Criminal Affair

I've been a Detective for two months now, and I have no complaints. Work load is basically the same, and I get to respond when a uniform pulls over a stolen car. Pretty fun to investigate those.

I was completely wrong about Queen, he's a good detective, and a good mentor. Wu is the asshole. Detective Sergeant Wu, since no one felt like bringing that up when I met him. Called him Dean when we were formally introduced and he pulled rank on me.

We take weekends on shifts, and this weekend is my weekend, so let the sleeping in begin. I'm on call at all times, but until that phone rings I'll be dead asleep. Before I hear pounding on the door that is.

"Derek!" Bang, bang, bang...bang, bang, bang. "Derek, open the fucking door!"

"What the shit?" I mumble from Derek's bed, not bothering to go to my apartment last night.

"Derek!"

It's a woman's voice, and she sounds pissed. About what I can only speculate. Does he have a side bitch I don't know about? Am I the side bitch? Does any definition of our relationship make me a main or side bitch?

I'm naked when I sit up, and the first thing I can grab is Derek's shirt he wore yesterday and left on the edge of his bed. I button it up to the second to last button, just enough to hide the cleavage. I quickly walk out of his room as the door is still being punched I'll assume.

Bang, bang, bang. "Derek, open the..." She says before I turned the bolt and open the door. "Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm the bitch you just woke up, what?" I ask, her looking at the number on the door just to make sure she had the right one.

"You his girlfriend or something?" She asks, and I look down next to her to see a little boy. He's maybe six years old. I recognize the kid, but not her. It's Jesse, Derek's son, meaning this is his bitch of an ex.

"No, I'm just the girl he trusts in his apartment alone when he's at work, who answers his door in nothing but his shirt. What do you think I am?" I ask myself as much as I ask her. Fair question, but I'm avoiding the label of 'fuck buddy'.

"Tell him something came up, and I had no choice," she says drops a backpack, kissing the boy on the cheek and leaving him in the hallway as she walks away from him.

Oh fuck no bitch.

"Hey, uh uh!" I shout as she's now walking fast toward the elevator, "You don't just leave a kid with a stranger, even if she's fucking his dad." Did I really just say that?

"Tell him I had no choice," she says, mashing the door close button, the doors shutting before I can wedge my hand in.

What the fuck just happened? I turn around, looking at Derek's very confused son. His face must be a reflection of mine. Again, what the fuck just happened?

"Un...fucking...believable," I slowly say, walking back to the apartment and stepping inside. His son nervously hovers at the door as I walk straight into the bedroom to pull my phone off the charger. I pull up his number and press call as Jesse has now drifted into the living room with the door still open, playing with his thumbs.

"You're up early," Derek says.

"Your ex just dumped your son on your doorstep with me," I say, figured why dance around the important part.

"What?"

"She just showed up and left him here. With a stranger," I say, Derek groaning loudly into the phone. "Can you get out?"

"I have interviews with last persons of contact all fucking day, and I'm here because I'm covering for someone," Derek says, and I groan as well. He can't get out, and I don't complain that he can't, because I know that accomplishes nothing.

"No point in bitching about it. You finish up, I'll figure it out. Kids eat food, watch television and occasionally shit right?" I ask.

"Often in that order," Derek says, and I laugh. "You sure you're okay? I can call a service."

"Fuck it, us meeting was kind of inevitable at this point," I say, leaning out of his room where Jesse was still frozen in the living room, leaning toward the room as well, looking at me from across the apartment. Earlier when I said I could see the kids charm in a picture, boy was I wrong. He's awkward.

"Not like this," Derek said and asks me to hand him the phone so he could talk to him. I don't know what he's saying, but I imagine the last words he said was 'hand me back to the lady in my apartment you've never met.' "I don't know what the fuck Grace is thinking. This is the same woman who has successfully barred my visitation, using my on the job shootings as the justification..."

"I really don't give a shit about you and your ex's history when I'm alone with your kid. What do I do, so I can do it?" I ask.

"Has he eaten?"

"Jesse, have you had breakfast?" I ask, and he shrugs with his head tilting to his left. "This is a yes no question, not a maybe. Eggs, cereal?" He shrugs with his head tilted to the opposite shoulder. "Hurry up, he's already bothering me."

"His mother just dropped him off with a stranger, and he's shy. Give him a minute to adjust," Derek says and I say 'fine' and hung up.

I know what I'm doing first. I'm getting my pants on.

-

Jesse is so awkward. I make him some oatmeal I find in Derek's kitchen, and he literally stares at it for nearly an hour. I'm trying to be sympathetic. His mother did just throw him at his dad's door with a stranger and left with hardly a word. He's so quiet it's kind of freaking me out.

"Want something else?" I ask, Jesse's eyes slowing raising from the bowl to my face. He looks scared. Am I scary to kids? Is there a reason he doesn't talk around adults?

"Are you worried about talking?" I ask, and he nods. "Does something bad happen if you talk?"

"I sound funny," he says, and I do notice the lisp he's talking about. Or trying to talk about. Pronouncing syllables beginning with S was a challenge to him. Jesse is quiet because he's self-conscious.

Damnit, that's adorable.

"Other kids at school pick on you?" I ask, and he nods. "I know the feeling. Believe it or not, I was picked on."

"Why?" He asks.

"Braces and glasses," I say, making him tilt his head while he's looking at me. I think he's trying to picture it. He starts squinting, so now I know he is.

"You don't have glasses," he says, the word glasses making him stumble on his words and look away from me.

"Because when I just started my career as a police officer, I had PRK. Fixed my eyes," I said, pointing at them both with two fingers. "Braces were gone at fifteen."

"I can fix the way I talk?" He asks. Shit, maybe that wasn't the best conversational direction. You can fix teeth and eyes, but a speech impediment, that's not as easy. At least not as fast. I walked right into that one.

"Um...well...not quite," I say, honestly.

"My dad says..." Jesse stutters, but pauses and continues. "I will grow out of it. Like my uncle."

Derek has a brother? Or is it his mom's brother? I have a little sister who had trouble with the syllable R. Always pronounced it as Er or Ur, regardless of the word. And I mocked her horribly for it. I never dared doing it in front of our mother, after she caught me once and tanned my ass something fierce. Next time we were alone I looked at her and said "That was ur fault you urtard." I wasn't a good sister.

Come to think of it, Penelope hasn't stuttered in years.

"My sister grew out of it. It wasn't her Ses. It was her Rs. Always said Ur. I wasn't nice to her about it. Then I needed braces, so karma came full circle."

"I don't like oatmeal," he says, looking up at me, "Dad keeps poptarts in the top shel...up there."

Progress, I like it. Room feels a little less stuffy now. Derek has cherry and strawberry poptarts, Jesse choosing cherry. I put them in the toaster and push down, making sure the red wires began to glow before I look away. Hate for it to not be plugged in and I didn't realize it.

When his poptarts are ready I pour him and glass of milk and put my own poptarts into the toaster.

"Are you my dad's friend?" He asks.

"That's accurate."

"Mom says..." he stutters and stops. "She.." Longer pause. "Boys and girls can't only be friends."

I can't even imagine being married to this woman. Thinking every woman looking at him was trying to fuck him. That must have been suffocating for Derek. The worst part is, the women who are like this barely put out. No wonder he wants to pin everyone down and is so dominating. He couldn't be for however long they were married for.

"You should have that conversation with your dad when you're older. Just remember to start it off by saying, 'remember when the woman not wearing pants answered your door?'"

Jesse smiled for the first time. Alright, he's cute. Not I want my own cute, but I'll be one hell of an aunt cute.

Derek came home a few hours later, managing to get out earlier. He came in hanging up him phone looking like he was ready to chuck it out of the window. He must have been trying to call his ex all day and she wasn't answering. What was so urgent you abandon your son with a stranger. Or did she just bail?

"Hey bud," Derek says, hugging his son and looking over at me. "Thanks."

"Don't worry about it," I say and grab some of my stuff to head home. "I need to get home to shower, didn't know if I could leave him alone."

"I'm here now, so you can shower here," Derek says.

"I need a new bra, and pretty much everything else..." I say and he opens his mouth. "If you say anything about leaving me a drawer, I'll kick you in the nuts."

"Just saying," Derek says as I grab my keys from his counter. I was hoping for a quickie when he got home, but that's not happening. I will be very unlike myself though, and kiss him before I leave. I make sure our bodies are facing away, grab his dick, give it a little squeeze and leave without another word.

-

It's looking like Derek's ex just up and left. He's super stressed out and Jesse is always there, and that is putting a damper on my sex life. He's in the market for a nanny at the moment as well, so that's not a good sign. A month of him jumping from nanny to nanny and I've gotten to know Jesse pretty well in this time. Once he opens up to a person he's a fun kid. Though it really sucks having to put our guns away when we get home. We're both so used to putting them on the counter on or the night stand.

I'm leaning against the counter at Derek's, drinking my coffee while reading the news from my tablet, when I feel eyes on me. I lower the tablet down a few inches to see Jesse in his pajamas standing into front of me.

"Good morning," I say, tipping coffee to my lips and taking sip. I notice he has something in his hand behind him, so I lean to see it and he leans the opposite way. "What do you got?"

"Me and dad went to the lego store at the mall. I wanted to get this for you," he says, and extends to be a lego man figurine. It's a female police officer with a blue uniform and a golden badge. She has brown wavy hair that drapes around her right shoulder. Kind of like mine when I let it out of my bun after work. It's also a key chain, the head extending out a chain with a wider circle and clasp at the end.

"That's kind of awesome," I say, and I'm serious. This thing is sweet. I take it and hug him, him wrapping his arms around my legs since that's how tall he is. Little older he's getting some ass in that squeeze. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he says and walks to his room.

I take out my keys and snap it onto my ring as Derek's steps across the living room to the kitchen.

"I'll be right behind you, waiting for Hillary," Derek says, as I hold up the key chain for him to see.

"How awesome is this? I forgot how much I loved legos," I say, Derek pulling out his keys and showing me the male equivalent of the key chain. His is more red headed with freckles.

"Matching key rings, at this rate, we might have sex before we marry," I say sarcastically, making myself choke. I said marriage and threw up in my mouth a little. Thankfully he realizes I regretted saying that, so he doesn't press on it.

"What do you have today?" Derek asks.

"Looking for a 1976 Mustang Cobra," I reply.

"Damn, nice car."

"Officer reported he saw a tarp over a vehicle that matches the body type. Still needs to a warrant to move it. We're knocking on doors, seeing who owns it," I say, the door knocking and Derek letting in Hillary, an older grandma looking nanny.

"Two minutes behind you," Derek says as I leave, waving as I go.

-

Lincoln and I park outside of the apartment complex with the tarp over the car, parking in front of it so it can't move in case this is the place and this is the car. We want a clean arrest, so we don't remove the tarp. We want to give his lawyer nothing. This will be by the book.

"Are you dating Whitaker, or just having fun?" Lincoln says as he gets out of my car. Where did that come from?

"What makes you assume either?" I ask, killing the engine and stepping out as well and closing my door.

"Derek has the same key chain his son gave him. I'm not a detective or anything...wait I actually am," He says and I laugh a little. "I've known him since he was uni, we go back a little ways. Not close, but familiar. Had a few beers when guys get promoted. He's not the same department, no one cares if it's true."

"Having fun," I say, and he smiles.

"His son knowing you well enough to give you a key chain, is more than having fun," Lincoln says and starts walking toward the building.

"Together, or split up and knock?" I ask to bring the conversation back to the work.

"Split, but never more than four doors apart," he says, and I agree. Very practical.

"Hello ma'am, sorry to bother you. I'm detective Simpson with the police. Could I take a moment of your time," is stuck on repeat for nineteen doors for me. Aside from people slamming them in my face to being obnoxiously willing to help but not having information that could help is really testing me here.

"You were uni longer than me, you should love the grind," Lincoln says and I knock and look at him at his door.

"Morning sir, I'm detective Queen..." He says when his door replies. My door opens a second later.

"What?" I hear a voice saw from the crack, secured by the chain. I see his eyes peeking through the gap. The smell cigarettes permeate the air.

"Excuse me sir, I'm detective Simpson from the police, do you have a minute I can speak with you?"

"What about?" he says, his eyes darting into the room every second or so. What is he looking at. Keys to the car he stole? Drugs? A gun?

"Have you seen this vehicle?" I ask, holding up a picture of the car. "1976 Ford Mustang Colbra."

"Can't say, I have. Is it stolen or something?" Inquiring about investigation to gather data. Indicators are fun.

"I am not at liberty to discuss it. Do you have a privately-owned vehicle sir?" I ask, and he nods, scratching his face a little. Nervous, on edge. Twitchy.

"I do. Old beat up beamer downstairs," he says.

"Do you know who owns the car under the tarp outside?" I ask.

"Can't say I do," He says.

"Sir, if it isn't took much trouble, could you open the door all of the way. This is cumbersome to keep talking like this," I say. He'll open the door and let me in freely. He's given indicators he'll over compensate his innocence by pretending to be transparent.

"Sure," he says, closing the door all of the way. I look over at Queen who turns to look at me. I mouth and gesture to him this guy is shady, turning ninety degrees so my side is facing the door. When he starts walking over I hear it too late. The hammer of a gun dropping.

"Gun!" I shout, and instantly feel my side pinch and my body be thrown into the wall. I feel like I'm getting punched in the stomach a second later, before the final shot misses and I slid down the wall grunting. I want to shoot through the door but my hand can't find the handle of my gun.

"Jill!" Lincoln cries and drags me away from the door before checking me.

"I'm fine," I grunt out, Lincoln still snapping buttons off my shirt to see if it hit me or the vest. "Vest caught it, you get him, I'll call it."

"Alright," He says, making his approach on the door before kicking it open and entering the room. "Don't you fucking move!" Queen shouts, before he ducks back to the hall to avoid a few more rounds aimed at him. The bullets pepper the wall next to me. Queen leans in and fires back.

"Dispatch, shots fired at last reported location of car one, one, two. Officer in pursuit of suspect on second floor. One officer injured."

"Dispatch acknowledges, sending nearest car to your location. Ambulance dispatched as well. Extent of injuries?"

"Gun shot, impact abdomen, did not penetrate," I say and start to feel dizzy. Then I notice I can't move my right arm.

"Suspect out the fire escape, fleeing on foot," Lincoln said as he stepped of out of the apartment. He almost slips, then looks down and sees a pool of blood and the trail of it leading to where he dragged me.

"Holy shit," he says and pulls my shirt off my shoulder, leaving only my vest, tank top and bra. "Fucker broadsided you...fuck."

"Stop seeing shit and cursing, making me nervous," I say and look at what he saw.

Preventing shock 101, is not letting me see I have a two-inch diameter hole on the top of my right shoulder. It's the exit wound. The entry wound a few inches below the bottom of my breasts on my side.

My breathing tanks, and I'm gasping now. Fast and shallow, and I can't get any air.

"Give me your abcs, stay active, don't go into shock!" Lincoln tries to say calmly.

"A...b...c,d,e,f...g," I start.

"Good keep going," He says, keeping pressure on both, making me hold my side with my left hand.

"H,i...m...p...r...n..." I stumble.

"What's the date?"

"August 11, 2018."

"Good. Your name."

"Sergeant Jill Simpson."

"No, detective. Detective Jill Simpson."

"Detective, I like that better."

"Me too, come on stay with me," he says.

The room is spinning. I can barely breath. I feel so cold and clammy. My right arms feels on fire, but paralyzed at the same time. Lincoln is on the radio everyone minute for an update as he keeps my blood from leaving at my shoulder. His hands are so warm on my cold skin. I taste my blood and feel it dripping down my chin. I close my eyes to blink and...