We're out tonight to catch a serial perp attacking hookers and my partner, Carol, is the bait.
She comes waltzing into the precinct room, looking like Donna Mills from the old Knots Landing TV series. Her eyes are heavily made-up and she’s wearing a short, sequinned dress that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
“How do you like me so far?” she whispers seductively in my ear.
I smile and shrug. “Don’t know much about street girls, but I’d say you look the part.”
“Maybe afterwards, I’ll just go home to bed this way.” She says it in a pouty, little girl hurt voice, but the meaning is clear.
“I hope you’ve got understanding neighbours.” I laugh.
She smiles as if to say, like I care.
By ten o’clock, the streets are clogged with slow-moving cars and creepers in the curb lane. I’m dressed like a hundred other guys, roughing it on the streets.
Carol’s strutting her stuff, getting into her role—drawing a lot of interest. We’ve got a line on the perp—a sketch of what he looks like and the typical lines he uses—he won’t be hard to spot, if he shows up.
Every now and then, Carol looks my way and sashays like a runway model—then, embellishes her movements with a sensual ease that amazes even me.
I’m wondering if this seductive game is instinctive to women or learned, when suddenly a brown sedan pulls up. Wilson gives me code sign—this is our boy.
I watch the guy—a two hundred pound mean-looking Asian—he leans over and shouts to Carol. She ignores him.
I chuckle inside. She’s making it up as she goes.
The guy’s not impressed—he leans on his horn and jerks his arm toward her. She doesn’t move. I watch him pound his steering wheel and drive off.
Wilson looks at me like, what the hell just happened?
I shrug and saunter toward Carol. She’s creating a buzz, but her improvising just cost us a chance at the perp.
I’m about to say something to her, when Wilson flashes code again—the guy’s back. I casually saunter away.
I watch Carol now as she approaches the car—then, does something totally unexpected—she gets in.
Before any of us can move, the guy guns the gas and speeds away.
On my communicator, I hear the crackle of excited chatter as cops relay instructions and start a pursuit.
Our unmarked car is nearby and I jump in and head for the south side, for the maze of alleys where the guy usually takes his victims.
My heart’s pounding in my ears and I’m shouting to the air:
What the hell are ya doin’ Carol? How can ya be so goddamn stupid?
I blow through two intersections and as I’m passing Pine, I happen to spot a brown sedan turning a corner, half way up the street. I do a screeching U-turn and roar back to the spot.
Sure enough, it’s a blind alley and poorly lit. I see the car parked at the end with its lights off.
I don’t bother with stealth—I floor the accelerator and slam on the brakes just behind the sedan.
Carol’s out the door with this guy all over her and I just run full force and slam into him with all my might.
The guy goes down and I go down—I can’t see anything but white stars, falling softly in the greyness.
When I’m able to focus, I hear Carol barking out commands and see the guy laying face down, his hands cuffed behind his back.
I get up too quickly and stagger sideways—she grabs me and holds me up.
I look into haunted eyes, desperate and lost.
Back at the precinct, after debriefing, the perp is booked and it’s all over but the backslaps and jibes. It all washes over me.
I look for Carol and she’s back in blue jeans and tight white sweater, strangely looking more sensual than in her hooker garb.
“You okay?” I ask, brushing a stray strand of blonde hair from her forehead.
She grabs my hand and holds tight, staring intently, as if asking a question that can never be asked.
She wants to sell what can't be sold. I want to own what can't be owned.
I want so badly to gather her into my arms—the lost little girl with the huge mascara eyes—but I don’t.
I walk out to my car and drive home—my mind absolutely empty.
I get into bed and lie beside Jilly. I hear her measured breaths and see Carol’s huge mascara eyes.
In the morning, I’m up again, this time watching rain and sitting closer to the fire.
There’s truth in silence, when you take the time to think. I’m not a great thinker, but sometimes I can get pretty profound.
I’m thinking this morning, that adding is sometimes subtracting.
I think of Jilly, our struggles and pain.
We’re not perfect—either of us. Together, sometimes we can barely cope.
But I want that baby fluttering inside her—and I want my kids and Jilly, stretch marks and all.
It may not be lovely, it may not be perfect, but we struggled for it and it paid off.
It’s our life to keep—the four of us.
Me, the baby, Lily and Jilly Bean.
