by T. R. Cupak
“Dammit, D. What is—wait, what?”
“I said, you’re right. You’re my sister, and Kade is like the brother I didn’t get. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t trust that he’s holding up his end of the pact. Right, bro?” My attention turns to Kade, who is now standing at the driver’s side of Britney’s car.
“Whatever you say, bro.” Kade’s pissed and has every right to be. I don’t know if it’s the stress of the job right now or what, but now that I think back to the last couple of days, I have been an overbearing asshole to my sister and a dick to Kade.
“Dude, I’m apologizing here.”
“Move, I’m going to be late for work.” Britney pushes past me as she walks to her car. As I close the door to Sydnee’s car, Kade—like the nice guy he is—opens the door to Britney’s car. I see words exchanged, but don’t butt into their conversation. I’ve done enough pissing in Cheerios this morning.
“You’re still a dick.” Sydnee doesn’t waste the chance to call me out on my shit. That’s one of the many things I’ve always liked about her.
Maybe that’s my problem. Sydnee and I would still be dating, but I couldn’t make my sister and Kade adhere to the sibling pact if I continued to date Syd, so I broke it off. It doesn’t mean I stopped liking her, or that I don’t get jealous when I know she’s seeing someone, but she’s not mine. Therefore, I can’t say a damn word.
On a few occasions, I have wanted to tell Britney to go for Kade so I could get back together with Sydnee. But, when Kade and I would be out having a drink, I would have a front-row seat to see the women flirting with him and who he follows home.
Britney is better than any of those women and deserves a man that will treat her like a princess. I believe deep down that if Kade wants Brit, it’s because he can’t have her. Once he’s gone there and done that, he’ll get bored and drop her, leaving her heartbroken and me with one less friend.
Once everyone is in their vehicles, we take off so Kade can have some peace. I follow my sister to the winery, not to bug her, but to go work out. After I’ve swum my laps and done five miles on the treadmill, I take a quick shower and make my way over to Britney’s office.
“Knock, knock,” I say while rapping lightly on the metal doorframe to my sister’s office.
“D, if you came here to pick another fight, leave. I don’t have time for your childish antics.”
“I’m not here to fight. I’m here to apologize—again. I’ve been an asshole.”
“Ha! That’s an understatement.” Her head turns so she can read my facial expression.
The one person in the world who can see through my bullshit is my sister. I’ve never been able to lie to her, not even when we were kids. She insists I have a tell, but has never told me what it is. When you think about it, it’s smart of her not to divulge that tidbit of information; otherwise, I would be able to get away with lying to her.
“From here on out, I promise not to question why you and Kade are hanging out without me. I get that he’s your friend too. I trust you both.”
Britney sits, studying my expression. She wants to believe me, but I haven’t given my sister any reason to trust I won’t flip the fuck out again.
“Okay, then. Can I ask you something without you flying off your hinges?” When I nod instead of verbally answering, her eyes narrow as if she doesn’t believe what I just promised.
“Yes, you can ask me a question without me getting mad.”
Hesitant at first, Britney then proceeds to ask her question.
“Why? Why are you hellbent on keeping that stupid rule or pact in place when you two idiots made it before you actually liked girls in a dating way?”
Something inside me knew that some form of that question was coming. Do I tell my sister it’s to protect her from having her heart broken? That is the main reason, but not the entire reason. Pondering how to word my response, so I don’t sound like a dick or piss my sister off, I think, for once, before blurting out my answer.
“Brit, you’re not just my sister, you’re my best friend too. Kade is, well, Kade.”
“What the fuck does that even mean, D?”
“He’s a manwhore, for lack of a better word. I believe that both of you are only interested in each other because you can’t have what you want. Take that away, and Kade will wine you, dine you, and—”
“Don’t finish that sentence. I get where you’re going with that.”
“He’s not the relationship type. What’s his longest relationship? Three months?” I look to Britney for the answer because I know she knows.
“Nine.”
“You deserve to be the center of someone’s world, Brit. For a while, you’d be Kade’s, but then it would fade, he’d lose interest, and I lose my other best friend.”
Britney sits quietly, thinking about my answer. The only sound filling her office is Ed Sheeran playing on the overhead speakers filtering the music throughout the building. Since only a minimal amount of staff is working today, she listens to whatever she feels like instead of the usual country or classic rock music.
“Fine, D. Have it your way. So you know, you’re not giving your so-called bro enough credit.”
She’s right, but I’m not going to bet on my sister’s heart. Before I can comment on her last statement, my cell phone rings.
“Winslow,” I answer. My sister knows that when I use my last name as a greeting, it’s because it’s a police-related call. After a minute or two of listening to the voice on the other end of the line, I let the caller know that I will head into work. After ending the call, I send a quick text to Kade, and he replies that he is already on his way to the police department.
“Gotta go, sis. Duty calls.”
“Love ya and be safe, D.”
“Always.”
9
KADE
It isn’t long after I text Deacon back when I receive a text from Britney telling me to be safe. It’s something she has done every shift her brother and I have worked since becoming cops. I’m not one to be superstitious, but I can’t help but think it would jinx us if she didn’t say it.
Today started off rocky, which leads me to believe that the rest of the day isn’t going to be any better. Getting called into work before your shift means something is going down. Sergeant Black wasn’t forthcoming during our call, which is just another sign that I should have stayed in bed today.
Pulling into the underground garage, I see vehicles belonging to the DEA, ATF, and FBI. Either we got a lead on the Norteño gang members we’ve been searching for, or one of the other agencies did, and they’re here for our assistance.
Fucking fantastic.
After finding a parking space, I grab my bag off of the passenger seat and exit my car. As I cross the parking garage, I hear the sound of the security gate opening and a diesel engine echoing throughout the cement structure.
Leaning against a pillar, I wait for Deacon to park and catch up to me. It doesn’t take him long to reach me.
“What are your thoughts?” Deacon asks while we walk toward the stairwell.
“By the looks of our guest vehicles, we may be going out to apprehend Flores and the Hernandez brothers,” I respond with a motion toward the cars I spotted when I arrived.
“There’s only one way to find out.”
Expecting to walk into chaos, I’m surprised to see it’s business as usual. There isn’t the bustle of expected commotion with the unplanned arrival of our guests. When I look over at Deacon, he shrugs his shoulders, letting me know he’s just as confused as I am.
“They’re waiting for you two in the fishbowl,” Charlotte, one of our community service officers, conveys in passing.
“Thanks,” Deacon responds with a wink, causing Charlotte’s cheeks to blush.
“Why do you do that to her? You know she wants you.”
“Exactly.” The cocky smirk prominently displayed on his face drives home the point that he doesn’t give a fuck.
�
��You’re playing with fire, bro.”
We learned early on in our careers that it isn’t wise to shit where we eat. I had just completed training with my field training officer—FTO for short—when I started to hook-up with a fellow officer named Caterina. We had one overlapping day off together, which fit my needs perfectly. In my mind, I thought the limited time together would preempt her need to be in a relationship. Not to mention, I was open and honest, telling her that our arrangement was purely sexual, nothing more. She agreed until she didn’t.
It wasn’t long before Caterina swapped schedules with another officer to have the same days off as me. We didn’t have the same shift, thank goodness, but that didn’t stop her from becoming a stage five clinger. The woman would wait by my vehicle until I got off work and practically beg me to go home with her.
I tried to be understanding and compassionate when I let her down easy, but the more I ignored her, the crazier her attempts to gain my attention had become. Deacon was of no help. He was in the same position, but with a woman from dispatch. When the situation got to the point of stalking, and Caterina got in Britney’s face one night at the pub because I’d hugged her, that was when I had to take the issue to human resources. Caterina had gone too far.
Caterina and the dispatcher were put on notice. When that didn’t work, they were given the option to resign with letters of recommendation to other agencies or be fired. Thankfully, the women opted to leave, and as far as I know, they left California together.
Unfortunately, the incident raised red flags for the department, and to avoid future lawsuits, a no fraternization within the work policy was implemented. Because a company cannot legally control what people do outside of the workplace, the rule merely states that, when entering into a relationship with a coworker, employees must go to human resources and sign an agreement letter. The letter says that they are in a relationship, and it will not interfere with the lives and safety of the department or the citizens we have sworn to protect.
Yes, there are still hook-ups that go on without being documented. Hell, a couple of the guys have what we call “beat wives,” which means they have a side piece of ass on their beat. I will say, since the dating policy went into effect, there haven’t been any other instances like what Deacon and I went through. But my friend is flirting with danger if he tries to hook-up with Charlotte. My gut tells me she would be a stage-five clinger too.
As we approach the large conference room made of glass, which is where the term “fishbowl” derives from, I see a dozen or so people are sitting around the table, and the images of our perpetrators displayed on the projection screen.
Sergeant Black waves us in, and both Deacon and I drop our bags to the floor by the door before taking our seats. Before proceeding, Black hits a button that frosts the glass to the conference room, making it so those on the outside can’t see inside. He then takes a moment to govern a brief introduction.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like you to meet officers Winslow and Beaumont. They are the top two guys in our SWAT and gang units. Guys, to your right, are agents Johnson and Parker with the DEA. Across the table are FBI Agents Horvath and Thompson. Next to them are agents Garcia and Mendoza with the ATF. Everyone else, you know.”
Going around the table, each team hands out information they’ve collected on our perpetrators. Unfortunately, we don’t have anything new for the group aside from telling them we have a confidential informant. No one presses us to give up our CI because they know perfectly well that if they approach him, they’ll spook him, which could jeopardize our contact, and we’d lose the inside knowledge that Lil Romeo provides.
While thoroughly discussing each packet in front of us, we learn that Flores and the Hernandez brothers were on the cartel’s hit list for killing the leader Morales’ wife’s cousin. Being as the cousin wasn’t anyone significant, Flores begged for his life and negotiated a deal with Morales to become his go-to mule between Mexico and the bordering states.
The Hernandez brothers are or will be collateral damage. They’ve been Flores’ right-hand men since dropping out of high school nearly ten years ago. When Flores cut his deal with the cartel, he signed their death certificates when shit hits the fan. There always needs to be someone to take the fall. Flores is one of many for Morales, and the Hernandez brothers will be the fall guys for Flores.
“Are you going after the gang members or Morales?” I direct my question to the group.
“I’m glad you asked,” Agent Thompson responds. “Now that we have competent local authorities working the gang case, we want to go after the big fish. We want Morales, and we believe that if you catch Flores and the Hernandez brothers, they’ll cut a deal to get two life sentences without the possibility of parole instead of the death sentence.”
It doesn’t go unnoticed that Agent Thompson emphasizes “if you catch,” as in LPPD is on its own to apprehend the gang members. That high and mighty bullshit pisses me off to no end, but being as we’re local law enforcement and they are federal, we are the ones who have to do the grunt work. At least we know they won’t interfere or get in our way.
“So, just to be clear, count you out until we have Flores and the Hernandez brothers in custody?” My emphasis clearly states we will get our guys.
“Exactly.”
“Got it.” Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms, thinking of what to say next.
“Kade.” Black is eyeing me when he says my name as a warning.
“Just making sure I understand, Sarg.”
Deacon leans closer to me and whispers that Lil Romeo texted. Neither of us gives away that we may have eyes on our guys. These federal agents may say they don’t want to get involved at this point, but if they knew we could get those assholes today, they would do the exact opposite of what they said and take over our case.
“Are we done here?” Deacon asks. DEA agent Johnson speaks up as Deacon and I stand up to leave the conference room.
“We know you two are known as ‘The Cowboys.’ We don’t need reckless behavior, got it?”
“Crystal-fucking-clear.” Why bother hiding my annoyance? These guys don’t know us, and they won’t be around long enough to piss me off further. Fuck them.
As Deacon and I walk out of the room, I tell him, “Giddy-up, cowboy,” loud enough for the group to hear, but don’t stop for their remarks.
“They couldn’t leave it alone, could they?” Deacon asks as we change into our BDUs.
“It appears that way. That’s why we need to find out what Lil Romeo knows so we can catch our guys and hand them off to the feds. The sooner we do it, the sooner they get the fuck out of town.”
Nothing more needs to be said at this point. Deacon replies to our CI, telling him to meet us at a different location than the usual place. There’s no telling who may know he’s a snitch or if someone else has eyes on him.
The meeting with our CI was brief. Honestly, it was a waste of time, but the information we receive is information nonetheless. Romeo mentions there was a guy who possibly fit Chico Hernandez’s description at a party last night. I asked if he had “Chico” tattooed on the back of his neck, but he said he had a Pendleton shirt on, and the collar covered the back of his neck. The only thing that gives us some inkling it was Chico is that Romeo said he thought he overheard the guy bragging about a bank heist to a hyna—slang for gang-affiliated female—with whom he was trying to hook-up.
For the rest of our shift, Deacon and I stay on the east side of town, patrolling. We arrest two prostitutes and put the fear of God into some punk kids who were tagging someone’s car. All in all, it’s a typical night.
The next few days are uneventful as we keep our ears to the ground, listening for anything that would give us a lead on our gang members. Lil Romeo hasn’t been in contact, which is typical if he doesn’t have anything to provide to us.
We have rotating schedules, which means our days off alternate weekly, giving everyone a weekend off every few weeks. Sinc
e our weekend starts today, our fellow gang unit members who work opposite days from us know that they are to contact either Deacon or me if they hear or see anything related to our case.
Tonight, Deacon and I are meeting up at McShane’s with some people from the police department. We try to do this at least once every other month, keeping up the camaraderie among patrol, detectives, the gang unit, and so on. Some people’s egos spin out of control when they get put on a special assignment. This get-together helps minimize what could be a more hostile work environment given what we all do for a living. McShane’s Pub is a neutral zone where the egos get checked at the door.
10
BRITNEY
Another Saturday night and neither Sydnee nor I can decide what we want to do. Do we go to the city to go clubbing, or do we do the same ol’ thing and head to McShane’s? I did receive an email saying that the pub will have a DJ tonight. The only problem with going there is I know my brother will be there, which means so will Kade.
Every night since our brief encounter, I’ve dreamt of Kade. And every morning, I wake up hot and bothered with feelings of dissatisfaction. What I wouldn’t give for one night with him. To feel his chiseled chest against my bare breasts, his hips between my thighs, his cock buried deep inside my—
“Brit!” Sydnee yells my name, snapping me out of my erotic daydream. “Seriously, you need to get fucked. Not by Kade, but by someone. He has your brain turned to porno mush.”
“What are you talking about?” I question. Could she read my mind?
“Drop the dumb act. If you panted any more, I was getting ready to chow down on your taco just to give you a damn orgasm.”
“Ugh, Syd! Really? Chow down on my taco.” When the words leave my lips, we both break out laughing hysterically. She’s my best friend, and like a lot of girls do in college, we kissed one time to see what all the hype was about, but that was all we ever did. We knew then that we both were strictly cocksisters for life. I love the term cocksister. It came from Badcock Tour, a piss-your-pants-from-laughing-so-hard book by one of our favorite authors, Christine Besze.
