Excerpt for Disarmed by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

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By JJ Argus

Copyright 2017

Smashwords edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This story is a work of fiction. All characters are over eighteen.

Chapter One

When you go through the NYPD police academy, they tell you to always be prepared for anything. Human nature is not up to that, however. Any job, however varied, becomes routine after a while. And no one can be completely alert and prepared for sudden violence for long periods of time.

Being a plainclothes cop made that even harder. Jamie didn't have to worry about suddenly being attacked by people who hated cops, and since she was with the precinct's anti-crime team, she didn't have to answer routine calls.

That meant whenever she had to actually intervene in a situation she had time to assess the situation and decide how to do so. Plus, of course, she generally rode with Sergeant Al Mueller, who at six foot seven, tended to be both the main target and main point of resistance to any violence.

Of course, the way surveillance worked she and Mueller were not always side by side, as in this morning. They were at the Lexton building on Seventh Avenue in midtown Manhattan. There were storefronts across from it, and one of those was a cut rate jewelry store which specialized in buying back gold jewelry from people who didn't want it.

The store advertised heavily, and paid in cash. Not only did that make it a great place for thieves to offload some of their recent thefts, but a number of customers had been mugged recently. She was sitting on the edge of a fountain ostensibly surfing the internet on her smart phone. Mueller was on the other side of the road window shopping at a sportswear store.

Her head was bowed enough that the thick red bangs across her forehead had fallen downward to shade her green eyes. But though it appeared she was intent on her phone they only flicked down occasionally. It wouldn't do to have something happen and miss it.

When she got an email from her boyfriend Danny she felt the usual little rush of emotion, part lust, part affection, and part wariness. He seemed to be forever trying to batter away at her inhibitions, and had no qualms about doing so over a distance.

No one was sitting close to her, though, so she called up the email. It said A goddess any man could worship. And there was an attachment. She made a face, but wasn't entirely displeased since she thought she had a fair idea of what the attached picture would show.

Her. He had told her often enough that she had the body of a goddess. And even if that was bullshit flattery she didn't exactly mind hearing it. She flicked her eyes up and across at the storefront across the street, then back down.

She opened the attached picture, and, as she'd suspected, it was of her. It was, at least, not particularly graphic or obscene this time. It was simply a candid picture of her taken in his kitchen. She wasn't wearing anything but a thong, and the picture showed her from behind and to the right, reaching up for something in the cupboard.

That, of course, meant most of her right breast was visible from the side, and given her position, and her naturally athletic, tightly toned body, her breast looked almost unnaturally firm. Her nipple was just visible, barely, but the gold ring dangling from it was fairly obvious.

Since she was standing on the balls of her feet reaching up, and leaning forward a little, her ass was in the perfect position for a flattering picture, too. Her dark red hair was hanging loose and thick down her back, since her head was turned upward, and looked very lush and silken.

Really, for a picture she hadn't posed for, it was a pretty good one, she had to admit, and was about to congratulate him on his expert, if furtive camera skills, when someone snatched the phone out of her hand and gave her a push which sent her falling back into the fountain.

She was startled, to say the least, to find herself underwater, but the realization of what had happened took very little time, and she exploded up and out of the water in time to see a lanky black kid running north on Seventh Avenue.

The people around her were still gaping at what had happened, some of them still holding hot dogs before open mouths, when she jumped out of the pond and took off after him. Anger lent her speed, but so too did anxiety.

Danny would have to send her those damn pictures of herself! She kept deleting them but he kept sending them!

She'd been a track star in high school and college. She knew how to breath properly and how to put herself into the right stride for distance or sprinting. She was very fast, and in excellent physical condition. But there were a lot of people around this morning, getting in her way.

“AC4B in foot pursuit northbound on Seventh Avenue at 50th!” she called into the radio. “Suspect black male late teens early twenties, six feet tall wearing jeans and green t-shirt!”

Making the call robbed her of breath, and she had to try and get her breath control back as she ran down the sidewalk, dodging in and out and around people who stared at her in startled surprise. She was soaking wet and angry, and people who saw her moved aside quickly.

Especially when they saw the gun on her hip. She was wearing jeans, a tank top and a loose gray shirt which hung down over her hips to hide her gun, cuffs, and other tools of the trade. It was held together by only one button in the front so she could quickly get at them at need, but now as she ran the wind had blown the shirt back.

The black kid turned and saw her, then picked up speed, and Jamie thought of all the things she was going to do to him when she caught him. After, of course, getting her phone back.

He turned onto 52nd street, and she lost sight of him briefly, but then caught him crossing the street and turning up Sixth. She followed, gaining on him. He turned and saw her, and changed course, sprinting out into the traffic, causing cars to veer violently aside and brake heavily.

Jamie grimly followed, cursing under her breath as he reached the other side and turned down 53rd. She cut the corner and came closer, and he stopped suddenly, turning and swinging at her as she ran up. She jumped, letting both feet fly out in front of her and hit him mid-chest, sending him flying backwards and to the side, into a patio table and chairs set out by a restaurant.

The table, umbrella and chairs were scattered in multiple directions as he cried out and fell to the ground and Jamie landed half atop him, her knee in his groin. He cried out, his eyes bugging out as she slapped his hands away from her and then quickly drew back.

“On your face, you motherfucker!” she snarled.

There were sirens closing in from more than one direction, which lent her a certain urgency.

“Where's the phone?!”

“I-I don't know nothing about no phone! You're crazy, lady!”

She grabbed him by the balls and he squealed again.

“On your face!”

He swiped his hand at her and she got him in a wrist block, then twisted it roughly in and around so that he cried out again, forced to roll over as she moved back a little.

She pulled his arm up sharply behind his back, grabbed his collar, and leaned in close.

“Give me my phone or I'll fucking castrate you!” she snarled in a voice too low for the people who were standing around gaping to hear.

Sirens were getting closer now, and she caught at his earlobe and pinched nastily.

“Ow! Fuck! Get off me, bitch!”

“My phone, asshole!”

“I don't got it! I gave it to my friend!”

A siren peaked then as a blue and white pulled up beside them. Jamie cursed at the interruption as the two cops jumped out and hurried over.

“Man, this bitch is crazy! She attacked me for no reason!” the guy shouted to them.

“Yeah, that happens all the time,” one of the cops said.

They knelt and cuffed him while Jamie ran a quick hand over his body. She pulled out a phone, but it was his, not hers.

“Where's the phone, shit-head?” she demanded. “Who did you pass it to?”

“I don't know what she's talking about,” he said to the uniforms.

Jamie glowered as they pulled him to his feet.

“I already advised him of his rights. He volunteered he passed the phone to his friend,” she said.

The black guy gaped at her, then saw the gun and badge. “I … bullshit! I ain't said nothing!”

“Tell it to the judge,” one of the cops said.

The other was grinning at Jamie, who glared at him and combed her hair out of her face as the other one chuckled in amusement.

“What are you smirking at, Donovan?” she demanded.

“Nothing, McCloud, nothing!” he said with a grin. “Cept your rings are showing.”

He and the other cop snickered as they led the black guy over to their patrol car and Jamie looked down, glowering. Wet, her clothes were plastered to her body, and the tiny round indentations her nipple rings produced were noticeable.

Another blue and white pulled up, lights flashing, and another couple of uniforms got out. They grinned at Jamie too, and she glowered back at them as Mueller pulled up in his unmarked Tahoe.

She defiantly refused to give in to impulse and cross her arms over her chest and went around them to the Tahoe as he started to get out.

“We need to go check the CCTV for that area to find the guy he passed the phone to,” she said.

He eyed her doubtfully.

“You mind telling me what happened? I was looking at a golf bag and next thing I hear your voice on the radio saying you were chasing someone a block away.”

“He pushed me in a fountain and stole my phone,” she said, glowering.

Mueller pursed his lips, which she knew meant he was trying not to smirk.

“Well, at least you got him.”

“He doesn't have it. He said he passed it to his friend. I need to know who the friend is.”

“Maybe the detectives will get it from him.”

“It's MY phone!”

“You're all wet, McCloud,” he said. “We'll go back to the precinct and you can change, and we can ask the detectives to see what they can get out of him. I don't know how much priority they're gonna put on a cell phone snatch, though.”

Jamie felt a surge of frustration. She knew exactly what he meant, but she was worried about that damned picture. She was going to kick Danny's ass when she saw him!

She muttered a curse and got into the car, arms folded across her chest again.

“It's just a phone. You can buy another one.”

There was no way she was going to tell Mueller, who was literally old enough to be her father, about the picture, or her concerns with it getting out. It was bad enough there were pictures of her in a bikini out there, making the rounds among some of the uniforms, courtesy of an undercover job she'd done months ago as a fashion model.

In fact, it would be better if the detectives stayed out of it, she thought. If they actually got the phone they'd be likely to go through it, especially if they knew it was hers. At least the punk who had it would probably just admire her goddess-like body and then delete everything so he could sell the phone.

And if it got on the internet? Well, there was probably ten billion pictures of half naked girls on the internet. The odds of anyone she knew coming across hers was extremely low.

At least it had been a good picture, she thought morosely, as Mueller pulled away from the curb. And at least it hadn't been one of the 'live action' ones he insisted on taking. Having that get out would be far worse.

Not that she was particularly shy. At least, not any more, not even about her body, given some of the things Danny had involved her in of late. But that didn't mean she wanted people she worked with every day learning about her torrid (and extremely kinky) sex life.

The precinct was only a few blocks away, on W54th street but she had to endure Mueller's bitching about how people wasted their time on their phones, and that phones were a waste of time and money, and associated 'old people' ranting while she glared out the window.

Mueller was old for Anti-crime, which was generally filled with young hotshots identified by the force as being particularly capable, clever and with excellent initiative. Jamie was 22, and while she was the youngest member of the precinct's anti-crime team everyone else but Mueller was in their twenties as well.

But he had found his niche. He said anti-crime was THE perfect job. It avoided the discomfort of being in uniform, which could involve everything from directing traffic, to crowd control, to breaking up fights between couples to ticketing cars in a driving rain on the Long Island Expressway.

It also avoided the pressure of solving the crimes assigned to you, a statistical judgment on your performance that was gone over week by week and month by month by your superiors all the way up to the Chief of Detectives' office. No witnesses? No evidence? Tough. You still get a big fat fail.

Anti-crime didn't wear uniforms or drive marked patrol vehicles. They staked out high crime areas, followed notorious repeat offenders waiting for them to offend again, and patrolled areas where the city wanted a heavy police presence but didn't want it noticed – like Times Square.

As supervisor of the squad Mueller got to decide where he went every day and what he was assigned. He could literally go home and have a nap if he wanted to. At least until Jamie had been assigned to him.

Nobody had predicted they would get along. Mueller didn't get alone with many people, after all. But so far they'd done surprisingly well. That was partly because Jamie didn't have any of the characteristics Mueller hated about young female cops.

She wasn't chatty, and didn't get emotional. At six feet tall, with a black belt in Aikido, she was physically capable. She'd already demonstrated she could run down just about anyone, which he liked since he wasn't much of a runner, to put it mildly, and she was a pretty good shot and didn't panic under fire.

If it bothered him she was young enough to be his daughter, and that half the men in the precinct had adolescent sexual fantasies about her he hadn't given any sign of it. Nor had he ever given any sign he even noticed she was attractive.

For her part, she appreciated that Mueller was very good at his job, and had almost been on the force as long as she'd been alive. She didn't question his authority or his ability, and since she hadn't even been on the job a year she knew she had a lot to learn.

It would have been nice if he'd had a sense of humor, though.

They arrived back at the precinct and she went inside. She walked briskly, but refused to show any sign she gave a damn that her hair was plastered against her head, much less that the nipple rings could be seen through her tight tank top and light shirt. Letting anyone see she was uncomfortable was something she had long practiced avoiding.

She'd been teased as long as she could remember, usually about her hair, which was naturally red, if not the current shade. It was a rust color, and one she had defiantly refused to change, addressing any criticism with a flat stare or her fist – until the school started to talk about psychiatrists to address her temper.

Jamie hadn't actually had that much of a temper. But she had taken advantage of the cliché of angry redheads to get away with a lot of things in her life. And anyone who criticized her hair quickly learned that she didn't take such criticism kindly.

Then she'd had to dye her hair blonde for that undercover assignment as a fashion model. She'd resisted doing so for years, despite everyone's advice, mostly out of pigheaded defiance. As a blonde, all that changed was that she was teased less and hit on more.

She'd dyed it red again as soon as possible, but hadn't been able to find her particular shade available. Apparently ginger red – or rust color, as her brothers called it – wasn't flattering enough for most people to want to buy it. So now her hair was a considerably darker, sleeker coppery red

She wasn't about to admit she actually liked it better, but she did. Unfortunately, like the blonde, it also got her more unwanted male attention. The difference several months of Danny Lucas had made to her personality, though, was she didn't mind that nearly as much, or sometimes not at all.

The NYPD was a lot less of a boys club than it had been even ten or twenty years earlier. There were a lot more females on the job now, and the rules about sexual harassment were a lot more strictly enforced. It was still, however, a semi-military organization with a culture which was still very much what it had been before she was born.

And for the young, macho idiots who made up most of the male portion of the force, that meant any attractive woman her age got a lot of extra attention whenever they were in range. One that was dripping wet, and not incidentally, with her clothes plastered to her body, got even more.

Jamie moved through them with her face bland, aware of but aloof to the eyes skimming over her. There were, of course, smirks at the fact she'd obviously gotten soaked somehow. Every cop would have gotten that, and she gave small half shrugs to those who laughed about it.

She was annoyed at Danny again, though, over the damn nipple rings. Those had been his idea, of course. And he hadn't asked her permission. He'd sprung the piercing on her when she was literally tied up. She reluctantly admitted that she had come to really like it, that they not only made her nipples feel more sensitive but made her feel sexier.

But that didn't stop her from regretting it at times like this.

She got to her locker and opened it, then stripped. It was mid-shift so the room was thankfully empty. It wasn't just the men who had sexual fantasies about her. A lot of the lesbians here did too, and did less to hide the fact.

They knew she had a boyfriend, of course, but they seemed to take it as a given that a girl who was as tomboyish as she was, and had a slightly husky voice must have an interest in the other side of the fence too. She didn't, not really, and never had.

Not... really.

Danny had been pestering her to do a menage, though, and he had even gotten a girl involved in a kinky little game he'd played in Central Park. And the way he talked made it clear to her that that was something that would really turn him on. As in really, really. So the thought of doing it with a girl – and Danny, of course, was intriguing.

If only to see the heat in his eyes as he watched.

But just doing a girl, herself? No, she had no interest in that.

The long run in the heat, even though she'd been soaked, had added sweat to the mix, so she decided to take a quick shower while she was already naked. She took her shower pack and towel, went into the shower room around the corner, turned on the water, adjusted it and stepped underneath.

It was not a private shower. This was one of those old fashioned open showers that were disappearing from most institutions other than the military ones. It was a square room with shower-heads running along the walls, and she soaped up briskly and then rinsed off.

It wasn't quick enough to escape before someone showed up, though. She was just rinsing off her hair when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye, turned her head, and saw Maxine leaning against the doorway, grinning.

She frowned but refused to alter her position in any way. She continued to slide her fingers through her hair as the water poured down, then turned the water off and reached up and back to ring out her hair.

“CT,” Maxine said with a leer.

Jamie raised an eyebrow but didn't otherwise respond. The last thing she would ever do if someone made them embarrassed or uncomfortable, was let anyone know it. Besides, given some of the shit Danny had pulled lately, having people seeing her body didn't bother her nearly as much as it had used to.

She reached for the towel and quickly rubbed her hair before wrapping it around her body.

“You and me would make fire, baby,” Maxine said.

Maxine was almost as tall as Jamie, but more slender and small breasted. She had very short hair along with dark brown skin.

“Fires burn you,” Jamie said.

“No, baby. Candle wax can, if you're not careful,” Maxine said with a smirk. “But ice relieves the pain quickly.”

Jamie knew both of those things from personal experience but it bothered her how Maxine and all the other lesbians who had approached her seemed to assume she would be the submissive in their little romps. Was it just that she was heterosexual or did they see something about her she did not want to be seen?

She certainly didn't act submissive or meek among them, or anyone else for that matter.

“Hear you got your phone stole and then took a swim.”

“Still got the bastard,” Jamie said as she walked past her.

“Hope there weren't any pictures on that phone which would be embarrassing,” Maxine said.

Jamie stiffened only slightly. It was just a guess. Lots of girls her age would be worried about that sort of thing.

She toweled off casually and then dropped the towel as she reached into her locker room for a pair of panties.

“What could possibly be embarrassing to me?” she asked with raised eyebrow.

Maxine laughed and shook her head, eyes flicking up and down.

“You got a point there, baby. You sure ain't got nothing to be embarrassed about I can see.”

Jamie drew on her thong, then reached for a bra.

“In fact, if I didn't know better I'd think those weren't real,” she said.

Jamie snorted and pulled her bra on, then adjusted it and pulled the straps on.

“They're real, and they're spectacular,” she said deadpan.

Maxine laughed appreciatively.

“Always liked that show,” she said. “Who was the actress that said that?”

Jamie shrugged and pulled on a spare pair of jeans. “Some brunette.”

She went across the room, taking her blow dryer and brush and dried her hair. This was a job she had to be careful with. Her hair fell about six inches past her shoulders, and thankfully wasn't as thin as a lot of red hair, but if she wanted it to look right and not like a tangled mess she had to be careful.

It wasn't that she was vain, she told herself defensively. Not really. But she liked looking good.

“Got to say my hair is a lot easier to look after,” Maxine said. “And it don't get in my way or get caught in anything.”

Jamie shrugged and kept brushing.

“And no one can grab it in a fight.”

Jamie grinned. “No one gets close enough to grab my hair in a fight. And there are other times it's kind of nice having my hair pulled.”

She turned and gave her a significant look before turning back to the mirror.

“Yeah, well, if that's your thing,” Maxine said. “I like to fuck face to face.”

“Variety is the spice of life, Maxine,” Jamie said. “The kama sutra has 400 different positions, you know.”

“Yeah, like I'm gonna let Indians tell me how to have sex,” Maxine sniffed.

“Well, they must be good at it. There's a hell of a lot of them,” Jamie replied.

Maxine shrugged and shook her head, turning and heading for the door.

“Well if you want some spice and variety in your sex life, baby, you just call Maxine. I'll show you a few positions your boyfriend has never heard of.”

Jamie doubted that but didn't say so. She finished drying and brushing her hair in what she regarded as record time, then pulled on another tank top. Looking down, she made a face, since her nipple rings were still noticeable, if barely.

She pulled on a purple, short sleeved shirt and buttoned it once between her breasts, and checked herself again, more satisfied. Her belt, with her holster, cuffs, pepper spray, ammo, and notebook, were on a hook in the locker. And they were all still wet.

She sighed, took the leather off a piece at a time, dried it under the hot air hand dryer in the bathroom, then put them on. Then she went down the hall to a workroom and took her gun apart, doing a quick cleaning, oiling and drying.

“You gonna spend the rest of the day here?” Mueller growled as he came through the door.

“You want me to not clean my gun?” she asked.

He grumbled but didn't answer. Sometimes guys his age just felt the need to grumble, Jamie thought, especially around younger people.

“Sergeant Quinn said they'll press your boy on who he gave the phone to,” he said.

Jamie bit her lip and nodded. There was no way to tell him she'd rather they not find the phone.

“In the meantime, you might as well take your time. It's close enough to lunch, we might as well eat before going back out.”

Chapter Two

Jamie brooded as they drove around. She wanted her phone, for one thing, since she was used to checking it often and exchanging texts and emails with people. For another, of course, she was wondering if some punk was slavering over her picture, and maybe deciding to put it on the internet.

“So how long do people usually stay in Anti-crime?” she asked as they drove down Tenth.

Mueller shrugged. “Depends on the person. Some people, in uniform or out, like a particular territory and try to stay there as long as they can. We've got uniformed cops who have been in the same precinct for twenty years.”

“But there aren't a lot of old guys in Anti-crime.”

He rolled his eyes at her.

“Not that you're old,” she said. “And you're the supervisor.”

“A lot of guys want more action. Anti-crime deals with a lot of stuff, but it doesn't often deal with homicides or sexy stuff like organized crime. Narcotics gets a lot of heavy stuff, and the real jocks like Emergency Services or the Gang division attract lots of high energy types. Detectives still have the prestige, though, and you can earn big time overtime there or in Narcotics.”

“I could be a detective,” she said thoughtfully.

He made a face. “Lot of paperwork, lot of court time, lot of waiting around for court time and dealing with lawyers, a lot of driving around to interview people who mostly don't know anything useful. A lot of pressure from above to solve crimes. A lot of hassle.”

“Yeah but I look really cool in a suit.”

He turned and gave her a jaundiced look before shaking his head and looking ahead.

Jamie smiled to herself as he frowned at her.

Mueller didn't have much of a sense of humor.

They turned onto 49th . Traffic was one way here, and though the street was three lanes wide, both sides were used for parking, leaving one lane. A black Charger raced up on their right, where the curb was empty, then cut in front of the Toyota in front of them as it came to a parked delivery truck. The Toyota driver leaned on his horn and thrust his arm out the window, finger pumping vigorously.

Both of them ignored it as they would pigeons walking along the sidewalk or the smell of garbage. It was too routine to care about. But the lights changed ahead, bringing everyone to a halt, and the driver of the Charger, a husky looking young guy in a leather jacket, got out of his car and walked back to the Toyota behind his.

Mueller sighed.

He stopped at the Toyota's open window, and said something Jamie didn't catch, then gave the guy inside a punch in the head before turning and walking back to his car.

“Isn't that against some kind of law?” she asked dryly.

Mueller grunted as he put the car in park, got out, and walked up past the Toyota, where the driver was starting to get out of his car.

“Hey, asshole,” he called to the Charger driver.

The guy in the leather jacket turned around and glared back at him as Mueller beckoned him back and showed him his badge.

Jamie got out at the same time and walked up along the other side of the Toyota, glancing inside as she passed. The driver was a plump, forty-something black man with no hair and anger on his face.

She cut in front of the Toyota as the guy in the leather jacket came back, her hand sweeping back to her hip and grabbing her gun as his hand went under his jacket. She had her gun out of the holster and the nose of the Glock raised by the time she saw he had pulled out a badge.

That startled him and wiped the scowl off his face.

“Hey, I'm a cop!” he exclaimed.

Mueller walked forward and looked at the badge.

“Then you should know better than to stick your hand under your jacket like that,” he snapped, waving at Jamie.

She holstered the gun, glaring at the idiot and trying to tamp down the sudden rush of adrenaline.

“I want him arrested!” the Black guy demanded.

Mueller looked up the street, then back at the guy in the jacket.

“Pull your car over to the right behind that garbage bin up ahead,” he ordered.

He turned to the Corolla driver. “You too, in behind him.”

He walked back to the Tahoe while Jamie just walked ahead into the empty lane and onto the sidewalk, and was waiting for the guy in the Dodge when he pulled in and got out.

“What's your name and what precinct are you from?” she asked.

“Billings, from the 34th,” he said.

She wrote it down in her notebook as he glared at her.

“You're writing that down!?” he exclaimed.

She raised her eyes. “That's what I do so I don't forget shit,” she replied.

His face shifted expressions. “Look, I was angry. I lost my temper,” he said. “I shouldn't have hit the guy. But it was just like, a little slap, that's all, nothing serious.”

“Looked like more of a punch than a slap to me,” she said.

The Toyota driver got out of his car, but didn't try to come forward, instead turning to Mueller as he pulled in behind him and got out of his car.

“We can make this thing go away,” Billings said.

“Can we? You got a time machine?”

He glared at her, then walked back to where Mueller was interviewing the victim. Jamie followed to see Mueller looking closely at the guy's upper lip, which was bleeding.

“Hey, I didn't mean to hit you,” Billings told the guy.

The man looked at him in disbelief. “What, you punched me in the face by accident!?”

“It wasn't a punch,” Billings said. “It was like, just a little jab. You were the one screaming and yelling at me.”

“You were the asshole who came back and called me a fat bald fuck!” the man snapped.

Billings glared at him angrily.

“Maybe you should watch who you give the finger to if you don't want them coming back to discuss it!” he snapped.

“Maybe you should learn to drive!”

“Billings, go stand over there,” Mueller said, pointing at the other side of the Charger.

He glanced at Jamie, who grabbed Billings' arm lightly.

“Come on,” she said.

He shook his arm off angrily. “Let go of my fuckin' arm,” he snapped.

“You want me to put you face down on the pavement?” she demanded.

He glared at her, looked at Mueller, who folded his arms across his chest and gave him a sour look, then turned and went back where he was told. Jamie followed while Mueller talked to the Black guy.

“You guys in Midtown must be pretty bored since you got nothing else to worry about but a few pickpockets and shoplifters,” he sneered.

“You got a shitty attitude, Billings,” she said. “Maybe that plays in Harlem but it don't go over down here.”

“Yeah? Well, in Harlem cops look after each other!”

“Uh huh. You think we should just let you go? And then this guy goes to the papers with it and we wind up taking the fall? I don't think so.”

“You let me talk to that fat fuck. You can bet he won't be interested in pressing charges when I'm done with him, and he'll apologize for his snotty attitude, too!”

“You must be real popular in Harlem,” she said dryly.

“In Harlem, people know how to show respect for cops!” he snapped.

“Maybe they drive better than you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Means if you'd cut in front of me I'd have given you the finger, too.”

“Yeah, you want me to give you a finger, baby? Guess where I'll put it!?” he snapped, leaning in against her.

“Get your zits away from me, steroid boy,” she said, pushing him back.

“Fuck you, bitch!” he said.

His hand came up and slapped the notebook out of her hand, and Jamie grabbed his wrist and twisted sharply, spinning him around as he cursed in pain. Her other hand came up behind his neck and shoved him down hard across the hood of his car as Mueller appeared behind her.

“You fuckin' cunt!” Billings snarled.

Mueller cursed, then jerked his other arm in behind him as Jamie brought her cuffs out, and they quickly cuffed his wrists behind him.

“What the fuck!? What the fuck are you doing!?” he demanded.

Mueller reached under his leather jacket and pulled his gun out of the holster, handing it to Jamie.

“Get your fucking hands off me, asshole!”

“That's sergeant to you, Billings. And I'd advise you keep your big stupid mouth shut,” Mueller said.

“No impulse control on this guy,” Jamie said.

The Black guy was observing all this with satisfaction, and walked forward to stand on the other side of the Charger, smirking across the hood.

“Don't look so tough now, do you?” he said.

Billings jerked upright, trying to pull himself free of her grasp and Mueller yanked him back and slammed him down against the hood of his car again.

“Mister Frank, would you please go back to your car and wait for me?” he asked.


Pulling a handcuffed Billings into the booking area at the precinct was a noisy affair. He didn't outright resist but was constantly yelling around at those around him.

“I never thought I'd see the day cops would arrest a brother officer for a traffic offense!” he yelled.

Mueller pushed him forward.

“Real cops don't rat each other out!”

“Who says you're real?” Jamie asked.

“Fuck you, bitch!” he snarled.

“On steroids much?” she asked.

Mueller grabbed his collar as he turned to yell at her again and shoved him forward.

“Keep moving, hero.”

“Yeah, I'm sure you'll be real welcome the next time you guys come to Harlem!” Billings shouted.

“Darn, and I sure do love going up there and sightseeing,” Jamie replied.

“You ain't helping,” Mueller snapped.

She rolled her eyes but subsided.

“I'm sure you'll both get a gold star from Internal Affairs!” Billings exclaimed. “Maybe that's your next transfer, huh?”

Mueller shoved him against the booking desk, where a white uniformed sergeant looked on unimpressed.


“You can get it from my badge!” Billings said, glaring at her.

“Intentional assault in the third degree,” Mueller told the booking sergeant.

“Intentional?” Billings demanded. “You don't even give me 120.1?! What kind of a cop are you!?”

Third degree assault in New York came in two parts, intentional and unintentional, with the former being more severe. Despite the wording both forms were 'intentional' but the first was one that caused damage and pain, and the second didn't.

There were a lot of cops looking on by now, and Mueller grabbed Billings by the scruff of the neck and jerked him in close.

“I had this worked out you, moron! I had the complainant most of the way towards dropping it! Then you had to act like a brainless asshole!”

He shook him, though Billings was not a small man, then roughly turned him and shoved him against the booking counter again. “Now shut your mouth except to answer the sergeant's questions!”

They processed Billings, which in his case not only involved the usual forms but going to the Lieutenant so he could contact Internal Affairs. Jamie was new enough to not think that was a big deal, at least, emotionally. She was from a cop family, but most of them were white-caps – starting with her grandfather who was an assistant deputy commissioner.

She had some of the ordinary cop's disdain for Internal Affairs, but not a lot of it. When they were worrying themselves over petty things she agreed with the general attitude that they were 'the rat squad', which didn't mean they caught rats, but were rats.

But when it came to cops outright willingly breaking the law, and doing so in a stupid fashion, she was a lot less resentful. A uniformed cop who they went after for being disrespectful to a witness, for example, or taking a free meal from a restaurant had her sympathies. The cop who beat up his girlfriend in Brooklyn last month and put her in the hospital, on the other hand, deserved whatever he got.

Then there was the cop at a heart attack call, who followed the paramedics in the house, and then as he followed them out, while they attended to the sick man and pushed the stretcher, helped himself to an Ipod sitting on the table by the door, sliding it into his pocket as he left.

Not realizing there was a camera on the ceiling of the porch which caught him doing it.

Jamie didn't have much sympathy for stupid, and as far as she was concerned Billings was either genuine grade-A stupid, or, more likely, a guy who was using steroids to bulk himself up. From his edginess, his temper, and his skin, she thought it was the latter.

She and Mueller returned to their desks after talking to the Lieutenant to finish the paperwork, and she caught Taylor glowering at her. Taylor was the newest addition to Midtown North's Anti-crime squad. He was a couple of inches shorter than her, slender, with slicked back blonde hair. Thus far he had failed to endear himself to anyone there, most especially to her or Mueller.

Since Mueller decided on assignments Taylor had been spending a lot of time in the office going over records and cleaning up their filing system. He was not, to put it mildly, happy about that, and felt he ought to be out on the streets fighting crime the way they did in the Bronx, where he'd come from.

So far his one assignment with Jamie, hadn't turned out very well. He'd given them away to a suspect, who Jamie had to then chase through the streets and down to the subway before capturing. Then he'd tried to pretend it was her fault despite being in the lobby of an expensive condominium building with closed circuit cameras and wired for sound.

Neither Mueller, nor the detectives they'd been canvasing for witnesses for had been impressed, and the detectives squad had made several requests for assistance from Anti-crime since, for things like searching garbage bins and interviewing street people, where Mueller had assigned Taylor.

Who, of course, blamed Jamie for his problems. Not only had she made it clear she had no interest in sleeping with him but she'd run off after the suspect after he'd been pushed into a delivery man and fallen down, and had gotten to make the bust he'd wanted on his record.

Jamie took off her shirt as she looked over the paperwork, then yawned, which made her stretch and arch her back. She knew very well Taylor's eyes would be caught by that, but feigned ignorance. She knew she was being bitchy, showing him what he wanted but was never going to have, but it satisfied something in her.

He hung around as she tapped away at the keyboard, and she deliberately ignored him, then when he carried an armload of files out the door she looked up with a brief smile.

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