Horns honked, lights reflected off chrome and glass as they passed. Far away a
siren wailed, announcing to the world that another accident had taken place,
perhaps another life ended. People walked the dirty streets kicking cans and
bottle out of their path. Paper blew into the gutters by a cool fall breeze
adding it's bulk to the trash already collected there.
The streets and sidewalks were filled with people looking for a little
action. In a mundane life where every day was the same, any action was better
than no action. The old Centurion theater showed the latest in a three month old
movie. Blow was advertised in huge letters. Blow was another name for cocaine,
which was one of the few drugs which had no place here. Cocaine was for the very
rich. This was not a rich part of town and hadn't been since the early 1920's.
Prostitutes plied their trade on the corners, or in front of the adult book
stores. The letters S - E - X, flashed on assorted signs for as far as the eye
Pimps strutted up and down the sidewalks, looking for clients, or watching
out for cops. There were few cops in this area, and those who did show drove
through quickly without stopping. A cop would be crazy to be seen in that part
of town. A cop had a gun for protection. The citizens of this part of town had
many. No cop would be crazy enough to mix with the scum of the Earth. No cop...
except one. Sarah Jane Haines, a two year veteran who specialized in prostitutes
and prostitution, the least favorite part of police work.
Sarah Jane herself would have made a fantastic prostitute. She had the
looks to match even this highest of high paid call girls. The passing lights
reflected off her creamy complexion. Her blonde hair gleamed in the twilight.
Her beautiful face showed some concern at the moment. She licked her dark red
lips as she watched the object of her attention. A cute, short-haired
prostitute, something of an air-headed, perhaps, but a strikingly beautiful
brunette who now danced and laughed across the street in a fake fur coat and
fishnet stockings. She hung out with her partner, a light complected black girl
with beads in her hair. Sarah Jane had kept these subjects under surveillance
for many hours. She was not there to bust them, she wanted something else. But
it must be at just the right moment. Now was that moment.
"Dispatch, this is 12 Alpha 6, breaking off, actor has identified this
unit as UC," Sarah lied. She was breaking off surveillance, but she had not been
spotted by the prostitute. She simply didn't want to be seen with the girl while
"Roger, 12 Alpha 6. Go EOW."
"Affirmative, I will be EOW at my home 20," Sarah lied again. She had no
intention of going home. Sarah had a small idiosyncracy. Some people might call
it a character flaw or perversion. Some may even call it sick. Whatever they
call it, it was as real to Sarah as compulsive anxiety disorder or nymphomania.
Sarah stepped out of her unmarked car, slid the baton into the belt loop, and
put on her blue hat. She stepped out into the street so she could be seen by the
prostitutes. They grew alert, about to run, but Sarah stopped the brunette by
crooking her finger.
"What!" the girl yelled while still half way across the street. She
side-stepped a taxi and approached Sarah. A black man in a real fur coat hurried
across the road to intercept them.
IN THE MEMBERS SECTION