and
turned his attention toward Glenda. “You feeling any better?”
Glenda
eyed the detective judiciously. She ruled his concern as genuine.
“What I’m feeling is an overall distaste toward the
unfairer sex. You people have a way of making it hard to bow to your
superior nature when you throw your weight around like this.”
Roberts
grinned. “I take it by “you people,” you mean men,
not cops?”
“ Oh
that's right; you guys are having a bit of a PR problem these days.”
PR
problem was putting it mildly, Roberts thought. The H-Ball trade was
taking its pound of flesh from the department ranks with extreme
prejudice, turning cops into crooks and now—pending the full
FBI investigation—possibly, killers. “We are indeed.”
Glenda
shrugged. “So what happens now?” she asked.
“ Well...”
“ Here’s
your drink, Ms. Jameson.” A juvenile of an officer in a
perfectly pressed uniform had approached, interrupting the detective.
Earlier, the same officer had ushered Glenda to Robert's desk and
offered to fetch her a soda as a depressurizing gesture. He was a
nice young man with clear skin and glowing eyes. Eyes much too
innocent to be seeing the kinds of things they saw on a daily basis.
Even in her distraught state, Glenda had kicked the young man's
hormones into overdrive. He pretended he could smell her velvety
brown hair from across the room. Feel the brush of her naturally long
eyelashes against his cheek as they cuddled together on a park bench
or in a soft warm bed after a night of passionate lovemaking. He
could barely take his eyes off of her perfectly curved legs and was
certain the smooth skin of her broad, even shoulders would taste like
ambrosia between his lips.
“ Oh,
thank you, officer...” She squinted at his nametag.
“ Bowen,
ma’am, uh miss. I mean you certainly don’t look old
enough to be a ma’am, Ms .
Jameson.”
Robert’s
eyes rolled like loose marbles. “Kid, if you're gonna drool at
least have the courtesy to bring paper towels.”
Glenda
pretended not to notice the chiding. The young man’s Prince
Valiant air had not been entirely lost on her, despite her current anti-male status.
Bowen
smiled, red-faced, waving off the embarrassment. “Well, if you
need anything else, ma'am I’ll be over there,” he said,
pointing blindly behind himself and beating a hasty retreat.
“ By
the way,” Roberts said, stopping the young man, “you see
anybody using my desk? Everything’s rearranged and it smells
like ammonia.”
“ I
think I saw Jones at it earlier.”
Roberts
grimaced. “What, did he spill something on it?”
Bowen
just showed his palms and walked off.
Roberts
gave a once over to the sheets of paper he'd brought with him. “All
right, Ms. Jameson, we’ve got your statement. All I need now is
your signature at the bottom of the hard copy here so we can
proceed.”
The
detective slid Glenda the papers and she gave them a thorough read.
Her nose slightly scrunched. While the description of her ordeal was
accurate, it read absurdly like the notes she used to take in high
school history class. She signed the papers where necessary and
returned them to the detective. “What happens to him now?”
“ Well,
it seems as though this particular knuckle-dragger has a record,
mostly assaults, even against other women. So he'll be bunking here
for a while. Even if his history couldn't get bail denied, the drug
charges would.”
“ Drugs?”
“ We
found a hyposhot along with three ounces of H-ball in his jacket.
Only phone call he placed was to his lawyer, so it’s not likely
he’s got any friends taking up a collection. He won’t be
showing up at your door or anything if that’s what you’re
worried about.”
“ As
a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I was worried about,
yes.” She pressed her chest in obvious relief. “So who is
he, anyway? I mean is he like some serial killer or rapist or
something?”
“ No,
actually he’s just about as
turned his attention toward Glenda. “You feeling any better?”
Glenda
eyed the detective judiciously. She ruled his concern as genuine.
“What I’m feeling is an overall distaste toward the
unfairer sex. You people have a way of making it hard to bow to your
superior nature when you throw your weight around like this.”
Roberts
grinned. “I take it by “you people,” you mean men,
not cops?”
“ Oh
that's right; you guys are having a bit of a PR problem these days.”
PR
problem was putting it mildly, Roberts thought. The H-Ball trade was
taking its pound of flesh from the department ranks with extreme
prejudice, turning cops into crooks and now—pending the full
FBI investigation—possibly, killers. “We are indeed.”
Glenda
shrugged. “So what happens now?” she asked.
“ Well...”
“ Here’s
your drink, Ms. Jameson.” A juvenile of an officer in a
perfectly pressed uniform had approached, interrupting the detective.
Earlier, the same officer had ushered Glenda to Robert's desk and
offered to fetch her a soda as a depressurizing gesture. He was a
nice young man with clear skin and glowing eyes. Eyes much too
innocent to be seeing the kinds of things they saw on a daily basis.
Even in her distraught state, Glenda had kicked the young man's
hormones into overdrive. He pretended he could smell her velvety
brown hair from across the room. Feel the brush of her naturally long
eyelashes against his cheek as they cuddled together on a park bench
or in a soft warm bed after a night of passionate lovemaking. He
could barely take his eyes off of her perfectly curved legs and was
certain the smooth skin of her broad, even shoulders would taste like
ambrosia between his lips.
“ Oh,
thank you, officer...” She squinted at his nametag.
“ Bowen,
ma’am, uh miss. I mean you certainly don’t look old
enough to be a ma’am, Ms .
Jameson.”
Robert’s
eyes rolled like loose marbles. “Kid, if you're gonna drool at
least have the courtesy to bring paper towels.”
Glenda
pretended not to notice the chiding. The young man’s Prince
Valiant air had not been entirely lost on her, despite her current anti-male status.
Bowen
smiled, red-faced, waving off the embarrassment. “Well, if you
need anything else, ma'am I’ll be over there,” he said,
pointing blindly behind himself and beating a hasty retreat.
“ By
the way,” Roberts said, stopping the young man, “you see
anybody using my desk? Everything’s rearranged and it smells
like ammonia.”
“ I
think I saw Jones at it earlier.”
Roberts
grimaced. “What, did he spill something on it?”
Bowen
just showed his palms and walked off.
Roberts
gave a once over to the sheets of paper he'd brought with him. “All
right, Ms. Jameson, we’ve got your statement. All I need now is
your signature at the bottom of the hard copy here so we can
proceed.”
The
detective slid Glenda the papers and she gave them a thorough read.
Her nose slightly scrunched. While the description of her ordeal was
accurate, it read absurdly like the notes she used to take in high
school history class. She signed the papers where necessary and
returned them to the detective. “What happens to him now?”
“ Well,
it seems as though this particular knuckle-dragger has a record,
mostly assaults, even against other women. So he'll be bunking here
for a while. Even if his history couldn't get bail denied, the drug
charges would.”
“ Drugs?”
“ We
found a hyposhot along with three ounces of H-ball in his jacket.
Only phone call he placed was to his lawyer, so it’s not likely
he’s got any friends taking up a collection. He won’t be
showing up at your door or anything if that’s what you’re
worried about.”
“ As
a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I was worried about,
yes.” She pressed her chest in obvious relief. “So who is
he, anyway? I mean is he like some serial killer or rapist or
something?”
“ No,
actually he’s just about as
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