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.