Her cousin was a slut.
There was no doubt about it, as far as Jamie was concerned. Amanda was only
eighteen, but from what she'd heard and from the pictures she was flipping
through on her Facebook page she had little doubt.
Who put bikini pictures of
themselves on Facebook anyway? Let alone thong bikinis? That she was about
forty pounds overweight just added to the 'eww' factor for Jamie.
She was propping up the
wall of a Chase bank on Seventh Avenue in the Times Square district, skimming
through various emails and notifications on her cell phone. It was a dull,
overcast day in the city of New York, but thankfully, cool enough she didn't
have to worry about what she could wear that would be cool and still hide her
Hockey season had started,
and she was wearing her navy-blue Rangers jersey over jeans. One leather
sneaker was holding her up and the other was pressed against the bricks. Her
long red bangs hid most of her eyes from those passing by or milling around.
They did not stop her from
seeing them, however, as her eyes rose and fell frequently, keeping up on
information on the phone while keeping watch over her small, assigned patch of
the sidewalk. She'd been assigned this task by Lieutenant Foster, who was under
the impression – because she'd worked to give him that impression – that she
didn't want it.
Jamie hadn't shown any sign
of disappointment at the orders. People would have been surprised if she had.
It wasn't in her nature to demonstrate emotions – other than, on occasion,
anger – in front of her colleagues. She wasn't even that good at doing so in
front of friends and family.
She had cultivated an
attitude of cool, composed sphinx-like calm since junior high. It had served
her well through years of teasing, mostly about her hair, but also the normal
harassment an unusually tall teenage girl could expect both from hungry eyed
boys and jealous girls.
Midgets and bitches, she had
dismissed them as. Being the tallest student in the class could be hard on a
girl of fifteen, but she'd persevered. It had helped (a lot) when her breasts
had blossomed and her hips had rounded. Nobody called her beanpole after that.
But she was still a head taller than most of her classmates.
The boys, except the very tall ones, were, for
the most part, far too intimidated to make a real play for her. The girls
simply found her confusing and irritating. She didn't like the things most of
them liked. She was too much into sports and weird male interests like guns,
cars, and the martial arts, and had been known to exact physical retribution on
people who did things she didn't like, particularly boys who had suggested an
exaggerated degree of physical intimacy with her.
She had a slightly husky
voice, even then, which led some to suspect she was a lesbian. The cliché was
damaged, though, by her habitually long hair. And while she normally disdained
dresses and skirts her wardrobe choices were hardly mannish.
Jamie had simply confused
everyone in high school. They didn't know what to make of her, and so she'd
been something of an outsider.
That hadn't bothered her
very much. A highly intelligent girl who had a shrewd insight into the
personalities of most of the people she encountered, she was also, by her own
unrepentant assessment, a judgmental bitch. She not only did not suffer fools
gladly, she refused, if given a choice, to suffer them at all.
Most girls bored her to
tears. She had no interest in flowers, diets, makeup, fashion, or Hollywood.
She had even less in their constant plotting and planning and desperation to
impress this or that boy.
Most boys, on the other
hand, were walking penises with the morals and sensitivity of jackals. They would do, say and promise anything to
get their hands on a girl's body, and then gleefully brag about it afterward to
anyone and everyone they ran into.
So, there were very few of
her schoolmates she would have considered accepting into her small circle of
friends to begin with. That circle was entirely composed of self-confident,
laid-back, easy-going people who didn't get easily upset by life.
Allison Tyler was one such
person. Allison was a blonde, but Jamie forgave her for that since she didn't
act the part. She was an athlete in high school and college, and now worked as
a physiotherapist in a rehab clinic. She was a non-nonsense person who took
others as she found them and dealt with them honestly.
She had a slender, athletic
body, a beautiful face, and had always been an incredibly healthy girl. Which
made it all the more ironic that her little brother
Allan was autistic. He wasn't so autistic that he couldn't function on his own,
but he was clearly and obviously challenged.
At twenty he worked as a
messenger in a downtown bank. It was a decent entry level job for a person his
age, though in his case it wasn't likely to ever grow into anything more
complex. Still, it paid well enough for him to get his own small apartment in
Brooklyn, something he was extremely proud of.
He hadn't been able to make
the rent this month, though, because he'd been robbed. Two women, one a heavy
(fat) middle aged one, and the other shorter, prettier and younger, had
accosted him right here at this location.
The little one had begged him
to make a donation to the sick children fund, and
wouldn't take no for an answer. Allan was a particularly mild-mannered boy, and
lacked social skills. He hadn't actually known how to
tell her to go away, and been persuaded to put his card into the bank machine
to her right to make a donation.
Once the code was entered
the woman had pushed him aside, ignoring his protests, taken most of his money,
all the machine allowed at one time, and then left with the bigger one helping
hide what was going on and pushing Alan back when he asked for his money back.
Alan had been taught all his life he wasn't allowed to push girls so had been fairly easily defeated.
The camera in the machine
had taken very clear pictures of the younger woman, and another closed-circuit
camera had recorded both women and the conversation.
It wasn't her case, of
course. She didn't get cases. She was simply an ordinary patrol cop, who didn't
have to wear a uniform. She was assigned to Midtown Manhattan precinct's
Anti-crime squad. Their job was simply to patrol in plain clothes – street
clothes, not the business-wear detectives had to wear, blend in, and not be
noticed as cops.
They were usually assigned
to higher crime areas of every precinct, or, in the case of the Times Square
District, to places where the city wanted a heavy police presence but didn't
want it noticed. No point in scaring the tourists, after all.
Whenever Jamie was assigned
to foot patrol in tourist areas she moved around a lot. Her long legs would
carry her up one block and down another and back again, as her jade green eyes
skimmed over pedestrians and glanced in the glass windows of the shops,
restaurants and bars she passed.
Today she had parked
herself near the outdoor ATMs in the wall to her right, and spent her time
propping up the wall and surfing social media and news sites. To anyone
watching, she looked like a typical millennial, wearing earphones and devoted
to her phone.
The earphones weren't
attached to an IPOD, though, but to a small police radio on the back of her
belt. It had several frequencies, and at the moment
was set to receive signals on two of them. The first was the general NYPD
dispatcher, the second had a limited range, and was for the members of the
Anti-Crime squad to communicate with each other.
The only member of the
Anti-crime squad near enough to reach her was her partner for the day, Marco
Iapolini. He was temporarily assigned to Anti-Crime – a unit made up primarily
of young cops who had demonstrated unusual initiative, intelligence and capability.
It was only a temporary
assignment, due to her partner Alaric Mueller still being injured, though he
was expected back soon, and her acting partner, Robert Taylor, who had managed
to get himself stabbed, much to Jamie's quiet satisfaction.
She'd been tempted to shoot
him any number of times, herself. He was an incompetent, a braggart, a bully,
and an insufferable letch who had made his interest in Jamie's body repeatedly,
and bluntly obvious despite her being equally blunt about her total lack of interest
Marco seemed to share his
interest in Jamie's body, which didn't surprise her since most of the men in
the precinct shared that particular interest, but was
far more polite and discrete about it. Since his normal job was as a regular
patrol officer in uniform in Midtown North she had no doubt he'd seen the half-naked
pictures of her which continued to make the rounds. But he'd never hinted at it
He was also painfully eager
to please. Anti-crime was a short-cut to the detective squad, and a lot cleaner
than going through Narcotics. It also looked very good on an application for
the sergeant's promotion.
It was also a lot less
routine and boring than uniformed patrol. Anti-crime rarely bothered with
writing traffic tickets unless someone irritated them. They weren't assigned
routine radio calls like domestic disputes, drunks or neighbors screaming at
each other either. Nor did they have to direct traffic, stand guard at crime
scenes, or watch over parades.
Of course, the uniforms
rarely did foot patrol, but in a tourist area like Times Square that could be
an interesting novelty, or so it had proved with Iapolini. He carried on a
mostly one-sided conversation with Jamie as he walked around nearby.
Occasionally she would grunt or make some similar noise so he understood she
Amanda really needed to go
on a diet, she thought, making a face and moving her thumb to check the sports
She noticed the Asian woman
in the black coat who moved into line behind the little old lady, and noticed
the larger Asian woman, standing a few feet back. She didn't give any notice of
this as she looked at the sports and muttered. “Damn Islanders.”
The little microphone was
attached to her wrist in the form of a wrist watch, and she heard Iapolini
eagerly acknowledge the phrase. “I'll be there in one minute!” he replied.
The customer in front of
the ATM moved away and the little old lady moved forward and placed her card in
the slot. The smaller Asian woman moved to one side a little to look over her
“Oh, you are so rich!” she
gushed, leaning forward.
The old lady turned,
“I sorry. I never use
machine before!” the Asian woman said in thickly accented English. “I watch to
see how you do, yes!?”
The older woman frowned
uncertainly as the Asian woman moved forward.
“You push keys here, yes?”
“Well... yes, but...”
“You push this to take
“It's not free but you – .”
“You push any number
amount?” the Asian woman asked eagerly.
“No, no. You can only push
what you have in the bank,” the elderly woman said, flustered.
The Asian woman began to
“Wait! I can show you how
it works but you need to have your own card!”
“I have card! See!?” The
Asian woman held up a card, waving it.
“Well don't enter things on
my account!” the elderly woman said.
“Is bank, yes?”
“But it's not your
The larger Asian woman
moved in, confronting the elderly woman.
“You tell me please how to
find Korea embassy?” she asked in a loud voice.
The elderly woman was taken
aback by her, especially since the large (fat) Asian woman had moved in very
close to her.
“I don't know... wait.
Hey!” she said, grabbing at the smaller Asian woman's shoulder.
“I go now. Thank you so
much!” the smaller Asian woman said, scooping bills out of the slot and turning
She physically ran into
Jamie, who had pushed herself off the wall, turned, and stepped forward two
paces. Since Jamie's chest was just about at the same level as the woman's
face, that meant she was eye to eye with Jamie's badge, which was hanging on a
lanyard she'd just pulled out of the neck of her Rangers jersey and dropped.
The woman stared at it,
then raised her face, open mouthed, to look at Jamie.
“I'll take that,” Jamie
said, tugging the wad of cash from the woman's hand.
“I-I am stranger here! Do I
make mistake?” the woman gulped.
“You bet,” Jamie said,
grabbing her arm and spinning her around to push up against the wall.
The larger Asian woman
stepped forward, saw the badge, and turned quickly away, then almost ran past
“Grab her,” Jamie said,
thrusting out a finger at the woman's back.
Iapolini grabbed her by the
back of the collar, which was cliché in action, swung her around and pushed her
against the other wall. They frisked and cuffed the two of them as the elderly
woman looked on uncertainly.
“Can I have my money back,
please?” the elderly woman asked anxiously.
“Ma-am, we have to
inventory it for evidence at the station, but then you can have it back,” Jamie
“But... I don't – .”
“We'll drive you there and
back,” Jamie assured her, calling for a pair of cars for transportation.
She would have liked to
just hand the money back but history said you never let people walk away
without damage or a lot of them wouldn't bother to show up to press charges.
And she wanted charges pressed.
The younger Asian woman had
dropped her wide-eyed innocent look since she'd been cuffed and now had a
sullen expression on her face as Jamie looked through her wallet.
“Tenshi Jeong? That's your
The woman glowered at her.
“Don't piss me off any more
than you already have or you'll regret it,” she said, hardening her voice.
“Yes,” the woman snapped.
Jamie was already
rehearsing how she was going to present this to get the charge bumped from
fraud to robbery. She could make a case that the women had used force, both in
this case and the one with Allan in that they had taken the money and then the
victims would have had to use force to overcome them.
It was true the force the
woman had used was small, but then, the resistance they needed to overcome was
small, too, and the law didn't specify how much force was required. Fraud,
unless it was on a very big scale, was a misdemeanor, but Robbery, even third
degree, and she hoped to go for second, was a felony, and she really wanted these
bitches to go to jail.
If she took off her
bulletproof vest, as she did sometimes when spending a lot of time at the
station doing paperwork, and changed to a tank top that new ADA Michaelson
would really try hard to please her.
A blue and white showed up,
and she had Iapolini and the two suspects get into the back for the trip back
to the precinct. Then Nora Richards and Lyle Jefferson showed up in an unmarked
car and she got in the back with Mrs. Feldman, the elderly woman.
“So, you finally caught
your scammers,” Richards said with a grin from the front passenger seat.
“Congratulations. You've been hanging around the ATM for more than a week.”
“Off and on,” Jamie said.
“Let me ask you about the law, Nora. I want them charged with Robbery.”
Richards pursed her lips,
and Jamie explained her reasoning.
“It makes sense, but you'll
have to get the Lieutenant to approve.”
I won't. I'm gonna talk to Michaels and get him to approve.”
“Michaels likes sure
things,” Jefferson said.
“Yeah, but I think he'll do
it if I ask nicely.”
Richards raised her
eyebrows and Jamie smiled smugly.
“You're very cocky for a
rookie, you know,” Richards said.
“I have the strength of ten
for my heart is pure,” Jamie replied.
They dropped them off at
the precinct station on W54th and Jamie led Mrs. Feldman inside where they
counted out her money while she signed the charge sheet Jamie drew up. Jamie
also sort of hinted that if the charges were dropped the money would have to be
given back to the woman she had taken it from – which was Tenshi Jeong.
Then she called Allison and
arranged for her and her mom to bring her brother to the precinct to pick the
women out of a line-up. There wasn't any doubt, though, as to their identity.
The video was clear and crisp and in living color.
She went to the locker
room, removed the Rangers jersey and her bulletproof vest and changed into a
tight tank top she used for jogging. Humming as she looked in the mirror, she
drew her red hair back into a loose tail and wrapped an elastic around it, then
went off to find Michaels.
It occurred to her as she
did just how much she'd changed in the last few months. She'd gone from being
determined to look asexual, to be taken as just another cop and to downplay her
femininity, much less her looks, to shamelessly using her looks and body
whenever she thought it would bring an advantage.
She pondered that as she
headed upstairs, but didn't think it was so much a matter of morality as it was
of confidence of her reputation on the job, and comfortableness in her
sexuality. People had already seen her naked, a lot of them, thanks to her
boyfriend Danny and his kinky games. And those pictures of her had made the
rounds of the precinct, and probably well beyond.
People thought she was hot.
Lots of people. Men and women. And that no longer even bothered her, much less
embarrassed her. She accepted it as a matter of course, and even let it kind of
stroke her ego. She'd been exposed to the raw and open desire, approval, and
hunger, of so many people over the past few months that guys appreciating what
she looked like in a tight tank top was practically nothing.
Not even when they could
notice the indentations of her nipple rings through the fabric.
Heck, the whole precinct
seemed to have seen that picture Danny had taken of her in nothing but a thong
when her phone had been stolen, and then recovered by the detective squad. It
wasn't full frontal, thankfully, but while it was from the rear it was also
from an angle off to the right, so that some side boob showed, and just enough
of the edge of the ring for you to know there was one.
So people knew she had nipple
rings. So? That suggested she had a sex life. So? She was twenty-two and had a
regular boyfriend. People weren't going to think she was a virgin.
They probably didn't
suspect her boyfriend liked to tie her up and do nasty things to her, and they
certainly didn't suspect just how feverish that kind of thing made her. They
also definitely didn't suspect that he had convinced her to strip at a couple
of out-of-town clubs a few times, or the breathless heat that had