My partner, Lee, was assigned to me when I joined the force six months ago. Late thirties and muscular, Lee was definitely the right guy to be teamed up with as a rookie. He taught me the useful tips and tricks you don't learn at the academy, the stuff that actually helps you out on the street. And while he has no plans to trade his seat in the patrol car for one behind a desk, he knows how "the system" works and has been eager to tell me how to plan ahead for my future career.
Though buttering up to your superiors and working overtime like mad gets you noticed, his real advice was that you really just need to find that one opportunity to do something really impressive...and that opportunity can arrive any day.
Knowing of my hopes to one day become a detective, Lee had made sure the right people around town knew that we are always up to lend a helping hand. Many patrolmen and -women don't like being told what to do by the detectives, so being known by these detectives as no-nonsense, helpful street cops helps.
One of those detectives asked us to pick up a suspect going by the name of Biggie.
Lee had gone over the details while I drove to the provided address, an apartment complex where our arrival was always loudly announced by kids on the corners.
The first few times I came here, I wanted to arrest every single one of these assholes, just for all the name calling and whistling they threw my way. A cop in their streets wasn't a welcome sight, but young attractive policewomen were received a little different than older guys. I dreaded to think what would happen if I came here alone.
We walked upstairs to Biggie's apartment, Lee not too subtly shoving aside a pair of youngsters who were looking to provoke the "little white girl looking all tough".
Despite Lee's teachings, I occasionally still wanted to punch brats like that in the mouth. But I knew better than to give in to such taunts, and silently followed my partner's lead.
At the door, Lee turned to me and mentioned that the detectives in question wanted this guy bad, as they were convinced he was involved in a murder a week prior. When the detectives share such information, it means that you're more or less allowed and expected to bend the rules a little, and ensure that you don't give the subject time to escape.
Skipping the formalities of knocking, asking and shouting, Lee went straight to the point and kicked the door in. I followed right behind him, passed him as he went into the living room and approached the bedroom, the door slightly ajar.
I moved into the bedroom and froze at the sight - and sound - of an enormous black guy on top of a small, blonde woman. His nickname was immediately made obvious as he towered over the girl below him, who yelped in surprise of our intrusion.
Biggie, too, turned to face me, and was about to say something when Lee stormed in and told him to shut up, get up and show his hands. With a sigh, Biggie slowly got off of the blonde, who moaned a little in disappointment.
As he climbed out of bed I saw another reason for his nickname. I gasped at the sight of his dick, as big as my forearm and clearly coated in the blonde's juices. He laughed at my obvious distracted state, and Lee told me to "snap out of it" as he stepped towards the bed and told them both to get dressed.
"Are you sure?" Biggie laughed, "I think your partner doesn't want me to get dressed."
Lee, taking little heed to his own advice about reacting to taunts, immediately turned Biggie around and slammed him against the wall, despite being half the man's size. "Shut up and get dressed," he repeated with a grunt.
When he finally got dressed, and the blonde had stormed out, I cuffed him and walked him out with Lee.
"Shit, girl, if you want me all for yourself you can just ask," Biggie said out loud as we walked him to our car. "Don't have to scare the other bitches away like that."
Lee, ever so gentle, slapped Biggie on the back of his head and told him to shut it. I didn't respond to him, nor to the series of insults his neighbors were throwing our way.
For the rest of the shift Lee didn't speak about the arrest or my reaction to it, but on my way out at the end of the day I was stopped by detective Jackson, the guy who asked us to make the arrest.
He wanted to inform me that, while he was grateful that we made the arrest, the guy was already released because there wasn't enough evidence. Without thinking I blurted out that I was told they knew he was responsible for a killing, so how did this happen?
Jackson reaffirmed that they were still sure he ordered the hit, but they had hoped to entice him to confess due to a lack of hard evidence.
With a sigh I apologized for lashing out, blaming it on my growing annoyance of seeing criminals get away with it over and over again. Jackson put a hand on my shoulder and reminded me that many cases sadly don't stick.
When I asked him if that meant they weren't going to continue pursuing this case, he shrugged.
"We figure he has some incriminating evidence on his phone, but we're not getting a warrant for it. There's not much else we can do, so we'll be moving on. Still," he smiled, "keep it up, you're shaping up to be good police."
Though the compliment made me smile in return, and I understood Jackson's situation, I felt annoyed inside. I felt that there was more we could do, and always assumed these detectives were more willing to bend the rules a little to get to the truth.
On my way home I thought about Biggie, and came up with an idea. Admittedly, it was a pretty bad idea but I just wanted to start making a difference.
I drove over to one of Lee's contacts, a small-time drug dealer who mostly supplied teenagers looking to party. With a mild show of intimidation that I learned from my partner, I pressured the guy into handing me a homemade roofie, making up some bogus story about it being for a case. Thankfully, the guy was afraid enough of Lee to be cooperative enough for me.
With the date-rape drug in my purse and a mission in my head, I drove over to Biggie's place, fully intent to doing whatever had to be done to get access to his phone.
I figured it wouldn't be too hard to get to Biggie, just throw a little bit of flirting from an "easy blonde" his way and then spike his drink when he isn't looking. Then, unlock his phone with his fingerprint and I'd have all his emails and texts to hand over to the detectives.
Even without a warrant, they wouldn't ignore the emails, and I'd finally get someone off the streets for more than a weekend.
I parked two blocks out, realizing I could use some liquid encouragement before putting the plan in motion. I entered the local bar, immediately noticing how out of place a white girl looked, but the few people that were there hardly seemed to care. My heart skipped a beat when I saw none other than Biggie at the bar, alone. With little other choice now, I went over and sat down beside him and ordered a cocktail. It took a few seconds for Biggie to give in and look my way, and he let out a chuckle when he recognized me right away.
