by Lou Reiter
“Guess so, if you say so. Got this new car and it’s sweet. Hardly know it’s moving. All by myself, listening to smooth sounds, and looking forward to a hot steamy shower.”
Marcus could hear the singing of the now Reverend Al Green blasting through the radio. He thought it somewhat strange since the driver was a white woman, about 35, with a stunning set of knockers she was spotlighting in his direction.
“What kind of car is this? They pretty much all look alike these days.”
“It’s a Kia, the big model. I’ve always liked the big models. Big is good I always say. Seats are real comfy. Just caress my ass, if you know what I mean? Does that Ford back there caress your ass, let’s see, Officer Reynolds, is it?” Shirley Jones squinted at his nametag.
“No ma’am, the seats in my ride are so broken they just jab me in the ass.”
“I hear some people like that sensation, Officer Reynolds, and please call me Shirley since that’s my name.” The hussy shifted in her seat and exposed the top of her stocking held in place by a red lacey garter belt.
“I know your name. I’ve got a dating computer in my car and it tells me your name, who owns you, and where you park your car and your ass every night. But I still need to see your license, registration, and insurance.”
Ms. Jones pulled down her skirt when she realized she was going to get a citation regardless of her antics. She suddenly became a cold bitch, Marcus thought. He watched the taillights of her car fade into the blackness as he folded his citation book with its newest entry.
After taking two reports and investigating a parking lot accident, Marcus pulled into the Perkins Pancakes House and called himself out for lunch. There were a lot more hours left in this shift.
*****
Anita was glad she got a ride to the parking lot where her car waited. Otherwise she would have been looking for the CTA train to resume service and wouldn’t have gotten to her car until about five in the morning. Alone, at this time on a Sunday morning, Anita felt apprehensive knowing there would probably be drunks and other no-good characters hanging around CTA stops and parking lots. It was only about 3:30 and she expected to be home by 4:00. Anita had nothing special planned for Sunday, other than late mass at her neighborhood church. She should go to the Laundromat, too, thinking about it.
As Anita pulled out of the parking lot she noticed there wasn’t another car on the road. Fiddling with the radio knob, she found her favorite Latin station and settled in for the drive home. She noticed the sign announcing Greenwood Village on her right, the only thing broadcasting light at that time of morning. To Anita, the small towns all looked the same on the stretch of highway from Chicago to Rialto.
Anita didn’t notice the police car as it emerged from the Perkins restaurant. Why should she? She was only going 45 mph, well below the speed limit. Anita was always conscious of how she drove. She didn’t want to be stopped by the police knowing she had no insurance and expired immigration documents. When the police car pulled behind her and blue strobe lights rippled over her dashboard, she thought it strange. But she quickly pulled over. She was on a vacant stretch of the highway between major intersections. A number of closed businesses and weed-infested vacant lots reached for acres. It was pitch dark, except for the eerie orange glow of muted streetlights.
Officer Marcus Reynolds pulled his police car into the safe, normal offset position he always used. He jotted the Tercel’s license plate number in his notebook and punched the letters and numbers into the computer to request a DMV check. The car came back owned by an Anita Gomez living in Rialto. There were no wants or warrants on the car. Marcus didn’t flick on the high intensity takedown lights for this stop. He walked around to the passenger side of the vehicle, checking the trunk lid as he passed. He scanned the rear seat with his flashlight before turning it to expose the front area of the car. He was using a Streamlight, a flashlight small in size, but with a huge lumen level that could light up everything in range. He observed Anita Gomez staring straight ahead, without a glance in his direction. Marcus tapped on the passenger window with his knuckles and moved his hand in a circle signaling for the driver to lower the window.
Anita’s Toyota was old and tired. The passenger window electronics hadn’t worked in years so she leaned over and opened the door with the handle. Marcus could see down her blouse to her exposed breasts. He opened the door to assist her. The car sat low and Marcus had to squat to face Anita eye to eye. She had nicely toned legs extending under a flared skirt.
“Good morning, Miss. I need to see your driver’s license, registration, and proof of insurance,” Marcus announced succinctly as if he was a computer. Anita opened her purse and produced her wallet. With difficulty, she opened it with quivering hands. Finally she showed her license displayed in the plastic window and handed it to Marcus.
“You’ll need to pull the license out of your wallet, Miss.” She did and handed it to Marcus. “Registration and proof of insurance?”
“I don’t have insurance, Officer,” Anita admitted as she leaned to open the glove compartment. Marcus was again treated to a luscious view of her naked breasts. She handed him the registration.
“You still live at this address in Rialto?”
“Yes, but what did I do wrong? I was only going 45 and the speed limit is usually 50.” She was now sitting upright in the driver’s seat, still staring straight ahead.
“No you weren’t speeding. The light over your license plate is not working. That’s not a big deal and would be only an equipment violation. But, not having insurance is a big deal. I can have your car towed and impounded. You’ll be facing a big fine. The tow and impound will add up, too. And you’d have to prove that you got insurance before you can get your car back.”
Marcus knew what he said was correct and legal. He also knew a car was essential for anyone living beyond the reach of the CTA.
“Officer, I need my car! I work two jobs and I got to get to the cleaning job with my car,” Anita pleaded as she suddenly realized the extent of her predicament.
“You from Mexico?”
“No, Guatemala.”
“You legal?”
“Yes,” she said realizing her face was beginning to flush. “But I’m here on a student visa,” she lied.
“You got a green card?”
“I leave that at home. Don’t want to get that stolen.”
“Ms. Gomez, or can I call you Anita?”
“Anita is okay.”
“Anita, I’m pretty sure you’re not legal. Is that right?”
Anita nodded in embarrassment.
“Anita, I can also smell alcohol. How much have you been drinking?”
“Not too many drinks!” Anita quickly put her hand to her mouth to cover it, as if that would stop odor from being emitted.
“You’re going to have to step out of the car, Anita.”
She began to open the driver’s side door.
“No, slide over here. It’s safer,” Marcus ordered.
As Anita moved across the seat, Marcus again got a full shot of her breasts and legs as her skirt slid up her thigh. Marcus stepped back to allow her to exit the car. She momentarily lost her balance and swayed toward the door. Marcus grabbed her upper arm and allowed her to straighten up. He motioned for her to walk to the rear of her car.
“I’m going to give you a field sobriety test, Anita.”
“But, I haven’t drunk too many!”
“Well, let’s see.”
Marcus stepped back, allowing Anita to walk the few paces to the rear of her car.
“Now, Anita, watch me. This is the first test. See how I’ve put both feet together? Now stretch your arms out to your sides. Like this, see? Then close your eyes and lean your head back like this. Hold that position until I tell you to stop. Do you understand, Anita?”
She nodded.
Anita put her clogs together. She wished she had worn flats. She leveled her arms, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back. It was if
her brain went into a fog. She began to sway. Marcus saw she was becoming wobbly and reached to steady her. He again grabbed her arm, strictly following procedure. Anita stumbled when one of her clogs caught the back of the other one. She began to turn. When Marcus went to grab her other arm, his hand slid under her blouse, cupping her small breast. He held her and began to fondle her breast. Anita instinctively reached up with her free hand and pulled Marcus’ groping hand away.
“What are you doing? That’s not right! You can’t do that!” Anita screamed as she tried to move away from his powerful grasp.
“Anita, I can pretty much do whatever I want to do! You got no insurance. You’re illegal. And, you’re drunk. That’s what I think. You’re about to lose your car, go to jail, and get deported. That’s what I think.” Marcus wore a sinister smirk on his face.
“Officer, I can’t lose my car! I can’t go to jail! America is my home now! I don’t want to go back! Please, please, please!”
“You know, I can make all that stuff go away in a flash, Anita,” Marcus taunted, his mouth widening with powerful testimony.
“How you make it go away?”
“Mainly you can be nice to me.”
“What do you mean… nice?” Anita’s rigidity suddenly collapsed as her shoulders slumped.
“I think you know what I mean, Anita.”
“You want sex? You want me to put you in my mouth?”
Marcus shook his head. “No, I want to fuck you. You little Latin bitches turn me on.” Marcus’ voice became deeper as he slowly uttered those words.
Anita began to stammer. Her mind was bombarded with all that might happen. She was frightened and very nervous. This man of the law controlled her life, her destiny. She couldn’t think of a way to get out of the situation. No one was around. It was dark.
“I can’t! I’m having my period!” She begged in a weak attempt to evade his advances.
“Tell you what. You follow me in your car. Now I’ve got your license and I know where you live. Now you follow me, hear?”
Marcus walked back to his cop car and got inside. He turned off the emergency lights but his headlights framed Anita in bright light. He could almost see the wheels in her brain turning. She was crying and her shoulders were rounded as she sobbed. Marcus knew she understood she was caught.
Anita didn’t look back as she slid into her car. Maybe she escaped the worst with her lie about having her period. She didn’t know, but she was scared.
The police car pulled alongside and Marcus motioned Anita to follow him. They drove a couple blocks and turned into the driveway of a large warehouse. It was pitch black. There were fractured light posts, but none offered a beacon of hope. Marcus led Anita to the loading docks where trucks would normally be parked. He turned his headlights off, but left the car running. Marcus walked back to Anita’s car, this time approaching the driver’s door. He opened the door and told Anita to turn the car and lights off. She was too frightened to say a word as Marcus grasped her left arm, roughly guiding her out of her seat. When he shut the door, the dome light extinguished. The couple was enveloped in total blackness. Not a sound could be heard. Marcus moved Anita to the front fender of her car and turned on his flashlight.
“Raise your blouse so I can get a good look at those fine little titties!” His light zeroed in on her exposed breasts. “I love Latin titties. Such brown nipples, like walnuts!” Marcus reached out and cupped each one with his free hand. “Now turn around!”
He reached down and grasped the hem of her skirt pulling it up and laying it over her back. With his flashlight, he pushed her upper torso onto the hood of the Tercel.
“Well, look at that tiny little thong! I love little brown Latin asses. Your ass is so firm and inviting,” Marcus said as he reached down and cupped a buttock. She could feel him pull the strap of her thong to one side and begin to slip his hand between her legs.
“Don’t! I’m having my period! I have a tampon inside me!”
Marcus moved his finger to the opening of her anus and pushed slightly. Anita gasped at the invasion as she heard the rustling of clothing and the metallic sound of a zipper. She no longer sensed the flashlight on her back, but still she didn’t move. She heard another sound that she couldn’t decipher. Suddenly the cop’s finger was again probing her anus. This time his finger was moist and it entered her with ease. Then she felt a second moist finger join the first. Suddenly the fingers were withdrawn. Soon she felt something else pushing against the tight entrance of her rectum. A lubricated condom allowed Marcus’ penis to enter her with relative ease although the pain was unbearable. His hips began rhythmic pounding as his thickened penis slid in and out of Anita’s throbbing anus. His hands groped under her blouse and grabbed her breasts, squeezing them tightly in rhythm to his thrusting hips.
Anita desperately wanted to escape the savagery of what was happening to her by focusing on a pleasant memory. Guttural grunts from places deep in the cop’s subconscious speared through his lips as he thrust his penis deep into her anus. Blocking out the pain and conquering the indignity of the assault was impossible.
Anita’s thoughts crashed into her memories of young soldiers marching through her small village in Nicaragua. She remembered the way they grabbed their crotches and waggled their tongues to make foul sounds, smacking their lips in lusty anticipation. The nasty, disgusting words hurled at her and her friends by the soldiers were vicious and degrading, just like the guttural utterances of this American cop.
She thought of the stories nuns had told the young girls in her village. They were horrifying tales of the brutal raping of sisters in other villages by government police and soldiers.
Anita had heard the men who worked with her cleaning the buildings downtown speak of being stopped, harassed, and strip searched on the street as their money was stolen by the very police who were sworn to protect them. These thoughts made the rape by this cop even more sickening and frightening for Anita. She felt completely at the mercy of this man from hell.
Fear and loathing of any man in uniform would be cemented in her mind forever.
Suddenly the cop uttered a guttural cry. Marcus withdrew his penis, but kept Anita pinned against the hood with one hand. She saw him throw the condom over the hood into a field next to the chain link fence. He gripped both shoulders and roughly turned her around to face his leering grin.
“Now, suck my cock clean, bitch,” Marcus ordered as he pushed Anita to the ground.
Afterwards, Anita raised her blouse and wiped her lips, trying to remove the last residue from her mouth.
“That the first time you been fucked in the ass? You Latin bitches are all so fine. Now you better not tell on me, Anita. I know your name and where you live. All I got to do is drop a dime to ICE. They’ll have pretty little Anita on a plane back to Guatemala in no time.”
Marcus moved to kiss Anita, but she turned away at the last minute and spit on the ground. Her cheeks were moist from crying. She was shaking with fear and pain. Without a backward glance, Marcus left Anita sitting in the driver’s seat of her car, finally and mercifully alone.
*****
Taylor Sterling entered the Greenwood Village police station feeling he had been there before, but it was just like so many other stations he had visited. The Illinois Municipal Risk Insurance Pool had asked Taylor to visit the Greenwood Village Police Department. The insurance company was willing to retain him for a review, but wanted to determine the extent of the issues first.
Taylor had been doing similar work for insurance groups throughout the country for nearly 20 years, ever since he retired as Deputy Chief of the Los Angeles Police Department. Sometimes he conducted an internal audit of police operations. Many times Taylor assisted with or conducted administrative investigations, commonly referred to as IA investigations. On rare occasions he was asked to assist a local prosecutor evaluate the criminal potential of an act of police misconduct.
Taylor hadn’t figured he’d still be involved w
ith law enforcement after retiring from the force. In fact, he hadn’t counted on retiring at all when his clock struck 20 years. He was young, just 43, when that moment arrived. Down deep he always thought he’d be a candidate for the top spot in LA one day. But as the years passed, Taylor realized he was out of step philosophically with the command staff at the LAPD. He recognized that it wasn’t a case of who was right or who was wrong; it was just that he, Taylor Sterling, was different.
His gut was plagued with a building burn. Taylor knew something was going on with his head, but early on didn’t understand what or who his demons were. Suddenly one day he realized what he needed to do to find his place in the universe.
For years Taylor consciously felt he could no longer support his boss, the LA Chief of Police. Taylor knew he could stay on the force and wait out the boss, but he also knew he would agonize over each and every conflict they had during the long wait. Taylor was smart enough to know working and living like this would affect him in many ways, including his personal wellbeing. It was like a breath of fresh air bringing a sense of calm he hadn’t experienced in years once Taylor decided on his course of action.
When he announced his totally unexpected decision to retire at a command officers’ staff meeting, there was profound silence. Eventually rounds of well wishes, handshakes, and pats on the back exploded, but those were expected. The chief, never one caught without words, stumbled as he searched for an appropriate response.
“Taylor, wish you the best,” the Chief of Police stammered. “I’ll have my secretary get with you and we’ll do lunch.” Of course, Taylor never got that call and he really didn’t care. He knew the chief was relieved Taylor wouldn’t be a continued nuisance and diversion for him and the department.
Taylor really never thought what he might do after leaving the LAPD. For several months he stayed in bed each morning wondering where he was going, what he could do, and even what he should call himself. Retired at 43 didn’t seem right. His condo seemed to grow smaller and smaller as time passed.
