Coffee
Noel took another sip of his stone-cold coffee. The caffeine had long since failed to have any effect, but the movement of cup to lips was something to kick the brain out of "pause."
It was almost 2 A.M. A nap might have been forgiveable before, but not now. In a few minutes, the streets would receive a flood of partyers in various states of sobriety.
It was what his ex-military coworkers called a Target Rich Environment.
Thanks to a steady siphoning of beat cops to staff state-funded task forces, the streets were thin on enforcement. And the small-timers knew it. Reports of picked pockets, muggings, smash-and-grab jobs and general hooliganism were up all over the valley. But the downtown entertainment district was hardest hit. And rumor had it that the city's biggest downtown businesses (and biggest sources of tax revenue) were grumbling.
So, in a move that no doubt had the union reps barking, the Chief quietly asked Detective Division to pitch in.
Unlike some of his upwardly-mobile counterparts, Noel had no qualms about "getting back out there" -- he felt a personal responsibility to keep the streets safe, even though he hadn't been on a patrol beat since Ricky was in kindergarten.
But this assignment was frustrating.
Noel expected a high-visibility operation -- case the bars and clubs and restaurants with a steely-eyed glare, make a show of flashing sketches of recent perps to waitstaff and management, generally be seen everywhere. Most of the reports over the last week were crimes of opportunity, the kind of brazen and random acts that frightened citizens most. A heightened presence would make the opportunists think twice.
Instead, Detective Division had been tasked with a covert operation -- lie in wait and catch scumbags in the act. Nevermind the psychology of prevention versus punishment -- it made citizens pawns in a numbers game the police weren't equipped to win.
But the Chief was insistent: get me some of these punks to trot before the cameras and the rest will run and hide.
Noel didn't like it. This kind of sneak-attack was more for someone like Detective Miguel Rubio -- or at least it would be if he hadn't wormed his way out of extra duty. (A doctor's note -- was there anyone who *didn't* owe Rubio a favor? If Rubio put as much effort into honest police work as he did his string-pulling and clever dodges, he might make a good cop someday.)
Regardless, these random stakeouts weren't exactly compatible with a forced second shift. Detectives were used to the occasional double when they got a hot case, but with investigation there was always something to do to keep the mind and body in motion. Stakeouts were mind-numbing enough when you were alert, but being trapped in a couchlike sedan at a time when your body was expecting you to head off to bed was a bad idea -- in fact, it was Captain Ramirez' policy that surveillance be conducted by "fresh eyes" -- he'd pull somebody coming on-shift from another squad rather than let somebody double on a stakeout.
Noel blinked. That car wasn't there a second ago. Must have drifted off... The detective took another sip of bitter blackness.
What Noel hated most of all on this night wasn't the drowsiness. Despite his dedication to duty he wished he could doze off. At least then he wouldn't be a prisoner of his own idle thoughts. Staying awake meant surreptitiously staring at the occasional passersby, far too many of which were young, attractive, and female, and dressed in all manner of peacockery. Why couldn't he have picked Theatre Row instead of Club Central? Forty-somethings in upscale-adult-casual didn't all look like Angela.
But these girls weren't Angela. Angela wasn't actually old enough to go clubbing anywhere but The Edge, an 18-and-up night spot on the edge of the suburbs. No, Angela was at home with Ricky. Safe in bed by this hour, no doubt.
But whose bed?
Noel remembered the carelessly-strewn condom wrapper he'd found on the floor in Ricky's bedroom two nights ago. Tuesday night. Bowling night. If he'd had any doubt at all about how far their relationship had gone -- and he hadn't -- the little latex leftover had made things crystal clear. The tiny ripple of relief in the back of his mind at the evidence of protection was lost in the wave of worry that his son was rocketing down the path of casual sex, with no idea where it might lead. But Ricky's new girlfriend surely knew -- Angela was no doubt the one in the lead. Two years older, certainly more experienced, and if her behavior of late was any indication, not easily satisfied.
How did I let things get so out of control?
If only he hadn't seen the condom wrapper. At least then he wouldn't *know* his son had been intimate with a woman. With *that* woman.
At least then he wouldn't be prompted to *picture* it.
And if they didn't bother to pick up the wrapper this time, what wouldn't they bother to do next time? Wait until Noel was out of the house? Close the door? Keep it at home? Take precautions?
Noel's eyes clamped shut, his face contorted with the effort to stop the runaway worry.
Then a thought pierced Noel's brain like a bullet. The wrapper wasn't an accident.
It was a sign.
A warning.
His obsession was no longer secret.
Any more than it was under control.
Angela just wouldn't leave him alone.
Noel rubbed his eyes -- not to stay awake, but to purge the unbidden image of a certain teenage girl dressed in a certain babydoll, head thrown back in ecstasy as she rode her lover to blissful release...
He'd been fighting this incarnation of his demon since before ten o'clock. But each time the image lingered longer, painted itself more vividly. And the last two times it had come to him, it ended with Angela speaking to her lucky partner:
"Oh, God! That was incredible!"
Noel looked through the partially-fogged windshield. A few yards ahead, a cozy couple spilled out the back door of a popular bar and moved somewhat unsteadily up the street. The man had shucked his coat and draped it over his date's shoulders, turning her into a thick black blob hovering over long lean legs.
Taut legs. Smooth legs. Sexy legs.
Disgusted at his own weakness, Noel punished himself with a mighty pull of caffeinated sludge from his travel mug. The coughing fit that followed shook the car and fogged the window. So much for keeping a low profile.
Noel sat up and considered moving to another corner. Surely whatever cover he might have had was blown now.
Suddenly there came a tap at the passenger window; Noel nearly upended his mug.
It was a young woman, teetering slightly, cheeks flushed with liquor, holding a cigarette. "Got a light?" she said through the window.
Noel resisted the temptation to shoo her away. He needed the interaction to keep from going mad. The window lowered. "Yeah, but it'll take a minute." He pushed in the car's lighter to heat it up.
She leaned up against the door. "Thanks, mister."
Noel looked her over. If she was twenty-one, Noel was a monkey's uncle. Parental mode asserted itself without conscious thought. "Does your mom know you're out this late?"
"Does yours?" she shot back, her speech slurred slightly.
"You know, you should be more careful about approaching strangers on the street."
"And you should be more careful about keeping your head down and not fogging up the windows on a stakeout."
Well, it wasn't *her* first time downtown...
"Aren't you worried about being out by yourself?" You should be...
"I was until I saw you." She eyed the lighter -- not ready yet.
Noel briefly eyed her decolletage, framed by the open window. Her long dark hair swished back and forth against the door handle as she fidgeted in the cool night air. "You live far from here?" he asked, realizing after he did so that in her condition she might take it as something other than professional interest.
"My car's parked in the lot over there." She stuck her arm in the car to point straight across the street. An alarm bubbled up from Noel's subconscious -- it was rookie stupidity to let a stranger into your car -- but experience told him she was no threat. Or maybe some dark part of him just wanted to stare at her up close...
"Are you sure you're okay to drive?" He was distracted, but he was still a police officer.
"No, but my brother is. He's on a stakeout too." She grinned. "He drops me off downtown while he goes to see his girlfriend for a little nookie, then waits up until I've had my fill and takes me home."
"All right then," Noel said with gruff approval. He preferred not to read any more into her description than was absolutely necessary.
The lighter popped -- it was ready. She leaned in to snatch it, her body pivoting over the passenger door, giving Noel a *very* good look down her blouse. The corner of his eye caught her rising calves and stiletto-shod feet.
The girl lit her cigarette with a quick pull, then expertly snapped the lighter back into place and rocked back out of the car. She was polite enough to wait to exhale until she'd extracted herself.
"Thanks, officer...?"
"Aquino. Will you be going home now?"
He saw her body pivot back and forth as she looked up and down the street. Noel detected motion all around him now as revelers began their migrations to parked cars or after-hours parties. He flipped on the defroster and rolled down his own window, taking in a full measure of night air.
"I guess so," she said at last. "This place is pretty dead tonight. Thanks again." She bent down, giving him another look -- on purpose, he realized when she gave him a wink. "Hope you enjoyed the show. If you didn't look like such a straight arrow I'd ask you out for coffee."
"Thanks, but I've got my own." Noel raised his mug, smiling uncomfortably. The last thing he needed was a hot young Angela flirting with him...
The detective shook himself. Hot young Angela? I'm losing it.
Her eyes went to his coffee mug; she made a face. "Doesn't look fresh, but whatever. Catch those bad guys." She smacked the roof affectionately with her palm before strutting off around his car and across the street.
Noel watched her make her way to her car. No, he flat-out stared. And kept staring as the beige econobox rattled to life and lurched out of the lot, zipping down the street. Several other cars followed suit over the next few minutes; weeknights were generally more orderly when it came to Last Call. The professional partyers didn't argue the rules; it was the weekend amateurs who were always pressing their luck, making spectacles of themselves right up until dawn.
No point in sticking around here. Maybe I'll move up to Fletcher, closer to the after-hours clubs.
With the turn of the key, the big Mercury rumbled to life. He closed his eyes as he waited for the defroster to finish its work on the back window...
...and the vision attacked again.
This time Angela was wearing the same outfit as the cigarette girl. She was bouncing up and down at a frantic pace, breasts thrown clear of her loose blouse with each stroke; strong hands reached up and grabbed them, struggling to hold on as the teen vixen rushed her lover toward mutual climax...
Fingers pinched hard little nubs as Angela suddenly stiffened, strokes becoming quick jabbing hip-thrusts, her whole body shuddering with the force of an explosive orgasm...
Noel's whole body clenched, straining to purge every bit of the waking nightmare from his system...
Angela came down enough to lean forward, her weight supported by the heels of her lover's hands against her chest, their palms and fingers upturned to cradle her perfect breasts. Her face was one of amazed mischief.
"God, Noel, that was incredible!"