Officer Down

[esercito sconfitto]

Officer Down, Part One
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Officer Down

By Autolycus_7

The night air was split with sirens as white patrol cars with blinding red lights flashing cut off a fleeing vehicle as it tried to leave the parking lot after a drug deal. Three men and a woman tried to leave the car but were quickly caught by uniformed patrolmen.

The detectives arrived a minute later. Detective Red Gallagher joined the uniforms interrogating the three men. His partner Cinnamon Markham took the woman and sat with her in the backseat of Gallagher's car.

"O.K., what's your name," Cinnamon barked. Cinnamon was tall--5' 10'--built, with blonde peakaboo hair and a stylish sense of fashion. She was wearing a white blouse and slacks with matching white pants and a yellow scarf around her neck.

The woman looked Cinnamon up and down. She was the same height, only her hair was brown and kind of punkish. Her fashion sense was stylish in a different manner--red top tied at her bare midriff, red shorts, and black boots. "Brandy," the woman said finally, still taking Cinnamon in. "What's yours."

"Detective Markham. Did the patrolmen give you your rights? In case they did not, you have the right--"

"You are a big one, that's for sure," Brandy interrupted her, referring both to the Cinnamon's height and the size of her breasts pressing against her white blouse. Suddenly, Brandy leaned forward and planted her lips forcefully against Cinnamon's, pushing her against the locked rear door.

Cinnamon pushed her away. "What the hell!"

But Brandy only smiled as she reached at her red top and ripped it open, exposing her own round white breasts. "Rape!" she shouted. "Rape!"

Detective Gallagher and the uniforms ran to the car and opened the rear door. Quivering in the corner was a half-naked Brandy, her lipstick smeared. Sitting on the other side, with Brandy's lipstick on her face was Cinnamon.

Events moved quickly. In just two hours, Cinnamon had been suspended pending a hearing. Brandy was released on bail. The story of the alleged attempted rape of a female suspect by a female detective was picked up by the news wires. An hour later at 1:15 a.m., the head of detectives Alice Murphy held a news conference promising a full investigation. At 2 p.m., the attorney for a prisoner whom Cinnamon had recently arrested also gave a news conference, announcing that his client claimed that Cinnamon had tried to rape her too and, as a result, he was asking for a full investigation of his client's arrest.

Cinnamon drove home around three. She was shocked at how quickly her "friends" shunned her. No one wished her well as she left. Gallagher had disappeared. Chief Murphy told her publicly and insultingly not to return until the investigation was over. Cinnamon even argued with one cop, "Hey! Do I look like a dyke to you. Look at me! You guys think that any female cop must be a dyke because she shoots drugs and drinks with the guys. Do I look like a dyke?"

Exhausted, depressed, Cinnamon opened the front door or her townhouse with a key and flicked on the light switch. Only they didn't come on. "Damn it," she hissed and walked passed the darkened living room to the fuse box in the kitchen. She couldn't see the person step from the living room, come up behind her, and press the moist cloth against her mouth.

The cloth was saturated, the scent overpowering, Cinnamon's eyes clouded at once and she slowly sank to the floor. Her assailant stepped back and screwed in the bulb in the overhead hallway light. The hallway was now bright and showed Brandy in a black, cloth coat, black cloth gloves, and her vinyl black boots. She smiled and stared down at the unconscious Cinnamon. She knelt next to her. "Sorry about today, hon. But you know what. It's going to get worse." She reached for the fallen cloth and placed it back over Cinnamon's mouth and nose. "We'll just leave that here for a moment while I get ready."

Brandy took up Cinnamon by the ankles and dragged her into the living room next to the couch. She then reached into a black gym bag she had left there, took out a tripod and a camera, and set them up in the hallway to take pictures of the couch. Having done this, Brandy unfastened the belt of her coat and let it fall, leaving herself naked except for her black panties, boots, and gloves. She took off the boots and knelt back down next to Cinnamon. She removed the cloth, placed it at the bottom of the bag where it could do little harm, and then turned back to unbutton Cinnamon's blouse. She stared for a moment at Cinnamon's bra and then reached behind, unfastened it, and pulled it off, releasing Cinnamon's round white breasts. "I was right. They are big."

She removed the detective's belt holster and its gun and then pulled off Cinnamon's pants and panties, leaving her naked on the floor. Reaching back into the bag, Brandy produced a syringe. She lay down on top of Cinnamon, head to toes. "Sorry about this, hon. But I'm used to doing this with guys during love and this is the only way I can find the right place." With that she jabbed the needle into Cinnamon's left thigh.

Pulling herself off, Brandy recapped the syringe, tossed it into the bag, and then hauled Cinnamon up into a sitting position, leaning her against the couch. She spread Cinnamon's legs apart and then went to the tripod to make sure Cinnamon was in frame and in focus. She then flipped a switch on the camera. Walking back, she sat down in front of Cinnamon and wrapped her legs around her. She could hear the camera snapping away. With her gloved hand, she stroked Cinnamon's face. "Wake up, hon. Wake up and let that wonderful juice do its stuff. Sorry about the glove, but it's necessary. Prints, you know."

Cinnamon moaned half-awake from the gentle touching, but half-awake was all the drugs allowed her. "That's it," Brandy said. Once again she kissed Cinnamon full on the mouth as the camera preserved the moment. Feeling the drugged woman kiss back, Cinnamon said, "That's it, show the nice birdie that you're not out of it, even though you are."

After a few moments, Brandy pulled away. "That's it. I'm starting to come. And I don't want to leave my DNA around here. Besides," she said, walking to the tripod and dismantling it, "the pictures are just for insurance--and fun."

Putting the camera and tripod away, Brandy took out a blonde wig and also removed from the bag a flat wooden object. She pulled a cord and the object opened into a box with only two sides. Taking one last thing from bag, she placed a a thick cork back with a metal center on the box, leaving one wall open. Brandy lay the box next to Cinnamon and took Cinnamon's gun from the holster and placed it in Cinnamon's limp hand. Walking to the radio under the television, Brandy turned it on loud and then raced back, picked up Cinnamon's right hand, and fired the gun into the box. She then ran over and turned off the radio. Removing the cork wall, she saw it had caught the bullet. "Parfin test positive," she said. "She has fired a gun within the last 12 hours and her prints are on the murder weapon. I'll try not to smudge them," she said, taking the gun from Cinnamon's hand and placing it back in the holster. Then she placed the box and cork wall in the bag and zipped the bag up.

Brandy hefted Cinnamon up, lay her naked on the couch, and then dressed in her clothes, including the holster and its gun. She put on the blonde wig to mimick Cinnamon's hair color and style. Almost all set, Brandy said, taking a bottle of vodak from the bar and pouring it liberally over Cinnamon's face and lips. Making sure the lips of the bottle never touched hers, Brandy poured some vodak down her own throat and sprinkled some on her shoulders and belly. "I have to smell drunk too."

Brandy reached into Cinnamon's right pocket and found the keys to her car. In her left pocket she found Cinnamon's sunglasses, which she put on, disguising her face.

"I'll be back soon, hon," Brandy said, patting Cinnamon's naked behind.

She drove to a residential neighborhood and parked in front. Walking up the stone steps, she swayed a bit, pretending to be drunk. She rang the bell, the door opened and she walked in. Seconds later, there were three gunshots. The door banged open, and she ran down the steps, into the car, and sped off.

Brandy entered Cinnamon's house through the basement as she had before, stripped naked, threw the clothes around the room, dressed in her coat and boots, tossed the gun on the floor, checked on Cinnamon who hadn't moved, and left through the basement. She was in the house only 28 seconds.


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autolycus
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Officer Down, Part Two
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The news hit the wires in time for the morning news. A detective who had been disciplined just a few hours before had shot and killed Alice Murphy, chief of detectives. Commentators added that it was a miracle that at the last minute Murphy, a single mom, had let her two children stay over at a friend's or they would have been witnesses and likely victims.

Detective Markham had been intoxicated, Deputy Chief of Detectives Claudia Jaines said, tearfully speaking at a news conference dressed in her button-down grey Brooks Drother suit. In fact, Cinnamon Markham had so many drugs in her that she had been taken to the emergency room and was in intensive care for an overdose, Jaines aid. "She is expected to recover and has been indicted for murder in absentia," Jaines said.

Two days later, Jaines, now acting chief of detectives, was sitting at a desk in an empty warehouse. A woman walked in wearing sunglasses, a red top tied at the midriff, red shorts, and black boots.

"Hello, Brandy," the black-haired detective said. "Your money's on the desk." The woman walked up and stood in front of the desk. "Well, why don't you take it?" Jaines asked, her hands hidden from view.

"I'll tell you why," Murphy's voice rang out through the warehouse as she and six patrolmen, their guns drawn, walked in and stood behind the woman with sunglasses. The woman took the glasses off and removed her punk brown wig. It was Cinnamon.

"Don't move, Jaines," Murphy ordered as the six officers trained their guns on the woman seated behind the desk.

Jaines kept her hands down. "How did you know?" she asked quietly.

In her husky voice, the 50ish but youthful Murphy said, "I trust Detective Markham. I knew she wouldn't try to rape anyone in a patrol car, and she convinced me that this felt like it was part of something bigger. We made up the story of her suspension and stationed officers I could trust to be in her upper level. I didn't think you'd move that fast, but in retrospect it was a perfect opportunity for you to end the investigation that could implicate you and to be rid of me, thus ensuring your promotion."

Murphy continued, "I must admit that at first I thought it was just going to be blackmail, but when this woman fired a gun in Markham's hand the officers on the scene knew otherwise. They called me, I sent my kids away, and sure enough this woman drove straight to my house. An officer arrived just before to give me a vest and blood squibs, and we had taken the procaution of putting blanks in Detective Markham's gun."

"Where is Brandy?" Jaines said weakly.

"We followed her, intercepted her on the way, and I changed places with her," Cinnamon said. "It seemed fair."

"We let Detective Markham beat the crap out of the woman in a fair fight and then strip her. Like she said, it seemed fair," Murphy said. "She's wrapped in brown paper in a car outside and she has ratted on you. Now come on."

Jaines didn't move, keeping her hands out of sight.

"We know you have a gun there because you were going to kill Brandy when she reached for the money," Cinnamon said softly, stepping forward and sitting on the edge of the desk. "If you think you can shoot it out and live, you're wrong. And if it matters to you, we're all wired for broadcast," she said, touching the pendant around her neck, "and we're all live on network news. If there is anyone out there you care about, do you really want them to see you shot to bits? Hand me the gun."

After a moment, Jaines handed the gun to Cinnamon as the officers closed in.

Two days later, Cinnamon came in to Murphy's office. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, close the door." As Cinnamon turned to do so, Markham noticed that Murphy was wearing a tight-fitting black skirt. "I'm impressed. You're wearing a skirt."

"Public Affairs said I had to for the press conference. You didn't say before the cameras, but what's happening with Jaines?"

"She's making a deal to turn in the big wigs. She'll still get 25, and Brandy will serve 10 for attempted murder. We'd like to give you a citation of some kind but--:

"What," Cinnamon kidded. "Getting knocked out, stripped, drugged and fondled by a bisexual drug dealer won't read well on a citation?"

"Probably not."

"That's ok," Cinnamon said, turning to leave.

"Wait. Lock the door," Murphy said. Cinnamon did. "Now sit down."

Cinnamon looked for a chair, but Murphy said, "On the desk, like you did for Jaines." Cinnamon sat on the edge of the desk. Murphy reached up and placed her hand on Cinnamon's knee. "The one bone I have to pick with you is that crack of yours, 'Do I look like a dyke to you?'"

"Well, you know, the things you say in front of guys."

"Oh, I know," Murphy said. "Better than anyone." She reached up and started to unbutton Cinnamon's blouse. "But isn't it funny that that woman spreads a rumor that happened to be true."

Cinnanom said, reaching over and loosening Murphy's blouse, "And that my captain and I are in love."

"Small world," Murphy said.