For the first twenty years of my adult life I've worn a uniform - starched, creased and pressed.
The first was olive green; I spent eight years in the Army and saw a taste of war in Kuwait and Somalia. I honored the oath I'd made to my Uncle Sam and am proud to have served.
The next twelve years were spent in navy blue behind the wheel of a patrol car. I swear, those years were ten times more dangerous than being in a war zone. The mean streets of LA are a fucking war zone, don't ever kid yourself. The fire power employed by the gangs can and would make a lot of third world armies green with envy.
Each year that I spent on the force, I became a little harder and a little more cynical. My trust in human nature evaporated from a solid curtain to no more than a fine mist. I was sure that I was the one that was going to make the difference from the moment that badge was pinned to my shirt. It turned out to be a childish fantasy, I ended up hating the only thing I'd ever done. Here's my story.
"This is the city: Los Angeles, California. I work here. I'm a cop," that's what ran through my head at the beginning of every shift. My name's Joe, just like the guy that used to growl that bullshit line on TV. My partner's name was Bill too, just the same as Sergeant Friday's, but believe me, that's where the resemblance ended.
The semi sterile working conditions that you see on TV are nothing like we see on the job, and I swear as God is my witness, I've never said, "Just the facts ma'am."
Bill and I were working the day watch out of the Rampart division. Ok, forget you ever heard that. It was a typical sunny day in LA, if you could have seen the sun that is. The smog was thick and there was an odd orange tint to the sky.
After our usual breakfast of chilidogs and sushi, Bill and I hit the streets. He was telling me all about his date from the night before, when the radio interrupted his description of the blowjob he'd received. We took the call and while Bill drove toward the address the dispatcher had given us, I pulled my duty weapon and checked the chamber.
I holstered my Glock, feeling a little more secure. We were headed to a report of a fight at a bar. These things can range from a simple argument to a full-blown riot. Bill pulled up to the bar with his side of the car facing the building. He already had his hand on the door of the bar while I was coming around the side of the patrol.
I made it through the opening just in time to see Bill take a pool cue across the bridge of his nose. He flew backwards with blood splattering everywhere when he hit the floor.
Without thinking, my hand shot out and spun the guy that held the stick. I threw a crushing overhand right that had every ounce of my two hundred and forty pounds behind it, the guy hit the floor like a lump of loose shit.
Asshole number two must have taken offense to the way I had treated the first perp. My peripheral vision caught him as he rounded the end of the billiard table. The knife in his hand gave me the first clue of his intent to cause me grievous bodily harm.
With little regard to his weapon, my instincts took over. I hit him hard with a shoulder to his midsection and slammed him on his back in the middle of the green slate. He brought his arm up, and just as quickly I shoved it down, abruptly breaking his arm on the inflexible table edge. The knife flew from his hand and the little bitch started screaming for his momma.
I was none too gentle when I rolled him to his stomach and cuffed him, broken arm and all. I knew he was in a lot of pain because I'd never seen anyone's forearm bent at that angle before. It looked to me like he had an extra elbow.
I secured the other one that was still unconscious and radioed for an ambulance for my partner. Bill was sitting up now with a bar towel held to his face to stop the flow of blood from his nose. His eyes were very nearly swollen shut, he would probably be on sick leave for a while.
Back up had arrived by then, I was still busy trying to help Bill control the bleeding. He was like a little brother to me you know, I felt pretty bad but maybe this would teach him to wait for me the next time. That kind of John Wayne shit will get an officer killed in a big hurry. I filed that thought away for future reference.
Before I knew it there were people coming from all over. Three ambulances were on scene along with about a dozen more cops. I couldn't believe this much damned attention for a simple bar brawl. Two detectives were asking questions to all the bar patrons, and to top it all off, a TV news crew showed up, there must not have been any low speed freeway chases going on for them to report.
The paramedics finally got my partner loaded into the ambulance and the duty sergeant ordered me to follow in the squad and get checked out myself. I argued that I was fine but Mac wasn't having any of it.
At the emergency room, it was clear that Bill was in good hands and going to be okay. I watched at the door and when he made a pass at the first nurse he saw I stopped feeling sorry for the little bastard.
I heard a loud voice call out, "Romanski, exam two."
That being my name, Joe Romanski, I shuffled down the hall to the exam room to get checked out.
The doctor was a rather small woman with her hair piled and pinned to the top of her head. She wore the usual green scrubs and very unflattering eye glasses. She held a chart in her hands and was looking it over as she ordered me to strip.
"Jeezus Doc, all I need is a band-aid for a skinned knuckle."
"Don't give me any shit, Officer Romanski, off with the clothes. I'm the doctor here and I'll decide what you need," she barked.
As I was slowly unbuttoning my shirt, her impatience was starting to spread across her face. I went from the top button to the bottom very slowly and deliberately. She removed her glasses and watched as I carefully draped my shirt over the back of the chair. Gradually pulling the Velcro fasteners of my Kevlar vest made an excruciating ripping sound that made her purse her lips.
My teasing wasn't making any points with this woman. I could see the color change in her face, she was becoming flush. She stepped forward and looked straight into my eyes.
"Would you mind speeding it up a little, I haven't got all goddamned day to waste," She hissed through clenched teeth.
That made me smile just a little to myself, I was getting under her skin. Her patience reached the breaking point and she decided that she'd had enough of my insolence. With the deft touch of a surgeon, duh, she removed the remainder of my uniform. She pushed me back onto the exam table with unexpected force.
"Romanski, you can be such an asshole sometimes," she chided as she removed her scrub bottoms and panties.
She crawled up on the gurney and positioned her wet pussy over my raging hard on.
"What, no foreplay?" I teased.
"Stop messing around Joe, I need this and I need it right now," she begged.
Hey, doctor's orders and all that good stuff, I wasn't about to argue so I gave the good Doctor what she wanted. I pushed my cock steadily into her tight little slit.
"Oh God yes," she cried.
The look of ecstasy on her face told me when I was hitting her sweet spot. I increased the pace and her jaw was now hanging open about to show me her "O" face. It was fast furious sex, the no frills kind. Doctor Moss, Nancy, was screaming into my shoulder. Her muffled cries only served to urge me on as I pumped into her for all I was worth.
With her needs fulfilled, she remained in the saddle. Her fingers combed through my chest hair as she asked, "Why Joe, why haven't we ever... shit, we haven't ever even been on a real date, you know."
"You want the smooth version or the truth?"
