I was raised to respect the police. My parents told me they are there to serve and protect, to look out for the good guys and get rid of the bad. Police have a dangerous, difficult job. They often put their lives on the line, and I was told early on to listen when they spoke.
Fact is, the majority of police are upstanding members of society, but there are some that put themselves before the safety or rights of others. As the song says, one bad apple don't spoil the whole bunch, girl.
But Iâm getting ahead of myself, way ahead.
I would say Iâm just a normal guy, with a decent paying job, a loving wife and two adorable kids. Summers we take a week at the beach, and in winter there is a ski lodge which has caught our fancy. Once a week my wife and I make love, and predictably thereâs a little more lovemaking on birthdays and anniversaries.
As a supervisor at the local substance testing facility, I've met a number of lawyers that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. There are some who are actually great guys, and Sean Walsh is one of them. He is one of the best lawyers I've worked with during my 15-plus years at Jasnof Pharmaceuticals.
Sean has been defending the good and bad of Cape May County, New Jersey, for eight years. A 30-something Irishman, heâs defended everyone from hookers to senators, embezzlers to wife beaters, most with the same devotion. He won some cases, lost others, but always remembered where he came from. He did pro bono work, coached his sonâs baseball team, and was rumored to have a run for Congress in November. Some didnât like him, saying he got criminals off, while a small number of clients held a grudge because they thought he should have gotten them out of the strong arm of the law with trickery or deceit.
He is married to Stephanie, a demure yet sexy woman of 29, the mother of Seanâs only child. The lovely couple regularly dined at our house, and I couldnât say I hadnât lusted after Steph on more than one occasion. But it was look, not touch, of course, as I would never stray away from the marital bed and surely neither would she. Besides, I couldnât hold a candle to Seanâs looks.
Still, in my own fantasyland, Stephanie has wrapped her long tanned legs around me more than once. She was up there with Madonna, Britney, Julia and Jill-from-the-office as objects of my fantasies. I undressed her in my mind, dressed her up in outfits, watched her masturbating, you name it.
On a Friday night in March I ran into Stephanie at the Ocean Drive Club, a local hangout south of Ocean City. She was leaving the womenâs room while I was heading for the menâs room, an unlikely place for a conversation.
âJon!â she said with a smile and a slight slur to her voice. âHow are you? How are Deena and the kids?â
I smiled back at the stunning woman, dressed in a tight tee top and light blue miniskirt. âTheyâre great. They left this afternoon for Shippensburg. Visiting her mom for the weekend. You here with Sean?"
"Nope! Girl's night out," she giggled. "My friends and I are just out having some fun. I'd ask you to join us, but..."
âNo, no, no,â I cut her off. âIâm just going to grab a bite and watch the Sixers. Besides, I donât look good in a dress.â
Stephanie laughed, waved me away and headed back to the bar. I watched her waltz away with a smile on my face and a woody in my pants.
I hunkered up to the bar and sat down in a primo position across from the wide screen television set. A salad, chicken parm dinner and slice of apple pie later, I nursed several glasses of sparkling water while I watched the game.
Around 10 I decided to leave, and pulled together my belongings for the ride home. As I left the bar I spied Stephanie in the parking lot, fumbling with her car keys, obviously inebriated.
âHey Steph, need a lift?â
âWhat? Oha hish Jonn,â she slurred, dropping her keys to the ground.
I watched as she attempted to pick up the keys, a long-legged woman in distress. I asked again if I could give her a lift, but she stammered something about being fine and in control.
She was anything but, and I just couldnât leave her on her own. It would be dangerous for her to drive, and I would never forgive myself if something bad happened to my best friendâs wife.
âSeriously, I would be happy to drive you home Stephanie. Hop into my car,â I cajoled to no avail.
She defiantly shook her head, saying no while leaning against her car. âIâm okay, but Iâll give you a ridey if you likey.â
Stephanie was blitzed. I was not. But against my better judgment, I agreed to let her drive, figuring that if she was having trouble negotiating the road we could easily pull over and switch seats.
What a mistake that decision turned out to be.
I poured Stephanie into the car then made my way to the passenger seat, wondering all the while about the wisdom of letting her take the wheel. It only took a few minutes for her to start the car, pull out onto Route 9, and then begin a slow weave down the street for about a half mile. As luck would have it, flashing lights accompanied by a siren stunned her to a bit of soberness. âOh shit,â Stephanie muttered.
Busted!
âTake a deep breath and let me do the talking,â I instructed rolling down the window to get fresh air into the car.
I watched as the tall police officer slowly approached the vehicle.
âDriverâs license and registration m'am,â he firmly said.
âYesh her,â she replied, bringing a frown to the officer's face.
Somehow she pulled out the information and handed it to the officer. I could swear he was leering at the woman, shaking his head.