by John Foxjohn
Cops instructed their girlfriends to never get smart with the patrolman, and not disregard traffic laws, but more important, never tell anyone about them. However, the women behaved like rookie patrolmen, who hung handcuffs on their mirrors to let people know they were cops. They told everyone they met and they drove any way they pleased because they could get away with it.
“Cindy,” he ran his hand through his hair, “I don’t believe in the badges and I don’t give them out. He rolled his eyes. “We’ve talked about this before. Give me the ticket and I’ll see what I can do.”
She opened her purse, thrust the ticket at him, and spun around, leaving without another word. Not even a goodbye kiss.
He compared Cindy to Beth Porter, and shook his head. He didn’t think Beth Porter would chase a cop, or any man. He and Cindy used each other. She knew what he wanted from her, and she wanted the advantages of dating a Houston cop. For the first time, he heard himself saying the word used, and it dawned on him that he used Cindy. He was no better than the people he looked down on who used his friendship to get out of trouble.
He didn’t think the relationship would last much longer. He got what he wanted, but Cindy didn’t, and she’d find someone else.
***
Silk ivies on shelves trailed along walls between framed landscape prints in the restaurant’s foyer. As David glanced at the day’s menu specials, someone behind him yelled, “Hey, you little pig.”
People stopped and stared. David stepped close, pointed his finger at the antagonist, “I’ve warned you before about calling me little.”
Terry strode forward and engulfed David in a hug. They both stood back and looked at each other. Almost two years had passed since he’d seen Terry, one of the few people David made friends with in the army and still kept in touch with.
Terry shook his head, looking up and down at David. “Man, you look better than snuff in that get up.” David had dressed in his navy blue Zegna Soft two-button pinstripe over a white shirt and a red Segni & Disegni silk tie.
“Where’re Pamela and the boys?”
Terry had married while still in the Army. He now had two sons who were almost teenagers, and the last time David saw the boys, they were their father’s spitting image. David looked at Terry’s huge frame and guessed he weighed a lean two seventy-five.
“Pam wasn’t ready, so I came ahead. Let’s get a seat.”
When the waiter escorted them to a table in the rear, David smiled as Terry’s chair groaned when he sat.
Pamela and the two boys interrupted them. David stood, hugged Pam and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Both boys stood looking at David. Leroy hadn’t grown any, but Little David looked to be almost six feet tall. He towered over his older brother.
Small talk followed at first, while they caught up on major developments in their lives. Little David joined in, laughed, and talked with them, but Leroy didn’t say anything. David jerked his head toward Leroy and raised his eyebrow at Terry.
“Leroy’s having trouble in school,” Terry said. “Kids make fun of him because his little brother is bigger. David, you should tell him your story.”
David smiled to himself. That’s what Terry wanted to talk to him about.
Leroy had his head down and didn’t look at David. “I had the same problems you’re having when I was your age. Do you want me to tell you?”
“I don’t care,” Leroy said, not looking up.
He cared but wouldn’t admit it. “I grew up in the sixties like your dad did. Bullies picked on me because I was smaller than the other kids my age. I can’t count the number of fights I got into or how many times they expelled me. I hated school, and I didn’t even have a girl friend in high school.”
David paused. Leroy listened, although he pretended he didn’t care.
“Why weren’t you popular?” Little David asked.
“The sixties were a weird time.”
Terry chipped in an “Amen” to David’s statement.
“Protests, hippies, free love, long hair, and drugs, and all the popular boys wore bell bottom pants, long hair, and smoked dope. I didn’t. I cut my hair short, wore straight cut jeans and refused to get into the dope scene. I put out enough effort to pass—nothing else. I didn’t care about school, or my mother’s constant harping about college. I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do, except I didn’t want to go to college, and I sure didn’t want to work in an oil refinery like my father.
“Why not?” Leroy asked, the first words he’d spoken since they sat at the table.
David took a drink from his water glass. “Didn’t like school and had no intentions of spending four more years if I had anything to say. Without a college degree, I’d go to the bottom in the refineries and didn’t want that either. The truth is, I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do.”
The waitress rushed by and took their orders. David ordered a steak, blood rare, baked potato, and salad. Both boys sat leaning forward, elbows on the table and their chins resting on their hands. David glanced over at Terry to see a perceptive smile turn up the corners of his mouth.
“Why’d you join the army?” Leroy asked.
David laughed. “I graduated in 1969. I had no plans, but one day, while walking down the street, I stopped in front of the Army recruiting station, looking at a poster in the window. In those days with the Viet Nam war going on, the recruiters came outside to talk to people. This one convinced me to come inside.”
David took a drink of his iced tea. Terry and Pam ate their salads, watching and listening but not joining in. Both boys worshipped David.
He took a bite and wiped his mouth before he continued. “Sergeant Winder, the recruiting sergeant, escorted me inside, and while we talked he asked me the question I had dreaded.”
“What question?” Little David asked.
“My height.”
“Why’d he ask about your height?” Leroy asked, his loaded fork poised in midair.
David smiled at the boy. “The army had a height requirement, and I stood a whopping five-three.”
“Five-three?” both boys asked at the same time.
David nodded. “Yep. Five-three. I weighed about a hundred and twenty soaking wet.”
David and Leroy sat with their mouths open, and David chewed a piece of his steak before he continued. “When he put me on the scale, he thought he’d lose a live one because of an inch in height. He wrote five-four down, the minimum height required to get in. On a whim, I signed up for three years. I couldn’t talk to my parents. My mother would’ve thrown a fit. I should go to college, she’d say. Nobody in their right mind joined the army with a war going on.”
Leroy cocked his head. “What happened? You’re not five-three now.”
David laughed. “I got unexpected help. Most people reach their maximum height by the time they turn eighteen. My father stood five-five and my mother five-two. I believed I’d always be short, but I had a late growth spurt. In the year between eighteen and nineteen, I grew six inches. I entered the army at five-three and one hundred and twenty pounds—a year later, after many hours in the gym on free weights, I grew to five-nine and weighed one-eighty-five.”
Leroy’s face lit up, although he didn’t say anything.
They chatted while they ate, and still quiet, Leroy listened to the conversation. David went to the bathroom, and Leroy followed, but stood near the sink while David washed his hands.
He leaned over and tussled his hair. “Don’t give up. You’ll spurt up, too. You might even end up taller than your daddy like I did.”
David enjoyed the evening with Terry and his family. Leroy’s huge smile lifted David’s spirits.
He decided to go by the Pig Sty on Main Street after he left the restaurant. The bar, a regular haunt for off duty male police officers, accepted the public, but few people frequented the bar except cops and civilian women.
Noise from the crowded bar hit David in the face when he strolled in, along with cigarette smoke, and
stale sweat. Payday nights, like this one, brought in a crowd of officers as well as women eager to help them spend their money.
David dodged and slithered his way to an open place at the end of the bar. He ordered a Miller Lite, and the harried bartender brought him his beer and a frozen mug.
As the first swallow went down, David glanced at a blonde female who sat beside him. They smiled at each other, but neither spoke. David, thinking about Terry and his family, jumped when someone behind him yelled, “Are you with this tramp?”
Chapter 6
All the noise in the bar stopped. David sucked in a cigarette-smoke-laden breath and spun around on the stool. As he suspected, he found Cindy standing with her hands on hips.
He blinked. “What?”
She glared at him. “You heard me. You lied to me. You said you were going out with an old army buddy and now I find you with this tramp.”
The woman spun around on her bar stool. “Who are you calling a tramp?”
Cindy flipped her hair back and yelled, “So you’re here with her?”
David dropped his head and shook it. If this wasn’t his most embarrassing moment, he didn’t know what was. He wondered why Cindy did this. Everyone in the bar stopped talking and stared at them. “Cindy, keep your dang voice down. I’m not with anyone. I don’t even know her name.”
Cindy’s eyes flashed. “That’s another lie. You’re dumping me for this tramp.”
He reached out and caught Cindy’s arm, tugging her away from the other woman. He didn’t need a catfight in the bar. This news would travel through the department like wild fire. He’d never be able to explain this mess to Inspector Patterson. He visualized Spinks’ gloating smile, and took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m not in here with her. I don’t know her.”
With her hands out, palms forward, the blonde stood and shook her head. “I’m not getting in a fight with a woman over a man I’ve never talked to. Especially,” she said, walking out, “not in a bar full of cops.”
Nervous laughter followed her last statement.
Thankful the blonde had some sense, David turned back to the bar and away from Cindy’s grin. He had his doubts about her anger. She sat at the empty stool beside him.
“You didn’t need to cause a scene in here to get her seat at the bar.”
Cindy smiled. “How’d you guess?”
“It sure wasn’t hard to figure out. Worst acting job in the world.”
Cindy huffed up. “I’m a good actress.”
As he took his last swallow, he set his mug on the bar. This was his fault. He’d put himself in a position he couldn’t win. When the bartender appeared and asked if he wanted another one, he shook his head and stood.
“Are you leaving?” Cindy asked.
He sighed, “Yep.”
“Do you want me to ride with you or follow?” she asked with a teasing lilt in her voice.
David raised his eyebrow and cocked his head. “I’m going out, getting in my car by myself, and leaving by myself. What you do, well…” he shrugged.
Cindy crossed her arms. “What’re you saying?”
“I’m going home by myself is what I’m saying.”
Her eyes flashed, this time with real anger. “I think we should break up.”
“Cindy, I’m leaving.”
She stood and stamped her foot. “You can’t leave like this.”
He turned and strode away—knowing things would get worse if he stayed. He realized he got what he had coming. People who use other people couldn’t expect loyalty, trust, or devotion from the ones they used.
As he trudged out, Beth Porter’s face flashed to him. How her hair reflected from the light, and her beautiful eyes.
***
David trudged into the office Saturday morning and slumped in his chair behind his desk. He’d decided to catch up with paperwork on his day off. Four trays sat on his desk. Two were marked in and two out. His in’s were full, and the two marked out didn’t have any paper in them. Grinning, he wondered if he should change the names on the trays—put the ins on the outs and the outs on the ins.
Henry and his wife had convinced him to go out with friends last night. Suspicious, he’d agreed, only to find he was right. He wouldn’t fall for that one again. Friends turned from plural to single. One single female friend Patty, Henry’s wife, went to church with.
This wasn’t the first time Patty tried to set him up with a “good female companion.” Since the first time he met her, she’d gone about her task: matchmaking. Sandra, Patty’s friend, seemed okay, but not his type. He didn’t know what type he looked for, but Sandra wasn’t it. She had a nice shape in a plump way, and looked okay, in a plain way. But looks alone didn’t matter. Women didn’t get more gorgeous and sexy than Cindy did, but he’d known all along their relationship wouldn’t work.
Sandra seemed like a pleasant woman and gave him her phone number, but he doubted he’d ever call her. Except her hyena laugh, he didn’t know anything bad about her, but he wanted more. He didn’t know what he wanted, but hoped he’d know when it showed up. Something was missing in his life. He didn’t know what and couldn’t explain it. He hoped to find a woman who liked to laugh, even at herself, had intelligence, knew what she wanted, and spoke her mind. Unlike other men, he wanted a woman with an independent nature, one who wouldn’t need or want him to think for her.
“What’re you doing here, David?”
He glanced up. Inspector Patterson stood in the doorway.
He straightened papers on his desk. “I’m working on paperwork.”
“I glanced at the assignment board, and you’re off today. You aren’t even on call.”
“No sir.”
Patterson ambled over and sat across from David. “You can burn yourself out in this job.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve been on the police department twenty-four years. I started out on patrol like you. Over the years, I’ve seen too many good detectives burn themselves out.”
“Yes, sir. Does this job ever get to you?”
Patterson chuckled and nodded. “Sure. I’d question your sanity if all this didn’t bother you sometimes.”
David took a deep breath, leaning back in his seat. “I get tired looking at dead bodies.”
“Which one’s bothering you?”
“Well—the Harris murder.”
“How many times have you been back to the Harris house?”
David raised his eyebrows. “How did you know?”
He leaned forward. “I told you, I’ve been where you are. May I give you some advice?”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
“Back off for a few days. Stay away from the Harris house.”
When Patterson left, breakfast and the inspector’s advice made sense. He did need to get away from the office. He drove to the pancake house on Bissonet. When he parked, bacon, sausage, and coffee aromas made his stomach grumble as he stepped into the restaurant. Watching the waitress’s swinging rear, he startled when someone called his name. Beth Porter sat in a booth by herself.
“Good morning, Ms. Porter.”
“Please call me Beth, Detective.”
“Okay, Beth, but my first name’s David, not Detective.”
“Touché.” She smiled. “Are you by yourself?”
He thought about her great smile and smoothed his hair. “Yes, I’m off today, and decided to get breakfast.” He hoped she’d ask him to join her, but didn’t want to be presumptuous and ask.
With her slim, manicured hand, she indicated a seat across from her. “Would you like to join me?”
His stomach fluttered with exuberance, but he cautioned himself to stay calm. He figured she was being polite because he investigated her mother’s death.
“I’d love to, Beth.”
David sat across from her in the booth, adjusting his coat.
She smoothed her hair. “Do you come in here often?”
Light caught her hair when she mov
ed it, making her highlights look almost like silk. “Every once in a while. I like to eat here, and it gives me a chance to get away from the office and think.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Police officers think?”
He smiled and nodded his head. He could like this woman. She had a great sense of humor. He looked into her eyes. At least he hoped she was trying to show humor. “You aren’t stereotyping police officers, are you?”
“No. I’m sure there are a few on the Houston Police Department who think sometimes.”
“You sound like you know some. Have you had a relationship with any?”
“Nope. But my best friend has been dating one for almost two years. I’ve met his friends.”
David chuckled. “And you don’t think they have brains?”
She smiled, tilting her head. “I know they have brains, I just happen to believe their brains are located farther south than most people’s.”
He burst out laughing. When he stopped, he looked around to see people staring at him, but he didn’t care. She sat with her napkin in her lap and both hands on the table, toying with her fork. She had long, slender fingers. Her nails were short and manicured but unpainted. One small diamond ring adorned her right ring finger, the only jewelry she wore, and no make-up.
“How many S.F.O.P. badges do you have out?” she asked.
His eyes widened. Her question surprised him, and he hadn’t expected her to know about the badges, but he’d bet her friend had one. Looking at her across the table, he’d also bet cops had tried to give her one, too, along with other things.
“Yes, I know about them,” she said. “Special friend of police. I told you, my best friend’s dating a cop. She has one.”
David nodded. “I have two out.”
Her disappointed expression drew a shadow across her face, and this pleased him. He grinned. “Yep, I’ve given one to my mother and one to my father.”
Smile lines appeared around her mouth and her eyes lit up. Light specks he’d seen before were more prominent. Like he thought when he first saw her, she had expressive eyes. She could never hide her feelings. Those beautiful blue orbs would give her away every time.
