Guardian Angel

Guardian Angel

soppingwetpanties

Thank you migbird, who may understand Max better than me, for his thoughtful comments.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in ual situations are 18 years or older.

I was born and raised in the West End of Cincinnati, the proverbial “wrong side” of the tracks. But that’s me, always struggling to avoid the short end of the stick, whether it’s tangling with my superiors in the Cincinnati police department or wrestling with the bad guys I’m trying to put in jail.

I’m Maxine “Max” Pemberton, a detective in the Vice Squad. The West End has always been my stomping grounds, beginning as a small child and continuing all the way through high school. For most of my career with the police I’ve lived in the Royal Palms, a fleabag motel located in the heart of the West End. My guess is that I’ll finish my career on this beat, that is if I live long enough to see my retirement.

The thought of dying on the job is no idle exercise. In my line of work you need to be on your toes every second. During my tenure I’ve been beaten up, stabbed and shot, all the while downing two pints of vodka every night to ease the pain of my wretched existence. There wasn’t much in my lifestyle to contribute to a long lifespan. But being a cop, a long life wasn’t high on my list of priorities.

Just think of me as a thrill seeker. No different than a free climber or a test pilot. Thrill seekers don’t place a high value on a comfortable retirement. They want to live life running at full throttle, twentyfour seven. I got my thrills bagging bad guys. And in my spare time it was chasing pussy, and occasionally taking in a Reds game.

I’d describe my appearance as handsome, with a hard body and big breasts, but I don’t have movie star good looks like my work partner, Lesley. She’s got them, and a wife who’s drop dead gorgeous as well. I claimed credit for the two of them being together. I met Alessandra a while back working a case and introduced her to Lesley. I knew it would work and it has. I wish I could have said the same thing about me, but my life has been an endless series of onenight stands and quickly crumbling relationships.

It’s not to say my life wasn’t good. On the contrary, it was fantastic. Right after I broke it off with Sky, I fell, or perhaps threw, myself into the arms of Angela, a bartender at the Landing Point, my station’s main hangout. She was my kind of woman, wanting dirty, nasty without the expectation of a commitment. We both had the same goal in mind. And that was a quality fuck. Don’t put down drinking and if you haven’t tried it. And Angela being a bartender at the Landing Point, she had access to good quality booze at wholesale prices.

That cut out my twice weekly trips to my local liquor store. I gladly traded my playful banter with Nigel, the clerk at the liquor store, who I hooked on Cincinnati Reds baseball, for better booze. Now the poor sucker had no one to commiserate with about the abysmal state of our team. Angela brought the good stuff to our fuck sessions, so I was downing Wild Turkey and Maker’s Mark instead of rotgut vodka.

So my took place about three days after I’d broken up with Sky. Sky was a junior detective in Homicide who transferred to Internal Affairs, working for Constance Munger, my nemesis in the department. Constance always had a hardon for me, and now with a disgruntled Skylar Hobson at her side, my life was about to get even more difficult. IA was my kryptonite.

It was in the wee hours of the morning and I’d just had a marathon fuck session with Angela. I was going through my usual routine of a cigarette on the secondfloor balcony outside my room at the Royal Palms. The Royal Palms was the quintessential seedy motel. Built in the 60’s as a crosscountry trip stopover, it was bypassed by a new interstate and devolved into a flophouse populated by the West End’s pimps, prostitutes and druggies. Everyone who hung out there knew who I was and what I did so you might think it ironic that I turned a blind eye to what went on there. I didn’t care about the small fish. It was the big ones I wanted. The small fish were struggling to make a living. The big fish were cashing in on the misery of the West End’s inhabitants.

The small fish made up my informal network of informants. I protected them and in exchange they gave me information. In my business information was the coin of the realm. I was planning on hitting up Eddie, a wise ass pimp who plied his trade in the parking lot of the liquor store I frequented. He was plugged in to what was going on and was one of my best sources. My other reliable source was Bear, a man mountain of a guy who I rescued from a long prison sentence by backing up his claim of selfdefense after he’d beaten one of his motorcycle club members to a bloody pulp. He served minimal time and gave me full credit for saving his sorry ass.

While I was standing on the walkway enjoying my postcoital cigarette I was nabbed by two of Jumbo William’s thugs. Jumbo was just out of jail and was the heir apparent to the West End’s drug throne after its former queen, Lily Chao, was executed gangland style. It was widely assumed by folks in my department that Jumbo had colluded with the Russians to take Lily out. I had no idea why Jumbo wanted to see me at that hour.

I was dressed in a bathrobe and nothing else when I was snatched. It was 2 a.m., and instead of being in a warm bed with a naked and horny Angela I was sitting in the back seat of a hulking black Escalade. It still had the new car smell, though it was masked by the stench of the awful aftershave the goons flanking me were wearing.

Jumbo Williams. Former AllState tackle in high school followed by a promising collegiate career cut short by an ugly knee injury. He was a big dude and bad to the bone. He ran the drug trade in the West End with an iron fist before I busted him and while he was in the can Lily Chao took over. I had a romantic interlude (or two) with Lily before she was offed by the Russians. It was only a matter of time for Jumbo’s crew to seep into the voids left by Lily’s death.

Jumbo lived in the West End. I knew where and assumed that’s where the car was headed. Jumbo owned the entire block surrounding his childhood home where his widowed mother still lived. Mrs. Williams didn’t take shit from anyone, including Jumbo, so everybody had to be on their best behavior when they were around her. Other than his mother and his younger sister, Jumbo didn’t give a shit about anyone else, especially me who sent him up the river. There was a small chance that I was going to die, but I figured it was small because my abduction was witnessed by the night owls at the Royal Palms.

And there were night owls aplenty at the Royal Palms. There was so much criminal activity there that someone was always on the lookout. I figured I’d get returned to the Royal Palms with the same fanfare as my very public abduction. If Jumbo wanted me dead, there were many more elegant ways to accomplish the task then using his body men, who were nonthinking muscle. I sat back and enjoyed the rest of the ride in a very nice leather seat. I had nowhere else to go being dressed in only a bathrobe.

I pulled my robe tight together as the driver had the a/c on full blast. Both guys in the backseat were leering at my tits. I’m relatively well endowed, and a cheap cotton robe did almost nothing to hide what I had underneath. I knew they wouldn’t do anything to me. Jumbo would cut their nuts off if they did. It was just creepy knowing that two gangbangers could have their way with me, but for Jumbo. No different than two chained Dobermans.

“What do you want from me?” I asked the driver as the Escalade pulled out of the Royal Palms parking lot.

“Shut the fuck up,” the driver snapped back. The two men in the back chuckled. The man on my left had a gold front tooth, and it flashed when he opened his mouth. Apparently they all thought it was funny having a police officer in their car, practically naked.

“Fuck you asshole,” I said in a defiant voice. “Do you know what the penalty is for kidnapping a police officer?”

“What part of ‘shut the fuck up’ do you not understand?” Mr. Gold Tooth said to me, forgetting the manners his momma taught him.

He was nice enough to back up his taunt by cuffing me on the left cheek with the back of his bony paw. The smack turned my head and the gaudy diamond studded ring he was wearing cut my lip. I tasted my own blood and decided to anoint the floor of Jumbo’s ride with a spit wad of blood mixed with saliva.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” I shouted.

I think Mr. Gold Tooth instantly regretted hitting me. I imagine he realized Jumbo would notice the damage.

“Sorry boss,” he said quickly, offering a tissue to me. “It’s a reflex to mouthy motherfuckers like you.”

I was a mouthy motherfucker and maybe for all the shit I gave Jumbo and his crew over the years I deserved it. But I would get my recompense for that slap somewhere somehow.

“Stupid cunt,” the driver muttered, though loud enough for me to hear. Those were usually fighting words, but I decided to keep my mouth shut for the rest of the trip. Dental work was expensive.

After winding our way through the West End we finally hit Jumbo’s street. It was lined with a neat row of wellkept houses with armed guards posted at each end of the street. There were three shiny new black Escalades parked in front of the house, with one blocking the driveway. Two men, clearly packing, were standing guard at the top of the stairs of the covered front porch.

The Escalade blocking the driveway pulled backwards, allowing our car to drive up the driveway and into a garage in the back yard. Mr. Gold Tooth opened the door and pulled me out by the collar of my robe.

“Let’s go,” he said. His buddy, who sported a gaudy tattoo on his neck, came out his side of the car and took one of my arms.

They dragged me to the front of the house and up the stairs to the porch.

“What’s up Stick?” one of the guards asked Mr. Gold Tooth. The guards, like Stick, were wearing identical black leather jackets. The guard had a jagged scar on his left cheek and looked at me like I was his next meal. He recognized me, but couldn’t place me.

“Meetin’ with the man,” Stick said casually, though there was nothing casual about hauling in a cop in a bathrobe in the middle of the night.

Then it dawned on the guard where he’d seen me.

“Isn’t she a cop?” he asked. “Like in Vice?”

Stick rolled his eyeballs. “Just doing what the boss told me to do.”

“Fine, fine,” the guard said. “It’s your funeral if you wake up Mrs. Williams.”

“Just let me the fuck in,” Stick said impatiently.

Stick gripped the collar of my robe and manhandled me as I stumbled through the front door. He pulled too hard and the robe’s belt untied. My robe fell open and everyone could see my tits and pussy in all their glory. Stick’s eyes were glued to my flopping tits. I was flush with embarrassment.

I was trying to pull the flaps of my robe shut when a grinning Jumbo Williams appeared. He was a big dude and looked to be in good enough shape to play in a game. His smile quickly morphed into anger when he saw me and my fat, bloody lip and open robe and Stick standing next to me still holding my collar.

“What the fuck is going on here?” he snarled. He glared at Stick as the likely offender. Stick looked like he was going to shit in his pants.

“S… s… sorry boss,” Stick stuttered. He knew he was in some big trouble.

“I told you to get her, not molest her,” he barked. “Can’t you do anything right?”

It was widely known that Jumbo’s bite was worse than his bark, which meant Stick’s nuts were about to be put in a vise.

“I… I… told her I’m sorry,” Stick protested.

“How come you didn’t let her get dressed?”

“You told me you wanted to see her right away…” Stick started to say. Jumbo interrupted him when he focused on the drop of blood running down my chin.

“So why’s she bleeding?”

Stick’s eyes got big as saucers. He knew something bad was going to happen if he answered that question truthfully.

“I bumped my head against the door frame getting into the car,” I blurted out. I don’t know what possessed me to save Stick’s sorry ass.

Jumbo whirled around to glare at his henchman. “Is that right?”

“J… J… just like the lady said,” Stick stammered, greatly relieved. His eyes said “thank you” when he glanced at me.

“All right,” Jumbo said. “But I’m not done with you. Now get the fuck out of my sight.”

He politely ushered me into the house, letting me regain at least a shred of my dignity. I’m sure the word was going to get around that they’d seen Max Pemberton naked. I wasn’t as pissed as you might think. I’d been living at the Royal Palms for four years. I think a lot of their regular residents had seen me in an undressed or semiundressed state at one time or another. You could practically see through the cheapo curtains. I think Jumbo saw me flash him before I could get my robe pulled together.

Jumbo tried to turn on the charm. His face looked serious and concerned.

“Max, I asked them to bring you here for a meeting. I’m sorry about what happened. I think my sister has a warmup suit that’ll fit you.”

“Jumbo, why am I here?” I asked, enunciating each word carefully. I had a mean look on my face because he had no right to roust me out of my room when I was enjoying the finest of . Besides, I still harbored thoughts that he was somehow involved in Sky’s ambush in the car warehouse and Lily’s death. I think Jumbo could read my face.

“Look Max, I didn’t sanction that hit on your partner. What’s her name?”

“Her name is Skylar,” I said. “So you know about it?”

Jumbo broke out into a smile. “Of course I know about it. Everybody’s knows about it. You don’t take out cops. That motherfucker was crazy.”

He was talking about Konstantin Kreshnevsky, the Russian hitman who almost killed Sky. But now he was denying it. I decided to hit the issue head on. There was no reason to play around with him when I was freezing my ass off in a flimsy robe.

“Why else would he do it if it wasn’t for you?” I asked.

“Max, you got to believe me. I didn’t know anything about it. I’m a local businessman and my family lives here. We may have our differences but there is no way I would sanction something like that. You know that.”

I did know that. I followed Jumbo’s career, starting in high school. His family was too involved in the community to be killing police. That would be bad for business. I was starting to believe him. It meant I needed to cast my net wider for who was behind Kreshnevsky. Maybe it wasn’t Jumbo. Maybe the Russians were planning on taking Jumbo out and taking over retail distribution. Jumbo was right when he said he didn’t need the Cincinnati police, and me, crawling up his ass.

“So why did you need to see me now, in the middle of the night?” I asked.

“Max. I’ve got my sources in the department. They know you’re making progress in finding out who was behind the shooter. I know I’m a prime suspect and that you’re going to shake me down.”

“So this is on your terms, with me wearing my robe in the middle of the night,” I said indignantly. His methods were crude, and he knew it.

“Max, it didn’t come out like I planned but I couldn’t have anyone see us meeting together. This way I knew word wouldn’t leak out.”

“So you didn’t trust me, so you had to kidnap me.”

“No… no… I’m giving you useful information. You shouldn’t be wasting time on me.”

It was true. I was tending to believe his and we’d save a ton of man hours by not investigating Jumbo. Maybe there was something in it for both of us. I decided to lay my cards on the table.

“You think the Russians put a target on your back. Isn’t that it?” I asked. I could see from his fidgeting body language that I was right.

“Suppose it is,” he said, confirming my suspicion.

“Then our interests are aligned,” I said. “We both want to get rid of the Russians.”

“Seems that way,” he said. I bet he was angling for me to say that. He was going to ask for something from me, like protection. Being under the wing of the Cincinnati police would be of great comfort. Even with all of Jumbo’s firepower, he had to be out and about to run his business, and that presented many opportunities for a hit on him.

“How do I know I can trust you? After all, you are a drug dealer and after the Russians I’m coming after you.”

He surprised me by laughing.

“Max, you’re coming after me anyway. You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.”

It was a serious conversation and I’d forgotten I was wearing a bathrobe with nothing underneath. I caught those truthful eyes gazing inside my robe, which had started to fall open. I grasped the lapels of the robe to hold it shut.

“OK,” I said. “I think we have an understanding.”

He gave me a genuine smile. “See? Now we’re on the same page. You see maybe pulling you out of bed in the middle of the night was worth your while?”

“I’m not going to give you that, yet,” I told him.

Then he muttered something under his breath I couldn’t understand.

“What did you say?” I asked him.

Jumbo chuckled. “Selfdefense huh? That’s the you’re telling? That you killed Kreshnevsky in selfdefense?”

So he wasn’t going to let that go. In truth I didn’t kill Kreshnevsky in selfdefense. I killed him in cold blood. He was about to assassinate Sky so I winged him first and then made him pick up his gun before I blew his head off. Only Sky knew the truth and she wasn’t going to tell.

I looked him straight in the eye, even though I was a terrible liar. “That’s right Jumbo, just like you heard.”

“OK Max, I’ll give you a pass on that for now, but I know the truth.”

Jumbo let what he said sink in. How could he know the truth?

“Why should I believe you?” I asked, calling his bluff.

“Because I could have you put away anytime I want,” he boasted. He got my attention. “It’s my insurance policy to make sure our partnership is successful.”

“And how would you do that?”

He tapped on his phone and then turned it around so I could see the screen. It was security camera footage of Jim Landry’s car warehouse. I thought all the cameras were turned off, but apparently not. I had turned on the warehouse lights to blind Kreshnevsky, who was wearing night vision goggles, but it also provided the light needed for the cameras to record my misdeed. I could see a grainy image of me shooting the wounded man in the face. My knees felt weak.

“Bet you didn’t know about this, did you?” he said smugly.

“Who else has it?” I demanded.

“No one, just me.”

“Not even Landry?”

“He’s never seen it.”

“How’s that possible?”

“You ask too many questions. I’ve got the video and you’re fucked.”

“What do you want?” I asked him. He had me over a barrel.

“Nothin’ that wasn’t mine before.”

“You mean the West End.”

“See? You’re a smart girl. You figured it all out.”

“So you don’t want to share with the Russians?”

“Fuck those motherfuckers. Like I said, we don’t go after 50, so that incident in the warehouse was them divorcing me.”

“So you helped the Russians kill Lily and now you want to welch on your deal with them to divide the West End.”

“Like I said, they ended the deal. Now it’s every man for himself. You know it.”

“I guess I do. Someone has to control the West End drug trade. Why not you?”

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