tagNovels and NovellasVice Cop Ch. 12

Vice Cop Ch. 12

byAudreyHepburn©

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."

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