Police Training Ch. 02

Hello, my pervy readers. I'm back with the 4-part continuation of Police Training. There will be spankies, laughter, criminal activities, and some heart-wrenching scenes.

As usual, this is a finished story, and I'll be submitting one chapter every Sunday. Enjoy.

Special thanks to MJ Wacko for being the bestest editor ever.

Three years have come and gone since the fateful first meeting of our star-crossed lovers. Nicolai's businesses, both the legal and the not-so-much legal, have thrived. His children are grown and have started to take on more and more responsibilities. They're making a few rookie mistakes here and there, but overall they are doing fine.

Lizzy graduated third in her class and is a two-year veteran in the NYPD. She still works a regular beat, but is looking for an opportunity to prove herself and start climbing the ladder. To say she was shocked when she found out her Nic was the one and only Nikolai Kerchenko might be an understatement. She knew who he was of course, her family hated him, but she never had a face to go with the name while she was growing up. When his name and picture were first displayed on the monitor during the roll-call and beginning of shift update, she choked on her bagel. Her cousin actually had to give her the Heimlich maneuver to force the chunk out. No one in the meeting missed the timing of her choking either, and she was taunted for weeks about being in love with Nikolai Kerchenko. Little did they know how close to the truth they were.

*******

Sunday afternoon dinner is a tradition in the Byrne house. At 3PM, massive amounts of food are placed on the large table in the dining room. Everyone and anyone is invited, just don't be late. Tucked in with all the other middle class households in the neighborhood, the clan (as they still call themselves) gets together to catch up on the past week, and discuss the upcoming one. Shop talk is prevalent, with a healthy dose of constructive criticism tossed in, and laughter. Always laughter. The Byrne's might not have a lot, but they have each other.

For the past month my brothers have been trying to convince me to do this stupid charity thing. And today is no exception. At 3:10 PM after all the plates are filled with food and there is no escape, they start again. Luckily, of my five brothers, three are working today. So I only have to put up with two, Donal and Finn.

"You're going anyway, Liz. Why not just contribute. It's for Big Brothers / Big Sisters." Donal even pulls out the pamphlet for the event. It has the standard silent auctions, the 50/50 raffles, the roaming baskets raffles, and there on the bottom - Dinner, Dessert and Dancing auction: Your chance to win a delicious 5-course meal on stage with a lovely or handsome contributor who will provide a homemade dessert followed by dancing after the meal. Bidding starts at $175. Meal starts at 6:00. Dancing till 11:00.

After swallowing the dumpling I had stuffed into my mouth. "No. No. No. We're not starting this again. I will be contributing. I'm going to buy stuff, I am not going to be bought. Period."

"Don't think of it like that! It's more like a date. Someone will buy you the nice gourmet meal instead of the rubber chicken the rest of us will be eating. You just have to provide dessert."

"Why don't I make the dessert for you, and you can go up on stage and have everyone bid on you. Then you can have the gourmet dinner."

"I'm a guy. No way!"

"Ah HA! I knew it. It's OK for a girl to be bought and sold for an evening, but not a guy. It says 'handsome' right on the pamphlet. You want it so bad, you do it." This goes on for a while until mom sees I'm getting frustrated, and puts an end to it with one word –Enough. The table goes quiet for a few seconds before new topics are picked apart.

After dinner, I'm sitting on the back porch finishing off my strawberry shortcake in peace and quiet when my grampa comes out. He had the same idea; I hold his dessert plate as he gets settled on the large 2-person swing next to me. We eat in silence for a while.

"You should do the auction thing. I think it'd be good for you." His voice is calm and even. I can remember him using it during ceremonies when he was Police Commissioner. It's his 'listen and learn' voice.

"Aww Grampa, not you too. Come on. Drop it."

"I will, but I get my two cents in first." He looks at me to see if I'll argue or not. When I don't he continues. "I think it would be good for you to meet different people. This is completely safe; you'll be up on a stage with hundreds of people around watching out for you. You'll get a good meal and meet someone you might not get a chance to meet at any other time. You'll dance for a while, have some fun, and it'll help a charity we believe in. You haven't had a boyfriend that lasted longer than a month or two since you got back from the army. I'm worried about you."

I hug him. "I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me. I just haven't found the right guy yet."

"And this is a great opportunity to meet one." He's still pressing the point.

"Grampa, I just don't want to. OK."

"That's what I don't understand. Why? Why don't you want to?"

"Grampa..." I try whining, but he just waits for me to answer. "What if no one bids on me?" My voice cracks just a little at the end. I can see myself standing up there, holding a stupid pie, and complete silence surrounds me. I'd be humiliated.

He laughs. "Where did that come from? I never pegged you for lack of confidence. Of course people will want you. Lots of people will fight over you."

"You know I'm a tomboy. This is a girl thing. I'm scared to be up there all alone and get humiliated. If it was a boxing match, or a hockey game, I'd kick ass. But this... I'm out of my league here, grampa."

He hugs me tight. "Oh, baby. You're gonna kick ass on this too. You'll have men fighting over you. I guarantee it. And if they don't, I'll have the boys beat the crap out of everyone at the event." I laugh as we sit back on the swing and just hold each other. "Besides, I already have Samuel at the market getting fresh rhubarb for you. I'm not sure how he's doing that at the end of October, but he is." I punch him in the shoulder and he just laughs. I love my grampa.

*******

His driver is in line to let him out at the Marriott Marquis for the Big Brothers / Big Sisters annual charity event. He's never been to this before, but his associate Williamson said both Scott and El-Habir are supporters and usually show up at this event. Scott's company has a timing device he wants for his baseball pitching machines, and El-Habir has been calling him twice a week for the last two months. No idea what he wants and he's being super secretive about it. He probably got caught doing something illegal, and wants to 'trade-up" to lighten his sentence. So I definitely want to catch him off guard.

The car pulls up to the front of the line, and the valet opens the door. A short walk through the photographers, and into the hotel. Inside he gets a pamphlet and a listing of what's going on in what rooms. Williamson will be in the bar, so that's the first stop. God, I hope I'm never that predictable. I see Williamson, and just down the bar is El-Habir. This is just too easy.

El-Habir visibly blanches when he turns and sees me standing behind him. Yeah, he's working for the cops. We have a short, terse conversation, that wouldn't prove anything if replayed in a court of law. El-Habir sulks out of the building when I'm done with him.

Williamson is drunk when I get to him, and it's not even 5 o'clock yet. I keep the distain off my face as he slurs and giggles in front of me. I rifle through the pamphlet for a distraction. He tells me his daughter is participating in some dinner thing tonight, and when I mention the 'dinner thing' auction has already started, he grabs me and rushes me into the other room where his wife is holding a table for us. His wife scolds him, but tells him he hasn't missed her turn.

As the girl up on stage smiles while holding a cheesecake, I browse the pamphlet I was given earlier. The last page is the list of participants for the dessert auction, one name catches my eye; Elizabeth Byrne. It can't be her, can it?

The girl on stage is sold for $375, and the next girl is called. If the pamphlet goes in order, Lizzy should be up in four more auctions. I make small talk with Mrs. Williamson, getting the details on this auction. If it is her, this could be an interesting night after all.

The four auctions go by swiftly, the bids ranging between $300 and $950. Mrs. Williamson is ecstatic when her daughter gets sold for $625. My breath catches as she comes out. A little summer white and blue checkered dress, very southern, but not very practical for October in New York. Her red hair is shorter than I remember, the ends just teasing her shoulders. She's put on a few pounds, maybe ten or fifteen, but they're in all the right places. She no longer looks like a girl; she has all the promise a woman's body can offer.

Her face is unchanged, still as beautiful as I remember. I can see the stoic posture of a soldier, she has a smile on her lips, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Her eyes are cold and hard. At first I think it's anger marring her features, but when the first bid is made for $175, and then a second for $185, her eyes close for a second and she visibly relaxes. She was afraid no one would bid on her. My fierce little wild thing has a weak spot. I sit quietly as the bids get higher. They slow down in the upper $300's, with the last bid coming in at an even $400. The auctioneer waits and then calls out the traditional last chance – Going once. All is quiet. Going Twice. All is quiet.

My turn. "$450." A few heads nearby turn to see who the new bidder is. Then there is a 'ruckus' coming from the right side of the stage, near the front. Several red-haired heads pop up over the crowd, then a few more, a total of eight pairs of eye are shooting daggers at me over the heads of the other people seated for the auction.

For the first time since bidding I turn my eyes toward Lizzy. She's staring at me. I can't tell if its anger, contempt, fear, or shock, but it looks like she wants to kill me. God, I loved fucking her. I need her again.

The Byrne family won't let me take their little girl without a fight. "$475." For the first time, she takes her eyes off me, and glares at her families table. Her uncle has been trying to have me arrested for something, anything, for the last decade. I hope he's here tonight. It would be classic to steal his niece out from under him.

So it begins. "$500." At first, they raise the bids in increments of $25, then I counter-raise it to the next hundred. When it gets to $900, they pause. After a short terse discussion, one of the younger ones raises to $910.

I counter with a thousand. I can see a bit of what they're doing through the crowd. All the Byrnes are checking their wallets and throwing cash onto the table. The bid needs to be paid in full before the dinner can begin and they're pooling their minimal resources. I look up at Lizzy. She looks livid, glancing between me and her families table. A counter bid of $1,010 is made by a younger looking Byrne, probably one of her many brothers.

No more playing. "$1,500" Ohh's and Ahhs are heard in the ballroom as the rest of the room enjoys the competition. My bid is quickly countered with $1,510. They are getting more animated at the table, and Lizzy is now staring straight ahead to the back of the room. Her features set in stone.

"$2,000." There he is. Rogan Byrne. Lizzys uncle is standing now, staring directly at me. I try not to smile, but I'm not completely successful.

"2,010." Rogan shouts it out over the din of background noise in the room.

"3,000." The back of the room is filling up with onlookers. The Williamson's are enjoying the attention their table is getting.

"$3,010."

I think that's high enough. Time to twist the knife. I motion over one of the attendants. The auctioneer holds the proceedings while we talk. He walks quickly to the front to relay the query to the auctioneer. Both men then go to the Byrne table.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, and ladies. But there is a question as to whether you can actually pay the bid, or if you are just trying to drive up the price." Both men look suspiciously at the pile of petty cash and debit cards on the table.

Rogan defends his family's honor first. "We're good for it. You know that. You'll get every penny."

The auctioneer tries to placate the irate Irishman. "Of that, we have no doubt. The question is: Can you pay the bid before the dinner starts in less than 15 minutes? Seamus, you were on the board when we voted on this. If the bid can't be paid before the item is given out, the bidding will start over without the participation of the offender." All eyes look to Lizzy's grampa, and he nods his head in agreement. He did vote for the update to the rules. Some participants 'forget' to pay and then the council members have to spend weeks trying to get payments out of certain contributors. Now, everything is paid tonight, or the item is resold. "Can you pay $3,010, right here, right now?"

The table searches the pile of cash and debit cards, looking for a miracle. The auctioneer shakes his head and continues. "I'm sorry, Seamus. Rogan. I have to restart bidding without you." The Byrnes look at each other helplessly.

The auctioneer returns to the podium. "Ladies and gentleman, there has been some issues brought to our attention, and for this particular auction, the table here has been forfeit from participating. It was an honest mistake, and no further action will be taken against the members. The last bid was $400 from Mr. Silas if I remember correctly." A man nods that his was the $400 bid. "Bidding will continue from there. Do I have $425?"

I look at Lizzy, emotionless as a statue up onstage. I raise a finger, accepting the $425 bid. And the bidding begins again.

The Byrne's spread out in the ballroom, seeking out friends to make bids in their place. The amount steadily rises to a thousand before their allies start refusing them. My final bid is $1,200. And there is silence in the hall as the auctioneer calls out Going once. Nothing. Going twice. Nothing again. "Sold to Mr.?"

"Kerchenko, Nikolai Kerchenko."

"Welcome Mr. Kerchenko, and thank you for helping Big Brothers / Big Sisters. Sold to Mr. Nikolai Kerchenko." The gavel is pounded on the podium. I look and Lizzy is gone from the stage. I didn't see her go. Three more people are left in the auction, and while that's going on, a woman comes to take my payment. After the $1,200 is put on my card, I'm told that in a few minutes, my dinner companion will be out to greet me and escort me to the table on the stage and that I should sit tight right here. The first three courses will be cheese fondue, a fruit and nut course, and then soup. After the soup there will be half an hour before the main meal begins. After the meal is done, it will be an hour before the dessert course. Dancing, if agreed upon by both parties will continue until 11PM. We will be free to get up and wander the rooms during the free intervals, or during the time allotted for dancing. For promotional pictures and so other guests can see the festivities, they ask that we stay on stage for the scheduled meal times. I nod my head in agreement. That's perfect.

I wait. I ignore the table near the front. Time crawls slowly. Where is she?

*******

Livid does not begin to define how I feel right now. As soon as the auctioneer said going twice, I leave the stage. Some of the other participants try to talk to me, telling me how handsome the man is, or how exciting the bidding was, but mostly they want to find out juicy gossip about the situation, but I just walk by them calmly. Rage is boiling inside me, but outside, you'd never know it. I actually think I might be in shock. Nic. Fucking Nikolai Kerchenko bid on me and won. That arrogant ass. I'm walking as calmly as possible down the stairs behind the stage when my family appears before me.

Without thinking I punch Liam in the nose. Hard. He's one year older than me, and I'm pretty sure he pressed me the most about doing this stupid shit. Malachi was right behind Liam and helped catch him. He opens his mouth to speak, but stops dead when he sees my face. The rage is boiling to the surface. "Don't even start with me, you fuckers!" I hear gasps from the girls at the top of the stage. "This is your fucking fault. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for all of you manipulating me into doing what you thought was best for me." I look right at my grampa and dare him to deny it. He stays silent. "No more. I have a dinner date to prepare for. And all of you are going to leave me alone. Got it?"

Rogan takes his own life in his hands. "Baby, you can't do this. Not with Kerchenko. He's dangerous."

I mimic the rhetoric I've been hearing for the last month, sarcasm dripping like venom off every word. "It's safe. You'll have fun. Meet new and wonderful people. You'll meet a good guy." I continue to glare at them. "Remember?"

"Lizzy, give us a minute. We'll think of something. We'll get you out of this." My papa tries placating me.

I laugh. The cold, exasperated sound fills the hallway behind the stage. "And then what. Go back to sit with you? You don't get it, do you? I'd rather sit in a pit of vipers, than with any of you tonight." I look directly at my grandfather. "You humiliated me. I'm going to go have dinner with Mr. Nikolai Kerchenko because I'd rather spend time with a criminal than with any of you right now. At least with him I know he's evil. I'd rather fight a head on attack, than get stabbed in the back any day." I look each one in the eye to emphasize my point, and to stop any back talk. The soft, quiet, finality of my voice is a stark contrast to just a few moments ago. "Just leave me alone." I turn and go out a rear entrance to try and compose my thoughts to regain some semblance of calm before dealing with the next asshole scheduled on this lovely evening.

*******

It takes twenty minutes to finish up the auction and get everyone settled up. I'm using all my concentration trying to keep my leg from bouncing up and down. Finally I see the distinctive blue and white checkered dress weaving through the crowd. I'm drawn to the sway in her hips as she moves around the other guests, coming closer and closer with every step. My eyes move up her body and hold her eyes. Shit. Her eyes are red. Was she crying? She's almost here.

"Mr. Kerchenko. My name is Liz. I'm here to escort you to the stage for dinner." Her voice is pleasant and very formal.

"Nic. Please." The Williamsons introduce themselves as I'm standing up. Mrs. Williamson can't help herself and gushes about how exciting the bidding was. She's fishing for a juicy little tidbit of gossip. This is why I don't have many friends. Liz is polite to the wife, but doesn't give out any info. She's a smart woman.

Liz turns sharply, and guides me to the hallway that leads to the stage. The hallway is short and thankfully empty. I grab her arm and swing her around to face me. "Lizzy, are you OK? Have you been crying?"

She pulls her arm out of my grasp. "I'm fine. And it's Liz. No one calls me Lizzy anymore. This way, please." She turns just as another couple come into the hallway. I knew this would be odd, but I didn't think she'd cry about it.

A hotel waiter sits us at one of three dozen tables on the stage; Lizzy's back is to her family. Everyone else is getting beef tips or chicken, but I paid for a first class, five course meal. The tables are small, just big enough for two. A silver candle holder holds a solitary white taper candle. A single red rose sits in a small silver vase next to the candle.