While There Is Hope

Hope sat in the car with me and thumped the dash. I said nothing, waiting for her to get it out of her system. I'd learned in our brief, if very intimate, acquaintance that sometimes silence was golden. She looked at the roof of the car and let out a scream of frustration. I decided to hazard a question. "Tough chat with the old man?"

She smiled ruefully, whether at my question, her earlier conversation, or her current reaction to it, was unclear. "Parents, right? Ugh!"

I made a non-committal noise in response, which I trusted Hope would interpret as being whatever she needed it to be. Puffing out her cheeks, she proceeded to explain. I was just a simple cop and the intricacies of dealing with organized crime was a bit above my pay grade. But the situation did seem fucked up. One that had every chance of leading to a bad ending. Not unlike, I reflected, whatever was going on with me and Hope.

I ventured that maybe her Dad knew what he was doing. This led to a mini explosion and again Hope slammed my dash. Given her size, she packed a punch, and my dashcam clattered onto the floor. Suddenly she was apologetic, picking it up and turning to me with a sheepish look on her face. "I'm sorry, I guess I inherited Dad's temper."

And then a change crept over her features. She gripped the dashcam and held it towards my face, triumph in her eyes.

"Bill... what if? What if the reason they targeted you was nothing to do with me? What if it was to do with something you might have seen?"

I protested, "but I didn't see anything, except you in the road in a silly costume."

Hope smiled broadly. "

You

might not have seen anything, but

this

might have."

I suddenly saw her meaning. "So, what are we waiting for?"

I pushed the ignition button, selected drive, and tried to stay within the speed limit on the way home.

Back at the house, I extracted the SD card and plugged it into my home PC. Work obviously wouldn't let me put random external drives into my laptop. Hope was sitting close by. I had become so accustomed to her proximity. I told myself not to get too used to it.

A folder popped up and I scrolled to the right date. Hope and I meeting had straddled midnight. So I needed to find two files. On locating them, I noticed that the earlier one would have been overwritten in just two more days. How lucky had we been? I carefully copied both files to the main drive.

The first video contained nothing of note. We ran through it twice before moving on. It seemed like the same story with the second, until just after I pulled off, with a comatose Hope in the passenger seat. The change in angle as I moved from the side of the road brought a single figure into frame. A figure in black and masked. But, behind them, my headlamps had briefly picked out a car, with its reflective front tag glowing in the dark.

Hope and I stared at the frozen frame and then each other. I grabbed a pad, but she said she had the plate memorized. Moving over to my laptop, she told me the letters and numbers and I typed them in. Then we both sat back in silent astonishment.

On the screen were the details of an unmarked police vehicle. Beneath these was a log of users. On the night in question, it had been booked out by two detectives. I scribbled down their names and took a screen shot just in case. I turned to Hope. "So... what do you think?"

"I think they were fucking stupid, or fucking over-confident, to use a police car. But, yeah. I guess this is part of what Dad didn't want to tell me."

As we each adjusted to our finding and its implications, my phone beeped. By now, most things were making me feel anxious, but the message conveyed good news. "It's Maria, she's awake. And she's talking. She's apparently in pretty good shape."

It seemed the most natural thing in the world to embrace, and for the hug to turn into a kiss. But, before we lost control again, Hope pulled back and smiled. "Easy, Tiger. Go see Mancini. If she's up for it, ask if she saw anything, but discreetly, OK? Do you know if they told her about Raoul?"

I shook my head, not looking forward to that part of the conversation. "No, I guess that's my job."

Hope squeezed my hand. "Then go do it. I'm gonna have another talk with Dad."

I agreed. As I headed for the door, she called after me. "And, Tiger, I wouldn't say no to playtime later, if you are still in the mood, that is."

I beamed at Hope. Despite our unsettling discovery, and the news I had to share with Maria, maybe this wasn't going to be so bad a day after all.

It had been wonderful to see Maria, sitting up, smiling, Mike's arm around her, her kids with her on the bed. I'd been told no questions, but ventured the obvious one about if she had seen the shooter. Mancini said it had all been a blur. Thinking about it was clearly unwelcome, and I backed off hurriedly.

She took the news about Raoul stoically. They hadn't been close, I didn't really know him either, but anytime an officer was lost, it hit you. The sadness about a departed colleague, and the realization that it could have been you. In my case that realization was all too real. I kissed Maria's brow and left her with her family and to rest.

I'd called the station and they'd said to take some time before I'd even suggested it. Hope was still out when I got back. I felt exhausted and collapsed on to the couch, but my mind was racing too much to rest.

I flipped open my laptop and looked up the two names we had found. Nothing in their records suggested anything untoward. They seemed to be unremarkable, solid guys. Could they really have kidnapped Hope, let alone been a part of the other things that had been done to her? Maybe it was a coincidence, or a mistake. I reflected that people seldom wore masks by mistake.

As my mind grappled for understanding, I noticed that I had unconsciously pulled up Hope's file again. My initial instinct was to close it, but something stopped me. Maybe curiosity? I told myself that I should probably know her better if we were going to work together, a lame excuse I knew. I read her bio again, college, grad school, The Service.

Then I saw a folder about the shoot out. I'd clicked on it, almost without thinking. There were photos. Crime scene photos of the bodies of the two assailants. And then photos of her, taken in the hospital. It was too much. I should never have looked. The file had some dry comments about reconstructive surgery and an X-ray of the plate in her thigh. I closed the folder, feeling guilty, feeling that I had violated her, and she'd surely suffered enough violation already.

I heard Hope's Uber pull up about thirty minutes later. In the intervening, I'd made a decision. I'm not a subtle man, pretty much as soon as she was inside, I blurted out, "Hope, I need to tell you something."

She looked so concerned that I had to add, "nothing terrible, well maybe not terrible... but... oh fuck it! I looked at your file. Maria and I pulled it before when we were trying to figure out who you were. But... I... I looked at the hospital photos. I'm sorry, it was an invasion of privacy. I feel bad. I had to tell you."

I'd been standing, but now went and sat down on the couch, expecting a well-deserved tongue lashing. But it didn't come. Instead Hope joined me. She was wearing a mid-length skirt that she had brought from her parents' house. "It's OK, Bill. You've seen my leg before, but... I guess we were kinda preoccupied. Do you want to take a look now?"

I turned my head from where I had been studying a spot on the floor, and stared into her eyes. Without waiting for a reply, she hitched up her skirt, and took my hand, placing it on her tortured leg. She guided my fingers around the contours of the scar. Her flesh felt weird, lifeless maybe. "Does it... does it hurt?"

"Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes it does. Not hurt so much, but ache. But it's just a part of me, like any other. Like this..."

With that, she guided my hand to between her legs. She was wearing white panties, another item sourced from her family home. "It's OK, Bill. That feels nice. I love you touching me. I'd like you to touch me more."

I slid onto the floor and buried my head against her crotch. She had a distinctive aroma, soap, and underlying that female arousal, but with an accent that was both distinctive and familiar. "You can take them off, Bill. If you like..."

I stroked the outside of her thighs, then hooked my fingers under the thin material and drew it down over her hips. A look of surprise must have appeared on my face. "Yeah, I shaved this morning. Do you like it? I never used to, but... but Ashley preferred me that way. Is it OK to say that? I thought maybe you'd like it too."

By way of answer, I spread her lips and thrilled to the sound of her gasp as I pushed my tongue into her. Her taste was as arresting as her smell. My own memories came flooding back. It was uncanny, like Valentina had been reincarnated. Feeling weird at the thought, I made an effort to push it to one side. Instead, I moved up to set Hope shivering as I ran circles round her hooded nub of flesh.

Again recollections came rushing unbidden. My wife in ecstasy, her calling what I was doing my super power. I felt tears begin to well, but my sadness was swamped by desire. Desire for someone who was here now. Someone I needed and who needed me. I told myself not to overthink it and focused on Hope's pleasure until she became an arching, twisting, screaming primal creature, her hands pressing me so hard onto her body.

And as she came, loud and long, I knew that I couldn't deny it any longer. Despite every ounce of good judgement, despite the knowledge that it could only lead to pain and disappointment, I knew that I was falling for her. Falling really hard.

Our post cunnilingual coupling had been pretty special as well. I was coming to the conclusion that sex with Hope was pretty special in general. She'd inspired my forty something body to feats I thought were long in the past. We'd relocated for the main event and now lay next to each other on the bed, recovering. I realized my hand was resting on her traumatized thigh, like we had come full circle.

Feeling a sudden urge to be semi-professional, I asked Hope about what her father had had to say.

"He was still fucking cagey. I told him the two names we found. He took a note, but it didn't seem like they surprised him. He admitted that -- going back to the initial attempt on Ashley -- he had suspected inside involvement. He even said that he'd narrowed it down to your PD. But that was it. Nothing more. He clammed up. But, despite his reticence, I think I know what he's thinking. He's thinking that someone senior is involved."

"In my department? Shit!"

"I know. It's messed up. But it also makes sense. If these two guys are basically doing Cartel work on the side, there needs to be someone covering their tracks. And it's not going to be a sergeant. It's at least a Lieutenant, if not higher."

It was an uncomfortable feeling. I needed time to process the idea. "Did he tell you anything more about Ashley?"

"Yes and no. He says he heard back from them. They said they needed some prep time. I don't know, I got the impression of some internal debate. These organized crime syndicates are often rife with political intrigue. He says he'll tell me when he knows more."

She seemed uncertain about the next bit. "I.. I asked whether I could talk to Ashley."

Hope looked at me, clearly worried about my reaction. I felt a hollowness inside, but did my best to appear calm. "And...?"

"And he refused of course, like I knew he would." Her frustration was as obvious to me as my own anxiety. I told myself to get a grip.

"So, he's going to tell you if anything changes?"

"Yeah."

"And then what? Can I help? I want to help, after Raoul and... and Maria."

Hope looked annoyed and at first I thought I had said something wrong. She must have picked up on this. "I don't know, Bill. I just don't know. The bastard is trying to keep me out of it. He says it's for my own protection, but I think the real reason is that he's scared about me going postal and causing a massacre."

She looked at me and I saw something burning behind her eyes. "And you know what, Bill, he may well be right."

There were things about Hope I just didn't get. Maybe that had been the motivation behind my earlier, ill-advised stalking. She had been through things that would leave most people on sedatives and in therapy, if not worse. And yet she seemed to shrug it off, to just get on, like nothing touched her. But, in that look, I had seen the searing hurt. Searing hurt transformed into a burning desire for vengeance. I began to understand why Hope's father had wanted to keep her at a distance. I made a mental note to never get on the wrong side of Deputy Molinera.

I thought it prudent to move the conversation on. "What about the two detectives? Are we just gonna ignore them. Couldn't we maybe surveil them, or something? At least research them?"

"Dad had said to keep the fuck away from them. He said the risk of tipping them off was too great."

She paused and thought. "I don't know though. I can't stand the thought of doing nothing. Maybe if we got a rental, and we were super careful. What do you think?"

"I think I want to see the fuckers who hurt you, and Maria, and Raoul. Even if we can't do anything else about it now. So sign me up."

"Great, do you have a camera with a zoom?" I confirmed that I did, and so it was agreed.

Hope pulled up the Avis site and made arrangements. I went and checked their home addresses. At least it felt like we were doing something.

We'd grabbed some sandwiches and sat munching them while sipping coffee a few hundred feet from the first guy's house. Hope and I had discussed splitting up, but it seemed that neither of us had warmed to the idea. Maybe she was worried about her safety, understandably so, given recent events, but part of me hoped that it was more than that. The foolish part, of course, I was really old enough to know better.

While we were role-playing Hollywood cops for an hour and a bit, not a lot happened. I was thinking about suggesting that we try the other guy, when he drew up in a car. Checking the number, it wasn't a police vehicle. Maybe they had learned their lesson.

Guy one joined guy two, they punched fists and both got in the car. Hope started our engine and we followed, at a discreet distance. There was some traffic and it wasn't too hard to conceal our pursuit. Hope knew what she was doing and always kept a few cars between us.

As we left the town behind, she dropped back further. So far that we could only just see the taillights of the other vehicle. Suddenly they disappeared, and I assumed that the car had turned off the road. Hope maintained her speed, as a dirt track branched off to the left. I looked down it and, even in the twilight, I could see dust still billowing, it was the place. Consulting the SatNav, there was nothing down there except a group of buildings. Warehouses maybe. It wasn't far, maybe quarter of a mile.

It seemed imprudent to drive after our quarry. Hope parked off the road past the turning and we walked back. She said that she had spotted something. Sure enough, a medium-sized water tower was standing to the right of the track. As quietly as we could, we both ascended its ladder. The top of the tank was flat, surrounded by a guardrail. We inched forwards on our stomachs and peered over the side and into the gloom.

We had lucked out. In a clearing between the buildings sat the detectives' car, the two of them stood leaning against the hood. The area was lit by a couple of rusty lamps. Hope put the camera to her eye, I pulled out some binoculars, and we waited.

We waited some time, the darkness was getting deeper. Then Hope touched my arm. "Listen," she whispered. It was the sound of a second car.

In a few minutes it pulled into sight, stopped head to tail with the first vehicle, and a man got out. I had to stifle an exclamation.

Picking up on my reaction, Hope hissed. "Who is it?"

I put my mouth to her ear. "It's the fucking Captain. The one who called me about Raoul and Maria."

Trying to get over my shock, I attempted to be a professional. As the men talked, I watched them through my glasses. And, next to me, I heard the click of the shutter and the whir of the camera's motor.

To be continued...