Maelstrom

"You probably know more about Cincinnati than I do," I readily conceded to her. I promised myself I would take advantage of her local knowledge.

"Only by osmosis. That's why I want to get out on the street and see it all for myself. My dad has told it all to me already but it's like driving someplace. There's a big difference between somebody telling you how to drive someplace and driving yourself."

"So you want to see all of it? In its ugly glory?" I asked her. I wanted to make sure she would be prepared to see some pretty gritty stuff. It's not fun to see soccer mom overdosed face down on the sidewalk with a syringe hanging from her arm.

"That's what I'm signing up for Max. My father encouraged me to cut my teeth in the West End. That's where real police work is done."

She looked too cute, too clean cut, and too young to be working within the underbelly of Cincinnati. I was worried about us getting in a fight with bad guys and having her get the shit kicked out of her or worse. She was book smart, but was she street smart? Before I could ponder that serious question, lunch arrived.

Chicken dinners were draped on both of Nicky's arms. A breast, thigh and drumstick with mashed potatoes and gravy and an broiled ear of Mexican corn, dusted with a family secret blend of spices. All talking ceased. I almost finished, leaving the leg uneaten. I looked over at Lesley's plate. She finished all of it, which I'm sure earned me beaucoup brownie points for pleasing my new partner.

"You've got a good thing here," Lesley said, waving her hand with a half-eaten roll in it. It would have been a sin to leave them so I joined Lesley in eating the last one in the basket.

"Welcome to my world."

"I like what I see... and eat. You're all right Max."

It was going to be hard not to like her.

Chapter Two

The Biker and the Babe

I was getting settled in with my new partner. Two weeks without a hitch, though Lesley was true to her word and made me get my own coffee. I thought she was ready to handle the next bust. It was late in the day, dusk turning to night. We rolled up to a biker bar located on a deserted street in the West End. Tall grass was growing out of the cracks in the sidewalk and windblown newspapers and paper bags rolled down the street like tumbleweeds. It was the lone building standing on the block. The other buildings had long ago been razed and had become vacant lots filled with neighborhood trash and surrounded by "temporary" chain link fence.

Yeah, it was that kind of neighborhood. A place where good girls like Lesley are never seen. This was the world of bottle blondes who would sell their bodies for twenty dollars. I got out of the car first, watching my step for dog shit and used needles. I signaled to Lesley to get out of the car. It probably was the first time she had ever been in a neighborhood like this. Daddy would tell her about the West End, but would never take her there.

That was my job. To show her the real world and not that phony world where everyone pretends that everything is peaches and cream. It's not, and Lesley would see for herself how people lived when they got the short end of the stick. Nothing was verboten in the West End -- everything and everyone, including their lives, had a price.

I got a tip that my old friend Sonny Greenwood was back in town. Sonny and I had serious history. Sonny was the chieftain of the West Enders, a motorcycle club founded by his father Butch Greenwood. Butch was the person who figured out how to distribute high quality methamphetamine to finance the gang's weapons arsenal. He was currently serving twenty years to life in a maximum security prison, which left Sonny to carry on the gang's criminal enterprise. I was one of Sonny's arresting officers who had to testify at his trial for meth possession. We didn't get the distribution charge to stick so he did three years for straight possession and was released on parole a few weeks ago. I got wind he was having a birthday party at this particular bar and that prostitutes were going to be there for the "entertainment."

I thought Sonny was a pig, and how better to kill two birds with one stone then to bust one of the hookers at his birthday party. I know it was stupid of me to do it, especially with a rookie partner, but common sense was never my strong suit.

Before we went I told Lesley all about Sonny and about what we would see. She asked lots of questions on the way over. Remember, she's the one who said she wanted to drive instead of being in the passenger seat reading the map.

The bar, called Buffalo Bill's Saloon, was their gang's chief hangout. There were at least twenty Hogs parked in front of it. I pulled up to the sidewalk in front of a vacant lot next to the bar. Even though it was broad daylight there was no one on the street.

We approached the badly scratched and dented steel front door. I could see that a hole had been blown in the front cinder block wall next to the door frame. It was the size of a grapefruit and looked like it was made with a shotgun. I could hear loud music and shouting through the gaping hole. I noticed Lesley's hand was resting on her gun and motioned to her to relax. The last thing you wanted around here was a gunfight. I was confident we were badly outgunned. We needed to use our authority and bravado to make this bust.

"Remember," I said in a loud whisper, "No guns. His bark is worse than his bite. He's on probation, and assaulting a police officer is the last thing he needs. Got it?"

Lesley nodded.

"Yes?" I asked her.

"Yes boss," she said back.

I pushed the door open and was instantly bathed in a garish reddish light. Long dark mahogany bar on the left with ten or twelve stools and then a room in the back that had a pool table and a couple pinball machines. The air was thick with smoke from tobacco and weed, and some popular country song was blaring from the old fashioned juke box. Most of the "regulars" were in the front, drinking beer and a few dancing. The shouting was coming from the back room.

The door to the room was flanked by two shirtless guys wearing West Enders leather vests. They closed ranks in front of me to block my entrance into the back room. They were both big and heavily muscled but the one on the left seemed like he was in charge.

I could see through them that Sonny was kneeling on the pool table fucking one of the whores doggy style while his gang members were cheering. There was another woman behind him trying to lick his ass and balls while his hips were moving. It was some serious fucking for a man who went without for two years. The man on the left moved over to block my view.

"What's your business here... Officer?" he snarled at me. He didn't make me feel welcome and I didn't appreciate it.

"None of your fucking business, now step aside," I answered. Before he could say or do anything I gave him a love tap to his gut with the butt end of my nightstick. I told Lesley no guns, but our billy clubs were fair game.

The man doubled over and his mate started to move towards me. I held up my club. He got the message. He stepped aside and lowered his head to show his submission. He knew I wasn't afraid to use it.

The action on the pool table stopped when Lesley and I entered the back room. There were at least twenty people crowded into the tight space to watch their leader get fucked and sucked at the same time. Sonny was on his knees behind a twenty something buck naked woman who was on her hands and knees on the tattered pool table felt. Sonny's pants were puddled around his knees and his short thick cock was hanging out, almost flaccid, with a sheen from the harsh fluorescent light meant to illuminate a game of pool instead of his cue stick. There was also a woman on her back, her head under Sonny's crotch. You can imagine what she was doing when we interrupted her. She sat up when we came in and Sonny looked over at us with a piercing glare. The room became deathly quiet.

"What fucking right do you have to interrupt my birthday party?" he bellowed.

"It's the Penal Code Sonny. You're breaking it now. Remember? We used it to put you away."

Hey, as long we were in the bear's den I might as well kick him. Not advisable, but satisfying.

"OK. Now everyone off the fucking pool table."

I motioned to the two women, who looked at Sonny to find out what he wanted them to do.

"Now!" I shouted. The women got off. Sonny was by himself, half-naked, and you could tell he was feeling exposed because he got off the table and pulled up his pants, though he remained shirtless. He had the usual tattoos for his gang, but he also had his nipples pierced with small gold hoops.

His reddened face meant his temperature, and his temper, were skyrocketing.

Lesley and I got pushed apart, and there were suddenly two bikers separating us. Lesley was starting to get jostled.

"Hey blondie," one of them said. It was a short guy with a beer gut and a bushy beard who bumped Lesley against two other men. Someone got a free feel of her tit before Lesley pulled herself away.

Mr. Chubby got Lesley's attention and put his tongue in the "V" between two stubby fingers. The others in the room jeered as Lesley pushed through them to get to me. They had their fun. She didn't seemed flustered, which was good.

"OK, you two women with me. The rest of you back the fuck off and make way. Lesley, go ahead and arrest them."

Lesley snapped to and cuffed each of the women. Sonny stood up off his barstool. He had a heavy five o'clock shadow and his ample hairy gut was hanging over the unbuttoned waistband of his pants. He hitched up his pants and took one step towards me.

"What is it Max? Do you want a piece of me?" He stuck his chin out at me. He was baiting me to take the first punch.

Someone behind me grabbed me around my waist and pinned my arms against my body so I couldn't move.

Then I heard a sharp cracking sound. The unmistakable sound of a bone snapping.

"Motherfucker!" shouted the man who has holding me from behind. He crumpled to the ground in a heap, writhing in pain and holding his busted leg.

Lesley brandished her nightstick in front of her. "Who's next?" she challenged, now suddenly appearing to be a foot taller than everyone in the room. No one made a move and from what I could tell no one was even drawing a breath.

The tension in the room suddenly dissipated. My little newbie partner was in charge and made no bones about it. I was impressed by her assertiveness.

"No more!" shouted Sonny. "It's my birthday. I don't want this to ruin it. Let them out."

The bikers gave way as we made our exit to the pool room door. The man on the ground was helped onto a chair, grimacing in pain.

"Max!" Sonny bellowed before we were out the door. I turned around.

He wagged his plump forefinger at me. "I won't forget this."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Get in line Sonny. There's a lot of people ahead of you." Then I said to Lesley, "Nice assist there partner." I patted her on the butt.

She said she had my back and she did.

* * *

The two women were in the back of the squad car. I rewarded Lesley by letting her drive. I turned around in my seat to address them. "One of you is going in," I announced. "Which one?"

The two women looked at each other. The younger one that was on her knees meekly raised her hand.

"Pull over," I told Lesley. She signaled and then pulled up along the curb of the busy thoroughfare. It was a moonless night, but the street was well lit. I got out of the car and opened the back passenger door. I pointed to the older woman who was sitting next to it.

"Get moving. It's your lucky day. I only need one."

She scrambled out of her seat and hopped onto the sidewalk, leaving us without looking back.

* * *

We rolled into the station a bit before dinnertime. There was a new desk clerk there to book our catch. He looked like a teenager, though he was wearing the uniform of a policeman. Lesley immediately got his attention.

"Say, I haven't seen you around here before," the officer said to Lesley before I could say anything. He was obviously enamored of my cute blonde partner.

"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt with business," I told the mesmerized clerk. I pulled our prisoner forward. "Book her under section 437."

"But that's for littering." It was crystal clear to him that she was a prostitute.

"I know. But a cleaner Cincinnati and all."

"Are you sure, Officer...?"

"Pemberton. Max Pemberton."

"Yes Officer Pemberton. Are you sure? It's just a misdemeanor."

"I'm sure. An overnight stay, then let her out in the morning."

"All right."

"Fucking waste of time," he muttered under his breath.

"You got that right," I told him. My hearing's better than most.

As we were walking away Lesley asked, "So Max, you let one go and you book the other one for littering?"

"Look, I'm going to put it on my report as an arrest of a prostitute. I did. I just didn't arrest her for prostitution."

"Always living live on the razor's edge, eh Max?" she retorted.

"Stick with me babe, you ain't seen nothing yet."

* * *

After the bust at the biker bar I stayed around till about eight finishing up paperwork. It was Wednesday night, and most Wednesday nights I'd stop by Bailey's, a mid -19^th century mansion in the Laurel Homes Historic District that was converted to a fashionable bar. The area was an enclave in the West End where dilapidated early 20^th century homes were gentrified by upwardly mobile young singles.

Bailey's was owned by Madlyn Bailey, my best friend from high school. Like Nicky, she was a successful business person, but with a bar instead of a restaurant. Bailey's featured a twenty foot long teak bar that Maddy bought during one of her vacations to France, wooden tables covered in neatly arranged metal champagne caps from producers all over the world encased in Lucite, and antique Tiffany lamps. Maddy ran the bar with the help of her younger sister Candace. Maddy was preppy and straight. Candace was a free spirited lesbian.

Candy had started an informal Wednesday ladies only night at the bar that became a popular gathering place for lesbians. I started going there from the beginning when there was a sparse crowd, but after a year the place was hopping and it was always two or three deep at the bar.

I mentally planned on having a couple drinks and seeing if I could talk to Maddy for a few minutes to catch up. I was tired, and the leftover meatloaf I ate for dinner at my desk felt like a brick in my stomach.

Things pretty much went off the rails from the moment I set foot in the bar. I spotted Maddy. She waved me over, and before I could order a drink she put her elbow on the bar and started talking.

"Woman over there's been asking about you," she said, cupping her hand over her mouth as if she was passing on some state secret to me. She finished polishing a wine glass and slid it into an overhead wire rack.

I leaned with my hip against the wooden bar rail. "That so?"

"Uh huh. She's young and she's flashing around a Platinum card, buying drinks for everyone."

Maddy was impressed by money. Whoever she was talking about apparently had a lot of it.

"Where is she?"

Maddy put down her bar towel and straightened up, looking at the far the end of the long bar where there was a cluster of younger woman. I couldn't hear anything through the roar of the bar conversation, but I could see their smiling faces as they laughed together at something funny.

"She's the one with the short hair." Maddy pointed to a woman with black spikey hair and an unzipped short leather jacket. She looked to be in her mid-20's. Medium height. I couldn't really make out her face. She was chatting up one of the bar regulars I recognized.

She must have sensed I was checking her out because she interrupted her conversation and turned her head to look at me. Dark eyes. Clearly checking me out. She said something to the person she was talking to and picked up her drink. I watched her weave her way through the women standing three deep at the bar. I could see the brash exterior, the pointy hair (looking too perfect by the way), the stylishly punk leather jacket that was clearly designer, and the gold barbell through her right eyebrow. But I could also see she was a beautiful young woman under that tough veneer, though there was a lot of swagger in her gait. She broke through a group of older women who were having an animated conversation. She squeezed through to get close enough to talk to me.

"You were looking at me." She said it without inviting an answer. I ignored the lack of social grace. Her eyes were the color of fine jade. Smoky eyes. No, smoldering eyes. Anyway I've always been a sucker for those kind of eyes.

"Wasn't against the law last time I checked," I said back. Shit, she was going to try to pick me up.

"It's funny coming from a cop." She laughed at what she said.

"So you know I'm a cop?" Somebody was talking about me to her.

"Sure. Your name is Max Pemberton. Let me buy you a drink."

I could see Maddy was eavesdropping. She was the mole.

"You sold me out," I told her, rolling my eyes.

"She paid good money for that information," Maddy answered, not caring about my accusation and thinking about how many drinks this woman paid for on her credit card.

"She's cute and she's buying everyone drinks," she continued, but also for my new friend's benefit as well.

"Speaking of which, I'd like another Macallan 18." The cutie, punky, very forward woman pointed to the top shelf.

"And you Max? What'll you have?"

My new friend said it as if it was a foregone conclusion I would accept her invitation for a free drink. She was right of course. Macallan 18 was a nice ride. I wanted to ride both her and that fine whiskey.

"Make that two," I told her.

Maddy went back to attend to our drinks, leaving me to continue the conversation.

"So you know my name. What's yours?" I asked.

"Courtney."

"Got a last name?"

"Uh huh." She stopped dead, telling me it was my turn again.

So we were going to play that game. I'd play.

Maddy came back with our drinks. Courtney held up her glass and tapped it against mine. I put my lips on the edge of the glass and let the amber liquid touch them. Ohhh, that was getting so close to sex.

I took my first long sip, letting it coat my tongue. Smooth as silk, with just enough char from the barrel to give it the grip of a fine whiskey. She was getting to me, and quickly.

She took an appreciative sip and put her glass on the bar. "So Max, tell me about what you do."

Not the romantic type of question, but Courtney was clearly intrigued by me because I was a cop. I wouldn't usually go for someone at least five years younger than me but this was no ordinary twenty-something chick.

"You know I'm a cop. I'm a detective in Vice. I do whatever the fuck they tell me to do."

"Who's they?"

"Management."

"Uh huh."

"What are 'they' telling you to do now?"

I took another sip of the whiskey before answering. I decided that if she wanted to buy these drinks for me I'd be happy to answer all of her questions.

"Bust whores," I answered, probably being too rough. "Didn't you know we're going to clean up the streets? No junkies. No whores. Nice and pretty, just like the politicians promised." I finished my shot and slammed my empty glass on the bar. "It's a big fucking waste of time."

Courtney didn't seem impressed by my show of righteous indignation, but was sympathetic.

"That's why it's good to have fun," she said.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked.

"There's too much bullshit in the world, and I just want to have fun."

"Don't we all?" I asked rhetorically. But she was right to call me on it.