Blindsided

This story is the third in the timeline of ten Max Pemberton detective stories. You're encouraged to read "Maelstrom" and "Deception" to give you additional background, though this story can stand on its own.

A big thank you to migbird for his thoughts over the course of Max's journey.

Here's the chronological breakdown of Max's stories:

Maelstrom

Deception

Blindsided

Cold Steel

Hot Steel

Pink Ice

Betrayal

Loss of Innocence

Revenge is Best Served Cold

To Hell ... And Back

Recap

To those readers who are new to the "Max" series of stories, read this first. For you Max fans, you're welcome to skip this section.

Maxine "Max" Pemberton was a seven year veteran of the Cincinnati police force. She spent five years on patrol in Cincinnati's notorious West End neighborhood and transferred two years ago to become a detective in the Vice squad. Her partner was Lesley Groesbeck, a short Barbie-esqe blonde, who was a recent graduate of the Cincinnati's police academy and whose father Saul was a former Chief of Police.

Max was married to Ron Pemberton, divorced two years ago, and finally acknowledged to the world that she was a lesbian.

She was taller than most woman, a big breasted attractive brunette with a weakness for beautiful women and cheap drink. She was fiercely loyal to her friends, chief among them Nicky Flores, the owner of Nicky's Diner, who inherited the restaurant from her late father Gustave, and Maddie Bailey, the owner of an upscale bar in one of Cincinnati's trendier neighborhoods.

Max lived at the Royal Palms Motel, a flophouse located in the heart of the West End, whose chief clientele consisted of junkies and prostitutes. Max could never seem to get her finances in order, nor any other aspects of her personal life. She lived to work, and was well regarded by her peers but reviled by management for her irreverent attitude towards her superiors.

Max's current love interest was Courtney Landry, a twenty-five year old vampy hipster who was five years younger than Max. Courtney was the daughter of Jim Landry, the biggest car dealer in Cincinnati, and reputed to be one of the wealthiest persons in that city. Because of her family's extreme wealth, she had no need to hold a job and spent the majority of her time chasing women. Though it began as a purely physical relationship, Max couldn't help but start caring for Courtney but wasn't sure the feeling was mutual.

Summary of Maelstrom

Nicky came to Max with two pressing problems, the $35,000 she owed in protection money to a Vietnamese gang headed by Trong Lai, an intelligent and ruthless West End warlord, and the $50,000 investment she needed to repair and refurbish her diner in order to stay in operation.

Max tangled with Trong, teaming with DaVanna Caruso, an ambitious, drop dead gorgeous attorney with an Italian father and African-American mother, who recently assumed the top spot in the Hamilton County Prosecuting Attorney's office after the unexpected early retirement of her boss, Maureen McCormick.

All was not copacetic between Max and DaVanna. Max suspected DaVanna used illicit methods to secure her political career, co-opting her younger sister Alessandra to burgle a law firm and steal several laptops that had confidential information on them, the subject matter of which was still a mystery to Max. Alessandra was arrested in connection with the theft, but never formally charged.

Max discovered that DaVanna had made a deal with Trong Lai to intimidate the witnesses who would have put Alessandra in jail in exchange for her deep sixing a murder charge against the crime boss. DaVanna, being the politician without a moral compass (aren't they all?), reneged on her deal with Trong. Max assisted with the arrest of Trong, who was ultimately convicted of first degree murder and given a life sentence. Trong's imprisonment solved Nicky's debt issue.

Alessandra was able to shed her checkered past, using her culinary training to assume charge of the kitchen at Nicky's Diner. Courtney stepped forward with a $50,000 investment in the diner in exchange for a half interest in the restaurant.

Summary of Deception

Max discovered that DaVanna was blackmailing Maureen, and had forced her boss to resign. Maureen had killed a pedestrian in a hit and run accident, and realizing it could end her political career, switched places with her husband. Unfortunately for Maureen, Stewart was an alcoholic and had too much to drink that night. He was stopped for a DUI, and Max was able to piece together that Stewart was involved in the fatality. Max had Lesley search traffic cam footage in the vicinity of the hit and run and found that the footage from one of the cameras was mysteriously deleted from the City's servers. She was able to track down a back-up copy, and much to her surprise discovered that Maureen, and not Stewart was the driver.

Because DaVanna was now the Hamilton County Prosecutor, Max was forced to end run the Prosecutor's office and bring in Special Agent Carl Banks of the FBI. The FBI used the information Max gathered to prosecute DaVanna and put her in jail for theft of data.

During all of this, DaVanna managed to steal Max's girlfriend Courtney, and Max met Leah McArdle on the rebound. Max was falling for Leah, but when Leah confessed that she had lied about being divorced, Max dropped her. DaVanna and Courtney eventually lost interest in one another (Max thought it was just DaVanna fucking with Max and stealing her girlfriend for sport). In the end, Max acknowledged her weakness for good sex and took Courtney back.

There was an "all hands" pursuit of a man who had just killed a Cincinnati police officer. Max and Lesley pursued a shadowy figure late at night who could have been (and turned out to be) the killer. Max chased the killer while ordering Lesley to wait near an alley. Of course Lesley, being the eager beaver that she was, couldn't resist going down the alley to assist Max. The killer doubled back, confronting Lesley. In the shootout, Lesley killed the man but in the process suffered a serious bullet wound to her right arm that could have ended her career. She was put on powerful pain killers to control the debilitating pain from the injury.

The story resumes after Lesley's five month rehabilitation.

Chapter One

Back in the Saddle

It'd been five months since my partner Lesley Groesbeck was sitting next to me as my partner in a patrol car in Cincinnati's notorious West End. She took a bullet while taking down a cop killer, and had just received medical clearance after a lengthy rehabilitation. She received a citation for her heroism and the gratitude of our entire battalion for her deed, but I was certain that no medal could dull the continuing pain from her injury.

I wasn't sure she had forgiven me, or whether I needed her forgiveness, for her bullet wound. It was me who ordered her to stay behind to guard an alley while I chased the shooter. I thought I was protecting her, but the opposite occurred. She got impatient and followed me, and in the process encountered the man we were chasing. She took him down, but not before a 9 millimeter slug was lodged in her right arm. I should have known Lesley would come running after me, and should have stayed put with her until back-up arrived. But the temptation of collaring a man who had just shot and killed a fellow police officer was too tempting. Could have, should have, would have. Good police don't second guess their battlefield decisions, but this decision haunted me.

Lesley didn't have to return to the West End partnered with me, working Vice in the West End. After the shooting her parents and her friends (including her lover Alessandra Caruso) encouraged her to find a job in the department that wasn't on the front lines. The strongest voice was her father, Saul Groesbeck. His opinion carried extra weight because he served in the Cincinnati police department for thirty-five years, the last five as Chief. I never encouraged her to come back with me, but I didn't discourage it either.

In the end, it was the hunger for police work running in her veins that made her decision. She refused to heed the advice of her father and others, and rejoined me the first day she was eligible to return. She always claimed we were partners for life, and made good on that claim. I would have gladly taken that bullet for her.

Most people were fooled by Lesley's good looks and diminutive stature and jumped to the conclusion that she wasn't cut out for the rough and tumble of the West End. But I found out the contrary was true. She was all grit and determination, and always had my back. She was the best partner I'd ever had in my seven years with the department, and wouldn't have traded her for anybody.

I was elated to have her back. I beamed as she started the engine of our cruiser with a flick of the wrist of her surgically repaired arm. She smiled as she did it, seemingly without pain, but she was always good at hiding what was really going on inside. It sure seemed like the old Lesley on the outside, the same blonde ponytail tucked under her hat and the perfectly tailored uniform on her buxom frame. I was wondering if she was the same on the inside as well. She was on some pretty heavy duty pain meds and had suffered a traumatic injury. I knew she was tough, but that kind of ordeal can take down the strongest of us.

"Happy Donut?" she asked me, interrupting my weighty train of thought. It was our routine to start the day at a local donut shop owned by a Vietnamese couple located in the heart of the West End. I'd been going there since I was a cadet in the police academy and was quickly befriended by the wife of the couple, Binh Nguyen, who was affectionately known as Bea.

It was a bright sunny summer morning, and I welcomed seeing the faded "Happy Donut" sign and the line of patrons spilling out the door and onto the sidewalk. We waited our turn, and when we reached the counter Bea was there to greet us, as happy to see us and we were to see her.

"You bring partner back Max," said Bea, with a lilt in her voice, reaching across the counter to touch Lesley's arm.

"As good as new," I claimed.

"Hello Bea," said Lesley. "Long time no see."

"You tough little cookie," she said in heavily accented English, pointing to Lesley's right arm. Everyone in the West End knew about Lesley's ordeal.

"The toughest," I said.

"I get you jelly donut," she said to Lesley. "And I get you chocolate old fashioned," she said to me.

It felt good to be back in the saddle again.

* * *

"So how does it feel to be driving again?" I asked Lesley.

Her window was rolled down and the cool morning breeze was blowing across her face.

"The best Max, the best. After being in a convalescent facility for five months I actually missed being cooped up in a patrol car with you."

That smart ass comment elicited a smile from me.

"How's the arm? Does it still hurt?" I asked. She'd been pretty tight lipped about her injury. She was someone who internalized everything. She'd never been good about sharing.

"I'll be all right," she told me. "I've got it under control."

Not exactly the answer I wanted, but it was an answer.

"Still on any meds?" I asked.

"Enough questions Detective Pemberton. It's none of your fucking business."

That was the old Lesley. The closed mouth version. It was my warning to tread lightly on personal information.

"Turn right here," I told her, as we approached a corner.

"Where're we going?" she asked.

"Shaking down a couple guys for information."

"Anyone I know?"

"I do, but not you. Got this info from a CI I've been cultivating over the past couple months. She gave me a tip they'd be on the next corner."

"A new CI? Who is it?" she asked me.

"Some druggie who goes by the name of Star. She's got a star tattooed around each nipple."

"You don't say."

"I do say."

"She tell you that?"

Lesley took her eyes off the road and looked over at me for a split second. I made a funny face back.

"It's Max you're talking to," I told her. "I had her fucking show me. Seeing is believing. You don't hear about that every day."

"I guess not," Lesley said, and then shuddered. "It's not something you can unsee, is it?"

"Saggy tits? Underweight, even for a small woman?"

"I take that as a 'yes'."

"You would be right."

"So what are you looking for?" she asked, as we passed a row of boarded up storefronts.

"Information," I answered.

"About what? Now you're being tight with me?" Lesley asked.

"Fair is fair," I said. She wouldn't give me shit about her personal life so I was going to make her work for it.

"Fuck you Max. I'm fine. I'm fine. Leave me be, OK?" Lesley insisted. She was a little on edge. "So what are we doing?

"We're going to shake down a couple of Jumbo Williams's corner guys and see if we can get some intel on him," I said.

"Jumbo? What kind of name is that?"

"Big motherfucker. I went to Bartlett High School and he went to Taft. I used to see him when he was playing offensive line for the Taft Tigers. He was recruited by every major college and went to Ohio State before he blew his knee out his freshman year. Came back to the West End and has been dealing ever since. Lieutenant thinks he's run Trong Lai's crew out of town. I'm trying to figure out what's what."

"So he's running some of the West End drug traffic?"

"That's the thought."

"So what's the plan?" Lesley asked me.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Lieutenant got orders from above we're also supposed to be more active in community outreach. I figured we'd pay Jumbo a visit, but I wanted a bit more intel before we go see him."

"Community outreach? What kind of bullshit is that?" she asked, echoing the same question I asked myself.

"It's the usual kind of bullshit Les. Upper management doles it out by the bucketful. Get used to it."

"Did I come back to this shit pile to become friends with criminals?" Lesley asked, mocking herself for her decision to return.

"Hey, turn there," I told her, pointing for her to turn left.

"There they are, just where Star said they'd be." I pointed to two guys sitting on a stoop, smoking and drinking beers and waiting for buyers. I recognized one of them from a prior bust.

Lesley slowed to a crawl so we could take a gander. The two guys stared at our black and white as it rolled slowly by. We got a good look at each other, and neither of the guys made any effort to run away. They owned that corner, police be damned.

"Pull over there," I said to Lesley, pointing to a space down the street from them. It was in front of a shuttered pawn shop. The plywood covering the window was covered with graffiti. I could seek kids playing cops and robbers in the street a ways down. We got out of the car and walked to the corner. Lesley was casually swinging her nightstick.

"Hey shitbirds, get your asses up," I told them, kicking one of them on his shoe.

They took their time getting up, and were slouching with their hands in their pockets.

"Hey you, Jimmy Beans," I said to the man I recognized. "I thought you were out on probation. Your probation officer wouldn't look kindly on your day job."

"Fuck you," Jimmy answered, not at all concerned about what I had to say. He held up his hand and gave me the finger.

Before I could say anything, Lesley whacked him on his outstretched finger.

"Motherfucker!" Jimmy shouted, grasping his dangling digit. "You fucking bitch, you broke my finger."

Lesley jerked him by the collar. "That's not all I'm going to break if you don't answer Max's questions," she barked.

Who was this woman I was with? It certainly wasn't the Lesley I knew. I made her back off.

"Sorry Jimmy, we just need some information," I said in a calm voice, trying to smooth things over. His face was still screwed up in pain.

"Fuck you, and fuck your bitch ass partner."

So much for Jimmy's cooperation. I tried the other guy. He was smaller and much younger than Jimmy. "What about you? Who are you slinging for?"

"You heard Jimmy Beans, fuck off." He spit on the ground next to me.

Fuck. This didn't play out right. I was hoping to get some intel on Jumbo but it was clear I wasn't going anywhere with my attack dog next to me.

"Have a nice day," I said to them. I could hear Jimmy still cussing. "Let's go," I said to Lesley.

We got back in the squad car and I had Lesley drive down the block and then pull over.

"What the fuck was that all about?" I asked her.

"What?"

"I was going to try to have a conversation with them. Why'd you break the stick out right away?"

"I don't know. He pissed me off."

"That's not like you Lesley. Are you sure you're ready to be out here?" I asked, and dead serious.

"I'll be fine Max. Maybe it's first day jitters."

"OK," I said. "But keep a lid on it. We're easing our way back in, not breaking down the front door."

"OK Max, sorry," she said to me.

I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. She was, after all, my partner, and she saved my life more than once. But something nagged at me that there was something more that she wasn't telling me.

* * *

The next day Lesley and I went to pay a visit to Jumbo. He still lived with his mother in the house he was raised in. The house was a two story Victorian, circa 1890, and Jumbo had put the money in to restore the house to its original grandeur. His mother either didn't know or didn't want to know what his son did for a living, and she treated all of his visitors as invited house guests.

As we drove down Jumbo's street, I couldn't help but notice the army of his soldiers who were loitering on that block. No one in their right mind would try to take Jumbo out at his house. You wouldn't get within a quarter mile. A couple of guys were leaning against the wall of the house, standing on the front uncovered porch, and came to attention when they saw our cruiser.

"Easy does it," I told Lesley. I didn't want them to view us as aggressors. Lesley slowed down to ten miles an hour as we pulled up at his house. A man standing on the street picked up an orange cone so we could park right in front. He opened the passenger side door for me. I got out and he closed the door behind me, just like a valet. Lesley got out as well, and left the keys in the ignition. Our car was parked in the safest spot in Cincinnati.

We walked up to the porch in the bright sunshine. It was forecast to be in the high 90's that day and the early morning chill was long gone. The two men camped out on the porch intercepted us before we got to the steps. Despite the late morning heat, they were wearing matching black leather jackets and were clearly packing side holsters. I recognized one of them as one of Jumbo's high school football teammates. We'd tangled before when I was a beat cop. Jackson was his given name but he went by Chili because of his love for Skyline chili cheese dogs.

Chili did the talking. "Hey, it's Max. See Bird? I told you it was Max," he told his partner in crime. Bird nodded, with a toothpick hanging from his lip.

"Max, what you doing here?" he asked.

"This is where I'm working," I answered.

"The West End?"

"Uh huh."

"Vice?"

"Uh huh." This kid was sharp.

"So how long you've been working for Jumbo?" I asked.

He thought about it a moment. "I dunno, maybe four years?"

"He still married?" I had heard he married his high school sweetheart."

"Oh yeah. If you call it that."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Everybody know," he said first, to tell me he wasn't talking out of school, "he got a couple pieces on the side."