You there, Butch?

All of my writing is fiction and the stories and characters are all products of my imagination. They were created for my fun and, hopefully, your enjoyment. Some of the events in the stories are not particularly condoned nor encouraged by the author but are there to create and enhance the story of the imaginary characters and their lives. Comments are always encouraged and carefully reviewed. All characters within the story that need to be are 18 years of age or older. Hope you enjoy!

"You there, Butch? Where are you?" Eileen's radio interrupted the silence of the late evening and her peaceful cruising of the residential neighborhood. She recognized Matt's voice.

"Heading down Wyatt and just crossed Harmon." She was alert now.

"I'm on Western at about Westchester. A 10-31. I'm following a stolen car. Taking it easy so we don't get into a chase. I suspect it's kids. Can you get around me and head back up Western? Maybe we can cut them off that way." Sounded like Matt needed her help.

"On my way." Eileen flipped on her siren and sped up to forty. She knew it would take about a minute to get past where Matt was following the stolen car, just two blocks over.

"Shit, he's spotted me," her radio barked. "He's taking off." She could hear Matt's siren beginning to blare. "Just crossed Eichler," he added.

"Me too." No chance of intercepting now. She'd wait for more information.

"Butch, they just hit a light pole and they're out and running." A few seconds of silence. "Just went in the alley between Bridge and Watkins."

"I'm on the other end right now. Got them trapped, Matt." She slammed on the brakes and vibrated to a stop. "Damn adaptive brakes," she thought, jumping out of the car and cautiously moving up the alley, service pistol now in her hand. She crouched behind a trash barrel — a little cover at least.

No sound as she listened carefully. An eerie silence. They had to be here since there wasn't anywhere else to go.

"Okay, guys. It's over," she yelled, her voice echoing in the dark alley. "Come out with the hands way high, right now." The 9mm Glock was in her hand and ready. No sense taking chances in the dark. "Last chance. Hands up and out here right now." She prayed they'd show as she wasn't anxious to go looking for them.

"Okay, okay. I'm coming out. Don't shoot."

Why did they always think she was going to shoot? In eight years on the force, she'd never fired her gun other than at the range.

"Keep'um way up." In the faint light in the alley, she could see a single figure stepping out from between two buildings, hands raised high above his head.

"Keep going, right out to the middle ... now stop."

He did exactly as directed looking around for the source of the voice giving him directions.

"There were two of you. Where's the other one? Out here in the middle and quick."

"I'm coming out." The voice she heard sounded about ten years old. As he stepped out, she could see something in his hand.

"Whatever's in your hand, drop it right now. Drop it."

The immature voice again. "It's my cellphone. I don't want to break it."

A quick choice, probably not what she should have done, but she did it anyway.

"Stop right where you are. Bend over from the waist and lay the phone on the ground."

She watched as the small figure did just as she'd directed.

"Okay, out to the center. And keep those hands high. Move away so you're not close to him."

She stood and holstered her Glock, keeping her hand on it as she moved into the alley.

"Come on in, Matt. They're ready to go."

The other officer appeared, hand on his holster as well.

"Good job, Butch. Okay, you, over here." The one who had come out first moved to the spot where Matt directed him. "Spread those legs." The legs were spread. "Wider," Matt directed.

"I'm gonna fall."

"Good. That's the way I want it. Hands behind you." The handcuffs were quickly snapped in place.

"Now you," Eileen directed. "Spread wide." The second set of cuffs were in place.

"How old are you?" Matt asked.

"I'm not telling," his perpetrator replied.

"Suit yourself. You can go downtown to the big boy's jail if you'd like, rather than having the juvenile people handle it."

A moment of silence. "I'm fifteen," he said softly.

"And you?" Eileen said, tapping the other one on the shoulder.

He gave her a very frightened look. "I'm thirteen."

Eileen shook her head and sighed. She motioned with her head for Matt to join her, a little apart from the two.

"Normally, we'd each take one, blah, blah, blah, but hell with the rules for these two. They're not that dangerous, so you get them both."

"Sounds good. I already called for the wrecker so that's taken care of."

"I'll fill out my paperwork tomorrow. I haven't had dinner yet."

"The life of a policewoman I guess," Matt said, smiling at her.

"That and who knows what else?"

"Thanks for the help, Butch. You're okay." She shrugged. Matt was a good guy, one of the best.

As Eileen turned to leave, the older of the two thieves decided to make a quick dash for freedom. He'd gone about three steps when she hit him, shoulder to shoulder, and he went flying through three garbage cans and onto the ground, her knee on his chest before he knew what had happened.

"My shoulder. You hurt my shoulder." He was grimacing and squirming under her knee.

She moved her knee and stood up, glaring down at the squirming form.

"Up, and quick." She had her hand on the holster again, and it seemed to have a calming effect on him.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied meekly, stumbling to his feet, a pained expression lingering on his face.

"You have more cuffs in your cruiser, Matt?"

"Sure do."

"I'll help you cuff them to the bar. Should make your trip more restful."

"My shoulder still hurts."

"Yeah, well, explain it to the people downtown, and I'm sure they'll take care of it for you."

"My cell phone," the smaller one pleaded.

Eileen searched for a few seconds and found the phone. She handed it to Matt. The cell phone was going to be the least of the thirteen-year-old's worries for a while.

They led the now-very-cooperative pair to Matt's cruiser, and Eileen helped cuff each of them to opposite ends of the roll bar that spanned the cruiser.

"Thanks again, Butch. We gonna get patrolling together again soon?. This single shit is a pain."

"You got that right. I hope so too. Take care now." She headed back down the alley to her cruiser.

Butch. The first time she'd been called that by an officer, it was an insult. She told him to take it back and when he refused, he'd ended up doubled over on the floor, clutching his crotch, the victim of her well-She'd told all of them that now that it was settled, they could call her Butch all they wanted — and she'd been Butch from then on. At least to the ones who knew her. The name was a constant reminder to anyone who decided to cross her. The real "boys club" guys hadn't spoken to her in all the time she'd been on the job.

But now she was hungry and she headed for her usual night-shift eating haunt, The Olde Towne Diner. It was open until eleven so she was usually able to get there before closing. Tonight, it was only eight-thirty so she had plenty of time.

"Hey, Eileen, you're early." One of the two greetings she got from Alice, the other being, "Hey Eileen, you're late." It was like the old Cheers TV show though. She liked going someplace where they knew her name. When she stopped at a different diner, it was like Atilla the Hun, or the Abominable Snowman had come in. Everyone cringed and backed out of the way, then gawked at her the whole time she ate. It was probably the neighborhoods she chose and the seedy places she often ate. She just hated to be stared at.

"What's the special tonight, Alice?" For some reason, Eileen hated searching through a menu.

"It's a Wally special." She leaned over close to Eileen's ear. "Mostly whatever he had leftover back there, I think." She straightened. "I think he calls it goulash — with a side salad. Sound good, hon?"

"Sure, his stuff is usually good. Hell of a lot better than anything I'd make."

"Me too." She carefully wiped the oilcloth table covering, which didn't help a lot. It seemed that, once they were sticky, they stayed sticky no matter what you did to them.

Alice had delivered the meal and Eileen was getting into enjoying the wonderful flavors that Wally always seemed to eke out of the ingredients when she felt a touch on her shoulder.

"Holy shit," she said, glancing over her shoulder, mouth full of food. "Go away and let me eat."

"No need to be nasty —"

"And if you call me honey," she interrupted, "I'll hit you in the balls so hard you'll still be throwing up at noon tomorrow."

Chris took a step backward, out of the reach of Eileen's elbow, or fist, or whatever else might be aimed in his direction.

"You're still a bitch, aren't you?"

"Never was a bitch until you came around. You sure as hell fixed that."

"Come on, Eileen. We could still make it if you'd give me a chance."

She could barely keep from laughing.

"I believe you had a chance, asshole, and you fucked it up. Second chances are hard to come by with me." She turned in her chair so she could face him. He took another step backward. "Now, if you have to stay here, go across the room, as far away from me as you can get."

"Freak," she said under her breath as Chris walked away. She knew what she'd hear next.

"Hey, Chris. How ya doing, hon?"

Alice was moving in. Despite Eileen's stern warnings to Alice about her ex, Alice seemed determined to latch on to him. Chris had found a table on the far side of the room, and she couldn't hear their conversation now.

She watched them as they talked. Maybe she shouldn't intrude in other people's relationships; she hadn't been very successful in her own, perhaps due to her stubbornness. Alice seemed very happy chasing after Chris.

Eileen couldn't decipher Chris's constant attempts to reignite a relationship that had burned itself out years ago. After their frenzied courtship had culminated in their running off to get married, those two bad decisions had created what was, to her, the first good decision they'd made — at least she'd made — and that was to divorce before more damage had been done. She was a police officer when they'd met, and she'd made it clear to him that she planned to remain a policeman. He couldn't handle that and was constantly hounding her to change careers. She had seen quickly that the relationship, what there was of it, wasn't going to work — the divorce was the result.

She'd discovered, while the divorce was in process, that she was pregnant and had made the decision to have the baby and then figure things out. But she had miscarried and spent days crying in private, totally surprising herself. It freed her from making some difficult decisions but was far more disappointing than she could have imagined.

She finished eating, paid, and was back in her cruiser when she heard the call, even before she could check back in.

"You there, Butch?"

"I am now," she replied.

" A 10-90 at Doyle's Jewelry, an alarm going off."

"Got it. Know where it is and on the way."

Doyle's was only about six blocks away and she was quickly there. She parked and cautiously approached the front door. She could see someone inside but he had on a suit and tie. Not likely a burglar.

She tried the door and it was open. Quickly she finger-tapped her holster, hand on her pistol, and stepped inside.

"Alarm going off?" she inquired. The man behind the counter didn't seem very anxious.

"I got a call so I guess so. Thank you, officer. I'm not sure what happened."

"How about turning around and showing some I.D.," she ordered sternly.

The suit slowly turned, eyeing her cautiously. "Can I get my wallet out of my back pocket?"

"Slowly," she replied. "Sorry, but just being careful here."

He dug his wallet out of his hip pocket, opening it to show her his driver's license. She glanced at it, confirming it said, Barry Doyle.

"Thanks," she said smiling at him, loosening her hold on the pistol.

He returned his wallet to the hip pocket, looking slightly uncertain about how to proceed.

"You checked around?" she asked.

"Some, yes."

His alarm had gone off, in a store with many thousands of dollars worth of merchandise and he had "checked some?"

"Back door?" she said, gesturing with her head.

"Through the curtains," he confirmed.

She went through the curtains to the back door. It was locked and showed no signs of tampering.

Back through the curtain, she could see the man bending down, rearranging items in a display case. She decided he seemed young for a jewelry store owner; most she had seen seemed to be older men. He stood up as she got closer.

"I apologize," he said. "I'm Barry Doyle." He smiled. "I guess you already know that."

"Officer Eileen Timson," she replied. "This your store then?"

"Yes, since my father died. He left it to me and I'm still trying to gather up all the loose ends."

"Sorry about your father," she said, wondering how long ago that had been. "About the alarm system?" she questioned, looking around.

"It's a conglomeration, stuck together over the years. Kind of a mess, I guess"

"Silent alarm in here?"

"Yeah. Dad's idea." He nodded and shrugged, his dark eyes never leaving hers.

"Looks like things are good here. I'll head on back to duty," she said.

Barry Doyle extended his hand, much more relaxed now. "Thanks for your help, Officer Timson. It's appreciated."

She shook his hand, squeezing it gently. Looking at him from this close she decided that, behind his glasses, he wasn't a bad-looking guy.

"Our job, Mr. Doyle." She returned his smile, getting one more look from those dark eyes, and headed for her cruiser.

Eileen's shift ended. She was tempted to stay and get that dreaded paperwork done but decided to wait till tomorrow when she could do it on "company" time. Once home, she undressed, did her bathroom chores, and went to the window to close the blind for the night. Instead, she stood there, looking down at the street. It was a little before midnight and there were people, walking, talking, laughing, and having a good time.

She remembered when she'd done that — gone out, had fun, stayed out late, had lots of friends. Before Chris. Something had changed after that. Now she was content to stay in the apartment, read, and watch some TV. She thought she was content; sometimes she wondered.

She sighed, put the blind down, and went to bed, debating about reading for a while, or just going to sleep. She was exhausted and decided on sleep. It came faster than she'd expected.

Not unusual, she was awake at five and switched on her Kindle. She read for a half an hour and dropped off again. The doorbell ringing roused her.

She struggled out of bed, donning a robe since she had slept naked, as usual. She snarled out, "Coming." When the bell chimed a second time, she knew who it had to be.

"Do you have to fucking wake me up every day?" she said angrily when she opened the door a crack.

"Good morning to you too," Nick said, a big smile on his face. "I came to fix your breakfast."

She slowly opened the door. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" she said, a disgusted tone to her voice. "And good luck finding something to fix, unless it's spelled Wheaties.

"This ain't my first rodeo, Eileen. I brought everything we'll need."

She rolled her eyes at Nick's satisfied smile.

"What concoctions will you be dazzling me with this morning?" She just wanted to climb back into bed. The trouble was, she was sure that's what Nick wanted too, with him joining her of course. Not for sleep, though.

"My version of the steak, egg, and cheese sandwich, plus bacon if you're up for it." He smiled a coy little smile. "I was gonna stop at Krispy Kreme—"

"One donut joke," she interrupted, "and your ass will be out in the hall before you get to the punch line."

He raised his hands. "No jokes," he said, his voice pleading for forgiveness for something he hadn't done.

She knew that he was proud of his creativity and, after Wally's goulash last night, what he'd said did sound good. Maybe worth the fight she knew lay ahead of her; at least it always seemed to be there lately.

"Knock yourself out." She started toward the bedroom. "I'll get dressed while you're at it."

"No need. You look good just like that."

His first thrust in the inevitable battle.

Now she had to decide. Get dressed now, or stretch out on the couch and face the music after breakfast? The couch was right there, beckoning. She lay down, listening to Nick banging around in the kitchen. Quickly, she was asleep.

She started as she felt the kiss on her cheek. "It's ready," Nick whispered. Waking up, she was sure he was taking the chance to peek down her robe, the neck having gaped a little.

"Pervert," she snapped at him, pulling the robe tight around her throat.

He shrugged, offering his hand to help her stand.

She shared breakfast with him and, as she had expected, it was delicious. As she took her last bite, she could see the look on his face and knew what was ahead. He'd made the first thrust earlier. Her turn to parry.

"No," she said.

"No what?"

"What you're thinking."

"Eileen, what the hell?"

"I'll let you know when I'm ready, okay?" If ever, she thought, no smile on her face now.

She liked Nick. He was fun sometimes, and crazy about her. She wanted more than that, not from him, but herself. She wanted to feel the sparks, the fire burning within, the inability to stay away from him, whoever he might be. She hadn't felt that with Nick, as nice as he was. They had dated for some time and, despite her feeling like it was over, he seemed willing to hang around and wait, another point in his favor if she was counting points. Points weren't going to do it though. She'd been there once and was in no hurry to go back to that again.

"You know how I feel about you, babe. I don't know how to make it any clearer. What do I need to do?" He looked hopeless.

Maybe he was hopeless, she thought. Not him, but the whole process. Maybe Chris had ruined her for anyone else. Bastard. She wanted that part of life.

She felt sorry for Nick. Sorry enough that she'd like to hug him but knew that would just turn him on. He wasn't looking for sympathy, he was looking for her ... and sex. That's what the look on his face was telling her. He wanted to rip the robe off her and ravage her. But he wouldn't do that. He was too ... nice.

Maybe that was what she needed. Someone to ignore what she wanted and do to her what he wanted. Nick was sure willing to do that. She wondered what her reaction might be. She tried to imagine it, but with Nick watching her, she couldn't do it. Maybe tonight ... in bed. Whatever. She sighed.

"I get it. I'm off," he said, easing her thoughts. It had gone much easier than she had expected. Hopefully, he was losing interest. Too much to expect, probably.

She got a warm and gentle kiss, Nick at least understanding where she was at this moment.

"Call me," he said. "I put the bacon in the fridge." He turned his back to her and left.

She was Butch with her police compatriots. With Nick, she just needed to get some balls and tell him they were through.

She wondered if she'd see him again, a silly thought, then realized, until she cut the rope completely, he was likely to be there in the morning, ringing her doorbell and waking her once more. That was Nick.

If Eileen thought her episode yesterday was exciting, she might have had to rethink it after today, except for a lucky break.