The Number

"You said you needed sleep, not pussy," I accused him as he shifted around back there. It was impossible to stay all that mad at him. After all, it's not like it's an insult when a guy gets a boner for you.

"Or?" I could hear a smile in his voice now as he squirmed behind me, the fat head of his cock all of a sudden poking right on my anus. "Oops," he laughed.

"Get out of there!" I squealed, smiling despite myself; the guy was just so much fun. He was teasing, I knew, but he also wasn't: I took a deep breath as I felt him press, just slightly, the pressure growing on my hole. "What the fuck, DiMaggio?"

"Hey." He didn't move, his head now definitely lodged inside there. Just a tad. "I told you. Oops."

"Yeah, 'oops.' Like you slipped on a patch of ice and fell into my asshole." I'd never had it back there, not really. Guys had played with me, of course, tongues and fingers. Hell, just last night this same guy had buried his thumb in there. But this was different. Darker.

Sometimes, I told myself, darker was not so bad...

"No." I got hold of myself, humping forward to get off him. "Stop, dude. Not my thing." I felt him ease up, his head still dragging through my crack, teasing me. "You," I accused, trying not to smile, "are taking this too far."

"I just want to cum in you," he reasoned, his voice throaty. His fingertip found one of my nipples, circling it. "You won't let me launch in your pussy, so? It's not your only hole, Lindberg."

I laughed at that. "Not cool, Aaron." I pondered, my body starting to tingle now. Dammit. "I've got another hole too, you know."

He froze. I'd blown him once, the very first time I'd decided to succumb to his flirting, but that had been minor. Quick foreplay, hastily abandoned so that I could bend over the Division bathroom sink. "You do," he mused.

How easy it would be, I thought, just to pivot my body a little, swinging my hips up, pressing back, taking him once more into my vagina. So easy... but no. I was still sore. I sighed. "If I suck your cock, will you shut up and let me sleep?"

"Sure."

"Okay. Go wash it off."

I could almost see him scowl in the dark. "What are you talking about?"

"That thing's just been in my butthole, DiMaggio."

"Oh, just fucking barely," he scoffed. "That hardly even qualifies."

"Still. I'm not a pornstar, dude. I don't do ass-to-mouth. Go. Wash up." He released me with a vicious nipple pinch. "Ow. Look, it's nothing personal. But if I don't taste soap when I put your dick in my mouth, I'll bite it off. Got it?"

"Yes, Detective Lindberg," he mocked, throwing the sheets off me as he rolled out the other side of the bed. "Neat freak."

"You know it," I smiled, working my jaw. I enjoy giving head, but it can be painful if you don't stretch first.

* * *

I woke with the sour taste of curdled semen in my mouth, memories of college flooding into my head, propelling me to go brush my teeth. DiMaggio was already at his laptop, scanning through last night's footage. "Morning," he nodded over at me. "Nothing yet. I brought you a doughnut by the TV."

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." I stepped into the only change of clothes I'd brought, tucking my holster inside my belt. "That car still there? No movement?"

"Nope."

"Good." I looked doubtfully at the doughnut, but grabbed it. "I'm thinking I might want something lighter. Look, is the breakfast still open?"

"I think so?"

"Good. I'm going to head down and get some yogurt instead."

He smiled deviously. "I've got some yogurt for you..."

"Yeah. I was burping that up all night." I adjusted my tits in the clean, un-mauled bra and headed for the door. "Be back whenever." I hesitated, thinking through my plan, and added a veiled warning. "Hey. I have a hunch things are going to move fast this morning. Keep your ringer on and be ready to move fast."

"Yep." The door chopped off whatever else he was going to say, and I ignored the fading ache in my pussy as I slunk quickly down toward the Business Center.

Time to go to work.

I called the local PD first and caught the same sergeant I'd spoken to the day before. "Yeah, can you send your guy over?"

"Just to park?" He seemed bemused, but I assured him that yes, all I needed them to do was park. "And you're going to be outside telling him where to go?"

"Yes. South side of the building." I glanced down. "I'm in jeans and a green hoodie. Bright green. Tell them to look for me." And that's why I was standing out near the third window from the end, ducked behind a large bush, as the local police car came rolling slowly into sight. He came over as I waved, a massive older man with glasses.. "Good morning." I held out my badge in one hand and the doughnut in the other. "Detective Lindberg, Seaborne PD. Can you do me a favor and just hang out here outside this window for about fifteen minutes or so? Have a doughnut."

The guy peered at my chest before my face, but I'm used to that. "Sure. Thanks. Hey, what's your number? So I can call you if anything happens?"

"No." All I needed was another cop hitting on me over the phone. "No numbers. Just stay for fifteen, then head out. This is a very sensitive investigation, requiring absolute silence from inside."

"Oh, uh, sure. Got it." He stared at my ass as I strode back to the exit door, but hell, I was wearing tight jeans. It goes with the territory. I sped past Room 102, not even glancing at the door, then slipped into the Business Center and found one of the spinny chairs.

This was it.

I headed into my phone and found The Number, dialing it with a nudge of my thumb. The thing rang once, then twice. Three times. It went to voicemail, which did not surprise me, and I took a deep breath. Showtime. "Hi, Traci, this is Detective Lindberg, Seaborne Police. But you already know that. Look, take a peek out your room window and then call me back, okay? Thanks!" I was trembling with excitement as I hung up, the phone still in my hand, imagining how shook she'd be to see a cop car outside her hotel room.

One minute. She'd call back within one minute, I told myself, counting forty long seconds before my phone chirped. I tried not to sound smug as I answered. "Detective Lindberg here! Who's calling?"

"You know who the fuck is calling." She did a good job concealing her rage, but I could tell it was there, her voice a low hiss. "What do you want?"

"What I want," I smiled, letting the chair lean back, "is for you to know that I know where you are, and that the locals can come nab you as soon as I tell them to. Manslaughter. Larceny. Fraud. Drug running." I let that sink in. "But I also want you to know that there's a way out for you, believe it or not." I stopped, knowing she'd fill the silence. When she spoke, her voice had that reverb to it that said she was calling from the bathroom.

"A way out." She sounded doubtful. "Bullshit."

"No. I'm serious... if Tony Massacoli is there with you. If he's not, I'm just going to have the townies arrest you right now" I paused. "Is he there?"

The silence stretched until she spoke very, very warily. "Where can we talk?"

"By the pool. Nobody comes in there." And I could see the front entrance, I didn't say, through the big picture window by the diving board. "Three minutes, Traci. Be there." I hung up on her, the excitement still rattling me, and called my partner right away. "DiMaggio. Watch that car. If it's going to take off, it's going to take off in the next three minutes."

"Sure." Perfect. Clipped. Dry. That was DiMaggio, who despite whatever dickish qualities he might be stuck with, was at least a good cop. "No problem."

"It's going down," I whooped before hanging up. And then?

I skedaddled to the pool.

The woman who peered in at me through the door about four minutes later was not the confident treadmiller of the day before. She was who I'd expected: a game animal facing the hunt, still full of fight but aware that she'd need to make her own luck if she wanted to get out of this. She was the girl who'd made her heist, run over a drug dealer, and vanished up the road with her heart racing and her mind thrumming.

I could smell the fear as she came quietly through the door. And the frustration: she was pissed at herself for getting caught. Most crooks are like that, especially the young ones who think they're clever. She stepped inside in sweatpants and a tanktop and let the door close quietly behind her. "What the fuck?" she asked loudly; I'd taken a chaise-longue on the far side of the pool. I waved her over.

"I'm not going to shout. If you want to hear what I have to say, get over here." She thought about it, then moved with a hunted wariness I enjoyed. "Excellent. Off to a good start here, Traci."

She cocked her head at me as she approached, her eyes in constant motion. "You're hotter than Tony said you were." It sounded like an accusation.

"Tony's judgment always has sucked," I nodded. I had my legs deliberately crossed in front of me, my hands resting on the arms of the chaise with as much calm as I could summon. I knew she could see my gun. "Look, before anything else, I have to ask: is Tony here? In room 102?"

She sat on the edge of one of the other chaises, but not the one right next to me. I couldn't blame her for her caution. "Why do you ask?"

"Because if he's there, you're going to like what I have to say. If he's not, I'm going to arrest you here and now," I shrugged. "Is he in there, Traci?"

She stared at me for a long moment. "Maybe."

I sighed, then grabbed my cuffs off the back of my belt and twirled them around my left forefinger. "I'm not fucking around here, Traci. Yes or no? If I walk into 102 right now, will I find him?" I glanced down at her hands. "Might not want to reach for a cellphone, by the way."

She bit her lip, glaring at me through her lashes. "Yes. He's here." She ran a hand through her short hair. "Am I under arrest?"

"Not yet," I smiled. My brain was singing, moving a million miles an hour, because this was going to work. "And maybe not at all, if you're smart about it." She stared at me, visibly dumbfounded. "Out of curiosity? Can I ask why you took Tony with you in the first place?"

One of Traci's narrow eyebrows rose. "Why are you asking?"

"I told you. Curiosity." I laid the cuffs across my thigh, where she could see them. "I never really thought he had much going for him. I'm curious why you wanted to take him on the lam."

She made a face. "I have no idea. I guess I thought it would be easier to keep an eye out if I had a partner. A Clyde to my Bonnie."

I snorted. "Tony Massacoli is nobody's Clyde Barrow."

"Yeah. Clearly, this was a fucking mistake and a half," she sighed. "Everything was going so well."

I shrugged. "You never know where life's going to turn." I wasn't feeling exactly sympathetic, but I was feeling talkative in my victory. "I used to be a loving wife who wanted to have kids and be a narcotics cop. Now look at me," I winked, "a corrupt detective with about four bad habits too many, making a deal off the books with a manslaughter suspect."

She seemed a little calmer now, staring more directly at me. This girl was a dodger, I could tell: slick. Determined. Opportunistic. If I let her go today, she'd be three states away by dinnertime. "Corrupt, huh?" She smiled. "What are your bad habits?" she asked, acting like she didn't really care. But of course she was looking for some kind of advantage.

Whatever.

"I do that thing cops do, where I frame people," I shrugged, "and then sometimes I steal. And I fuck anything with two legs and a dick," I chuckled.

"Relatable." She relaxed a bit more. "Like your own CIs. Like Tony."

"Like Tony." I sighed. "We all make mistakes, but what can I say? I never really cum unless I'm not really supposed to be fucking the guy. You know?" I'd had that epiphany a couple years before, after Alex. I don't get off on the dick in my pussy. I get off on the fact that the dick shouldn't be in my pussy.

"Sort of." She watched me closely. "I work on the fringes of the sex industry. It's hard to do that and still enjoy guys."

"Want my therapist's number?"

"No thanks." We looked at each other for several dead seconds, considering. "Speaking of sex with Tony. I think I know how you found me," she muttered, plainly disgusted with herself. "That damn pic of him eating me out."

"Mmhmm." I shrugged. "Future reference: when taunting the cops, check your background." I smiled, a ghostly twitch of my lips. "And I've gotta say, if you're going to get pinched because you got your cunt munched, you should probably have found a better muncher."

"He really sucks," she scowled. I nodded; I was well aware. Tony was the kind of guy who could get you off, but it was always a laborious process. "Well. I mean, like, he doesn't suck. Which is part of the problem."

"Live and learn." I leaned my head back a moment, figuring it was time to get this conversation moving. "Do you have anything back in 102? Anything you need?"

Those big eyes of hers darted around a bit. "I could walk straight from here, get in my car, and drive away without a second thought."

"Funny you should suggest that. It might not even be a bad idea."

She nodded slowly, her eyes slitting up again. "So... uh, you're not going to arrest me?"

"Not right now. Tony is my target today." I winked. "But the locals know we came here to find you, so I can't vouch for what they might do. Soon. And, of course, you'll show up on every police blotter in the state once I grab Tony. Probably on the news, too; I'm good at press releases." I shrugged. "You'll get caught eventually. And if you do get away? You stole ten grand from a sexist restaurant chain, then you killed a drug dealer. So whatever." I slipped my cellphone out of my pocket. "I'm going to have to think up something to tell my partner, about how I cracked the case," I fretted, "but I'm good at falsifying reports, too. Look, don't you move until my partner calls me back, hmm?" She watched me as I called DiMaggio. "Hey. I got a tip. Massacoli's in Room 102, right now. I'm headed over there, but you need to go knock on his door. If you hear him in there, whisper that you're Traci. Do it now. Let me know if you find him."

We sat a few moments, staring at the pool water in a chlorine haze. "You really think he's stupid enough to open the door?" she wondered.

"I really think he's stupid enough to open the door," I nodded. The minutes passed, three of them, before my phone rattled again. "Yeah?" I listened, Traci staring at me, and nodded. "Cool. I'm on my way." I set the phone down and picked my cuffs back up, spinning them around my finger again before I took them in my hand and returned them to the back of my belt. "See?"

"I guess." She was already on her feet. "So... see ya."

"Yep." I watched her dancer's ass sashay quickly out the poolroom door. I thought of reminding her to avoid the exit outside 102, but she wasn't a dummy. She'd leave out the front door. I gave her a minute while I relaxed, staring at the water again, then I hauled myself to my feet and headed out to meet up with DiMaggio. And Tony.

* * *

I was feeling worn out when I left the local PD a couple hours after noon, the chief's affidavits and witness statements in my bag. Fucking paperwork.

Tony sat cuffed in the back of the car, a trickle of dried blood still leaking out of his nose. "Can I get a fucking kleenex?" he whined as I opened the door.

"No, dickhead." DiMaggio was in the passenger seat, watching porn on his phone.

"You're an asshole."

"Keep talking," my partner shrugged, "and I'll tune you up some more." He glanced at me as I slid behind the wheel. "All good?"

"Yep."

He studied me closely. "Sure you don't want to stick around and look for the Golden bitch? Massacoli here says she's got to be close."

"Nope. Let's go home." I checked out my quarry in the rearview. "You're going to jail, Tony, and this time I'm not getting you sprung. But. Remember my old offer? About testifying against Traci Golden?" I smiled back at him. "Play your cards right, and you might miss a long sentence. Then you can bust out and lick my pussy again, 'cause god knows DiMaggio won't." I winked. "Sound good?"

"Don't answer," DiMaggio laughed, "that whole Miranda thing. Right to remain silent. You should think about your options, though." He smiled over at me. "I just got off the phone with Lieutenant Jaeckel. He says no more night shifts. He's pretty happy with you."

"I'm pretty happy with me, too," I confessed, starting the engine. I smiled at myself as I adjusted my shades. "It's been a great fucking day."

* * *

Thanks for reading! And thanks to soflabbwlvr for organizing this inaugural event.