"So what are you giving your wife?"
"A headache."
"No, I mean what are you getting her for Valentines day?"
"Valen-- Jeez Sarah, you know me. What the fuck do I know about Saint, bleeping, Valentines?"
"He-he, I was just thinking maybe you had a romantic side."
"Is today Valentines day?"
"Yeah, baby, wanna be my Valentine?"
Sarah Carpenter was teasing her partner Alan Swain with her usual sexy banter. They had been partners ever since Sarah ranked Detective just over 2 years ago. Alan, in the department over twenty years, was like a father figure to Sarah even though he was only 5 years her senior; and though he played at denying it, liked having Sarah as his trainee, and then as his regular partner. From their first day together their conversations always contained a significant amount of joshing and sexual innuendo.
"Keep your romance to yourself, if you don't mind. I've got a marriage to protect."
"Like I'm falling all over you."
"You know you want it baby girl."
"You wish you were up for what I got, ol' timer."
Alan was about to retort, but they'd reached their destination and resumed a professional demeanor. Standing outside his car, Alan took a few moments to contemplate their surroundings. Sarah had learned that when it came to murders, Alan was as dedicated and focused a detective as there ever was. From the moment he approached a crime scene his senses were piqued and he would not rule out any oddity as having potential relevance to the situation. His first lesson to Sarah had been to approach the crime scene slowly.
"Ask yourself questions from the moment you're on the scene: 'where did he go?' 'how did he get in?' What means of transportation are available?' 'What windows overlook the scene?' 'Which way is North?'. In short, be aware of the environment as a whole."
Sarah watched her senior partner watch the scene. When he had that focused look about him he was the most sexy man she knew. The first time she'd seen him like that -- seen him in his element -- she was smitten. She would never let on about her secret crush, but at moments like these, just before entering her detective role, she would sneak a secret peek at her hunky partner. And though she laughed at herself for thinking that, Alan really was a hunk: tall, fit, broad-shouldered, full head of hair speckled with a distinctive amount of gray. Sarah pulled her eyes away seconds before thinking jealous thoughts toward Alan's wife, who was a good friend.
Alan finished his scan and the two homicide detectives walked over to the one-story house. This was a working class neighborhood. Each house had a covered front balcony three steps up. Crime scene officers were running in and out of the front door letting the loose screen door slam behind them. Bounding up the stairs in one step, Alan ran right into Janine Elsworth the on site pathologist.
"Sarah! Call off your hounds."
"Good morning to you too Janine." Alan snidely replied.
"Anything interesting?" Sarah asked.
"I'd say!" Janine readjusted her hair and blouse following her collision with Alan. Sarah wondered just how accidental that was. Janine had a reputation around the station and seemed to be propping up her breasts and letting a button slip. It wasn't the first time Sarah had seen Alan draw that reaction from the women around him, but Alan himself never seemed to notice.
Janine gave up teasing Alan and turned her sights on Sarah. But Sarah saw it coming and moved to Alan's other side.
So a frustrated Janine finished smoothing her tight gray skirt over her svelte legs and continued. "I've never seen anything like this. Come in, I'll show you."
Twenty minutes later Alan and Sarah had all the relevant information but had no idea what to make of it. A young Caucasian male lay murdered in the middle of his living room. The victim was identified as 28 year old Sean O'Connor, an unemployed construction worker who worked part time as a male stripper. (Janine, on inspecting the body made note of his unusually large phallus and whispered to Sarah -- not for the first time -- that she might have to give up her vow against necrophilia. "A professional hazard," she'd called it once.) There were no signs of forced entry or violence. There was no evidence of anyone else being with the victim: no extra glasses, no moved chairs, no extra dishes in the sink, no food out. There was nothing of note other than the most unusual cause of death Alan had ever witnessed.
While Janine would write up a coroner's report listing the cause of death as penetration of a sharp object through the heart, the odd thing was the object itself: a golden arrow. Alan held the ambulance team at bay, refusing to let them move the body before he fully contemplated this odd weapon. Not only was it a solid gold arrow, but it wasn't the kind of arrow that could fly. It resembled more a weather vane. In order for it to have penetrated Mr. O'Connor's chest, some degree of force would have been involved. Yet the arrow could not fly and there were no fingerprints on the arrow itself.
"Could it be an accident? Maybe he had this as a decoration or something and he fell on it?"
"Can't rule it out. If anything, because there can be no other explanation. It's not a standard weapon, nor even a recognizable object. The angle of entry rules out suicide. But even as an accident, how could it happen? No signs of a fall, if anything he fell backwards. There isn't anything similar in the room. There's nothing out of place or a shelf with something missing from it. I hate to say it, but I'm stumped."
A few hours later Alan and Sarah pulled up in front of the Club Alexandro. The victim had been employed as a male stripper for the club which catered to single professional women, older married women and most often bachelorette parties. Homosexuals were also welcome, a point Sarah noted to Alan with a jab of her elbow.
"We're all business in here kiddo," Alan scolded gently, "try and keep your eyes off the merchandise."
They were met by the manager, a burly man named Walters who tried to keep the conversation at the door for a while. Eventually he was convinced that the two were not from the vice department but were concerned only with the murder.
"I want to cooperate," He said leading them to his rather posh office, "but speak off the record. I run a respectable service, but there are a lot of gray areas and I don't need any trouble. Sean was a decent kid. I want to help, but if he did anything wrong, it was against my advice and outside the premises."
"Agreed," Sarah responded casually. They could always send someone else around if there was real trouble.
In Walters' office they sat in deep faux-leather sofas and got what little personal information he had. None of it added to what they already knew or suspected. Regarding their suspicions, Walters admitted that Sean was one of his dancers "rumored" to take money for sexual acts and private parties -- but always off premises.
"He told me that he'd wanted to be an actor and that this being on stage gave him a real rush," Walter volunteered. "I have videos of his stuff if you want to see him less -- um -- stiff."
Sarah, perhaps for fear of embarrassing herself wanted to pass on the suggestion, but Alan -- thorough as ever -- agreed to watch one or two shows. Each clip lasted about eight minutes and was filmed from a security camera above the stage. The boy had rhythm and even Alan could admit that he looked the part of sex toy. Though he never stripped beyond his tight red thong the size of his package was evident and Sarah squirmed uncomfortably in her squeaky seat.
Perhaps in an effort to break the spell of Sean's striptease, Sarah turned to Walters and asked if he'd ever seen a golden arrow as some sort of prop.
Walters froze.
Alan picked up on the sudden change in mood and hit the mute button on the remote.
"Something you want to add 'off the record' Walters?"
"Did you say 'golden arrow'?"
"Ring a bell?"
"Oh God... it can't be..."
"Something you lost Walters?"
"No, no... nothing like that."
"C'mon, no mysteries, spit it out."
"Listen, I know what it is. It's kind of a professional hazzard, but there's no way you're gonna believe me."
"Try us."
"The golden arrow belongs to Cupid."
"Who's Cupid?"
"You know, the Angel Cupid -- oh I knew you'd never believe me. Should have kept my mouth shut."
Alan stared intently at Walters. Sarah knew the look, he smelled the scent of fraud. But Sarah had a thing for the paranormal, as much as it didn't suit her profession. She couldn't resist asking Walters to be more specific.
"We don't know what it is either. Guys in this trade will feel little pricks and every so often these tiny golden arrows will show up. Nobody can figure it out, but if you try and tell anybody they figure you're on drugs. And in this job, that's often the case."
"Our arrow wasn't tiny."
"Like I said they're usually tiny, but Sean came in here with one last week , maybe 5 inches, and was bitching and moaning like a little kid at how much it hurt."
"Can we see it?"
"See what?"
"The arrow. You said he brought it in here."
"Oh yeah. Well we usually melt them down, I mean they're gold and all, but you know, I put that one out in the safe and it might still be there. Stay put, I'll go check."
Alan would not generally let a witness or suspect escape his attention so quickly, but he was happy to have a moment to share something with Sarah. Unfortunately for him, they were not alone for very long.
"I am Cupid."
Alan and Sarah turned around with a jolt. Standing before them was a beautiful young brunette completely nude. She stood calmly, comfortable in her nakedness as well she might be, owning a perfect body, thin waste, well proportioned breasts with nickel-sized nipples. Her black pubic hair was neatly trimmed, and though she was extremely sexy, she radiated a certain modesty, a certain control.
"You're who?"
"Cupid."
"The Angel?"
"Technically pre-angelic."
"Aren't you supposed to be a little baby boy?"
"I have no regular human form. I take my form from the imagination of my viewers, from something that causes them to feel love. Most humans love babies, so we most often appear as such. But with just the two of you in the room I sensed a mutual desire to see a naked woman."
Sarah squeaked.
"Um, Sarah? Is there something you want to tell me?" Alan raised an eyebrow.
"I um, I don't know where she got this. I'm as heterosexual as they come."
