by Kane, Joany
Whitmore leaves the building and heads down the steps. He approaches the curb.
Duke pulls up to the curb on his motorcycle, right in front of Whitmore. He removes his helmet. “What happened?” Duke asks Whitmore.
“Your brother's going away for life without the possibility of parole.”
“Not about him.”
“I hope you realize what she gave up for you. She's been suspended indefinitely. She’s sacrificed her entire career to keep your sorry ass out of jail.”
Whitmore walks away. Duke calls to him. “Where is she?”
Whitmore glares at Duke. He most definitely doesn't want to tell him. But he relents, nodding towards the courthouse before walking away.
Duke waits, seated on his bike at the curb, watching the building.
Claire finally exits. As she heads down the stairs she sees Duke. Their eyes lock. She approaches him, their eyes still locked.
“Here. I want you to have this.” Duke hands a piece of paper to Claire. Claire sees that it's the hand-written Shakespeare sonnet from Duke's mom's jewelry box. “The sonnet you read to me, my dad read to my mom on their wedding day. But I guess you knew that.”
“I figured it had special meaning. Thank you.”
“How are you feeling?” Duke asks.
“Good, I’m good.”
“Good enough for a ride?” Duke asks with a hopeful twinkle.
Claire smiles, their eyes still locked. “Yeah,” she sighs, relieved.
He offers her a helmet. She takes it, puts it on and hops on the back of Duke's bike. She puts her arms around his waist, which feels like heaven to him and to her. She squeezes him, he leans into the squeeze; they both relish the moment of being connected.
He rides off as the setting sun’s amber glow peeks through the buildings of the city.
THE END
FOOL ME ONCE
APRIL FIRST, ONE YEAR EARLIER
A cherry red Italian sports car, at racing speed, flies down a quiet pre dawn street in a northwestern coastal city.
Following close on the tail of the sports car is an unmarked cruiser, lights flashing. A high-speed car chase through the streets of the sleepy seaside city ensues.
In the sports car…
The driver, a criminal punk, puts the pedal to the metal but can't shake his persistent pursuer. He looks in the rearview mirror at the cruiser breathing down his tail. “What the fuck, man?”
The sports car comes perilously close to totalling as it makes a high speed turn into on-coming traffic. The punk clearly does not have the same driving skills as the driver of the cruiser, and it's only by sheer luck that he hasn't crashed yet.
In the unmarked cruiser…
Detective Derek Winton drives. He’s self-assured and determined, he doesn't give up and doesn't take crap. His handsome face is chiseled ruggedness with a strong jaw covered in sexy scruff; the scuff and sideburns feature a touch of grey. He’s retired military, an Army ranger, just about forty in age. He looks a bit older than that because he’s seen more things in his life as a ranger and a cop than anyone should ever have to see. Between his physical strength and inner strength, he’s just the guy you’d want defending you in any battle.
Derek keeps his focus on the chase, cringing at the reckless driving by the punk in the beautiful sports car. Derek watches as the punk loses control of the sports car, spinning donuts down the street until he comes to a stop within inches of a cement wall.
On the street…
The punk gets out of the car and makes a run for it. The cruiser burns rubber to a stop. Derek jumps out of the cruiser and pursues the punk on foot, but clearly he’s in no mood for a running chase. “It's too damn early for running. If you don't stop, I am going to shoot you.” Derek calls out.
The punk doesn't listen. He keeps running. Derek shoots a warning shot which momentarily stuns the punk. But he keeps running.
“Last warning, stop this running shit,” Derek calls to the punk. The punk doesn't listen.
Derek aims. Shoots. Smooth and perfect. Nails the punk in the sneaker’s heel.
The punk tumbles on the ground. “You fuckin' shot me! I can't believe you fuckin' shot me, man.”
Derek rolls the punk over on his stomach and cuffs his hands behind his back. “I didn't shoot you, I shot your sneaker.”
“You shot an unarmed civilian. I know my rights, man.”
“Good to hear. Now I don't have to waste my time reading them to you,” Derek lifts the punk up off the ground and walks him back to the cruiser.
Another unmarked police car pulls up next to Derek's cruiser. Detective Brant Knox gets out of the car. Knox is mean-looking and mean-spirited.
Derek throws the sports car keys to Knox. “It's about time the cavalry showed up.” Derek wisecracks.
“Bite me, Winton.”
Derek pushes the limping punk into the backseat of his cruiser. He gets in and starts the car.
“I'm bleeding. I need medical attention,” the punk whines from the backseat.
Derek, knowing full well the bullet did minimal body damages, reaches into the glove compartment, takes out a small first aid kit, removes a Band-Aid and tosses it to the punk.
“You're all heart, man,” the punk cracks.
Inside the Bridgeport police station Derek sits at his desk typing up a criminal report on his computer. He stops typing to take his first bite of a powdered donut.
Captain Harris, the hard-assed patriarch of the precinct, approaches Derek's desk. “Nice work. Where's the perp?”
“Having his foot looked at.”
“What happened to his foot?”
“I shot his Air Jordan.”
Captain Harris raises his eyebrow, silently wondering why.
“Didn't feel like running,” Derek shrugs.
“And Knox?”
“Processing the car.”
“You couldn't wait for him this morning?” The captain inquires.
“Knox didn't think the kid would try to move the car this early, I did.”
The captain, nodding his approval, walks away. Derek takes a bite of his donut as his phone rings. He answers it, “Detective Winton.” He listens and then hangs up. He puts his donut down, stands up and heads for the front door.
As Derek passes the cop at the reception desk he quips, “There’s already a dead body and it’s not even 7:00am. This is going to be a very long day.”
*****
Later in the day inside the Sacred Heart Church, in the fellowship hall, tables are set for a pot-luck supper. Priests and ministers, all dignified elderly men and women including a few nuns, mingle.
A minister approaches a podium at the front of the hall and speaks into a microphone. “Welcome to our annual dinner for retired clergy. It's good to see so many friends and colleagues. We have with us this evening, Sister Mary Eunice Fox who is joining us for the first time. She would like to give the benediction.” The minister motions to the nun standing nearby to join him at the podium. “Sister Mary Eunice?”
The nun, dressed in full habit, joins the minister at the microphone. “Thank you, Reverend.”
The minister steps aside as the nun addresses the conservative crowd. “Dear father, who art in heaven, behold our Christian family here assembled. We thank you for the place in which we dwell...”
The nun pauses. She fans her face with her hand. “It is certainly warm in here.”
She resumes her benediction as if she were experiencing a hot flash. “We thank you for the love that unites us, for the peace accorded us this day...”
She pauses again, taking a deep breath and fanning her face. “It really is quite warm. Oppressively so.”
She soldiers on sounding more like a woman in heat and less like a woman who is hot. “We thank you for the hope with which we expect the morrow, for the health, the work, the food and the bright skies that make our lives delightful...”
She stops, takes a deep breath and grabs at her habit. “Oh hell,
it's just too darn hot.”
And with one quick tug, she rips off her habit revealing her naked body covered only with three fig leaves strategically placed over her feminine trifecta.
This nun is no nun, she’s Jillian March, a lovely, vivacious lass in her mid-twenties who relishes a good prank. She has a strong free-spirit vibe in her looks and attitude. Her Cheshire grin grows as the gasps and groans erupt from the geriatric crowd.
In the police Station Derek readies himself to leave work for the day, his half eaten donut still on his desk. He looks tired. It has indeed been a long day. He heads for the door, saying good-night to the night-shift cops.
He's just about at the door when his phone rings. Sighing, he turns back and answers his phone. “Detective Winton.” He listens, looking surprised he responds, “Who did what?”
Outside of The Sacred Heart Church, Derek escorts Jillian, in handcuffs, from the building. She's wearing half of her habit and a full smile.
“You're quite pleased with yourself, aren'tcha? He asks, trying to mask slight bemusement.
“More than quite. The Archbishop dropped his teeth.” She boasts.
They reach his unmarked cruiser. Derek opens the back door for Jillian and she gets in.
“Bless you, detective.” She flirts as he closes the door. He rolls his eyes at her, partly in fake exasperation.
Derek gets in the car and drives away from the church.
Derek, looking in his rearview mirror at Jillian in the backseat, catches her eye. Through the mirror, Jillian gives Derek a happy, genuine smile, which he returns with a cordial grin. Their eyes stay locked for a moment longer than just cordial. The first spark.
In the police station, Jillian, still in handcuffs, walks with Derek to his desk. The few cops in the room applaud Jillian. She gives them a bow.
A cop calls out. “Hey sister, can we get a benediction?”
“Knock it off,” Derek tells the cop. He motions for Jillian to take a seat by his desk as he removes the handcuffs.
Jillian checks out his desk, nothing personal is on it. “No family photos?”
“No family for photos.”
“Are you new here?”
“Transferred from San Diego about a year ago.”
Jillian notices the partially eaten donut on his desk. “Bad day or bad donut?”
“Long day, made longer thanks to you.”
“Well, let's speed things up then. I'm Jillian March, like the month, and you should have no trouble finding me in your computer. I'll happily make a donation to the church and pay a fine. I'm also not adverse to community service.”
“I take it you make a habit of stripping your habit at community functions.”
“Oh no, this was my very first time.”
“What inspired you to go all Garden of Eden?”
Jillian, motioning to Derek to wait for a moment, stands up, walks to the reception desk, pulls off the APRIL 1 page from the daily calendar, returns to Derek's desk and, with a big grin on her lovely face, places the calendar page in front of Derek.
“April Fool's.”
Derek can't help but smile. Jillian takes her seat. “Jillian March, like the month, go ahead, look me up,” Jillian states with pride.
Derek types on his computer and finds her record. As he reviews it, his eyes widen. “You closed a city park for half a day?”
“Yuup. In front of all of the park entrances I placed signs that read ‘Park Closed For Squirrel Mating.’” She giggles. “People actually bought it.”
Derek studies his computer screen. “You've got quite a list of pranks. What's the fascination with April Fool's day?”
“It's just such a light-hearted day. And we all could use a light-hearted day. Besides, who doesn't love a good prank.”
“It's not tops on my love list.”
Jillian responds with a flirtatious twinkle. “What is on your love list?”
Derek can’t help but flirt back with a retort. "Sister, you couldn't handle my love list.”
She leans in closer to him and seductively replies, “it'd be fun to try, detective.” Their eyes lock again, a second spark.
Which is broken when a cop walks by jesting, “Hope you make this prank a habit, sister March.”
Derek escorts Jillian outside and hands her her shoulder bag. “You're lucky that Christians are a forgiving bunch.” He tells her.
“It's not luck. I think God has a sense of humor.” Jillian takes Derek's wrist in her hand and looks at his watch. “Two hours to midnight.” Jillian gives Derek a mischievous twinkle.
“Stay out of trouble.” He warns, warmly, trying to hide his smile.
Jillian extends her hand, he takes it and they shake, she holds on to his hand for more than a cordial moment as she locks eyes with him. She says, heartfelt, “it’s been a pleasure, detective.”
Then her mischievous smile and twinkle return breaking the moment. She bounces down the front steps calling “Good night.”
Derek watches her walk away, a sly grin creeping into his expression. Until she turns around to give him a final wave good-bye. He camouflages the smile, nods and heads back into the police station.
As soon as Jillian sees that Derek has returned inside, she hurries to the police parking lot. Jillian removes a handful of magnetic bumper stickers from her shoulder bag and places a bumper sticker on the bumper of every single police cruiser, unmarked car and personal car in the lot.
A short time later a tired Derek is finally ready to call it a night. He shuts down his computer, tosses out the now stale half-eaten donut and heads for the door.
Derek walks through the parking lot when something catches his eye - one of the bumper stickers is illuminated under a lot light. He approaches the cruiser to check out the bumper sticker. The bumper sticker reads: I BRAKE FOR CRACK WHORES
Derek, chuckling, shakes his head. He checks out the other cruisers and cars and sees that every single one has an I BRAKE FOR CRACK WHORES bumper sticker on it.
Jillian is sound asleep. A loud knock on her door awakens her. Jillian hops out of bed. Wearing Three Stooges pajamas she walks through her apartment - which is brightly and happily decorated with fun chotchkies – and approaches the front door. She opens the door. It's Derek.
“Detective. What a pleasant surprise,” she beams.
“You left some of your belongings at the police department,” he tells her, trying to mask his amusement.
“How sweet of you to come all this way just to return them.”
“I didn't.”
Jillian, momentarily deflated, understands. “Hold on, I’ll get dressed.”
In the police station parking lot Derek leans against a car while Jillian removes the magnetic bumper stickers from all of the vehicles.
There's one cruiser left. Knox's cruiser. Jillian is about to remove the bumper sticker from the last cruiser when Derek calls to her. “You can leave that one. That detective does brake for crack whores.”
Derek's cruiser pulls up to the front of Jillian’s apartment building and parks.
Inside the cruiser Jillian is seated in the back on the passenger side holding a bag filled with the bumper stickers.
“Good night, Miss March,” Derek says.
Jillian opens the car door but stops short of getting out. She looks at Derek, gazing directly at him. “You know, when I saw you at my door this evening, for a brief moment I thought, hoped actually, you were here to share your love list with me.”
“Is this your final prank of the day? Ribbing a tired detective?”
Jillian answers with sincerity and vulnerability. “It's after midnight, detective, no longer April Fool's Day so I’m off the prank clock.”
Jillian hops out of the car, shuts the door and hurries towards the entrance of her apartment building as Derek watches her. If he were ten years younger he’d hop out of the car and go after her.
The next morning a few cops loiter in the parking lot chatting amongst themselves. Knox ex
its the police station and heads for his cruiser. He doesn't notice the crack whore bumper sticker on the bumper. The cops in the parking lot do notice the bumper sticker and snicker at Knox.
Knox glares at the cops. “What?!? What the fuck is so fucking funny?”
Not one of the cops clues the detective in. Knox gets in the car and drives off.
*****
APRIL FIRST, PRESENT DAY
A year to the day later. Jillian, asleep in bed, is awakened by her ringing alarm clock. She shuts it off - it's 4:00am.
She hops out of bed as if it was Christmas and quickly dresses into black pants, a sports bra, a black thick cotton long sleeved shirt, black sneakers and a black knitted hat.
Jillian walks to her computer desk in the living room where there's a Joke-A-Day calendar and whips off the March 31st to reveal the April 1st. She turns her attention to six naked female blow up dolls laying on the couch. She grabs one of the dolls and heads for the door.
Outside of the police station all is quiet. No one is around. Except Jillian who is hidden in the shadows holding the naked blow up doll. She looks around making sure the coast is clear. It is. Not a soul in sight.
She hurries to the flag pole in front of the building. She strings the blow up doll and raises the doll up the pole. She looks up, pleased at the sight of the naked female blow up doll flying at half mast and flapping in the wind. She hurries away.
A few hours later the first light of day has arrived. Derek, carrying a cup of coffee, heads for the front door. The flapping blow up doll on the flag pole catches his attention. He looks up to see the doll "dance" around the pole. He laughs out loud as he enters the building.
Derek takes a seat at his desk. A cop approaches Derek. He hands Derek a gift box. “This just came for you.”
Derek takes the box. “Thanks.” He opens it. There are two powdered donuts inside – each donut has three flag toothpicks poked in the middle of it.
Derek sees a note, he removes it and reads it: "Hope you have a light-hearted day, detective."
Derek removes the flag toothpicks from the donuts. He holds them in his hand and studies them. As a cop walks past Derek, Derek calls to him, “you might want to keep an eye on municipal building flag poles today.”
