One in Ten

To my editor, PokingFun, for her expertise.

To Chris and John for feedback and keeping after me.

And finally, to TalonWolf, for a multitude of advice and because I'm sure he's out there with a sniper rifle making sure I write nice things about him.

Yes, there is an honest to God sex scene in this chapter. I had to make it work for the characters concerned, to both stay within their personalities and advance the story.

I would like to point out that me, the author, admires the police in my country and have always been treated civilly by them. For the sake of this story, they tend to be the bad guys. Law enforcement are often the instruments of the government and society. We could not afford them if they were perfect, and I'm not sure we would deserve them if they were.

A tidal wave is a slight tremor, a ripple on the water and the receding of the sea. The wave is but the last act of the play

Isobel Diaz was in the background, on her phone, deep in intense conversation. The Mayor was trying to create some sort of damage control with Naomi List, the press secretary. The Police Commissioner was glaring at us and making every other cop in the room feel small. The last woman, who I didn't know, was staring at me intently, as if I'd done something wrong.

Check that - done something spectacularly wrong. Francesca Silverhorn, my boss at City Hall's Public Relation department, stood up even as I reached to pull her down.

"You can't hold us here," Francesca declared. "We have done nothing illegal."

"Sit down," the PC yelled. Francesca didn't get a chance to decide. The cop behind her grabbed her shoulder and neck, slamming her back to her seat.

"Boss, your first lesson on being an honorary man: don't give the police an excuse to hurt you because they gladly will," I said just above a whisper.

"Shut up, you bastard," the PC growled at me. "Both of you, just shut the hell up." Francesca looked at me fearfully. I winked then quickly mouthed 'do what they say - exactly'.

It took her a second, but she got it. We both looked straight ahead. In short order, Isobel traversed over to Bethany, pulled her aside and engaged her in quiet conversation. Bethany was betraying the rest of Francesca's office who had stayed for my little bombshell and were likely to pay for that with their livelihoods. The Mayor came at us first.

"This is what we are going to do," she began. "Mr. Jensen, you are going to make a recorded retraction then commit yourself to a mental health facility of my choosing. Ms. Silverhorn, you will resign, stating mental fatigue brought about by your sexual fascination with Mr. Jensen. This is not a debate. This is how it is."

I looked at Francesca. She looked at me. I smiled, she smiled and then we turned as one and smiled at the Mayor. We didn't bother disguising that this was a 'no way in hell, Bitch' smile either.

"Mr. Jensen, you will go first," the Mayor commanded. I kept sitting.

The cop, a Sergeant, tried to pull me up but was hampered by the fact that I still hadn't put my shirt on and I wasn't about to let her put me in a head-lock.

"Get in there," the Police Commissioner motioned Officer Passey and a third cop into the tight confines of the auditorium seating in the City Council Chamber.

"What am I being arrested for?" I called out.

"Inciting to Riot," the Police Commissioner snapped.

"NO!" the unknown woman yelled at the PC.

"I want a lawyer!" I crowed triumphantly. "I demand my Miranda Rights."

"You Idiot," the unknown woman snarled at the PC, who was both annoyed, yet afraid of this unknown woman...and every cop in the room knew exactly what had happened. This wasn't some back alley beat down, or a 'correction' inside my apartment; this was an official arrest with over twenty cops and a dozen civilians all standing around.

They couldn't all be trusted to keep their mouths' shut, so they had to respect my rights for the moment. Whomever that woman was, she had saved me a shitload of unwelcome coercion that was definitely coming down the pipeline, and she didn't look happy about it.

"What did I do?" the PC asked my unknown savior.

"Who are you, anyway?" I gazed at the woman as the cops closed in.

"She's Shelia Montanyard, Chief Civil Affairs Attorney for the Federal District Attorney's Office," Francesca answered to me. The Mayor had already buried her face in her hand. She was a former local District Attorney after all.

"You want to know what you did?" Shelia regarded the PC. "Why don't we have his L-a-w-y-e-r tell you when she shows up, because Goddess knows, we can't ask him anymore."

"Fine, I'll release him on lack of evidence," the PC tried to save herself. Isobel looked hopeful but the Mayor sobbed and Shelia lowered her head to mask her emotions.

"You created a crime," Shelia explained bitterly. "The crime and thus the criminal investigation doesn't go away - but you have managed to dismiss the man in question. Congratulations."

"Good point," I chuckled. "I'm out of here." The three cops around me weren't letting me go. "A little help here?" I wasn't planning on leaving because that would make me delusional.

"Fine, I'll re-arrest him," the PC kept on coming.

"Oh, so now you are stupid and incompetent," Shelia pointed out.

"Hold on," the PC stuttered. "We can fix this."

"How is that going to work?" Shelia snapped. "I'm not covering for you."

"Israel Jensen may not seem much of a problem for you, but he is. Better yet, this woman," she pointed to Francesca, "is about to roast your chestnuts on an open fire. Ms. Silverhorn hasn't broken the law and your Mayor better stop abusing prescription drugs, because her plan is a fantasy."

"We have various points of leverage on Ms. Silverhorn," Isobel came over, seething with hate toward me.

"Don't get me started, Ms. Diaz," Shelia turned on my despised foe. "What kind of ego-fueled obsession convinced you that a man under surveillance by a FEDERAL task force could be dragged off to one of your affairs and you would get away with it?"

"God damn it! The woman in that pirated video was a metropolitan policewoman that was assigned by the investigation to watch over him. He was screwing her. He was sleeping with her. Hell, they hang out together. How could you possibly believe she wouldn't report the entire affair? Is there something wrong with the air in this place that makes you bitches crazy?" Shelia was truly steamed.

"That's uncalled for," the Mayor retorted.

"You think so?" Shelia glared. "You were harpooned on global television a few minutes ago. It wasn't Israel Jensen's press conference - it was yours."

"But, Ms. Silverhorn..." Isobel growled.

"Who is no one anyone knows," Shelia countered.

"We had to wait for the Metropolitan Police to arrive," the Mayor was slowly going under.

"That's right," Shelia glared, "because you couldn't use the cop who was standing right there."

There is that wonderful moment when the majority of the room is going 'huh?' then realize that someone fucked up horribly. Most of the people were glad it wasn't them, but four people were the fuck-ups. Naomi, Isobel, the Mayor and the Police Commissioner were the ones. The cop at the conference who could have arrested me was the Police Commissioner, who was a cop after all.

Isobel was a consummate survivor.

"We'll expect your resignation on the Mayor's desk in an hour," she addressed the Police Commissioner, who looked pole-axed. The woman gathered up her shreds of dignity and slowly walked from the room.

"Mr. Jensen, are you leaving?" Shelia Montanyard looked my way, suddenly civil.

"Can I leave?" I asked. Shelia nodded. I was looking at the cops who reluctantly backed off. I resumed my seat next to Francesca.

"Get out," Francesca whispered.

"With a spastic personality like mine, can I really afford to turn my back on a friend?" I joked back, repeating her own description of our relationship. She was about to chastise me then stopped; I was clearly nuts. "Besides, it isn't like they are letting us anywhere near the press again. All we can do is wait, but it shouldn't be long."

"What are we waiting for?" Francesca studied me.

"The Federal Warrant to arrive," I sighed. Shelia's eyes ratcheted their intensity toward me. Top of my class - how many times does my Inner Child have to scream it?

"Could you do me a favor?" Francesca requested quietly.

"Sure."

"Put your shirt on. You may be every color of the sunset, but you have really - um - good muscle definition and it's a bit distracting," she seemed embarrassed to admit. I had to fight of that bit of fear that always popped up when women got interested in me sexually.

"I'll do it for you," I tried to sound casual. As I was fixing my buttons, a jack-ass comment slipped out of my mouth. "You do realize this pretty much negates having a nipple-rub with Shelia during my interrogation later." That went over abysmally.

"I'm married," Shelia said dismissively.

"Oh, what did you arrest him for?" I snapped off. Yes, I had just implied that law enforcement could only get a male by putting a gun to their heads, figuratively speaking.

"Counterfeiting," she came right back without missing a beat.

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter if his passion is genuine as long as his performance feels real," I grinned.

"All I need is his performance," she kept any real emotion from her countenance. "Why do you chose to have sex with a cop when you claim to hate them so much?"

"I didn't want to, but I fell in love with her," I responded instinctively. No fear.

"You love that she'll help you attempt to escape," Shelia kept coming.

"Ha," I laughed. "You clearly don't know Detective Kristi. She still believes in your garbage. She thinks you cops are going to change and that this society should be saved."

"But you don't?" Shelia tilted her head.

"Why should I if you don't, Mrs. Montanyard?" I grinned.

"I think this society has problems, but I think it is extremely foolish and selfish to abandon it when things can be corrected," Shelia explained.

"I believe that as much as I believe you are married, much less to a counterfeiter," I smirked.

"Ah...when Ms. Silverhorn introduced me, she didn't use 'Mrs.'," Shelia nodded.

"Got it in one," I acknowledged. "I loved doing this kind of give and take in college."

"Why weren't you on your Debate Team? Bowden has a good program," Shelia probed.

"Do you prefer your dildos smooth, ribbed or with those little knobs?" I countered.

"I prefer to use my fingers," she was relentless. Just then, Angel and Seneca, my cop lover and her partner, came in. Most eyes gravitated their way.

Angel's eyes flickered to me, but then focused on Shelia.

"The warrant should be coming through any second now, Ms. Montanyard. We are here to escort the detainee," Angel related calmly.

"Gather him up and escort him over to our offices," Shelia directed.

"Wait," the Mayor finally spoke up. "We still need him. We need to fix this mess."

"No, you need to fix this mess. I need to look into an investigation that goes beyond your lack of re-electability," Shelia glared. "Besides, I'm leaving you Ms. Silverhorn."

"Actually, Ms. Montanyard, could you take Ms. Silverhorn with us - in case I might have told her something important," I all but pleaded.

"Perhaps if you prove helpful," Shelia offered, "the federal government might intervene."

"Oh - sorry Francesca. You have more courage than anyone else in this room. They will neither acknowledge it nor care. All I can offer is my thanks and best wishes," I nearly wept.

"If I had a son that lived..." she was looking teary-eyed.

I saw that hit home with Officer Passey as well; she was likewise beyond my help.

"Mainly I couldn't trust any women on the occasional road trip the Debate Team would have taken. I also wanted to graduate early," I answered Shelia's earlier question.

"Okay," she noted. "Ladies, get him out of here," Shelia directed Angel and Seneca.

As I was being led away, Bethany called out.

"Israel..."

"Bethany...Bethany, just remember during a volcanic eruption, duck and cover," sort of spilled out. I knew it had no relevance to our current circumstances. I felt I had to say something.

Sneaking out the back way, Seneca spoke up.

"Duck and cover is for a nuclear attack," she corrected me. "During a volcanic eruption, you run for your life."

"Really?" I appeared startled. "So, has anyone seen Capri?"

"You are not under arrest," Angel sighed. "You are being detained under a Federal Material Witness warrant."

"Wrong," I chuckled nervously. "I was arrested by the Police Commissioner herself. Apparently I'm a suspect in an 'Inciting to Riot' investigation."

The two cops looked at one another. I could tell Angel was grinning. Seneca was far less amused.

"I see good Ole Shelia hasn't enlightened you two. Now, where are we going?" I resisted giggling like an idiot.

"Fifteenth floor of the Federation Building," Angel gladly replied.

"Thanks, I'll make my call now," I glanced as Seneca to see if she'd stop me. She didn't.

"Capri, this is Israel," I greeted my lawyer buddy.

"I'm in the process of losing my job, but I'm on my way," Capri grumbled. "What are they charging you with and where are you?"

"Material Witness warrant and I'm going to the fifteen floor of the Federation Building," I supplied the pertinent data.

"I would like to say that help is on the way, but it is me and only me," Capri said.

"My boss, Francesca Silverhorn, is going down for this mess too..." I faded out.

"I'm not likely to save you or me. I certainly can't help anyone else," Capri sounded frustrated. "I believe she has some resources and can get her own legal counsel, so don't worry about it." That was pretty much that. The Federation Building was close, we parked in the garage and the elevator took us to the fifteen floor.

I couldn't help a full body-spasm seizing me when the doors opened. I had spent three years trying to be unnoticed, kept my back to the walls and eyes on the exits because I has absolutely no trust in my society to protect me. Yet here I had been in a police station, and now was at federal law enforcement office, all in two days.

It wasn't that I was here, but that I had chosen the path that led me here that really rocked the foundations of my psyche. I was the responsible one. I wasn't accidently stumbling across a car in distress. I wasn't stopping by to talk to a few of my girlfriends buddies. No, this experience was all me.

"Israel, are you going to be okay?" Angel worried.

"Over twenty thousand square feet of pretentious butch women with guns," I joked loudly. "What could possibly go wrong for me here?"

"Angel, I think your guy is unraveling," Seneca whispered to Angel.

She needn't have whispered. I had enunciated at a volume that resonated all over the office space. We had everyone's attention. More importantly to me, I located the woman, or in this case, the group of women, who recognized me. They would be my chief opponents in this hostile territory.

If you run away from women long enough, you start to figure out their hunting habits. Every coterie had a lead lioness and I could tell which one she was. She had strawberry blonde hair and pig-tails and I swear to God, she looked to be fifteen. Her eyes told a very different story. They were cold, bleak and pitiless, yet with a burning fire at their core.

She also had dimples. I had to blink really hard - twice - to make sure my mind hadn't sneaked some freaky mirage into my field of vision.

"I've got him from here, officers," a solid Latina with short-cropped hair ambushed us from the side. She was being polite. It wasn't like there were any choices being made.

"You'll be fine, Israel," Angel called to my retreating form. I couldn't build myself up for a conversation before I was taken to a small room and told to take a seat. I took in the details. The agent didn't have on a name badge - that was meant to isolate me mentally and stop me from trying to ingratiate myself to my captors.

This reinforced my subliminal demons that saw women as faceless aggressors. The room was playing into my claustrophobia. It was also soundproof, playing against my anxiety brought about by a lack of audio stimulation. What my tormentors must not have been counting on was that Sunday had put me past all of this.

Hell, I'd screwed Bethany Fremont and I thought that would never, ever happen again. I'd done it and I'd felt fine afterwards. Dimples the Clown was going to have to do better than this. Better yet, I knew what was coming. First they would wreck my confidence, then they would be my friends who only wanted to help. The blackmail would come later. My pain would be mental, not physical this round.

I hadn't read the Federal playbook, nor was I a master of interrogation. They considered me a dog so they would treat me like a dog - a bad dog. Dimples and company weren't stupid; I imagined they were actually quite bright. Their problem was that they'd been breaking my gender for forty years and very effectively.

The critical difference was that I wasn't an MRA terrorist, or even a criminal in my mind. I had nothing to feel guilty about. They had no leverage and on a visceral level, I wasn't even afraid of them anymore - cautious yes, but not afraid. The man walking into the room was a bit of a surprise. He looked very well-dressed but casual - fatherly if your father was a college professor from an earlier era.

"Hello, Mr. Jensen, I'm Ezra Bryan," he greeted me with a smile. His hazel eyes, ensconced behind round glasses, gave off a comforting glow. He was my friend, just ask him. "I'm here to help you." See? "Can we talk for a bit?" He sat down opposite me before I could respond.

"Can I see your gun and badge?" I asked politely.

"Come now Israel, men don't carry guns. Do you want a firearm?" he remained pleasant.

"Oh," I mused. He answered questions with questions. I knew that trick well. "Where did you get your degree from, Doctor?"

"Holy Cross," he conceded. "Now would you answer a few of my questions?"

I put my hands on my thighs, lowered my chin to my chest and shut out the room. Meditation is a technique best used in an area that is quiet and safe. They had given me only one voice to tune out and, while I didn't trust Dimples, I knew how this escalation would go.

I was safe for now. When the psychiatrist Dimples has sicked on me realized he was losing to a guy with two semesters of psychology, he broke form and did something you never do - he touched a survivor of sexual assault without permission. See, he was here to find me psychologically unsound so they could imprison me without a trial forever.

His problem was that you can't find someone insane if they are capable of reasoned discourse - thus my initial words with him - but wouldn't talk to you. Obstinate isn't a psychological disorder. It's only rude. I was meditating - someone touched me. Since I've been sensory deprived and touched by people who did me harm, this was bad.

I yelped and fell sideways in my chair. I ate the fear, ate the anger and kept my eyes down.

"What is wrong, Israel?" the Dumbass asked with false sympathy, offering to help me up.

I got up without his help.

"Can I see your tablet please?" I countered. I could play this 'answer a question with a question' thing too.

"I'm sorry, but that has confidential information on it. Why did you fall over?" he kept at it.

I pulled my chair around to the side of the table and took a seat.

"Israel, this is not helping your cause. Don't you want the truth to come out?" he smiled in that paternal style. Yes, this was helping my cause and you didn't want the truth to come out, you Jerk, I thought.