"Oh what a tangled web..."
-Sir Walter Scott
Well, it happened. I said it never could but, fuck me, was I ever wrong. I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling rubbing my eyes trying not to disturb the woman next to me. Hell, I didn't even know her name. Shit, for that matter...I didn't know where I was or how I got here.
All I could remember was me and my buddies, Kenny and Dwight, going out last night for a few beers and a good time. I can't remember how many bars we hit but the last one was the best, The Pink Lady & Company. I can't even remember leaving the place so I must have crashed and somehow ended up in this bed with a beautiful redhead sleeping next to me. And, I knew I was in big trouble...big, big trouble.
You see, I'm a married man—at least for now, married to a gorgeous brunette who is an expert marksman with the pistol and has a quick temper. You see, she's a cop, a homicide dick. Me, hell, I'm just a lowly flatfooted blue suit driving a black and white hack.
I'm Robert McNamara, Bobby to my friends, and currently work the City's westside as a patrol sergeant. Sherry and I have been married going on twelve years so far and we've had our ups and downs. Let's face it, to be an effective cop, you've got to have a pretty strong personality with a matching ego. And, we both did. The two of us, well, we've had some nasty, down in the gutter, fights and always thought we were right about the argument that started our free for alls. Eventually, after several days of avoiding the other, we would forget the past and make up, and, boy, did we make up. We've been too busy in our careers to worry about starting a family; though, I believe Sherry's concerned over it. Maybe her biological clock has started banging away. She hasn't said anything yet.
Anyway, I digress. Now, I find myself naked in an unknown room, in a strange bed with an anonymous woman. Maybe my closest friend Dwight can help me.
*********************
Dwight's a long time friend from high school and college. We played football in college but we never finished school. Together, we waltzed into the nearest Marine Recruitment office and signed up. We spent nearly two tours in Afghanistan until Dwight's injury from a roadside bomb. He was doing convoy duty when the device went off sending shrapnel up through the chassis into his thigh just above the knee.
I was on base when I heard the news and rushed to the hospital. When I got there, they were busy trying to save the leg. It was the third time in my life I cried, the first when I was born and second time at my father's funeral. Dwight was like a brother to me. Later that evening, the doc told me they were able to save the leg but he would suffer a noticeable limp for the rest of his life. They sent him stateside and later discharged from the Corps. While stateside, he managed to get into investment brokerage and trading making some decent coin.
Finishing my second tour, I was sent stateside assigned to Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, instructing new recruits. A year later, I received my walking papers and returned home temporarily settling in with my mother, helping her around the house and with the finances. After a few weeks home, Dwight and Kenny (an old high school buddy to both of us) and I got together for a few beers down at the local watering hole.
As we sat there beating our breasts about our exploits and other lies, I spied a uniformed police officer enter the establishment and speak with the bartender. A second officer stood by the entrance. The bartender nodded pointing toward the pool tables in the back room and the officer nodded, looked at his partner and gestured toward the back.
"Looks like some excitement's gonna come our way," said Dwight.
"Maybe," I replied never taking my eyes of the local gendarmes.
"Shit, don't like cops," muttered Kenny. "They busted me a month back for possession."
Dwight laughed but I replied, "No shit, Sherlock...I woulda busted you too, dumbshit. What are ya doing with that crap anyway? High schools long over." I was never one to hide my feelings.
"Okay, okay...I screwed up. Jeez, you'd think you've never fucked up before," cried Kenny.
Suddenly, a loud crash and screaming came from the back. Before I knew what I was doing, I was already halfway there when some low life came barreling out of the back directly toward me. I saw him stare at me as he came but he didn't expect the close-line, and struck head-on into my extended arm. His feet swung out from under him as he fell like a stone smacking the back of his head on the hard wood floor. When I looked down, he was out for the count.
"Dwight, stay with this fuck head!" I yelled and ran into the back room.
Two other biker type assholes were in a clinch with the two cops, one of them trying to get the second officer's gun. I rushed over and grabbed the asshole's long greasy hair and yanked him back. He growled and turned toward me.
"You just made a big fucking mistake, shit for brains," he snarled and came at me. My hands had already curled around a cue stick and as he ran at me, his face making contact with the heavier end. I heard a crack as his nose shattered and he screamed as he rushed me. His hands grabbed my throat pushing me back; however, the stick was still in my hands. I watched as his eyes bugged out and his mouth formed a perfect O. He fell to his knees clutching his balls before vomiting on my boots.
"You fucking piece of shit," I yelled as I wiped the puke off my boots onto his filthy leather vest. Then I kicked him as hard as I could in the face sending him backward slamming his head against the pool table.
The second cop was able to assist in gaining control of the other biker and soon they had him cuffed. They grabbed the asswipe that was groaning and holding his nuts as he lay next to the pool table. Soon, the bar was full of cops, all of them ready for bear. Seems some of them were disappointed when they found all the participants out or in custody.
I returned to our table to find both Dwight and Kenny staring at me with their mouths open.
"Jesus Christ, Bobby! What the hell was all that about? You tryin to get yourself killed?" Kenny was a little wound up as he squawked.
"Dunno man," I replied looking somewhat sheepish. I took a long swig of my beer when Dwight started laughing.
"Shit, just can't stop bein the top dog, can ya?" he chuckled. "Gotta mix it up."
I smiled and said, "Hey, you can take the man out of the Corps but you can't take the Corps out of the man."
"Semper Fi," we said together, laughing, and smacked our mugs together.
"Excuse me, I hate to interrupt this special moment between you two, but would you step outside for a moment."
We looked up and saw a gorgeous brunette in a blue suit with a badge standing there, her hand on her sidearm. My mouth fell open as I stared into those incredibly soft light brown eyes. Glancing at her name tag, I read S. Whitley. Looking at her uniform, which she filled perfectly, I noticed she was a slick sleeve.
Standing, I said was Bob McNamara and would be pleased to make her acquaintance. She smiled and said she was ordered to come inside and find me. I smiled and said in my best Wayne impression, "Well...little missy, ya found me."
She rolled her eyes and turned as I followed her outside, temporarily blinded by all the flashing red and blue lights. Three officers approached me, one a three striper.
"Mr....?" the sergeant asked.
"Bob...uh...Robert McNamara, how can I help you?"
I stared at the sergeant as he smiled and replied, "I believe you already have. I just wanted to thank you for your assistance in the bar. From what Officer Reed said, the assho...the culprit was almost successful in getting Reed's gun until you interceded. There's not many that would do that. Listen, can you give Officer Whitley your name, address and a phone number were we can reach you. I'd like to speak with you again, if you don't mind.
"Uh...no, not at all Sgt...?"
"Sorry about that...Weston, Sgt. Weston."
"Sure, Sgt. Weston...be glad to help."
