friend Reverend Victor Marshall has disappeared. His wife Claire called and left me a message last night. She thinks something's happened to him."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. It sounds terrible. It makes sense that she'd contact you right away."

"No. She just said he's missing but I know she suspects foul play. I'm so worried myself. This is going to be a personal matter for me. I need to see Claire right away."

"I'll come with you.".....................................

Park Avenue Home of Rev Victor Marshall, 8am

Claire Marshall was wearing a fur coat, to keep warm inside her home. The fireplace wasn't working and the whole house felt like an igloo. She sat, frozen, on an armchair in front of the fireplace, staring at staring at nothing. She had sat on that chair without getting any sleep for the entire night.

She had her back turned and did not see Mason and Lexa approaching. A short, chubby Hispanic woman, in maid's outfit, was with them. 

"Miss Marshall, diz man say he is a detective and wants to talk to you," the Hispanic woman said with an accent.

"Claire, it's me Mason," he said to her, getting her attention.

She slowly turned to look at him.

"This is my partner, Lexa O'Neil. We're so sorry to hear what's happened. It's really important that we talk to you. As of now, the case is open and we find it necessary to begin investigation. It is painful to hear but the biggest possibility is that Victor was abducted."

"I understand," she said in a calm voice, "but first I need some tea. Mercedes, please make some tea."

"Will the gentleman and da lady also want some tea?"

"That would be nice, thank you," Mason said.

Mercedes went into the kitchen, looking over her shoulder only once. Claire told Mason and Lexa to have a seat in the sofa. The small living room was ornately furnished, with dozens of tall palm trees and plants, and antique vases containing beautiful white and pink roses and gladiolas. The carpet was teal blue with little birds embroidered on it. On the wall was a huge picture of Claire and Victor on the occasion of their wedding day. Mason extended his arm and reached Claire's hand taking it softly into his.

"I am deeply sorry, Claire, this is a real nightmare," he said to her, "my partner here said that she was sensing something wrong when we arrived."

"You think someone kidnapped my husband?" she said, choked with emotion, "who? who would do this? Victor was a wonderful man and a good preacher, a man of God. He had no enemies."

"Well investigations take time. I'm pretty sure that we can figure out who did this if we work on it fast and with lots of commitment. But we need your help. Now, you may not be familiar with the procedural."




Vice Cop Ch. 11



"No, I am. I've seen it in the movies and on TV. You are going to dig and dig for clues. You're going to ask a lot of questions."

"That is correct. Now, you're my friend and I don't want to believe Victor is dead. But it is our job to ask questions."

Lexa took out a notebook and prepared herself to take notes. She looked at Claire. Claire took out a handkerchief and dried her tears, blowing her nose at the same time. She did not say anything at first and took a deep breath.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Well," Claire said, "we had just arrived home from the ballet."

"Where was the ballet held?"

"It was the American Ballet Theater. They perform at the Metropolitan Opera House when the opera season isn't on. We had seen Swan Lake. After we got home, I changed into my nightgown and Victor said he wanted to go out for a walk. I never saw him again." 

Mercedes returned with a cart that was weighed with plates, tea cups, tea pot and sugar. She rolled the cart directly in front of Claire. She served everyone tea.

"Thank you, Mercedes."

She smiled softly in response and left the room. Mason and Lexa picked up their tea cups and put it to their lips. Mason was studying Claire. He hadn't noticed her belly, which was somewhat big. Her coat had covered this.

"Are you expecting?" Mason said to Claire.

"Why yes," she said, "I'm pregnant. It's too early to tell if it's going to be a boy or girl."

"Congratulations."

"But this is why I worry. Where could he be? I'm so afraid for him. I wouldn't want to raise this child alone without its father."

"My partner and I will work on this case, Claire. I will not sleep until I find out what happened to yourhusband."

THREE

It was all over the news.

A wave of bizarre murders hit the city, each of them featuring decapitations. It was enough to frighten even the seemingly most secure Manhattan resident. The unknown serial killer did not discriminate and his tastes in victims were all over the place -- politicians, hookers, strippers, garbage men, postal workers, teachers, businessmen, police officers and people from all walks of life and various racial backgrounds. It was a dark time and New York City Police had their work cut out for them.

At Homicide, Detective Mason Holmes and Chief Barry Hiller and a group of other detectives had been investigating the case. The hunt for the serial killer was on. He was being called "the head hunter". Mason was holding a meeting in which he was talking to other investigators and detectives about this "head hunter" and his tactics, in the hopes that they could catch him before he beheaded another victim. 

Mason had assigned Lexa to the specific case of locating Claire Marshall's husband, Reverend Victor Marshall, despite Lexa's initial desire to get on the case of the headhunter. 

Mason worried for her safety and voiced his concern. He was even more protective of her now; after all, she was his live-in girlfriend and the woman he loved. Lexa was disappointed. It seemed as if Mason was stifling her abilities as a detective. But the case involving the missing doctor seemed difficult on its own. She accepted to take on the case, but hoped that it wouldn't take long before Mason appointed to heavier homicide cases.

Mason, in beige sports coat, was standing while the other homicide detectives were seated around a large conference table. Mason was standing before a board with a map of all of New York City's boroughs, with little dots and notes indicating where the killer had struck and how he was moving. It was erratic, and there was really no way to know where he would strike next. 

"He doesn't strike in the same place twice," Mason said, "which makes it especially difficult to track him. He's familiar with New York City, and that has got to mean he was either born and raised here or even if he is not a native New Yorker; he might have lived here for years and become very acquainted with all parts of the city."

"I should say so," said one of the detectives, "His last murder was at a subway."

"Gentlemen, this is a very grandiose case. Serial killers do it for the thrills and to taunt police. They think they are endowed with special powers and intellect and feel that their killings are justified. This one is most likely an evil genius. I can't explain how I sense this serial killer moves in high social circles, that he does not look like your typical serial killer -- with a face that has got that evil in the eyes. This man might even be very charming. No one has ever seen him, so we are in for a long and hard fight."

"What do you propose to do, Holmes?" Chief Hiller said to him.

"Nothing would give me greater satisfaction than catching this devil myself, but it's too hard and we need all the help we can get."

"Why isn't Miss O'Neil on this case?" Chief Hiller inquired.

"She's on another one. It's very personal as it involves a friend of mine."

"I see."

"Miss O'Neil is doubtless a good detective but, well, I felt this is too much for her to handle and far too soon. She's just a beginner detective at this point."

Everyone looked at him reflectively. They all knew how he loved Lexa and was obviously getting her out of this particularly dangerous case so as to protect her. Chief Barry Hiller was looking at the map closely. He walked to and fro rubbing his chin with his hand. Then he addressed Mason.

"This guy is very intelligent," he said, "it's like you say, Holmes. He has murdered victims in Chinatown and has obviously lured them by speaking their language, as well as victims in Little Italy and the Hispanic/Puerto Rican areas of the Bronx."

"Right. Somehow, he lures the victims, possibly posing as a friend or someone who needs assistance. He is constantly mobile. His car has never been identified. If he is not in a car, then he must be taking a taxi or the subway, where he killed his last victim. Now it is my guess that this killer is a highly educated man, an academic intellectual --"

"Like a Professor at a University?" asked one of the detectives.

"Correct. So we ought to be interrogating professors from various universities and colleges in this state, professors who might fit the profile for this killer. The decapitations suggest this man has a fascination with headhunting, like the indigenous tribes in Indonesia, New Zealand and the Amazon jungle. We ought to be looking into professors of cultural anthropology, archaeology or even history. We need to look into all the major universities, and even some smaller colleges. Bill, you look into Cornell, Dan you look into Columbia and I will interrogate the professors at lesser known colleges and univeristies."

* * * *

Lexa was talking to Claire Marshall at her Park Avenue home. Lexa knew how to talk to other women, and being a warm, loving woman herself, she knew just how to speak with tact and with consideration to their feelings. She knew Claire was distraught and desperate. She was pale and fatigued, having been unable to sleep since her husband's disappearance. They were both in the parlor, drinking tea that Claire's Hispanic maid, Mercedes, had made for them.

"You said that your husband has always had an interest in the ballet?" Lexa said to her.

"Oh yes, and it was Victor who got me interested in the ballet," she said, "why do you ask this? "

"Because it's very significant, "Lexa replied, sipping her tea, "it would even be wise to meet with American Ballet Theater personnel and even the dancers and instructors. Perhaps your husband's interest in the ballet is greater than even you imagine."

"What do you mean?"

"Mrs. Marshall, I don't mean any disrespect. An investigation requires that I look at things from various angles and to form various theories. Yes, it's wonderful that you and your husband share a healthy interest in the ballet. My own mother was a figure in the performing arts scene; she was a great opera singer, perhaps you've heard of her, Katrina O'Neil?"

"No I don't follow opera."

"My mother had many admires. The male admirers were mostly homosexuals but there were also a number of straight men. Some of these men often seek out lovers from among the dancers. It's nothing new."

"Are you suggesting that my husband had a lover who was a ballerina?" Claire said, raising her voice, as if she had just been insulted.

"Calm down, Mrs. Marshall. It's only one theory. It could explain your husband's disappearance."

"I'm not sure I understand. Is it your theory that Victor has run away with a ballerina?"

"Not at all. I have met your husband at parties. Remember, he's Mason's friend. He does not seem like the kind of man who would abandon such a wonderful catch as yourself."

"I should say so. He is a highly respected minister and member of the Christian community here in Manhattan. He knows that adultery is a certifiable sin."

"You know that even this knowledge is not enough to hold back some men from committing adultery, hiding it from their wives, even if not from their God. One theory is that he may have had a rendezvous with a --"

"Then you're saying he'll return but with some detailed excuse and story when in reality he's been fooling around with a girl? Why this is terrible. I can't believe that. I don't want to believe Victor's been unfaithful."

"Miss Marshall, if this is indeed the case, and I do intend to find out, then this lover of his might have even done something to him. Women aren't all saints on pedestals."

"As if I didn't know. So you're positively certain that my husband's disappearance involves another woman?"

"It is but one of many theories. The other is a random abduction but there is no real evidence supporting that. You haven't received a ransom note, a call from the kidnapper or anything like that. Mrs. Marshall, if you are willing to collaborate, this investigation will run a lot faster and smoother. I'm going to visit the American Ballet Theater and ask if anyone has seen or known Reverend Marshall. I will also have to look into your husband's phone records."

"I understand. You have my permission to do so, "Claire said.

FOUR

They were on to him. 

Already, a competent team of Homicide detectives were interrogating administration and professors at various campuses in New York. The bigger and more prestigious universities, like Columbia and NYU, were scandalized and downright insulted by the mere insinuation that one of their own could be responsible for the "headhunter murders". Yes, the killer was a genius, but Columbia and NYU were repulsed by the idea that this criminal genius lurked within their lofty academia. Naturally, it was all over the media and press, which further vexed and humiliated these professors. 

Mason Holmes knew that New Amsterdam University, perhaps more so than the other universities, was more diverse, accepting students of diverse cultures and races and socioeconomic status. This was, to his mind, the most likely place where an evil, and highly cultured and intelligent genius could grow. It was his cop instinct, deep in his gut, that told him a professor who knew about various cultures was the serial killer, laughing each time after he beheaded a victim, thinking that all his life, until old age, he would get away with it unpunished. 

He also suspected that this headhunter was the same headhunter criminal he had heard about years ago in LA, when he was only a uniformed cop, and with hopes of being a detective. He would follow news, even international news, regarding criminal activity. In the 70's, there was a similar unknown "headhunter" serial killer who was never captured. Police were baffled by the murders. He was acting alone, and he seemed to "morph" into various people, like a chameleon, and in fact this was his surname for many years -- the Chameleon. Hudson knew that the "Chameleon" was also the "Headhunter". Somehow, he was able to relate to his victim, to assimilate to their cultures. This was the hardest case to crack. And obviously, despite whatever charms he had, he was a dangerous man. 

Having some experience as a sleuth, he knew that the best way to dig for clues was by interrogation, not only of suspects and potential suspects, but of decidedly innocent people somehow linked to the criminal himself. This was always the procedure and it had never failed him. Mason went to New Amsterdam University badge and all, to talk to administration and professors. F.B.I. agents and detectives who were also involved in this case were also on campus, though they were coming in at different times.

Mason was wearing a long beige trench coat and fedora, and after talking to security at the campus, was allowed to enter the administration buildings. 

He requested to talk to the Dean but the Dean was not available. Instead, he was directed to the offices of various professors who taught history, cultural anthropology and archaeology. The big name was of course Professor Dorian Messing. He was like a celebrity at the university; and because of his jet-set lifestyle, which he managed to maintain when he was not teaching, he was not always available. But as it so happened, he was in his office when Mason arrived.

Instantly, Mason felt as if he was stepping into another time. The office was unlike any he had ever seen. Certain professors did not do much with their offices and their décor was bland, nothing more than a simple assortment of books, shelves, chairs and the desk. But Messing had an office that topped them all. It was rather large. It was once the office of a more distinguished archaeologist, Evan Triton. But after his death, Messing, who had been his pupil, took over as Professor and had for years taught at New Amsterdam. 

Before that, he had taught at Oxford, when he was still a citizen of the United Kingdom. The office had a faint exotic fragrance, as if he had somehow captured an actual scent from the Amazon jungle where he had spent many years. A collection of Inca idols and African masks were in his office, ostentatiously arranged as if they were on display in a museum. The carpet was moss-green, as if mimicking a jungle terrain. Tall potted plants in elegant vases stood in the office; leafy, green, ridiculous; most likely plastic.

His office could have been mistaken for a conservatory or indoor greenhouse. Various exotic, tropical flowers were on display, as much a part of the "gallery" as his exotic masks and idols. The flowers ranged from small to big and included various rare orchids, bromeliad, Pink Mink Protea, and anthurium. 

They stood on tables and on top of a number of short Greek pillars. On the walls were monuments to his achievements -- a Time magazine cover with his picture, newspaper articles about him, photographs of both black and white and color that depicted him at work in the rainforests of the world and talking to the natives. Every memento in the office was from another culture and another part of the globe. The only objet d'art that was distinctly British was a tall statue of a Medieval knight in shining armor and a portrait of Queen Elizabeth II.

There he was, this self-centered British professor, sitting on his desk and writing when Mason Holmes burst in. He seemed like he was the living statue in a shrine to himself.

"How dare you, what is the meaning of this intrusion," he said to Mason, angrily, "who are you?"

"I'm sorry, Professor. It's not always my style," Mason said, "especially being an NYPD detective who is on a very urgent case."

"I know all about it," he said, "this is regarding that crazy headhunter criminal fellow, correct?"

"You've heard about it."

"The entire academic scene in this state has heard the news. I assure you, Professor, there is no such criminal lurking in this campus. This is a beloved university with a love, respect and understanding of all kinds of people --"

"I wonder if this understanding extends to even those with criminal intentions, Professor."

"Maybe you are looking into the wrong department. I think you'd do a lot better if you spoke with the folks over at the Psychology Department."

"No. I'm in the right place. I believe the serial killer we are looking for is most likely a very educated man without any visible sign of insanity. He is an intelligent but very disturbed and dark individual, with a hatred for a lot of mankind. He can speak various languages and knows many different accents and has almost become other people, even foreigners. He would have to be someone who is learned in anthropology."

"If you're insinuating it would be have to be me or someone like me, you must think again. What would such a person gain from his murders and why would he even sit in a great place of learning?"

"Evil comes in many forms and this one, like all those masks up on the wall, wears a mask too, a mask of civilized and modern man."

"I don't like your tone, detective. This is a bad time. I'm busy working on a project."

"I'm not going to give up easily. It is a gut feeling I have that this killer is very close and I won't rest until he's behind bars. So you better believe I'll be back. This investigation has only begun and there is not enough protesting from among you Ph. D types to keep me from doing my job."

As he left, Professor Messing silently growled at him. He got up in a fit of anger and took a spear from his collection of artifacts hanging about in his office. He hurled the spear on to the wall, penetrating one of the African masks on the wall.

FIVE

American Ballet Theater Studio, Broadway, 2pm

Lexa O'Neil, in plainclothes, but holding her badge, showed up at the ABT dance studio. When she arrived, two different rehearsals were in progress. One of them was for the ballet scenes in two operas that would play at the Met that season -- Aida and Salome, the latter conducted by their most prominent soloist dancer, Madeline Cavanaugh. Lexa loved the theater, and the moment she stepped into the foyers and practice room, with its familiar air and energy, she was instantly taken back to her childhood, when her mother Katrina would rehearse for her operas. 

The dancers rehearsing for Aida were costume-clad; Egyptian slave get-ups which showed off a lot of their flesh and looked like dancing figures in hieroglyphs on the walls of Egyptian temples. This was to be a lavish spectacle, and they would have live animals on stage -- tamed lions and bears and a great multitude of supernumeraries dressed in ancient Egyptian garb dancing in triumph amidst a background of pyramids and the Four Statues of the Pharaoh Ramses.

Lexa showed the bewildered dance instructors her detective's badge and told them that she was investigating an odd disappearance and missing person's case connected to the ballet. They were cooperative and allowed her to search the premises. But Lexa, who could read faces and could pick up instant vibes from people, got the feeling that they did not like her presence at the theater, that there was no possible way for such a hallowed place as their ballet company could be linked to any kind of crime. It was always the same attitude, Lexa thought.

The dancers looked at her as she walked among them and her eyes were darting about the large dress rehearsal rooms. She would have never imagined that she'd be in charge of investigation for a case that involved the American Ballet Theater. It was sure to garner press coverage and media attention, which would also mean that she would be receiving attention herself. A tall, thin, decidedly homosexual man in tights and a scarf with sunglasses on his hair approached her.

"I'm Julian Ormond, guest Artistic Director for this production," he said, as if his title meant he was royalty, "I've been informed that you're here investigating a missing person's case."

"That's right."

"I don't see how that can involve any of our dancers. They all have clean records. None of them have as much as a single D.U.I. We get girls here who come from Christian or Mormon families, or from families that may not be religious but who have good values."




Vice Cop Ch. 11



"Mr. Ormond, it's not necessary for a person to have no criminal record to commit their first crime," Lexa said to him, "I think this is an issue that involves an extramarital affair."

"And since when is that a crime?" he said, with a small laugh. 

He had an annoyed look in his face, as if Lexa was embarrassing him and he had his hand on his hip. He was drinking bottled water.

"The adultery itself is not the crime. Reverend Victor Marshall, who is a fan of this ballet, disappeared after a performance and I suspect it has to do with one of the dancers. It could be a kidnap or it could be --"

"So it's about one of our dancers who did a really bad thing with a man? A priest?"

"No, not a priest. Marshall is not Catholic. He is a married Christian pastor. Since this is a case I've just taken on, everything is speculation at this point. But I'm digging for clues and what better place than here, where Rev. Victor Marshall was last seen."

"This can't be good."

He drank from his bottled water and surveyed Lexa up and down.

"You're very pretty for a detective," he said to her, "lots of times we get very unattractive men in here and --"

"Please stick to the subject, Mr. Ormond. Tell me, do you feel there is one particular dancer that has the capacity to do something like this with a man like Victor Marshall? Are any of the girls known to misbehave when they are not performing or preparing for a performance?"

He rubbed his dark hair and looked about, his eyes on the girls who were twirling and dancing about the floor. The Triumphal March from Aida was being played on a record player for the girls to dance. Julian Ormond was quiet and pensive. He then turned to Lexa again, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"If you ask me, the only girl here that is most likely to be "bad" is the stuck-up Madeline Cavanaugh, our prima ballerina. She acts like she was born to a life of privilege. My ass! Her mother works as a hotel maid in Maine and her dad was a drunken gambler. She came to dance in New York City like the Queen of Sheba because she had won some scholarship or something. "

"What makes you think she is most likely to be bad? Is she spoiled and rotten?"

"Oh is she ever. She is very deluded. No one really likes her and we all talk about her behind her back. She thinks she can get whatever she wants. It's always her way or nothing. She drives everyone nuts."

"Where can I find this girl?" Lexa said.

He pointed to a room somewhere in the back.

"She's in there rehearsing for the Dance of the Seven Veils. She commandeered that room for herself and is alone."

"Thank you, Mr. Ormond."

He watched Lexa as she walked toward the backroom while drinking his bottled water.

Lexa opened the door without knocking. She had learned from Detective Mason that this was a way to exert her authority as detective and to watch for reactions that could indicate more than annoyance. This is exactly the look she got from Madeline Cavanaugh who was in the middle of her dance. A record player was on and the music to Salome floated in the air. Madeline crossed her arms and put her foot down.

"Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in here?"

"I didn't know ballerinas could use such bad language," Lexa said with a sly grin.

"Security!"

"Don't bother calling security, Miss Cavanaugh. I'm a detective with the NYPD conducting an investigation."

"Is this some kind of joke? I'm no criminal. How dare you come in here. Get out. I'm rehearsing."

"Please understand, Miss Cavanaugh. This is a very important investigation. Reverend Victor Marshall who conducts sermons here in Manhattan is missing. He is known to be a lover of the ballet. He was last seen here before he went missing. I want to ask you a few questions."

Lexa noticed that the girl was very pretty. Her body was young and lithe and she had a proud countenance, as if indeed she had been born into royalty. But somewhere, deep down, Lexa sensed that this girl was pure trash. The fact she had used the f word and her spoiled ways showed that she was no good; used to getting what she wanted.

"Look, Detective whoever you are, I cannot emphasize enough how this has nothing to do with me. My life is the ballet. All I ever care about is my art. I hope you have interrogated the other dancers too. Anything they tell you about me is out of pure envy."

"Do you know Reverend Marshall at all?"

"No. I have no religion. I'm pagan," she said cynically and with a laugh, "but that doesn't mean that I'm a criminal. This is a bad time. I must have my privacy while rehearsing. Please leave."

Lexa looked at her silently for a moment and then left. Madeline's face was still taut from anger and continued to dance, spinning around slowly; gyrating her body to the beat of the exotic music.

When Lexa returned to the other practice room, where a group of ballerinas were now stretching, a scream penetrated the air, startling everyone. At once, the dancers ran toward the direction of the scream. Lexa found that she, too, was running. She came to a secluded part of the theater where a hall led into a number of utility rooms. A crowd gathered at one of these rooms.

"What is going on here?" Lexa said.

"I was bringing back a mop," said an elderly janitor, "and look what I found here --"

On the floor, hidden in part by a number of rags, brooms and buckets was the headless body of a man.

SIX

Lexa walked into Mason Holmes' office so suddenly that it took him by surprise.

He was on the phone but he was compelled to hang up. 

"What is the matter?" he said; his eyes wide.

"I'm now investigating a homicide case," Lexa said to him flatly, "and you'll have to brace yourself."

"Lexa, you're scaring me. What's going on?"

"Reverend Victor Marshall was murdered. He was decapitated and his body was found in the utility room of the American Ballet Theater. I was there when the body was found."

"My God! Poor Claire."

"I notified her of course. It wasn't very easy to tell her what happened to Victor."

"I can imagine. She must be an emotional mess."

"She is not talking to anyone. She told me she will contact you again when she is ready."

"But I'm on another case."

"I know. I didn't want to tell her that. I just find it so interesting that Victor was beheaded, beheaded like that headhunter serial killer you're looking for."

"My God. This is terrible. I don't know what to think."

"It's gotten personal. I have the strangest feeling, though, that the Reverend's decapitation was not the act of your headhunter killer. This seemed like an act driven by passion. The killer left a note. It was hidden in one of his pockets." "What did the note say?"

"You were beautiful."

Mason was silent for a moment. He got up and walked about his office.

"This doesn't sound like the headhunter, who has never left a calling card of any sort. You may be on to something here. This could be the work of an entirely different murderer."

Lexa looked at him, as if watching for his reaction. She took a deep breath.

"I'd like to stay on this case," she said to him, "and me alone. This is a major murder case and I want to be involved in every part of its investigation. Don't say no. I'm ready, Mason. I want to know who did this to Claire's husband."

Mason looked at her, as if studying her. 

"Alright, Lexie. This case is yours. Just be careful. I wouldn't want for you to lose your head."

"Don't worry about that, detective. Mine is a head that is securely fastened on my shoulders."

SEVEN

Vince McClintock, Hudson's partner, was off-duty and although he had called Hudson, Hudson had not answered the phone. Vince would have liked to have had a guys' night out, doing all the typical guy stuff with Hudson. Vince, too, had very little friends and enjoyed Hudson's companionship. 

If Hudson wasn't in such a depressed state, he was certain he could convince him to go to a bar and drink, go to a dance club to check out the girls or even go to a strip club. But there was no such luck. Hudson was still wrapped in gloom and did not want to socialize with anyone. Although he had tried to contact other friends, they had all excused themselves saying they had previous commitments. Vince figured these "commitments" were their girlfriends. Vince, too, was single and he felt that was probably why he got along with Hudson, who seemed to be perennially single. 

So, bored as hell, Vince decided to go to a coffeehouse. He was tired of the bar scene. And more and more prostitutes were picking up their clients from the bars, and he did not want to feel tempted by them. He had always played it safe, being a cop, and didn't want to do anything that seemed out of place. Most prostitutes he had known were on drugs. He saw it all the time whenever he brought a hooker to the police station, disoriented, dyed-haired girls with red eyes and emaciated bodies. At least there was no possibility of a hooker doing her thing at a respectable café. He felt it was time he should try out a new place, and a café was perfect. Maybe he would meet a nice girl there.

The café was called Café du Calais, and it was modeled after a French café-bistro. There was accordion music playing lilting melodies as he entered the establishment, and his eyes were bombarded with pleasant imagery on the walls. Various replicas of Monet's Water Lilies and other Impressionist art like Le Dejeuner Sur L'Herbe hung on the walls, and all the colors, though pastel, were brightened under the café lights. 

Here was a group of people Vince normally did not socialize with, nor was seen with. He could tell right away that these people were, if not wealthy, at least upper-middle class folks who dressed stylishly and fashionably, who seemed to enjoy an idle and leisurely lifestyle. He also saw a lot of academic types -- professors, writers, artists, photographers and philosophers, but these were mostly men. The women seemed to be their girlfriends or young University girls, super models and classy young women from the city. 

Yes, he did not seem to fit in here, but he thought he'd give it a try. 

Stepping up to the counter, he ordered flavored coffee and a light meal. He turned around to notice that the accordion music was not Muzak, but a live band, playing instruments on a small stage next to a brick wall. The accordion music passages were but one part of a small ensemble that featured saxophone and piano. 

It was modern jazz music, very soothing and French sounding. The players were all thin and young and wearing black. Vince thought they looked like a throwback to 1950's beatnik culture. He sat down and waited for his order to arrive. His eyes moved about, searching to see if any girl was sitting somewhere else alone. Everyone was paired up, from the looks of it, either as couples or groups of friends. Vince, who had somewhat large ears on a small face, was able to hear conversations from some feet away. The group of friends sitting directly across from him were evidently French American.

"Catherine, c'est toi? Ma foi, Combien de temps as-tu habite a New York? Je me rappelle bien quand vous etiez un etudant chez le Sorbonne."

Great, thought Vince, it was just as well he couldn't speak or understand French. How he wished he could understand. It would be entertaining to overhear other people's conversations. The two girls in the opposite table were American, one was brunette, the other a red-head. They were both very slim and wearing v-shaped tops and sweatpants. He noticed their shoes were very flat-bottomed, like ballet shoes.

"You can't tell me you don't like the administration at The American Ballet Theater," one of the girls, the brunette, said, "you must be joking. Baryshnikov has done miracles with the repertoire. He's a valuable asset. And Lucia Chase is a legend. What are you complaining about?"

"You're young, Madeline. You never knew Balanchine. He really knew how to handle dancers and how to deliver the goods. Everything that man did for the ballet here in the city was perfect. Today's dancers are just like Hollywood celebrities, spoiled and shallow and self-centered."

"You weren't Balanchine's favorite. And you've had your diva moments, too. I know you, Mila."

"Diva? Me? No way. I'm just Russian."

They shared a laugh.

"You look really tired, Madeline. Did they push you real hard at rehearsal today?"

"You better believe it. And I'm sick of working with second-tier conductors. That last guy whoever he was, my God what a nightmare! I don't care that he's got experience with the Bolshoi. He conducted the orchestra like he was on speed. I can't really dance to his style and if he thinks I'm like some trained monkey, he better think again."

"Look, you're just nervous. This is your first Swan Lake. And that's one hell of a role you're interpreting."

"I hate the Odile costume. It's like someone killed a black-feathered ostrich and removed everything but the black feathers and black skinned stomach! I'm glad I'm going to be dancing for Salome at the Met. That is one step up at least."

Vince had been staring at the girls for a prolonged period and was especially drawn to the brunette girl.

"Look, that guy is staring at us, or you, rather," said the red-head.

Vince heard this and turned his head to look into another direction. He cleared his throat.

"Maybe he's seen me perform. Maybe he's one of those ballet queer fans of mine."

"Or a stalker. You know that I had a guy stalking me once, back when I was dancing under Balanchine. The guy was nuts and I had to get the cops after him. I think I'll know what to do."

She got up from the table and approached Vince, who had grabbed a free newspaper and pretended to read it. The girl tapped his shoulder. Vince turned around and looked up to see her face to face.

"You've been looking at me like you know me," she said, "do you?"

"No," Vince said, "I'm sorry if I startled you. You're just so beautiful."

"Do you attend the ballet?"

"Me? I've never been to a ballet in all my life."

"So you don't know who I am?"

"No. Who are you? An actress?"

"I'm Madeline Cavanaugh of the American Ballet Theater."

She extended her hand to him, as if expecting him to kiss it but Vince took her hand and shook it.

"I'm Vince McClintock, of the New York Police's Vice Squad."

"Charmed I'm sure. I think it would nice to have at least one cop on my side."

She laughed as if she had joked but there was something strange about her remark. Vince ignored it and smiled back, entranced by her beauty.

* * * *

Madeline Cavanaugh, ballerina.

Vince was thinking about her the next day when, impulsively, he purchased tickets to Salome at the Metropolitan Opera, which everyone just called "The Met". She had told him that she was to dance and substitute for the soprano. Furthermore, she had said she'd surprise everyone with brief nudity at the end of her dance. It was his first opera and the only reason he was going was to see her. She had been polite at the café where he first saw her and they had conversed for a while, not long, but long enough for him to fall head over heels for her. She seemed genuinely interested in him, as well, and called him cute. She told him she would talk to him again only if he saw her perform. She said she never dated any guy who did not appreciate the the performing arts.

So he went, considerably underdressed in a blue dress shirt, black slacks and leather jacket. It was his "dance club" outfit, and he knew it was not formal wear, but he felt it would do. He hoped she would be able to see him, even from her stance on the stage when she danced. He had purchased an orchestra seat.

The Met was crowded that night.

Men in tuxedos and women in fancy gowns swarmed into the auditorium to take their seats. The conductor, a tall and imposing Russian man, with white Albert Einstein-type hair looked cartoonish to Vince and somewhat looney. There was an excitement in the air and everyone was talking about Madeline. So, apparently, the girl was quite popular and well-known in the ballet world. He felt like an idiot for not knowing who she was. She was so graceful, so elegant but yet so American, which meant she was warm, friendly and approachable. The lights were turned off and the conductor got up, received his applause and struck up the orchestra.

He hated the opera and he could sense that many of the men were eagerly awaiting the "dance".

Some time later, the soprano singing the star role exited the stage and Madeline Cavanaugh emerged. She was like an exotic belly dance from THE THOUSAND AND ONE ARABIAN NIGHTS. She had on many colorful veils and a skimpy "I dream of Jeannie" type outfit. She danced like a woman possessed, erotically, driven and passionate. She removed each veil and teased the audience with a flash of breast, a leg, a thigh, a hip, until finally the last veil was removed and she was on her knees in the nude for a few seconds before other dancers who had been dancing in the background as accompaniment took her away.

And she flashed Vince a smile.......

Vince waited for her in the wings. The red-haired Russian lady, Mila, who recognized him from the Café du Calais, allowed him access to this area. When a troop of beautiful girls in white tutus passed, he was able to see Madeline. She was the only dancer with a tiara on her head. 

"Hey Madeline," he said to her.

"I knew you'd come," she said to him, "I'm headed to my dressing room to change. Wait for me here. I'll be right back."

"She doesn't do this for just anyone, you know," Mila said to him, with a grin, "but the guys who fall for her really fall hard. The last guy she was infatuated with lost his head over her. I don't think she's worth it if you ask me."

"You're supposed to be her friend though."

"We're fellow dancers; not friends. Excuse me."

She walked off the stage and headed for another direction. Vince looked out to the vast auditorium. So many seats, including balcony seats on the upper level. The lights were still on and the last remnants of the crowds that had been seated still lingered. The conductor was putting away the score to Swan Lake in a folder and talking to a violinist. He looked up and returned Vince's gaze briefly, but it was a look of hauteur. Vince was able to see what the dancers saw from their place on the stage. It was very intimidating.

Before long, Madeline returned, looking as if she had just come from a Metallica concert. Her shirt had the Metallica logo on it and her hair was in a ponytail behind her back. She was in shorts, and her pretty legs were nicely showcased.

"You like rock music?"

"I really do. I'm not some stuffy, stuck-up ballerina broad, you know."

They both shared a laugh. She smiled at him.

"How would you like to take me to dinner tonight?"

"Really? It would be my pleasure, Madeline."

EIGHT

Dinner was on Vince, but being a mere rookie cop, he couldn't afford to take Madeline Cavanaugh to an upscale restaurant. So, he invited her to his modest home in Flushing, Queens, which she accepted. Vince was Italian-American, something which he had in common with Hudson, and knew how to cook. His mother had passed away of cancer a few years back, and he had inherited his skills in the kitchen from observing her cook. His father had passed away when he was a small boy and he grew up a single child with a single mother. 

His home in Queens was an unprepossessing, one-bedroom home. The kitchen was very small. Madeline looked at the place as if she didn't even know certain homes were made in small sizes. Vince was certain she was used to the best, and was a Manhattan socialite to the bone.

"You must have lots of rich friends," Vince said to her, "don't the rich enjoy the ballet and that kind of stuff?"




Vice Cop Ch. 11



"Actually that's a big misconception," Madeline replied, "sure it draws the wealthy elite with a taste in the art form, but I've met lots of sincere fans from all social backgrounds. If you have the money to buy a ticket, even one in a back row, that's all that counts."

"So how long have you been dancing?"

"All my life," she said, her eyes sparkling wistfully, "My mother said I learned to dance even before I learned how to walk. I first danced the role of Clara from The Nutcracker when I was still a girl. I danced in several ballets through my teen years, and earlier in my twenties."

"I know it's not always considered good form to ask a lady her age, but how old are you, if you don't mind my asking, babe?"

"I'm twenty eight. My dancing days are nearly over, too. Us ballerinas retire really young because the body can't cooperate later on."

"So what, you thinking of retiring at thirty? What would you do after that?"

"Teach dance. That's pretty much what they all do when they retire."

She looked at the clock on the wall, a small kitschy clock shaped like a cat with its tail serving as the pendulum. It was eleven p.m. She gazed at Vince and smiled at him.

"I really had a nice time, Officer McClintock," she said to him.

"It's Vince, babe. Just Vince."

"You want to fuck?"

She said this so suddenly and in such a straight-forward way that it took Vince by surprise. But as he looked at her, he could read that she was good to go. Her eyes were glistening with lust as she surveyed his small, stocky body, her eyes especially glued to his cute butt. She took his hand across the table.

"I want you to fuck me, Vince," she said to him.

Wildly aroused, Vince nearly knocked over the small dinner table where they had just eaten. He overturned a chair and seized her into his arms, kissing her deeply. She moaned through the kiss and they held on to each other tight, his chest butting against her breasts. They found that they were both getting quite aroused. Their kisses were hard. Vince thrust his tongue inside her which she found to her liking. He tore off her small cocktail dress, which she also seemed to like. They didn't want to waste any time, and were apparently uninterested in doing it in the bedroom.

Vince quickly removed his own clothes, which piled up on the floor beneath him. She was not wearing any bra or panties, which got his cock even bigger. He removed his boxers and she gasped at the erect hard pointing at her. They braced themselves. This was going to be spontaneous and raw, but they were both sure it was going to be damn good sex. He threw her to the floor. She parted her legs and reached her hands toward him, pulling him on top of her. Smiling from ear to ear, Vince slowly guided his cock with his hand on her wet slit, caressing the wetness, making her ache for it.

"Now, Vince," she said to him with urgent lustfulness.

He inserted his cock into her pussy, first in a shallow penetration, allowing her to feel his average-sized cock, with a nice head, embedding itself into her pussy. She wrapped her legs around his small waist and pulled him in. It was a perfect fit. 

They were both slim and athletic, and short in stature. Her body was slim and flexible but fit for a ballerina's physique, and Vince's body was small but strong and stocky. They were now fucking, and sweat poured off their brows. Vince was breathing hard and kept his eyes closed as he focused quietly on giving her maximum pleasure. Although Vince was quiet, Madeline was not. She moaned and threw her head back as waves of pleasure splashed inside her, driving her to the brink of orgasm.

"Oh God you're going to make me fuckin' cum," she screamed, her climax building.

"Fuck me, baby, come on," he cried out, "cum for me. That's it."

"Oaaahh God aaahh!"

She body shook like a tremor as her orgasm erupted, making her scream out in the sheer intense pleasure of it all. She scratched him, raking her nails down his back and squeezing his buttocks hard, as if she had wanted to do this for a long time, as if she was venting, seeking release. Her legs were jello.

Vince, couldn't hold it in much longer and ejaculated, moaning while still on top of her. Finally, he collapsed on top of her. They held on to each other and sighed, waiting for the passionate storm that had just rocked them both subside and die out within them. They kissed, softly this time and more intimately. Vince kissed her neck and shoulders and held on to her ass, as they lay on their sides next to each other. 

Madeline smiled and looked up at the wall, at that damned cat-clock with tail pendulum. She saw that it was only eleven sixteen p.m. She then relaxed into his arms and sighed deeply.

"That was unbelievable," Vince said, "my God. I didn't know I was capable of doing that."

"I think everyone is," Madeline said, as if she was thinking about a particular person.

"I don't normally have spur-of-the-moment sex," he said, "I thought we'd get to know each other first and date before we even thought of --"

"You want to date me?" she said, surprised, even vexed.

"Well sure. I mean I thought you were interested in me when you met me after your performance."

She got up and looked for her cocktail gown, which was torn. He caught her gaze and suddenly felt ashamed.

"I'm sorry I tore up your dress. If you stay the night, I'll buy you a new dress in the morning."

"I would like that, but Vince...I....don't want to see you again. This was only a one night stand."

"But baby --"

"I'm not in love with you and I don't plan on it either. It was really hot sex but I was just in that kind of mood. It was just us two and one beautiful moment. I hope you can understand this and not make it any worse."

Vince sighed in disappointment and frustration. 

"Yeah I understand," he said.

"Good. It's not about you. You're a good guy and all but I have my reasons. I don't want to hurt you."

He found her words to be odd and a bit baffling but he nodded.

NINE

Professor Dorian Messing was walking about Manhattan at night, his mind racing with dark thoughts.

The street lights became jungle trees, the neon lights from storefront windows became flowers, and the broad boulevard became the Amazon River. It was calling to him, that primal urge, that instinct. He could feel like one of them, one of those ancients who dwelled in the jungle, who, more powerful and more masculine than any modern man, answered the call, that particular call that made a man even stronger. Messing craved that energy, that forgotten source of power, that could only come from another........

Dizzying lights became mosquitoes, like the ones that had nearly killed him of malaria. The drums were calling. The natives and their songs. The gods sought a new sacrifice, a new enemy to defeat. He had not left the jungle, he had only returned to the jungle that was New York City............

He had been invited to dinner at the home of an old friend. And the man was not even a real friend. He had learned from experience to act hypocritically and pretentiously. The man, a journalist, had once followed him to Indonesia and forced an interview on him. Outwardly, there was nothing wrong with the man. He was a typically nosy journalist with a taste for scandal but he was a professional. 

It was the fact that this man had pushed his buttons during the interview that bothered him. It was the memory of the man, the memory of the unpleasantness of the interview. He had found him in a hut and had been drinking a strange fluid with one of the natives. He had been younger then, they both had been younger, but Professor Dorian Messing never forgot rudeness.

The Professor arrived at his apartment in the Upper West Side of Manhattan. He rang the door bell. A man who looked to be about sixty answered the door, wearing a turtleneck sweater and leather pants. 

"I see you follow new fashion styles," said Messing, "I had no idea you could even fit into those clothes at your age, Mr. Rock Dautrive."

"Professor Dorian Messing, how long has it been?" said Dautrive, "I'm so glad you answered my invitation. Please come in. It is a bit chilly out tonight....."

"But you were so obviously asking for attention," Roger Dautrive said to him, finishing his wine which he drank from an antique goblet and biting the last piece of his turkey.

"What do you mean by that remark, Dautrive?" said the Professor raising an eyebrow.

"You were an attention whore in your youth as you are now. You know it's true. There you were, an Oxford Professor turned American, traveling the world, looking for lost artifacts and lost cultures. You were in the jungles of Peru, taking those eternally long journeys down the Amazon River, and promoting your books each time you came to New York City. You had TV appearances. You took that film actress with you to Africa. You wanted the whole world to know who you were."

"It bothers me to see that you have changed so very little since 1973, Dautrive. You should not be so critical of me. I do what I do in the interest of --"

"In your own interest. You wouldn't have been involved with that actress if you --"

"I did not come to dinner to argue with you. My arguing days are over. I don't take criticism from anyone anymore."

"Not even from your Dean? I was told he was beginning to find you very odd. You teach a strange new theory. Something about obtaining powers from people who are different than you. What powers are these that you are talking about?"

"Power, my friend, is what every man desires. Every woman, too, I dare say. The power I speak of is inside all of us. It remains untapped in our modern world. Can't you guess what it is?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"Then you are also the same stupid man I remember. My dear Dautrive, I'm talking about the Fountain of Youth."

"Oh come on. Don't tell me you found it during one of your trips and just now open up about it. What? You plan to write a book about it now? Bullshit. You're resorting to lies now to sell books that aren't even promoted as being fiction?"

"Fool. The secret of eternal youth is not a real life fountain. It is in the fountain that flows inside us. The very fabric of our being, the source of our life that flows inside us."

Professor Messing took a letter opener, shaped like a knife, from a table directly next to him. Here is where Dautrive kept his mail. He took the letter opener and seized Dautrive's arm. He stabbed his palm with it.

"What the hell are you doing? Are you nuts?"

Blood began to flow from the spot where the Professor had stabbed him.

"That, that is the secret of life," Messing continued, "every ancient knew it. The very consumption of it. The very excess of it. It keeps us all alive and will keep us alive for as long as the sun burns."

"You've gone crazy, Messing. You are talking cannibalism and vampirism."

"Why do you think I've remained so very young looking?"

A devilish grin appeared on the Professor's face. He got up and walked over to the frightened writer. He looked up at the Professor towering over him, looking like a lion ready to claim his prey. Messing laughed. He was still holding the letter opener.

"You fool, you knew what I did to people in the 70's didn't you? You knew that I did the same thing each time I returned from the jungle. Yet you kept quiet. You didn't tell anyone, not even the police. And why? Because you were waiting, waiting until you could attain success as a journalist. Well, now you write for The New York Times and besides that you are starting your own magazine. You want to write a book as well. And somehow, somehow you want to reveal to everyone what I've done. You want fame for yourself as well."

"Messing, I'm going to put a stop to you once and for all," Dautrive said trying to reach for the phone next to him on his side of the table.

But Messing took his arm strongly and pushed him on to the floor. 

"You have always been a problem for me," Messing said angrily, "and I'm going to enjoy feeding off your energy."

He slit his throat with the letter opener and then proceeded to take out his special instrument from his bag, which he always carried with him. The bag had another head inside. The device was a strange looking artifact with a pointy edge, a sort of big hunting knife. He began to remove Dautrive's head......

* * * *

There was no time to waste.

Professor Dorian Messing knew that cops and F.B.I. were searching for him. He could not forget the determination written on Detective Mason Holmes's face when he had been interrogated. This could only mean that with dedicated detectives like him working on the manhunt, it would not be long before he would get caught. He was sure that not even by silencing his old rival Dautrive would he be able to elude the the authorities. 

It was like a madness brewing in him, making him want to get even with those who saw in him a face of evil. He had never considered any of his murders as a crime. He had motives for his dozens of killings. Many of them had crossed him in one way or another. He felt that he had gotten rid of people who he saw as trash, as scum or as undeserving of life. 

In the 1970's, he had discovered that he could maintain his youthful appearance by drinking some of the blood of his victims. But there were periods of time when he did not do this and simply killed for sport. 

He collected human heads.

He knew that this was a way to feed off their energy, even as their dead faces stared at him. He felt empowered and triumphant. He would write successful books and give memorable lectures each time he committed a decapitation in secret. But now he knew that destiny was catching up with him. He had developed a strong premonition that his identity would be discovered and that he would be sent to the electric chair. And the drums kept beating in his ears, and the voices of the natives, chanting, urging him to kill.

He had decided that his next victim would be Detective Mason Holmes. He knew that he could kill him in a number of ways. A simple invitation to dinner for another "interrogation" could do the trick. He could drug him, slip a sedative in his drink and then kill him. He had found killing Dautrive at a dinner was very easy. Another way was to entrap him. He could lure the detective into a building where he would be completely alone with him and then murder him.

In nothing but a silk robe, he was lounging in his home in Manhattan and petting his pet lizard Cecile-Cecile. He had on the T.V. The news was on. A black anchor woman in puffy hair and broad-shouldered coat sat next to a white male anchorman who had just finished talking about President Ronald Reagan and his visit to Russia. The black anchorwoman retrieved a piece of paper and a photo of a profile, in shadow, appeared in a superimposed box above her head. The profile looked a lot like his own physique that it startled the Professor.

"F.B.I and detectives are looking for a man in his early 60's who is quite possibly the notorious Manhattan Headhunter. He is responsible for many brutal murders that included decapitations. The head of the victims were never found and it is thought that this cold-blooded serial killer collects the heads and keeps them as trophies or for some other bizarre purpose. Chief Barry Hiller of the local Manhattan precinct has issued a statement in which he details the investigation, which is headed by Detective Mason Holmes.

Mason Holmes in his beige trench coat appeared on the T.V. and was answering questions by reporters, standing in front of cameras. He looked angry and upset. His strong jaw made the Professor recall 1930's serials he had read as a child that featured tough detectives or superheroes.

"I can almost smell him," Mason said, "he is very close. He is working as a Professor of Cultural Anthropology or perhaps History or Archaeology at a local university. He is a tall, thin, young-looking man. I have spoken with some eyewitnesses who, although not entirely certain they saw him, claim that they have seen a man fitting this description carrying a large shoulder bag even when he is not teaching, even on weekends. It is very strange, they say, that a man would carry such a bag constantly. It is my theory that this killer walks among us. He may be your next door neighbor. He may be your son or daughter's professor. He looks harmless and may even appear friendly, but no matter how intelligent he is, no matter how educated he may be, this is a man who has killed for sport, for fun, for reasons that indicate he has a schizophrenic state of mind or perhaps some strange mental condition that he might have developed in another country. He thinks and acts like an ancient headhunter from parts of Africa, South America and New Zealand. I am going to continue this investigation by holding an important meeting with all the professors of anthropology. Surely this issue affects even the professors who are innocent."

"Damn that pig," said Professor Messing, "he thinks he's smarter than I am. Well, I'm one step ahead of you, detective."

The more he looked at the TV screen, looking into Mason's Germanic looking face with blue eyes and blonde hair, a man who looked older but still handsome, he acquired a feeling he had not had before. This detective would make an excellent addition to his collection of severed heads. He could attain this man's skills by feeding off of him. He would be able to always elude authorities by killing a member of the Homicide Detectives of New York. He would inspire other serial killers to do the same. He would be a legend. He would be famous, infamous, like so many in history. 

His need for fame had never been greater.

"I'll get you, Detective, if it's the last thing I do."

TEN

Once again, Lexa was at the front door of Claire Marshall's home in Park Avenue. She rang the doorbell and the maid/housekeeper Mercedes answered the door. She immediately showed off her cop badge. But it was an unnecessary thing to do for she recognized Lexa instantly.

"Miss Marshall iz not home, "Mercedes said, "she left me in charge of keeping house and I'm house-sitting while she's away. She went to her house in da Hamptons."

"Did she say when she'll be back?" Lexa asked her.

"She said she wants to be away for a long time. She said three to four weeks. They took her husband's body for examination."

"Yes I know. I know this is a very difficult time for her. But I need your help, Mercedes."

"Anything for Miz Marshall."

"Do you have the number of her house in The Hamptons?"

"Yes. Please come in and I'll get you the number."

She walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa. Mercedes retired to another room. The house was absolutely still and quiet and the gloom left behind after Victor's death still hung in the house. 

His headless body was still undergoing physical examinations by experienced forensic anthropologists who studied bones and who could determine cause of death. All the waiting must have surely made Claire distraught, she was probably seeking a quiet place away from the city and The Hamptons was the perfect place for that. Mercedes returned with a big portable phone and a notebook.

"Here it iz. Da number is on the top of the page," Mercedes said.

"Thank you," Lexa said and began to dial the number.

Claire's old-fashioned telephone, which was an antique she had purchased when she got married, was ringing. It was situated in the library, one of many phones throughout the two-story home. She was in the conservatory which was within the house itself, with a view of the beach shore just beyond the glass. 

She was preoccupied watering some flowers and plants. The plants grew quite large and she was barely visible as she crouched under the grove. She was able to hear the phone ringing, however, even with the sound of the ocean just outside the glass. She removed her gloves and hat and walked to the living room. She picked up the phone.




Vice Cop Ch. 11



"Hello?" she said.

"Claire, this is Detective Lexa O'Neil."

"Oh hi."

"I know you want to be away from all this right now and I understand and sympathize but --"

"But you're still investigating Victor's death and you need my cooperation, right?"

"You have a wonderful habit of finishing my sentences, Claire," Lexa said with a short laugh.

"Alright, so what do you need this time?"

"Does Victor have things there that belong to him?"

"Yes. I didn't bother to look at them. I'm not sure what he has left here. I think he has some music records, some books, some clothes, probably his summer clothes and swimwear he would wear when we would be out here by the beach. Is it necessary to search this stuff?"

"Oh absolutely. I need to come over right away."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm here all alone and your company would be nice. I'll be waiting for you dear."

* * *

The Hamptons, 6:30 p.m.

Claire's home in the Hamptons was not as imposing as the house on Park Avenue. It looked much older, and it had an almost rustic charm about it. It was two stories high with a sloping roof that formed a witches' hat or triangular formation at the top. It was painted a light grey color and it was very close to the beach. The conservatory could be seen from behind the house. The driveway seemed to come out naturally from the sandy shore. It was a beautiful home but because it was so far off, there was a lonely and isolated feeling around it, like an old woman too proud and too set in her ways, staring at the ocean.

Claire came out to greet Lexa. Claire was in a yellow sundress that matched her blonde hair and she had on a pair of sandals. Lexa parked her blue Corvette in front of the house on the driveway. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was slowly setting. The skies were a lurid red and orange. The sunset's vividness grabbed Lexa's attention.

"Beautiful isn't it?" Claire said to her "This kind of sunset you never see from the city. That's why I love coming here. Come in. I'll make us some refreshments. I have some lemonade with ice. Maybe you can stay for dinner."

"That would be nice, Claire," Lexa said, "though I wasn't really thinking of staying for dinner."

"I don't mind if you stay overnight. But it's up to you".........

Seated comfortably around Claire's dinner table Lexa was enjoying Claire's lasagna which was for dinner. She had brought out vintage wine which was stored in the cellar. It was Victor's favorite wine and when he had been alive, they had only popped open these wine bottles during their anniversaries.

Claire was calm, but she was still in mourning. Although she had chosen not to wear funereal black dresses, her grief was written all over her face. She was determined, nevertheless, to get closure and to learn the identity of her husband's assassin, who was still at large. Although they had made pleasant conversation over dinner, as they finished they were prepared to talk seriously again.

"I'm sorry I have no dessert for you," she said, "Victor and I have always been health nuts and hardly ever had desserts, except at certain parties."

"That's alright, Claire," Lexa replied, "the meal was delicious."

"My pleasure, dear."

"Now, Claire I'm going to need to take a look at your husband's things.".....

Claire led her to a room in the back, a room she called the "party room". It was nothing more than a pretty parlor, with a piano, framed artwork on the walls, elegant drapes over the windows, flower vases here and there and a large mirror that reflected the entire room. There were bookshelves and shelves that contained several records. Claire waved her hand to them in a "voila!" gesture.

"Search where you need to search," she said.

Lexa turned her attention to the books and Mason to the records. They searched through these items carefully, surveying them as if they were very important. Claire watched her with a degree of some amusement. 

"I don't see why you need to search through these items," she said to her, "all you'll find is that he had a taste for Thelonious Monk, bebop jazz and swing music. As for his books, some of those are just his old books on medicine."

"Not really," Lexa said, flipping through some of the books, "this is a copy of Dickens' Great Expectations. And over there's a big fat copy of Shakespeare's complete tragedies, and here's Tolstoy's War and Peace."

"What can I say, my husband liked the classics. I suppose these books he kept after his University days. He just couldn't find anywhere else to put them I guess." Mason put each record he removed back to its place on the shelf, though he stared with lingering curiosity at an opera album. It was Richard Strauss' Salome, with Birgit Nilsson singing the starring role of Salome, Sir Georg Solti conducting the Vienna Philharmonic. Right above this particular shelf was a very striking painting - the 1876 Gustav Moreau painting "Salome Dancing Before Herod", obviously a replica.

"I didn't know your husband liked opera," Lexa said.

"He didn't," Claire replied, "we never went to an opera. It wasn't really his thing. He did like ballet though and I remember a really beautiful Sleeping Beauty we saw once when the Kirov Ballet was in town."

"But this is an opera album of Strauss' Salome."

"That's very odd. I didn't even know he had that."

"And what can you tell me about that painting of Salome?"

"I really can't explain how that got there either. I suppose my husband bought that painting back in his student days too."

Lexa had continued browsing through the books on the shelf. She raised her eyebrows upon discovering one particular book, black hardcover, with blood-red titles. The British artist Aubrey Beardsley's Gothic and grotesque illustration of Salome kissing the severed head of John the Baptist was on the cover art.

"And this is Oscar Wilde's play Salome," Lexa said, "a first edition copy too, seems like a very old and valuable book. What is up with your husband's interest in the story of Salome?"

As she flipped through the pages, which were worn out due to age, she noticed handwriting at the end of the book. She read it to herself and was puzzled. Claire noticed her facial expression.

"What is it?" she said.

"It says: "With love from your dancer. I love you."

Claire looked at the book and gasped.

"It seems to me, Miss Marshall, that this book was a gift for your husband from another girl," Lexa said, "Putting two and two together I'm guessing your husband had a thing for a dancer -- maybe a ballerina, someone you never knew about? "

"Oh I don't want to believe it. I can't believe it. He never cheated on me. This girl must have been someone he had a fling with before marrying me."

"We still need to uncover phone records of calls made by your husband. As painful as it may be, Claire, it's possible that your husband was having an affair with someone. But it may also be just as you say. Maybe this girl, this dancer, was an old flame or lover, their relationship having ended before he married you."

"You don't think she killed --"

"That's not certain at all. What we need to do is investigate this and find out her whereabouts. Only she can tell us more information we can use."

"The phone records are at my Park Avenue home. I thought you already searched there."

Not phone records or address books. I'll have to do that."

"Then by all means, do so."

"Do you intend to stay here for a month like your housekeeper said, Miss Marshall?" Lexa said.

"Yes. I want to be in good health when I have to hear the reports by forensic anthropologists. And did you decide to stay overnight or will you be returning to the city?"

"I think I need to return to Manhattan. I have my work cut out for me."

ELEVEN

Mason Holmes sensed danger lay ahead. He could almost feel the Manhattan Headhunter's anger, could almost see him plotting his next move, which would most likely be an escape. He knew that time was running out. Once the killer was outside of New York, it would be even harder to trace him.

He had ordered a meeting of professors and also deans from universities and colleges in New York at a lecture hall on the campus of the lesser known university, University of New Amsterdam. He knew that the serial killer would be among them, so it would be the best move in the process of finding him. The University of New Amsterdam was a state university that was not very big but had the look and feel of an Ivy League university, somewhat resembling Cornell University in Ithaca. The campus had a huge four story library with a bell tower just above it, many classroom buildings with tainted windows and a theater. The crowds of professors and deans arrived promptly at six in the afternoon. Classes were in session and Mason Holmes had ensured that the lecture hall would be off-limits to outsiders. This was a serious matter and he wanted no intrusion.

He knew that professors liked to talk in long-winded sentences, as if they were always lecturing, and he did not want for this meeting to be like that. He wanted to directly confront them about the grave matter of a serial killer, a wolf in a Professor's tweed jacket, who could be found among any of them. They all wore worried faces and sat down talking and murmuring with each other when Mason Holmes arrived. With him was a team of uniformed cops who had been sent along with him for security purposes.

"Esteemed professors of New York," he said, "this is unorthodox but necessary. I may not be in the category of your distinguished membership, but I am a New Yorker like all of you and my job is the protection of the people of New York. My skills as detective help to get rid of the criminals that grow like weeds in our city. I need your full cooperation. I will be handing some papers with questions that may seem offensive for their insinuations but I need you to answer truthfully. This is not about keeping a university clean and free of any scandal or shock. No human institution is perfect. Not every church or university can be one hundred percent guilt-free."

He walked about, handing them papers with the help of some of the police officers. The professors sat in chairs in the aisles and began to look at the papers with looks on their faces that denoted protest.

"A very experienced psychologist has formed these questions that can help with --"

"A criminal psychologist, detective?" asked a professor from Columbia.

"Yes," said Mason, "and a very good one. Like I said don't take offense. This is for the good of our state."

Just then, as pencils were being prepared, screams broke out, ringing in the air. An alarm went off. Panic was everywhere as young students were fleeing from campus. Shots were being fired.

"My God, what is happening?" said one of the professors.

Mason looked out of the open door. From atop the bell tower over the library, a sniper was shooting at the scared students who were running below...............

It turned out to be Professor Dorian Messing. A large squad of armed cops was called immediately and they arrived within minutes to the campus. Detective Mason Holmes had always suspected it was him, the moment he took a look at his bizarre looking office. The Professor had finally lost his mind. Consumed with murderous rage, he began to fire and was targeting random people. After nearly ten minutes of firing, he ceased fire and was quiet, though he was still on top of the bell tower.

Mason was communicating with Chief Barry Hiller and other cops on his device.

"Alright, Holmes, what's the current situation?" said the Chief.

"Professor Messing has stopped shooting. He's up on the bell tower of the library but to get there he ascended some stairs from within the library. That could mean that he can enter the library again."

"Has the library been evacuated?"

"Everyone in the library at this time has fled. But we are not sure. Maybe some students are hiding somewhere. It's hard to tell. It's very eerie and quiet over here."

"You know what it's going to come down to right, Mason?"

"Oh yeah and you can bet I'm counting on it. I'm going to confront the crazy son of a bitch and cuff him."

"Do you have back-up with you right now and do you have your handgun?"

"I do. I'm ready to do this right now."

"Be careful in there Mason."..................... 

Mason walked into the library, wielding his handgun and pointing it straight ahead of him. His eyes were alert and he darted them everywhere. He had excellent hearing and he was straining to hear the slightest footstep or movement. The library had been evacuated and it was deathly quiet. He got the feeling that this lunatic professor had deliberately arranged this situation. He was somewhere in the library, armed with a gun that picked out straight targets, ready to attack him. 

Undoubtedly, he had heard his speech on the evening news. Mason Holmes was becoming more of a celebrity with each passing moment. His novel, "Crime After Dark" had been published and hit bookstores everywhere. In the book, a work of fiction but drawn from his own life, he describes the seedy side of Los Angeles and various crime waves that struck the city while he was a cop with the LAPD. The book was well-received but Mason did not know how to react to the stardom so he maintained his position as strong-jawed, determined, justice-loving detective. This, of course, was probably why Professor "Headhunter" wanted to kill him.

The library was vast. It was one of the biggest buildings on the campus of New Amsterdam University. The marble floors, polished so thoroughly that one's reflection could be seen on it, stretched out like the points of a star. Various rooms were reserved for students to study in private groups, other rooms contained maps and geographical information, while other rooms were simply there for adornment and contained ttractive furniture and sofas for students to relax and read. Potted plants decorated the corners and old paintings of wealthy patrons of the university going back to the turn of the century. Mason walked past these paintings, and the eyes of these men and women seemed to follow him. 

He had come to the conclusion that Professor Messing was probably still on a higher floor or perhaps still in the bell tower. As he approached the stairs, the lights turned off by themselves. Instinctively, Mason knew that this was the Professor's doing. He must have done something to cut off the power. Outside, through the windows, he could hear the squad of armed cops assuming their position, surrounding the library. He heard, too, Chief Barry Hiller arriving and talking to F.B.I. men who were present. He turned on his communication device.

"He's turned off the power," Mason said, "I'm just glad the sun is still out and it's not completely dark. I think he's still on the bell tower.

"Be careful, just watch your every move" said Chief Barry Hiller, "we're here if you need us."

Mason walked up the stairs, which spiraled upward to the higher floors, looking like an elaborate spiral in a snail's back. There were two hanging chandeliers on the ceiling over the steps, dangling down like vines.

Mason held his gun firmly, his eyes searching everywhere. As he finally got the highest floor, he saw Professor Messing at the top of the stairs, standing there, waiting for him. He had one hand on the banister. The other concealed a weapon that Mason could not see.

"I was hoping they'd send you," said Messing, "this is all going exactly as I figured it would go."

"The only place you're going to is Rikers," Mason replied, "that's where you can "lecture" to all the other criminal geniuses in their cells."

"Oh, come now, do you think I'd let you do that? I'm not a murderer. I am a god. You will never know the power I have com to know, detective. It changes everything."

"If you're so smart, how come you're so damn insane?" Mason said, approaching him slowly, "don't you know that psychologists have analyzed you as psychotic? You've developed a rare mental disorder.

"What? Because of my time in the world's jungles and tropical islands? You think I emerged like some Vientam War soldier with trauma? No. I have always called the voices I hear divine. I'm endowed with special powers. The natives told me so. They revered me for having skin as white as ivory. They think I came from a line of gods."

"You're really crazier than I thought, Professor. You don't even seem to realize that --"

"You doubt the existence of pagan gods? Typical Westernized, Christian are you? If God is as real to you and others like you, then it's also logical that to other folks, like the natives I've come to know in various parts of the world, their gods are real. I was once alone and lost in Peru for days and --"

"Yes, I'm familiar with the anecdote. I read your book "For the eyes of the Gods". You wrote about the ancient astronaut theory possibly being true, that theory that holds that space aliens reached our planet centuries ago and helped to form human civilizations. Like in the case with the enigmatic Nazca lines. Did you have an encounter with an alien?"

"They are the real divine gods that the Inca worshipped. I encountered one of them and he communicated with me in the natives' language. He told me --"

"You're insane. You're delusional. You have no right to kill innocent people. I see that you are hiding something behind your back."

"Is it that obvious?"

"I take it it's a weapon you intend to use on me. Are you going to remove my head from my body, Professor? Is that how you get yourself off?"

"It is a pleasure, yes. It's a pleasure to feel the power I wield. I've tapped into the same sense of power that the ancient headhunters felt."

"Yeah, well, last time I checked it was 1986, not ancient times. You are committing crimes not acts of divinity."

"You still don't get it. I --"

"Hands in the air, you're under arrest. And drop whatever weapon you have with you."

Professor Messing was coldly silent, his eyes fixed on Mason, who pointed the gun at him.

"If you make as much as one move to hurt me, I will have to shoot you," Mason said.

Messing moved slowly, as if preparing to get on his knees. He then quickly got up and held a headhunter's hammer-like tool. He grabbed Mason in an arm lock and tried to strike him in the neck. Mason grunted and struggled against the Professor's grip. The Professor was quite strong for someone so thin, but Mason Holmes did not give up without a fight. He pushed the Professor and kicked him in the thigh. The Professor fell to the floor, just above the stairs, dangerously close to falling down the long spiraling flight. Mason, poised above him, put his foot on his thigh.

"You aren't listening, Professor. You're days of killing people are over. Now just stop resisting arrest."

"Fuck you!"

Messing was about to get up again but he slipped and he fell down the spiraling stairs in such a fast and frightening speed that he resembled a ball that had been kicked down the stairs.....................

TWELVE

Professor Messing had suffered injuries after his fall but immediately following his recovery, he was trialed and sentenced to the electric chair. He had killed some 200 people since the late 1960's, from all parts of the globe, even when he was on vacation. In New York alone, he had killed dozens of people. A thorough search of his home in Manhattan resulted in the discovery of a vast "trophy head" collection of all the dozens of people whose heads he had cut off.

He became so psychotic that during the trial, he spoke only in the language of the tribes he had visited along the Amazon. He had lost all sense of reality. Because Rikers Island was both a vast prison and mental instutition, he was sent to the right place. Mason Holmes, who had confronted the serial killer, fought with him and finally caught him, had acquired even more fame in New York City. He was a public figure in the NYPD and he even mentioned he'd write a new book, a thriller based on this psychotic professor...........




Vice Cop Ch. 12



Previously on Vice cop, Detective Mason Holmes and Lexa O'Neil moved into Manhattan as a live-in couple. A "headhunter" serial killer was preying on New Yorkers and it was discovered that he was an esteemed professor from a university. Mason, hot on his tracks, finally confronted him and brought him to justice. Lexa was involved in the homicide case of a neurotic and love-crazed ballerina from the American Ballet Theater who beheaded her married lover and attempted to flee.

This chapter has action-filled elements as seen in previous chapters. Read SCENE ONE, the opening scene, if you're interested in reading the sex scene in this chapter.

*

ONE

Hudson was working Vice with his partner Vince.

It was a hot night that lingered and they were both undercover, waiting in a car they had borrowed from another officer in an alley in Brooklyn. 

There had been reports that a prostitution ring was operating in this part of town, a raw slum with working-class folks, mostly blacks and Hispanics, who lived in crowded tenement buildings and small, crumbling houses. This was a part of the job Hudson hated. Waiting made him impatient and nervous. The slum lord they were after was a pimp named Jasper Jones, a flamboyant African-American man who wore a lot of jewelry and chains and drove a Bentley. He was a really nasty piece of work and he was known to abuse the girls who worked for him as hookers.

"Jasper Jones that can't be his real name, right?" Vince said, amused.

"Who knows," Hudson replied, "I don't want to get into it. Let's just keep focused. In addition to pimping, we'll get him for drug dealing too. He's been doing that in this area."

"Drugs and loose women, never gets old, eh?" 

"Hey, quiet down, Vince. I think he's coming."

From a corner came Jasper, strutting and smoking a cigar, heading for the shadowy profile of a woman who had apparently been waiting for him. The woman came into the glow of a street light and she was now very visible. She was a young and busty black woman with what looked like a light-brown wig on her head. Hudson thought she looked like a trashier version of Tina Turner. She had the same sexy legs anyways. The girl caught up to Jasper. They embraced and Jasper threw away his cigarette.

"Fuck, baby, I need a smoke," she said, "why did you throw it out for? Don't you have any more?"

"Where's my money, Jocelyn?" Jasper said in a firm tone.

Jasper and Jocelyn thought Hudson. O God, these two must really be something when they are together. He laughed internally.

"Look, baby, I didn't have much luck tonight, alright? I didn't make enough and not the money you wanted so -"

"I ought to slap the shit out of you. What the hell did you do all night then? You're the worst girl I've got Miss Jocelyn Jasmine, but you're always a good fuck."

She stared at him hungrily, meeting his own lust and he suddenly ceased her by the waist, pulling her fiercely against him. He kissed her hard on the lips. 

Hudson and Vince were staring from their car and they were glad that the shadows of the alley concealed their faces. Vince began to make faces, especially when it became obvious that the pimp and the prostitute were about to do it right there and then. 

"Do we have to watch this?" Vince said, "let's just bust them right now."

"No; trust me. It's better to wait until they are very vulnerable. Ever notice just how vulnerable people are after sex? They have their energy all spent and everything. They won't even be able to run when we get them. So yeah, sorry, we don't have to watch though. I'll just turn around and you do the same."

Hudson turned around and began to wait, his ears open. Vince, on the other hand, had begun to change his mind and was watching in voyeuristic fascination as Jasper began to hike up her skirt. He was kissing her and she kissed back as passionately as he did. 

She was a big woman, sturdy and if Hudson and Vince had been looking at them from even further away, the couple could have appeared same-sex, both men. She moaned deeply as Jasper, who had unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants a bit, had began to slip his cock into her pussy. She had not been wearing any panties under her skirt.

He held her tight and circled her with his arms. She was against a brick wall in the alley, the intermittent lights of passing cars in the other street cast glares on the wall and made them even hotter. She screamed as he thrust his cock into her swiftly, urgently. It was to be a hard, fast fuck. She held on to his back and screamed her head off, throwing her hair back, and her wig fell off. She had curly hair underneath but it was very unattractive looking. They continued to fuck.

She wrapped her strong legs around him and he lifted her up, pinning her against the wall. There was no real emotion and they looked like two robots going at it. She was sweating profusely and muttering wordlessly to herself. Her pasted smile spoke of her pleasure. She was also overjoyed that her pimp favored her over the other girls who were nowhere to be seen. 

As Vince turned his gaze away for a moment, he noticed that Hudson had begun to fall asleep. It was two in the morning after all, and Hudson had been working since morning. Vince knew he would have to wake him up soon. But as he looked out the window, he was startled when he caught sight of another black girl in tight leather and boots pressing her face and boobs against the glass. Her face said it all. She looked like she was on crack. He rolled down the window.

"Hey, boy," she said, "you look like you've been having a good time watching those two -"

"I- well I wasn't - "

"You can have the same thing for a price. How about it?"

"I -"

"Your friend there is asleep so we can do it right here if you want and I'll try not to wake him."

Well, I can arrest her first, thought Vince slyly. 

"Come on in."

She stepped into the car and sat on his lap.

Back in the alley, Jasper had swung Jocelyn Jasmine around so that she was bent over and her ass was in the air. She was squealing with sheer delight as he began to pound his cock into her ass without shame. She relished in the dirty deed, even outdoors.

"Oh, fuck, yeah baby," she said, in a voice that was man-like, "I love it when you fuck me in the ass."

"Fuck, baby, uhh."

He fucked her in the ass so hard she fell down on the asphalt but he continued to take her ass, this time standing up and plunging straight down, making her giddy with sexual ecstasy. They went on and on endlessly, and it was obvious they had done this sort of thing before. She was now a crying, panting wild animal,her face not visible and her hair in disarray and ruin.

"You want me to suck your cock?" the black girl sitting on Vince's lap said to him.

"I want you to put your hands up in the air -" Vince began to say in slow, measured tones.

"Oh, baby, I like that, what are you going to do to me? I love surprises," the girl said, putting her hands in the air above her head.

"I'm going to arrest you for prostitution," Vince said, breaking the mood and cuffing her so swiftly her head spun.

"O, fuck, " she cried out, "you're a -"

"A cop. And so is my partner. Hudson, wake up. It's about time to bust Jasper."

Hudson seemed alive again, as if he hadn't been asleep. He stormed out of the car, with his coughs and gun and ran toward the alley where Jasper was taking the wanton hooker from behind.

"Fun's over you two," Hudson said.

"O shit," they both shouted in total surprise.

"It's me, your local vice cop," Hudson said, "and you're going down for good Jasper. You won't soon forget the name Hudson Banach and you can be damned sure I'll go after any other drug dealers and pimps in the city if I'm still breathing."

TWO

Greenport, Long Island, 8am,

Lexa hadn't visited her mother in the longest time, so she thought that now that she was a detective and living with a man in Manhattan, it was probably the best time for a visit. They had a lot of catching up to do. 

She had already visited her mother's home when she had moved into East Long Island, the town of Greenport, a historic and charming port. She had helped her to furnish the home and to settle in, along with her father, Emeric O'Neil, whom Lexa had always admired for being a dutiful and brave cop. The house was charming, old but even its age added to its beauty. It had been remodeled by its previous owner, a wealthy architect who designed homes and hotels in the States. It had three floors, but the third and highest floor was merely an attic. Its pine-green patina gave it an austere appearance. 

It had the feel of a tall elegant old woman; like a living entity of a home that was holding its breath,having the illusion of being dainty even when it wasn't. A lot like my mother and myself, Lexa thought. The home was all woods, and there was a vast front porch and porch swing. A single balcony protruded from the second floor. It was a real Victorian house; like a house Mark Twain would have lived in or Edgar Allan Poe. The home was tall and thin, and surrounded in the dark greenness and shadows of pines and groves of firs that seemed to encircle the house itself, like brocolli.

When Lexa arrived, it was eight in the morning, a time she was sure was still very good for a visit. Her mother had always been an early riser and she was sure that by eight, her mother had been up for a good two hours. She found that the door was open, which startled her. Having lived in Queens and Brooklyn, she had become so accustomed to not only keeping doors shut, but locked. Even in her apartment in Manhattan there were security systems activated everywhere. Were things that different here? Was this part of Long Island her mother had made into her new home that peaceful and safe?

She walked into the parlor. It was as beautiful as she remembered it had been. Little palm trees and various flowers and plants branced out from elegant vases. There was a gas-lamp chandelier left over from days of yore but remodeled and certain gas lamps were perched on several corners of the room. 

There was a mantelpiece, a chimney and antique furniture. On the most impressive peice there was china and figurines - characters from the operas "Le Nozze Di Figaro", "Don Giovanni", "Norma" and "Madame Butterfly"; operas her mother had appeared in, neatly placed in striking poses on shelves. There was more. Armchairs, footstools, a fire place, and flower-embroidered carpets. It was as quaint and yet as stately as any Victorian house could ever be. There was a vanilla fragrance in the air. No one seemed to be home. What was she thinking leaving the front door open like that and she wasn't even in the front parlor? There were many materials in this home that could be stolene and sold in the black market!

"Mother, it's me Lexa," she cried out, "where are you?".

She was able to see into the back of the house through a narrow hallway and she discovered that her mother appeared to be working in the garden visible through an open rear door. The sun was already very hot and the glare of the sunlight was a striking contrast to the dimness of interior of the house. She closed the front door and locked it before she headed for the garden outside. 

Her mind had been so preoccupied with the disturbing issue of the open door, easy access for a criminal, that she had ignored the floating music of a phonograph that was playing between two tall leafy plants in a corner of the parlor. The music was a long-winded aria with a touch of the spiritual, "Casta Diva" from Bellini's Norma, and the soprano singing had a magical wistful voice. 

She could have sworn it was her own mother's voice singing, but it couldn't be. Her mother had never recorded an album. Katrina had always taken the anti-diva position of being a dedicated artist with the goal of enriching the audience through live experience at the opera or recital. She had turned down several offers to do recordings because she disliked the commercial and business aspect of the industry. 

Katrina was busy watering plants and she was wearing a white head wrap which tied in a bow under her chin and she was in a red dress and white apron. She was softly signing to herself, in fact, singing the exact same words the soprano in the album was singing. It became a strangely beautiful and harmonious duet. For a while, Lexa just stood by the entrance to the garden and listened with wonder, feeling like a little girl again, watching her mother perform opera. The music ended and Katrina continued to work in her garden, crouching down to collect seeds from a bag.

The garden was Katrina's pride. It was bigger than any garden Manhattan homes could hold. There was the semblance of a manor house garden, with little paths that led to various flower beds, groves, plants and showy exotic flowers looming everywhere. There was a greenhouse conservatory which also adjoined the house itself from a back porch. Everywhere there were trees, sprawled in a circular embrace. Katrina truly belonged in such a beautiful enclosure, singing like she had never lost her voice, floating in the air and filling the garden grounds.

"Encore, brava, bravissima!" Lexa said, applauding.

Katrina turned around and almost dropped the bag. A big smile lit up her face.

"Child, you know better than to sneak up on an old woman," she said, with a care-free laugh, "where are your manners? "

They hugged and the embrace lingered, even as Katrina continued talking.

"I was beginning to think you were going to leave me all alone here in Long Island," she said, "I'm so glad you came."

"Where's papa?"

"Oh, your father hasn't been here lately. He made some friends in Long Island recently, men his age of course, and they went to Vermont on a hunting and fishing trip. I suspect his retirement won't always include me."

"Oh, now, you can't mean that. He has always loved you."

"Child, at our age we don't make love as much as we used to. And please don't let me go into this subject with you."

"But you want emotional fulfillment at any rate. He ought to consider your feelings and take you to romantic get-a-ways. You can do that a lot more now. You're not working and he isn't either."

She had a pensive and distant look in her eyes. She put away her things and wiped some sweat off her black brow.

"I've been getting calls from the administration a lesser known opera theater in New York City called the New Amterdam Opera. They heard about my past career and wish for me to sing again, to perform on stage or to do solo concerts."

"Oh mother that's wonderful, are you actually thinking of doing it?"

"Yes. That I can do. It would be lovely to be on a stage again. I have always loved performing. But -"

"But they've asked me to record albums too."

"You've never wanted any part of that."

"I think it's time I change my attitudes and at least it would cure me from the boredom I'm feeling. It's doing something. Besides, I'd like to leave my daughter with mementos and recordings would do the trick."

They embraced again. 

"Sentimental in my old age, aren't I, honey? Lord, it's hot. Let's go back into the parlor and I'll fix us up some lemonade and breakfast if you haven't already had any."...................

* * * *

Lexa sat on an armchair which at one time was her father's favorite chair back when they all lived together in Queens. The opera album was still playing in the phonograph and she was certain her mother must have enjoyed listening to opera in the mornings, as a very uplifting ritual to start her day. They had a breakfast which consisted of bacon and eggs and fruit. They had coffee and were chatting like the good old days. Lexa had always enjoyed being in the company of her mother; and she felt terrible for not visiting her earlier.

"So let me tell you about my last housekeeper," Katrina said, "what an ordeal that turned out to be. Now, as you know, I have always been trustworthy. I was sure that this woman was absolutely perfect for the job. She was a young black woman from Brooklyn, a single mother, probably had the kid when she was a teenager. I thought I was doing the girl a great deal of good by giving her a job here."

"What happened to her?"

"Child, she stole from me. The little rat. She stole some of my jewels, some of my money which I kept in my bedroom and I think she stole some of my dresses. No doubt she didn't want any of these things for herself. She's probably selling them to the black market."

"I'm so sorry."

"Well, you live and learn. I've hired a new one."

"And do you think she can be trusted this time?"

"I honestly think so, yes. She's a very sweet older lady from Cuba, her name is Cecilia and she has been extremely helpful, even doing my laundry and other chores that I had not listed as part of the job requirement. Today is her day off."

"Mother, why did you leave the front door open like that?" Lexa said, finally letting it out, "don't you think that's inviting danger?"

"Child, this is not like the city. It's as close to paradise as it can get without going South. I've never enjoyed so much peace, since...."

"Since you were a girl in Mississippi?"

Katrina smiled as she sipped her coffee, one eye on Lexa. Her daughter had always been able to read her, especially now in her older age. It was very logical. She had always been able to read her daughter as well. For Katrina,growing up in Mississippi was like a rural paradise, despite the few problems which eventually escalated into war between blacks and whites for civil rights in the 1960's. 

Although she had seen her share of violence and grim reality, including racism and lurid lynchings, she had overcome horror and contributed to the Civil rights movement when she became an accomplished opera singer, a dedicated mother and an inspiration for black women in New York. Lexa had been born in New York, so she could never understand the attraction her mother had with the South, and Mississippi in particular, but she knew it meant a lot to her.

"Child, I have not let my mind go back in time since coming here," Katrina replied, "I don't wish to become a pathetic older woman who lives in the past and hangs on to fond memories. I want to make newer ones."

"Is that why you haven't kept any souvenirs, photos or newspaper clippings from when you were singing opera? Not even photos of your time in Europe?"

"The images are all in my mind, honey and whenever I feel like it, I go back there. But I did keep those opera figurines as decorations. Aren't they just adorable? They were given to me by Leonard Bernstein. I couldn't get rid of those or even sell them, no matter how much they are worth."

An intimate silence fell between them. From outside, a young man in a bicycle approached the dirt path that lead into the house. Katrina had good eyes and she noticed him coming up the path from the corner of her eye.

"Here comes the paper boy."

"Oh, don't get up, mother. I'll get it."

When Lexa returned with the paper, she put it on the coffee table between them. Katrina was staring at her as if she had wanted to tell her something before the paper boy interrupted.

"Lexa, honey, who is the new man in your life?"

"I was getting to that. His name's Mason Anthony Holmes -"

"Is he a white boy? I don't know any brother with a name like that."

"Yes; and he's a homicide detective with the New York Police Department. I knew you wouldn't have an issue with his being white, since papa is white, but you have never really liked that I became a cop so I figured you wouldn't like that he was one too."

"Are you happy? Where are you two living?"

"In Manhattan, an apartment with a view of Central Park. Oh, mother, it's been so wonderful. We work together and we live together. I can't think of a time in my life when I've ever felt this good."




Vice Cop Ch. 12



"Child, you act as if I'm the Dowager Empress of Russia about to eat you up with my disapproval. I love that you found someone, honey. I've accepted that you became a cop like your father even if I would have preferred you became a singer like me. You sure took a long time in getting a man. I was so worried. But I don't see an engagement ring anywhere."

"Mother, we won't talk about that. For now, everything is right. Besides, you and Papa lived without being married too."

"I don't care to argue with you, sugar. I mostly argue with your father these days and that's enough for me."

They shared another laugh.

For some reason, Lexa felt like talking to her mother about an innermost secret feeling, something she had never told anyone about. Hudson Banach. She knew it was wrong to have feelings for someone as she had for Hudson but do everything in her power to fight it, to turn her back on it, and yet to feel as if she belonged with someone other than the person she was with. She knew that her mother would understand if she told her about Hudson. Before falling for Officer Emeric O'Neil, Katrina had been engaged to a black man from Mississippi, her first beau, but she developed stronger feelings for Officer Emeric. She knew what it was like to be with someone and to think of someone else she'd rather be with. Still, Lexa kept quiet. Besides, Lexa thought, maybe eventually I'll forget all about Hudson altogether.

THREE

* * * *

It was Saturday night.

Lexa knew that her mother was feeling somewhat sad, since apparently she was having some degree of marital difficulties, so Lexa invited her mother to go dancing. It nearly flipped her wig. But Lexa managed to talk her into it. The club was small and it was said to be a hot spot in East Long Island, where live bands played. The night they went, a jazz quartet was the attraction. There was a lot of bright lighting, and couples weren't interested in dancing, although some hit the dance floor at any rate. She walked into the club side by side with her mother, who looked at the place with a discomfort.

"Child, how is it you talked me into coming here?" Katrina said.

"It's going to be alright. Here, I'll buy us some drinks. You sit on that table right there. It's out of the way and you won't be around all the noise."

Katrina sat down and continued to look around her. She put her black purse on her lap. She was wearing a cocktail dress that was long and the hem nearly touched her feet. She didn't wish to dance, just to drink and to enjoy the ambiance. The music was modern,something from The Bangles, some Madonna, ABBA, The Go-Go's and David Bowie. None of these groups or singers interested her in the least.

She had lost sight of Lexa. She hated that so many young people were up and about, reminding her of her own lost youth. She had never been into the party scene in New York, not even when she was younger and dances like "the twist" or jazzy "groovy" 1960's dances were all the rage. 

She would have liked to have come here with her husband Emeric but the man was enjoying retirement without her. She had never expected such a thing to happen. Well, she thought, the best thing to do is to enjoy my own life in one way or another - independently. Many women her age began to work again, or to start little businesses or become hardcore socialites. She had made up her mind to gradually return to singing opera. It would take a lot of warming up and preparation. She wondered if anyone still remembered her. She had stopped receiving fan mail since 1977.

Lexa approached the bar.

She was, as it turned out, the only female among many males at the bar at that moment. The men were young, and were evidently looking to attract girls. She was about to ask for drinks, when someone tapped her shoulder. She turned around quickly, and she was face to face with Hudson Banach. Her jaw nearly dropped.

"Banach? What are you doing here," she said to him.

Next to him was his new friend and Vice cop partner, Vince McClintock. They smiled at her and thought the whole thing was amusing.

"I'm single, Lexa," he said to her flatly, "and so is Vince. I'll give you three guesses as to why we're here."

"But why Long Island? What you had no luck with all the bars in New York City?"

"Not funny, Lexie. The real question is why are you here without Mason? Are you undercover?"

"I am not," she said, "and I'm here with mother. I came to visit her. I thought it was about time she got out. And it's really none of your business, Banach."

She hated saying "it was time she got out" as if her mother was a dog that had to be walked.

"I'm sorry I've upset you, Lexa, " Hudson said, and Lexa noticed sincerity in his voice.

Was it possible he had changed? They locked eyes for a moment but because Vince was right there with him, they didn't prolong their staring.

"Have fun, if you need anything, just let me know, and I'd be happy to assist you and your mother," Hudson said.

How things had changed! Was it possible that he had grown up a lot since that ordeal with the Chinese girl? She smiled back and bought her drinks.

"Hudson, why are you being so sweet to her?" Vince said, puzzled, raising an eyebrow, "the guys on the force tell stories about how you two are at each other's necks all the time. The Chief says you're like Spencer Tracey and Katherine Hepburn. You have never been so nice to her before."

"I can't explain why," Hudson said and his eyes followed Lexa back to the table where her mother sat, "it's just, I don't know. I'm not going to be the same always. It's time to let go of the past."

"Ok, but you say it like you're....sad."

"Hey, Vince, let's not talk about it."

They ordered drinks for themselves and now and then Hudson stared into Lexa's direction.....

FOUR

Lexa and her mother sat at the same table and drank, talking the night away. Lexa remembered childhood incidents she had long forgotten, brought to memory again by her mother. She remembered the piano her mother used to use for vocalizing and recalled how she herself would play music too, not only beautiful opera scores or beautiful pieces of Schubert and Chopin but ballads and folk songs, spirituals, Gospel and even some Stephen Foster. Lexa liked to slip into more modern purely musical pieces like "Last Date" by Floyd Cramer or Henry Mancini. "Moon River" was her favorite.

She learned how to play the piano like her mother and learned to play everything in her song bank. But it was so long ago, and she had been a cop for a long time, the music was no longer there in her mind or memory........

After a while, she suddenly felt sad and felt the urge to call Mason. She had not told him that she would remain with her mother for an extra evening. She was certain he was home by now. It was approaching midnight. She excused herself and went to the nearest payphone. It was situated outside the club near a lonely alley, where the glare and lights of the neon signs advertising the club cast luminous halos over the shadowy parts of the alley. The phone was in a glass booth. She discovered that another woman was using the phone so she waited, and inevitably heard the conversation.

"Yes, honey, I'll be there as soon as possible," the woman said, "I love you."

She heard bits and pieces of the conversation and it was obvious the woman was also spending time in Long Island away from her significant other, a husband. Hearing conversations like these often saddened Lexa, unexplainably. It often felt as if she was missing out on things other people were doing, because her life as a cop didn't always entail having a more rich life. She was always sad at any rate, and she knew that she had no reason to be sad. Or did she? Oh, if only that woman would hurry up. Why did life remind her of how terribly lonely one could be in a city, even when one wasn't entirely alone at all?

"Do you need to use the phone, dear?" the woman said.

"Oh yes," Lexa said, suddenly very grateful, "I'm sorry. I was just -"

"That's alright. I took far too long. Here you go, dear."

How sweet people could be, even strangers.

She put quarters in and dialed the number to her Manhattan apartment. It rang for a few minutes and before long Mason picked up.

"Mason, it's me Lexa," she said to him, "I've missed you."

"Oh, darling, it's only been a few days. Are you enjoying your time with your mother?"

"It's been wonderful. But I forgot to mention that I was going to stay here for another extra day. How is everything in Manhattan?"

"It's uneventful. I've been doing a lot of office work. I haven't taken up any homicide cases lately. I expect that shall change soon."

"I'll be with you soon."

"Lexa, is everything ok?"

"Why yes. Why would you think that something would be wrong?"

"You sound a bit sad."

"I'm alright. I've just been very happy with mother and I - well, we'll meet up soon. I'm just not used to taking brief vacations like this."

"I know what a hard worker you are, my love. You probably go nuts not having anything to do. The NYPD gives you so much to do. But we'll be together soon. Here's a kiss."

She smiled faintly back and hung up the phone. When she turned around and exited the booth, she nearly gasped. Hudson was right there, as if waiting for her to finish her call.

"Hudson, what are you doing out here? How dare you eavesdrop on me," Lexa said, her voice rising, "are you and Vince playing some joke on me?"

"It's nothing like that, " Hudson answered, "I needed to tell you. The Chief called just a few minutes ago. I was carrying a portable phone. I figured that I'd need it in case of an emergency. It's very urgent."

"What's happened?"

"The darkest thing, Lexa. Someone has been killing NYPD officers and he's suspected to be a cop within the Department."

"Oh my God."

"Three officers so far have been killed. Whoever he is, he's very cunning. He has left no fingerprints, no clues. Chief told me he's going to get detectives working on it soon but that every cop, from lieutenants, sergeants, captains and rookie uniform patrol officers need to be on guard."

"This is so unbelievable. How can a cop be a killer of other cops?"

"It's a total mystery. They say he puts on a different disguise and it works. Whoever he is, he's giving everyone reason to be afraid and worked up about. We need to get back to the city as soon as possible."

"I - I'm glad you told me, Hudson," she said.

"You're not going to tell your mother?"

"Lord no. She'd have a heart attack. I'll just tell her I'm needed back at the force but I won't detail. I have never been truly honest about the dangerous aspects of our jobs, Hudson. She doesn't know about the missions you and I have had to work on, for example... the psychotic serial killer in Atlantic City who butchered prostitutes like Jack the Ripper, the taxi cab driver who killed his passengers, that Satanic rock star who nearly finished us -"

"I haven't forgotten what we've gone through, Lexie."

She stared at him for a moment and a faint breeze blew, a strand of her hair wavering like a little flag before she smoothed it with her hand. Hudson looked at her with a look she hadn't seen before. It was a quiet, sad and yet calm look. The music from the club floated into the night air, 

"Come on, let's go back into the club."

FIVE

As soon as word got out that a cop was responsible for killing other cops, chaos, confusion and fear spread like wildfire throughout the New York Police Department, and consequently,New York City citizens themselves. Many cops were married, and they feared the killer washad some personal vendetta against the NYPD and could take it out on innocent victims like the spouses of cops. 

Everyone was angry, scared and pointing fingers. No sooner hadaccusations began than Internal Affairs got involved. They assigned cops to spy on oneanother, to report any suspicious activity and to be on the look out. It was the first timeany cop had been told that the criminal they were fighting was among their own. Chief Barry Hiller was falling apart. Constantly bombarded by the press, he was forced todeal with the public who was seeing him as something of a coward for not taking immediate action. 

Internal Affairs was the most active they had ever been. Barry Hiller, too, wasfrightened, for he was feeling as if the murderous cop was one in his own precinct. Everyone feared to be alone, even for a few minutes, so partnerships among cops lasted longer andno one dared to stay alone in an office. Chief Barry Hiller put Homicide dicks to work, andit was the darkest time for the New York Police Department. Every available detective hadtheir work cut out for them. 

In this dark time, Hudson was especially afraid for his own family. He didn't tell them aboutwhat was going on, but he was certain they knew. It was all over the evening news nightafter night, how no leads were found and how the mysterious "cop killer" who ironically wasa cop himself was still at large, perhaps waiting to make the next kill. 

Hudson was driving one night with Vince, on duty, and he was concerned for their safety. 

"Vince, did you ever suspect any one we know is behind this?" he said to him. 

"I can't think of a single guy," Vince said "why? Who do you suspect killed those cops?" 

"I don't know. No one knows. That's what's so scary. Whoever it is, he's a darn genius to have gotten away with it. I do know that for a long time I've had the strangest feeling that Lieutenant Isaiah Dante has something to hide. He's always so distant and cold." 

"What? Dante? You got to be joking or you must be crazy. He's a lieutenant. He doesn't even go out into the streets to fight crime. He does it from his office. He's commanding an entire squad. What is it about him that makes you think -" 

"His attitude. He doesn't seem to like anyone who is white. " 

"That's got to be difficult for him, considering everyone around him is mostly white. He's got to be used to it. He's been with the NYPD since the 70's. We have some black officers. I don't see what the problem is."

"I don't think you understand. I think he's a racist and really nasty guy and he's hiding who he really is. He's got to be involved somehow, I don't know how. I think he has something to do with the deaths of those cops. They were all white you know." 

"Come on, Dante? Our own superior? I don't believe it. It can't be what you think it is." 

"I think I may be wrong. But my gut tells me something else. The best thing to do is to spyon him, to watch what he does and how reacts. Haven't you seen how his face never changes, how he never shows emotions of any kind? He's like a damn statue." 

"He's just a quiet guy." 

"It's always the quiet ones, Vince. He doesn't seem to have much to say to anyone, but maybe he has done a lot that can fill up a list of crimes. At any rate, I'll be spying on him, even if he a superior officer."

"You'll get yourself into dangerous territory, Hudson. If he's not guilty of anything, you can lose your badge just by trying to expose him. It would be slander. He's never liked you either." 

"He doesn't seem to like anyone, not even Lexa. I think Mason likes me even more than Dante does. Mason, and you know I've butted heads with him before." 

"Just be careful, Hud. I'd hate to lose a friend."

"I'm honored that you see me as a friend, Vince. I haven't had one since Kyle died...." 

* * * *

Internal Affairs was on everyone's case. Because the identity of the killer was not known, everyone was being treated as a potential suspect and that didn't sit well with anyone. In the course of several weeks, various interrogations were held, and one by one, cops were being questioned, their personal lives and backgrounds checked, and the whole thing was a nightmare to many. Hudson had been called into a room, after having waited for Vince who had gone in for interrogation before him.

"Man, that was so unfair," he said, "I had to tell them everything, even dirty laundry stuff. Nothing that includes murder though. Boy is this a pain in the ass. You next, Hudson?"

"I am," he said.

He was surprised to see that Isaiah Dante was one of the interrogators. He found that odd since it was not part of his usual work. What did he have to do with Internal Affairs? He braced himself and walked into the room. It looked like a court room, even though it was not. He sat on a hot seat and he was surrounded by white faces, men, in suites and ties, looking at him with tired and yet hard looks in their faces. They had been up since dawn most likely and they had already interrogated half of the precincts in Manhattan.

Chief Barry Hiller was also there, seated, calm and looked up at Hudson in a warm, fatherly way. Hudson had always seen "Chief" as a kind of father figure, especially because he had lost his father in his teens. To his surprise and discomfort, Lexa O'Neil was also present as was Mason Holmes. They had already been interrogated but it was part of their job to continue interrogating other cops, since they were detectives. It was likely others in the rooms were detectives, too, taking notes along with I.A.

"State your full name, please," said one of the men, with jet-black hair and a dark beard.

"Hudson Stefano Banach," he replied.

He adjusted his belt buckle and sat down comfortably, keeping a very cool and relaxed demeanor. The air conditioning in the room was on and it made the whole place as cold as an refrigerator. Hudson tried hard not to let his eyes wander at Lexa and Mason. 

"Officer Banach, you've been with the NYPD since early in 1980 is that correct?"

"Yeah, that's right," Hudson said dryly.

"It's now 1986. During all that time, do you recall seeing anything suspicious, anything that rubbed you as being very disturbing? And I'm not just talking working with the Police Department but before that during Academy training."

Hudson didn't want to stare at Isaiah Dante who was oddly calm and keeping his eyes on Hudson more than on anyone else. Hudson remembered the racist things Dante had said privately to other black officers, not anything overtly racist or indicating any real evil, but things that were very demeaning to whites and things that were out-of-place for a man in Dante's position. 

It was the NYPD that had given him the title of Lieutenant and he was among the most respected and admired cops in Manhattan. But Hudson recalled how he was extremely interested in seeing that more black officers entered the department than whites. While this was not a bad thing, it just seemed as if Dante had a hard, militaristic and reverse Nazi-ish attitude. He knew that it would be dangerous to say anything against Dante here and now.

"My memories of the Academy and of my years a rookie cop are slowly fading," he said in earnest, "but from what I remember I have never come across anything too unusual or suspicious. All the cops I know have been very dedicated, very loyal, very good cops. I know that some cops don't always feel like they fit in, myself included because I'm told I break the rules sometimes -"

"Yes, I'm aware of how you are said to be a bit of a bad boy cop, and that you have rubbed the Department the wrong way, Officer Banach," said another man, "you're quite a local legend. Your nicknames have included "Bad Cop" and the "Italian Stallion".

Amused laughter broke out among the men. Isaiah Dante never laughed but everyone was so amused by the joke that they didn't notice. Hudson noticed. They composed themselves and the interrogation continued. Hudson was treated to a drink of water which stood next to him on table. He drank it down fast and brushed his lips. Although it was cool in the room, he felt hot and sweat pouring down his brow because of the tense and stressful situation he was in. He knew every cop that had been questioned since morning had probably felt equally uncomfortable. 




Vice Cop Ch. 12



"I do my job," Hudson said, "how I do it reflects my personal attitudes about justice. I want fast, total justice and yeah, sometimes I do things that my superiors don't like. I also have seen more action than -"

"Spare us the red badges of courage, Officer Banach," said his inquisitor, "it's been reported that what pisses off other cops the most is that you go outside your jurisdiction, even going into other states, to extract justice. Is this information accurate?"

"Yeah, so. I do what I gotta do. I haven't gone farther than New Jersey. I think of it as being very close by anyhow."

"They have their own Police Department, Mr. Banach. It's not up to you to do other people's jobs. Now then, I had taken a special interest in you for being so well-known in the force, despite your position as just being a vice cop and not a high ranking officer, But it seems that you have never known anyone to do anything suspicious or have done anything remotely criminal yourself. No one else has said a word against you other than their dislike of your behavior and attitudes."

"Well, gosh, I ought to thank them for being so nice, "Hudson joked.

"That is all, Mr. Banach."

SIX

Lexa was not thrilled about having to work on the case that involved the murders of the officers by a NYPD cop. Mason Holmes was a prominent detective and Lexa was his partner, so inevitably, they were bothpulled into the dangerous assignment as were just about every detective in New York. The nights wore on, and there was a feeling of becoming dangerously close to the truth. 

Mason Holmes used classic tactics such as interrogation but because Internal Affairs had done a lot of that lately, he was forced to use other methods of investigation. He was acquainted with forensic anthropologists whoworked with F.B.I. and they had always hit the mark. DNA would be quite impossible to trace; the killer left no finger prints, blood marks or piece of nail or flesh. It was as if he did the job as skillfully as a hired hit man, which of course prompted some detectives to theorize that the killer, besides being a cop, alsotook on lucrative jobs like that of a hired assassin. Mason was at New York's F.B.I headquarters, with Lexa O'Neil, talking with F.B.I. and members of the forensic anthropologist group. 

On a cold, metallic table lay the body of the first victim, killed about a week ago, identified as Officer Brad Ansom, a patrol officer in the Bronx. He had not been buried yetas examinations were being conducted to see just how he was killed. His body was pale and stiff andhe had a corpulent frame, his legs were severely bruised, as if he had been beaten to death. 

On another corner of the room was the second victim, Officer Michael Lowell, a highway patrol officer who rode motorcycles. He was very young and his body was strong looking, even in death. He, too, looked as if he had received several blows. Lexa was disgusted by the bodies but maintained a brave face. Stronger than these feelings were here hatred of the injustice that had been committed, of the anger against whoever did these horrible things to fellow officers. It was very hard to believe that a cop had done this. 

"I'm sorry to barge in like this," said Mason to one of the examiners, "but it's been gnawing at me. You said all the bodies indicate that they were beaten and bruised before death?" 

"That's correct," said one of the examiners, a dark-haired, gray-eyed man in a white lab coat, "they must have struggled hard against the assailant. There was a definite altercation. It also appears as if the killer had some help. I doubt that no one man could do this, unless endowed with superhuman strength. I know that today men take steroids and bodybuilders look like The Incredible Hulk and probably could do a lot of physical damage; but the way these bodies look it is my theory that there was more than one attacker." 

"That's a thought I had," Mason said. 

"Yeah but the NYPD doesn't seem to share that theory," said Lexa, "everyone is so convinced it's the work of a single officer. Maybe the cop had extra help, assistants if you will. If that's the case, we should be looking into finding these people. Who would do this? Who would benefit from killing white male cops?" 

"It is very interesting that only white males were brutally killed," said the anthropologist, "but not everyone thinks this is an act of racial violence. Black and white officers work together in the NYPD and there havebeen no rivalries or enmities that we know of. The 1960's Civil Rights Movement lead to blacks joining the NYPD in the 1970's. Many blacks even held offices and government jobs, even in the more racist Southern States. I have no idea what these vicious murders are really all about. Detective Holmes, do you know of anyone black officer who may have personally witnessed the transition between all white officers in the NYPD to mixed officers?" 

"I can't think of anyone. All the African-American cops on our force are not old enough to have -" 

"Lieutenant Isaiah Dante," Lexa replied, interrupting, "he would know. He's old enough. In fact, I think his background is closer to that revolutionary period than any of us. I joined the force in 1984. Dante must have joined around 1974. Before that, he had lived in Oakland, California. I'm sure there is more to his story than we know." 

"California, Oakland," Mason repeated, "Yeah. That was a hot spot for racist activity. But of course, if Dante knows something -" 

"We really need to talk to him," Lexa said, "unfortunately I don't know where he is right now. He was at the precinct during I.A.'s massive waves of interrogations. But after it was all over, he left. I think he might have gone to visit family or something. I have never been able to have a proper conversation with him so I don't know anything about him. It has always looked as if his only family is the NYPD." 

"No wife, no girlfriend, no children, no mother, father. He doesn't go to any Church or is a member of any religion. He can't be put into a distinct profile. He's elusive. It's always been very odd. He doesn't even carry photographs. I think you're right, Lexa. He might know something we don't. As soon as he returns from wherever he is, we'll definitely talk to him." 

SEVEN

San Francisco, California, 10am, 

Hudson, wearing dark Ray-Bands, a gray blazer, white shirt and gray slacks, was hiding his face behinda "Newsweek" magazine. He was at the airport, having bought plane tickets to California, hot on the trail of Lieutenant Isaiah Dante. He had overheard a conversation between Dante and an anonymous caller from his office. 

There had been something incredibly suspicious about the way the conversation had gone. Dante had talked in whispersand clipped, hushed tones, and was breathing heavily. There was something disturbing, evil, about theway he was behaving, as if trying to hide something sinful and criminal. Although Hudson had not heardmuch, he had heard enough to know that the Lieutenant was to take a flight to California, specifically to San Francisco. Now, of course, this could be nothing. 

It was not uncommon for certain cops, high-ranking or not, to visit relatives or people they might have previously known for a variety of reasons. The odd thing was that this was not something he had known Dante to do, ever. The whole thing struck him as being very bizarre and suspicious. He spotted Dante as he got off the plane. Dante was not in uniform. He was wearing plainclothes, which Hudson thought was also very unusual. 

In all the time he had known Isaiah Dante, he had never seen him off uniform. The cops on the precinct joked that he probably slept with the uniform on. Seeing him in a suitemade him look as if he were an entirely different person; as if he was a high-priced attorney. His face wascalm and cool, as it usually was, but this time, Hudson was certain he could see a little worry and vexationin his face. He was here to do something that was obviously very significant to him, or he wouldn't look soconcerned. The airport was very crowded. Hudson had never seen so many people in one place before, except for Times Square. 

Valises, luggage on wheel, backpacks and crates dizzied him as they filled his eyes.People of all backgrounds up and about, whole families even. There was also something strange and a tad frightening in the air. Maybe it was his cop instinct. Something was not right. Why was Dante here? Whatpossible connection did he have in this part of California? He had never left New York, not that Hudsonknew. Was there a family member he came to see? A sweetheart? It was very thrilling to do this kind ofspying, although Hudson remembered Vince's words. If the Lieutenant had not done anything wrong, thenwhat he was doing was wrong, too. 

But everyone was spying on everyone else these days in the NYPD.Even Hudson had been the target of I.A. investigations. After his uncomfortable public interrogation, helearned that two other cops were spying on him and had even learned of his address in Bensonhurt, Brooklyn. He didn't like that one bit. But he was almost sure that Dante had something to do with thecops' murders. His instinct now told him that danger lurked in this very airport. It was palpable but unseen. 

He followed Dante from behind, from a bit of a distance, but his eyes were on him, glued to him. He followedDante who didn't once look back as he headed out of the airport. 

Hudson had never been to San Francisco and he knew that he had really no reason to be here so he didn't bother to tell a single soul back in New York that he had gone to California. Everyone would find it strange as well. He looked around. An airport is an airport, he thought. But just outside was San Francisco and he was sure he'd get a good glimpse of it.The weather was cool, and the skies were gray, cloudless, and the sun was no where in sight. 

The dreary climate was not unusual for San Francisco, but Hudson had always expected to find a bright, sunny,warm seaside city, since it was California after all. It looked as if it was about to rain at any moment. He realized he was dressed for warmer weather so he felt ridiculously out of place. Everyone else was in coats andtrench coats as well as warmer clothes. Hudson didn't realize that other pair of eyes were following him, that even as he followed Dante, he was himself being secretly followed and observed. 

Before long, Isaiah Dante hailed a taxi cab. Damn, thought Hudson, I wasn't expecting that. Of course itmade sense. He wasn't going to talk all the way to wherever he was headed. 

San Francisco had steephills and curvy streets and it was probably best for visitors to take transportation such as the famous trolleys or taxi cabs. But acting quickly, he took another cab which happened to be waiting for him right behind him. Unfortunately, he was not alone. 

As he approached the cab, two black men, middle-aged, approached the same cab and looked at him with scrutiny and silently. It made Hudson very uncomfortable. 

"Where you off two gentlemen?" said the Asian cab driver, a man with gray hair and thin build. 

"Oh, we're not together, I'm following that cab that just left," said Hudson. 

"We are doing the same," said one of the black men. 

It was then when Hudson felt a strong and startling sensation in his stomach. 

This couldn't be good. But it was probably coming to him. He had looked for trouble when he had been advised not to meddle.He got into the cab and the black men as well. They all sat in the back and said nothing. The cab driverfollowed Dante's cab as they left the airport. In view was the streets of San Francisco, sprawled out like a giant spider's web, a little city that could also be big at times, a city that had the most endearing charm about it unlike anything Hudson had seen in New York. 

But everything in New York City was vastly spread out. Here everything had the semblance of being crowded and claustrophobic. Victorian houses that overlooked hills, seagulls flying and moaning in the air by the bay, and everywhere traffic of vehicles, trolleys and cabs. Up a hill they went into apparently the downtown area...... 

* * * * Hudson stepped out of the cab when the cab that Dante had taken made a stop in a street that overlooked the bay. He was nervous and afraid for the first time in his life and he couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. He had begun to regret following Dante. Perhaps this was just an innocent meeting between friends. 

After paying the cabbie and approaching the street, he didn't notice that the two black men who had taken the cab with him were directly behind him. Making sure that no one was seeing them; and they were indeed in a somewhat secluded and quiet nook, they suddenly ceased Hudson forcefully. Hudson had no time to react or to struggle. They gagged his mouth with duct tape and put a blindfold over his eyes............

"He's a cop on my precinct," Hudson head Lieutenant Dante's voice in the darkness.

He was still blindfolded and it appeared as if he had been sedated. He was unable to move and was sitting on the seat of a moving vehicle. He heard four distinct male voices, all African-American. A fifth person was driving the car but he wasn't talking. Hudson had never felt more vulnerable in all his life. 

"Why don't we just dispose of him?" said one of the black men.

"No; I want him to suffer. He's to be one of three hostages I wish to take from the NYPD."

"Is this for your own vendetta or for the glory of our Party, Dante? You know our leader King Samadi, the future head of the Kingdom, doesn't approve of petty revenge."

"I do this to show that we have strength and we mean business," Dante replied, "the NYPD has never been my true home. My heart has belonged to the Panthers. I can't forget how evil the white man has been to my people. My own mother died of shock when my father was lynched in Mississippi. I can't forget how cruel whites have been to me. Sure the NYPD was different but I relished only in the position of power. Besides, Samadi personally instructed me to do this thing."

"You are no longer a Lieutenant, you are only a soldier of the Kingdom," said another, "but are you sure King Samadi asked you to do this?"

"He did. I have to return to New York. My work is not done. We'll show the NYPD just how powerful we are and the American nation will see that we can create a nation of our own free of racism and violence"......

EIGHT

Lexa was back in Long Island. Her mother had fallen and injured her leg and required medical assistance. Lexa took her to a nearby hospital and saw to it that Katrina received full medical attention and that she recovered fully. It took a series of five days but before long, her mother had taken physical therapy to get her legs moving again. 

Lexa was patient and Katrina enjoyed the time she was spending with her daughter, especially in the absence of her husband. They ate together, walked in the garden together and worked on planting flowers and plants, and ate out at some lovely restaurants. 

Lexa enjoyed this time, too, but she felt very bad about leaving Mason in Manhattan. It was a very dark time for the NYPD and the killer who had targeted cops had not been found. It was still an open case and Lexa had abandoned her own job as a detective, taking more time off to be with mother which to some looked very irresponsible as far as commitment to the NYPD. Still, she had explained to Mason that her mother was experiencing some marital difficulties and she was now needing her more than ever. Mason, always understanding, allowed her to return to Long Island. 

Yes, these were hard times. Lexa felt as if her father Emeric had abandoned them. Whatever issues he had, he kept to himself. Lexa wanted to talk to him seriously about his abandonment was doing to Katrina. But Emeric had also disappeared since he had gone ostensibly on a hunting and fishing trip to Vermont with his buddies.

Also gone was Hudson Banach. He had been missing for a few days. It was very unusual and unlike him to miss work. He had been the most dedicated cop in the precinct as far as anyone knew and now he, too, had disappeared. It was very scary. Banach was a cop and what everyone in the NYPD was whispering was foul play. A missing cop could mean he had become the victim of the cop killer. This made Lexa very worried. Her missing father, Hudson missing, what next?

She was sitting in her mother's armchair by the fireplace, which had not been made since it was now early summer. She sat there pensively but tried not to allow her fears to get the best of her. Katrina came into the parlor, fanning herself with a colorful fan that Lexa recognized as one of the accessories from her opera costume as Violetta in La Traviata. So apparently, even keeping mementos from her opera career was very significant to her. Somewhere in the house she might have some of the costumes themselves and or those gorgeous vintage gowns Lexa remembered her mother had worn in galas and parties where champagne was served and haute cuisine, parties that at the time were forbidden to her for being a child. 

"Cecilia will be coming in to serve us some tea in a bit," Katrina said, taking a seat.

"Oh, I could use some tea right now," Lexa said, arousing her mother's attention.

"Why? What's the matter, honey? Are you coming down with something?"

"I'm very worried. I didn't want to tell you, mother. There are big problems with the NYPD."

"What's going on?"

"A murderer is on the loose and he's been after our officers. No one knows who he is. He seems to have some personal vendetta against white officers. He's most likely black, I can feel it in my gut. And I'm very afraid. A fellow officer who works Vice, named Hudson Banach has been missing -"

"Child, I hate to use my Southern mamma voice but I done tol' you and tol' you that it's not good for you to be a cop. When you first came to me telling me "Mamma, I don't want to be a pianist or opera singer. I want to be a cop, it stole the breath out my body! Times are getting dangerous. Please, honey child, why don't you just leave that line of work. I can help you with -"

"I have a loyalty to the Police Department," Lexa remarked, "and I don't want to leave now when they need detectives more than ever. They need all the help they can get. My biggest concern right now is my father."

"I don't think he's in any danger, child. He's just prolonged his damned vacation."

"I don't think he has. I think that his being an ex-cop might endanger him. Suppose he -"

"I am not going to think that way and neither should you, child. He couldn't have returned to working for the NYPD me knowing about it. He would have said something."

"I know that the NYPD is investigating the careers of former cops. I don't know if it's affected Papa. I'm so worried that he can fall victim to -"

"I won't hear anymore. Now let's see, if you're so worried, I think there might be a way I can help. I may not be a hot shot detective like you and your Mr. Holmes from Manhattan but I can sure try to make sense of this."

Lexa's eyes widened in surprise. Katrina got up and left for another room, and from the looks of things the attic. She had never gone up there herself but she knew instinctively that her mother kept valuable things up there, objects, pieces of furniture, clothes and and things that had personal value.

Cecilia the house-keeper and maid came in and set the tea on the table in the parlor by the fireplace. Lexa thanked Cecilia in Spanish and waited for her mother to to return. Cecilia excused herself and returned to her chores in another part of the house. Lexa wondered just what her mother was up to. Could it be that she could actually help her in such a dangerous case as this one? Did she know something that could form leads and clues?




Vice Cop Ch. 12



Katrina came back with a photo album and some records. She sat on her chair, picked up her porcelain cup of tea and took a sip. She kept her eyes on her daughter steadily as she opened up the photo album, inviting her to look.

"This here's an album of pictures your father took over the years. There's some that go back to his early days as a cop and even our own honeymoon. We went to California for our honeymoon. We were in San Francisco and it was very lovely."

"How can any of this help?"

"Your father knew some people who were hardened criminals. He not only brought many murderers and Mafiosi to jail, he also caught escaped convicts from Sing-Sing. He was quite the hero back then. Of course he was also hated by the Underworld that wanted to see him die or suffer. He arrested the capo of a large Mafia organization. A capo di tutti capo he called him, the leader. I believe his name was Don Luigi Dino. His men are still around and haven't been brought to justice. They use various discreet tactics to elude authorities I suppose."

"Mamma, you think the Mafia is killing cops?"

"Why who else child? It's no secret that the Mafia hates cops. They bring down their world, their business, they arrest their families and give them hell. It's got to be a Mafioso and -"

"No. All the signs point to a very brilliant cop who knows how to cover his tracks. He knew too much about the inner NYPD structure."

"Then perhaps it's a cop after all. Here are records your father kept of many officers and even the newer ones. I think some of these are profiles of cops who were making it big in the 1970's. At that time, your father's career was in its final stage and he was not doing as many big busts or stings as he had formerly done in the 60's when he was after all the Dino dynasty."

Lexa looked at the photos. Some were in color, some were grainy and tinted in sepia and others were in color. There were photos of her father Emeric proudly accepting medals of honor which he attached to the breast of his uniform, photos of Emeric on horseback, photos of New York City's boroughs where he worked and people he worked with. 

Lexa recognized a younger looking Captain Barry Hiller. My God, he was a lot thinner too! In another photo she identified one black man as Lieutenant Isaiah Dante, who also looked a lot younger though his physique looked exactly the same. There again was that same mysterious silence and distance he kept.

"Do you know that man, child?" Katrina said as she observed Lexa's fixed stare at the photo.

"He's our precinct lieutenant, Isaiah Dante. He's always striked me as being suspicious."

"But surely it must please you to see a black brother in the NYPD."

"Not this one. He's always looked as if he's had something to hide."

"Dante," her mother said, repeating the name trying to remember something, "Dante. I think he's been on the force as long as Captain Barry Hiller who heads your precinct. Your father might have known him. I think there's a profile here."

Katrina handed Lexa some papers in a folder. Lexa noticed Dante's full name and a few words about him. The page included a small photo of him. He was born in Oxford, Mississippi, and by pure coincidence, that was where Katrina had also been born. The surrounding little towns were picturesque and situated by the Tallahatchie River and the area was full of bridges and the Central Railroad. 

Dante's records also showed that he had lived for some time in Oakland and San Francisco, California, where he had always said he had received his college education. But as Lexa continued to read, she noted that ante had once been a member of the radical party the Black Panthers from 1968 to 1972. The Panthers were militant and they used violence to make their points. In those times, it was not uncommon to hear of the deaths of white officers or the attacks on precincts by the Panthers, who hated the white establishment of cops whom they accused of brutality against blacks.

Lexa felt her heart beating faster. A feeling of dread overcame her. Was it possible that Dante, even as a respectable and seemingly innocuous Lieutenant still had ties to the Black Panthers? As far as she knew, the Panthers had long been a dead party, without any active members. It seemed to belong to the radical groups that had developed from the late 1960's, as much a part of another time as the hippies and crazy communes and cults. But she wondered if Dante still was a Panther at heart. And if that were so, then he could very well be responsible for the death of white officers. It was a way to laugh at the NYPD and to fulfill his old desires. Perhaps the Panthers were using him as an instrument in a war against the NYPD!

"Mamma, I hate to do this but I really must get back to Manhattan," Lexa said, "I'm going to have to talk to Mason and the Chief. It's important that I -"

"Go right ahead, child. You've already done so much for me by making time to see me heal. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have recovered."

"I love you, mamma."

Lexa gave her mother a big hug.

NINE

When Lexa returned to her precinct in Manhattan, she received the most shocking news of her entire life. Mason Holmes and Chief Barry Hiller had been kidnapped. There was no way of knowing who did this but everyone felt absolutely sure it was the same cop killer or mysterious force that was attacking cops of the NYPD. Lexa was certain this "force" was none other than the Black Panthers coming back to attack cops, trying to establish themselves as a party again at full force. 

She explained this to the cops and detectives as well as FBI that hung out at the Manhattan precinct, but no one took her seriously which angered Lexa. She was in headquarters, surrounded by many top men of the NYPD and FBIwho had gathered for an emergency meeting. It wasn't every day that a Chief of Police in Manhattan was kidnapped along with a top homicide detective.

"Gentlemen, the fact remains that my partner and a fellow officer are still missing," Lexa said, " for prisoners or victims, even two days is a long time. We can't wait another day. It's time we take action before another cop turns up dead or missing. We can't just sit here doing absolutely nothing. And these go-nowhere investigations just go around in aimless circles."

"Miss O'Neil, we know how personal this is for you," said one of the FBI men, "Mr. Mason Anthony Holmes is not only your partner but your significant other. I'm told you two live in an apartment in Manhattan."

"His disappearance along with Captain Barry Hiller and Officer Hudson Banach are connected. I'm telling you, the Black Panthers -"

"You can't be sure of that. There is no visible proof. You are just making assumptions."

"They are conclusions I've come to based on what my heart tells me."

"Miss O'Neil, you're letting your emotions get the better of you. We cannot not see this in one angle. Perhaps Mr. Banach has caused some offense -"

"Never. Not Hudson. I've known him to be a good man, despite his flaws and the bravado that gets him into trouble. He would never do something that could cause someone to do this to him. And what about our own Chief? He has never done anything wrong and Mason is a role model. This is the act of men who hate white cops."

She walked about nervously. No one said anything.

"Does it not strike any of you men odd that our Lieutenant Dante is also nowhere to be found? He's always here and now -"

Vince McClintock, who had been listening by the doorway, entered and everyone took notice.

"I agree with Miss O'Neil," said Vince, "these disappearance is the work of some radical cop-hating person, like the Black Panthers who did this sort of thing in the 60's. Hudson suspected Dante right away."

"Until you can find proof, there is no validity to your assumptions."

Vince suddenly remembered something.

"I'll give you your proof," he said............

* * * *

Vince had found cassette tapes left to him by Hudson. It was Hudson's intentions to hand them to the NYPD for evidence against Isaiah Dante, linking him to the murders of the officers. The cassettes were scratchy and not always very audible but Lexa took them to F.B.I.headquarters, knowing they had the technology to "clean" the sound quality and to turn up the volume so that everything in the tapes could be heard with utmost clarity.

The tapes were recorded phone conversations between Dante and a prisoner of Alcatraz just off San Francisco, California. He was an African-American man in his sixties. He had once been the head of a Black Panthers chapter in California, of which Dante had belonged to in his youth, at the time he had come to study at the University of Berkeley. 

He had dropped out and joined the Panthers, becoming the most loyal supporter of the group. The phone conversations revealed a strong bond between them and whenever Dante would speak, his voice was choked with emotion. His life had been saved by this man and he saw in him the father he had lost in a lynching in Mississippi. 

This man, this leader, had been imprisoned after he had assassinated the Chief of Police of San Francisco. This was old news and some people had already forgotten this incident and the Black Panthers' involvement. His full name was Samuel Manasseh but in prison he had proclaimed himself King Samadi of New Africa. 

He had become Muslim and claimed that God, whom he was certain was a black man, had granted him the authority to lead men into forming a separate government where only African-Americans would dwell and not suffer injustices at the hands of whites. Unfortunately, it was of the John Brown type of justice. Angry and zealous, Samadi's words over the phone were smeared with venom, invective and religious phrasing that mentioned fire, blood, war and violence.

"And against cops no less," said Lexa, "and that might just be a start. He might go after even bigger establishments."

"Well, we have all the proof we need," said FBI, "but there is still the problem of locating this Black Panthers group. They might be hiding themselves in California. It's going to be very difficult finding these people. It also takes a lot of money to build what seems to be a separate government. They must be taking up illegal arms somehow."

Lexa remembered the photo album and the records her mother had shown her at her home in Long Island. She also recalled that Dante had been born in Mississippi. Her mind began to wander. It was also in Mississippi where in 1955, a young black named Emmett Till was brutally killed by whites after a white woman accused him of whistling at her, something so trivial. The incident was a major cause of the Civil Rights Movement which sought to end the violence against blacks in the Southern States. 

Lexa's gut was telling her that if anything, the Panthers might be hiding in Mississippi, perhaps even in the same area where this incident had happened. This was where her mother had once called home, the Tallahatchie River and the Yazoo river, quite towns and bridges by the Central Railroad and serene country roads. She hated to think that her mother's birth place could once again be the cradle of violence, hated to see those little roads and woods full of blood and corpses.

TEN

It was all over the news. It made headlines. The Black Panthers secretly plotting to take revenge against America and to wreak havoc once more. There was immediate action by police across the States. But for Lexa O'Neil, the matter was very personal. Not only was this about blacks but also it involved her loved ones, Mason, Hudson and even her Chief Barry. She would not rest until she knew they were safe. Already many FBI agents and police, including S.W.A.T. officers were sent to California, namely San Francisco and Oakland to search for the Black Panthers that had taken Chief Barry Hiller, Detective Mason Holmes and Hudson Banach as prisoners. 

Lexa was at the precinct with Vince, walking about nervously in the office she shared with Mason at Homicide. Vince was nervous too. Hudson had become his best friend and moreover his only true friend.

"Vince, let me take a look at those tapes again," Lexa said, "I want to hear if we might have missed something."

"Why? I thought we got everything we needed to know about what was said in these tapes," Vince said.

"I have the strangest feeling that the Panthers wouldn't be stupid enough to return to California to pick up where they left off during the 60's."

"Oh, and where would they do their thing then?"

"Some place with far more meaning to their cause. Some place where the events that lead to the Civil Rights movement and subsequent groups like the Panthers to even exist in the first place."

"You mean like the South?"

"That's exactly the place I'm referring to. I'm going to guess Mississippi. A lot of horrors happened there, a lot of violent acts against blacks were committed."

"If you feel so strongly about this, you need to talk to FBI to send guys out there."

Lexa had put on the cassette tapes again. She hated listening to Dante and Samadi. It was haunting, frightening, their voices talking about murders and dropping names and mentioning how they would kill in cold blood as if it was something natural and perfectly fine thing to do. But she was sure they might have mentioned the location of their secret base.

"Remember Mississippi, Dante," Samadi said in the tape.

"Yes," Dante said, wistfully.

"Remember the lynching of your father. Remember how unjust and how cruel it was then. We can now have vengeance against all who wronged you and men like the ones who killed your father. A racist is born every day, Dante, and we can ensure that they won't even speak against us anymore."

Samadi's voice seemed distant and proud, almost godly. It was very unsettling for Lexa. Perhaps it was the audio tape that gave him that affect. Dante on the other hand, sounded very sad but determined for justice. He said more on the tape then she had heard him say in all his time as a Lieutenant with the NYPD. If anything, the cassette tape showed Dante as he really was.

"I'm sure they're hiding in Mississippi," said Lexa, "Vince, I'm going to go there."

"What? Oh no, Lexie. You can't do that. Suppose they really are hiding there. They would be expecting police and F.B.I. to show up."

"No. They are laughing at us for seeking them in California. I'm going to go to north Mississippi. That's where my mother was born and where Dante was born. I dug up info on him. I'm going to go to the Tallahatchie River area. That's where Emmett Till was killed. It was what started everything maybe."

"You'll need back-up. I'll go with you."

"No. You're not experienced enough for this sort of thing, Vince."

Vince made a face.

"That's what everyone tells me. Hudson has told me the same thing. I have missed out on lots of missions and stings because he thinks that they are too dangerous for me. But I think I proved myself when I was in Chinatown and when I searched for the Golden Empire Mafia's underground lair in the sewers. I fought against lots of those guys and I turned out alright."

"I don't want you to go, Vince," she said, "this is not something you can handle. You were lucky that first time in Chinatown. But this is very dangerous."

Vince sighed in resignation.

ELEVEN

Hudson was in a dark room. It was dawn and the darkness did not last for much longer when the rays of the morning sun streamed through a window that seemed too high for his reach. At any rate the window was nothing but a square glass that could only be broken to escape out of. It was no use for him to even try to escape. He had been drugged so heavily that he felt very weak and helpless. 

The effect of the sedative had worn off but he was weak from hunger. He was caught from the leg by a ball-and-chain and he was able to move only slightly here and there. He had no idea where he was. Outside only the natural sounds of birds singings and calling to one another as they flew in the air could be heard. From afar, Hudson thought he heard the sound of a distant train.

Was it possible he was still in California? Who were these men who had beaten him and drugged him and now made him a prisoner in who knows what God forsaken place. The room was large and had no furnishings. It was made entirely of wood and not only that, old wood and it was as if a fire could destroy it swiftly and easily. Some dry feces were on the floor and he had no idea whether it was human or animal droppings. There was room enough for more prisoners but this was no authentic prison cell. Two more ball-and-chains and several ropes and wall-chains were surrounding him. 

Hudson hated that it had come to this. He had never in all his time as a cop imagined that his fate could be so calamitous. Sure, he had always had the feeling, in the back of his mind, that he could die while in the line of duty but this thought every single cop was known to have. 

But this, this, to be imprisoned by strangers, was never something that had crossed his mind, not even in his darkest fears. And he had done this while doing something he was not supposed to do. It was not exactly the work of a cop but more the act of a suspicious cop investigating another cop. He had behaved more like a detective. What had he been thinking??

Just then, the two main doors opened suddenly, as if a powerful wind had blown them open. Hudson turned his gaze to the entrance. Outside a road and woods were visible. Beyond that was a railroad and a bridge which crossed a river. The black men who had kidnapped him were bringing new prisoners. To Hudson's total shock it was Chief Barry Hiller and Detective Mason Holmes.

"Oh my God," Hudson cried out.

"Shut up, cop," one of the black men said to him, "keep your mouth shut. I suppose you know these two?"

The Chief and Mason looked like they had not been beaten but they were clearly sedated by the same drug they had given Hudson. They had very tired eyes, as if they had taken a long journey. How did these two manage to kidnap the Chief of Police from Manhattan and Detective Mason Holmes? Husdon could hardly believe it.

The men chained them by the leg to the wall next to Hudson. Mason looked at Hudson. For the first time in his life, Hudson was seeing Mason with very different eyes. The poor thing. And to think that he had once disliked him for being a detective and for having Lexa as his girlfriend. Now, he was a fellow cop in as much danger as he was. 

"Chief, who are these guys?" Hudson said.

The Chief had fallen to the wooden boards of the floor and was unconscious.

"O my God, is he -"

"No, he's only exhausted," said Mason, "he'll be ok. He was just sedated."

"So who are these people?"

"Black Panthers. Lieutenant Isaiah Dante was their tool. He was responsible for killing the officers in the NYPD, along with some other Panthers who had sneaked into New York City."

"Dante," Hudson repeated, "I knew he had something terrible he was covering up but this, this is inhuman. Why is he doing this?"

"He's a Panther. He's never been a real police lieutenant. He's been plotting this for years. He has been in touch with their leader who's been jailed in Alcatraz since the 60's. Somehow, he's also been in charge of shipping illegal weapons and firewarms to the Panthers via the train that goes through Mississippi, the Central Railroad."

"My God. But how are we going to get out of this? Do they want to kill us?"

"I have no idea what these devils want to do. I didn't understand them. They were ranting about freedom and revolution and all that Black Panther crap, something about a New Africa and a King Samadi who leads them even from behind the bars of a prison."

"The tapes," Hudson suddenly recalled, "did anyone in the NYPD get the cassette tapes I confiscated from Dante."




Vice Cop Ch. 12



"You knew it was Dante?"

"I suspected it was him and I began to investigate. I taped some phone conversations he was having from his office with the man you just identified as Samadi, a prisoner in - uh- Alcatraz island I think it was. But I thought that while it was real fishy that it had nothing to do with something as dark as this. I thought Dante was just visiting an inmate."

"I'm afraid we can't know if the tapes were heard by NYPD, Hudson."

"I gave them to my partner Vince. I just hope he showed them to -"

"I hope so too. It could be a way out of here if they come to rescue us."

"By the way, where are we? What is this place?"

"It's their secret headquarters by the Yazoo river in Mississippi. They call it the "River of Death"...............

* * * * 

She had told FBI and NYPD about her ideas regarding the location of the Black Panthers' headquarters. She was almost certain it was in rural Mississippi, by either the Tallahatchie or Yazoo rivers. This time they paid attention to her. They were running out of leads. The rescue party that had been sent to San Francisco and Oakland, California, had not found the Black Panthers anywhere. This time they would pay heed to Lexa's words and they would send a swarm of cops, SWAT and F.B.I. to Mississippi. 

Lexa went with them.

Private planes and jets took them from New York to northern Mississippi country, where woods, rivers and sleep towns sprawled around them. The summer here was very hot, and the residents of Oxford, Holly Springs and surrounding cities were startled by the presence of cops and SWAT in their corner of the world. It made newspaper headlines. A real group of radical Panthers were hiding somewhere ready to create chaos. The rescue party brought dogs to help them track the Panthers by their ability to recognize human smells and detect human presence. 

They all carried hand-held communication devices. Lexa was among a team of cops who were qualified for rescue missions. It was something she had not really done before but she had her taste of a similar thing when she had pursued the Arab terrorist trio that had plotted to blow up the Empire State Building. Her ability to do well under pressure and to handle such dangerous assignments led her to this kind of mission in Mississipi. Everyone was very sure of her abilities.

They were approaching some woods they had to cross to get to a small town which stood by the banks of the Yazoo river. It was one of three locations were the group had been sent to. Another team of SWAT and officers were sent to the towns by the Central Railroad and the Tallahatchie and even grander Mississippi River. Lexa was dressed in a body suit, tight and form-fitting, black, and it was for the sake of mobility. 

The rest of the cops, all men, were dressed in similar black body suits, almost ninja-like in their attire, because they anticipated a physical altercation and they would need to be free to move about. In the Academy, they had been trained for this kind of thing, and they knew karate and fighting moves. Lexa had been taught this during her own training.

A faint breeze was blowing and Lexa felt an ominous chill in the air. It was summer and she knew it was not fitting that there should be chilliness. They were near a river and often the breeze passed under the foliage of trees in the wood but she knew that the South normally enjoyed warm climates. 

She took it as a bad sign. She would have to be on her guard. She prayed with each step she took that Hudson, Mason and the Chief were alive and well, even if they had fallen into the clutches of the Panthers. She didn't want anything to happen to them. Her life wouldn't be the same if tragedy fell upon her loved ones.

The woods ahead of them were dark. Too many trees, canopying everything in shade. The thick woods had dirt paths and roads but they often appeared to lead to nowhere. The sound of the flowing Yazoo River was within range, but the multiple groves of trees concealed it and blocked out the sun and part of the skies.

The cops and SWAT stormed into the woods and took the road into the heart of the forest. Lexa was toward the front lines but when they had begun to run she had tripped over a branch and undergrowth that seemed to cling to her and bring her down to the ground. 

She moaned and noticed that she felt a little pain. It was not much but it was enough to stop her in her tracks. When she looked up again, she noticed she was alone. The rest of the officers were nowhere in sight. They had already moved on ahead of her. Lexa gasped. Damn, she thought, what bad luck.

She picked up her communication device which had fallen on the ground. 

"Hello, this is Lexa O'Neil," she said onto the device, "I don't know where I am but I fell down in the road and - "

She heard heavy static and waited for a response. But none came......

TWELVE

The afternoon wore on.

Lexa had been walking in the forest with a malfunctioning communication device. No one had replied to her repeated calls for help. She didn't expect this would happen to her. It was a challenge but one she did not really feel entirely prepared for. 

She looked about her, as if expecting someone to appear. She had her machine gun, of course, but she hated not knowing whether anyone who sprung forth was friend or foe. She'd hate to cause an accident. Some officers she knew were killed by friendly fire; and she certainly did not want to be responsible for killing a fellow officer. That would make her as bad as Dante in her book, who, now that his secret was out, would have to stand trial and would have to be brought to justice for the murders he had committed and for going up against his own NYPD.

She was traversing a small path that cut through a thick grove. Here, a few rays of sunlight streamed through the trees, giving it an ethereal look and made her calm for a moment. She heard the river's babble from somewhere nearby.Perhaps, she thought, she should follow the sound of the river and walk along the bank. She could find the rest of the cops and SWAT that way. She strained to hear the river again. 

She walked toward the grove of trees and noticed that a grassy knoll was in sight. Perhaps if she ascended this little hillock she would see the river. It made sense. She walked down the road under the branches of pines, and for a moment breathed in the air. It was lovely to be in such natural beauty and she thought briefly of her mother. She would have loved this sight. But she couldn't let her mind become distracted. Upon reaching the small hill, her eyes caught a most unusual sight.

The Yazoo River was not there but it was in view. It was flowing beneath a bridge and not far were railroad tracks. There, just a few yards away was a group of three cabins. Just outside each of them were black men in military wear and berets, wielding firearms. It was the Panthers.....

Lexa had reached their headquarters before the other officers.

This made her especially thrilled but she knew it was a life-threatening situation. She was completely alone and in the lion's den. These men would not respect the fact she was a woman. They would not care that she was also mulatto. They would only see a cop, the enemy. It was just too bad her communication device was not operational. She sighed. Was it possible Mason, Hudson and Captain Barry Hiller were in there, being held prisoner?

To confirm this, she moved closer, but she crawled through the grass and hid behind trees and rocks to avoid being seen. She was glad her outfit allowed her to be very mobile and also somewhat invisible. 

She turned to see that the men were conversing and moving about. A few others were walking into the middle cabin, which was obviously headquarters. Lexa was turning a corner and realized that she was facing the back of the third cabin which was situated in the rear. Here was a tree which, if climbed, would allow her access to the windows of the cabin. She quickly climbed up the tree. Her body was lithe and slender so she found climbing the tree was not a problem.

She took a look through the glass of the window. Down there, on the floor, chained by their feet were Hudson, Mason and the Chief. This was the right place alright. But what to do next. Just how long would it take the rest of the cops to show up? They had taken an entirely different path into the forest then she had. She hoped they wouldn't be long. They had been running after all but perhaps the forest was dense and it would take a while for them to get out of the green labyrinth.

"Here goes," she said.

She took her machine gun and leapt from the tree towards the window in a kind of somersault. She broke through the window and landed on her feet on the floor of the cabin. This startled Hudson, Mason and the Chief who had just begun to slip into sleep. They could scarcely believe their eyes. 

"That's quite an entrance," said Mason Holmes, smiling.

"Are you guys alright?" Lexa said to them.

"Lexa, just get out of this thing," Hudson said, "there's a saw right over there. Do you see it? By the stack of hay?"

"Hurry," the Chief said, "you've come just in time, Miss O'Neil. I'm sure they want to kill us by nightfall."

Lexa began to saw off the chains from their feet one by one until they were free. They sighed happily. Lexa embraced Mason, but she also embraced Hudson and the Chief. 

"I would have never believed it," the Chief said, "how did you know we were here?"

"There's no time to tell the tale," Lexa said, "but it's thanks to the cassette tapes that Hudson had given to Vince."

Hudson smiled. So it did the trick after all!

Just then, a group of Panthers appeared. There were several of them, all in their uniform and wielding guns. Their eyes caught sight of Lexa O'Neil and their jaws dropped.

"A woman?" they said, "you're the intruder?"

"The NYPD and SWAT are on their way," Lexa said firmly, "and you better believe they'll put up a fight against you."

"But will you?" said one of the Panthers.

That was a cue for them to begin to attack. They rushed toward Lexa. Acting quickly, she leapt into the air as they had prepared to jump on her. They didn't fire. She was not an easy target. She was leaping into the air and using her fists and legs to fight them.

They fought back, trying to grab on to her legs, but she was so agile and fast they weren't able to do anything to her. In addition, Hudson Banach, Mason Holmes and Chief Barry Hiller had begun to fight against the Panthers.

A brawl ensued. Seizing the machine gun off one of the Panthers, Hudson began to throw punches and was engaged in a purely physical fight with one of them. The were in a part of the cabin that faced away from the door and directly beneath the window that Lexa had broken when she leapt into the cabin. The glass beneath their feet was cutting through the flesh of their feet. Hudson showed no pain and continued to fight for his life. He was glad he had been trained to fight and used the little karate he knew. Apparently the Panthers did this too.

Chief Barry Hiller and another Panther were wrestling on the floor. He had also successfully seized his gun and thrown it away. But the rest of the Panthers were firing at Lexa. She fired back and dodged their fire as best she could. Hudson would look at Lexa now and then and he was certain that she would be shot at. It was part of being a cop. Mason Holmes, angered to see the men fighting with Lexa, joined in and fought against them with her. He was preparing to do a karate move on them but Lexa knew that it would be no match against fire power.

"Grab this gun, Mason, hurry!" Lexa said throwing him a Panther's machine gun.

Mason caught the gun and began to fire, animal-like, at the Panthers. A rain of smoke and bullets filled the cabin. Groans and grunts, punches and physical attacks echoed in the air. Blood was spilled and bruises were made. Hudson's shirt was torn open and blood was spilled over his biceps and neck. Lexa and Mason too, were a bit bruised. Chief Barry Hiller didn't seem to have a weapon but he did his best to avoid being caught in the crossfire, continuing to fight using his body.

"Lexa, darling," said Mason, his voice shaking, his face smiling, "did- did you come all alone to Mississippi to save me?"

"This is no time for jokes," Lexa responded, "and of course I did not come alone. The SWAT officers and other cops should be arriving any minute."

"Is that them right there?"

By the two open doors came the rest of the officers, and salvation.......

* * * *

In New York City, Lexa was once again praised for her courage, skills and her commitment to finding Mason, Hudson and Chief Barry Hiller, who now owed their lives to her. A ceremony in her honor was held. It was held at the Plaza Hotel. Lexa had never been treated to such a beautiful ceremony. She relished in the attention. She wore a jade-green backless gown and her hair was down this time, but neatly grouped to one side of her shoulder. She was at peace and content.

At the ballroom, the entire NYPD had gathered to party. Chief Barry Hiller had announced that Isaiah Dante had been caught among the Black Panthers they had arrested in Mississippi, that he would stand trial and be sentenced to life in prison. Never before had anyone in the NYPD behaved as wickedly as he had. He had been safe in the guise of the good guy when in reality he had been forming a plan to fight the NYPD with the Panthers. Now, he and the rest of the Panthers who had followed the directions of an Alcatraz inmate were to serve lifetimes in jail. Dante was sent to prison with his mentor along with others but some were sentenced to prisons in New York.

Now that the nightmare was behind them, Lexa felt like she could relax. She was trying some salad and conversing with Mason and another fellow officer when someone in hotel uniform approached her.

"There's a call for you in the front desk," said he, "It's a Miss Katrina O'Neil."

Lexa went to the lobby as quickly as her feet could carry her, descending the long staircase. She hoped it wasn't bad news. It couldn't be. She knew it had something to do with her father. The lobby was filled with guest in evening wear and Vivaldi was playing faintly in the background. Lexa approached the front desk and took the call.

"Mother?"

"Child, your father's back," Katrina said, "but it was just as you had predicted. He's been looking into getting work with the NYPD again. I told him not to go through with it. He said he has unfinished business and that he needs to get the last of the Dinos. I told him to leave it alone. Other cops, other detectives, can handle it. But you know how stubborn he is -"

"Is he alright? Where is he?"

"He's here with me but he wanted me to tell you that you'll probably see him at the precinct where you work. You'll be seeing more of him now."

"I don't think there's any way I can talk him out of it, mother."

"Well try."

Lexa hung up. As she turned around to return up the stairs to the ballroom, she noticed Hudson Banach was directly in front of her. Truth be told, he looked very handsome in his tuxedo, even if his big body wasn't exactly made for a tuxedo.He smiled at her and looked at her in a way she had never seen before. He took her hand and kissed it, and held it lingeringly. It surprised Lexa. She had never seen Hudson like this. It had the effect of arousing her a bit.

"Hudson - wh-why arent you back at the party?"

"I can't thank you enough, Lexie," he said, "for saving my life. You're a wonderful cop. You've always been. As a way of thanking you, I'd like to invite you and Mason to Miami. I'm going there to visit my Uncle Vitto at the end of the month."

"I'm sorry but Mason and I will probably have a lot of work to do," Lexa said, "but I really do appreciate all this, Hudson. It's very sweet of you."

"Come on, let's get back to your party. It is your party after all."

Together they walked up the stairs and back to the party.

To Be Continued...



Vice Cop Ch. 13



Previously on Vice Cop, Police Lieutenant Isaiah Dante's connections to the Black Panthers became known and nearly cost the lives of Hudson Banach, Detective Mason Holmes and Chief Barry Hiller who were captured. Lexa infiltrated the Panther's headquarters and rescued them as well as NYPD. 

This chapter has all the usual 1980's TV cop drama and action adventure elements. For those who love the sex scenes, read SCENE EIGHT and also SCENE FOURTEEN.

ONE 

Hudson had made plans to go to Miami. It had been a long time since he saw Miami. His uncle Vitto had called him frequently, inviting him to his oceanfront home. There was a dock outside his home which overlooked the Atlantic waters and where he stationed his sailboat. He had invited Hudson to go sailing with himmany times but Hudson, despite the temptation, had prioritized his duties as a cop. He rarely took vacation time, and there had been at least one full year in which he did not takea single vacation. But now he was contemplating the matter carefully.

Life was short. He had seen friends and loved ones come and go. His best friend Kyle had died in the line of duty, he had the worstluck of any man with regards to finding a mate. There had been so many girls that had slipped through his fingers: Sonya Romandini, his first girlfriend, an Italian girl from his ownneck of the woods in Queens, who left him for the sake of a career that turned into high-class escort work, there was Candy Spears, a beautiful and naughty blonde bombshell who had used him but who he felt sure he could have saved from a life of crime, and the most noble and dear Cherry from China, who loved Chinatown and who lived simply and peacefully and had been his wife briefly. The tragedy of her death at the hands of the Chinese Mafia still haunted him. To the day, he could not go to Chinatown without thinking of her and of that brief and unforgettable marriage. And now he was thirty. He knew that if he didn't seize life like a bull by the horns, he wouldn't get anywhere. So after one more call from his Uncle Vitto, he finally consented to traveling south from New York to Florida to see Miami. He told Chief Barry that he would be gone for quite a while, at least two to three weeks and that he would return to his duties as vice copimmediately upon returning. He had invited Mason and Lexa but their own work at Homicide had kept them from going. 

So he decided to make a visit to his old friend, Professor Ezra Goldstein at his quaint walk-up home in Park Slope, Brooklyn. It was not a long drive for Hudson, who was living in another part of Brooklyn, Bensonhurst. It was an entirely different place, with many Italian residentsand although Hudson felt comfortable there, he was getting the feeling that a seedy underbelly was growing under his nose, and for that matter, the NYPD. The Mafia was still a strong and operational entity in the city, and supposedly their territories included Bensonhurst, Middle Village and Little Italy, all of them areas which his family frequented. This made him very concerned. 

Here where the Professor lived, quiet reigned and although children frolicked here and there and sometimes teenagers would raise hell, it was still a very pleasant neighborhood. Hudson walked up the stairs and knocked on the Professor's door. He opened the door, almost as if he had been waiting for him. It had been a long time. 

"My boy, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" the Professor said, "I was beginning to think that you had forgotten all about me." 

"It's not that, Professor," Hudson said, "I've just been too busy as you know. The NYPD is a harsh mistress."

"I suspect she is," he said, smiling," but do come in. I'll fix you something to eat." 

The parlor had a new fragrance which to Hudson smelt like roses. On a record player was an album of Beethoven's 9 symphonies conducted by the famed Austrian conductor Herbert Von Karajan, the Professor's favorite. He had recently hired a housekeeper, something he had never done before. Hudson wondered if this was done as a way to make human contact. In his old age, the Professor had become a hermit. He didn't like socializing with the opposite sex or even with other men his age. He had never wanted to live in a retirement home for theelderly. He valued his independence and said he liked living alone. The girl who walked into the living room with tea had black skin spoke with an accent. She was very young, perhaps only twenty one, and she dressed in a very conservative way. Her long skirt had a flower pattern and her dark tresses were caught in a chignon behind her neck. She smiled at Hudson as she poured him his tea. 

"I don't believe you know my house maid, Miss Jamira the Professor said, "she's from Jamaica." 

"I am very pleased to meet you," she said to Hudson. 

"This is Hudson Banach, he's a cop with the NYPD." 

"Hello." 

They shook hands. 

"It is nice to know that the Professor keeps good company," she said, "a cop as a friend is a good thing to have." 

She spoke as if she were royalty, which fascinated Hudson, her voice very calm and warm. She excused herself and left the room. Hudson looked at the Professor and sipped his tea. Hudson grinned. 

"You think I hired her for company, don't you?" the Professor said, reading him. 

"Well didn't you?"

"In part. She is a nice girl. She's new to the country, has a husband. And she's very dedicated to her job. She has taught me to speak a little of her language." 

"Professor, I have a motive for coming." "Tell me." 

"I'd like to take you away from New York for a while. Would you be interested in joining me on a trip to Miami to visit my Uncle Vitto? He has a home with two guest rooms and he'd be happy to have you visit." 

"Oh that would be fine," he said, "very kind of you, my boy. When are you leaving?" 

"As soon as I let the NYPD know that I'll be gone for almost a month. The Department has been issuing free therapy sessions for the officers. The incident with Lt. Isaiah Dante hadbeen very traumatizing. The cops were afraid of each other since they didn't know that itwas Dante and his Black Panthers that had killed the officers." 

"Yes I heard about that in the paper, how horrible it must have been for you and your fellow officers. And the Panthers kidnapped you and held you hostage! If it hadn't been for the brave Miss Lexa O'Neil -"

"The event made the Department more aware of bad cops from within. So they made everyone take therapy to evaluate them. The purpose is to see if the cops are sane, competent and don'thave any issues like Dante did." 

"Did you have a session already?" the Professor said, finishing his tea. 

"I haven't." 

"I have always been interested in psychology. But I never made it into my profession. Now,then, I shall love very much to accompany you to Miami so please do let me know when wecan get the plane tickets."..............

TWO

Lexa O'Neil stepped into the office of Doctor Anne Ward in Manhattan. Ms. Ward had been appointed therapist for half the cops of the NYPD. The other was a veteran psychiatrist, Dr. Allan Wentworth. Lexa had never imagined she'd be seeing a therapist and she didn't like the idea, finding it uncomfortable to talk to a stranger about intimate and personal things. This was the same attitude everyone in the NYPD shared. The office was simple, two seats facing each other, a desk, a photo of Dr. Anne Ward and her diplomas and certificates as well assome bric-a-brac including glass figurines of animals and a bust of Siegmund Freud. 

"Have a seat, Miss O'Neil," she said to her, gesturing with her hand from her desk, "I'll be right with you." She was a tall, thin blonde woman who dressed conservatively in button-up blouses and skirts or long dresses. She had a very professional and industrious appearance, she looked to be middle-aged and possibly of German or Austrian descent. 

She approached Lexa and shookher hand. She was already poised to take notes. 

"Miss Lexa O'Neil. You've been a police woman with the NYPD since 1982 correct?" "That's correct."

"Your father was also a cop on the NYPD, only he had been active in the 1950's through the mid 1970's. He is retired now?" 

"Yes. Although -" 

"Yes?" "He's taken an interest in returning to work for the NYPD. I don't wish to discuss it; but I can tell you that it does vex me. He brought many Mafiosi of the Dino family to justice. His aim is to finish what he started back in the 70's. It's very dangerous." 

"And it bothers you to see him getting himself into these precarious situations because he is old? The NYPD issues many helping cops to assist him. It would be vice detective work, wouldn't it?" 

"I know my father. His brand of justice is individualistic. Even with any help he'd get, he'd still find a way to do things his own way and alone." 

"Let's talk about your career. 1982 you began to work as a uniform cop the same year you graduated from the Academy." 

"That's right." 

"You were the only woman training to be a cop at the time for the precinct you work for now." 

"Yes." 

"Has that ever been a problem? I know that the NYPD has hired many women since that time. It's now 1987." 

"It has never been a problem. Except-"

"Yes?" 

"At the time I started working for my precinct, I encountered macho sexist attitudes." Lexa thought immediately of Hudson, of their former conflict and confrontations. Those scenes, which had seen them arguing, especially when they were paired up as partners, scenes full of screaming and biting words, had ended. He had changed. He was a lot calmer and he seemed to be more respectful of her. 

"Were you sexually harrassed?" Anne said, curiously and looking at Lexa with scrutiny. 

"No. Never. The men have always treated me well. It was one cop in particular. But now it's not like that. He seems to have finally accepted me." 

"It takes time for some men to adjust to having a female officer as a partner or fellow cop. And I'm told you are living with a Detective Mason Holmes, is that correct?" 

"Yes. He's a brilliant man. He's a novelist. Have you read his debut novel "Crime After Dark "? It's a best-seller. He's always admired me and has groomed me to be a detective, even when I was still a uniformed cop." 

"Your rise from regular beat cop to detective was meteoric it would seem. You had already accomplished much in your early years so that by 1984 you had already been assigned to various assignments that only skilled cops or detectives could get. You have done undercover work."

"Yes; and usually with that cop who initially had a problem with me. But again, he's changed. I don't wish to give out his name." 

"You don't have to. Now tell me about Mason Holmes. Are you two happy? Are you engaged?" 

"Oh no. We have talked about it but we are both so passionate about working Homicide cases and we are married to our jobs. We find our relationship to be very comfortable but we have not really made steps toward marriage. We both like our living arrangement."

Anne Ward wrote down notes and after Lexa had finished saying this she paused. She straightened a strand of hair and looked at Lexa again. Lexa hated when people stared at her but she found that it was a very genuine look. At least these shrinks didn't give her any B.S. or was phony. She hated phonies. 

"Is there any reason that owes to your reluctance to marry?" 

Lexa paused. She thought of Hudson. She had wanted to tell her mother when she had visited her in Long Island about her feelings for Hudson, feelings she had tried to fight and was still fighting. It was not a good thing to live with someone, to be in a relationship with someone, and yet have feelings for someone else from a distance. Lexa wondered whether she should tell this lady any of this. Perhaps she'd blab. Who knows, Lexa thought, therapist or not, maybe she'd find someone to gossip with. 

"Miss O'Neil, everything you share with me is in confidence," Anne Ward said, "and you don't have to feel ashamed, guilty or anything like that. I won't tell anyone what you tell me. The walls of my office are sacred." 

"Well, you see, the officer that had issues with me being a cop -" 

"Yes?" 

"I developed feelings for him." 

"Really?" 

"Yes. He's a very strong and good man. He has his flaws, Lord knows he does. But he's a man I'm attracted to at a certain level." 

"Is it a physical attraction?" 

"Yes. But I also find him to be a very dear person and well, we've been together in many missions and assignments and we have been such a great team. I'm with Mason Holmes to see if I can be just as compatible with him for assignments and also at home." 

"And you are?" 

"We are. But -" 

"You think about that other cop. And you feel guilty." 

"Yes." 

"Miss O'Neil, you're an adult woman and only you can sort out your own feelings and come to a reasonable and very fair compromise. It is, however, very smart and wise for you to experiment. You have already done that by living with Mason Holmes. I can't tell you what to do. If you still have feelings for this office in a year or two, then I should think you ought to tell your significant other, this detective fellow Holmes." 

"I will keep that in mind. But right now, I'm really very happy with him. Really. Can I leave now?"

"That is all, Miss O'Neil. I shall be seeing you for one more appointment discussing any traumatic or memorable experiences you've had working as a cop for the NYPD. I realize you're very busy so I'll have to schedule this next session for next month. Thank you so much for coming and good luck to you.".............................

THREE

Hudson walked into Dr. Anne Ward's and his session had been scheduled after Lexa's. They didn't see each other in passing however since Hudson had arrived late. From her sixth floor room window, she was able to see that it was his Camaro that had been the problem. He entered her room without knocking and was wearing a dark leather jacket, jeans and his cop sunglasses. He took them off and took a look at the psychiatrist with a sheepish smile. 

He sat down instantly. 

"Sorry I'm late, doc," Hudson said to her with a grin, "I had problems with my car." 

"Yes, I saw," she replied, "I'd ask you to take a seat, Mr. Banach, but I see that you've already taken the liberty." 

Hudson chuckled. 

He was a bit nervous and the whole thing was very awkward. He had never been to therapy before and he didn't like the idea of a man or woman digging up memories of his or talking about his "feelings". He looked like he wanted to get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible. 

"Now then, this is your first time taking therapy?" she said, putting on eye glasses and looking over some papers. 

"Yeah. I wouldn't have gone but the NYPD is making everyone go." 

He said that with humor but Dr. Anne Ward did not seem engaged. She continued looking at the paper on her desk which she took into her hands. Hudson crossed one leg over another and waited. 

"You've been with the NYPD since 1980, and you have taken on many duties as a cop. First there was patrol duty, and you were also in the K-9 Unit. Your most recent work has been as a vice cop. You've been assigned undercover various times in sting operations and missions that have been very dangerous." 

"Yeah. It's no secret. The Department uses me a lot. I think I do my job well. I like it." 

"Can you tell me in a simple answer why you became a cop?" 

"Yeah sure. I wanted to shoot the bad guys and serve my country within my country." 

"But for many that would mean just uniformed cop type of work that doesn't involve the dangerous escapades of Vice or F.B.I. assigned work." 

"I grew up listening to my dad and uncle's stories. My dad was a cop in Poland after the War and my Uncle fought mobsters in Sicily before briefly being an NYPD cop." 

"How colorful a background you have. They must have influenced your decision then." 

"Yeah. Listen, it's really very awkward to talk to a shrink. How much longer am I going to be here?" 

"I want to talk to you about your attitudes that the Department talks about. They say you have no friends among your fellow cops, they don't care for your own brand of justice, your constant breaking the rules and your smugness."

"That's their problem. I do my job with a lot of heart and I'm willing to do a lot of things other cops wouldn't do in order to make people feel safe." 

"Your precinct captain, Barry Hiller is very proud of your work and seems to be your only real friend." 

"The Chief and I are friends, yes. We get along great." 

"Have you any friends outside your work?" 

Hudson moved a bit on his chair. The doctor was writing notes which made him feel a bit uncomfortable. She was a small woman and harmless but she was giving him the same kind of sickening feeling he got when Internal Affairs interrogated cops during the whole Black Panthers killing cops thing. 

"I met a Music Professor once, Mr. Ezra Goldstein, and I took a music appreciation class of his. We have been friends since as long as I've been a cop." 

"And your family? How is your relationship with them? Your mother, Isabella, your brother Angelo and sister Alyssa." 

"They live in Queens and I'm in Brooklyn but I try to see them whenever I can. Lately, I've been too preoccupied with work to see them but I do enjoy my family." 

"Any girlfriend or wife?" 

"I was married to a little Chinese lady briefly." 

"What happened?"

"She was killed. She was kidnapped by a Chinese Mob and she died trying to save herself from an attack." 

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Banach." 

"Doctor, where is this going? Huh? I'm not insane, I'm not some weirdo, I have had bad luck only in regards to women, but that's an issue I don't wish to discuss." 

"Nor do I wish to discuss women with you. Ok, Mr. Banach, you seem like you have your head on straight. I don't think there is anything else we need to talk about." 

"I agree." 

"Alright, Mr. Banach, you can go." 

"By the way, that's a very nice dress you're wearing." He smiled at her and she didn't say anything and didn't seem to care for the compliment. 

FOUR

Mason Holmes' first novel, "Crime After Dark" was already in paperback edition in bookstores in Manhattan.

Lexa had attended the first major book signing and heard Mason talk about the novel which he had labored so hard in making. It was a moment that signified supporting his talent and it was already known that they were both cops. But although curious fans wanted to talk to his female detective partner and girlfriend, she declined since it was Mason's moment in the sun. That was around the time that the American Ballet prima ballerina, Madeline Cavanaugh had beheaded Mason's friend, a Christian minister. Everyone knew that Mason had seen his share of spectacular homicide cases that could very well be used in his fiction.

But Mason had another thing in mind for his next book.

In their Manhattan apartment, Mason was seated and smoking a cigarette while Lexa finished washing herself after dinner. She sat down next to him and gave him a kiss.

"You look like you have been doing some thinking," she said, "I know that look."

"It's not about work. Well, sort of. It's about my next book."

"I suspect I'll be the first to know what it's about."

"Of course. "

They laughed.

Lexa opened a bottle of wine that was on the table and poured herself a drink, offering Mason a glass. She poured him some wine.

"So," she said to him, getting comfy on the couch, "what is your new book going to be about?"

"It won't be fiction."

"You mean you are going to write a true story."

"Yes, non-fiction it's called. It will be about my life as a cop so far, how I was with the LAPD for some years, how the Mafia were responsible for the murder of my wife, how I have an interest in bringing this same Mafia to justice."




Vice Cop Ch. 13



Lexa was quiet and pensive, looking at Mason and then at the window. Outside was Central Park, though of course it was only the top of the trees, and an incomplete vista of the sprawling green lawns and only a little of the lake could be seen. Pigeons were loudly flying about and the sounds of traffic drowned out th rest of Mason's words.

"Don't you find it very emotional to write about all this?" Lexa said to him.

"No. I need to write about what I know, and being a detective is what I know. I need to reveal the truth about how the system works and how often it does not. The Mafia is a powerful force in the U.S. and a plague. It is imperative that I write about how these people are ruthless and how my wife's death affected me."

"I see. Will you write about me, about us and our work with Homicide?"

"Yes. Everything."

"Sounds like it will be quite a book."

Lexa smiled.

They struck their wine glasses together.

"Good luck with your book," she said.

* * * *

Miami, Florida, 11am,

Hudson and Professor Golstein were greeted with a warm welcome by Uncle Vitto and Nancy. The sun was warm against their skin, in fact it was a tad too hot for Hudson and the Professor, already accustomed to the cooler climate of New York. It was pleasant for Vitto and Nancy and they loved the Florida spring, manifesting itself in the beautiful tropical flowers and jasmine that grew around their home. After they had settled into the guest rooms, one for Hudson and one for the Professor, they sat down to a hearty luncheon.

Nancy had prepared several courses for them to eat. She knew the Professor was Jewish and probably had a limited diet, so she ensured that all his meals were kosher and that he would enjoy them. Hudson, always fond of meats and Italian foods, was treated to foods that he had not eaten in a while. Because Hudson lived alone in Brooklyn, away from his family, he had not had not enjoyed his mother's cooking for some time. Nancy had obviously learned a great deal about Italian cooking from Vitto. She was not Italian but she had taken up a kind of Italian wife role, which was what Vitto had been looking for.

Vitto had become fat and lazy. He was retired and only worked handyman jobs for friends. He was living well in Florida, and he had made many friends his age in Miami. Often, he and Nancy would go sailing, to resorts in Boca Raton or crusies to the Caribbean. It was a paradise that was always tempting, even to Hudson. Every time Hudson came to Florida, he tried hard not to remember his experience with Candy Spears, who had used him, lured him to a death trap but had died herself. 

The fact that her "boss" Marina Brazilova and her drug lord companion Leo Mendoza had not been caught and in fact had fled the country upset him. He wish he had been able to bring thoses two to justice. They had cost him a lot. He did not like that he had caught Leo in New York only to see him escape to Florida where he also failed to get him.

But Hudson had made up his mind to enjoy himself in Florida. He would not allow the past to ruin Florida for him. It was still a beautiful little retreat and he would revel in it. He was glad the Professor had come along. It was nice to see him relaxed and happy. He enjoyed Vitto's sense of humor and friendliness and Nancy's sweetness. 

"Tell me Hudson, you ever seriously think about coming to live in Florida?" Vitto said to him.

"All the time," Hudson replied, " but it's like there's an umbilical cord between me and New York City. I love New York City and love serving the public as a cop. I can't see myself here, no matter how beautiful. Maybe, like you, Uncle Vitto, I'll end up here after I retire from the NYPD."

"Good. I think that would be great for you. And by then you will be married and -"

"I don't want to talk about that."

"I heard about Cherry and how she was killed by the Chinese Mob. I'm so sorry to hear that. I can understand how you would not want to jump into another marriage. But you must be enjoying the bachelor life huh? It's always fun to just look."

They laughed.

"If you do move to Florida," the Professor said to him, "I think I shall have to consider it myself. I think it would do me a lot of good to live in such a sunny and peaceful place. There are times when I am very scared living in Brooklyn. Always fearing crime, as you know. Not to inpune your work as a cop, Hudson my boy. But here it seem so much more peaceful."

"There is a great number of folks who would love it if you taught music here," said Vitto, "or you can live out your retirement days in the company of many nice older folks doing many things from playing bingo to traeveling."

"I will have to really consider it," said the Professor.

"So what are we going to do while we're here, Professor?" Hudson said, smiling.

"I have no idea," he said, "I expected to be treated to a tour of Miami."

"We can still do that," said Vitto, "Nancy and I will be glad to show you the city. Hudson, you can come along unless you have a different itinerary."

"I'll come along and maybe later at night I'll find some place to go. Maybe a nightclub."

"Whatever floats your boat."

FIVE

Manhattan, New York City, 7:10 am,

Lexa was off-duty and she had received a call from her mother Katrina saying she was coming to New York City for to reasons: she was preparing for her comeback as an opera singer and she wanted to visit Lexa and see how she lived in Manhattan. Mason Holmes had not met Katrina so he was very anxious and nervous. He was also enjoying his day-off with Lexa, had risen early to work on his novel and had not anticipated the sudden surprise visit. He was wearing a shirt open to the navel and slacks and he had not shaven. He was finishing his morning coffee when the bell to their apartment rang from the outside.

"That's her," Lexa said.

"I'm not sure she will like me," Mason said, "I'm not sure how she will feel about me. She is the great woman you've spoken about so often and -"

"She'll love you from the moment she sees you," Lexa said to him, hand on his shoulder, "don't worry about a thing. Remember, she married a white cop and approves of our relationship."

Lexa waited for her mother to ascend the elevator and to knock on the door. She had not expected her mother so early but it was obvious that she had scheduled the visit for the morning and she would take care of the rest of her activities in the city for the rest of the day. Lexa was in a long robe and also drinking coffee. She had just been reading the paper and an article on Reagan's meetings with Mikhail Gorbachev.

"Honey, it's me," Katrina said knocking.

Lexa opened the door and gave her a big hug and kiss. Over her daughters shoulder she caught sight of Mason Holmes smiling sheepishly. 

"Where are you staying?" Lexa asked her.

"The Plaza," Katrina answered, "you know that's my preferred hotel. It's the best in all New York."

"Mother this is Mason Holmes."

She extended her hand to him, and Mason thought she had wanted him to kiss it but they shook hands instead.

"Mrs. O'Neil, it's such a great honor to finally see you in person. Lexa has said so many wonderful things about you."

"Has she? Well thats smart of her."

"Please come on in and I'll make you some breakfast. Have you had any?"

"Did you eat already mamma?"

"I did. I'm here only briefly you know. I have been talking to the manager of the Amsterdam Opera and we are going to discusss today how to properly train my voice to sing again so i can record and to be in performances again."

"But where will you live? "

"Why, Greenwich Village, child."

"Greenwich Village?"

"Honey, it's no problem. I can afford it. My return to the stage is going to be very lucrative. Not that it's about the money and as you know, it never was."

"I know."

"But it's a business and I am only happy to be taking part of again. I've been offered to sing in upcoming productions of roles that defined my career! I will sing Tosca again, Norma, Isolde, Brunnhilde and Madame Butterfly."

"Oh, mamma, that's wonderful. I can't wait to see you on the stage again. "

"And I look forward to seeing that, too," Mason said, "I was told you are an amazing talent."

"I feel like my voice is ready but it needs refining," Katrina remarked," I havent sung in years! You know my fans don't even write to me anymore. They stopped since 1977."

"They will remember you, " Lexa said, "They will love that you came back. And I'll visit you in Greenwich Village."

"Child, something I've been meaning to tell you. I was at the Plaza lobby this morning and there was a man there, a talent scout. He's looking for young women to sing or play an instrument so that they could enter a competition. Something called "Star Search". It's a popular TV show. It's mostly a singing competition. Now, I know it would be madness to join that, when I'm already a woman of 60, but you -"

"Oh no. You don't want me to enter the contest?"

"But why not. I figure it would be a welcome change in your currrent life."

"My current life? Whats' wrong with it? Mamma, I didnt expect you would come to criticize me."

"I'm not criticizing. I'm only suggesting that your tough job as a homicide detective is depriving you of showing the talent I know you have. You believe me, don't you Mr. Holmes?"

"I'm very aware that Lexie can play piano. We don't have one in this apartment but I have seen her play piano in the Music Professor Goldstein's place in Brooklyn."

"And you can understand what I mean. Why even you, Mr. Holmes, find a need to express your creativity. I hear you write books."

"That's right. In fact my first novel was published a few months ago. I'm working on a new book."

"So if the detective feels like doing something to show off his talent, why can't you? I also know you can sing beautifully, child. Maybe it's not opera, but you can sing really great. Come on."

"Well, alright. Only to please you, Mamma."

"I'm so glad. I'll come back here later and we can both go to the Plaza and we'll talk to the talent scout and enter you into the competition.".....................

SIX

Miami, Florida, 7pm 

A hot night descended over the tropical city by the sea. There was something in the air that was enticing, something fun, forbidden; at least, that's how Hudson felt. The Professor had enjoyed a tour of Miami, had lunch and dinner but had decided to retire to his guest room for the evening. Vitto and Nancy had agreed to play cards with him and to talk through the night until they became sleepy. Hudson, feeling a bit caged, did not stick around. He showered,shaved and dressed for a night out on the town. He wore his gold chain, which, hangingover his chest, exposed because his red shirt was unbuttoned, gave him a surprisinglydecadent look. His hair was slicked back, and his slacks were perfectly creased, his shoes glossy and polished. 

He wanted to go out and to forget the unexplainable hunger in him. New York City often depressed him, or rather, the loneliness he felt while living there. Vice was calling again, tempting him, an unknown force pulling him toward something. He felt that tonight was tinged with a special sort of destiny. He knew it was probably nothing.He had been drinking at Uncle Vitto's and although not drunk, was sufficiently excited foradventure and naughtiness. Miami was a party city in paradise, and he knew he would not be long in finding gratification. The stars were already out, and a crescent moon, glistening over the Atlantic waters. The neon lights of the city were like radiant jewels and everywhere there was music, laughter, people up and about, ready for a good time. 

It was Saturday night. Music, floating like Muzak, coming from loudspeakers, provided the streets with a soundtrack. Wang Chung's "Everybody Have Fun Tonight" made people in the streets suddenly burst into dance. People were dressed in loose beach clothing; shorts, Hawaiian shirts, sandals and held drinks in their hands. The women were in bikinis or little cocktail dresses. All of a sudden, Hudson was conscious that women were outnumbering the men, that they were all here, as if in a herd at a watering hole. Pretty women, young women, and even the older ones looked attractive. Women of every race and background, exotic, white, black, and tan. They looked at him and smiled as he passed by. The music, the decadence that reigned, was beckoning Hudson to a place he knew had to go....... 

Gloria Estefan and The Miami Sound Machine's "Conga" was playing during a kind of intermission between strip shows at "Flamingo's". The strippers were relieved to be sitting, or preening in the mirror which also allowed them to socialize and have meals, provided by a Cuban lady, Rosa. The girls were seated, some standing, some smoking. The dressing room was large, and it was only one room. Mirrors were everywhere, in a semi-circle, with a pink frame and light bulbs on the frames. The seats were stool chairs, and the floor was covered in a flower-patterned exotic carpet. Palms were in the room for decor, and the assortment of sexy costumes, furs and lingerie made everything a riot of colors, sex and femininity. 

"Rosa, I'm starving to death," said one of the girls, a bronze-skinned Puerto Rican girl, "hand me a plate of chicken will you? I don't get out of here till midnight." 

"You need to go on a diet," Rosa said, strictly, "your thighs -" 

"Screw you." 

The woman handed the girl a plate of chicken and then proceeded to hand out water to girls who were asking for water. The girls were mostly Latinas but there was a few white girls and black girls, each changing into sexy thongs and bras, and various exotic costumes. In a corner of the room, all by herself, unconcerned with the fatigue the girls were clearly exhibiting, was a red-headed young vixen feeding a white cockatoo. She was wearing a silver diamond-sequin little skirt and a bra, and high heels. She was beautiful with white skin but with an exotic quality that denoted Latin blood. She seemed introspective and aloof. Rosa walked over to the girl, assuming she was going to eat a plate of food she had with her. It was rice and an assortment of cut chicken strips. 

"Aren't you going to eat? You're very thin, Roxella." 

She looked up and finished feeding her bird which she put back into its cage. "I'm fine," she said, "some nights I'm not hungry. At least not for food." 

"Diabla! It's not enough for you that men look at you and pay you to dance." 

"I didn't say that. I said there were nights which I personally don't enjoy just dancing." 

"Forget it. So are you going to eat this or not? I have other strip clubs to visit." 

"Don't want it, Rosa. I'm going to be dancing in about an hour. I can't dance after I've eaten."

"Suit yourself." 

* * * * 

Hudson didn't know why he should go to a strip club but he figured he'd have a few drinks, look at pretty girls get naked and then get back home. This was not his idea of a great weekend in Miami, but at least he would be indulging himself. Back in New York, he had made a goal for himself. He had decided he would not enter strip clubs because it was bad for his image as a dutiful cop. He arrested prostitutes working Vice, was fiercely anti prostitution, and dedicated much of his time into catching pimps and their girls. He had never found prostitution appealing. He knew that Sonya Romandini had once been a prostitute, even if briefly, and this was a shameful and great humiliation to him. He hated that she basically went from a quick-buck street hooker to a high-class escort. Even though it was unconscious, his stance on prostitution as a cop had to do with Sonya and how his relationship with her ended because of prostitution. 

Strip clubs were appealing to him. He had been to strip clubs before with Kyle Lennox but this was before working for Vice, and he liked that it was just looking and not touching. But because it was so hypocritical and so ironic that a Vice cop would frequent strip joints, he figured he'd quit going to them. But only in New York. Since the death of Cherry, he had tried to ease his pain by going to one of two places every other weekend - a bar or strip club. But he had only gone to the strip clubs in New Jersey, going even to the ones in Atlantic Ciy, which were more sexually charged. Now he was in Miami, no one here knew hewas a cop, no one recognized him, just like when he to Jersey, so it was perfect. 

He was walking down a street overlooking the marina, with neon signs providing dizzying arrays of lights and with drunken pedestrians and wild drivers shouting into the night from their cars.As he turned a corner, he saw a woman approaching him. It was a Hispanic woman, with brown, almost black skin, wearing a tight top and skirt, her legs long and sexy, without any stockings. She was smoking and she had a little cap on her dark hair. She held on to a little purse. She looked like a street urchin but Hudson knew what she really was. 

"Hey papi, looking for a good time?" she said to him, spreading her legs and putting out her cigarette on her thighs. 

"Not with you," he replied briskly and curtly. 

"Hey, puto, fuck you!" she yelled. 

Hudson did not know what she had just said but her angry and offended tone clearly showed she had just cussed him out. He didn't care. Then as she left, he noticed a flamingo neon sign, pink, over what was the largest strip club he had ever seen. It was like a hotel almost, like something out of Las Vegas. But the sign read "Flamingo's" and he knew it was a strip club. He sighed and made his way toward the place..................

SEVEN 

When Hudson ordered his drink and sat down by a table where another man in a suit was smoking, a strip act was already in progress. The girl was gyrating her hips in a circular motion, at times rocking them back and forth in a lewd, sexually provocative manner. She would bend down and show her ass to everyone, which was seen through the light, sheer fabric of her underwear. She removed her underwear to the beat of a strong, pulsating electronic music and then she made a sudden split, her legs wide apart. The men in the club were salivating. She had some hair on her pussy but she looked fit and sexy. She was a blonde with short hair and her boobs were big. 

"Can't beat that huh?" Hudson said to the man next to him. 

"Wait till the next girl," he said, "Roxella Peters. She's the star of this joint. Everyone goes nuts over her. She's always a success." 

"Star?" 

"Yeah. But only because her boyfriend is the manager of this place. He has this great deal. When it's your birthday the girls can do whatever you ask them to do to you - for an affordable price." 

"Hm." 

Hudson didn't like the sound of that. He knew that this was exactly the kind of back-door prostitution that he sought to end in New York City. Stripping was one thing that the law couldn't touch, but prostitution was always illegal, in any form it took. The lights went out and a hush fell over the men at the club. An excitement and anticipation fell over them and it was very palpable, even to Hudson. Like magic, a soft red and orange light came on on the stage and a soft music, sweet and sexy, a jazz number, began to play. The curtains were opened and out came Roxella Peters. 

The moment Hudson laid eyes on her, he was thunder-struck. She was absolutely gorgeous! Her hair was red, but a subdued "strawberry red", clearly a dye job. She was white but her firm, defiant chin, nose and eyes spoke of Latin blood. She had decent-sized breasts and sexy strong legs. She was wearing a tangerine-colored thong and two coconuts as breasts. She began to strip in a finely choreographed, almost balletic dance. Her coconuts fell off first, a spontaneous and sexy motion. She then began to gyrate her hips, to strut, to show her back and then turn completely around to expose her breasts, letting light and shadow play over her figure. She knew just how to move in a way that was not vulgar or graphic, but subtle and erotic, almost artistic. 




Vice Cop Ch. 13



The men thought she was a tease but enjoyed her sexy "shyness". She hesitated in taking off her thong, allowing the men to fantasize. Even Hudson fell under the hypnotic spell. Maybe it was the music, which in all fairness was beautiful to listen to, maybe it was her, the mix of naughtiness and innocence. She must have been no older than eighteen! Perhaps she had just turned eighteen the day before. She was like a movie star who had landed the role of a stripper and was "in character". She had grace and style, which Hudson marveled at. How is she a stripper? This little beauty? Her eyes were emerald-green. She continued to dance and move about until finally, as the music swelled and reached a climax, she took off her thong and her nude body was bathed in the soft glow of the lights. She was on her knees, covering her breasts with her hand but exposing her pussy. She was panting and looked veryfrightened. Then the lights dimmed and she disappeared behind the curtains, walking backwards like a crab.....................

Hudson had never felt such an urgent sexual need before. He had to have her. The next stripper was already on the stage, a blonde with obvious fake breasts, but he had no interest in watching any other strippers. He maintained a cool composure but he was burning hot with sexual desire. He looked at the man next to him finishing his drink. 

"You say that they have a special deal if it's your birthday?" Hudson said to him. 

"Yeah, that's right," he replied, "why? Is it your birthday today?" 

"Yeah," Hudson lied, "where do I go to get this special deal? Who do I talk to?" 

"The manager and owner of this joint, Floyd Burch. They call him "Flamingo Floyd". He's been in this business since the early 60's. He -" 

"I don't care about his life's story. Where can I meet him?" 

"His office is right down that hall. You have to tell the security there that you are interested in the "birthday special". Got it?" 

Hudson got up and walked away. The man found it amusing since he knew exactly why Hudson was eager for the transaction. Roxella Peters was very popular as a girl whose sexual favors men enjoyed for a good price. In the Muzak, The Pretender's "Don't Get Me Wrong" played, with the female vocalist singing something that spoke of excitement. Hudson walked down the dimly lit hall, which, sure enough, was guarded by two men in black who served as security. They were burly and tall men and their eyes missed nothing. Hudson was equally tall and burly but the men had a hard look that often Hudson lacked. 

"Excuse me," he said, "I'd like to talk to the manager, Mr. Floyd Burch." 

"About?" said one of the men. 

"The birthday special." 

"Alright, he's in there right now." 

Hudson thanked them and entered the office. It was a small office, all woods, with a desk,phone, and the floor was covered in a dark rug. There, behind his desk, was Flamingo Floyd. He was wearing a pink button-down shirt, open to reveal his hairy chest, he had a gold wrist watch, blonde-brownish hair, a mustache and was smoking a cigar. He looked up at Hudson. 

"You're here for the birthday special?" he said immediately. 

"That's right." 

"Which of the girls interest you?" 

"Roxella Peters. She just performed a striptease." 

"Ms. Peters is not available right now. I think her time's up and -" 

At that moment, Roxella walked into the office. She was in a purple robe, her red hair looseand hanging down her shoulders and back. She was wearing high heels. She looked delicious. She stared at Hudson with a hungry look. 

"I'm not ready to leave yet, Floyd," she said to him, "I'm not tired. Besides, I could use the money." 

Floyd looked at her as if he disapproved of her sudden interest in Hudson. He was quiet and pensive and then looked at Hudson. It was like an old dance and he knew that there wasno way of turning down money. Hudson paid in advance, and he walked into a backroom with Roxella Peters...........

EIGHT

Roxella wasted no time, which surprised Hudson. He had been anxious but not cock-ready. She removed her purple robe and she was fully naked underneath. There was nothing but white pearl necklace on her and high heels. Hudson had the strange feeling he was in an adult film or rather had stumbled into one as the male star, ready for the sex scene with the actress. She had an actress vibe about her. Her hair was very beautiful, long, well-groomed, a red that was not deep like the color of blood, but more like a soft, almost orange type of strawberry. She was white, her body fit but petite. She knew how to carry herself in a way that made her look taller, in addition to the height the heels gave her.

But Hudson was taller than her and she looked like a little girl caught in an adult situation.

"Roxella Peters?" Hudson said to her, "are you over 18?"

Roxella laughed. It was a musical laugh, like diamonds or champagne or both, a carefree and very sexy laugh. It created the aura of a mature woman about her.

"I'm asked that question so many times and it's always funny," she replied, "yes. I'm really

twenty five. I appear younger which makes me a hot item here in the strip club. Sit down on that chair, make yourself comfortable."

Hudson was speechless. He was feeling strangely small, and not as the powerful man he wanted to be, especially in the situation. He was to pay for her sexual service, and he had paid a good price. He could do with her what he pleased. But she was so beautiful and so fragile looking and yet wielded a strange power over him. He sat down on a small chair which was in the middle of the backroom. There was little furniture and the floor

was parquet without any carpeting. Chairs were laid out, a leather couch and the room had no windows, no way for natural sunlight to come through. Only electric lights. A poster of the regular strippers from the club, grouped together like pin-up girls, was hung on the walls. Statues of nude women were at the corners of the room.

"What do you want me to do?" she said to him, "do you want me to be oral on you?"

"I....uh"

"Don't be shy. You look like a tough guy. Do you want me to -"

"Yeah."

It had been a long time.

She was on her knees in an instant. She raised her round, heart-shaped ass from the floor and began to stroke his cock. It was growing in her hand as she caressed it gently at first.

She closed her eyes, fully attentive to his pleasure, her hands never leaving his shaft.

Hudson, sitting tight on the chair, began to feel waves of pleasure filling him like never

before. He had not been sexual with a woman in what seemed like a long time. 

As she began to lick and lave his cock, which felt not only good but extremely naughty, especially when he shot glances at her. She looked playfully wicked, like she enjoyed doing this a lot and had all the experience of a veteran whore. She continued to take his cock into her mouth, making Hudson moan and grind his hips. He tossed his head back as he felt his

orgasm coming. He tried not to release, wanting to pleasure her in return and to feel

even more physical pleasure with her.

She was able to sense this.

"You want to fuck me?" she asked, almost innocently," there's a couch right there."

"No. Right here on this chair. Come on."

Hudson grabbed her by the waist and sat her down on his cock, which was still hard. She was still able to tease him and grind her buttocks against him, in a sort of lap dance.

She then sat on his cock, penetrating her pussy and making her moan and cry out. Hudson

felt he would not be able to control himself. She felt so good. He felt disconnected from

everything, from everything in the room or in the world. He was not in Miami, he was in a

realm of senses and he could think of nothing but her. He closed his eyes and she began

to ride his cock harder, knowing he wanted the immediate relief. She was riding him in

reverse, with her back to him. 

He reached around and held her breasts firmly, squeezing them. She writhed and moaned as she bounced on his cock, each time with fuller penetration. She was in ecstasy, as if she had controlled the whole thing, as if she had always known him. This was not a first time sexual encounter between strangers. It was as if they had

been lovers before. It was as if she knew he was coming, that he would engage in sex with her.

Hudson suddenly remembered what great sex was like. This type of wild, uninhibited sex

was something he knew would not have enjoyed with the submissive and gentle Cherry, his China doll who had died, and it was as if Candy Spears had come back from the dead and inhabited the body of this red-headed beauty. He remembered that spirited girl in The Hamptons who had lured him into a threesome. Roxella Peters beat them all. She was joyous in her lovemaking, smiling, laughing, moaning, a living breathing object of

sexual desire. She wanted more, just as he wanted more, the both of them drunk on the passion that blossomed between them.

She couldn't have been like this with every john, thought Hudson, it was all for him.

"Turn around," Hudson ordered in a rough voice, suddenly confident and more relaxed.

Roxella complied and turned around. He wanted to see her face. They locked eyes. She had

exotic green eyes and a "love" dot by her cheek, a small little sexy mole. Her nose was

pretty and her chin. She had a sexy neck. Since she was on top, riding him while on the

chair, he was free to move his hands all over her. He grasped her neck and kissed it with

powerful hunger, his wet, hot mouth gliding downward, his hands now cupping her breasts.

He leaned over her to lave her nipples. He took her breasts wholly into his mouth. 

She threw her head back and cried out in pleasure, uttering in what sounded like Spanish.

Spanish, how odd. Was she Spanish? He forgot he did not know a thing about her. All

he knew was that she was providing him with intense sexual pleasure. In and out his

cock went, making her bones nearly jump from her body. She cried out, joining his cries.

Their orgasm erupted simultaneously. It was an especially beautiful way to orgasm.

Their last position was in a sort of embrace as she wrapped her legs around him and

he devoured her with kisses, with her bent back, her head dangling over the floor as

he kissed down her neck and to her navel.

Hudson wished the moment didn't have to end.

* * * *

As soon as it was over and she had her money, she had a different sort of look. Her hair

back in place, her body composed, she looked as if nothing had happened between them.

This surprised Hudson. He was also beginning to realize that his emotional need had been

bigger. He had only been a client of hers, one in what must have been a long list of Miami

gentlemen. She also now looked sad. Hudson couldn't quite understand why she would

now possess a look of quiet and tragic sadness when she had just enjoyed a happy moment.

She put her robe back on and smoothed her hair with her hands, looking into a mirror on

the wall.

"What's your name, babe?" she asked him.

"Hudson Banach."

"You're not from around here are you?"

"No," Hudson replied, "I'm from New York City. I'm visiting an uncle in Miami. I was bored and -

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a cop."

"It's nice to know that I served a civil servant," she said jokingly, "you deserve some fun now and then. You do a lot for people just by keeping the city safe."

"Thank you. I do my best."

Again, that sad, far-off look. She sat down on the couch next to a leafy plant and sighed.

"Roxella," Hudson said, "are you ok?"

"No," she said, "I don't want to do this anymore. I mean what we shared was lovely and I felt very nice. I wanted to ...to make love...not sex. I realize I don't know you but I'm sick of this kind of life."

"Are you being forced into this? Is it true your the manager's girl?"

"He's not forcing me. I was born in Miami to a Puerto Rican mother and a white father. I

lost them in a car accident when I was only fifteen. I never graduated from high school

and ran away from my foster parents' home. I've been a prostitute and a stripper. Floyd

has money and has kept me. We live in a nice home by the beach and he buys me gifts

and cares for me. But he thought it would be better to be a star stripper for business.

I went along with the idea but now I don't feel very loved. He's too cold. He's all about

the money."

Hudson was brimming with masculine pride. A poor victim, a caged bird. He could be the one

to set her free. He could rescue her. The cop in him wanted to make sure she was not doing

this kind of sex work. And perhaps she'd respond. He embraced her and she cried on his

shoulder.

"Roxella," he said to her, "let me take you away from here. Be my woman. Let's go to New York City. You don't have to work if you don't want to or I can help you find a decent job. I don't want you to wither in Miami like a dying flower."

She looked at him with sadness but with a degree of hope. She smiled faintly. Thank goodness they were all alone. Floyd, in the office on the other side, probably thought they were still going at it. She touched Hudson's arm. 

"I don't know. Floyd would be so crazed with jealousy and so angry. He'd come after me."

"He can't harm you. I'm a cop. If he's making you do something you don't want to do like prostitution, I can arrest him for prostituting you."

"Well technically you'd have to arrest me too wouldn't you? I've done more than just stripping. I've -"

"Don't worry. No one has to know that you were a stripper. Does anyone know you in New York?"

"No. No one."

"Then come on. What's keeping you? I want to love you, Roxella."

He held her and she did not resist this time. They kissed. Afterward, she smiled at him. She coughed and hugged her shoulders and then she went into another room.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get my Baby-Cakes".

"Baby?"

"My pet cockatoo."

"I have my things in Floyd's house. I'd have to tell him I want to visit a relative in Palm Beach. Where could I meet you?"

"I'll meet you at the marina near my Uncle Vitto's home. Tomorrow morning? 8 am?"

"Yes."

"Don't be scared. I'll take you where you'll be safe. Floyd won't ever know where you are or what happened to you."

"He probably wouldn't care. He'd just find some other poor girl and do the same with her."

"I'm so glad you're coming with me, Roxella. I think we both need each other. I'm going to be so good to you."

NINE

Manhattan, New York City, 

When Lexa headed for the Plaza Hotel with her mother to talk to a man about entering the "Star Search" singing competition, Mason Holmes went back to the precinct. He had been working a special case, for some time, without Lexa's knowledge. He figured it would upset and vex her enormously if she knew. The case was one that touched a very personal chord. It was about the Mafia, specifically the Dino family. The Dinos were a family that had moved from Naples, Italy, to New York City, conducted a successful drug cartel and illegal weapon trade, and were notoriously ruthless. When Mason caught some of their capos, they retaliated through the murder of his first wife, Katie. He knew it was Luigi Dino's son, Gianni, who had carried out the assasination. 

Since the imprisonment of their capo, Don Luigi, Gianni had taken over as capo. For various unusual reasons, Gianni had never been caught. He had at least three other residences in Florida, Nevada and Chicago. He was never in one place long enough to be caught. He posed as a businessman and quite artfully, so that his true identity as the head of a Mafia syndicate was never really exposed. Ever since Gianni had his wife killed, Mason Holmes had vowed to bring Gianni to justice, as he had his father. 

It was very personal, and moreover, it was revenge for Katie's murder, but Mason was determined to carry out this just vengeance. He was out there, rich and prosperous, perhaps bribing cops and always escaping justice. Mason Holmes was in his office, looking over some papers, when a man he had never seen before stepped into the room. He was an average-built white man, but what grabbed Mason's attention was his age. The man had some white hair, and wrinkled skin and he was clearly a cop from the way he could stand erect with perfect posture and the way he could walk straight. He had an Irish face, with green eyes and a small nose and round cheeks. 

"Mr. Holmes, I'm Emeric O'Neil, Lexa's father," he said. 

Holmes was astonished and almost dropped his paper. Instead he got up and shook his hand. 

"Mr. O'Neil, such a pleasure," he said, "I had no idea you were in town." 

"My Lexa probably hasn't breathed a word about me," he said, "I've pulled myself out of retirement and I'm working as a detective." 

"You are? With Homicide? In what precinct?" 

"This one. I've just been trying to lay low. I don't want for Lexa to worry about me. You see, I'm interested in one thing and one thing only. To finish what I started back when I was a cop. I was the one who arrested Don Luigi Dino." 

"You?" 

"That's right. He was the Dino family's leader." 

"Yes I know. I didn't know it was you who had caught him." 

"He's six feet under now, from what I hear. Died of an illness in jail. This must have really shook up the entire family." 

"His son Gianni is capo now. But tell me, Mr. O'Neil, why are you here? What do you want to see me about?" 

"I'd like to work with you on the same case. I am aware that you are also trying to catch the Dinos and that your wife was killed because of them. I know that if we work together as a team, we can really make a difference. This Mafia scum needs to be crushed. What better duo than us."

"I am very honored, Mr. O'Neil. I love your daughter very much and she has always admired you as have I. You were once an amazing cop, a legend." 

"I still am and can finish my job if you help me." 

"I accept. You know, maybe Lexa didn't mention that I'm writing a book about the Dinos. They cost me so much pain and suffering. I'm exposing their tactics and their crimes in my new book and I want to be the one to finally catch Gianni. With him gone, I'm positive that we can put a stop to their organized crime, even if not the Mafia institution itself. That is a job for many other dedicated cops." 

"I'm going to be here again tomorrow morning to work on this case." 

"I look forward to working with you, Mr. O'Neil." 

"But I only ask that you keep this a secret. Don't tell Lexa." 

"I'll do as you ask, Mr. O'Neil." 

* * * *

Lexa and her mother were at the lobby of the Plaza. It was noon and some of the guests were descending the large staircase and heading in throngs to the salon or the restaurant to enjoy lunch and some social time. Lexa was rather hungry herself, and she knew her mother enjoyed luncheons, especially in style, and it wouldn't be long before they were seated at a table themselves, waiting for their order. 

"What do you feel like eating, honey?" Katrina said to her. 

"I don't know, mamma. I haven't been to the Plaza since -" 

"I heard all about it. You saved the lives of your own Chief, your Mason Holmes and another cop. You were in Mississippi to bring to justice a group of Black Panthers that had been killing officers. I don't think you can do something like that without receiving some press. That must have been a nice party they threw for you here at the Plaza." 

"I didn't think you'd read that part of the paper," Lexa said. 

"Child, do you honestly think all I read is the arts and culture page? I read the whole thing. I need to know what is going on in the world. It's 1986. There was a time when I thought a woman had no reason to know so much." 




Vice Cop Ch. 13



"Are you angry at me?" 

"Scared for you. But I'm glad you are alright. You're a strong warrior, honey, but I wish you had never become a cop. There were no women cops in my day. You've done so much already but I'm afraid that all this exposure to brutal reality will de-feminize you." 

"You can't mean that!" 

"I mean every word. You are a woman, child. You need to do something that is at least a little feminine." 

"I think I dress very much like you did in your gala parties and balls when I'm out of uniform and at a social get-together." 

"I don't mean that. You need to show to everyone that you can DO something feminine." 

"Like play piano or sing?" 

"Well, you used to. You had almost become a real pianist. I know you can remember how to play. And you had a beautiful voice." 

"Nothing like yours." 

"A Mr. Jensen is meeting us for lunch. He's going to talk to you about entering as a contestant on Star Search." 

"Don't they do that show in Los Angeles, California?" 

"I think they are doing it elsewhere this time. Come, let's get to our table." 

They walked into the elegant restaurant, where chandeliers hung over a sprawling space filled with tables clothed in white, where waiters in uniform attentively waited on wealthy guests.The women were wearing chic clothes and some hats and gloves. There was a scent of roses in the air and displays of leafy plants, roses of pink and red tint were on display in vases throughout the restaurant. There was a European Old World charm about the hotel and Lexa fell instantly under its spell. Being here, in this place so uncommon for a cop to be found, already worked its magic on Lexa, making her softer and less hardened. The men wereprofessional looking and upscale, in business suits, ties and even some hats. There was a very chic, sophisticated and relaxed ambiance that began to appeal to Lexa. 

Here was no sense of urgency, of having to worry about crime and or immediate civil service. No angry faces, tired faces, no cops anywhere to clash with the pastel colors. It was like a quiet little haven, that, as pretentious as it was, offered some comfort. From one end of the room by a large window overlooking the street, a man was playing a piano and Lexa remembered the melody. It was Chopin's lustrous Grand Polonaise in A.

"Ah, here he is now," Katrina said. 

She offered her hand to a tall, handsome man with dark hair and a "game show" host type of look. He took her hand and kissed it in a cavalier manner. 

"Miss O'Neil, it's such an honor," he said. 

"Please sit down," Katrina said. 

From the looks of it, it seemed to Lexa that Katrina had arranged for this man to come to them, as if she had done very little to get him to come. Perhaps all she had needed to say was that she was Katrina O' Neil, the opera singer. The man sat down and then Katrina gestured with her hand toward Lexa. 

"This is my daughter Lexa." 

"Ah, so you are Lexa O'Neil," he said, "I'm Jeff Jensen. I'll be hosting a televised episode of Star Search aboard a cruise that takes off from Florida to the Caribbean." 

"Oh," Lexa said. 

"You have an interesting background," Jeff Jensen said, "your mother is the world-famous diva Katrina O' Neil, once a huge star of the opera world who is only now in the process of making a comeback. You're a cop, a Homicide detective in Manhattan, who had no interest in singing and music although you were trained as a pianist and singer." 

"That's correct." 

"What a fabulous angle. And it might just work for you in Star Search, provided you don't sing opera. Our regular, middle-class American viewers won't be able to understand opera." 

"I was never able to sing opera," Lexa retorted, "my mother would have wanted me to sing opera but my voice can never go as high as my mother's. Also, hers is a strong, dramatic voice that make mine seem thin and small in comparison. I can sing only modern songs at any rate." 

"That's perfect. We'd love to hear you sing and play at least one piece on the piano." 

"Mr. Jensen, tell me, how is this to be done? You mentioned a cruise?" 

"All our contestants will be treated to an all-expense paid cruise. You will have sufficient time to rehearse and to meet other contestants and the judges. You will perform each night until there are only two finalists who will perform in the last show-down." 

"Sounds very exciting. Oh, honey, don't refuse. You could use a good cruise. You can bring your hard-working detective Mr. Holmes with you. That would be nice for him too."

"Alright. I'll do it. Are you coming too, Mamma?" 

"Of course. I'm the one who made you do this, remember?" 

They shared a hearty laugh. 

TEN

It had been only three days since he first began to work with Lexa's father Emeric on tracking the activities of the Mafiosi in the Dino family. The investigation was conducted even without the knowledge of the precinct. Homicide only dealt with major cases and that was Mason's specialty, but he managed to squeeze in time for this special case which was of personal importance to him, and to Lexa's father. He knew Captain Barry Hiller would disapprove, as well as other big wigs in the Department. Not to mention Lexa. She knew her father was working with the precinct but he had led her to believe he was not actively investigating Mafia activity but rather getting a feel for the new changes in the NYPD, trying to fit in again. 

Lexa worried about her father so he tried his best to conceal his more dangerous work. Nevertheless, Lexa was beginning to suspect something. One evening, after dinner, she decided to confront Mason about it. They were in the kitchen, Lexa finished with the dishes and waiting for Mason to open up a bottle of wine from the wine rack. She was tired from her day and didn't want to scream at Mason, but she was determined to know what he was doing without her. She knew it was about some special case that most likely he didn't want her to be part of. There had been previous instances in which he kept her out of cases which he felt were unsuitable to her or too dangerous. 

"Mason, darling," Lexa said, "care to tell me what's been going on with you lately?" 

She said this so flatly and directly that it startled Mason. He turned to look at her, trying to read her face. Good God, he thought, she's starting to suspect something. He cleared his throat and put the wine bottle on the table where glasses were already waiting. He did not respond and poured the wine on the glasses. 

"What do you mean, Lexie?" 

"You're acting strangely. You're keeping something from me. I can feel it. What is it, Mason? What's the case about?" 

"Case? What makes you think it has to do with work?" 

"It's always about work. You don't want me to be part of some case you find too difficult for me. I think that's very unfair. We're in this together, Mason. I became a detective because

you taught me, I learned from you and you're terrific. You believed in my potential. When you

deny me working in certain cases, it hurts my feelings. I feel like I'm not good enough." 

"It's -" 

"Tell me." 

"I don't wish to tell you. It's very personal and I don't want you to be involved. I -" 

Lexa drank her wine in an obvious effort to calm her nerves. She looked at him and sighed.She began to walk around the kitchen and she was clearly upset. Mason sighed too. He hatedwhen they had little quarrels, hated when they disagreed about things. 

"Mason if we're to survive as a couple you can't keep any secrets from me," Lexa told him, "it's not very loving. It's unequal. I must know what's been going on with you. You have a very vexed look in your face and I've never seen you so involved in anything before. Is it about your book? Are you doing "research" in a dangerous way?" 

"Yes in part. I really don't want you to know. I kept a promise to someone that I wouldn't tell you for it would upset you too much. You cant be part of this because it really is too dangerous. You say it's very mean of me to exclude you from it, but I don't see it that way. I'm protecting you, Lexie. I don't want any harm to come to you. Remember, we're cops. There is an entire class of people who want us dead for ruining their "work" if you know what I mean." 

"It's about the Mafia isn't it? Mason, maybe it's not such a good idea to write that new book. Sure, your motives are good ones but -" 

"Lexa, I've been a detective for a good number of years. I've been a cop in LA and I know how to take care of myself. Even though Banach and other officers think I'm a "suit" and don't know how to fight or have seen action, I have. I've seen a lot in my time. I'm fifty. I know what I'm doing." 

Lexa finished her drink and looked tired. She didn't wish to argue any further. 

"I'm going to bed," she said, defeated. 

* * * *

In the course of one week, Roxella Peters fell in love with New York City and with HudsonBanach. It was just what she needed. It was as if she had been in a cage and finally released. Forthe first time in her young life, she was free. She found pleasure in smelling fresh air, inthe singing of birds, in smelling the flowers and in the company of a good man. This was nota man who had merely paid for sex with her and moved on to some other girl. With Hudsonshe did not feel like a prostitute or a stripper. She was certain she'd never go back to thatlife. The first time she saw Hudson's house in Brooklyn, that unassuming single home, she was a tad surprised, though not disappointed. She had been used to living in a bigger and nicerhouse. 

Floyd's Miami beach home was nothing like Hudson's modest home. She knew he wasonly a cop and therefore did not make a lot of money so she would have to become accustomed to an entirely different lifestyle. Hudson wondered if she'd adapt. To his pleasant surprise, she did. 

"My parents were poor," she said to him, "even my white father was an Irish immigrant who came to work as a landscape gardener. My mother was poor and worked as a housekeeper. I was very happy in those days because they really loved me. It was traumatic to see them die in the car accident. I wish I had died with them." 

"You have no brothers or sisters?" Hudson said, raising an eyebrow. 

"None. It was just me. I'm all alone in this world. I don't know of any other relatives since my family was never in touch with any of them." 

"You're not alone anymore." 

Hudson took her hands and kissed them as if they were holy relics................. 

ELEVEN

After a few days, Hudson had given Lexa a good tour of New York City, much as he had once done with his mail-order bride Cherry. Roxella enjoyed the food and the rides at Coney Island, enjoyed the Statue of Liberty, Central Park and her favorite site of all, the Empire State Building where she looked out from the observation deck to Manhattan in all its glory. This was a vast city by the ocean, a beautiful and strong thing, dangerous and yet dignified.Hudson warned her that no more how lovely the city was, there was also danger. It was the same talk he gave Cherry. Being a cop, knowing many bad people,he told her not to be too trusting. In this city there was a lot of crime which ranged from kidnapping to sexual slavery to murder. 

"In Miami, it wasn't always Paradise," she replied, "I learned to take care of myself. Before I met Floyd I had been on my own for a long time. I'm strong enough to survive on my own so don't worry about me." 

Still, despite her strong self-assurance, Hudson worried she could fall victim to danger. He always felt this way around women, and especially beautiful women. One day, Hudson took her to meet Professor Ezra Goldstein. They were at his doorstep in Park Slope waiting for him to open the door. Hudson had called ahead of time, telling him he hadmet a wonderful woman and he wanted him to meet her. 

"He's been a Music Professor for many years," Hudson told her, "he's in his seventies and he was quite an accomplished pianist, even accompanying many great opera singers in recital. His wife of many years died of lung cancer and he's been a single widower ever since. He's a good man. He's my best friend. I want him to like you." 

The door opened and the same dear little man who had been like a grandfather to Hudson emerged, smiling and giving Hudson a huge hug. 

"I'll make tea," he said. 

They entered his living room. The same one where he had first met Lexa O'Neil, with the fireplace still in its place, with the fine carpet and furniture and the quaint Victorian style charm. This time, he had re-decorated his home to look more like something out of a 19th century home. On the walls were portraits of opera singers he had once known, including Maria Callas, Anna Moffo, Franco Corelli, Birgit Nilsson, Richard Tucker, Luciano Pavarotti, Placido Domingo and many others. Leafy and showy plants, velvet curtains and delicate porcelain, everything so beautiful and old, like him. On the phonograph was a recording of La Traviata. 

He went to get tea while Hudson and Roxella sat down on the couch. Roxella looked around her with wide eyed curiosity. She had never been to a decent home. Floyd's friends were figures of the underworld, not only Mafiosi but drug lords, pimps, gamblers, thieves and corrupted men who enjoyed doing drugs and having sex with prostitutes. Roxella had kept this from Hudson, saying that Floyd had no friends and that they had only partied with clients of the strip club. He didn't want him to think that the friends she had once known had in part made her a tad corrupt herself. But here, in this charming home, she felt like she would know a good friend and an entirely different kind of world. 

"Here we go," the Professor said returning with tea. 

"Professor, this is Roxella Peters from Miami," Hudson said. "

My dear, any friend, wife or girlfriend of Hudson's is a friend of mine, I'm delighted to meet you," the Professor said to her, taking her hand and kissing it. 

She felt very strange. No one had done that to her, with the exception of Hudson. How comforting it felt to know that some men were good. 

"You are beautiful," the Professor said, "very beautiful. You are Spanish?" 

Hudson was surprised. How did he know just from one look? Hudson corrected himself. It made sense. Professor Goldstein had lived for many years and knew all kinds of people. He was probably quick to identify background immediately. 

"My mother is from Puerto Rico and my father is Irish," Roxella replied, "they passed away in a car accident when I was younger." 

"I'm very sorry. But you turned out alright." 

Roxella said nothing and smiled awkwardly. 

"Tell me, my dear, what do you do?" 

"Do?" 

"For a living." 

She paused, taking that uncomfortable moment to drink her tea. At the same time she thought up a good lie. 

"In Miami, I worked as a fashion model and waitress." 

Hudson said nothing but knew that she couldn't tell the Professor that she had been a stripper. From the expression on the Professor's smiling face, Hudson knew he had bought it hook line and sinker. 

"Well, I must say my boy," he said to Hudson, "this time it appears you've struck gold. She is a most delightful woman. Will you be modeling in New York?" 

Hudson looked at Roxella while drinking his tea. 

"That's why I came here," she said, "to try my luck with modeling here. Even if it means modeling for auto shows or of course, attempting to land roles in TV or film." 

"You want to be an actress." 

"Yes." 

"I wish you the best of luck my dear. You are very charming." 

"Is that Traviata you're listening to on the record player, Professor?" Hudson said, changing the subject to help out Roxella from saying any more lies. 

"Why yes. It's playing at the Met. Has Ms. Peters been to the opera yet?" 

"No. I am going to take her to Traviata." 

"O my dear girl. That's the most beautiful, sad, romantic opera ever made. You will love it." 

"I'm sure I will. I've never seen an opera." 

"Speaking of which, my boy, did you hear the news?" 

"What news?" 

"Lexa's mother, the former opera singer Katrina O'Neil, is making a return to the stage. She is working with an accompanist and she's rehearsing for her comeback role in Tosca. I read about in the society page of the paper. She hasn't sung in years and I was her biggest fan. She looks wonderful for her age. I saw a photograph of her in the paper. We must go see her perform." 

Hudson was quiet for a moment and a bit surprised. He had only seen Lexa's mother from a distance in a nightclub in Long Island when Lexa was visiting her. He had not spoken to her and he was nervous. It was inevitable that he would have to talk to her and to Lexa. Roxella would have to meet them as well. Somehow, strangely, he felt as if showing off Roxella toLexa would be very uncomfortable. It was strange how things worked. Lexa with Mason Holmes and him now with this beautiful but damaged woman. 

Would Lexa be able to recognize her as being a former stripper? Would Lexa feel that he had hurried into a relationship out of jealousy for her being with Mason? There was still that indefinable, unspoken and strong connection. Lexa had proven herself a formidable cop, his equal, and in truth they had made quite the team when they were in missions together. Part of Hudson still longed for her, still saw her in a romantic light, albeit a far-off light. 

"Oh, that's wonderful," Hudson said, "I'm sure Lexa's mother will be a sensation." 

"Who is Lexa?" Roxella asked. 

"She's a cop in my precinct, she works Homicide. I first met her right here in the Professor's home," Hudson replied. 

"A stronger and more beautiful mulatto woman you're hard-pressed to find," the Professor said, "she's as terrific cop. The best female cop in all Manhattan." 

"I think I'd like to meet this Lexa you both speak so highly of," Roxella said sipping her tea.

* * * *

Roxella Peters cried into a handkerchief silently at the end of La Traviata. Hudson sat next to her on her right and the Professor to her left. Her silent tears did not go unnoticed. Roxella had been deeply moved. Here was a story almost similar to her own life's story. Violetta, the beautiful but sad Parisian courtesan, a woman considered a prostitute in the 19th century, ill with tuberculosis, surrounded by false friends who partied and did little else, finally finding true love with Alfredo, only to sacrifice that love and give him up to please his father who did not want her as his son's wife. When her consumption becomes intense and she is out of money and without friends, Alfredo finally returns to her but she dies in his arms. Everything spoke of realism, albeit in a romantic way, to Roxella. She, too, had been a prostitute and she had found true love with Hudson. Everything except for the tuberculosis. 

"My dear, you will always love opera now," the Professor said to her. 

They got up from their seats and after applauding the cast who bowed on the stage, they went into the main lobby of the Met. There they drank some champagne, laughed and enjoyed conversation. Then the Professor had a surprise for them. 

"I've been invited by the soprano who sang Violetta and the conductor to an after party at the Plaza Hotel. I included you two as guests." 

"Oh Professor that's great," Hudson said, "how can I ever thank you?" 

"We're already dressed for it at least," Roxella said, laughing. 

She looked scrumptious. She was in a backless red gown, her red hair a perfect match as it flowed down her back, her neck adorned with a diamond necklace that Hudson had bought her from Tiffany's. Hudson was as always very handsome in his tuxedo. They walked out of the opera house and headed to the Plaza Hotel........... 

At the party, everyone, but especially the men, couldn't keep their eyes off Roxella. She was timid amongst such a different crowd, all of them wealthy and important. Hudson had never been with such a beautiful girl. He was the envy of every man at the party and he took note of it. Roxella cast a strange spell over everyone, unknowingly. It was like that scene in "My Fair Lady" in which Audrey Hepburn as Eliza Doolittle dressed beautifully as a princess managed to fool everyone at the Embassy Ball into thinking she was royalty when she was in fact a poor flower girl. No one could ever guess that Roxella had been a stripper. 




Vice Cop Ch. 13



Roxella enjoyed the haute cuisine which she ate with gusto, the champagne, the carefree conversations and the Professor's good company. Inside, she was laughing, laughing at how happy life could be. Here she was among New York City's most elitist, affluent society, when just a month ago she had been taking off her clothes and dancing on a pole for money lusty men threw at her. Hudson was proud of her. He never let her out of his sight. As they ate at the buffet table beneath a grand chandelier, a handsome and well dressed man approached them. 

"Hello there, I'm Jeff Jensen," he said, "host of Star Search. I have been keeping an eye on you, Miss. You are very beautiful and you look like you have talent." 

"Oh, why thank you," Roxella said, "I do have a sort of talent." 

She smiled and her sly comment was directed at Hudson who smiled back and kept himself from laughing. What a little sly vixen she was, Hudson thought. He liked that she had spirit. 

"Would you like to audition for me tomorrow afternoon right here at the Plaza?" Jeff Jensen said, "I think you could qualify as a contestant. This time around, the contest will be held aboard a cruise that will take off the south Florida coast and sail into the Caribbean. The winners will be rewarded 50 thousand dollars." 

The magic word. Roxella loved money. 

"What do you think I should do, Hudson? Should I do it?" she asked him. 

"It's up to you," he said. 

"I gratefully accept," she said, "I think it will be a lot of fun."................ 

TWELVE

Alone with Lexa in their apartment, Mason finally spoke about what was on his mind. He did not, however, want to tell her about his secret investigative work with her father. He had a record playing, Lexa's favorite little piece of music, Floyd Cramer's piano piece "Last Date" which was followed by Henry Mancini's "Moon River". 

He figured this would put her in a good mood. She had been in a bad mood after their quarrel. She had even threatened to leave him and to work as a detective for another precinct or by herself independently. Mason knew that it was an empty threat, born out of anger, but he never knew with Lexa. She could be very stubborn. Things were difficult between them. 

"Lexa, I love you," he said to her, "I'm sorry I've upset you." "

Don't you have another record we can listen to? Moon River is lovely but sad." 

Mason sighed. She was avoiding confrontation, which they needed badly. He complied and put on a different album, a compilation of 60's hits. Paul Anka's "Diana" blared in the living room. Lexa was smoking. She had not smoked in a long time so Mason knew that it was because she was upset. He also smoked when he was upset, though there were times when they had both smoked because they felt good. This was not one of those times. 

"My mother's rehearsals are going well," Lexa said, "she's going to be singing in "Tosca". I want to go see her. You can come if you want." 

"You know I will." 

"She's glad she's going to be taking a break from her rehearsals when I go on Star Search. She hasn't been on a cruise since her youth when she was singing opera." 

She had already told him about the cruise and that she was to sing in the Star Search contest. It had pleased Mason immensely and he had agreed to come see her too. Sometimes it felt to Lexa, that the relationship needed work and these little events were efforts to keep the relationship from falling apart. What she didn't bother to tell him was that she had always thought of Hudson and that she had feelings for him. She had only told her therapist about these feelings. Sometimes she wished she could just go to Hudson and tell him how she felt. She was sometimes almost ready to do just that. She didn't know how to feel about Mason. She loved him but she was not in love with him. She had never wanted to admit this and tried hard to be in love with him. 

"Lexa, I want to tell you what's been weighing on my mind heavily," Mason said to her. 

Lexa was all ears. 

"It is about my book. I want you to know that the only reason I'm not including you in it is because the Mafia is a territory you're not familiar with. You know that. It's my territory. I have been after the Dinos for some time. They killed my first wife. You know that." 

Lexa looked at the photograph, black in white, hanging on the wall over the fireplace. It was Katie, a sweet Kansas woman in a conservative dress surrounded by children, looking angelic and even more so now that she had been dead for years. 

"I know," Lexa said, "and I can never be like her. She was a teacher, I'm a cop. She wouldn't hurt a fly. I'm always risking my life to save people like her." 

"Lexa, I became your man because I like that you're a cop and I admire your courage and strength, not because I wanted to replace my first wife. Now, darling, let's not argue. I know what I'm doing. In fact, when we go on the cruise, I'll be promoting my first novel "Crime After Dark" and signing autographs. I'll also tell the public I'm working on an autobiography and I'll talk about my work in hunting down the Mafia." 

"Well suit yourself," Lexa said, always avoiding her feelings. 

* * * *

Gianni Dino was holding court in one of his homes located in New Jersey. 

His head henchmen were gathered for what he called a very urgent purpose. For 1986, they were dressed in well-tailored suites that seemed more appropriate to Mafiosi from an earlier time, like the 1940's. They also wore dark sunglasses because it was hot and the glare of the sun was bright. They were in the back porch. Gianni was not married as he was a womanizer and lived alone. He had hired a maid who had no idea what he did for "work". The maid served the men coffee. They were talking under a cloud of smoke that came from their Cuban cigars. 

"Alright boys," Gianni said, "I'll get to the point. It has come to my attention that a certain New York City Police Detective, Mason Anthony Holmes, is working with a retired cop, Emeric O'Neil on a Mafia hunt. These hunts come and go but sometimes they succeed. I was interested in this bit of news because this Emeric fellow is the same pig responsible for the capture and imprisonment of my old man Don Luigi. As you all know, he died at Sing-Sing. Now that same bastard is coming after me." 

"This is bad news," said one of his men, coughing after smoking. 

"It sure as hell is bad news," Gianni said, "but I'm not scared. No way is a 50 year old detective from Los Angeles and an old man going to put a stop to our business." 

"Yeah? What do you propose we do about it, Gianni?" said another one of his men 

"We're going to feed them to the fishes, boys. I'd love to see them just disappear. We'll kill them in expert style and dump their bodies in the Atlantic Ocean." 

"Yeah but how are we going to do it?" 

"It also came to my attention that this detective Holmes is going to be writing a book about his life and how he's been after the Mafia, by which I mean my family. If word gets out about our tactics, other detectives and pig cops will come after us and outnumber us. We can't let this book be published. He has to die. I hear he will be attending a Star Search contest aboard a cruise, the ship's called "The Siren" and it sails from Miami, Florida to the Caribbean. We are going to go on that same cruise, boys. We will find a way to kill that detective." 

"Perfect. Everyone will be so busy having a good time or watching that damn contest to notice that we are going to kill him. What else do we know about him?" 

"His live-in girlfriend is the daughter of that cop Emeric O'Neil who caught my dad." 

"We gonna kill her too?" 

"Do you need to ask that? Of course. That would really hurt the old man, to know that we got rid of his daughter. Perfect revenge. And the bitch is a female cop too I hear. Like father like daughter. The bitch's named Lexa O'Neil. Too many cops if you ask me. It will be a great thing to kill as many as we can." 

They laughed and finished their coffee....

THIRTEEN

The cruise ship, The Siren, had taken off from the southernmost coast of Florida and haddrifted into the sea. Cuba was in sight at the end of the first day, as everyone aboard beganto settle in. It was a beautiful ship, large, impressive, like some elegant cigarette in the fingers of an elegant lady. There were three floors and decks, and the white-and-pinkcolor theme, along with the tropical Florida look, made this one an especially lustrous ship. There was also the theme of Atlantis and the magical world under the sea. Everywhere therewere kitschy ornaments like statues of mermaids, Poseidon the god of the sea holding hismighty triton, sea nymphs, classical Greek ruins, treasure chests, pearls-in-clams andall sorts of plants and tropical flowers. There was a Grand Ballroom and various show rooms. The main showroom was reserved for the bigger shows, and because episodes of Star Search would be televised from here, itwas decked as lavishly as possible. 

Excitement was in the air and a sense of adventure.The passengers of the cruise were mostly couples and friends who liked to party at sea,wealthy and middle-class folk mingling together. It was a week long cruise to the Caribbeanwhere they would make a stop before returning to Florida. 

For Lexa, Mason, Hudson and Roxella, the cruise meant different things. 

To Lexa, the cruise was a break from her normal routine and work as detective. Her mother had convinced her to sing for Star Search and that it would be a nice sort of distraction. Lexa knew she needed it. She felt her relationship with Mason was waning and needed reviving and maybe this cruise was the answer. She wanted to succeed not only as a copbut also as Mason's partner. She knew that she had feelings for Hudson but she was sure that if she made a bigger effort to hold on to Mason, it might just work. 

To Mason, the cruise was a way to save the relationship as well. He knew Lexa was having issues, some of which he didn't know about, but this get-away would be very rewarding. Also, he would have the chance to promote his writing and gain an audience. He had never felt more like a novelist than aboard this cruise. 

For Hudson, it was a God-given vacation. He had just met Roxella Peters whom he had fallen head over heels for and she had won an opportunity to sing in Star Search aboard the ship. What more could he want? She was a beautiful young woman and he was certain she had a beautiful voice. She might even win that fifty thousand dollar prize. He wanted to spoil her, to love her, to let her know that he could give her everything she wanted and to top it all, he would treat her right, unlike Floyd and the other men in her former life. 

For Roxella, it was a way to get famous. She loved money and craved attention. As a stripper, she had developed this attachment to material things and to the admiration from audiences, even if it was male audiences. She wanted to be recognized and she thought this contest was a perfect beginning. She wanted to jump for joy when she heard the event was to be televised. She would be appearing on TV! That was one step into the direction that headed to fame. Perhaps some agent or movie director would spot her, fall for her and she'd go to Hollywood! Never once did she think about what Hudson was seeing in it. 

By pure coincidence, they were all assigned into hotel rooms in the same aisle and floor. This was due to the fact that both Lexa and Roxella were competing on Star Search, each without knowing the other. They weren't aware of this until the moment arrived when the host, Jeff Jensen, called all the contestants to a social meeting where they would introduce one another and get to know each other. It was in the Captain's quarters, which he liked to call "The Salon". 

It was luxuriously furnished with gilded mirrors, high shelves filled with books, antique chairs and couches and lamps. The carpet was imported from India and there were Romantic Era landscape paintings on the walls. The Captain was a friend of Jeff Jensen, an older, white-bearded and chubby fellow. He was always well-dressed and boasted having enjoyed the company of noted celebrities from Winston Churchill, Aristotle Onassis, President John F Kennedy and Jackie, Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, Audrey Hepburn, Frank Sintra, Elvis, The Beatles and the Rockefellers and many others. He enjoyed good laughter and the jet set life. 

"Alright, ladies," said Jeff, "we've separated you from our male contestants on purpose. There will be singing competitions between male singers and female singers. The talent portion of the show is for anyone who can play a musical instrument or can dance. You are all very beautiful and obviously very gifted young women. You will be given chances to prepare every morning and at night the contest will be on. You will be called into the dressing rooms behind the stage area of the main showroom." 

With that Jeff Jensen began to talk to the girls individually and then, over drinks and food, allowed the girls to mingle among each other. Lexa, being naturally amicable, did not find it difficult to approach other women and was always smiling. However, she quickly discovered that her good spirits and hospitality, learnt from her Mississippi mother, did not sit well with the girls who were down-right catty, competitive, aggressive and unfriendly. None of the girls made friends with each other. 

"You're a cop? You?" one of the girls said in disbelief, "how can you be a cop?" 

Lexa smiled faintly. What was the big deal? Just because she wasn't a beauty queen, super model or aspiring actress like the rest of them were? She only smiled and made it appear as if she found it amusing. "

"I think that there are all kinds of women in America," said Lexa, "and cops are among them. Get used to it." 

This always shut them up. The only girl who seemed genuinely and mysteriously interested in her was Roxella Peters. Lexa was eating salad at one corner of the room, completely alone, by a painting, when Roxella approached her, grinning. She was dressed in an backless orange dress and wearing a pendant, her hair in an up-do. Lexa thought she looked very beautiful and obviously a fancy dresser. Lexa did not feel the same about her own gown, which she had borrowed from her mother, a silver gala gown adorned simply with a jasmine in her hair. 

"Miss Lexa O'Neil?" Roxella said to her, "Hello. I'm Roxella Peters." 

"Nice to meet you." 

"I have heard of you." 

"You have? How do you mean?" 

"I've just recently moved into New York City. You're a very well-known cop. Your exploits are very famous. I live in Brooklyn.....with an NYPD cop. His name is Hudson Banach." 

Lexa was immediately surprised but she concealed it well and smiled awkwardly. 

"You know him, right?" 

"Office Banach? Why yes. We've been partners on various assignments." 

"He speaks very highly of you as does everyone else on the force I hear. You amaze me, Miss O'Neil. How did you get to be on Star Search?" 

"My mother, Katrina, was an opera singer for many years. She persuaded me to be on the show. I can sing and play piano. I thought it would be nice for everyone to see a whole different side of me." 

"I'm sure you will do well. It will be an honor competing against you." 

Lexa was not paying attention anymore but tried to look as if she was. Inside, she felt pangs. Hudson was with this young woman? When did that happen? How? She tried to think. Perhaps it was when he went to Florida on his overdue vacation. She was in shock. So soon, she thought. Jealousy was rearing its head, a feeling Lexa was unaccustomed to. She knew it was wrong and it was probably very pathetic to be jealous. She had always maintained a strong, independent persona. Still, she thought of Hudson and this fiery red-head sleeping together, and it hurt to think about it. 

"My congratulations to you too, Miss Peters," Lexa said, "Hudson Banach is a wonderful cop." 

"He's a wonderful everything. I have wanted to meet you and here we are. Good luck on the competition but I must tell you right away I have every intention of winning." 

"Don't we all?" said Lexa, "I know I could use that money. I don't make that much as a cop. What do you do for a living, Miss Peters?" 

Roxella had ignored her question when a gentleman had kissed her hand and began talking to her. How rude, thought Lexa. Somehow this is not a good woman, thought Lexa, she's going to be bad for Hudson. She could see how she relished in male attention and how she dressed to excite men and how devil-may-care she was. Still, she would have to accept her being with Hudson. She felt very sad. She had almost wanted to finally tell Hudson how she felt about him. Now she could not.....

* * * *

Gianni Dino had commandeered a cabin on the third floor of the ship. Because he had been in the casino business for all his young life, he had become acquainted with the Captain and many others who ran the ship. He had brought gambling into the cruise ship, a smash hit with the passengers. It was good for business. The Captain knew that Gianni was a Mafia Don's son and that this was a sordid business but he put up with it. It was working great. No one got hurt, money came rolling in and the casino room on the ship was The Siren's most alluring aspect. It was a luxurious, glittering casino. It was all golds and onyx, marble pillars, a fountain with a nude mermaid statue, impressive chandeliers and everything you would expect in a Las Vegas casino - roulette wheels, slot machines, card tables and even scantily-clad waitresses serving libations. Because Gianni was well known, he was allowed to take up a room almost as a residence. He was feeling especially powerful. 

Immediately, he settled in. He had brought his most loyal henchmen, who happened to be family members, men who were used to discreet murders and getting rid of rivals, enemies and anyone that just rubbed Gianni the wrong way. Gianni was proud of his casino of the sea and he had informed his father before dying in Sing-Sing, of his success with it. It had made the old Mafia Don very proud of his son. Gianni finished his brandy and telephoned the Captain. 

"I'd like to thank you for the cabin, Captain," he saod to him, "I'd like some room service if you don't mind."

"No problem, Mr. Dino," the Captain said, "the staff will provide you with anything you need. And...if you wish, a housekeeper here can be paid extra for a night with you. Would that please you?" 

"It sure as hell would. Could you get her here right now?".........

FOURTEEN

The housekeeper was a Cuban lady who had been living in Miami since her family fled the Communist revolution lead by Fidel Castro. She was middle-aged, not very attractive, with dark hair and bronze skin and very short. She was told that she would be paid well not only for providing her cleaning services in the room of Don Gianni Dino, but if she had sex with him as well. She was dead inside, having lost her family when they were deported back to Cuba, having no husband and being very poor. The job she took as a hotel housekeeper on a cruise ship was all she knew. She would not like the sex but she wanted the money. 

Gianni stared at her with a malicious grin as she entered his room. 

"You are Mr. Dino?" she asked him. 

"That's right," he replied, "what's your name?" 

"Anita." 

"Anita, I'm glad you didn't refuse the offer. I will pay you well for your services." 

"Would you like me to clean the room now?" 

"Yes. Go ahead. I'll watch." 

She bowed her head and silently proceeded to do her work. She was dressed in a blue cleaning lady's outfit, which was light blue in color and the hem of the skirt reached to herknees. She had very nice legs, and a very nice build, even though Gianni didn't care for hervery ordinary looking face. Still, he watched with lustful anticipation as she moved about,bending over to empty the trash, to do the bed, to change the flowers on the vase. She had her back to him and did not look at him, though she was aware that he was staring at her. He was smoking his cigarette. He especially liked her round, firm buttocks. As she began to scrub the table which contained the telephone and a book listing the activities and dining options of the cruise, Gianni walked up to her from behind and put his hands around her waist, pressing himself against her. 




Vice Cop Ch. 13



"Mr. Dino, I'm not finished yet," she said to him. 

There was no flirtation in her voice or any hint that she enjoyed doing this kind of thing. She was like a sad prostitute who had been forced into the dirty deed. 

"You don't have to finish," he said, "I want you now." 

"But -" 

"Now. Or you won't get paid."

She nodded. He turned her around and began to kiss her. It was a strong, possessive kiss, and his lips were hot and wet, gliding down her neck while his hands moved searchingly. They grasped the buttons on the back of her dress and he tore it open. She gasped. She did not like his forcefulness and probably lamented the fact that he was tearing up her work clothes. Gianni did not care. Moaning in a low guttural tone, he quickly undressed her. 

To his frustration, he saw that she was wearing an old-fashioned nightgown, as if she was wearing the undergarments of a woman from an earlier generation. 

"Take that thing off," he said to her roughly. 

She looked at him in disgust and complied. When it was off, she was completely naked and she lowered her head. He raised it with his hand and kissed her. He then observed her body, taking her figure in like much needed alcohol. It was not that he needed her especially. He was hungry for Woman, and any woman would do. He began to squeeze and suck her nipples, which were plump with dark areolas. She did not make a sound. He didn't like that, since he liked the idea that he was a good lover, no matter what he did. But she was oddly quiet, as if her mind were somewhere else. 

Gianni moaned and groaned as he continued to take her breasts fully into his mouth. She arched her back and closed her eyes. At times it seemed she wanted to push him away, and other times she was completely docile and did not move. Gianni's hands moved downward quickly, urgently, finding her pussy. It was dotted with some hair and a little wet. 

Obviously she was sexually aroused, but he did not get the feeling that it was something she wanted. It was almost like rape to her. But Gianni didn't care and continued. His fingers slipped into her pussy, which startled her at first. She gasped and let out a moan, more of pain than pleasure. Gianni's fingers were quick and sharp, penetrating her pussy deeply and making her writhe. Since they were standing, the whole thing was uncomfortable for her. Gianni then pushed her roughly to the bed she had just made and she spread her legs open immediately, thinking that he wanted to fuck her immediately. Gianni was laughing. 

It was a cruel, powerful, laugh, as if he took pleasure in humiliating her. He then got on top of her and grabbed her hands, putting them over her head. He kept her motionless under him, pinned like a wrestler in action with another wrestler. He then slipped his cock into her, sticking it in hard. She felt pain as he thrust hard and fast. She was still quiet. Only Gianni's grunts and moans echoed in the room. He fucked her hard and deep, making her breasts bounce against his chest. 

Finally, she cried out but again it was as if she had been caught in some kind of death trap. Gianni was determined to make her pussy bleed. She began to shed tears and it was evident that she regretted doing this. Gianni did not care. 

"Shut up. You knew what you were in for, you dumb broad." 

Gianni seized her by the throat as if he wanted to choke her. She believed he was doing just that and was afraid. He continued to fuck her, his balls slapping against her ass, his hipspushing against hers, his hair in disarray, sweat pouring from his forehead. He cried out as his semen flowed into her. She almost fainted but summoned strength and merely stared at him, as if she had just been defeated. 

FIFTEEN

After the housekeeper was dismissed, Gianni telephoned the men who had been assigned to kill Mason Holmes and Lexa O'Neil. They were Tony and Fabrizio, two cousins of his. Theywere staying in another room on a different floor. Gianni enjoyed a good smoke after sex so he lit up a cigarette as he dialed the number to their room. The room still smelt of sex and he felt very happy he had just gotten laid. It was always so easy for him. He did not like women as people but he enjoyed treating them as sex objects. 

"Tony?" 

"Yeah?" said the voice on the other end. 

"What are you doing right now?" 

"Watching the TV here and finishing a meal." 

"Where's Fabrizio?" 

"Walking out on deck. He said he wanted to get fresh sea air." 

"When he gets back you're going to get ready to find out where Mason Holmes is staying, what room. If possible, pretend you're looking for a friend you believe is staying in his room to get him to think you're just a harmless passenger. Don't dress in those suits. Wear something casual like a Hawaiian shirt and shorts or something. You will hit him in the head with the butt of a rifle and then drag him into the room to finish him. When it's all done, prepare the body bag and throw it out at sea." 

"What about the girl?" 

"She should be in that room with him if she's his girl. Now go."...................... 

Mason Holmes joined two other novelists in a highly publicized panel discussion in one of the smaller showrooms. Fans of fiction gathered to talk to their favorite authors and receive autograph signatures. They brought their books. There was Sidney Sheldon, who was to talk about his novel "If Tomorrow Comes" and sign copies as well as talk about his upcoming book "Windmills of the Gods". Mason had read "If Tomorrow Comes" as had Lexa. It was a mystery and thriller full of intrigue, concerning the cat-and-mouse chase between a detective and brilliant criminal, Mafia, F.B.I, and all the classic elements that made up this sort of fiction.Also at the panel was Winston Groom, who had written a touching and odd literary novel "Forest Gump". It was a poignant story of a man with mental retardation who lived a rich life full of drama. Mason had also read that and told Lexa: "This will never be a famous title." Mason was beaming with pride. For the first time in his life, he felt like a celebrity. It had never occurred to him that he was. He had written an immensely popular crime novel "Crime After Dark" and his readers were captivated by the fact that the author was himself a real-life detective who had lived quite a dramatic life. Lexa was not present at the book signing. She was busy preparing for the contest, practicing her song and her piano playing. She had wanted to see him but circumstances did not allow that. However, Mason was glad he was going to be able to see her perform on the show. "Mr. Holmes," said one reader, a woman from New York, eager for an answer, "may I ask why you became a detective?" "It was my life's ambition," Mason answered, "it was my way of giving back to my country, the same country that gave me so much. It was of course also a way to get some action adventure and thrills into my life." Everyone laughed at this remark. "What is your next novel going to be about?" asked a young male reader. "The Mafia," Mason replied. Everyone was attentive. "It is by far the worst, most vile business and it is a business, as La Cosa Nostra sees it. It must be crushed. They kill, they corrupt and they make money off drugs and prostitution. It is a combination of all the major crimes in one single business." "Mr. Holmes, is your next novel a work of fiction or non-fiction?" "It will be my autobiography. I will write about all the experiences I've had as a cop in LA and then a detective in New York City." "I shall look forward to reading that," said another fan. Mason smiled. Here he was, next to Sidney Sheldon, who wrote hugely popular novels full of action and intrigue, with fans everywhere, sharing similar success. He knew that his readers enjoyed mostly fiction so he began to consider his third novel to be a fictionalized account of a detective modeled after him as he brings various wicked criminals to justice...........

The Star Search contest had begun.

There was an air of excitement in the Main Showroom and the crowds that attended the show which would run for three days was a large one. It seemed as if almost everyone aboard the cruise ship had bought tickets to the event. Everyone was dressed in their finest, as if they were attending Oscar Night in Hollywood. Men were in tuxedoes and suits, women in sequin gowns and elegant evening gowns that reached to their feet. The stage was vast, like that of a Broadway theater which could hold a large cast. The most attractive feature was the design of the backdrop. It was a large faux clam that opened up and gave the appearance that the contestants were performing from within the clam. The lights were bright and changed colors from metallic silver to pink and gold. The floor lights were in gold. Lexa was backstage in her dressing room, changing into her gown. She was on after Roxella Peters. She did not understand why Roxella took a strange interest in her, and attempted to befriend her. There was still the feeling of a rivalry between them. Lexa did not care for competition or rivalry. She had been the only woman cop in a Manhattan precinct for sometime and that ensured her position sans rival but even when other women joined the force,she was still the top ranking female cop and had always remained so. She was almost a legend, having served with the NYPD for enough time to gain total respect. 

Although thiswas a contest which held no consequence to her nor did she really care for, she did notlike that Roxella was attempting to make her feel bad. There was something very unnerving about Roxella. She was not a good woman. She hated that Hudson had paired up with her. A knock came at her dressing room door. 

"Who is it?" Lexa cried out. 

"It's me, Roxella, it's Hudson."

Lexa was speechless. Hudson let himself in. He nearly gasped at the sight of Lexa sitting by the vanity mirror with light bulbs on the frame. She was dressed in a "midnight blue" gown that reached to her feet and dragged a bit, her shoulders showcased from the top as well as her cleavage. Her hair was in a stylish French twist. She had never looked classier and more beautiful. Her perfume was intoxicating. Hudson stared at her in disbelief. 

"I think you've gotten the wrong room, Hudson," Lexa said to him. 

"Lexie?" he said, "wh-what are you doing here?"

"What does it look like? I'm competing on Star Search. I'm on after Roxella. Has she entered the stage yet?"

"No I don't think so. I was confused. I thought this was her dressing room. I wanted to wish her good luck before she got on stage." 

"Her dressing room is next door.. I'm afraid the confusion owes to the fact they did not put up our names on the door. Just our numbers. We go by numbers. I'm Number 10." 

"So you've met Roxella?" 

"Yes. She's a lovely woman. Wherever did you find her?" 

"She told you about us?" 

"Of course. I want to congratulate you." 

Hudson was silent. The whole thing was awkward. He stared at Lexa quietly and sheepishly. 

"Well- what is it?" she said to him, with a little laugh. 

"You look beautiful, Lexie," he said. 

"This old thing," she said, "this is something my mother wore for her tour of Europe when she was singing opera. She's here on the cruise too. She's sitting in the front row." 

"She is? Is it true she's going to be singing opera again?" 

"Yes. She's going to sing at the Met and at the Amsterdam Opera. She's very excited." 

"I didn't know you could sing, Lexie. But that would make sense since your mother is a singer. What are you going to sing tonight?" 

"Not tonight. I will play the piano on stage tonight." 

"Oh that's for you?" 

"It's a Steinway. I'll be playing a transcription of Wagner's Liebestod from "Tristan and Isolde" . I decided to play opera music as a tribute to my mother." 

"I'm sure you will do great." 

"I can sing too. Tomorrow night I will be singing a song. Not opera though." 

"I better let you get ready. Good luck to you Lexie." 

"Goodbye Hudson." 

He left and Lexa looked sad for a moment as she stared at her reflection in the mirror..........

For the talent portion of the contest, Roxella Peters danced a solo. It was something she had picked up from both stripping and belly dancing. It was meant to be an "artistic dance" and in her loose, sail-like white shroud of a dress, she looked like a Geisha in an exotic performance.She did not dare to remove one bit of clothes. These were decent people and moreover very wealthy people. 

She knew that it would mean disqualification from the show. She did incorporate some exotic and sensual moves into her dance which was a pleasant delight to the male audiences. She could feel their lustful stares, subtle as they were. Their eyesfollowed her and she danced erotically and beautifully, as if their hands were manipulating hermovements, dancing in a frenzy of sexual ardor. She laughed on the inside, carrying her head high, smiling triumphantly. It was as if she had been waiting for such a moment her entire life. The exotic music was a medley of native African drums and various exotic instrumental melodies featuring flutes and saxophone. 

She was dancing for herself for the first time in her life, not for anyone. It was a dance of self-expression. She did not follow the music, the music followed her, lifting her to a crescendo of ecstasy. The strong sexual current filled the room and when Ravel's Bolero began to play, everyone applauded. Expertly she danced to thefamous music, stirring up passion as only she could and at the climax, she fell to her kneesas if overcome by the thunderous finale. Everyone applauded. From her stance in the wings, Lexa took a deep breath. That was a tough act to follow. Everyone was fired up and Roxella had apparently energized everyone. She knew that not everyone enjoyed classical music and many found it very boring. If she played with energy, perhaps the music would not be a sleeping pill to the audience. Lexa said a brief prayer and walked on to the stage. 

"And now ladies and gentlemen," said the host Jeff Jensen, "I present you our next contestant, Miss Lexa O'Neil." 

Everyone applauded. Lexa looked out over the audience. She spotted her mother sitting next to Mason, both of them smiling brightly and cheering for her. In the same row but on a different chair was Hudson Banach who did not applaud but looked on intently. 

"Now you're from Queens, New York, a cop with the NYPD is that correct?" 

"Yes." 

Everyone applauded. 

"That's very impressive. And you can play piano?" 

"I was taught to play piano by my mother as a child, mostly classical but I can play a variety of music." 

"What will you be playing for us tonight?" 

"Opera music, as a tribute to my mother, the great opera singer Katrina O'Neil who is sitting right there." 

"Stand up for us, Miss O'Neil," said Jeff.

Katrina stood up and acknowledged the audience who broke into applause. Katrina smiled. She looked lovely in a black gown and she smiled at Lexa proudly. Lexa sat down on the seat before the piano and began to play the beautiful, noble and lustrous "Liebestod". She played with an inner spirituality and closed her eyes at times, which surprised the audience. She knew the music by heart and she played with passion, as if she were summoning a Muse from somewhere. She was in truth remembering her mother as an opera singer, looking at her with the eyes of a child. Images of her mother in costume asthe beautiful Princess Isolde from Wagner's opera, her starring role at Bayreuth, Germany, where only a few months before another black diva, Grace Bumbry, had made headlines by being the first black singer to perform there. She remembered her mother in that long flowing green robe and that golden diadem on her hair, singing, singing for her, singing for the world to hear and know her. 

In her mind, as she played, the years passed again and she remembered how her mother rose to fame and then faded away. She recalled old black and white photographs of her mother in Europe, still frames in her mind, feeling the music swell inside her. She was no longer Lexa O'Neil. She was merely serving music. At the end of the piece, which ended in soft pianissimi that faded away like a sleeping death, everyone was so moved by the piece that they were silent for a brief moment. Then Hudson Banach applauded loudly and that was all it took for everyone to applaud in a giant wave...... 

Mason Holmes reached Lexa back stage, along with Katrina. They both hugged and kissed Lexa who was still in her evening gown although she had now let down her hair. From a distance, Hudson was congratulating Roxella who had slipped into a robe. From the corner of her eye, Lexa caught sight of them. Hudson embraced Roxella and they shared a kiss. 

"Oh honey child, you were magnificent," Katrina said, "you made me so proud." 

"Thanks, mamma." 

"Lexa, I had no idea you could play piano so beautifully," Mason said to her, "you're amazing. I'm so glad you consented to being on the show. It was so unlike you to do it." 

"I'm just full of surprises," Lexa said, jokingly, laughing. 

She did not want to look at Hudson and Roxella kissing but her eyes would momentarily fall into their direction. At one point, Hudson stared back. Then Roxella approached Lexa, though Hudson stayed behind by the door to her dressing room. 

"You were wonderful," Roxella said, "good luck with tomorrow's portion of the show. You have to go up there and sing. That's different." 

"I'm sure she'll do fine, " Katrina said, defensively, knowing that this red-head meant to be negative, "after all, God gave me a great Voice. She is my daughter and she must have inherited a great singing voice as well." 

"Oh well of course, " Roxella said, suddenly feeling awkward next to the tall older woman.

SIXTEEN

While the contestants prepared for the next show, the singing competition, Mason Holmes was hounded by a fan of his novel, one young man who said he was from California. His name was Burt Hanson and worked as a registered male nurse in a hospital. He was so persistent to talk to Mason alone, that Mason invited him to his room aboard the ship. Lexa was not there. She had gone to rehearse her singing. They walked down a narrow hallway that lead to his cabin. Leafy tropical plantswere on the spaces between doors. Small paintings of Caribbean landscapes and island hung on the wall.

They were now somewhere close to the first port of call in the Caribbean islands. 

They finally came to the cabin.

"So you're from California, eh, Burt?" said Mason as he put the key into the door. 

"From Sa Diego," he replied, "I can't tell you how much I loved your novel. I can't wait for your second one." 

"Make yourself at home," Mason said, "take a seat on the couch." 

Burt took a seat at once and smiled sheepishly. He seemed nervous. Mason walked intothe small kitchen, which came with the room, and retrieved a soda from the refrigerator. A window overlooked nothing but the ocean. Mason cleared his throat. 

"Lexa? Are you here, honey?" he shouted. 

No answer. 

"Is she here?" Burt asked him.

"No, she must be practicing for the competition. Are you following that?" 

"The Star Seach show? No. I didn't get tickets for that. I hear it's a terrific show." 

"It is. Lexa is a fine pianist and she can sing. She's unable to develop any real talent because she's a cop. You know how that is. But I think she's got talent." 

"Was there a time when you didn't want to be a cop?" Burt inquired with deep interest. 

Mason handed him a glass of Coca Cola and got one for himself. He sat down on a chair facing Burt on the couch. 

"Never," Mason replied, " I always wanted to be one. They were my heroes. I had a very tough father who didn't go to college and who said I didn't have to go either. I went anyways but I always gravitated towards law enforcement. I feel like I have a lot more to accomplish as a detective. I think New York City always feels like a work in progress as far as fighting crime." 




Vice Cop Ch. 13



"And your next novel? What's it going to be about again?" 

"My war with the Mafia. They have ruined a part of my life and ruin countless others. They must be stopped." 

"I agree." 

"Anyhow, friend, I am very sorry but I must get going. I have to meet a friend at the Casino. You can stay and finish your drink but don't forget to lock the door on your way out." 

"And the key?" 

"Put it under the little rug right in front of the door." 

"Gee thanks." 

Mason got up and left. 

Burt finished his soda and sighed. His private meeting with his idol did not go the way he wanted it to. He wondered if Mason preferred the company of female fans. It was always like that. He lingered in the room for a moment, looking at the quaintness of the place. It might have cost a pretty penny since there was a kitchen, a bathtub inthe bathroom and a window. Some of the cabins did not come with windows, not even peep holes. He had his back towards the front door, which Mason had left open. When he turned around, he gasped. A man in a dark coat and sunglasses stood directly front of him. A chill struck his heart and he sat frozen. 

"Die, pig, don't mess with the Dinos," he said, pulling out a gun. 

He shot him straight in the chest. Burt fell down, bleeding profusely and was motionless on the floor. Immediately, the man rushed toward a phone. He dialed a number. 

"Hello, boss?" he said, "it's me Tony. I did it." 

"You shot him?" came Gianni's voice on the other end. 

"I shot the bastard and he's dead." 

"Are you sure?" 

"I'm looking at him right now, aren't I? He looks very dead to me. Got blood all over the rug."

What next?" 

"Stay right where you are. I'm coming over. Tell me the number of the room."............... 

Gianni punched Tony right in the face. 

"You no-good, useless fool, you shot the wrong guy!" he shouted at him, "this is not Mason Holmes. This is not the guy." 

"But this is the right place. This is his room. I saw him coming in here the other day." 

"This may be the right room but this is not Mason Holmes. You idiot. Look at the book on the couch." 

Tony picked up a copy of the novel CRIME AFTER DARK. On the book jacket was a black and white photograph of Mason Holmes. He was in a long-sleeved shirt and slacks, his familiar Germanic facial features in their place- the mustache under a strong nose and above a square jaw, his blonde hair and his gray eyes which were intense and focused. 

"That's Mason Holmes," Gianni said. 

"I'm...so...sorry, boss." 

"Shut up. Now we have to dump this body somewhere. We gotta clean up the blood and the mess you made. We gotta get rid of the guy. Somewhere where no one can find him. At least help me to think of a good spot." 

Tony cursed. He paced the floor in thought. 

"How about the hull of the ship, somewhere dark and hidden." 

"Alright. Come on, let's be careful no one sees us. Help me put the body in a bag."................ 

The casino was Mafia-owned but the clever Gianni Dino did not let a single soul know it, save for the Captain who did not care since he was fond of the money that was rolling in and the excellent business that was being made. The casino was if anything the most appealing aspect of the cruise. It was like a piece of Las Vegas at sea. The glitz and glamour of high-rollers, beautiful couples, the decadent atmosphere, all part of the allure of the place. It was naturally something that peaked the curiosity of Hudson Banach and Roxella Peters. 

Roxella had been to Las Vegas and enjoyed gambling. It was something that stayed with her, owing to her relationship with Floyd "Flamingo" Burch, who was a gambler. The thought of making money, the thought of having those green bills in her hands, always worked its spell on her. She loved what money could bring - jewelry, fashionable clothes, travel. She enjoyed spending money but she had always been able to enjoy Floyd's money. Now that she was with Hudson Banach, a mere vice cop, she knew things would not be the same. While she was away rehearsing, Hudson walked into the casino to try his luck with gambling. 

Hudson was in a gray suit and his hair slicked back. He was smoking a cigarette and taking inthe luxurious surroundings like fine wine. He ignored the looks he got from some of the womenwho were obviously looking at him with lust. The chandeliers were like bubbles over the heads of the gamblers on the card tables, like bursts of gold balls that hung on the air by magic. The music was hot jazz and alcohol flowed. Laughter, carefree laughter, got to him. He hadnot heard people having fun in a long time. 

It was just what he needed, to forget his woesand the hard realities of being a cop. He had not played cards in a while but he had always been good at it, thanks to his Uncle Vitto's mentorship. He could play poker well. He waslooking about for a card table when someone tapped him on the shoulder. 

"Hudson Banach?" 

He turned to see that it was Mason Holmes. 

"Oh hey, Mason, what are you doing here?" 

"I'm here to meet a friend. We were going to play cards but he's a no-show. You want to play cards with me instead?" 

"Ah, a challenge," Hudson said with a chuckle,"you know I think I'd like that. Did Lexa ever tell you when I played poker against her in Atlantic City?" 

Hudson's mind briefly returned to that time. He remembered Lexa in her undercover get-up as a hooker. He had beat her at cards and Sonya Romandini had been with him. 

"No, I don't think she's ever brought it up," Mason replied, "was that the time she went undercover as a prostitute to catch the notorious Jack-the-Ripper serial killer who was mutilating prostitutes?" 

"Yeah. She has never mentioned it to you? Well, that's because I beat her at poker." 

Hudson smiled and Mason laughed a bit. It was nice to know that they could still be friends. Long forgotten was their old rivalry. At one time, Hudson still clung to the imposed enmity that was supposed to lay between cops and detectives. Although Mason Holmes made more money and had a rather more interesting social circle, Hudson did not care. Doing work with Vice was thrilling enough for him. And there was Lexa, between them, the beautiful and strong girl who lived life in her terms and had given so much in the name of protecting people in the city. 

"I'll be glad to play poker with you," Hudson said, "maybe I can beat you too." 

"We'll see about that." 

"So where's Roxella?" 

"Practicing for her show tonight. I imagine Lexie is too?" 

"Yes." 

As they spoke, Fabrizio, Gianni's cousin and the second hit man working for him, was eavesdropping from a close range. He was in a suit and he tried to blend in with the rest of the gamblers. He was able to hear just what he needed to hear. That Lexa, Mason Holme's girlfriend, was in the Star Search competition. He would have to find his way to the Showroom and get her alone. He immediately asked someone to hand him a phone. The staff at the casino recognized him as Gianni's cousin and instantly obeyed his instruction. Someone carried a phone to him. 

"Hello, boss? Fabrizio", he said. 

"Did you find Lexa?" Gianni said on the other line. 

"No but guess what? I overheard someone say she's a contestant on that Star Search show that they are putting on in the Main Showroom." 

Mason Holmes and Hudson Banach prepared to sit down to play cards at a table. But even before the game began, there was an unexplained commotion in the casino. People were nervous and muttering. There was clearly something wrong. A group of men made their way into the casino and went straight for the table where Hudson and Mason sat. A tall man in a dark suit and three uniformed security police officers were with him. They approached Mason. 

"You are Detective Mason Holmes?" he said to him. 

"Yes."

"I'm Patrick Fenton, the cruise ship hotel detective. I heard that you were an NYPD cop and you were here to promote your novel so I decided to ask for your help." 

"What's happened?" 

"Murder, Mr. Holmes, there's been a murder on this cruise. The body of a young man was found in a shaft in the hull of the ship. A cleaner found it and reported it. It's said that he was last seen in your room." 

"My God...." 

Mason remembered Burt. He had left him there and expected he would be long gone by the time he returned to the room for the night. But how is it he was murdered? And why? Did it have something to do with ....

Mason thought hard. It would require some thought. Obviously someone aboard this ship was a cold-blooded killer and did not like detectives or his book. It was about ...the Mafia. 

"Come with us, Mr. Holmes," Patrick Fenton said.

* * * *

The hull of the ship was off-limits to everyone save for the crew and staff. 

Here, it was pitch-black and it was a labyrinth of mechanisms and walls, as well as shafts and dead-ends. It was below water and it smelled as well as felt eerie. From outside, the ocean could be heard, as if it were a heartbeat or breathing. It was here in a shaft where the dead body of Burt was found. During the fall, the bag had opened and the body tossed directly to the bottom of the shaft. He had been dead only for a few hours, but was already cold and stiff owing to the dampness of the shaft. 

Mason was guided down a staircase along with the hotel detective, Fenton, and some police officers. They crowded around the body and took a look at it. Mason Holmes had not expected to be as if on "homicide" work on a cruise ship. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt your cruise, Mr. Holmes," said Fenton, "but this was a very urgent matter. There is a killer aboard this cruise. Plus there is the matter of his connection to you. Who is he?" 

"A California man, he attended my book signing, name of Burt," said Mason, "he was very enthusiastic. He wanted to talk so I took him to my cabin. We had a conversation, we had sodas and then I remembered I had to meet with someone at the casino. He was not supposed to be there for long. I assumed he'd be back to his own cabin or elsewhere on the ship afterward. I guess I should not have left him alone." 

"It's not everyday that a murder happens in the cabin of a well-known crime and detective fiction novelist. As hotel detective, I'm hardly ever needed. I've only dealt with cases of theft. Some would believe you had something to do with it, Mr. Holmes." 

"You can't believe that!" 

"I don't, but what happened in your cabin room must also be about you." 

Mason Holmes stared at the body of the unfortunate fan. He looked frightened and his face had frozen in a state of shock as he had been shot. This caused Mason to feel grief and pity. He felt somewhat responsible for the bizarre death. His mind was reeling. 

"I think there is little mystery to this, actually," Mason continued. 

"What do you mean?" 

The police men began to wrap the body in a bag again and were ordered to bring it up to a private room up on deck. 

"I mean it has to do with me but he was apparently a victim of a hit intended for me." 

"A hit? You mean as in the Mafia? The Mafia did this? There are mobsters on this ship?" 

"There is no other explanation. I have made my dislike of the Mafia very clear in my writing. I've taken up a Mafia hunt with former cop Emeric O'Neil who arrested Don Luigo Dino, the main boss of the Dino Mafia. I think they must have learned of my whereabouts and came to kill me but found Burt instead." 

"This all sounds very plausible," said Fenton, "but what are we to do now? How are we going to find these mobsters?" 

"I have my ways. I'm going to talk to the Captain."

Back at the casino, Hudson was disturbed by the fact that someone had been murdered on the cruise ship. It sent him into cop mode, which was also unexpected since he was on vacation and enjoying himself immensely with Roxella. It was also rather unfair, he thought. Roxella would be exposed to his line of work and the dangers and risks it involveand she might not take it well. He figured he wouldn't tell her and he was glad this sort ofthing was more of a Homicide dick's department. He wanted so much to help but he wasonly a Vice cop and his area of expertise was drugs and prostitution. 

If that were somehow happening on the ship, then he'd have work on his hands. As he stood there, wondering what to do next, he heard Fabrizio talking on a phone. Something about this Italian man, dressed in old-fashioned Mafiosi-tailored clothes, toldHudson that this was a member of the Mob. It was gut instinct. He could also tell beingItalian and knowing another Italian that seemed to have gone "bad". He overheard theconversation but there was so much noise in the casino - roulette wheels turning, slotmachines working, men and women talking - that it was hard to hear but he heard bits and pieces of it. 

"wrong guy.....bad luck......detective aboard the ship......Lexa O'Neil is in her dressing room in the Main Showroom....I know where that it is...going there now....." 

Hudson knew that this was for real. It was no dream. Somehow, someone wanted to kill Lexa and it was a Mafia hit. It did not make any sense to him at the moment but he knew he didn't have a moment to lose. Lexa's life was at stake.............. 

SEVENTEEN

The singing competition was in progress. 

On the elaborate, radiantly-lit stage was Roxella Peters and she had the audience in her thrall. Conspicuously absent was Hudson Banach, whom she did not see in his usual seat in the front row where she had seen him for the earlier shows. She wondered what owed to his absence but dismissed her feelings for the moment. All that mattered was that she was on stage, singing on Star Search, ready for her big moment in the sun. This might be her greatest triumph. She hated that Hudson was not present but she made a mental note: she'd have to deal with him after the show. 

She wore a pink sequin gown that was tight-fitting and showed off her curvaceous body. She wore a blonde wig but only for the number she was singing. Although the dress was long and reached to her toes almost, the side of the dress was cut to reveal one long leg. She also wore heels. She had her red hair down, cascading beautifully down her back and she had a diamond pendant over her breasts which were revealed in the low-cut basque. She had the men's attention and the women's envy. She carried herself with great pride and with all the manners of a diva. She held the microphone to her lips and began to sing a classic ABBA anthem, "Thank You For The Music". 

She knew how to walk a certain way that oozed discreet sexuality, as opposed to the more cleverly sexual way she danced the Bolero the previous night. She shot a smile here and there and tossed her head while her pear-shaped earrings danced and glistened in the lights. She seemed to belong on the stage, in the spotlight and she sang with all the skillful ease of a lounge singer. It was as if she had done it all her life.

"I'm nothing special in fact I'm a bit of a bore," Roxella said in a talking but sing-song way, "if I tell a joke, you've probably heard it before. But I have a talent, a wonderful thing, 'cause everyone listens when I start to sing...I'm so grateful and proud...all I want is to sing it out loud......"

The audience was very familiar with the song and responded with applause, even during moments when she was still singing and had not begun another verse. 

"So I say thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing, thanks for all the joy they're bringing...who can live with out it I ask in all honesty, where would I be? Without a song and a dance what are we? So I say thank you for the music, for giving it to me."

She exuded confidence and really drank in the audience's smiles.

"Mother says I was a dancer before I could walk....she says I began to sing long before I could talk....and I've often wondered just how did it all start, I found out that nothing can capture the heart like a melody can...well whoever it was, I'm a fan"........

A chorus of background singers joined her but they were not contestants. They had rehearsed with Lexa and sang a beautiful harmonic chorus. They were all beautiful girls who looked like starlets, donning sequin gowns and posing.

"So I say thank you for the music, thanks for all the joy they're bringing, who can live without it I ask in all honesty...without a song and dance what are we?....."

She prepared for the finale by standing still in front of everyone center stage under the glow of a blue light.

"I've been so lucky, I am the girl with golden hair, I want to sing it out to everybody, what a life, what a joy, what a chance....."

On the inside, Roxella felt the same sense of joy and pride as she did back at the ballroom at the Plaza. These people were probably elitist and bigoted, but she didn't care. She was finally succeeding at something other than stripping. She felt that there was really only very little she had changed outwardly. After all, her beauty was still being used to her advantage and for financial gain. It was to her an entirely different form of prostituting herself. When the song ended, she took a graceful bow and the applause felt like thunder..... 

* * * * 

Mason Holmes did not want Fenton to accompany him to see the Captain. Fenton was himself busy with the examination of the body and dealing with the direct Homicide itself. But Mason was determined to investigate the seedier side of the cruise. It was Mafia-related. He couldfeel it in his gut. It made perfect sense to him and the timing was also evidence itself. Here he was on a cruise to the Caribbean, promoting his book and making his "Mafia Hunt" well known to everyone. The Mafia was cunning and quick and must have gotten aboard the ship to commit murder. But something else was amiss. He did not know the Captain's name since everyone called him "Captain" and he thought that was very unusual. Anyone who did not want to be known by their real name had something tohide. 

He was taken to the Captain's quarters and the Captain himself greeted him. 

"Please take a seat, Mr. Holmes," he said to him.

He was standing behind a mahogany desk and filed away some papers. He was smoking a Cuban cigar. He sat down and looked at Mason and smiled. Mason took a seat in front ofthe big desk. 

"I'm delighted you're here. It's always a pleasure to have intelligent writers aboard the ship. And you're also a cop, so that makes it very interesting." 

"Flattered, I'm sure," said Mason, "but I'm not here to talk about me. I've already talked a great deal about myself on the cruise." 

"Must be tiring, I'll bet." The Captain laughed and smoked. 

"I'm here for an interrogation." 

"Of me?" 

"Yes. You." 

"But what's this all about? Surely there's a mistake. I run a fine cruise ship. There has never been a problem." 

"There is one now. You have allowed murderers aboard your ship." 

"There's been a murder?" 

"I was under the idea you were the first to be notified of it." 

"I was not notified. When did this happen?" 

"Early this evening. It occurred in my room and it was a Mafia hit targeted at me. The poor victim was a California man who had come to my book signing." 

"I am sorry about all that. I am as shocked as you are." 

"Are you? Isn't it more shocking that Mafia is on your ship, Captain?" 

"I have no control over who comes aboard the cruise. But perhaps I ought to begin a new rule. Maybe we ought to run a background check on all passengers and -" 

"Cut the crap. I know you're in it. You're in business with the Mafia, aren't you? And why the silly cover "Captain"? What is you real name? I'm sure your Mamma didn't name you Captain when she birthed you." 

"Now, listen here," the Captain said, his Southern drawl now very distinct, "I've been called ambitious, money-loving and all kinds of things. If I didn't know better, this is not about me but about my politics."