Russian Roulette Ch. 01

Russian Roulette: The Rise of The Iron Crowbar

The order of my stories to read is:

Todd & Melina series, Interludes 1-5, Sperm Wars series.

Russian Roulette series

Case Of The Murdered Lovers series

So.... let's see if soap-opera-police-dramas with sex are of interest to Literotica readers...

This story contains graphic scenes, language and actions that might be extremely offensive to some people. These scenes, words and actions are used only for the literary purposes of this story. The author does not condone murder, racial language, violence, rape or violence against women, and any depictions of any of these in this story should not be construed as acceptance of the above.

Feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated, and I encourage feedback for ideas.

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The sex in this story is a bit limited, as the gritty police drama continues after the conclusion of the Sperm Wars series. There will be a lot more HOT sex in The Case of the Murdered Lovers and other fun crime stories for you to solve...

Part 1 - Picking Up The Revolver

The party was in full swing in the large conference room at Town Fitness Centers, Melina's gym. Officially it was a birthday celebration for a couple of the trainers that worked there, but it was also a St. Patrick's Day celebration. Winter had refused to release its grip upon us. We'd had a freak snowstorm, and now it was clear... but unseasonably cold.

Cindy Ross, Hugh Hewitt and Tanya Perlman were there as well as Lt. Britt Maxwell, Dr. Laura Fredricson, and Myron Milton from IT/Data. Somewhat to our surprise, Chief Griswold and his wife had come, also. Of course just about everyone who worked at Melina's gym had come to the party, though the facility was officially open at this hour. It was just past 11:30pm, and there actually were three people working out in the co-ed side.

The Vice Detectives had been invited, but Captain Harold Malone had called them in for a mission. Steven Ikea and his dingleberry Timothy Geiger would not have come anyway, but I suspected Teresa Croyle would rather have been here with us, despite her lousy attitude. I was brought out of my reverie by the chief walking up to me, his first chance to get away from his wife and others and speak with me privately.

"How are you feeling, Don?" the chief asked. "Fully recovered?"

"Absolutely." I said. "And cleared for field duty, as well."

"Good. But your limited duty has exposed the fact that we're beginning to be short-staffed, especially in MCD. We've got to talk about hiring or promoting some more people." the chief said. Although no one likes to "talk shop" at a party, we both knew that this time and location, away from the "Clubhouse" (as Police Headquarters was called), was ideal to talk about this type of confidential stuff.

"I agree, we're understaffed." I said. "And this would be a bigger party with some new people here." I added, grinning. The Chief gave a brief smile at my joke.

"But I agree." I continued. "And some of these guys are ready to be promoted. Tanya Perlman would be great for--"

*Bzzzzz... Brrriingggg*

It was Chief Griswold's "official" cell phone, upon which only duty-related calls would come. He stepped outside into the hallway and talked for a few minutes.

Stepping back inside, he called me and Cindy Ross to join him, and actually took us out the front door to the outside. The air was raw and cold, and our breath masked our faces.



"That was Malone." the chief said. "Ikea just led a big drug bust. We've got several hundred pounds... yes, hundreds of pounds... of cocaine, but only managed to arrest two people."

I understood. Ikea would hold back and let lower ranking officers risk themselves, then come in and take the glory. I also suspected, and the chief confirmed with his next sentence, that Ikea had bungled something, and bigger fish had gotten away while only two lower-level perps had been caught.

After giving those couple of details, the chief continued. "There's more, though. Croyle was wounded. She's been taken to University Hospital."


"Is she okay?" Cindy asked immediately, her face showing concern.

"I don't know." the chief replied, "but the wound was apparently not life-threatening. I'm going to go to the hospital. Do you two want to go?"

"Can I go with you?" Cindy again asked.

"Why don't you go with Don, and I'll take my wife home first. Don, tell the other officers, but ask them not to come to the hospital yet... they may not want to anyway." Cindy's face remained blank at that backhanded slap at Teresa.

"And Ross... don't annoy Croyle too much when you get there." the chief said.

Part 2 - Loading The evolver

Teresa Croyle, nicknamed "Teresa Cunt" behind her back, was not hurt badly. She'd been shot in the left hand and grazed on the shoulder, but fortunately no bones were broken.

I noticed a few things. First, when I told my MCD team and Britt Maxwell what had happened, everyone wanted to go to the hospital immediately. Considering Teresa Cunt's reputation as a bitch, I was surprised not so much that they were concerned, but at their level of concern. Per the Chief's instructions, I told them to wait.

Second, Cindy Ross did not wait, she was in the car with me driving to the hospital. Cindy Ross and Teresa were supposedly like oil and water, always arguing, but always seeming to work together. In fact, I had shocked the Chief, Captain Malone and Paulina Patterson (who did not like being in the same room with each other) by suggesting Ross & Croyle work together a lot more.

I had observed something they hadn't: Cindy and Teresa's seemingly insulting arguments were actually backhanded compliments of each other. No one denied that they worked extremely well together, and even Captain Malone was surprisingly very agreeable with it.

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"You dumbass." Cindy was telling Teresa in the hospital room as the beautiful black woman Nurse Jones finished bandaging her hand. "Don't you know how to duck?" It sounded harsh, but both Teresa and I noted the deep concern in Cindy's voice.

"Didn't duck enough, I guess." Teresa replied. "Of course if you had actually been there doing some police work, I might not've gotten hit at all."

"Yeah, right. Always leading with your head in a gun battle." Cindy retorted. "But you're right: If I were there you'd be behind my hardbody ass." To most, that would've sounded like an insult, that Teresa would lag behind Cindy... but I realized that it was actually an admission that Cindy would go out of her way to protect Teresa, and I suspected I was the only one who caught it.

Their banter triggered me to have a thought. I went into the hallway and began asking a couple of the patrolmen waiting there about what had happened. They were loyal to Malone, Ikea and Vice and did not want to talk to me, but I managed to elicit the story that a couple of patrolmen on the raid had been caught in a crossfire and Croyle had drawn their fire away and basically saved their asses.

"Thanks, guys." I said. "If Ikea doesn't put Croyle in for a medal, I'm going to get statements from you and do it myself." The patrolmen looked at me a lot less harshly after I said that.

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At 6:00am the next morning, Sunday, I walked into Police Headquarters as usual, and feeling very good. An hour before my throbbing cock was being deliciously sucked by my wife Melina. Her mouth was hot and wet and she was taking my length deep into her throat while her hand massaged my balls.

In addition to being our normal morning blowjob, this was Melina's "thank you" for the party as well as the expensive pearl necklace I'd given her. Our marriage had been a bit strained since the Christmas attack by Elizabeth and Ned.

On the surface, she seemed fine, but beneath the surface there was an edge to my wife that I'd not seen since just before our marriage. I was hoping the necklace would return some of the warmth to our relationship and that things would get much better.

The good news was that her pregnancy seemed to be going well in the early stages. I knew it was weird and perverted, but it really excited me to think that my wedded wife had been impregnated by another man and that she was carrying his child.

And as Melina's was going to town on my meat with unusual intensity, I sure wasn't complaining. My nut began to rise as I thought of how lovely Laura had looked at the party the night before. As my thoughts drifted to my baby growing inside Laura's magnificent, womanly body, I groaned as my climax overtook me. Despite my warning, Melina slid her mouth down my shaft and took my pulsing spurts of semen into her throat, greedily swallowing my entire load.

That memory was good, but once inside the police headquarters building, my lassitude vanished. There was some tremendous tension in the air, undefined but clearly there.

I went down to the patrolmen's break room to get coffee, to see if I could overhear anything, but the murmurs of the officers got even quieter when they saw me there.

Things began to get clearer when I wandered over to the interrogation rooms. These rooms were constructed so that there was not and never could be an unlocked passageway from the jail and booking side of headquarters to other parts of the building. One door had to be secured for the other one to open.

There was a rather large crowd of officers watching through the mirrored glass. Inside the interrogation room, Detective Steven Ikea was interrogating one of the arrested perps. The perp was young, in his early 20s, with dark hair and a hard face.

I was relieved to see two uniformed patrolmen also in the room: Detective Ikea was well-known for getting physical with drug punks to extract information on who they were working for. His methods were often effective but bordered upon police brutality.

As I walked up to the window, Captain Harold Malone looked balefully at me, unable to hide his sheer hatred of me. "What are you doing here?" he snarled. "This is not your case."

"How's Croyle?" I asked in reply, and everyone listening instantly became attentive.

"She's fine." Malone replied. The tension in the room was still there, and I was gaining the sense that it wasn't a me-vs-Malone or Vice-vs-MCD issue.

At that moment, everyone's attention was diverted to the interrogation room. Ikea was trying to browbeat the perp, and was making a show of shouting at him.



"Great job on the bust." I said, hoping that might get Malone to speak a bit. "Who's Ikea's toy in there?"

"He's a Russian punk. We think he's been working for a drug ring syndicate around here. We interdicted a shipment last night." I suppressed a smile at Malone's use of the word "we", as if he'd personally been a part of it.

"Senior Detective Ikea led the raid, did a great job." Malone continued, and I felt the tension in the room tangibly rise again.

Meanwhile, in the interrogation room, Ikea thrust his face close to the Russian perp's face and began screaming at him some more. In reply, the Russian hawked and spat straight into Ikea's face.

"You fucking bastard!" Ikea yelled, then moved forward and punched the Russian hard in the mouth. The Russian, whose hands were handcuffed behind him, fell to the floor. One of the uniformed officers restrained Ikea while the other wrestled the Russian up and back into his chair.

"Get him out of there." Malone ordered. He meant Ikea. A Vice detective pressed a button, setting off a buzzer. Ikea instantly came to the door and into our hallway room.

"Not a word out of you." Malone said to me, his finger pointing at my face, then grabbed Ikea's elbow and rapidly led him down the hall and toward the Vice room. "Listen you, you know better than that shit..." I overheard the Captain admonishing the Detective.

I had no plans to say anything, as I would've done the same thing to a perp that spit in my face, and I was by no means alone in my thinking.

I headed back to MCD, carrying a now empty coffee cup in my hand. As I turned into the room I started, shocked at the sight in front of me: Cindy Ross was pouring coffee for herself... and Detective Teresa Croyle.

"She won't go home." Cindy said when she saw me, clearly exasperated. "She insisted on coming in."

"I understand how she feels." I said. I had endured the same admonitions to rest while I was recovering from being shot.

"Well, Croyle, are you okay for duty?" I asked. Teresa scowled at me.

"Hell yes. I'm just fine." She took her coffee cup and stalked out, heading back to the Vice office.

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"I'm going to go hide in the IT office." I announced an hour later. As if on cue, Chief Griswold entered the room.

"No, stay the hell out of the basement. The evidence room is going crazy over last night's haul. In fact, that's why I came to get you. Come to my office."

In the Chief's office were Paula Patterson and the Evidence Dept. Supervisor, an older man named Charlie who really could no longer serve any physically active position due to previous injuries, but also heavy drinking. He was clean now and did his job well. He always wore a gray baseball cap, indoors or outdoors, hot or cold, rain or shine.

"Our problem," Chief Griswold growled, his white mustache twitching, "is what the hell to do with all these drugs we confiscated. We don't have room in the entire basement, much less the evidence rooms, to keep the stuff."

"We don't have any secure warehouses? Nothing where we keep cars or weapons?" I asked.

"No." Charlie said. "We never expected a haul this large."

"Won't the DEA be coming into this, won't they take this shit off our hands?" I asked.

"I'm expecting their call any minute now." the chief replied. "But we will still have the burden of storing the evidence. Any ideas?"

"Just one." I said. "Hire a few semi trucks and park the the trailers in the restricted parking lot here at headquarters, and load the shit into them until we can destroy it."

"Yeah, that's one idea." the chief said. "Any others?"

"We can rent a fenced warehouse somewhere in the city." Paula said. "It'll have to be constantly guarded, though."

"Either way, we're talking a big expenditure of manpower." the chief said, more as a growl than anything else. "Alright, Charlie, come up with a solution for me."

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Tuesday morning, 7:30am. After listening to the morning news on the TV, I asked the team "Guys, is it just me or is there a lot of tension around the place today?"

"It's not just you." Hugh replied. "Nobody's saying anything to anybody. The patrolmen aren't saying much whenever I speak to them, either."

"I think I know what it is," Tanya said, "but I'm not sure. Ikea has been gloating about the bust. Around here and to the Media. He hasn't said a word about Teresa Cunt getting shot, though. A lot of guys are really upset about the way he's acting and taking the credit, some guys are saying he actually fucked it up and let some people get away, and some are saying Teresa's wound was his, Ikea's, fault."

"Well, I can do something about all that right now." I said, grinning. I stalked out the side entrance of the room and turned immediately into the Vice office next door, my team discreetly following.

Sure enough, when I entered the Vice room, Steven Ikea was in there bragging loudly about his role in leading the bust. The rest of the room was filled by detectives either bored with the story or glaring at Ikea. Teresa was not in the room.

"De-tec-tive Ikea." I said, interrupting his story. He scowled when he saw who it was. "Are you going to put Croyle in for a citation?"

Looking puzzled, Ikea sneered "Why?"

"Well for openers, she got shot saving two officers from getting blown away." I replied with alacrity.

"She did her job." Ikea said, his voice sneering and condescending. "She did what I expected her to do when I brought her on the mission, nothing more."

"Okay, just wanted to make sure. I'll put her in for it myself." I said, then walked out before anyone could say a word, leaving behind a wake of shifting emotions.

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"What in the fuck are you doing?" Captain Harold Malone demanded. I was in the empty office next to Paula's, typing up the citation report for Teresa, having formally interviewed and received written statements from several officers at the scene.

"Writing up a citation for Detective Croyle, doing Ikea's job since he said he wasn't going to." I replied.

"That's my fucking job, dipshit." Malone growled. He was visibly angry, and not just at me doing the job, but the trap I'd sprung on Ikea. "Give me those goddamned affidavits." I handed him the folder containing all the information. Paula and Cindy Ross were in the anteroom, watching.

"I'll get Croyle her damned citation. You stay the fuck out of my business." Malone ordered, then strode out of the room. Paula and Cindy returned my grin as I came out of the office. We knew Malone would keep his word and get Teresa the citation, and we knew even more about the shifting morale and loyalty situation.

As the story spread around the building like wildfire, the atmosphere around the headquarters building improved tremendously. As did my stature.

Part 3 - An Offer To Be Refused

It was noon the next day, Wednesday. It was overcast and cold, and it looked like bad weather was trying to decide whether or not to come in and dump on us. "Board of Regents weather." Laura like to call it. "Can't decide what it wants to do."

I was sitting outside on the patio of a sandwich shop near the park in the center of town, having been at the nearby Courthouse complex during the morning. I wanted to feel the cold to help myself think more clearly. There was a lot to think about:

-- Neither the DEA, FBI nor the State had contacted our police department about the drug bust. This was disturbing, especially in light of the size of the haul.

-- Thinking of the size of the haul, it was clear that a junction point for a huge distribution network had been established.

-- The storage of the haul was not a solution that appealed to me: it was being stored in a rented warehouse, and while the facility was fenced, secured and guarded, it could still become a target.

-- Why doesn't our Police Department have a SWAT team?

-- Was Ikea and the Vice squad just lucky in interdicting a haul this size? Was this legitimate police work? Did someone tip off the cops, to get the police to do the dirty work of removing competition? Are there dirty cops in on all this?

Since beginning work with the Town & County Police, I'd begun to see the merest glimmers that something was not right about some of the drug busts that had gone down, but there was nothing I could point my finger at, at least not yet--

Just at that moment, my "spidey sense" told me to come back to the present. Just in time, too. I recognized the swarthy, overweight man who was approaching me, wearing sunglasses despite the overcast day. The eight men guarding him were trying to be unobtrusive, but were failing.

He came up to me and sat down at my table, not awaiting invitation. My hand was in my pocket... gripping my backup gun. I knew who he was. His name was Sergei Molotov. He was a Russian gangster, a higher-up in a big-time Russian-connected drug cartel... and one of the most brutal criminals known to law enforcement authorities. 



"I would speak with you, Detective." he said, his accent thick. I noted that despite the appearance of being overweight, Molotov was in good shape underneath the belly.

"So it would appear." I replied dryly. What about?"