The Police Woman

(

Author's Note:

Just popping in to note that I've mostly enjoyed the reception my previous stories received, and I hope you like this one. It has no connection with those stories - for the time being, at least. If you are under 18, you shouldn't be on this site anyway, but it bears repeating: this is for adults. All the characters in it are at least 18. Last of all, yes, I am aware that I don't write realistic stories. If any of you get magic powers that allow you to turn random women into horny bimbos, though, please let me know, and feel free to visit me.)

*

We were just about to finish our shift when the dispatch came through. Obviously. Hey, guys, there's some crazy ass motherfucker wigging out on the corner of Parrott and Delorme. You guys are pretty close, right? Why don't you go check that out? Who cares if you've got other places to be? Go and find the headcase, and then come back so we can make you fill out reams of paperwork about the headcase.

"Goddammit," I growled when I heard the location. If the folks at Dispatch were screwing around, I promised myself I would rip out their intestines and hang their smart asses from the ceiling. A few weeks back, they'd sent three patrol cars after a supposed robbery in progress, over on Compton Road. Until, that is, they realized that Hugh Jass might not be an actual person. I couldn't believe those clowns at Dispatch were allowed out of their fucking playpens, what with how much competence they'd demonstrated.

"Oh, that's right, you had a date, didn't you, Ellen?" said my partner Rick, as he made a U-turn and flipped on the lights and sirens. I'd just made a grumpy confirmation to Dispatch. And I didn't particularly feel like getting shit from Rick "I've-Asked-Out-Every-Girl-Living-Or-Dead" DiFontano. Particularly since he didn't seem to think I was a member of the fairer sex. Or maybe he just wasn't into Asians. Whatever. I would've turned him down, anyway.

"Shut up and drive," I replied. He was right, of course. But it wasn't just any date I'd gotten. I'd managed to get the hottest cop in the whole county, Mike O'Connor, to agree to a night out. All the other girls in the precinct had been jealous of me, except for my friend Tina Alvarez from Vice. She had more of a thing for Lieutenant Swanson, but Tina had always been a bit weird.

He started to say something, and I shot him a withering glare. If my eyes had shot daggers, he'd've been a pincushion. If I could've lit a match with a look, he would've turned into a strikingly hot inferno. If this had been an Indiana Jones movie, his face would've melted off. As it was, he just shut up. And kept driving.

We reached the area of the report, and sure enough, there was some nutjob running around. He was shrieking something, though it was hard to make out. Rick brought us to an abrupt stop and killed the sirens. I was caught up in reporting to Dispatch, so I didn't notice that he'd already gotten out until I heard the shrieks redouble in volume.

The man's arms were flailing around as Rick tried to get him to settle down. It didn't seem to be working, so I dropped the report and hopped out of the car. "Settle down, sir," Rick kept saying. "Please, settle down, and come with us, so we can get this sorted out. If you don't, I'll be forced to arrest you as a public nuisance, sir."

But the moment I met his eye, something changed. He inhaled deeply and seemed to remember something. "Good," he said, looking into my eyes. "Good. Good." Somehow, I had the feeling he was seeing deeper than I even knew.

"Wow, Ellen, you got him enthralled," Rick said, as I stepped up next to him. He slapped me on the ass. "Next, you just put-"

Rick never got to finish that sentence, because the crazy guy snarled and launched himself at Rick. He sunk his teeth into Rick's shoulder, and his nails into Rick's face. If I'd been able to, I would've just savored the tableau unfolding before me. My annoying partner getting mauled by a headcase, apparently for patting my ass.

Sadly, duty called. With a sigh, I pulled out my stick and waded in. I drew my arm back, holding the stick exactly like they had taught at the academy. This was going to leave a mark.

Before it landed, though, the guy seemed to realize that something was going on. He looked up from where Rick was fruitlessly attempting to fend him off, and his eyes widened. "Good," he said, and rolled off of Rick, holding his hands up. "Good. Good. Good," he repeated, locking his eyes with mine. I lowered my stick and stowed it on my belt again. He still held my gaze, long past the point where it was disturbing.

"Help me up, won't you?" Rick groaned, panting on the ground. I was pulling out my handcuffs to get John Doe into the back of the car. The formerly violent man wasn't even resisting me. He actually got up and put his hands behind his back.

"Probably not a good idea, don't you think?" I pointed out. "Last time we touched, this guy tried to bite your head off. Literally." I put the cuffs on John Doe and opened the back door. "Mind your head," I told him. He ducked obligingly as he got inside.

"You gonna take him out, Ellen?" Rick asked, trying to push himself to his feet. He was on his knees, but his wobbly stomach seemed to be keeping him there. "Or you just gonna fuck him?"

"You want me to report you to IA, Rick?" I replied sweetly. "Or should I just kick the shit outta you?" He reddened but shut up. John Doe had managed to draw blood with his fingernails, giving Rick a little red slice on his forehead. It made him look much better than usual, and I indulged, for just a second, in imagining Rick covered in blood.

I laughed and finally gave him a hand. He grunted as he rose to his feet. "What's so funny?" he asked suspiciously. I shook my head, then nodded it back at the car. Rick laughed too, though I don't think he knew what he was laughing at.

John Doe didn't seem to be perturbed at the sight of me helping my partner up. He was just staring at me, eyes wide. His eyes followed me as I got into my seat. It felt so creepy that I started tingling, as though I could feel the impact of his stare.

I called in the incident, and Rick put the car back in gear. There was no one nearby to ask about John Doe, so we turned around and headed into the station. An idle thought ran through my head: Parrott and Delorme was a fucking wasteland. On all four corners, there was nothing. Yet someone had somehow seen John Doe and bothered to tell us about him. Who could that have been? And why would they call us?

Before I could say anything, I felt my brain tingle. It occurred to me that whoever it was could've been passing through. Or maybe they were an ex-con who didn't want to deal with cops. That made more sense than some dark conspiracy, or whatever I'd been about to concoct in my imagination. Just people being people.

I rubbed my ass. Man, there were some times I hated having to wear pants on the job. I'd gotten a real butt when I'd gone into puberty, and it had thrown off my martial arts for a bit. Since then, I'd learned to cope, but it was still hard to find clothing to fit my butt

and

the rest of my body, which was as slender as you'd expect. When I was off duty, I kinda liked to wear skirts, because they gave me some room to breathe.

"Ellen..." Rick started to say. I put up a hand to forestall him.

"Rick, if you're going to do that whole 'junk in the trunk' thing again, I swear I'll throw you out of the window," I told him. "It's not funny, and I don't like it. At the very least, I'll definitely report you for harassment."

He looked bewildered. "I didn't..." he stammered. "I never..."

"Just shut your trap and let's get this over with," I said. "Seriously, Rick, you might think you're God's gift to women just 'cause you've got a badge and a gun, but you need a hell of a lot more than that." His mouth opened and closed like a fish trying to breath air. "And did it ever occur to you that I might not like having an ass like this? Maybe it gets in the way quite a bit?"

Wisely, he shut up, but not before sneaking a glance, his eyes wide. It wasn't the first time he'd looked at me like that, nor was he the only man to do so. And every time I thought I was used to the comments, I got another, throwing me off my game. I really should've been used to it by now, but maybe it was just wishful thinking. Maybe I was naive to think that people would treat me professionally, just because I was being professional.

When we reached the precinct, I led John Doe out of the back. He seemed to have calmed down, and this time, he just hissed at Rick, rather than trying to attack him. Still, Rick gave him a wide berth. I almost laughed again, but managed to hold it in. My scalp tingled a bit, and I reached up to scratch it.

"So, this is the guy who managed to beat up poor Rick," said Charlotte, the African-American desk sergeant. John Doe beamed at her, and she chuckled. "He's a real hard one, huh?" she said to Rick, who glowered at all of us.

"I dunnoh what he's thinking," Rick said, trying to just shrug it off. "He's just nuts, that's all. Maybe he's just got a thing for chicks, who the hell knows?" Charlotte and I exchanged smirks.

I started to maneuver John Doe away, towards the holding cells, when Charlotte held up a hand. "By the way, Ellen," she said. "I know you've got that wonderful head of hair, but you know it's supposed to be up when you're on duty, right?"

"Oh, sorry, Sarge," I said, feeling at the back of my neck. Sure enough, my ass-length curtain of straight black hair had come undone. It had all cascaded down in all of its glory. Must've been when I'd been cuffing John Doe. "I'm about to go off the clock, okay? Just gotta take this guy to the lockup."

"Alright, I suppose," Charlotte replied. Her own hair looked pretty decent, and it was streaming down her back, too, but I decided not to point that out. Mostly because she was a sergeant and I was not. And that meant she might chew me out and force me to stay and do my paperwork. I had already lost too much time I could've spent on my date with Mike. He might understand, what with both of us being cops, if I were late, but I didn't want to chance it.

When I got to the lockup part of the precinct, I found my least favorite cop in the whole world, Kristine Jensen, on duty there. That blond bitch thought she was hot shit, just because her daddy was the police chief. Thought she could give the rest of us orders, even when I had more seniority than she did. Thought she could go behind our backs and carry stories to her daddy, because she was so fucking special. God, what a bitch.

"Much as I appreciate the offer," Kristine said, smiling lazily behind the desk, "he's supposed to be in interrogation. And the Captain said she wanted you to stay a little bit longer, to help with him." She nodded at John Doe. He smiled at her and she smiled back. God, what a slut.

"What the fuck!" I shouted in frustration. A few people nearby gave me a sidelong glance, but I ignored them. "C'mon, that's just not fair," I said, trying not to whine too much. "I'm about to go off duty."

"You can ask the Captain, if you want," Kristine said, tearing herself away from John Doe's eyes. "She was pretty clear about it, though. I think they're going to bring in Detective Ramirez, and have her take a look at him. Maybe a shrink, or something. They probably want you because he likes you. Or whatever." She unbuttoned the top part of her uniform, showing a surprising amount of cleavage.

I muttered something uncomplimentary under my breath, a little Mandarin curse word I'd picked up from Great-Uncle Ho. It implied something about the Captain's taste in men (specifically, what she liked to taste). Kristine gave me a smirk. She didn't speak any Mandarin, as far as I knew, but my tone must've said enough. God, what a slutty bitch.

"Have fun missing your date," Kristine called to me as I walked away with John Doe. I ground my teeth but said nothing. It just wasn't worth it to get into a mess with her. Even if her daddy dearest didn't listen to her complaints, she could still make my life hell in the precinct. Besides, my ass beat her boobs any day of the week.

I took John Doe to the interrogation room and said, "Have a seat, please." He sat down, as I asked, then looked up at me and smiled. I got another tingly feeling, this time around my chest. Something felt a little off about it, besides the tingles.

When I looked down, I realized that I'd forgotten to wear my usual uniform. My boobs had popped out all over the place right around the time my ass had done the same. That had made martial arts even more of a challenge, but I'd managed. And running was harder, but I still managed to bring in most of my perps. Some of them just gave themselves up when they saw my rack. Once, I'd gotten a murderer to put himself in handcuffs in exchange for a hug and a kiss. It was a bit unconventional, perhaps, but it had worked.

The only problem with being the hottest cop around was that I had to wear a special uniform to accommodate my boobs and ass. Now that I thought back to the beginning of my shift, I remembered what had happened. That klutz Tommy Czernitsky had spilled the new office water tank all over me, from head to toe. I'd borrowed a spare uniform from someone else, and all I'd needed to do was switch nametags. It was a bit of a problem, though, when all they had were normal uniforms.

Surely no one would mind if I eased my burdens just a little bit. I unfastened the top two buttons on my top. Sure, it would show a bit too much cleavage, but I was supposed to be going off duty right about now. If Detective Ramirez came in, maybe I could convince her that I should be let off babysitting John Doe.

Just as I was thinking that, the door opened, and in walked Detective Lieutenant Angelica Ramirez, and a woman I didn't recognize. The other woman was a pale-skinned redhead in a very businesslike navy blue suit. From the expression on her face, she'd just heard a joke she'd liked. Detective Ramirez was smiling, too, which was a bit unusual.

Right when the door was about to close, it swung open again, and Rupinder the Prick walked in, causing Detective Ramirez and I to groan simultaneously. Rupinder Misra, everyone's favorite humorless social worker, had a terrible reputation in the precinct. Partly it was just that her job often required her to be antagonistic to us. But our dislike of her mostly came from the fact that she went out of her way to insult us constantly. Her favorite was the "I've got way better degrees than you guys" gambit. Oh, great, you went to

Yale

, lah-dee-dah. Too bad they didn't teach you how not to be a bitch.

"Why is John Doe in handcuffs?" she asked briskly, and Detective Ramirez looked over at me.

I started out of a bit of a reverie. "Because he assaulted my partner, Ms. Misra," I said. "I was about to read him his rights when everyone came in here."

"That assumes he's mentally competent to understand those rights," the Prick said. "And it assumes that he was mentally competent at the time of the incident in the first place. Besides, we don't even know his name..."

"I am well aware of that, Ms. Misra," Detective Ramirez replied, with a surprising amount of patience. "That's why I asked Dr. Alexandra Wood to evaluate him. She's a clinical psychologist specializing in amnesia, and a professor at Taylor University, too. Believe me, I want to get to the bottom of this, too. And if he really was not mentally competent, I doubt we'll end up charging Mr. Doe." She gave a little smile. "Besides, he went after Rick DiFontano. No one around here would've lost sleep if John Doe here had killed that little scumbag." I could only agree with Detective Ramirez on that count.

"Please, call me Alex," Dr. Wood said. "Based off of the description I got, this seems very much like a fugue state. A dissociative fugue, to be more technical. It can be seen as a subtype of what we call dissociative amnesia. This is characterized by a subject having difficulty retrieving stored memories, even to the point of losing their identity. A fugue state is often reversible, but it can last anywhere from hours to years."

"Umm, Detective Ramirez," I interjected meekly. Everyone in the room turned to look at me, various levels of annoyance on their faces. "My shift is supposed to be over, and if you don't mind, I'd like to clock out. I mean, if you don't need me here..." I trailed off.

"No, Officer Zhou, I'm going to need you," the detective said. "We're going to need your description of the events that led to John Doe's detention, in order to decide whether to arrest him formally. And you've demonstrated a certain rapport with him, which might be useful." She stroked her chin meditatively. "On the other hand, we don't need you right now. Why don't you take a bathroom break? If you've got plans for the evening, you can get those figured out while you're out."

"Okay," I said, ducking out of the room. Behind me, I could hear the Prick renew her argument, until the door closed completely. I pulled my cell phone out of my tight pocket, and saw that Mike had texted me.

"Heard you had to stay late. Reschedule?" his message said. My brain tingled a bit, and I tried to remember my schedule for the next few days. I had the same shift for the rest of the week, but on Thursday and Friday, I was going to be doing a little freelancing at Paradise, the "gentlemen's" club down the street from my apartment. When I'd moved into the neighborhood, I'd thought it was a bad place, but it turned out that putting my assets to a good use could make me a hell of a lot of money.

"Saturday," I replied, then stowed my phone again. As I walked towards the bathroom, I passed the locker room. My brain tingled again, and I had a good idea. I didn't really have much in there, aside from my keys and some clothes I'd been planning to wear on my date. If I packed them up, I could save some time when Detective Ramirez let me go.

I opened up my locker and got out my keys and my clothes. Maybe a more modest woman would've found the clothes embarrassingly skimpy. I was a woman who made part of her living from showing off her naked body, so modesty wasn't my top concern. The keys fit in my pocket only with a huge amount of effort, so I didn't bother trying to wedge in my clothes, even though they were pretty small.

Actually, it turned out I didn't really need to go to the bathroom that much. All I really needed was a chance to walk around a bit. Pretty soon, I was marching back into the interrogation room, carrying my clothes.

When I opened the door to the interrogation room, I nearly dropped my clothes out of sheer astonishment. The Prick was smiling. She was wearing her usual "I'm a professional with a new set of tits" clothes, but somehow, she was smiling. Maybe she'd just gotten the memo about how men react best to hot women when the hot women aren't frowning. It was a pretty good look on her, actually. I reached up and unfastened another button without really thinking about it.

"We need to find out who this

guapetón

ees,

chicas

," Angel said in her fluid accent. "Esomeone must know

quien él es

. Loook at heem! Would choo pass up esuch a estud?" Alexandra blushed and stammered, "N-n-no," then licked her thick, cocksucking lips.

God, Angel had no idea how much I envied her that accent. It was liquid sex for the ear. My folks had been in America too long for me to have a sexy accent. And even if I did have an accent, it would probably just make people think of chopsticks and General Tso's Chicken.

"'Ut i' he hash dish 'ugue thing," Rupinder said, "how can we 'ind out who he ish?" Her lips weren't moving much. That was probably the most irritating thing about her. If Rupinder's mushmouth came from some freak accident, she had all my sympathies. But if this was some weird affectation, she was obviously a total bitch. My guess was that it was an affectation.