Luv2Tickle69
TMF Master
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*the following fictional tale is assuredly a slight variation on a theme that has probably been explored on numerous occasions....you'll kindly forgive the author for revisiting....*
"Shit!!!" Laura snapped as she slammed the phone down on the receiver. Another potential lead ended up leading to nothing and nowhere. She placed her elbows upon her desk and rested her forehead into her hands, massaging her temples with her thumbs. A couple of gentle, but audible knocks were then heard on the jamb of her office door.
...."...everything alright, partner?" Laura looked up wearily and saw Adam Tilse....who graduated with her from the police academy some 23 years ago, and was her partner for many years they shared on the beat. She'd beaten him out for the promotion to Sergeant a couple of years ago, and never once did he ever seem despondent. She still prioritized his knowledge and input and liked that he still called her 'partner.' Tilse himself had it much easier these days as well....able to dispatch any number of subordinates at will to investigate and report as needed, and yet..never afraid himself to 'get his hands dirty.'
...."Ahhh...." Laura exulted with a disgusted tone. "That lead we were looking into...based on that one witness we spoke to last week?" She gave a thumbs down. Tilse tsked his tongue and shook his head slightly.
....."...We'll get 'em yet, " he concluded with his trademark wink.
..... yeah.... Laura thought. But when?!
Seven months ago, Tim Werner; an officer in Laura's division who'd only been into it for a little less than a couple of years, took two shots in his left shoulder during a gunfight that had occurred around 2:30am. Werner, along with his 12 year partner Jim Wheaton and two additional veteran officers were looking into suspicious activity that was happening near what had been an abandoned warehouse. When the officers closed in, drew their weapons and commanded the five or six men they'd spotted to cease everything and raise their hands, the men proceeded to draw their OWN weapons, and opened fire. The gunfight lasted all of three or four minutes, but the sure-fire marksmanship of the gunmen seriously downed Werner, and one of the other officers who'd accompanied Werner and Wheaton suffered a graze along his upper right thigh. The gunmen sped off in both vehicles that were present alongside the warehouse, and somehow managed to elude discovery even after Wheaton expediently called in the style of vehicles and their most immediate direction of travel from where the officers found them, as well as ambulatory assistance for his partner and the other injured officer. What had really gotten Laura's ire, was that Werner was all of 25 years old....a newlywed, and his wife; a sweet, shy lady named Desiree was also 6 months pregnant with their first child. As the facts of that early morning's activities became divined, Laura came to realize that these gunmen weren't just some random lucky shots up to no good. The inability to locate any of these men, along with finding the warehouse the gunmen had some kind of business with was completely empty were clear indications that this was something very serious. Even as the weeks and months ticked by....Laura could STILL hear the agonized cries of Desiree she'd wailed into the telephone when Laura called her to inform her that Tim had suffered injuries in a gunfight. The haunting quality of those wails only served to fuel Laura's quest to find the sons-of-bitches guilty for causing such distress. In more recent weeks, Laura began holding down 15, 16 hour days....hitting the streets herself with Tilse by her side, and commandeering other investigators and officers to various areas throughout the city to glean ANYTHING possible. It seemed the more they did, however...the less they came away with.
....1am came and went as uneventfully as every other hour before. Laura's desk was now relatively littered with a good 6 previous hours of paperwork, half-eaten Chinese food left in the platter it arrived in, and her coffee mug...which had been filled and emptied some 9 times. In spite of that, the clearer right corner of her desk were now a temporary roost for her stockinged feet, which had had enough of the shoes they'd been in for better than 15 hours. She had been reading a random record file of a perp who'd been arrested earlier that evening for flashing the public on a subway train (which would make his third arrest in as many months for the same offense). She'd nodded off, given her fatigue; as well as the inane and very uninvolved nature of the case of this flasher (who would probably be arraigned and released to a mental facility anyway), which mattered so little compared to what Laura's aim had been for some seven months. At 1:33am, Hank Lansing; an undercover investigator whose shift began at 9pm (when Tilse went home), peeked his head in and gave a furtive call....
......"Sarge?" Laura hadn't moved a muscle. Her breathing was pretty deep by now, and Hank simply smirked a little and shook his head. He'd seen a lot of her in here at these odd hours, and knew why (he'd even gone out and researched possible leads and would-be witness accounts of the gunmen's vehicles...none of which were very conclusive). Hank casually made his way in toward Laura's desk closest to where her feet; crossed at the ankles, right foot over left--were peacefully perched. He gently pinched and wiggled the big toe on Laura's right foot.
...."Sarge?" Still nothing. He then did something he was sure might awaken her. At a summer barbecue/pool party officer Wheaton had thrown a couple of years ago, Hank had playfully grabbed and tickled Laura's foot as she idly floated by him on a pool raft. She'd let out a shriek of surprise, followed quickly by rapid-fire giggles and laughs. Now at her desk, Hank gently wiggled the tip of his finger along the stockinged ball of Laura's right foot. Laura's toes almost immediately fanned and flexed, and she jumped slightly in her seat as she came to.
"....uhh?! Whaa--...don' do that....." she managed, shifting herself in her seat, and putting her feet upon the floor.
...."Sarge," Hank called. "It's almost a quarter of two of the A.M. You need to go home....you need to sleep in your own bed."
Laura groaned. She knew Hank was right...."...but what if a call comes in, Hank? I hafta be here," she said. "I don't wanna miss a single step."
"Fatigued as you are," Hank retorted. "You're likely to miss a FEW steps. Go...home.....if anything happens by or before 8am, you'll get called. Rest assured."
With a sigh of equal parts dejection and relief, Laura scooped her shoes up, rose slowly from her chair, offered Hank a wan grin and a couple of gentle taps on his left shoulder, grabbed her purse from the coat hook by her door, and bade everyone a good-night. She paused and looked back at Hank....
"....you'll call....if something happens..right?"
Hank bowed slightly inward for emphasis as he annunciated, "Ye-esss.....post haste. Go home!"
Another wan grin and a nod of appoval, and Laura made her way down the steps leading to the exit door into the fresh, cool, well-before-dawn night air.
Laura awoke with a shot to the sound of her phone. She hissed a venomous "Shhi-i-it!" as she saw the time on her alarm clock said 9:39am....she was sure why the phone was ringing. She picked up the receiver quickly.
"...Hullo...yeah...I just woke up."
"Sarge!" It was Tilse. "Hank gave me the low-down, and I would've let you sleep 'til noon, but you need to get in here....we picked someone up fifteen minutes ago."
Laura bounded out of her bed and quickly fished out a pair of slacks and a blouse.
"Talk to me as I dress!! What happened!?"
Tilse then proceeded to tell her that police had engaged in a high-speed pursuit of a car that resembled the description of one of the vehicles that had sped away from the abandoned warehouse on that fateful night seven months ago. The driver of the car, saw the police car behind him, and missed a red light from all the perfunctory glances he gave his mirrors. The police engaged their lights and a warning 'WHOOP', which only served to prompt the driver to speed away. A 19 minute chase ensued, stopped only by an officer who was clever enough to come in across town from the north, which was where the chase was heading. The rear of the officer's car that made the clever cut off was hit considerably hard, but neither the officer nor the perp were hurt. The perp's airbag had in fact deployed. The perp had put up a significant fight while two officers that arrived first tried to detain him. As more officers arrived with weapons drawn, the fight minimized, and soon after, the cuffs were upon him and he was placed into a squad car. A search of the perp's vehicle found not only an attache case with some incriminating paperwork inside, but under the driver seat was a 9mm gun. It just so happened that officer Werner's shoulder injuries were caused by 2 9mm bullets. A rather common gun among the criminally minded, but as investigators pawed and researched the paperwork from within the attache case, they quickly learned that this individual had indeed been up to some seriously illegal activity....notably among them, weapon smuggling and distribution. Even more interesting, was the find of cocaine that the perp had in his back pocket; arguably the very source of his adrenalized fight he'd given the officers.
Laura arrived at the precinct less than fifteen minutes later. Tilse and two of the arresting officers briefed her further upon her entry. Search warrants had already been obtained and signed to investigate three addresses that had been printed upon the paperwork that was found in the perp's attache case. By then, no further arrests had been made, and two of the addresses turned up cases that contained handguns and others with ammunition. The perp was currently detained in one of the interrogation rooms....Tilse explained further,
...."you'll see we had to shackle his wrists behind him. He put up such a struggle and fight upon getting him out of the car. Even two full hits of pepper spray didn't weaken him much."
Laura nodded, and began reviewing the fresh paperwork before her. With all that morning's events, she was sure they were onto something. Information was coming incrementally, but steadily. She decided she would need to talk to this perp......see if she could find something out.
She left her office and went past the desks of some of the other officers wordlessly, making her way to the hall leading to the interrogation rooms. She saw the door of the room the perp was waiting in, then went next door to the observation room (where officers and usually a D.A. will watch the interrogation). She opened that door, and saw no one inside. She furtively looked around, and closed the door. She reached for the keys looped onto the belt loop of her slacks, and found the key that would lock that door. Once locked, she made her way back to the interrogation room door, opened it, and went inside....locking the door behind her......
.....part two soon to come!!!!
"Shit!!!" Laura snapped as she slammed the phone down on the receiver. Another potential lead ended up leading to nothing and nowhere. She placed her elbows upon her desk and rested her forehead into her hands, massaging her temples with her thumbs. A couple of gentle, but audible knocks were then heard on the jamb of her office door.
...."...everything alright, partner?" Laura looked up wearily and saw Adam Tilse....who graduated with her from the police academy some 23 years ago, and was her partner for many years they shared on the beat. She'd beaten him out for the promotion to Sergeant a couple of years ago, and never once did he ever seem despondent. She still prioritized his knowledge and input and liked that he still called her 'partner.' Tilse himself had it much easier these days as well....able to dispatch any number of subordinates at will to investigate and report as needed, and yet..never afraid himself to 'get his hands dirty.'
...."Ahhh...." Laura exulted with a disgusted tone. "That lead we were looking into...based on that one witness we spoke to last week?" She gave a thumbs down. Tilse tsked his tongue and shook his head slightly.
....."...We'll get 'em yet, " he concluded with his trademark wink.
..... yeah.... Laura thought. But when?!
Seven months ago, Tim Werner; an officer in Laura's division who'd only been into it for a little less than a couple of years, took two shots in his left shoulder during a gunfight that had occurred around 2:30am. Werner, along with his 12 year partner Jim Wheaton and two additional veteran officers were looking into suspicious activity that was happening near what had been an abandoned warehouse. When the officers closed in, drew their weapons and commanded the five or six men they'd spotted to cease everything and raise their hands, the men proceeded to draw their OWN weapons, and opened fire. The gunfight lasted all of three or four minutes, but the sure-fire marksmanship of the gunmen seriously downed Werner, and one of the other officers who'd accompanied Werner and Wheaton suffered a graze along his upper right thigh. The gunmen sped off in both vehicles that were present alongside the warehouse, and somehow managed to elude discovery even after Wheaton expediently called in the style of vehicles and their most immediate direction of travel from where the officers found them, as well as ambulatory assistance for his partner and the other injured officer. What had really gotten Laura's ire, was that Werner was all of 25 years old....a newlywed, and his wife; a sweet, shy lady named Desiree was also 6 months pregnant with their first child. As the facts of that early morning's activities became divined, Laura came to realize that these gunmen weren't just some random lucky shots up to no good. The inability to locate any of these men, along with finding the warehouse the gunmen had some kind of business with was completely empty were clear indications that this was something very serious. Even as the weeks and months ticked by....Laura could STILL hear the agonized cries of Desiree she'd wailed into the telephone when Laura called her to inform her that Tim had suffered injuries in a gunfight. The haunting quality of those wails only served to fuel Laura's quest to find the sons-of-bitches guilty for causing such distress. In more recent weeks, Laura began holding down 15, 16 hour days....hitting the streets herself with Tilse by her side, and commandeering other investigators and officers to various areas throughout the city to glean ANYTHING possible. It seemed the more they did, however...the less they came away with.
....1am came and went as uneventfully as every other hour before. Laura's desk was now relatively littered with a good 6 previous hours of paperwork, half-eaten Chinese food left in the platter it arrived in, and her coffee mug...which had been filled and emptied some 9 times. In spite of that, the clearer right corner of her desk were now a temporary roost for her stockinged feet, which had had enough of the shoes they'd been in for better than 15 hours. She had been reading a random record file of a perp who'd been arrested earlier that evening for flashing the public on a subway train (which would make his third arrest in as many months for the same offense). She'd nodded off, given her fatigue; as well as the inane and very uninvolved nature of the case of this flasher (who would probably be arraigned and released to a mental facility anyway), which mattered so little compared to what Laura's aim had been for some seven months. At 1:33am, Hank Lansing; an undercover investigator whose shift began at 9pm (when Tilse went home), peeked his head in and gave a furtive call....
......"Sarge?" Laura hadn't moved a muscle. Her breathing was pretty deep by now, and Hank simply smirked a little and shook his head. He'd seen a lot of her in here at these odd hours, and knew why (he'd even gone out and researched possible leads and would-be witness accounts of the gunmen's vehicles...none of which were very conclusive). Hank casually made his way in toward Laura's desk closest to where her feet; crossed at the ankles, right foot over left--were peacefully perched. He gently pinched and wiggled the big toe on Laura's right foot.
...."Sarge?" Still nothing. He then did something he was sure might awaken her. At a summer barbecue/pool party officer Wheaton had thrown a couple of years ago, Hank had playfully grabbed and tickled Laura's foot as she idly floated by him on a pool raft. She'd let out a shriek of surprise, followed quickly by rapid-fire giggles and laughs. Now at her desk, Hank gently wiggled the tip of his finger along the stockinged ball of Laura's right foot. Laura's toes almost immediately fanned and flexed, and she jumped slightly in her seat as she came to.
"....uhh?! Whaa--...don' do that....." she managed, shifting herself in her seat, and putting her feet upon the floor.
...."Sarge," Hank called. "It's almost a quarter of two of the A.M. You need to go home....you need to sleep in your own bed."
Laura groaned. She knew Hank was right...."...but what if a call comes in, Hank? I hafta be here," she said. "I don't wanna miss a single step."
"Fatigued as you are," Hank retorted. "You're likely to miss a FEW steps. Go...home.....if anything happens by or before 8am, you'll get called. Rest assured."
With a sigh of equal parts dejection and relief, Laura scooped her shoes up, rose slowly from her chair, offered Hank a wan grin and a couple of gentle taps on his left shoulder, grabbed her purse from the coat hook by her door, and bade everyone a good-night. She paused and looked back at Hank....
"....you'll call....if something happens..right?"
Hank bowed slightly inward for emphasis as he annunciated, "Ye-esss.....post haste. Go home!"
Another wan grin and a nod of appoval, and Laura made her way down the steps leading to the exit door into the fresh, cool, well-before-dawn night air.
Laura awoke with a shot to the sound of her phone. She hissed a venomous "Shhi-i-it!" as she saw the time on her alarm clock said 9:39am....she was sure why the phone was ringing. She picked up the receiver quickly.
"...Hullo...yeah...I just woke up."
"Sarge!" It was Tilse. "Hank gave me the low-down, and I would've let you sleep 'til noon, but you need to get in here....we picked someone up fifteen minutes ago."
Laura bounded out of her bed and quickly fished out a pair of slacks and a blouse.
"Talk to me as I dress!! What happened!?"
Tilse then proceeded to tell her that police had engaged in a high-speed pursuit of a car that resembled the description of one of the vehicles that had sped away from the abandoned warehouse on that fateful night seven months ago. The driver of the car, saw the police car behind him, and missed a red light from all the perfunctory glances he gave his mirrors. The police engaged their lights and a warning 'WHOOP', which only served to prompt the driver to speed away. A 19 minute chase ensued, stopped only by an officer who was clever enough to come in across town from the north, which was where the chase was heading. The rear of the officer's car that made the clever cut off was hit considerably hard, but neither the officer nor the perp were hurt. The perp's airbag had in fact deployed. The perp had put up a significant fight while two officers that arrived first tried to detain him. As more officers arrived with weapons drawn, the fight minimized, and soon after, the cuffs were upon him and he was placed into a squad car. A search of the perp's vehicle found not only an attache case with some incriminating paperwork inside, but under the driver seat was a 9mm gun. It just so happened that officer Werner's shoulder injuries were caused by 2 9mm bullets. A rather common gun among the criminally minded, but as investigators pawed and researched the paperwork from within the attache case, they quickly learned that this individual had indeed been up to some seriously illegal activity....notably among them, weapon smuggling and distribution. Even more interesting, was the find of cocaine that the perp had in his back pocket; arguably the very source of his adrenalized fight he'd given the officers.
Laura arrived at the precinct less than fifteen minutes later. Tilse and two of the arresting officers briefed her further upon her entry. Search warrants had already been obtained and signed to investigate three addresses that had been printed upon the paperwork that was found in the perp's attache case. By then, no further arrests had been made, and two of the addresses turned up cases that contained handguns and others with ammunition. The perp was currently detained in one of the interrogation rooms....Tilse explained further,
...."you'll see we had to shackle his wrists behind him. He put up such a struggle and fight upon getting him out of the car. Even two full hits of pepper spray didn't weaken him much."
Laura nodded, and began reviewing the fresh paperwork before her. With all that morning's events, she was sure they were onto something. Information was coming incrementally, but steadily. She decided she would need to talk to this perp......see if she could find something out.
She left her office and went past the desks of some of the other officers wordlessly, making her way to the hall leading to the interrogation rooms. She saw the door of the room the perp was waiting in, then went next door to the observation room (where officers and usually a D.A. will watch the interrogation). She opened that door, and saw no one inside. She furtively looked around, and closed the door. She reached for the keys looped onto the belt loop of her slacks, and found the key that would lock that door. Once locked, she made her way back to the interrogation room door, opened it, and went inside....locking the door behind her......
.....part two soon to come!!!!