by Karen Baker
“If you have a strong woman in your life, let them know what they mean to you, what they represent in your life. Show them by doing something for them each and every day. A simple kiss, a thank you card, a hug. You never know when the smallest gesture will be the support someone needs to make it through the day.”
“To these three strong, beautiful women in my life, I would just like to say, thank you. Thank you for supporting me during some of my deepest, darkest days. You will never truly understand the value of your love and friendship in my life.” Dakota wiped a tear from her eye.
“Now, as far as the Achievement Award goes, I share it with these women. Again, without them, there is no me. No shelters, community centers, or domestic violence homes. I strive each and every day to show these women how much they mean to me, and how much their love, commitment, and courage drives to be a better woman.”
“One woman in particular, my wife, Beth Kendrick, has brought new meaning into my life, even brought back love into it. Many years ago on a soccer field in Iraq, I never would have believed I would be standing here tonight. But with the love and strength of this woman, I know now that most of my fears can be conquered. She is my rock, she is my friend, and she is mine.” Dakota chuckled along with the crowd.
“With her love and guidance, we will continue to make a difference in the state for veterans, teens in domestic abuse, and the gay and lesbian community. Thank you for this honor. I share it with these women. They are my lifeline. Thank you.”
The crowd stood with an exuberant ovation. Dakota had no idea she was going to do this, but the timing seemed right with all three women in attendance tonight. How better to pay homage to her loved ones than by a speech from the heart.
Beth kissed her as she sat back down at the table. “Going rogue on us, are you?”
“Wasn’t planned, that’s for sure.”
“Well,” Val said, “you made me proud to be called your friend tonight.”
“Very well done, Dakota,” Janie piped in.
“I’ll be glad when these things are done and over with. I’m getting tired.” As Dakota said this, all three women started to worry. She noticed the look on their faces. “Not in living, just all these public appearances. This must have been apparent to everyone, given how tonight’s festivities began.”
Janie reassured Dakota, “No one cares about that. They’ve been there or have had someone in their life that has.”
“Well, I think I’ve about had it. I think it’s time to throw the rag in and call it quits. I’m retiring. That’s on the public work side of things, ladies. Again, not on living.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
About six months later, Dakota and Beth sat on the deck of the cabin, reflecting on their lives. “Didn’t I tell you I saw us growing into little old lesbians out here?” Dakota asked.
“You did. It was hard to believe in the beginning, but you did it. You made all this happen.” Beth glanced around their cabin that overlooked the Teton Mountains just outside Jackson, Wyoming.
“We did it. I didn’t think I was going to make it either, but I proved us both wrong. If it weren’t for you coming into my life, I don’t know if I would have made it. You, Val, and Janie were my lifelines. Still, it’s been an amazing ride.”
They fell into their normal nightly routine of cooking their dinner meal. Beth stirred the pasta, finally asking, “Do you still want to give more speeches?”
Dakota laughed, she had been waiting for months for Beth to broach the subject. “Maybe one or two a year, but I think I would rather focus my efforts on just pleasing you.”
Sarcastically, Beth replied, “Yeah, I’ve been so ignored.”
Dakota reached over and turned off the heat under the pasta. “Well, then let’s take care of that, starting right now, shall we?” She placed several kisses along the nape of Beth’s neck.
“Now you’re talking.” A grin graced Beth’s lips. “Dakota, make love to me like we’re lovers, not like an old, married couple.”
“I will, my love, I will.”
The End
If you have enjoyed DAKOTA
please look for HollyAnn Weaver’s novel
LEAVING AFGHANISTAN BEHIND from
Shadoe Publishing:
We have a chapter here for your enjoyment.
“Dispatch, 168. Show me 10-7 at East 46th and Avenue N.”
“Roger, 168.”
The thought of actually getting thirty minutes to sit and eat was particularly tantalizing to me at this point. It was pretty chilly. Even having my Second Chance and my heavy coat, I should have worn long johns underneath everything. What I wouldn’t give to be a weatherman. I could be wrong more than forty percent of the time and still get paid like I was a damned genius. Especially with all the forecasts coming from the National Weather Service and purchased software that processed that data.
But then again, even when it was sweltering in the summer and freezing in the winter, I was getting to be outside and take it all in. You couldn’t get me to trade places with one of the desk monkeys at One Police Plaza for all the tea in China. Not a chance. So naturally when given the choice to eat inside where it was warm, I was stupid enough to take my food out on the sidewalk to a table and eat there. Partially to be outside, and partially to be alone. I’m not a loner per se, I mean I have Theresa. And she’s the love of my life. But I do embrace solitude, for the most part.
“Amelia, sit your ass right back down. You’ll catch your death of a cold if you eat outside tonight,” said Mama. Make no mistake about it; it was her little restaurant, not the family’s. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Mama. I promise I’ll come back in for a refill of coffee in just a minute. Let me just sit down and take a load off first.”
“Take a load of in here, you crazy child!” I laughed under my breath. I felt privileged. She didn’t treat just everybody that way. “I don’t know why I try with you. You never listen to my advice anyway.”
“Not true. Didn’t I listen to you when you set me up with Theresa? You were the one that pushed me to ask her out. You practically pushed me in front of a train. Or should I say train wreck?” Mama laughed and me and dismissed me with a wave of her hand.
“Come back for your refill or I’ll haunt your dreams tonight.
“I don’t doubt you will, Mama.” I sat my food and coffee on the table and relaxed. As much as I like walking a beat, unlike most cops these days that prefer a cruiser, I do like to sit down and take a load off periodically. I’d no more than unwrapped my sandwich when the stupid radio went off.
“All units, vicinity of Flatbush and Quentin, shots fired. 10-32. Approach ten-39. Units in the area respond.”
“Dispatch, 168, show me 10-8 en route, two blocks out. Request 10-78 from 10-60.”
I ran like the wind. Shots fired, no other information. And naturally I was the closest respondent. All I wanted was a measly half hour for a meal. Was that too much to ask? I’m not only a marathon runner, I can sprint a five-k. I’m now thirty-one years old but have never been in better shape in my life. The United States Army took a wiry Flatbush girl with no experience other than the ability to play basketball and shaped her into what I am now. And I’m daily grateful. My mom is so proud. She came from Bermuda with papa with little to their names after paying for college, dragging a few suit cases and me and my sister, Cheryll Anne. We’d all flourished here in the United States, but Papa had died the year before I went into the Army. I always wished he’d lived just one more year to see me graduate from Basic Training.
I don’t think I ever even considered being a lifer. That was brought home when I pulled my gauntlet in South West Asia. That’s where you pull your fifth tour. Supposedly it means that you never have to go back, but that doesn’t apply to certain specialties. Like my best friend growing up, Vam Dho. She came back from her sixth deployment in a coffin aboard a C-17. She was Psychological Operations. Me, I did five tours, and they wanted me to go again.
I would have had to extend my enlistment before I left though since it ran out at about the third week of what would have been a six to nine-month deployment. I was, officially, a Military Policeman. Whatever. I was a sniper.
These things all were running through my head while I was beating boots down the sidewalk as fast I could toward the vicinity of the call. Just as I got there two men ran out into the street just ahead of me. I could clearly see the gun that one of them held even in the dimly lit street. It was a large automatic pistol, either nickel or stainless steel, with light glinting off it.
“Stop! Police!” I shouted at them, which, of course, both ignored. I pulled my weapon and held it up as I ran, pushing the safety off simultaneously. “Stop! Police!” I repeated. To no avail.
Suddenly the one with the shiny gun turned at me. I didn’t know if the other had a gun or not, but I definitely knew this one did. I got down into a crouching stance immediately and lowered my weapon at him. “Drop your weapon! Now!” I screamed. Nobody said criminals were that smart. I heard a bullet wiz by my head then heard it strike the brick in the building behind me. I firmly pulled the trigger three times. He dropped. The other man continued to run.
I quickly moved up to the suspect I had shot. He still had a fairly strong pulse, but I knew I’d hit him three times in the gut. I grabbed my radio. “Dispatch, 168, two suspects. One down, three shots. Other suspect is heading south on Hendrickson. Send me an ambulance and a squad, 10-18.”
“168, 10-4. Stand by.” I waited while trying to find the wounds through the suspects coat after first recovering his pistol and sticking it in the back of my Sam Browne. “168, ambulance and squad Dispatched. Ambulance ETA five to six minutes, squad ETA less than two minutes.”
“168, 10-4.” For a two minute ETA, they sure were quick. The squad fishtailed around the corner and came to a screeching halt about twenty feet from me with their headlights and both spotlights focused on the scene. They killed the siren but left the flashing lights on.
“I’ve got this one. The other one ran down Hendrickson. On foot, five ten to six feet, dark hair, light complexion, jeans, dark, heavy coat. Sorry, I don’t have more,” I yelled out.
The other two officers jumped back in the squad with a wave from each, hitting the siren again, screeching the tires. I had the suspect on his back, trying to apply pressure to his midsection, but he was bleeding too badly. I had a terrible feeling. Even when the bad guy shoots first...Even when it’s a completely justified shoot...You still feel it. If you don’t, you should quit and find a new job.
Finally, the ambulance came lumbering up the street. They pulled up beside me. The driver and passenger hopped out with their bags while the Paramedic in the back opened the door from the inside and pulled the stretcher out, joining the other two. There was just so much blood, all over me, all over the victim. All over the street. They took over for me, and I stood back, really feeling the lack of food about now.
Within four or five minutes, there were four more squads on scene. The first one that had gone down the street and found nothing. Another squad close to the site, the Patrol Sergeant on duty, and the Patrol Training Officer, pulled up. The Sergeant was there to fill out the reports on weapons discharge and suspect’s condition after a physical confrontation resulting in medical treatment. While the Sarge was filling out his paperwork, the second squad was filling out the incident report and had already called in Crime Scene Investigation. The good news was that it was a relatively slow night so far, and they were expected within about fifteen minutes. Even though I was the officer involved, they had to fill out the report for the investigation. My report would be just for the record.
The Paramedics had put in a mainline and gone through many pints of blood and plasma, but they couldn’t slow the flow of blood even enough to transport him. About thirty minutes into it, they pulled the parachute cord and bailed. They’d have to wait for CSU to leave, but in the meanwhile it took them a good twenty minutes to get everything squared away.
The Paramedics had begun cleaning me up and making sure that I had no injuries. My right knee was a little out of sorts from all the pounding on the pavement so hard getting over here, plus the chase. I’m not twenty-one anymore. They gave me some naproxen for that, along with a twenty-four ounce bottle of water with added electrolytes to keep me hydrated. I thanked them for their help. They’d also given me a couple of Mylar blankets to wrap up in and let me sit in the back of the ambulance until I could get some replacement clothes. My shirt and coat were soaked with blood, but at least it was off my hands and arms now.
The back of the ambulance opened, and the Sarge and the reporting officer got in, shutting the door behind them.
“Amelia, from what I’ve gathered already it was a good, clean shoot. No worries there. Glen here is going to drive you over to the Precinct so that you can finish your report while it’s still fresh in your head, then we’re going to kick you loose, with pay of course, and you’ll have to drive a desk for a few days until we get the official okay from 1PP.” He handed me the business card of the head doctor as required by departmental regulations. “Dr. Feynman is the duty shrink for this week. Call her! Let her do her job! Even if you feel fine. I’m not kidding!”
“No need to shout, Timmy. I heard you the first time.”
“I could bust you for insubordination. Not for not using my rank, but for calling me that instead of Tim? For God’s sake, Amelia, you’re not my parents. I could get away with kicking your ass,” he said playfully punching me in the arm. “I’m going to head home now. I’ve been on duty since six thirty this morning. But call Dr. Feynman. Promise me.”
“I promise, Sarge. Go on home to Rita. Glen will take care of me.”
“Good night, you two.”
“Good night Sarge,” Glen and I said in unison.
Glen looked me right in the eyes. “Does this bring anything back? I haven’t ever discharged my weapon, but I’ve drawn it. And it takes me back.”
Glen was in my unit at the same time, but we always deployed opposite each other, so we never met until we joined the force at the NYPD. On paper, we were the XVIII Airborne Corps, 16th MP Brigade, 91st MP Battalion, 32nd MP Company out of Ft. Bragg. But when we were deployed we became the 10th Mountain Division, 1st Brigade, 10th Military Police Battalion, 1st Platoon. Officially you had to be an infantryman, a special forces member, a Stryker, or a cavalry scout. Since women weren’t allowed in those jobs, they allowed me to be selected from an MP unit that was embedded in an infantry division. But then, in those blurred lines that sometimes present themselves, life wasn’t what it seemed.
I said nothing. He helped me into the squad he was driving and took me back to the Precinct. I had a couple of other shirts in my locker, and he managed to find me a couple of hoodies to put on. They were both oversized for me, so I had no problem getting them on. I put my beat cap in my locker and picked up a snapback and threw it on. I also got my chain out and put my ID on it so that I could be identified throughout the building. After filling out my report, Glen, who was about ready for his coffee break, came in where I was set up and took my reports to turn in. Then he picked up the phone, slammed it against the desk in front of me, picked up the handset, and shoved it in my face.
“I’ll do it.”
“When.”
“Later. I promise.”
“You’ll do it now!”
I sighed, pulling out the card for Dr. Feynman. I punched the numbers into the phone as Glen was leaving the office, gently pulling the door shut behind him.
“This is Elizabeth Feynman. May I help you?”
“Dr. Feynman. This is Officer Amelia Gittens. I was just…involved in a suspect shooting.”
Dr. Feynman immediately lost the sound of sleepiness in her voice.
“Amelia, are you there?”
“Yeah. Look, I can call you tomorrow if you’d like. It’s almost midnight now.”
“Which Precinct are you at right now?”
/> “67th. Flatbush.”
“Give me…twenty-five minutes. I’ll be right there.”
“Really, I can do this tomorrow.”
“Nonsense. The sooner we do this, the better it will be. See you in a few. Just don’t make fun of me without makeup,” she laughed. I tried to laugh, but it didn’t come.
Next I pulled out my cell phone. “Hi, baby. How are you tonight?”
“Knowing you’re going to be walking in that door in less than an hour, how could I not be perfect?”
“About that…I’m…uh…going to be a little late. I’ve got to hang out here at the Precinct for a while. I’m waiting on the departmental psychiatrist to have an hour visit with me before I can leave, and she won’t be here for about half an hour. Then I have to get a ride home. They won’t let me drive tonight.”
“Baby! What’s wrong? Are you alright? Did you get hurt?”
“No, I’m fine, actually. It was just…well, you’re going to hear about it anyway. I was involved in a shooting tonight.”
“But you’re fine, right? Tell me you’re fine.”
“Yeah, I’m just fine. I had a suspect shoot at me. He missed. I didn’t.”
“…So, you shot him? Or her? Or whatever?”
“Yeah. I shot him three times. The ambulance couldn’t even get him stable enough to transport.”
“Baby girl, are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I don’t technically have to see the shrink tonight, but I won’t be allowed to do anything without talking to one of them. And I might as well get it over with. I’ll see you in a couple of hours. I just wanted to let you know I’d be late. Scratch Ferdinand for me. See you in a while. Love you.”
“I love you too, baby. So much.”
Theresa Biancardi was almost an empath she cared so much. Not just about me, but about everybody really. But especially towards me. Her family had some trouble getting used to me. Not because I’m black, but because of my sounds-sort-of-British-but-not-quite accent.
