I wrote this as a love story, not a quick thrill. I have taken certain liberties with names and locations, because, it was told to me, by a very close friend. So read it if you enjoy a short story not necessarily one with sex and orgasms every five lines
Willy was a cop, daughter of a cop, a sister to cops and cousin to many cops. A few months before her thirty-sixth birthday, she was slim, standing five foot nine with the wide shoulders, flattish chest, and slim hips with the incredibly powerful thighs of a swimmer. She loved water, and still swum when she got the chance. She had short unruly dark hair that was normally brushed carelessly back. Her most memorable feature were here eyes. They were large; the colours of a misty sea, sometimes gray, changing to jade green, depending on her mood. With classic cheekbones, a beautiful face, slim body, she still got carded when entering a bar where she wasn't known.
She helped the vice squad out from time to time, stake-outs, dressing in a plaid micro-mini and stiletto heels and halter-tops, long wigs, padded bra and tons of make up, it was not something she overly enjoyed. Being a detective, she loved, solving enigmatic robberies, catching "scam-artists", that flocked to Vegas, getting them "off the street". This was her life. She enjoyed most other aspects of her career, as a peace officer, the camaraderie, the sense she was making a difference. Like most cops, hated the necessary paperwork and endless court appearances that went alongside any arrest. In addition, she shot "Sniper" with her custom Winchester 30.06 and was a member of the prestigious S.W.A.T.
She had been born with a heart defect, simply put, it beat, ten to fifteen beats a minute slower than average. Heart specialists had no cure for the defect. The slower heart rate had given her a solid phlegmatic outlook on life that even her failed marriage and divorce could not shake.
Willy was late. The traffic on the freeway was light, almost non-existent, so she pressed the gas just a little harder. The 1963 Jaguar E-type was her only extravagance. It had cost her a fortune to rebuild from the hulk she had discovered at an auto graveyard in the desert just outside of the city. The twin chromed exhausts spat and growled as the sleek car shot forward at a greater pace. The monthly backyard family barbeque at her parent's house, with her brothers and cousins was something she hated to miss.
She had restored the British sports car herself, her brothers and dad spent countless hours helping her to recreate it, to the point it had first been driven off the factory lot in Coventry England forty odd years ago. The paintwork gleamed British Racing Green. Each piece of chrome had been re-chromed and burnished until they shone. The Engine and running gear had been sent back to the Coventry factory where it had been blueprinted and retooled to accept the higher octane, lead-free gasoline of the time, rather than the leaded pollutant it had originally been created to run on. The leather of the interior was buttercup brow, an exact duplicate of the later '80 models, with soft as a glove the comfortable bucket seats that enveloped the person sitting in them. The dashboard and steering wheel had gone to a Jaguar specialist in California, the walnut refurbished, gauges replaced the leather re-stitched so that it appeared new and unblemished.
Her concentration was shattered by the squawk of a siren behind her, the red and white revolving lights on the cruiser lit up behind her, stabbed her eyes in the rear-view mirror and she lifted off the gas and coasted to a stop on the shoulder of the road.
The cop who exited from the cruiser looked like a poster-girl for female cops everywhere. Willy estimated her to be about five foot ten inches. She filled the khaki uniform, as if she had been poured into it. There was not a single wrinkle in the starched khaki uniform, which she could see. The basket-weaved double-clasped "Sam Brown" leather belt around her trim waist slanted down on her left side, and supported a holstered semi automatic pistol and pouches for spare ammunition and regulation handcuffs. Her blonde hair was tied back, as per the regulations, in a ponytail, that flowed out of the back of her baseball cap. Mirrored "aviator" Raybans hid and shielded her eyes from the desert glare, making it hard to estimate her age.
"I clocked you at seventy six miles per hour, Ma'am. The speed limit posted for this section of the freeway is fifty-five. May I see your license and proof of registration please?"
Willy fished in her purse and withdrew her wallet and handed it to the officer, gold badge open, identifying herself as a fellow peace officer. "Hi", she greeted, "Willy Smits, Metro office, " she said brightly.
The cop looked at the offered badge, handed it back to Willy. "License and proof of ownership, please, detective Smits", she asked again.
Willy sighed, leaned over to the glove box and withdrew the pink ownership papers and handed them to the officious woman, along with her plastic drivers license card.
"The speed I clocked you at, is above the level I can issue you a speeding ticket for, Regulation 47 of the bylaws concerning vehicular traffic on highways of Nevada state clearly states, that when a vehicle is measured doing a speed in excess of twenty miles per hour over the posted speed limit, it be impounded and that a summons will be issued to the driver for a court case .I have to impound the vehicle, and issue you a warrant to appear in court, detective Smits. Will you step out of the vehicle please? I will radio for a tow-truck to take your vehicle to impound, do you need to contact anyone for alternate transport, or shall I drive you to the nearest bus station? Perhaps you would prefer it, if I called you a cab?" The blonde cop stated blandly.
Willy was aghast, "You are joking, right? I'm also a cop, how about a little professional courtesy?" She asked.
The blond patrolwoman answered sarcastically, "Were you being professional by breaking the speed limit, Ms Smits? Or are you chasing a suspect in your private vehicle? Perhaps you're being chased?" She looked around hastily for the offending vehicle.
Willy shook her head resigned to the fact that the policewoman was serious. She dug into her purse and pulled out her cellular 'phone, while unbuckling her safety belt. She pulled herself out of the seat and stood beside her beloved Jaguar. She punched buttons of her 'phone, and waited till the party she called answered. "Hi mom, is dad there? Yah yah I know everybody is there, I know I'm late and that the burgers are on the barbeque, can I speak to dad please?"
She waited, holding the phone to her ear, after a few seconds her dad came the phone, "Hi dad, can you fetch me, and I'm on highway thirty five about five miles from you? No, no, the car is fine, in fact your traffic patrolwoman, um" she squinted at the gold badge above the khaki uniform pocket, "Officer Fields, has just impounded it and is going to have it towed. Yes, okay dad, hold on."
Willy handed the cellular phone to the blonde policewoman," Its Deputy-Chief John Smits, he, would like a word with you."
Hanna Fields took the offered phone and spoke" Hello this is Officer Fields, Deputy-Chief, Yes sir, but, but I have followed the correct procedure in this case, I clocked the vehicle at seventy-six miles per hour. Yes sir, Chief, I understand, thank you sir." She flushed as she handed the Motorola back to Willy.