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Hello, lovely readers. Welcome to

Legends' Day/a>

, a concept that started on St. Patrick's Day, ``March 17, 2017, and ends here today. It's been a fun trip, and I hope you have enjoyed our little anthologies. Thanks to the wonderful writers who contributed stories. I must thank my team over at Spectral Investigations, as well as my father, Harddaysknight, who has been my strongest ally in my quest to rule the world. So, back on my bullshit. I hope you enjoy. Randi.

There was a smell in that "interview" room: stale sweat, mold, urine, cold terror. The stench of fear, almost palpable in its oppression. I heard the door open behind me.

"I recognized the moves," he said.

"Cool. They had it coming," I replied.

"Yeah, I saw the video."

"Is this where you pull out the rubber hoses?" I asked. "Inject me with the drugs?"

"I'm the police," he said. "That's not what we do."

"I'm Santa Claus," I said.

He laughed. "I always wondered what happened to you," he said. "I heard stories from time to time. I want you to know I never believed them."

"Gratifying, that," I said. "I wish to speak to an attorney."

"Why? I'm here to cut you loose. They had it coming."

"Do you have the key to these shackles?"

"I do, indeed. While I'm taking them off, care to tell me what brings Parker Faulkner back to these provincial parts?"

"Business," I told him. He knelt and unlocked the shackles, also taking care of the cuffs and the belt chain.

"Any that would involve the police department?" he asked.

"Not if you don't know about it," I said. He knelt there in the floor in front of me, looking up at me.

"I always wondered," he said. "You're even more gorgeous than I expected. You grew up nice, Parker."

"Spare my blushes, and give me some space so I can stand up," I told him. "I'm leaving, if Tulsa's finest can do without my company."

"I don't know about the rest of them, but I'd like some more of your company," he said. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

I sighed. "No thanks. Your presence here tells me all I need to know about you."

"Still stuck on that? I'm a good cop, Parker."

"Right," I said. "That's what all cops say, just before they violate your civil rights. All your blue-line buddies good cops too?"

He spread his hands in a gesture. "Why don't you get it, Dre? I don't fuck with people who fuck with people I don't fuck with."

He threw back his head and laughed. "Still exactly the same. Still that potty-mouth and the attitude."

I walked to the door and stood, waiting. He didn't move and I arched my left eyebrow. "Oh, my God. You still do that," he said.

I pointed to the door, and he came and opened it, following me down the corridor. "Your stuff is this way," he said as the corridor branched. I turned left and found myself at the property counter. I signed some shit and got my bag back.

I looked inside and inventoried it. "Where is my pepper spray?" I asked the dude on the desk.

"Do you think you'll need it?" Dre asked from behind me.

"Well, I could have crushed the larynx of those two punks," I said. "Or, I could pepper spray them. Which would you prefer?"

"Give her the spray," he told the dude.

"At least you didn't steal my money. I want my phone, too."

"It's evidence," the desk dude said.

"Download the video and give it to her," Dre told him. He went away in the back somewhere and I was left alone with Dre again.

"I saw Harrison the other day," he said. "He had the kids with him. They are getting big."

"I don't care to discuss my brother with you," I said.

"What are your plans while you're here?" he asked.

"I don't care to discuss my day with you," I said.

"Ohh, hostile," he said.

"No, just aware that everything I say can and will be used against me in a court of law," I told him. "Number one rule in talking to the police, you know?"

"What?"

"Say you want to speak to an attorney and shut the fuck up," I said.

He laughed again. "Good advice. I know where Jasmine is," he said.

Now I was interested.

"Good to know," I said. "In case I need to beat that information out of someone."

"Maybe a shot of pepper spray would persuade me," he said.

"Dre, do you really think I need the pepper spray?" I asked.

He chuckled. "No, but a cup of coffee might loosen my tongue, and you wouldn't be forced to use such... draconian measures."

I sighed. I really didn't have time for this. We'd been over this ground before and reached mutually incompatible terms. He was The Man. I hated The Man. He never understood.

It started when we were juniors in high school. He had been my boyfriend since the fifth grade. We were having one of those days in school where all the college recruiters come around. Dre told me he talked to the people at Tulsa Community College, and he felt they were his best value for a criminal justice degree.

"The fuck, Dre," I said. "What does that even mean? The name alone ought to let you know it's bullshit."

"What are you talking about?"

"Dude, it's 'criminal,'" I said.

"It means bringing justice to criminals," he said.

"It's a nice sounding euphemism for cop," I said. "You wanna be a fucking narc."

"Why are you always like this?" he asked. "Every time..."

"Me?" I interjected. "I did shit. I talked to the University of Tulsa about the psychology department. It's called a career that helps people, not being a fucking narc."

He let me know he didn't appreciate my thoughts on the subject. I told him I didn't appreciate having a boyfriend who was a narc. I got up and left. I had rarely spoken to him since. He wanted to be a fucking narc. I left him to it. We passed each other in the halls, and he tried to talk to me a few times. I wasn't having it.

I left Tulsa behind for graduate school at UCLA. While there, I met people. With my PhD in hand, I moved to DC, got a job working in trauma therapy, published a few research papers on trauma informed therapy. I doubt many folks are aware of the sheer number of people with trauma disorders, many happening before they were five years old.

Most become criminals, some briefly, some for life. Something is changed in them. They're still in there, just so far away. They had to go there, you see. Not the type to end the pain, maybe too far away, maybe all courage crushed. You never know until you've seen them.

I also saw some deeply troubled people made so by military or law enforcement of one kind or another. Hey, I had published papers, and these people were useful psychopaths. They just needed to be relatively in the grip for short periods of time to do their psychopath shit, then okay enough not to do psychopath shit for a while.

I didn't actually do that for long. I consulted and told other people how to do it. They came to me. Along the way, the places I went, the people I saw, I got tough, mentally and physically. I was in Tulsa on a training. Why they had picked that particular place, I had no idea. There I was.

I was sitting in a courtyard café, and was accosted by two... persons, who laid hands on me. Right there in front of the security cameras. Hence, the pepper spray and my former state of incarceration. Now, if I could get Dre to drop whatever he had on Jasmine in the least number of words, I could get on with my business.

He met me at Starbucks, and the coffee was what you would expect. He probably considered it upscale. I got a triple espresso, and he got something with froth. Who am I to judge? Some people like drinking corn syrup and frothed milk in their coffee.

We sat and just looked at each other for a minute. He looked good. His hair was very long and curly. He looked snatched, if I was being honest with myself, but then he always had. That was the first thing that attracted me to him, back in the day. He was cute, fit, had that scruffy facial hair thing going and that mustache. I had always admired a man with a nice set of whiskers.

"God you are gorgeous," he said. "Everyone could tell from the time you were a little girl you were going to be special."

"Don't you have a cute little cop girlfriend you should be telling this shit?" I asked.

He laughed easily. "Not at the moment," he said. "How about you? Married?"

I fluttered my eyelashes at him. "No, I've been pining away for you."

He snorted. "Yeah, I've noticed."

"You still hang with the people from high school?" I asked. I thought that might remind him of Jasmine.

"Not really," he said. "Most of them liked you better than me, so when you dumped me, they stuck with you. Until you disappeared, at least."

"Well, one of the drawbacks of being a fucking narc is nobody likes you," I said.

"Oh, my God. You haven't changed a bit."

"Oh, no, I have, I promise," I assured him. "Just not about that."

"Where are you living?" he asked.

"I don't care to discuss my situation with you," I said.

"Jesus, Parker, forget the cop shit, okay? I'm not interrogating you. You aren't a person of interest in any crime."

"What if I was?" I asked. "See, that's what people like you never understand. You have no loyalty."

"I'm loyal to the law," he said.

"'The Law.'" I made a scoffing sound. "Fuck the law, I'm loyal to people I love. You see, the difference between you and me is that you're willing to murder me to enforce 'the law.' I'm not willing to murder you except to defend myself. We are not the same."

He was getting offended. Good. "I'm loyal to the people I love, too."

"Yeah, unless they're a 'person of interest' in a crime."

He sighed. "So what do you do when you come home and find your front door kicked open? You call the police, right?"

"You might call the police," I said. "I wouldn't. It's never good to have untrained idiots with guns around. They'd prolly shoot me, and never catch whoever kicked down the door. It was probably one of them."

"Oh my God. Why are you so hostile?"

"I handle my own shit," I told him. "Brown people don't call the cops, dude. Any encounter with the police puts our life in danger, even if we're the victim of the crime."

He sighed again. "Do you still smoke weed, Dre?"

He looked guilty. "How many people's lives have you changed in the last ten years? But when it comes to you keeping 'the law,' you don't do it either."

"I've never busted anyone for smoking weed," he said.

"Yeah, but if those two assholes hadn't been stupid and there was no video, I'd still be sitting back there in my shackles, right?"

He shrugged. He seemed very unhappy with the direction of our conversation. "I did see Benson last week," he said. "He told me he heard some news about Jasmine and tracked her down."

"Where?" I asked.

"She's in Rio," he said.

"Okay, I'm going to want to know how Benson knows that," I said.

"According to him, she talks to her stepsister. He got the information from Pam."

"Interesting," I said. "Well, thanks for the walk down memory lane. Try not to violate anyone's civil rights today. Thanks for the coffee. Byee."

I was at the door when he caught up. "Hey, how long are you going to be in town? I could call a few of the old gang, maybe get together for a beer."

"Do I seem like I drink beer?" I asked. "And I never want to see any of those assholes again."

He looked shocked. "I thought they were your friends."

"I was friendly," I said. "I prefer to choose my friends based on liking them, not being confined together involuntarily in a classroom. Seriously, Dre, I have zero interest in this town, you or any of the people you know."

"You always thought you were better than the rest of us," he said. "What makes you so special?"

I signed. "Why is it always people with no magic who question your abracadabra, Dre? Take care, now." He was definitely offended. I didn't give a fuck. I was thinking about Jasmine. Rio was a big place. I knew some people with Advanced Composite Solutions. I'd put them to work. They had the third largest private army in the world, and most of the Brazilians had been in my care at one time or another. They owed me.

*****

The last time I'd seen Jasmine was six years earlier. We'd been living together for six months and had a huge fight. I'd stormed out of the apartment, and when I came home, she was gone. She dropped off the face of the earth. I was going to Rio, I decided. She wasn't going to get away with it. I was finally going to get some closure, I hoped.

*****

"You are beautiful." I looked. Of course I did. He was standing a respectful distance away, and he was quite beautiful in his own right. White, I would have guessed him at 45, but he was very fit, even muscular, and he was one of those men who were always, and would always be, hot as fuck. Dark hair with a little frosting in it and in his beard.

He was semi-casual, but you could tell the olive-drab shorts, lightweight cotton with a drawstring, and the cream linen shirt weren't off the rack of any department store.

"Thanks," I said. "

É tudo o que tem a dizer

?"

"I think you said, 'Is that all you have to say,' right? I speak Spanish, but my Portuguese is a little... rudimentary."

"It is fortunate that I speak both Spanish and English, in that case," I said.

"It is. That way you can understand if I say, can I buy you a drink? Just checking to see on a scale of 1-10 how open are you to talking to a slightly drunk stranger? I'm harmless, I promise, but I can totally just leave you alone."

I gave him an encouraging smile. Bruh had A+ immaculate vibes. "Tell me why you're in Rio," I said.

"Well, I'm on holiday. I came with a tour group, but I ditched them," he said. "I decided prowling around on my own was more interesting. Then I saw you. What are you doing here?"

"I'm on an adventure," I said.

"That sounds mysterious and fun," he said. "Can I come?"

I actually did have a use for him. If he could pull it off, he was a definite adventure companion candidate. "Yes. See that big mean-looking mofo over there?"

He looked. "Yeah, what about him?"

"I don't like his tatt," I said.

He looked. "No, me either."

"I need to talk to him outside," I said. "He's been watching me all night. Go tell him you can hook him up with me if he'll meet us outside."

He laughed. "Okay, I can do that, but what's going to happen when you get him outside? What if he isn't interested?"

"You just stand back and watch," I said. "Whatever happens, don't get involved, okay?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm not going to let you get hurt."

I laughed. "I'm not going to be hurt."

I walked slowly to the door. The dress I was wearing had large arms and I was showing plenty of side-boob as I strutted out past our target.

I was standing there in the shadows of a narrow opening between two buildings I'd scouted earlier, while my new friend and my target approached. They were conversing. That came to a sudden end.

I stepped in front of them and gave Mr. Bodyguard a two-piece spicy to the belly. The right robbed all air from his body, and the ability to acquire any more, and the left hook to the liver brought a shrill wheezing cry as he dropped to his knees. A front kick put him on his back and I mounted him, pulling his head up into a vicious can-opener.

"Jasmine Montez," I said. "Where is she?"

My new friend was watching with his mouth hanging open. "Never heard..." his voice ended in an agonized shriek as I cranked his neck tighter.

"Where is she?"

"Petrópolis," he gasped. He gave me an address. I gave him an elbow, right between the eyes, and stood. I walked to my new friend, took his arm and we walked away.

"What did he do?" he asked. "Was it the hideous tatt?"

"He is no longer important. What's your name?"

"I don't think we should use real names," he said. "I'll be Holmes and you be Watson." He thought that was hilarious. Dude had a sense of humor, along with his extreme hotness. He offered me his hand.

It was weird as fuck. When I touched him, I got this feeling... It was almost euphoric as I felt a wave of lassitude, almost as if I didn't want to let go. I didn't, holding his had as we walked. This was one hella attractive dude.

Yeah, I know. I hear it from people all the time: "The age-gap thing never works out." "He's white." "You'll be all alone when you're old." It's bullshit. Black women married to white men are four times less likely to divorce. My father was white, and 50 when I was born. My mother was black and 30, and she was his princess all his life. He passed at 76, and she never really recovered. They loved each other that much. She made a bunch of bad life choices, and I barely got out before she self-destructed. The drugs and alcohol made the pain of losing him bearable, until they killed her.

Some animals mate for life, and some humans, too.

I was the opposite of worrying about being alone. I liked myself.

Not that I was looking to mate. Not today. Well, only briefly, if things went perfectly, and in a different sense of the word. Holmes offered me his arm and we walked up the narrow street.

*****

It was quite a place: a high-rise, with a doorman and an elevator operator. I was escorted by Holmes. The man talked. Seriously. "Do you know, I'm the most boring person you'd ever meet, back home," he confided. "I own all the new car dealerships in the borough of Rhondda Cynon Taf. I decided I was boring and now, Sherlock, you're taking me on an adventure in Rio." He seemed delighted, like a big kid on Christmas. I had also wondered what the accent was. Welsh! Crazy shit happens.

"I'm pretty boring, myself," I told him. "I'm a clinical psychologist, and I rarely go on adventures."

He looked shocked. "What?" I asked.

"I thought you were some sort of spy."

Now that was funny. We both got a laugh out of that. "Nope, just a woman on a mission."

"What are we doing?" he asked.

"We're looking for a girl," I said.

"Are we going to kick her ass? Does she have an ugly tatt? What did she do?"

I laughed. "No, we're not going to be violent with her. At least, I don't think we are. Are you good at violence?"

"Kiddo, when I was a boy, I rode my bike all over town without a helmet, and didn't come home until dark. I played rugby in college, spent three years in the military and I know how to swing a cricket bat; I've been in more bar fights than I can remember, consumed more alcohol and drugs than you can imagine. I'm a man of peace, but if someone won't let me be peaceful, I'm here for that, too."

"Damn, Holmes got quite the resume." I admired him. "Good to know."

All the way across town and into the lobby, he entertained me with his banter. I was beginning to think this man might be one of the most open and comfortable-with-himself persons I'd ever met. I rang the bell and we waited.

Jasmine opened the door, screamed when she saw me and slammed it shut. I heard the lock click and the chain rattle as she secured it.

"Jasmine, let me in or I'm gonna have Holmes kick your door down. You'll just have to get it repaired, and I'll be inside anyway. I just want to talk."

"Go away. Please," she said, her voice muffled behind the door.

"No. Open the door, or move back. One way or another I'm coming in."

I heard the chain again, and she peeked out with one eye. "What do you want?"

"Is that all you have to say to me?" I asked.

"I don't want to say anything to you. I don't want you to be here."

"Tough tiddie," I said. "I'm here. Holmes is here."

She opened the door a little farther and looked at him with wide frightened eyes. He was impressive. The man had obviously been working out his whole life.

"Why are you here? How... how did you find me?"

"You told Pam you were here. I heard about it and tracked you down."

"What? How did you really find me, Parker?"