On The Shoulder

byAdrian Leverkuhn©

"Ah, 241, need wrecker my location."

241, 10/4 at 0811 hours."

"3110 to 241, go to Tac Three."

Henderson switched radio frequencies. "241 go ahead."

"What can you tell me, Tim?"

"Subject Dennis Taylor, white male 41 years old, lost his job, armed with one revolver, possibly a 44 magnum, stainless, and multiple rifles, has assaulted wife and child. Six year old male child has a depressed skull fracture, wife multiple facial fractures. Wife states subject is out of his mind and despondent. He had the revolver on him, rifles are in bedroom closet."

"10/4, Tim, if you can clear get on over here."


Henderson got basic information for his report, and asked one of the firemen to help out with the wrecker, then cleared the scene and headed for Quail Run Court.


There were five patrol cars surrounding the house on Quail Run Court when Henderson pulled in behind some squad cars. Henderson located the shift Sergeant's unit - 3110 - and motored over to it. He went to the Sergeant, Mike Huffines, who was sitting in the black and white Ford Crown Victoria; Henderson squatted in the street next to the car.

"What's the situation?" Henderson asked.

"Fucked up, as usual. Gary knocked on the door and was told to get off the property, not that politely, I guess, from what I can gather. Then the guy said anyone coming in would be shot."

"You gonna call out the tac team?"

"They're on a bank robbery right now, hostage deal. This one's all ours."

"O.K., what's the plan?" Henderson, as a ranked traffic officer, would assume command if the Sergeant went down, and so had to be in the loop. They went over plans, then radioed the men around the house what the plan was, and Henderson made for the house's front door.

Henderson had decided to go in through the front door with Gary White, 3114, the first respondent on the scene. It was, Henderson reasoned, really his call, so it was really his duty to lead off into harm's way. He pulled out his Sig-Sauer P220 45 cal. auto and double-checked that there was a bullet in the chamber. Round one was a Glazer safety slug, followed by Winchester Silver-tip hollow points.

He and White made their way to the front door of the house; the door stood open about three inches, and they could hear rock music coming from inside - very loud and very nearby. Henderson motioned to White that he would lead off; White nodded his understanding.

Henderson pushed the door open with his hand and the music turned off.

Henderson brought his Sig-Sauer up to firing position, and followed it into the house.

"So, you're gonna join my little party, huh, cop?"

With bright morning sunshine flooding into the house, Henderson saw a middle aged white male across the room; about one-third of his body was visible, the rest was behind a wall. Henderson could see a large stainless steel revolver in Taylor's right hand, and it was coming up.

"DROP IT!" Henderson yelled out. "NOW!"

The man brought the gun up, and Henderson fired one round. It caught Taylor just under the his right collar bone, but not before Taylor fired his Smith & Wesson Model 29 one time.

Henderson's bullet tore into Dennis Taylor's sub-clavian artery, killing him almost instantly. Taylor's bullet hit Henderson right in the center of his chest, right in the middle of his bullet-proof vest. Like most such vests, this model was not really adequate when matched up against a 44 magnum, and the bullet bore through the layers of Henderson's vest easily, through his uniform and t-shirt, and on through the skin over his sternum.

Henderson was aware of an almost unendurable burning sensation coming from his chest, then pressure, pressure like he's never felt before. It felt - for the brief seconds of consciousness left to Tim Henderson - like a burning elephant was standing on his chest.

Mercifully, that sensation was not long lasting.

One could not say the same about the unconsciousness that followed, however.


Henderson regained consciousness in the ambulance for a moment, then was gone again just as quickly. All he saw in that moment was white light and people crawling all around his body.


He opened his eyes. He had no idea where he was, or what day it was, yet somehow these questions barely alarmed him. Indeed, he felt only a brief surge of panic. He looked down at his wrist; it burned. He saw an I.V. needle inserted on the top of his wrist, and knew he was in a hospital. As events started to come back, he just as quickly drifted back down into sleep . . .


He opened his eyes. A nurse was taking his pulse. He tried to speak, was sure he had made a sound, but his eyes closed, and he drifted off . . .


He opened his eyes. Rather, someone opened his right eye. Henderson felt the finger on his eyelid. He saw a woman looking into his eye behind an intensely bright light.

"That doesn't feel too good, Mam."

"Ah-ha, he speaks!" the woman said. 'Bout time! How are you feeling, Mr Henderson?"

"I think a gorilla took a shit in my mouth, but other than that, right fine."

"Is your throat still sore?"

"That's, ah, yeah, it does."

"Can you see alright?"

"I guess so. You're female, cute as hell, little bit older than I am, and cuter than hell."

The woman smiled. "Think you could drink something cool?"

"You married?"

She smiled again. "As a matter of fact, I am."

"Well, now I'm depressed," he croaked through his smile. "Yeah, something ice cold in a long neck would probably go down real good about now."

"Well, maybe tomorrow. You remember anything about what brought you here?"

"Oh, yeah. No problem there. Did he make it?"


"How 'bout the guys wife? How is she?"

"She and her son are still here. They've both had surgery, but they're going to be fine."

"Is she pissed at me?"

"I haven't heard anything about that; I'll find out if you'd like."

"Nah, that's alright."

"Well, I think you can handle some Kool-Aid and Jello."

"Oh, joy, oh rapture!" The woman started to walk out. "Say, you gotta name?"

"Yeah. Doctor."

"Well, O.K., Doc. Nice meetin' you . . ."


A few days later and Henderson had graduated to chicken noodle soup. His chest hurt more and more as the docs cut back on the pain medications, but they allowed visitors that day, and soon a steady stream of cops came running into and out of his room. Watch Commanders and rookies dropped by to say 'hi' and 'get well soon', flowers materialized on counter-tops and more than one copy of Penthouse appeared out of thin air on his bedside table. The widow of a slain officer dropped by and held his hand for a long, and ultimately very uncomfortable time; it was apparent she had been communing with her departed husband as she had talked with Tim, and he had found the event very depressing and disconcerting.

Toward the end of the evening a woman in hospital gown had come into his room, and Henderson recognized Jennifer Taylor instantly despite the metal band around her face that secured pins and straps over the right side of her face. As she entered she made eye contact with Tim, and he returned her puzzled gaze with the stoicism that was his public persona. After a moment she came over to him, took his hand in hers and brought it to her mouth and kissed it. She was evidently in more than just a little pain.

"They told me you were concerned, that I might be angry at you. You have no idea what that bastard put my son and I through, and though I can't say I'm happy he's dead, please believe me, I'm not mad at you . . . I don't blame you." She talked through clenched teeth; her jaw had apparently been wired closed.

Henderson nodded, looked at her with as much compassion as he could muster. "How's your boy?" he asked.

"He doesn't really know, yet. At least I don't think he understands what it all means. His surgery was a lot tougher than mine, and he's been out of it . . . really, really out of it."

"I'm sorry this all had to happen, Mrs Taylor, I really am . . ."

"Please, call me Jennifer, or Jennie, just not Mrs Taylor, O.K.?"

Tim understood. The woman faced a new life, a radically altered emotional landscape. "Yeah, alright Jennifer. You want some Jello?"

"I'd love some, but the only thing I'm getting has to come through a straw."

"Would you like to sit down?"

"Maybe tomorrow. You're looking kinda tired, and I know I could use some sleep."

"Tomorrow, then," Henderson said. "And thanks."

Jennifer came to him again and kissed his forehead, and put her hand on the side of his face. "No, Tim. Thank you."

As she walked from the room, Tim Henderson felt a kind of peace wash over him; he felt like he once used to, before he had gone to southeast Asia. He felt like there was hope in the world, and that tomorrow might indeed be a better day.


She wasn't shy, that much was certain.

Jennifer had returned the next morning, sat with Tim as he spooned down some scrambled eggs and cream of wheat. She had sipped milk through a straw, and then tidied up the flowers in his room. Tim had tried to move in the articulated bed, and cried out in pain as the staples holding his sternum together bit into his skin. Jennifer had jumped to his side, helped him shift position, then wipe off the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead with a cool, damp washcloth. She stroked the side of his face with obvious compassion as he grimaced and gasped, trying to catch his breath.

"Oh God, oh, oh . . ." he had ground out between searing stabs of pain. But he felt Jennifer there with him in the room, felt her holding him, and he felt his heart reaching out to her.

He had felt Jennifer reach for the nurse's call button, then had felt another presence in the room, and looked up to see a nurse sticking a syringe into the little rubber plug on his I.V. line, and seconds later he felt warmth and well-being flooding into veins on a fresh tide of sleepiness. He drifted away from the reality of the room, but somehow the presence of Jennifer's hand holding his stayed with him as he found his way back to the comforting arms of sleep.


Henderson woke in the middle of the afternoon, disoriented and thirsty, but aware there were people in the room. Mike Huffines was there, as were Gary White and Ted Sands, all from the Quail Run Court incident. They were all in uniform, still had the sheen and scent of a long summer day's work about them.

As Henderson drifted between sleep and consciousness, he heard them talking.

"Man, she's been here like all the time since he woke up. Nurses say she checks in on her kid then comes down here. Holds his hand almost all day long, like, even when he's out . . ."

". . . the night shift nurse told me this morning that she spent all last night in here with him . . . kinda like some weird Stockholm Syndrome thing, huh . . ."

". . . man, you think Tim knows what's goin' on?"

"Yeah, I think I do, guys," Tim Henderson said.

"Hey, It lives!" Huffines said. "I guess the food didn't kill you after all!"

"Food? You mean what they serve in here is called food?"

"You 'bout ready for a longneck, bro?" White said.

"Fuck you, Gary, just fuck you . . ." Everyone laughed.

"How 'bout a chicken-fried steak and turnip greens, some cream gravy . . ."

"Sands, when I get outta here I'm takin you down to the zoo and I'm gonna get a gorilla to turn your asshole into a four lane expressway!" More laughter followed.

Huffines broke in: "So, Tim, what about this Taylor woman. You want me to take care of it?"

"No, Mike, no. Just leave her be. I really don't think it's hurting anything, and hell, to tell the truth, she's been nice to have around at night. She used to work at County, an RN I think, and some of the nurses here kinda like her too, ya know. God knows, I do."

The three uniformed men looked at their stricken comrade with some concern, but knew enough to understand that life was funny, that sometimes life took you down unexpected roads at the weirdest times. They respected his choice, and let it go at that.

"So, bro, you need anything . . . new Penthouse or anything? Some fresh Vaseline?"

"Only if you can bring a hooker in here to fire the damn thing off!" They all laughed again, the tension gone. "Assuming it still works! Y'all get on outta here, now, and go get laid or something!"

The guys all said their goodbyes and headed out of the room. Huffines stayed behind a moment.

"Just thought you should know. Internal Affairs and the DAs office all declared it a good shoot . . . there ain't going to be any second guessing. And the Taylor woman cooperated with their investigation, backed up your interpretation. So, you're clear. Rest easy on that score, bro."

"Thanks Mike. Heard how long I'm gonna be stuck in here?"

"Probably another week here, then a month at home. Then maybe light-duty - you know, work in dispatch - for a month or so until you get the green light from the docs."

"Man! How long have I been in here so far?"

Huffines chuckled. "Man, you are out of it! You been horizontal for eleven days, bro. Shattered sternum and cardiac tampanade, whatever the fuck that is."

"Bruised heart. Shit. Well, thanks Mike. Thank the guys for comin' by again, willya?"


As the summer sum set late that evening, Jennifer Taylor sat in the chair next to Tim Henderson's bed. She had turned the chair so that she faced him as he lay there, and she had helped him eat his dinner, and joked about the perils of eating hospital food again. She looked at his bed side table, at the issues of Penthouse Magazine that sat there stacked on top of other less "interesting" magazines.

"So, the guys brought you some interesting reading material. Pet of the year playoff. . . how to have a thicker penis? Sounds like Cosmo for the testosterone impaired!" She was speaking more clearly tonight, as the wires holding her jaw closed had been loosened.

Henderson was turning bright red, even under the green light of the dim florescent lights.

"Tim, surely that's not embarrassing? Is it?"

Henderson was now almost purple, and he was looking away.

"Have you read any of them yet?"

"Ah, no."

"You know, I like the reader stories, you know, the Forum stories . . ."

Henderson did a double take. "You . . ."

"Hell yes, Tim. You think women are made of stone from the neck down or something?"

Tim just looked at her, his gaze almost unfocused; but he was listening intently to everything she was saying.

"So, you read any, yet?"

He shook his head, indicating he hadn't.

She picked up the issue on top, and flipped it open to the Forum section near the front. She skimmed a story, then another. "Ah, here's a good one . . ." and she started reading out loud about a man and his wife inviting another woman to dinner, and about going home with them afterwards. Events progressed naturally enough, for Penthouse anyway, until the women were locked in a sixty-nine while the husband jacked himself off, then all three were going at each other like they were in the Olympics and threesomes was a medal event. By the time the story ended - with all three contestants bathed in sweat and cum - Tim was sure the thing between his legs standing at attention would suffice for a run at pole vaulting.

Needless to say, Jennifer Taylor noticed it as well.

She flipped ahead to another story, a story about one girl inviting another over to her swimming pool while her husband was away at work. Somewhat predictably, as one asked the other to rub her down with suntan lotion things heated up nicely, and before you could say 'eat my clit' three times the girls were going at each other nicely; and the tent growing above Henderson's groin was reaching ever more impressive heights.

Jennifer Taylor slipped her hand under the sheets covering Tim Henderson, and her hand drifted over toward his lap. He stiffened when he felt her hand touch the side of his thigh, and his lower lip trembled when he felt her fingernails trailing little arcs as they rose toward his loins. Yet still she kept reading, holding the magazine in one hand while her other continued it's explorations. As the story moved towards it's climax, it's fair to say that Tim Henderson was well on his way to one of his own.

Jennifer's hand reached his cock and she swiftly encircled it, played with it. She gripped it, stroked it, worked her fingernails around the tip of it. She continued reading, the story describing in exacting detail the shattering orgasm the two girls inflicted on each other, their tongues delving into the deep recesses of their hot, wet vaginas, and Jennifer picked up her stroking as she felt his cock growing harder, then twitching and swelling . . . then she felt his cum running down the shaft of his cock onto her hand, coating her fingers and his cock with warm oozing slickness.

She brought her hand out from under the sheet, a vast pool of semen cupped in the palm of her hand. She held it there in the dim light, looking at Tim, then at the glistening pool of pearlescent liquid. "By the way, Tim," she said, "just in case you were wondering; I swallow." She brought her cupped hand to her mouth and poured his cum onto her barely visible tongue. She played with it a moment, swirled it with her tongue so that Tim could see it, so he could watch her enjoy his cum - and she saw his hypnotized gaze locked on her mouth, she watched his eyes as she swallowed his cum, saw his eyes follow it down her throat - pass her bobbing Adam's apple - then return to her eyes.

She smiled at him with the earthiest look of satisfaction he had ever seen on a woman's face in his life.

"So you're the one, huh?" he said. He was just short of breathlessness.

She looked at him quizzically. "The one what?"

"The one I'm going to love the rest of my life," he said, looking at her with awe.

"I wouldn't be surprised, Tim. I wouldn't be surprised at all." She had felt that way for some time now. She was surprised he had only just now felt her love for him.


Ten days later Henderson was driven home by Huffines. Jennifer had already been released, and had come by his apartment to help a cleaning lady get it tidied up before going back to the hospital to stay with her son for the afternoon. Huffines and a short term home nurse had helped Henderson up the stairs to his apartment, and helped him into an easy chair in the little apartment's living room. Huffines sat with him a while, then left him with the nurse.

He watched television a while, then grew tired, and reclined back in an old leather chair; the nurse slipped an ottoman under his legs and covered him with a light blanket. He dozed off while afternoon televison droned away in the background.

Not too long had passed, or so it seemed, when he smelled food, and he shook himself awake. The room was almost dark; the sun had set, and the ten o'clock news was on.

"Anyone here?" he called out.

And there she was.

Jennifer came out from the little kitchen. "You hungry?" she asked. She had a huge smile plastered all over her face.

"My God! You're here? How?"

"You have good friends, Tim. They love you. Not half as much as I do, but they do care for you big time."

"You love me, huh?"

"That would be a fact."

"How 'bout a Coke?"

"Alright. What about food?"

"How's Drew?" he asked, wanting to know how her son Andrew was doing.

"Better, he ought to be comin' home in a week or so. How about a CFS?" she said, indicating a chicken fried steak.

"No kidding? Who told you?"

"That Sands guy . . . said it's your favorite. My Grandmother taught me how to make it. Greens, too. That sound good?"

"Sounds like heaven to me. You an Angel?"

Jennifer walked into the room and came directly to him, knelt beside him and took his hand. "You're my Angel, Tim. Don't you ever forget that."

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byAdrian Leverkuhn© 1 comments/ 24570 views/ 13 favorites

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