The sellers are artists, either creative or con, with foldout tables perched on uneven sidewalks offering passerbys a peek at what could be theirs.
Washington studies the left of Euclid Avenue N.E., the main drag, while I scan the right, my relaxed gaze lingering on the theater before I drag it over each and every pedestrian.
Under my breath I grumble, “I don’t like my focus split. My eyes are peeled for cameras pointed at me now.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.” His eyes lock and hold on something outside. “A couple of shady motherfuckers right over there.”
I follow his stare, my voice deepening with my heightening instinct. “They’re new.”
“Yep.”
“That’s a lot of jewelry.”
“Not your normal trash,” he mutters with his lips barely moving. “They’re clocking us.”
The two shifty men watch our slow spin of thick tread tires. Crooks don’t realize how obvious they are. Works in our favor. They get nervous and the trained can tell.
Washington double-parks as we calmly stare back to amp their anxiety.
One is frowning while the other behaves extra casual, like it’s no big thing. But his hand is jittery when it wasn’t before.
The time is now.
We get out, stand on newly repaved asphalt at the same time, shutting our doors in sync.
Pedestrians watch as Washington greets the two guys with an unignorable baritone, “Gentleman.”
The frowning one is more confident, and he nods, “Afternoon Officers.” He’s the leader of the two. A follower never speaks first.
Washington motions to the jewelry as I stay trained on the men. He asks, “You have a permit to sell here?”
“Why aren’t you asking anyone else for one?”
My voice is steady as I point out, “Who says you’re not the first? We just got here.”
They rummage through their pockets like a permit might magically appear, same one taking the lead. “Guess I left it at home. We’ll pack up and be back tomorrow with one.”
Washington fingers a necklace and lifts it high enough that ruby-red stones wink in the southern sun. It’s a beauty, possibly the real thing. “Where’d you get this stuff?”
“We make it.”
Lifting a watch, I ask, “You made a Rolex? Your daddy own the company or…?”
The follower sprints for freedom, abandoning everything, even one shoe that wasn’t tied properly.
Washington eyes his deserted leader. “You wanna follow your buddy?”
Boom, he’s gone.
Cutting a look to my partner, I leap into action, jumping around confused tourists in my race to keep up.
I hear our siren flip on, know that Wash is following and will cut this guy off if I don’t get to him first.
I’m fast.
Really fast.
Which is something special since I don’t have long legs like Washington or my cousin Ben.
I’m stocky like Dad and Uncle Jake.
Doesn’t matter.
I could outrun both of them.
Wouldn’t say that to their faces.
That’d be disrespectful.
And their laughs might piss me off.
But seriously.
If Dad could see me now…
That’s what I’m thinking as I jump over a small dog on a long leash, a rogue skateboard some kid lost control of, and dodge a potted plant the shady seller knocks off a shop’s exterior to slow my pursuit. It shatters on the sidewalk.
If Dad could see me now.
Grunting to fill weak lungs, he loses steam. Both men are undernourished by booze over food. I can smell last night’s tequila polluting his wake.
Just a little bit closer.
Faster.
Faster.
Now.
Propelling myself through the air, I land on the guy. We tumble onto unforgiving cement. I wrestle his arms behind his back, read his Miranda Rights as cuffs snap into place. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law—”
“Fuck you!”
“That too.”
“Why’re you arresting me?!”
“Suspicion of robbery. Strong suspicion, but don’t worry, you’re innocent until proven otherwise. Let’s go!” Hauling him off the sidewalk, I drag him to our patrol car, blue lights rhythmically flashing across our faces.
He hits the backseat with a grunt, mouth chewing on dissatisfaction.
Washington tells me, “Smile for the camera.”
I frown, realizing what he means. Following his trunk-like pointer-finger to two women huddled over a phone, I shut the back door and frown hard.
One whisper-shouts, “He’s looking at us!”
The other squeals, “Hi Deputy Cocker! You’re so beautiful!”
I mutter, “Thanks,” through gritted teeth and climb inside.
Washington jokes, “Guess that won’t be posted in Drive Copper Drive, since I’m behind the wheel.”
“You got the jewelry?”
“You have to ask? Your feet are on it.”
I look down, use one of my boots to scoot the stash out of my way. It’s bundled in the table cloth it was lying on. “I was just changing the subject.”
He grins, too many teeth for one man. “From your pretty face? That’s a first.”
CHAPTER 4
DIANA
T hree women giggle at outstretched phones. Over forty, they’re breaking the norm by sounding like hormone-crazed teenagers. Curious to see why, I crane my neck.
Oh, hello!
Who.
Is.
That?!
Interest piqued as any red-blooded woman’s would be, I look over to see the object of their attention in the flesh as he inspects jewelry at a street vendor’s foldout table.
That is by far the sexiest cop I’ve ever seen. He’s not a pretty-boy. There’s nothing feminine about him, every inch a rugged beast with amused brown eyes that shine with a light you can’t help but wish was shining on you.
And the uniform! Thick shoulders, thicker biceps, triceps and forearms, narrow hips belted with tools of the job fill it out so well you wish it were off.
I could make use of those cuffs.
What key?
I jump in surprise as one of the vendors jars me out of my reverie by breaking into a run, abandoning his friend and their merchandise. Both cops look very calm, considering. Until the other vendor makes a break for it.
Hot Cop takes off in hot pursuit.
Look at that ass go.
Wow.
One of the ladies snickers to me, “Your mouth is hanging open.”
I clamp it shut.
And shock her.
By running after him.
I don’t know what’s come over me but suddenly I’m skimming pedestrians, nearly tangled in a dachshund’s leash, gaze flickering over a rattling solo skateboard, rubber-soled flats I wore to work crunching soil and ceramic, the potted plant he dodged now smithereens.
“Oh!” I yelp as he leaps through the air like some sort of superhero and tackles the vendor.
Skidding to a stop, I tuck myself into the nook of a poster shop, quietly panting as he tosses his prey into the backseat, blue lights making him even more magnetically handsome.
He abruptly looks over his shoulder.
I crane, keeping my body hidden, to see why.
“He’s looking at us!” A pretty blonde shouts.
The bangles on her brunette friend’s arm jingle as she waves, “Hi Deputy Cocker! You’re so beautiful!”
I’m too far away to hear his response, and in no time he’s gone, siren fading.
“He looked right at us!” The blonde says, eyes bright.
Her friend points to me as I walk up, because I’ve gotta know his name. “You were running after him!”
Embarrassed, I pause. “I uh…the guy had stolen something from me. That’s why they were ch
asing him.” Both buy my plausible story, so I venture to ask, “Who is he? I need to tell the police station who has my jewelry.” Is that even a correct sentence? I’m not a good liar. Little practice.
They practically step over each other. “Wyatt Cocker!”
My gaze drifts to the street. He’s one of May’s great-grandkids?
The blonde explains, “Wyatt Cocker has a whole group dedicated to him. Look! This is a fan page, all pictures taken by us.”
“Just you two?” I ask.
“No, all of us.”
The brunette quips, “We, the people.”
I find myself backing away. “Thanks, gotta go to the station. For my jewelry. Thanks. Have a great day!”
Their interest in me is lost to a debate over what to write in the post.
Wyatt Cocker.
Can I find a way to ask May about him? Is that appropriate?
I sigh as my shoes crunch soil again, dog and skateboard gone. Just like Hot Cop.
CHAPTER 5
A FEW MINUTES LATER
DIANA
“Hey, we’re both late,” Jon smiles as we approach the white skull entrance of The Vortex from opposite directions. For food and ambiance this location is perfection—kitschy decor, incredible burgers and fries, caustic menu and great service. Even the one person per shift who purposefully acts rude—part of their act and appeal.
Jon swings the door wide as I lie, “I parked really far away. Thank you.”
Lying twice? First claimed that was my jewelry and now this?
“I’ve got no excuse,” he admits. “I’m just late.”
The hostess brings us to a table right away—no waiting during the slow time between lunch and dinner hour. The nature of my work means I clock in later than most Monday thru Friday workers.
Jon is an artist who makes his own schedule.
She hands our menus over, and asks if we’ve been here. Our nods are enough, and she exits.
He wants the Southwest burger because of his addiction to their BBQ sauce, so Jon doesn’t even look at his menu. “What’s up with you today?”
Not meeting his eyes I ask, “What do you mean?”
“How long have we known each other?”
“Four long years.”
“So…what’s up with you?”
I’m getting the mushroom burger, my usual, so I set my menu down because I was only hiding behind it anyway. “I just lied to you.”
When Jon has a feeling you know it. “What??! You lied to me?!”
I slink down in my chair, self-conscious of all the people looking at us now. “Yes.”
“Why? How??”
“That I parked far away.”
He blinks. “Why would you lie about something that boring?”
“I was chasing Wyatt Cocker. That’s what I was really doing.”
He blinks again, and leans to whisper-hiss, “You better explain right now.”
As our server approaches, piercings wink in the yellow lamplight, green apron low around tiny hips like he forgot to tighten the string after a bathroom visit. “You guys ready?”
Jon gives the guy a look. “Come back. This is serious.”
A minimal reaction later and we’re alone again.
I launch into my short story, finishing with, “Have you ever seen Wyatt Cocker?”
He hums, “MmMm no,” pulling out his phone for a remedy. “I didn’t know we had a Cocker police officer. Did you know we had gay cops walking in the pride parade?”
“I did know that.”
Jon looks up and sees my expression. “Oh, right, I told you.”
“About a million times.”
He shrugs, “I thought it was interesting.”
“Very forward for the South.”
“We are open-minded people now.” Glancing up he adds, “In most parts anyhow.”
“Some people will never change,” I agree.
“Hmm. Here’s that group you told me about. Oh my gawd honey, look at this man!” He holds up a photo that makes my inner thighs loosen.
I point at it, demanding, “Do you see why I was wet? I mean…late?!!”
Jon smirks, “That’s a nice Fruedian slip dress you’re wearing.”
“Guilty.”
“Anyone have handcuffs for the guilty? Oh, he does!”
“I already thought about those, Jon. You’re not helping. Which neighborhoods has he been photographed in?”
“Little Five Points. Edgewood. Piedmont Park. Downtown. Castleberry Hill. Here’s one at G. Tech. This makes me want to go back to school. He is divine. His tailor clearly loves him. There’s a Wy-so-hot post! This is amazing!”
“He doesn’t seem to notice them.” I frown as Jon scrolls. “Completely focused on his job.”
“I can’t blame you for being late, Diana. I’m surprised you showed up at all.”
I tilt my head. “He drove away.”
“And you didn’t jump on the car?”
I grab the phone. “I’m sorry, but we have to stop. I’m losing one of my appetites and the other I can do nothing about.”
Jon rudely waves at our server. He’s ignored but unfazed as he bluntly asks me, “What did you think was going to happen when you chased him? What if he saw you? You would’ve looked crazy!”
Covering my face in shame, I mumble, “I don’t know why I did it! It wasn’t planned! I’ve never done something that weird before.”
“I don’t think our server saw me.”
“He doesn’t appreciate being summoned like a dog.”
“Oh yeah? Watch this!” Jon fills his lungs, pauses, and lets the air out. “I was going to whistle.”
“But you’re not a jerk.”
“But I’m not a jerk,” he sighs. “He’ll come back at some point. What else have you been up to?”
Thinking about it, I pick at the menu. “Just work.”
“You’ve got that face again.”
“I had a conversation with May Cocker this afternoon.”
Jon crooks his neck, “That’s an odd coincidence.”
“It’s not totally one. I’ve known her for a whole year, see her five days out of seven.”
“All the days you work.”
“Exactly. She lives at Silver Linings. That’s not the important part of the story. What she said is what’s interesting.”
“But just today you had,” he holds up finger quotes, “an interesting conversation.”
“Jon! I’m trying to tell you something. They aren’t connected!”
“Fine!” He holds his palm out to ward off my ire. “Continue.”
“She suggested I reach out to Eddie.”
“Your ex, Eddie?”
Right now is when our server walks up? Really?!
Jon and I say what we want for lunch so rapid fire, the server asks us to repeat them. He catches it all and heads away thinking we are screwing with him on purpose.
We’re not.
Jon announces, “I had a couple seconds to think about it and I think you should!”
“Those couple of seconds just now?”
“Yes.”
“I should call Eddie. That’s your decision.”
“Yes.”
“You came up with that just now while we were ordering.”
“Yes.”
Dislodging disbelief with a shake of my head, I demand, “Why?!”
“Because you need to get laid, Diana! That is the problem with you straight people. You wait too damn long to touch another human being and it’s not healthy.”
“It’s an important decision!”
“Is it?”
“Yes! I am letting someone into my body, and that means something.”
Lemonade and Ice Tea are placed on the table, making Jon and I look up at the deadpan face to see if he heard what I just said.
He did.
I close my eyes and wait for Jon and I to be alone again. Maybe if I can’t see our server he can’t see me.
“Dian
a darling,” Jon begins, inspiring me to squint a peek to see if it’s just him looking at me. It is. “I understand where you are coming from. I do not subscribe to your beliefs, but I understand. I do. Which is why I think you should call Eddie.”
“I don’t get your process.”
Holding his paper straw, Jon explains, “You already gave Eddie the a-okay, the much longed-for right of passage. He passed the gates and now will only need a return flight ticket, not a security clearance.”
“Ohhhh. I see.” Sitting back with my lemonade, I watch Jon get his mind blown by his first taste of caffeine today. He’s trying out a new ‘thing’ where he waits until the afternoon, gives him a pick-me-up. Keeps him sharp later and longer — that’s his claim.
He makes a grimace of ecstasy and release. “Worth. The. Wait!”
Jon has invented the teagasm.
I pull out my phone and type three words to Eddie, who I said goodbye-forever to, just last year.
How are you?
Send.
CHAPTER 6
TWO WEEKS LATER
WYATT
L yne Linguardo calls over with a voice so quiet it barely catches my attention, “Wyatt!” I cross to her slate-gray desk, my swagger subconsciously enhanced from the memory of her sucking my…
“Cocker!”
Fiore’s standing there with a cross-armed glare.
Dipping my chin with respect I greet her, “Chief.”
She doesn’t bother lowering her voice. “Do everyone a favor and leave my female officers alone.”
Snickers spread throughout the desk-sitters.
My glint is amused despite how I feel inside. Never let ‘em see you sweat. “Deputy Linguardo asked to see me. My intentions were nothing but professional.”
Unconvinced, Chief sneers, “Keep it that way,” turning on her shined boot-heel, vanishing down a hall postered with notorious criminals.
Why the fuck does Chief think I’m a bad guy? Those are the bad guys!
I’ve kept my nose clean for the two weeks since she read me the riot act about that fan-group. She hasn’t noticed. I’m starting to think she might transfer me regardless of what I do, if she can’t find a reason to fire me.
Wyatt Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 23) Page 3
