Blindsided

"Sounds like him," I said, as if I knew him well.

"Yeah, well Jumbo sure like the ladies."

"So why you here?" Chili asked me.

"Well, the West End is my territory and Jumbo lives in my territory."

"Girl, you crazy," he told me. "You're gonna get fucked up something bad. You don't want no part of Jumbo."

"It's my job, Chili."

"Then quit."

There was some truth in what he was saying. He and his partner were carrying concealed weapons, no doubt with a permit, and everyone else on this block had semi-automatic weapons. It was an army on one side and me and Lesley on the other.

Lesley slid closer to me as I talked.

"C'mon Chili, we're here to see Jumbo . . . for real," I told him.

"Social like?"

"That's right," I said.

"Well, OK, it's your funeral sister." He climbed up the stairs and then turned around. "Bird, you wait till I get the go ahead," he told the taller and thinner man. I think Chili was easily 350 pounds, about fifty pounds above his playing weight when he was playing left guard with the Taft Tigers. Bird was at least 6'6'." I understood he lettered in basketball at the same school.

I stood there in the late morning heat with Lesley, being casually watched by Bird as Chili went inside to consult with his boss.

"This your partner?" Bird asked me. His eyes were fixed on her breasts. His voice was a lot deeper than I expected.

"This is Officer Groesbeck," I told him.

"She's a fine lady," he said to me and not to her.

"The finest. Too good for you Bird," I said to him.

"You right about that." Then he leaned closer as if he was telling me a secret. "Mrs. Williams doesn't know what Jumbo does, so be careful how you talk when she's in the room. You feel me?"

"I do," I answered. It was a little charade. I'd play along.

As if on cue, a distinguished and well-dressed older white-haired woman opened the front door. "Officers, come on in out of the hot sun." Then she turned her attention to the towering bodyguard. "Where are your manners Aloysius?" she said to Bird. Bird shrugged his shoulders. The woman stepped aside to let us in while she held the door open. She shut it behind Lesley.

"I'm Adine Williams. I apologize for Aloysius's lack of courtesy. I understand you're here to see my son Jeremiah."

"We are. I'm Max Pemberton and this is my partner Lesley Groesbeck."

"I'm surprised to see such lovely ladies in uniform," she said.

"Thank you ma'am," I said out of politeness. She was really old school. "And yes, we'd like to see your son."

"It's so nice to see the police taking an interest in protecting our neighborhood. You've done such a nice job. There's so little crime on our street."

Of course there wasn't any crime on her street. Anyone who made a move on this street was committing suicide.

"Thank you Mrs. Williams. Is Jeremiah available?"

"Of course, of course," she said, realizing we were delving into small talk. She walked down the center hallway while we followed. She turned left into the formal living room. Jumbo was sitting on the sofa reading a sports magazine and drinking a Diet Coke.

"Jeremiah, these nice ladies are here to see you," his mother announced. He stood up and welcomed us into the living room, motioning for us to take the two chairs opposite his sofa.

"Well, I'll leave you to talk," Mrs. Williams said. She drew the wood panel sliding doors shut to give us privacy.

Jumbo sat down and opened another Diet Coke. "I want to thank you for being nice to my mother," he said. Then he took a sip of his soft drink.

"She's a nice person Jumbo."

"The best. Anyone messes with her answers to me."

He said that to me, and not just for my information.

"Of course," I said.

"So why are you here?"

"Courtesy call. Just trying to know the players. You know," I told him.

"I don't know," he said. "Exactly what are you talking about?"

"Coke, heroin, oxy, fentanyl . . . is that exact enough?" I asked him.

He was seething behind his eyes. I could tell he was contemplating getting up and kicking my ass. Jumbo was also a legit 350, but that was his playing weight and he kept up the muscle. I think Lesley was ready to kill me for taunting a killer cobra.

He settled back down into the sofa. He did the correct calculus that assaulting a police officer in his own home probably wouldn't set well with his mother or with our police department.

"You be careful what you say in this house," he said, admonishing me instead.

"You made me say it," I told him.

"That's irrelevant," said the man who always got his way.

"Whatever," I said. "I just want you to understand that we're watching you."

I thought poking the bear wasn't a good idea however management was keen on this visit so there I was, threatening a guy who could end my life in two seconds.

"Max, everybody's watching me. You can look all you want. Just don't touch."

"That's pretty bold, even coming from you," I said.

"You have no idea how out of your league you are officer. If that's all, get the fuck out of my house."

Then he looked at Lesley.

"You can leave your cute little piece of ass with me if you want," he told me. Then he turned to Lesley and said, "Hey blondie. I wouldn't mind sucking on those fine little titties you have and finding out if your rug matches the curtains."

He got up and slid his hand between the seat cushion and her bottom and pinched it.

It was if he lit a fuse in her. All 135 pounds of her launched into him and attempted to pummel the ex-lineman. I tried the separate them, pushing them apart. Jumbo lost his balance and crashed against the wall. The breakfront holding his grandmother's china rattled, the doors swung wildly open, and a number of large serving pieces on the top shelf crashed to the floor. Moments later the matron of the house flung open the sliding doors.

"What in heaven's name is going on here?" Adine demanded.

"That police officer pushed me for no reason," said Jumbo, pointing his finger at me.

"Is that true?" she asked me.

Did I really want to tell her what he said and what happened? Would she believe me anyway? I decided to leave Lesley out of it.

"I did ma'am, but I had good reason to do so," I answered.

She looked at the floor where her shattered china was strewn about.

"Good enough to break my mother's china?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am."

"But you won't tell me the reason?"

"I think you'll have to trust me on that one."

"Over the word of my son?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I think you best be going Officer Pemberton."

* * *

Once we got back into the car Lesley rolled her eyeballs. "That went well," she said facetiously. I'm sure she too was wondering exactly why she did what she did. She started the car and pulled slowly away from the curb.

"Fucking A, Lesley, what got into you?" I demanded. This was the second time that she'd flown off the handle. Now I knew something was up.

"I don't know Max. I don't," she professed.

I did. Something had changed in her life and now it was expressing itself in the performance of her job. Completely unacceptable, but what was I to do? I wasn't going to throw her under the bus and report her. That would end her career. I wimped out and thought about how we'd cover up this hopefully minor transgression.

"What the fuck are we going to tell the Lieutenant?" she asked, now expressing worry for her actions.

"I'll tone it down in my report," I said. I was going to protect her, not indict her. It was either one of my best attributes or one of my many failings - - loyal to a fault.

I wanted to make sure she understood I was covering for her.

"You know I should report this."

She looked like she was going to cry, but she didn't. "I appreciate this Max. I'm just working my way through a few things."

Another crossroads. Should I press her? I knew she was going to be defensive if I did. She felt vulnerable to me, and I didn't push further, and maybe I should have.

"You need to work through these things before you come to work," I said instead.

She looked sheepish, a look I hadn't seen before.

"I'm sorry Max. I really am. I know it's not me, and maybe I don't know who I am anymore."

"You need to get it together partner," I answered, as if I was satisfied with her answer. She didn't see the red lights flashing in my head.

* * *

At the end of the shift, Lesley told me that she couldn't make it to the Landing Point, our usual place for a post-work drink, or two, or three, because her girlfriend Alessandra was making dinner for her. Lesley and her had been living together for a couple months before she was shot, and during rehab Alessandra was with her every day. She moved back into Alessandra's house the day she was discharged from the skilled nursing facility. I reminded myself I need to touch base with Alessandra immediately. If anyone would know what was up with Lesley, it would be her girlfriend and confidante.

Alessandra Caruso was a person I greatly admired. She had a rocky beginning, spending more time in juvenile hall than at home, and despite her less than stellar track record, managed to pull it together to become an accomplished chef at Nicky's diner, which was owned by one of my dearest friends, Nicky Flores. Alessandra proved herself to me to be modest in her ambitions, quick to help, and dispensed empathy with a bottomless heart. Lesley's rapid recovery was due in no small part to her girlfriend's encouragement and support. I take credit for helping Alessandra find her way, and also escape the clutches of her older sister DaVanna, who in every way epitomized everything that Alessandra was not.

So there I was, confronting that fact that one of the pillars in my life, and by that I mean Lesley, had suddenly gone off kilter. I couldn't count on her anymore. Being out in the West End without a partner that you knew had your back was a real problem, and a problem I had to solve pronto before one of us got hurt or even killed. My life was a struggle as it was, but to take out one of the pillars holding it up?

My angst motivated me to give my on again off again girlfriend Courtney Landry a holler. She was the youngest daughter of Jim Landry, the ultra-wealthy owner of six car dealerships in Cincinnati. She was a dilettante as an aspiring artist, but her real passion was sex. We had hooked up numerous times in the past, and though there was never a promise of a real relationship, I couldn't help but wish for more. I doubted she would ever be emotionally ready for a long term commitment, but then again, I wondered whether I would as well. She answered my call, which was an encouraging first step.

"Hey Courtney, doing anything?" I asked. Even though we hadn't talked in a while we didn't waste a lot of time on pleasantries.

"Nope," she answered, economizing on her words as well.

"Wanna fuck?" I asked, getting right to the point.

"Sure," she said. "Now?"

"Uh huh."

"Your place?"

"Why not."

"I'll be there in half an hour."

And that's about as much of an emotional connection as we had. But for that night, it was more than enough.

* * *

I paced around my motel room waiting for Courtney to arrive. I'd been living in the Royal Palms Motel for the past year. It was a 1950's style structure whose better days were decades ago, and had devolved into a flophouse populated by prostitutes and drug addicts. It was supposed to be a short time residence but turned into my home. Rent was cheap, and no one gave a shit who I had in my room or what I did. In other words, it suited my lifestyle perfectly.

I had three pints of cheap vodka sitting on my dresser. Two was my usual nightly allocation. I twisted open the top of one and poured two fingers into one of those disposable cups that comes wrapped in plastic. I almost didn't feel the burn as the clear liquid flowed down my throat. Sweet relief from the stress of the job and whatever the fuck else ailed me, real or imagined.

After half the bottle was gone I heard a tapping on the plate glass window separating my room from the outside walkway. It was dark so I flicked on the porch light. I pulled the curtain back and saw Courtney's smiling face. She waved. Cute as ever. Short spikey black hair, tats on both forearms, with a black t-shirt promoting some local grunge band and strategically torn jeans.

"Booty call?" she mouthed.

I laughed at her and pulled up my pajama top and pressed my bare breasts against the cold glass.

It was her turn to laugh. She used the key I gave her to open the door.

"You kill me," Courtney said as she walked in, still chuckling.

"You really don't want to think that," I said, recalling the partner I almost got killed. "Let's drink," I suggested instead.

"None of your paint thinner," said Courtney. "I brought my own." She dug into her purse and brought out a pint of good quality whiskey.

"Suit yourself," I said as I poured myself a big draw of my cheap vodka. The trauma of Lesley's shooting faded into the background as the bright glow of my umpteenth drink titillated my salacious desires. I watched Courtney do an impromptu strip tease for me as I drew the drapes shut. She was sex personified in flesh and bone.

Standing there nude, she put her finger in her wet pussy and showed me the gloss on it as she sucked it clean. She stuck out her chest to present her pert little breasts to me.

"All ready for you," she announced. I didn't need an invitation.

I fired down another shot, exhausting the first bottle. "Get on your back, we're skipping the kissing and stuff," I said, impatient, like a pacing cat.

"The good stuff's here," said Courtney, pointing down yonder.

She opened her thighs wide, inviting me in. I put my hands on her hips and dipped my face into her pussy, smearing my cheeks with her juices. She was wet and slippery. I was too. The next course was my tongue. I pulled apart the swollen lips of her pussy with my fingers and shoved my tongue deep inside her. I snaked my hand underneath her butt and felt her asshole clench around my fingertip as I tongue fucked her pussy.

"Max . . . Max . . . I love what you do to me," she said, panting heavily.

Hearing her say it made it better for me. I started masturbating from the turn on of feeling her asshole squeezing my finger.

"Ummm . . ." she moaned. Then she suddenly pulled away from me, leaving me feeling wanting.

"I don't want to cum this soon Max," she said. I knew she was close. She stretched her arms above her head and drew a deep breath. I did likewise to cool the flame of passion.

"Let's go out and have a smoke," I suggested. It felt like the right thing to do. We both wanted to make it last.

It was getting chilly so I threw on a zip up hoodie that barely covered my snatch. I walked out barefoot on the cold concrete walkway with a crumpled half pack and a disposable lighter. Courtney followed me out with only her t-shirt on that didn't come close to covering her muff. We were wearing the uniform of the late night at the Royal Palms. There were a handful of people milling around in the parking lot, and none of them paid attention to two half-naked women on the balcony.

I lit a cigarette and handed it to Courtney. I lit another for myself. I waited for the nicotine rush after I took the first big puff. I let out the smoke in a billowing cloud that floated over the parking lot.

"Drinking, fucking and smoking . . ." I mused.

"Max's Holy Trinity," Courtney joked, then giggled.

"I want to figure out how I can do all three at the same time."

"I don't want to be there when you figure that out," she said.

We verbally jabbed at each other until we were holding the butt end of our cigarettes. We crushed them on the railing and then together flicked the crumpled ends into the parking lot below.

"Time to get back in," I suggested. My feet were freezing.

"Right behind you," she said. She pulled her t-shirt over her head and then looked over the parking lot in all her glory.

"I love it here. You can do anything you want," she said, her nudity not attracting any attention whatsoever from the people milling about below.

"C'mon," I said. I pulled on her arm. "Stop showing off and let's get back in and fuck."

At that moment Lesley was the furthest thing from my mind.

* * *

Late night turned into day, as light streamed in between a crack in the curtains. I threw the drapes open to Room 204 and welcomed in the blinding sunshine. It was 10 a.m. and I still had two hours until my shift started. Courtney was laying on her side, fucked out and fast asleep. What could make such a day better? A fresh, crispy chocolate old fashioned from Happy Donut.

I walked over and shook Courtney.

"What?" She could barely open her eyes. There were bite marks around her left nipple. Her hair looked as if she'd been electrocuted. She looked cuter than hell.

"Gotta . . . you know . . ."

"Cigarette, donut, coffee, the Max three food groups," she croaked and then gave a raspy laugh.

"Yeah, fuck you Courtney," I said lovingly. "You're quite the jokester. Holy Trinity . . . three food groups. You've got me pegged, don't you?"

"I think I do."

"How so?"

"I know what you're thinking right now."

"Tell me."

You have to understand, in the field of sex machines, Courtney was a precision instrument. She was willing to have sex at any time of the day. That's the way she was wired. She kicked off the covers and opened her legs for me.

"I've got something that tastes better than coffee and a chocolate donut."

In my book, that was a challenge I was up to. She did understand me.

"And what might that be?" I asked my nubile sex slave (or was I the sex slave?).

"Cream for your coffee. I made it just for you," she said, her sandpaper voice now sounding incredibly sexy.

"You shouldn't have," I told her.

"But I should, and I did. Come here and get it," she said. She dipped a finger in her wet pussy and held it in front of her.

She was proud to be a slut.

I looked out the open window. I thought it might be about time to shut the drapes. I walked over naked as a jaybird and shut them. I didn't give a shit about one of those lowlifes who dwelled in the Royal Palms seeing my naked body . . . they'd seen worse. I just didn't want them to see me eating Courtney's pussy, which I was about to embark on in short order.

"Come on," she said, chiding me for neglecting her immediate needs.

"Courtney, do you want some random dude watch me eat you?" I asked, getting back on the bed.

"Uh huh," she said.

"You're a bad girl," I said, pushing my head between her thighs. She smelled like day old sex.

"The worst," she answered.

"But you taste so good," I told her after taking a generous lick. I liked leftovers.

"Better than a chocolate donut?" she asked.

"Shut up," I said. She knew the answer. I pushed my face against her pussy and she moaned the way she does when it's just right.

"Oh . . . " she let out. Cream flowed out of her pussy. I lapped it up.

"Max."

She arched her back and her body rippled. She was cumming hard. She was my dirty little girl.

"Oh God, you fucking bitch," Courtney said after her body stopped trembling. "I can't get enough of this."

I looked over at the clock. I had another forty-five minutes and would still have enough time to get to work.

"Get on your knees bitch, I'm coming in the back door this time."

I was going to make her say it.

"Are you my bitch?" I asked her. She liked this. She liked the teasing.

"Uh huh," she said.

"Say it bitch."

"Yes, God damn it, yes . . . eat my fucking ass." She was on her hands and knees and wiggled her butt.

She put her face into the covers and reached back to spread the cheeks of her ass, exposing her pink rosebud to my lust-filled eyes.

As much as I loved eating pussy, I loved eating ass more. I felt a surge of adrenaline as the rippled flesh of her anus contracted in response to the pressure of the moist tip of my tongue.