The Rookie

A routine patrol takes a deadly turn!

Chapter 1

She sat still, knees pressed tight against her chest next to whiskey bottles in the dark kitchen cabinet - stashed in there to soften her up by a father who loved the taste of whatever his groping hands pulled out.

The smell in the bar - liquor, beer, cigarette smoke, piss - suspended in the air like a kite on a hot spring day reminded her of that cupboard from her childhood. The stink, a blend of liquor spills from indeterminate brands over the years - and when her bladder let go.

Vikki blinked as she tried to adjust to the dim light in the bar. The Sparrow, an Irish pub frequented by the rank and file of the 64th precinct in Brooklyn, New York, was packed.

Too many people. She scanned the faces, not making eye contact. Her stomach muscles were wound so tight her diaphragm refused to move.

"The tough guy act was dropped once we slapped cuffs on him!" said a raspy male voice. "He cried for his mommy!"

This was followed by raucous laughter.

She glanced at the bar where the voice had come from. The raspy voice belonged to Sean McClane, a Field Training Officer.

FTO for short.

TO for better euphonic sound.

Memories buried deep in her subconscious reared their ugly heads. Time always moved on, but the demons in men remained the same. The same monster inhabiting her father's eyes she'd also seen in McClane's.

Vikki shivered.

"Victoria! Victoria!"

She jerked at the sound of her name. Three raised hands sitting in a booth to her left beckoned to her. A smile parted her lips. Her stomach freed up, and air rushed into her lungs. She headed to their table.

"It took me a minute to realize it was you," said Jenny Lin. "Runway, sit by me." She shifted to her left to make more room.

"You know, you could pass for a model moonlighting as a police officer," said Juan Rodriguez.

"She did that already in Paris!" said Jenny. "Why do you think I call her Runway?"

Vikki was five feet nine inches tall. She'd let her blonde hair down after having it up all day in a ponytail. She had on jeans and a tee shirt. Something different from the police uniform she'd worn all week.

Men and women hit on her. They called her pretty. Maybe on the outside. What would they say when they saw the ugliness inside her? The things she went through as a little girl.

"I should pay more attention to my colleagues," Juan said. "You guys remind me of my pals from high school. Solid friendships."

Juan was twenty-five. He had a Criminal Justice degree from John Jay College of Criminal Justice. Being a cop was what he always wanted to do.

"Glad you made it," said Ken Wilson. "At least I know you modeled in Paris. After six months at the academy, all our secrets become open secrets."

Vikki smiled at Ken. Not all of them. After ten years at a Fortune 500 company, he'd had enough. He had trained subordinates that had elevated to the C suite while he was kept at the same level.

"I decided to take my black ass out of corporate America," Ken had said. "And do something I liked. Alas, all the isms were there, too. The fight by people of color for equality is everywhere. But at least now I enjoy what I'm doing, helping people directly while continuing the struggle."

They ordered. Hennessy and Coke for Vikki. Ken, too. Corona for Juan, and a margarita for Jenny.

They ate steak, pasta, and salad for the next thirty minutes and talked about their first week as Rookies. They'd been training and studying their butts off at the New York Police Academy in Queens only a week earlier.

As Juan and Ken argued over basketball, Jenny leaned over to Vikki and said, "What's the deal with you and your Field Training officer?" She jerked her head to the right, chewed, and swallowed. "I thought your TO was supposed to be your trainer, not your friend."

Vikki looked at her TO, Bruce Bruckner, sitting with some other folks she recognized a few tables away. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Sweat trickled down her back.

"I-I knew him before I got here. It's a long story."

"Like knew him, knew him?"

Vikki didn't want to ask what she meant by that or go into detail. "Well, we kind of bumped into each other in traffic a long time ago, and he offered to buy me dinner, and here we are."

"Well, good for you. At least you hit the ground running. But don't they frown on such relationships?"

Vikki recovered fast. "They frown on everything, but you're right." She exhaled noisily. "He's been here longer and knows the best way to navigate these things."

"Hey, guys," Ken said in hushed excitement. "I heard that detective having drinks with your TO." He gave a head nudge in Vikki's direction. "He has the accountant to The Gilbert Organization hidden away somewhere. He's agreed to testify against the CEO of The Gilbert Organization."

The news didn't mean much to Vikki, but Ken's enthusiasm was infectious.

"Once he gives evidence, Mr. Gilbert is going to jail, and his political aspirations will end."

Vikki got up. "I need to use the bathroom."

"Go ahead," Jenny said. "I want to understand what Ken is so excited about."

Vikki's run to the bathroom was uneventful. On her return trip along the narrow hallway lit by a single, dim yellow bulb, a hairy hand blocked her path. It belonged to the man at the bar. His eyes gazed all over Vikki, then settled on her chest.

"Booty Boot, I hear you gave it up to your TO already," McClane said. His words slurred. He smelled of brandy and fresh sports cologne. One of those that were colored blue and had blue in the title. "What about a piece for me."

He cupped Vikki's ass and squeezed. Forced his lips on hers, tongue inside her mouth.

Something in Vikki's head snapped.

...

The Rookie is the prequel to my new crime series, The Victoria Mattssen Crime series. For your FREE copy of The Rookie, visit https://www.ifeanyiesimai.com/therookie