Andersonville 23 A Twinkle in her Father s Eyes
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And The Beat Goes On free porn video
As usual, I had a headache. The fucking thing just wouldn't leave me. My doctor says it's stress. He says that maybe at my age I should consider slowing down and riding a desk. He says that I'd probably live longer if I did that. I think that I'd just be trading my normal eventual death for a slower more meaningless one. We're all going to die of something anyway aren't we?
What I do may not be the most important thing in the world, but it is necessary and God damn it, I'm good at it. I'm also far more appreciative of what I actually do this time around. I almost lost it because I let my small head do the thinking for the big head. One dumb assed decision fucked up a career that I'd worked years for. (Read the Beat for more clarification)
The funniest thing about it is that I never did get any pussy out of the deal but I did make a friend ... eventually. So now, as I step lightly to avoid ruining my new shoes in the muck, shit and God knows what else of this alley, pussy is the furthest thing from my mind. The only things on my mind right now are my headache and my curiosity over whatever sick act some denizen of the lowest rung of humanity has done tonight.
My name is John Fogerty and I'm a cop again. After a couple of years back on the force after that initial fuck up, I'm even a detective again. I follow the gestures from a uni, that's slang for uniformed officers or patrol cops, and make my way to the scene.
The pounding in my head is like a fucking drum. I can barely think.
"Hey, Fogerty. Wait until you see this one," says Arnie Chang. He's the uni who waved me over to the scene. I looked around and noticed that the other unis were combing the area for any kind of evidence. There on the ground in front of Arnie is the body of a woman who looks to be in her seventies. She's a frail little thing. The only thing odd about her is the large angular crease in her head. Both blood and gray matter are seeping through the gaping crease. It makes her head look like the top of it is shaped like a "V."
"That's some sick shit isn't it, Fogerty?" asks Chang.
"Yeah Arnie, it's really sick. You find any ID on her?" I ask.
"We waited for the ME," says Arnie. "We didn't want to do anything that might disturb evidence or anything like that. Ever since all of those fucking CSI type shows have come on TV all of those ME types have become fucking prima donnas. They act like if we check the body or the pockets of the deceased's clothing, we'll spoil the case and the bad guy will get away. But in real life, the bad guys actually get away because we can't touch the body to try to identify it."
"As soon as we find out who Grandma is, I want to know about it," I snap. "I also want to know where she lived, who she lived with, and any financial information that might be pertinent," I said.
"You got it," he says.
"Arnie, I'm no CSI egghead," I begin. "But it looks like someone who was really fucking strong caved this nice old lady's head in with a fucking two by four. It took a lot of strength to do that and a lot of anger. I want that asshole off the streets." Arnie nods at me and the pounding in my head goes up another notch. I consider reaching into my pocket to pop yet another aspirin but my phone rings and saves me from doing it.
"Fogerty," I snap answering the phone. "Who's this?"
"It's your fucking boss, you fossil. What the fuck are you doing?"
"Well Stan, I think they call it working. I'm on the scene of that homicide on Lafayette Avenue," I said.
"Well, I'll pass that one off to someone else, I have something special I need you to look into," he says.
"Uhn unh Stan, this one is special too," I tell him.
"Dammit Fogerty, they're all special, but this one has to do with a friend of the mayor's so it's a lot more God damned special and I am your fucking boss," he yells.
"Stan," I say quietly. "Remember that girls group from the eighties?"
"You mean the Bangles?" he asks. "Shit, those bitches were hot; especially that little dark haired one. She looks a lot like that piece of ass you got staying with you. I'd..."
"No Stan, not the Bangles. I mean that other girl group; the one with the chubby girls. They had a cute little dark haired guitar player too though. They sang that song about their lips being sealed."
"The fucking Go-Gos?" he asks. "What does this have to do with the fucking Go-Gos?"
"What was their other big hit?" I ask. I start humming the melody.
"Vacation," he screams. "Fogerty, you are not pulling that vacation shit on me. Okay, I'll make a deal with you. Let the unis handle securing the scene and you go over to the address I'm texting you. You can handle both cases, but I need your head in the game on this case. I don't want the mayor coming down on the Commissioner."
"Stan, fuck the commish. He's an asshole," I spat.
"Yeah, but that asshole will put pressure on the chief, who will in turn, put pressure on me and pressure rolls downhill," he said. "Get my drift?" Then he hung up and my headache ratcheted up again. I couldn't believe I was being shifted to some other case that wasn't even a homicide, while the guy or guys who killed an old lady were allowed to stay free. Something other than pressure was rolling down hill and to me it smelled like bullshit.
As I made my way back to my unmarked police car, I lit my flashlight to make sure I didn't step into anything and ruin my fucking shoes. Melinda would have my ass if I stepped in something and ruined these shoes. Shit, Melinda would have my ass for something anyway. The bitch hated my fucking guts.
My light illuminated a bunch of rats. They scurried off into the night. They'd been eating away at the carcass of what looked like a dead cat. They were just a part of the circle of life in Detroit.
The pounding in my head grew worse. It was like a drum. Over and over again just one long, relentless fucking beat.
The drums keep pounding a rhythm to the brain. Oh, La dee da de dee. La dee da dee da. Murder's on the menu once again. Oh, La dee da de dee. La dee da dee da.
And the beat goes on. The beat goes on.
Melinda
"I'm tired of your shit, mother," I yelled at her. "I know you don't want to do this but I have to. It's been too long. I have to get my husband back. So if I have to sell this house to get enough money, that's what we're doing. And you Daddy, what do you have to say?"
The two guys who'd come to the house with me looked at me crazily. I guess they just didn't understand that I consulted my parents about everything. We'd always been close. In fact, if it hadn't been for their support, I probably wouldn't have survived Tommy's decision to divorce me.
"What?" I snapped. "Fuck you Daddy. You always side with her. Look, I know you married her, but I'm your own flesh and blood. I was created from a part of both of you. You have to understand how much this means to me. You two are getting to be too old to be on your own anyway. Once the house sells, I'll just have some of the guys I've hired for my plan move you into the place I'm sharing with Fogerty."
"It really is for the best. And I know that the two of you don't like Fogerty, but really he's just a means to an end. If my plan is successful, the five of us will be one big happy family in Tommy's huge house. Think about it. It will be Tommy and me, plus his adorable baby; she really should have been mine. But that disgusting, ugly, red headed cunt stole my husband out from under me and managed to get herself pregnant before I could do anything about it. That bitch has to pay and this time she's going to. It's my turn now. I've waited long enough. And you guys will get to live in the house with us. But only if you're willing to make a few sacrifices along the way. I'm not carrying any dead weight with me on this trip. So what do you say?" I noticed again that the two men were staring at me as I waited for my parents to answer me.
"Finally, you see it my way mother," I said in triumph. "Does that mean that you're on board too Daddy? Of course I'm still your little girl and Tommy's always been like a son to you, so this changes nothing. Instead of us living with you, you'll be living with us."
I walked over to the two men. "The buyer I've lined up for the house is a real estate developer. She'll deliver my check by day after tomorrow. She wants a quick sale and she's giving me until the weekend after next to get all of my stuff out of here. So we have two weeks. As soon as I get the check, I'll give you half of your money. You'll get the other half when this is done. Are we on?"
The two large men looked down at me.
"Uhm, what about the other part of it?" asked one of the men. "I just got out and it's been a while."
"You're going to have to wait until later. I'll come by and visit you at your place after you do it. There's no way I can fuck you here with my parents here," I whispered. "Do you know how sick that would be?" Again I noticed how big his eyes got when I nodded my head towards my parents.
"And really when you think about it, for the amount of money I'm paying you, you could get a hooker," I said. The look of disappointment on his face made me wet between my legs. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to give him a little bit of pussy just to make sure he was fully on my side. If my plan went shitty, having his loyalty might be a good thing. "I promise I'll meet you later," I told him. "We can't be too careful. The guy I'm living with is a cop."
His eyes got bigger and the set of his mouth got firmer as I said that. I turned so that my body was between him and my parents and reached out and rubbed his dick through his pants. His wide eyed expression went up another notch and his mouth dropped open as he hardened at my touch.
"Later, I promise," I whispered. "And it's going to be really good baby." The three of us left the room and slammed and locked the door behind us. I knew that my parents wouldn't mind. It would give them more time to talk about our future. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed a number from memory.
"It's me dummy," I spat into the phone. "Are you on your way home?"
"No I'm kind of stuck on a case," he said evenly. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
"I'm just leaving my parent's house," I snapped. "I'm on my way home and I'm hungry."
"Why didn't you eat while you were there?" he asked.
"That's what you do, Fogerty," I screamed at him. "You do this every fucking time. I called you because I wanted us to do something together. I just wanted you to stop on your way in and bring me something to eat and you have to make it a federal case. Is there any wonder why we've been living together for three years and aren't having sex yet? You just keep screwing things up. I told you when we first got together that we weren't going to fall in love and we weren't going to have sex, right?"
"Yes Melinda," he said obediently. It amazed me how pliant and subservient he was. Most men just gave up all sense of self respect for women. Fogerty was a big strong dominant man when he dealt with other men. But at barely five feet tall and barely a hundred pounds, I intimidated him. It was mostly because he'd fallen ass over tea kettle for me the first time he saw me. Even though I'm nowhere near as hot as I used to be, he's still under my spell. So when I want him to do something for me or I need to distract him, all I need to do is throw out the hint that I'd been thinking about giving him something that costs me nothing. And he just goes crazy.
"I'm sorry Melinda," he said quietly.
"I'll consider starting to think about it again," I said nastily. "But you're starting from square one. Now what time will you be dragging your ass home?"
"Melinda, I have no idea," he whined. "I haven't even gone to the address yet. I don't know how long the investigation will take. I don't know how many people I have to interview..."
"Stop that fucking whining," I said. "I just want to know when you'll be home and where you'll be so I can think of what you might be able to bring me home to eat. I'm going to take a shower and get cleaned up for you. I wanted for us to sit down and eat together. It would be almost like we were a couple, or dating or something." I could hear a sharp intake of breath coming from him over the phone. This had been the first time that I'd thrown out the "C" word since we'd been together. Unless, of course, I was talking about that woman who'd stolen my husband and then it was the other "C" word.
"Are you still there?" I asked.
"Yes Melinda," he said. He was trying not to give away how happy he was but to someone who'd seen him day in and day out for years and didn't give a fuck about him it was obvious.
"So John, call me when you're on your way home. I'm taking my phone to bed with me so call that number just in case I'm asleep," I said.
"Okay Melinda," he said. "But it'll probably be at least two hours," he warned.
"Don't worry about it," I said softly. "I'll grab something to drink to take the edge off."
"Melinda, no!" he said.
"I meant like a soft drink, dumb ass," I snapped. "And I meant to take the edge off of my hunger." I hung up on him then. I guess he was right to be concerned. I'd nearly drunk myself to death after my divorce. I drank to the point where I'd begun to damage my liver. Lucky for me one of the therapists that I was seeing made me realize that drinking, though it numbed the pain, wouldn't ever come close to getting me what I really wanted.
I've always had the ability to focus on one thing to the exclusion of everything else. My mother used to say that I obsessed over things. What I've obsessed over for the past few months is getting back what I want most in the world. I've thought about it for months. I've turned it over in my mind until I realized that I'd have to make certain concessions. Then I realized that what had happened was actually meant to be. It was nature's way of balancing the scales.
My husband, Tommy, and I were perfect for each other. We always had been and we always would be. I'd had a moment of weakness and had gone over to the dark side. I had to pay for that in the most severe way possible. I had to be without Tommy for a while. But now, all of the things we needed were falling back into place. It was as if the planets were aligning so we could be together again.
I had, without thinking about it, been conned into cheating on Tommy. He'd in turn, been conned into sleeping with and marrying that red headed witch. During my problems I'd discovered that I was pregnant. The combination of not taking care of myself and drinking caused me to lose the baby. The further degradation of my body has rendered me unable to carry a child.
On the other hand, Tommy wasn't supposed to be able to have kids after one of his injuries during the war. They told him he'd need to have an operation, but somehow he'd managed to get both me and the witch pregnant. I'd seen pictures of Tamia, Tommy's daughter, and she was the cutest baby ever. With her dark hair she looked more like she was Tommy's baby with me than like the witch. I think that happened because I'm the one who is supposed to raise her. The only thing left to do is to get rid of the witch. Once I do that, Tommy will turn to me out of necessity. And while we're together he'll remember how good we are together. Then we'll be happy again.
My phone call to that idiot Fogerty was just to find out where he was going to be for the next few hours. I really enjoyed yanking his chain. For a cop and a detective at that, he really had a blind side when it came to me. But I didn't leave anything to chance. I knew everything about him. I even knew where he went when he was so frustrated by my refusal to have sex with him that he sought out someone else. He had two sources. One was a Polish girl in Hamtramck. She was an old friend of his and his last resort. She was married to a much older man and the married part made both her and Fogerty feel guilty. The one he used most of the time was an African American prostitute with the unfortunate name of Ebony Hooker.
A couple of times when I had the money, I'd paid Ebony not to fuck Fogerty. I did it just to give his chain an extra yank. But soon, all of this shit with Fogerty would be over. I'd be back with Tommy and Fogerty could fuck all of the hookers he wanted. Would I feel guilty about using Fogerty for all of these years? Fuck no. In order to make an omelet, you have to break some eggs. And that's what Fogerty was to me. He was just a fucking egg. He was hard on the outside, but once you crack his shell, he was all runny on the inside. I'd use a hundred Fogerties for a chance to get Tommy back. My plan had been in the working stage for months now. Most people would have been surprised to learn the lengths I'd gone to in order to have a shot at getting my husband back.
Fogerty
I still had the headache as I pulled onto the street I needed to go to. I can't deny that my spirits were lighter, so maybe the headache just seemed to be milder. And to be honest, I'm totally willing to admit that the phone call from Melinda had a lot to do with lifting my mood. Just when I'd nearly given up hope, I was very close to achieving something I'd only dreamed of. It seemed as if my patience was finally being rewarded.
As I walked towards the flashing lights on the driveway, I hoped that whatever this case was it wouldn't take too long.
Two unis ushered me inside, They were already shaking their heads and wishing me good luck as I stepped onto the porch.
Inside of the well-appointed suburban home, I marveled at how the people only a few miles south of this toney suburb lived in absolute squalor while barely six minutes away by the I-75 freeway all of the inhabitants were borderline wealthy. It made no sense.
The carpet alone in this living room was probably worth more than the house the old lady had been dumped behind. There were several uniformed officers, one of them a female, talking to three people in the living room. Two of the people there were males and one was a nearly hysterical female.
"Where's the fucking body?" I whispered to one of the unis. He just looked at me and laughed.
"You're not getting off that easily Fogerty," he whispered back. "These people are all fucking loony. There's no dead body because this isn't a homicide. This is a rape case."
"Start canvassing the neighborhood as soon as you get a description of the perp," I said.
"Fogerty, calm the fuck down," he said quietly. "That's the suspect," he pointed at one of the men. I noticed that the man was quietly sitting across from the other two. The woman was loudly crying and telling everyone that she just wanted to take a shower and have the whole thing over with.
The handcuffed man sat quietly not saying a word. He was no dummy. I was sure that he would lawyer up as soon as we got to the station. The other man was pacing the floor holding an icepack to the side of his jaw and loudly berating all of the officers in his vicinity.
He took one look at me and headed in my direction. "Okay, arrest this bastard. He raped my wife. I want him off the street, out of my house immediately," he ordered. He was obviously the type of man who was used to ordering people around and getting his way. Tact and diplomacy were obviously not in order with him.
"Sit down and shut the fuck up," I snapped. His eyes ballooned open and his mouth snapped close. His surprise at the way I spoke to him lasted only minutes before his inflated sense of ego took over again.
"Do you know who I am?" he sputtered.
"Yeah," I sneered, getting even further in his face. "You're the asshole I'm going to book for obstruction of justice if you keep interfering with my assessment of the situation. Now I'm going to ask you to follow my directions one more time and then I'm going to have you cuffed, gagged and dragged downtown. I'm just trying to get to the bottom of this and I need you to be seen and not heard until I'm ready to speak to you. So do what I told you to do sir."
He looked at me strangely; then he sat down.
I went over and spoke to the officers that were taking statements from the parties involved. Apparently, the asshole I'd just interacted with was the home owner. He'd just arrived home slightly earlier than normal and found the suspect in his house. He'd come in through the side door because apparently he'd been trying to sneak a new set of golf clubs past his wife. His plan had been to smuggle them down into the basement and put the new clubs into his old golf bag and throw the old clubs out.
Unfortunately, his wife had been in the basement already with the suspect. They'd been engaging in a sexual act and the wife had started screaming rape as soon as her husband came in. The husband had gotten into it with the suspect and gotten his ass thoroughly kicked, hence the blackening eye, the swollen lips and the ice pack. The next door neighbor was a retired cop from the one nine precinct who'd been outside on his porch. When he heard the ruckus, he'd come over and helped to subdue the suspect. They'd called the police and that was where I came in.
Another surprising detail that had recently come out was the fact that the couple's nine year old daughter was upstairs during the attack and hadn't heard a thing.
I arranged for them all to be transported downtown so we could interview them all separately and find out what had happened. This just didn't seem right to me.
I followed the squad cars to the station. We had the suspect in one car, the husband in another and the woman and her daughter in the last car. The husband had originally wanted to go in the same car with his wife but I didn't allow that. I wanted to keep them isolated to make sure they didn't have a chance to get together and corroborate their stories.
We put all three into different interview rooms and let them wait for a while. I had a cup of nearly rancid coffee and watched a little bit of the Tiger's against the Yanks. With Verlander pitching, the boys from New York didn't have much of a chance. I watched the whole sixth inning and then headed for the interviews.
I spoke to the woman first. Her name was Suzanne Smythe. She was okay looking if you go for that chunky, Midwestern, housewife type woman. She was a little bit bigger in the gut than I like. I know there are a lot of guys out there who absolutely will not look at a woman unless she has a nice rack. I'm not one of them. But I personally can't stand a woman whose gut sticks out more than her boobs no matter how big or small they are. So Mrs. Smythe would not be winning any beauty contests if I was the judge.
She also seemed to buy her clothing a couple of sizes too tight. I could actually make out the seams in her panties through her jeans. Her make-up was smeared all over her face. Her lipstick looked like she was going for that insane circus clown look.
She looked up at me and started crying again as soon as I walked in the room. I gestured and got Charlotte Ayalla, a female officer to sit in on the interview with me.
"Good Evening Mrs. Smythe," I said quietly. "I know this has been a terrible evening for you. And the technicians who came over from the clinic to process your rape kit probably didn't make you feel any better. At least they were women so I'm sure they treated you compassionately. I'm going to try to make this as easy as possible for you under the circumstances. I just need to hear your side of what happened as you remember it. I want to remind you that we are recording this interview. Not that you've done anything wrong, but people sometimes misremember things later on. That's why it's so important that we interview you while the details of the event are still fresh in your mind."
"But I don't remember anything," she whined. "I guess I'm in shock ... that's it, I'm in shock." She looked at me as if she was trying to measure my reaction to her story. Something didn't feel right here.
"Well, sometimes when something happens to us that is so terrible that it may do us emotional damage, our minds block out the details or the entire event to protect us. It's called spontaneous amnesia," I said.
"That sounds like what I have," she spat.
"I just made that up Mrs. Smythe," I said. "Usually when someone doesn't remember the details of an incident immediately afterward, it's because they're trying to hide something."
"I want a lawyer," she hissed at me. "You can't ask me questions without a lawyer present. I have the right to an attorney. I've seen every episode of Law and Order, I know my rights."
"Mrs. Smythe, you don't have the right to an attorney," I said.
"Yes I do," she said. "Don't I?" I just shook my head.
"You're the victim. You haven't been charged with anything. So why would you even need one? All I asked you to do was to tell me what happened in your own words," I said.
"I'm nervous," she said. "It's the way you look at me. It makes me feel like I'm on trial."
"How about if I go and interview one of the others while you're making your mind up?" I said. "I really don't want to be here all night."
"I guess that's okay," she said.
I walked across the hall to interview the husband and was stopped by Stan who'd obviously been watching on the monitor and waiting for me.
"What are you doing Fogerty?" he asked me. "That's the victim. She didn't do anything wrong."
"That bitch is squirrely as hell," I spat. "Check her purse, I'll bet it's full of nuts. And Stan my gut tells me that her purse ain't the only thing around thing around her that's had a few extra nuts in it."
"Fogerty, please don't start any shit here," whined Stan. "This is an open and shut case. We caught the perp on the scene. We've got him for about two bazillion different charges including home invasion, assault and battery and criminal trespass in addition to the rape. The DA has already signed off on it. The bastard is being arraigned first thing in the morning. Even Judge Wedlow has agreed to proceed first thing in the morning. They're going to turn this into a media circus because they're all up for re-election next month and this will make everyone from the commissioner to the mayor, look good. Please don't fuck this up."
"Maybe you should put someone else on it then and just let me go back to my murder case," I snapped. "I didn't call you Stan. YOU called ME."
"Alright Fogerty," he hissed. "But if you fuck this up ... you won't get a THIRD chance. And remember, when the judge, the DA, and the commissioner want to know who is responsible for whatever shit slinging soiree you unleash, I'll be standing right in line with them pointing my long tapering finger right at you, Fogerty. Why can't you just do this the easy way?"
"Sorry Stan," I said. "I only know how to do this the RIGHT way. I don't get to prejudge anyone or anything. I have to let the evidence decide who's guilty. Last time I tried to go with the way things looked, or pick the obvious wrongdoer, you guys hung me out to dry and I got my ass fired. So if it's my ass on the line, I'm doing this my way."
I left him there sputtering and balling up his fists while I went into the room. As soon as I walked into the room, Mr. Smythe jumped up. He was the male version of his wife. He was balding, pot-bellied and full of himself. He combed all of his hair to one side to cover up the fact that his hair was beyond thinning in the front. He had small, beady, piercing eyes and he liked to step up into people's faces and point his fingers at them.
His entire persona said,"I am important and you will listen to me." Anyone who had to be that much in someone's face obviously had hidden self-esteem issues. It was almost like he wasn't trying to convince other people that he was important as much as he was trying to convince himself.
"Did you throw that piece of shit in a cell yet?" he spat at me. Before I could answer him, he had moved even further inside of my personal space. "How much would a person have to ... uhm ... donate to get a few moments alone in a cell with that guy?" he asked. His volume was lowered but his tone was still obnoxious.
"I have no problem dropping you into a cell with him and letting him beat the fuck out of you ... AGAIN," I said. I pointed my finger into his face the way he seemed to like to do to everyone else and he wilted. "That guy is younger than you are. He's stronger than you are and he's already beaten your ass once. He apparently did it in your own house. Why would the outcome be different this time?"
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