Happily Ever Alpha: Until Falco (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Jesse Jacobson

  Someone was going to jail, and in this case, it was going to be Mary Miller. Mutual battery occurs when two domestic partners use physical force on each other. It is my job to determine who the primary physical aggressor is and that is the person who goes to jail. According to Tennessee law, I was not required to arrest the person who is not the primary aggressor. In the case of today, Mr. Miller’s bleeding forehead gave me only one choice.

  “Mrs. Miller,” I called out. “It’s Officer Hicks. I need you to stop breaking things so I can come in and talk to you.”

  “Go away!” she commanded.

  “Can’t do that, Mrs. Miller,” I responded.

  “That bastard cheated on me, again,” she screamed.

  “That may be, but it still doesn’t give you the right to assault him.”

  “I don’t want to assault him,” she responded. “I want to kill him.”

  “Afraid you can’t do that, either,” I said. “I’m coming in now, and we’ll talk about it.”

  “Ok, fuck it,” she said. “I’m tired.”

  I slowly walked into the kitchen, with my hand position on the butt of my pistol. Protocol dictated that in a case of clear violence, I should have it drawn and pointed ahead of me, but I knew Mrs. Miller. I wasn’t about to scare the shit out of the poor woman.

  When I caught my first glimpse of the poor woman, she was sitting at a table, sobbing, looking haggard and spent. She seemed calm now, at least.

  “Am I going to have to go to jail?” she asked me.

  “I’m afraid so,” I told her.

  “What am I going to do?”

  “I’m not supposed to do this, but I can recommend a really good domestic violence lawyer,” I said. “He also handles divorces.”

  “I don’t want to divorce him,” she claimed.

  “Well, then maybe you two should seek counseling.”

  “He won’t go,” she told me. “I’ve tried many times.”

  “Can you prove he was cheating?” I asked.

  “Yes. I know who it is,” she said. “She works in the appliance section of Home Depot. I found a Motel 6 key card in his wallet, so I hacked into his Facebook account and went through his private messages. There was all manner of filthy talk. When I saw a post where she said she wanted to pee on him . . . again, I just lost it.”

  What an ass wipe, I thought.

  I sighed, “Well, I certainly understand why you are upset. I take it he doesn’t want a divorce, either?”

  “No. In his case, he knows he can’t afford it,” she said. “In my case, I don’t want to be alone. I just want the cheating to stop.”

  “What is this Jezebel’s name?” I asked.

  “Suzanne. Suzanne Littleton, why?”

  “She’s at the Home Depot on Nolensville Road?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “No reason,” I lied. “Listen, Mrs. Miller. One way for you to approach this is to threaten divorce, even if you don’t intend to go through with it.”

  “What good would that do?”

  I pulled a business card from my breast pocket, “Give this lawyer a call. Tell him what you told me—all of it, including the fact you don’t really want a divorce. This guy is good, real good. He’ll scare the ever-loving shit out of your husband. If you want counseling, this will get him to counseling.”

  “Really?”

  It had been my experience that if you want to really intimidate a man like Bob Miller, threaten his wallet.

  “Really,” I repeated.

  My phone buzzed. I received a text. It was from Captain Paulson. It read, ‘The DA said no charges will be filed against you. You’re all clear but I will need that modified report from you first thing in the morning.’

  I put my phone back in my pocket and held out the business card. Mrs. Miller took it, “Are you supposed to be giving me all this advice?”

  I shook my head, “No. Actually, I could get in a lot of trouble for it. It’s not my place.”

  She smiled for the first time, slipping the card in the back pocket of her jeans, “I won’t say a thing.”

  An hour later, the ambulance took Mr. Miller away and Mrs. Miller had been arrested and was behind bars. I had shared the whole story with Falco. He listened intently. I was furious and the more I told him about what had happened the angrier I was becoming.

  “Want to get a cup of coffee, Hicks?” Falco asked me.

  “No, you go home,” I told him. “Enjoy the rest of your day off. I need to make a stop.”

  “Where?” he asked.

  “At Home Depot.”

  “You’re going to pay Mr. Miller’s mistress a visit?” he asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “You shouldn’t be doing that,” he said. We don’t have . . .”

  “It’s not your worry, Falco. Go home.”

  “It’s a horrible idea, Hicks,” he told me. “Intimidating a woman who has done nothing illegal, and doing so at her place of business in front of her coworkers? That’s insane.”

  “I know the risks,” I replied.

  “You are already under a microscope for excessive force,” he snipped. “The last thing you need is some woman calling in a complaint that you were pushing her around. It’s not your place to play judge, jury and executioner.”

  “You know, Falco,” I replied. “I resent your holier-than-thou attitude.”

  You’re the one under a microscope, bud, I thought to myself but didn’t say. And you’re the one pissing me off right now. Falco had no idea how close I was to taking the captain’s advice. It would be so easy. All I had to do was change one line in a report and indicate that I was inside the restaurant when the gunshot went off. That’s all I have to do. I’d be off the hook and bye-bye Falco.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said.

  “Like I said, Falco, go home.”

  “No. I am coming with you.”

  “Suit yourself, but if you aren’t going to help, then stay the hell out of my way.”

  ______________________

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ______________________

  FALCO

  I gave Hicks the Reader’s Digest version of the events that occurred the evening before as we drove to Home Depot. She listened intently and quietly, without interruption, something I had not seen her do in the short time I’d known her.

  When I was winding down my story, I could see her shaking her head.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Men are so damn gullible,” she said.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Let me play it back for you. A girl you haven’t seen in twenty years, who happens to be homeless now, is currently living in your apartment, eating your food and running around town with your debit card and your PIN number,” she said. “Do I have that right?”

  “Well . . . yeah, but . . .”

  “And all this special attention because she was your first fuck?” she interrupted.

  “It’s more complicated than that,” I said.

  “How can someone with such movie star looks and a body like The Rock, be so naïve? Did it ever occur to you that she’s playing you?”

  “Well . . . no . . .”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said, scoffing. “You’re such an idiot, Falco.”

  “She’s not like that,” I insisted.

  “Yeah, whatever,” she replied. “You think with your dick, and I should know. I’ve had it in my mouth.”

  “You’re full of it, Hicks. I didn’t tell you what happened so you could shit on her.”

  “You know what, we’re done with this conversation,” she said. “You’re a big boy now. Take your lumps when they come. We’re here anyway. Follow my lead.”

  She pulled the cruiser up to the front. We both got out and went inside the giant store. She saw the ‘Home Appliances’ sign and motioned for me to follow.

  Hicks looked around the department, spotted a young woman among the s
even or so employees running around and nodded to me. The woman she spotted was short, bottom heavy and looked unmistakably skanky. Hicks approached her with me close behind.

  “Are you Suzanne Littleton?” she asked.

  “Yes, I am, why?” she asked, her eyes flashing toward my badge. Her eyes lit up in fear. Everyone, employees and customers alike, had already begun to take notice of two of Nashville’s finest in the home appliance section of Home Depot. Even without our uniforms, the badges and guns on our belts stuck out like a beacon.

  “We’re investigating a domestic disturbance involving a Mr. and Mrs. Bob Miller,” Hicks said. “Your name came up. That’s why we’re here.”

  Suzanne noticed her fellow employees staring at her and beginning to gather around, albeit at a safe distance. She was clearly humiliated. She lowered her head and pulled her hair behind her ear, nervously, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “Do you think you could keep your voice down.”

  “Mrs. Miller is claiming that you are having an affair with her husband,” Hicks said, loudly enough for several employees and a number of customers to hear.

  “Officer Hicks,” I said. “Maybe there is a storage room or someplace we can speak with Suzanne more privately.”

  “That’s alright, Falco,” she replied. “We won’t be long.”

  She turned back to Suzanne, “Well, Ms. Littleton?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she repeated.

  “Ms. Littleton, Mrs. Miller has copies of your Facebook messages to Mr. Miller,” Hicks said. “It made for interesting reading. Ms. Littleton, do you like to pee on men? Do you get off on that?”

  I heard several employees gasp and a few of them snickered. Ms. Littleton’s face turned beet red. She was immeasurably humiliated. Hicks had crossed the line in a major way. Through the corner of my eye I saw an employee speaking to an older, very tall, very large black man, undoubtedly the department supervisor. He looked our way as the employee was speaking to him. He wore an angry expression.

  “Officer,” I said, stepping between her and Suzanne, “I’ll take it from here. I need you to go back to the squad car.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be sleeping with married men,” Hicks said to Suzanne, one final salvo.

  “Now, Hicks,” I repeated, sternly, looking into her eyes, unwaveringly. The large black man was heading our way, now.

  Hicks flashed me an angry look, then backed off. She glared at Suzanne one last time then turned and left.

  Suzanne buried her face in her hands and started to cry.

  “What is going on here?” the large black man asked, crossly. His name badge read Franklin Jones, Supervisor.

  “I am here as part of an investigation, Mr. Jones,” I said. “We are only asking questions.”

  “Can’t you see you’ve upset her?” Jones barked. “This woman is in my employ and on duty. Unless you have a warrant, you have no right disrupting her work. Do you have a warrant?”

  “No, sir,” I replied. “As I was saying, we are just asking ques . . .”

  “You’re not even in uniform, Officer . . . . uh?”

  “Falco,” I replied. “Officer John Falco.”

  “Well, I will be taking this matter up with your supervisor,” Jones snapped. “Now, please leave.”

  I sighed and handed Suzanne a card, “Ms. Littleton, if you can think of any information regarding this case, please call me.”

  She took the card. Her hands were quaking.

  Back in the car, I let Hicks have it . . . with both barrels, metaphorically speaking.

  “What the fuck were you thinking, Hicks?” I barked.

  “Mary Miller does not deserve to lose everything in her life because of that twisted pee-bloated skank,” she fired back.

  “That is not your concern,” I declared.

  “I’ll give you ten to one odds that she never sleeps with Mr. Miller again,” she said. “I did my job.”

  “You did not do your job. You crossed the line. You are an officer of the law. You handled the situation at the Miller’s house by the book. You followed procedure. She is being processed through the system. It’s out of your hands now.”

  She glared at me. I met her gaze with one of my own. After several seconds, I saw the fire begin to die down.

  “Let’s go get that cup of coffee,” she said.

  I nodded, “I’m driving.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting in Starbucks, in two of their leather reading chairs, sipping latte’s. The place was nearly empty. Hicks seemed to have calmed.

  “You feeling better?” I asked.

  Hicks sat back and exhaled loudly, “Yeah, I am. You were right. I’m sorry I put you in an awkward position.”

  “You have an anger management problem, Hicks,” I said. “You need to deal with it.”

  “I know,” she admitted. “I’m out of control.”

  “Damn right you’re out of control,” I snapped. “Look, Hicks. I think you’re a great cop, and I’ve not met anyone I’d rather have at my side when the shit hits the fan, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to follow you around and clean up your messes just because you can’t keep your temper in check. This whole bull-in-a-China-shop shit has to stop.”

  “I’ve never let any man speak to me that way before,” she said.

  “Maybe you need to listen every now and then.”

  “You’re right,” she said, nearly flooring me with her mea culpa. “You’re right about all of it. I should go back and talk with the manager and apologize.”

  “It would only make it worse. He needs to cool down. The manager has my name,” I told her. “If he calls, I’ll take the call . . . and the heat.”

  “You’d do that?” she asked. “Why?”

  “Because you already have one pending abuse of power case against you, Hicks,” he replied. “I can take the heat on this easier than you. We’re partners. That’s what partners do.”

  She looked at me with the oddest stare. The wheels were turning in her head, I could tell, and it seemed to go deeper than the event which had just transpired.

  After we finished our coffee, we went back to the station, and I filled out my report, including both the visit to the Miller house and the visit to Suzanne Littleton and Home Depot. I did what I could to soften the language but knew full well there were witnesses who would have overheard Hicks verbally bombarding the appliance sales lady. It was my hope that the supervisor would not follow through with his threat, but if he did, I was preparing what I’d say to Captain Paulson.

  I looked at my watch. It was already past three o’clock. I wondered what Irina was doing. I thought about what Hicks had said and wondered, was I really being an idiot? Was Irina playing me?

  As I drove home I wondered if she’d even be there. Did she steal stuff from my apartment? Would she max out my card and take off?

  And if she did, would I follow her?

  ______________________

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ______________________

  HICKS

  When Falco tore into me, my first inclination was to do what I did with every other partner I’d ever had who had the audacity to challenge me—jump down his throat and rip his ass. But he stopped me in my tracks. Falco was right and I knew it. He had just metaphorically bitch-slapped me and I deserved it, every word of it.

  I’d spent most of the afternoon reflecting on everything that had occurred since Falco entered my life. Falco was the first person I thought to call when I needed backup, and not because he’d been my partner for two whole minutes, but what happened today changed nothing about what Paulson asked me to do.

  Fuck it. I knew what I had to do. I picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory.

  Kevin Thorpe answered on the first ring.

  “Hey Hicks, what can I do for you?” he asked.

  Kevin Thorpe was a lab specialist for the Metro PD. He had a very large crush on me for the longest
time. He was married but had a wandering eye. He was also very good at his job.

  He called me for a favor nearly two years ago. He had been busted in a prostitution sting. Just outside Printer’s Alley one Friday evening, he propositioned a female officer posing as a hooker.

  If the charges had stood, his career, his reputation and likely his marriage would have been irreparably damaged.

  The officer who played the part of said hooker, Officer Jane Stevens, was a friend of mine. I called Jane in the car as she and her partner were hauling off Thorpe to the station to throw him in the tank and charge him with solicitation.

  I convinced Jane to let him off. I knew all about Jane. She was moonlighting as security for Kentucky Downs race track for cash under the table, lots of cash, enough to make it a huge internal policy violation. She knew I knew it, so fortunately for me, I didn’t even have to bring it up. I asked her to let Thorpe go. They pulled over two blocks away from the station, told Thorpe about his guardian angel and let him go.

  “I need a favor from you, Kevin,” I said. “It’s big.”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  I told him what I wanted done.

  “Holy fuck,” he exclaimed. “I can’t do that, Hicks.”

  “Yes, you can, Thorpe,” I said. “I know it’s a big ask. You know what I did for you. I’ve never asked you for a thing in return. I’m calling in my marker.”

  “I know, I know,” he said, “but this is too big. If I get caught, my career is over.”

  “Just like your career and your marriage would have been over if I hadn’t been there when you needed me. Look, Thorpe, you won’t get caught,” I told him. “Don’t give me any shit. Just do it and give my love to your wife.”

  ______________________

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO