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The Cat Walk. The G-Spot. Trixie’s Toys. Aunt Charlie’s. Club Skirts. God, was I in a coma when Massey handed me this list? I could have saved myself a hell of a lot of mental anguish if I’d just looked at it and then connected it with his frantic leaping and pointing at Exstead and McCafferty’s acknowledgment that it would be she at the list of clubs I’ve been given. When I get back to Texas I need to turn in my Department ID and gun and badge and take a job somewhere, filing. No. That’s probably too complicated for me now. It involves grasping the alphabet. Maybe I can become a phone sex operator and just masturbate myself to death. At least I would die happy. And really tired. I take both phones upstairs with me in case Legaspi decides to contact Exstead for me and gives her my cellular. Both phones and my pager. I keep thinking I hear one of them ring while I’m in the shower and leap out three or four times to be greeted with silence. Yes, it’s official. Cooper Finn is completely losing it. I bring the laptop up as well and sit cross legged on Sylvie’s magnificent sex nest of a bed and check my email. Nothing from Sarge which is good since it means he’s chilling out a wee bit but of course he doesn’t know I walked around all day with naked women in my pocket, does he? Doesn’t know I almost simultaneously combusted into orgasm in the ladies room of a Thai restroom and had to grab the sink I was so dizzy just from looking at a photograph. Of naked women. That I carried around in my pocket all day. “Coop! YOU’VE GOT MAIL!” Jase booms and I shriek and nearly slide off the bed in shock. Ok. Maybe I should take that wav off my mail program and just keep it on the hard drive. Legaspi. What a shocker. “Cooper, This is just to remind you that you agreed to an actual appointment at my office, Tuesday, May 28th at 10:00 a.m. (Yes, 10 o’clock in the morning.) I sent the numbers you gave me to Jinny via email because I was unable to reach her by telephone. I took the liberty of sending this email address as well since I assumed you wouldn’t mind. Later (meaning 10:00 a.m. on Tuesday), Kim” Oh no. I don’t know if I can handle a sweet Legaspi. I don’t know if I can call her something so diminutive as “Kim” either. The cordless rings. Sylvie’s phone. I can’t repress the exasperated sigh when it’s a male voice on the other end. “Miss Finn!” Massey intones, voice expansive and dismissive all at once. “It’s Sergeant Investigator Finn, Detective Massey,” I snap back. “How can I help you?” “I was curious as to how the investigation was going.” “You know, odd thing about that. It’s impossible to conduct an investigation when there’s no real evidence of a crime and no documentation supporting any of your allegations. Have you done anything about getting those sworn statements from—“ I grab the file off Sylvie’s night table and flip it open, reading quickly, “—from Officer Peyton about the accuracy of the in and out chart for the room?” There’s silence on the other end for just a moment and just when he is going to answer I interrupt him. “And have you installed that surveillance camera?” “I told you it’s not a good idea to try to build a case around—“ “And when are my appointments to meet with Captains Dunlap and McCafferty?” Silence. “You have arranged for me to meet with the two Captains who have personnel being accused of a felony, haven’t you Detective Massey?” “I’m curious if you’ve had time to check out any of the clubs on that list, Miss—“ “You know, I have.” I interrupt him again. “It’s an odd thing about those clubs on that list. They appear to all be of a rather specific sexual orientation. I’m sure you’re well up on your civil rights and sexual harassment laws, Detective. I’m certain you realize how shaky anything based on particular prejudices might be. And how illegal.” He’s furious but he’s controlling it fairly well. Excellent tip off this line is being recorded somewhere. “I don’t know what’s running through that pretty little head of yours,” he starts and I am so angry I’m dizzy, but I hold my tongue. He may fry himself anytime and hopefully this is on tape and I can get my hands on it because this fucker is going down. I’ll retire and go into phone sex but I am taking Massey’s balls with me. He’s rattling on still. “—clubs where the drugs are being sold. The sexual orientation of the places has nothing to do with it.” Ha. I decide to play a little then. “Oh, okay.” My voice is very mild. If he knew me he’d be cupping his hands over his crotch right now. I know Jase or Sarge both would be. “That’s good, because I was wondering how all this tied in.” Silence. And then, “Tied in?” “Yes. Except I think it’s possible the orientation is a bit of the clue. Although these appear to be mostly lesbian night clubs on this list and not transgender or cross-dressing-- Is that the correct term, Detective? Cross dressing?” I sound honestly perplexed. “Cross dressing?” he echoes blankly. “Yes, I think that’s right. I haven’t dealt much with it because you know, Texas isn’t San Francisco, but anyway, to begin with I thought they were all lesbian places and at first I was looking at Exstead—“ “Yes,” he interjects quickly, relieved I’m finally zeroing in on the message he’s been tap dancing on my head but I move smoothly on. “And then I realized she was in Rehab during the most significant disappearances, so…” I have to bite my lip to not laugh. I can hear the wheels spinning and whirring in his meaty little head. Could he have fucked up that badly? He doesn’t know. He can’t remember. He doesn’t have the files. “I don’t—“ he begins and then drifts off, voice vague and I pick one of the males in the file. The biggest, broadest, most macho dude in the bunch. “So then I noticed this guy, Inspector Buck Emerson.” I stop and wait for him to catch up. “…Emerson?” “Yes. Emerson. And it turns out there is a female impersonator who appears at one of these clubs on this list, um… hang on a sec-- okay. Here it is. At Aunt Charlie’s.” I give it a moment to see if he’s going to even try to make the leap, but no, he’s standing there scratching his ruddy pink head racking his brain worried the dates conflict with Exstead’s Rehab time. “Are you alright, Detective Massey?” My voice is very solicitous. “I’m… fine. What was that about a club called Aunt Charlie’s?” His voice is much higher pitched than usual. I have to lay a hand over the phone and pretend to cough to cover the snort of mirth I let out. “It features female impersonators twice a month. On Thursdays. And I called them today and got a list of their performers and-- Detective? Are you there?” “…yes.” He sounds like he’s frantically searching through papers. I can hear them rustling just under the sound of his heavy breathing and there’s a muffled dull smack as a file or folder slides off and hits linoleum or tile. “Okay. Good. Because you’re going to love this. Are you ready?” “I think so.” Oh God, I nearly lose it. This is the only truthful reaction I have got from this man. He sounds like he’s been whacked over the head with one of Exstead’s boots. I pause for a moment to lend it drama and then say with subdued ecstatic overtones, “One of the performers who appears practically each show is Emory Buxom.” “What?” he is completely bewildered. “Emory Buxom.” I repeat, keeping that just-contained note of joy in my voice. “Don’t you see? Buck Emerson. Emory Buxom.” “Oh… Yes. That’s— I don’t— I’m not certain if— “ “I was having some problems making this list work with the information in the files, but then I noticed that three of the largest takes took place on Wednesdays—the first and third Wednesday of…” I pretend to be searching through papers but actually just hold them up in the air and shuffle them randomly. “Ah, yes. Here it is. The first and third Wednesday in March of this year. Then I put that information together with the performance schedule and ran across the name and—“ “Sgt. Finn— I don’t know if— That is, I’m not sure if this is actually related to the—“. He stops and clears his throat for a moment trying to put the words together without slipping up and letting me hear flat out from his mouth in a hoarse scream, “What the fuck are you doing? It’s Exstead! Exstead! I’ve practically sent up flares!”. “I think you should still keep an open mind that it’s possible the investigation isn’t really headed in this direction.” There. He finally got out something that sounds reasonable. “Oh,” I assure him, “Don’t worry. I am most definitely keeping that in mind.” And I mean every word of it too, you miserable little dweeb. “Oh hey-- My Lieutenant’s paging me. I’ll be talking to you soon, Detective. Let me know when that meeting with Captain Dunlap and McCafferty is arranged.” He’s still mumbling something when I hit the button and cut him off. I immediately hit *69 and get the number he called me from and then do a reverse search on it and come up with an address in the 1800 block of Clay Street. This means nothing to me but a search on streets at www.sfvisitor.org show it to be in the area called Nob Hill. Isn’t that one of the ritzier areas? I take a brief virtual tour and although I can’t estimate real estate because there is such an incredible difference between property values here and in Texas, with a subsequent cost of living increase in the salaries, it looks pretty exclusive for an SFPD Detective. Massey must have married money. I scribble down the address and the phone number both and bookmark the URLS. What an asshole! I indulge myself in a replay of our conversation and end up laughing so hard it feels like I’ve done crunches when I can finally stop. The sheer befuddlement in his voice as he tried to figure out where I was going and how could he steer me back in the right direction without giving too much away. I’m tickled with myself in a way I haven’t been in almost a year because maybe I haven’t completely lost it. That was some pretty fancy mental footwork coming up with the conflicting dates and the female impersonators off the top of my head. Being able to spin an entire story of absolute fabricated baloney at the drop of a feather boa was one of the things that made me good at undercover work and that was what Jase would have called a Cooper Finn Classic. I shut the computer down and crawl between the white satin sheets and for the first time in months I sleep like a baby. The phone is ringing and it’s not even daylight. The skylights are still dark. I’ve been pulled up from some immensely erotic dream and it was just really getting good. I’ve been kissing someone for what seems like hours and my hands are tangled in their hair and delicious things are happening to my spine and inside me as I shove the head down my breasts and belly, finally getting the mouth where I need it. Even though I know I’m dreaming its exquisite and my back arches as I clutch the head and pump myself against the lips and tongue. I have no idea who the other person is. I don’t care either. I just need them to hurry up and bring me to orgasm before my conscious brain realizes that’s my cell phone ringing— Damn. Too late. If it was Sylvie’s phone I would ignore it and let it ring but it’s mine and it could be Sarge. Be just like him to forget the two hour time difference between here and Texas. “Hello.” My voice is froggy and I answer with my head still under the covers and curled up on my side. My eyes fly wide open when there’s a brief pause and then it’s Jinny Exstead on the other end. “Sgt. Finn.” She’s very monotone, very businesslike. “Yes,” I say quickly and sit up. “Captain McCafferty and Captain Dunlap can meet with you today at eleven a.m.” “You’re kidding,” I say in disbelief and from the silence on the other end I can tell she’s taken my exclamation as one of dismay that I’m going to have to actually work or something. I can practically feel her getting all sullen and prickly. Before she can get very far into her mood I make myself clear. “Massey finally got the hint he has to at least make this look like a real investigation, huh?” Silence. When she speaks her voice is cautious. “I don’t know what Massey gets or doesn’t get. I came in and found a note on my desk from the Captain telling me to call you and set up an appointment for her and Dunlap. Here at her office.” “Oh.” The wheels are spinning in my head now. Did she take it on herself when she saw Massey wasn’t going to even pretend to do anything other than shove Exstead in my face or did he panic last night for some reason after our conversation and decide he has to at least go through the motions? “Eleven a.m. Sgt,” Exstead is saying in a terse voice which tells me she is about to hang up on me. “What time is it now?” I ask trying to make my eyes focus on the indiglow watch on my wrist. “It’s almost seven.” I snort. “Ok. I know you haven’t seen me at my best Inspector, but it honestly doesn’t take me 4 hours to clean up nice.” “I never thought it did, Sgt.” She says, her voice flat. “I’ve been on surveillance the last forty four hours. I’m going home to bed.” I cannot believe how disappointed I am she won’t be there when I go in. I can’t even let myself go into what that means or says. “Why did she tell you to call me, Inspector?” I ask. “I have no idea.” She doesn’t add she doesn’t care but it’s obvious. “Did you get a message from Dr. Legaspi that I need to speak to you?” “Yeah,” she responds. “That would be how I got this number, Sgt.” Alrighty. I’m going to cut her slack for the subdued sarcasm in that sentence and ignore it. “And when would that be possible?” “You’re doing it now,” she replies. “I mean when I am awake, Inspector. And I mean in person.” Silence. I can hear her breathing. It’s slightly ragged but then she’s been up for over two days, possibly been out on whatever it was since she got that page here. I know that kind of fatigue very well. She sighs, hard. “I can probably be back up here around 4:30.” “At the division?” “Yeah.” “No. That won’t work. I have to see you somewhere outside your job.” I can hear the hesitation in her voice. “Sgt… I don’t particularly like going there to the penthouse. And I am certain that by now you have figured out why.” “Yes,” I tell her calmly. “I have. And while I’m regretful it’s made you uncomfortable I don’t think we can discuss this at your precinct. Do you?” She finally sighs out a “no”. “What about some neutral place, then? You pick it.” There’s a weary exhalation of air on the other end before she speaks. “Sgt Finn, I am too tired to figure out right now where it might be ‘okay’ and ‘safe’ for us to discuss this.” “I haven’t seen Golden Gate Park, yet.” I offer. Amazing what sleep can do for a person. By the time I stride through the doors of McCafferty’s division precinct you’d hardly have known that the day before I was one of the Walking Dead. I wear jeans of course, but the cranberry shirt beneath it is clean and pressed and tucked in. It contrasts nicely with my black jacket which I’d have to wear even if it looked shitty together because I don’t anticipate being actually warm in this city until sometime in the next millennium when Global Warning has finally accomplished all it’s goals. I even do make-up and blow dry my hair which takes all of two minutes since it’s not even chin length. The Department, being quasi military, has these crazy rules about hair. When you’re in uniform it can’t touch your collar in the back and can just brush your eyebrows in the front. No pony tails, no clips, no braids, no head bands. If you insist on keeping it long then you must put it up every single day in either a bun or a French braid and whatever bobby pins you use must be as near a match to your natural hair color as possible, with “natural” being the key word here. No streaks, no chunking, no rainbow varieties. I have pushed all the uniform regulations to the limit over the years. When I was still in traffic law and wearing khaki I was written up constantly over it. I’d had long hair for the first six weeks of the Academy and then whacked it off myself at my chin because it meant fifteen minutes extra sleep before the herd run down the stairs for PT. When I’d moved into CLE and out of uniform those stringent rules of course did not apply any longer but anything loose and feminine is still frowned upon and still, in my opinion, takes up too much time. One of the Hair Rules of the Great God DPS states that the style must be “smooth” and look “well groomed”. Mine is neither and due to the abundance of cowlicks on my head “smooth” is an absolute impossibility. The title beneath the photo in the “Hair Cuts 2000” I’d handed the stylist had been “Rock Star”. It’s short and tousled in a Wynona Ryder/Girl Interrupted way. Except blonde. Exstead could get away with her hairstyle in the Department if she were in CLE and a non-uniform; it’s skimming the tops of her shoulders, but it is at least straight and “well groomed”. Captain McCafferty on the other hand would be faced with snide comments and barbed remarks every day for just her skirts and heels alone and those curls would drive higher higher into spasms. Which would be fun to watch when they found out she wasn’t at all as soft, yielding and malleable as those curls would first indicate. I’m rather surprised to see a version of my own messy hair on a much taller female apparently in McCafferty’s chain of command. She’s who pushes up from a desk and crosses the room to greet me once a uniform has jogged through the desks and announced my presence. I’ve kept my badge and ID out and flip them open for her perusal but she barely glances at them and just lifts blonde eyebrows and blinks when I introduce myself. The hand I’ve stuck out is ignored. I hide my amusement at the slight because I understand. I’m the bad guy. I’m not here to be anybody’s friend and the fact that I am from another agency and another state makes it even worse. SFPD, for whatever reasons, went outside it’s own to deal with shit. This does not earn me anything immediately except potential enemies and outright hostility. Any of them would be greeted with exactly the same were the situation reversed so I don’t take it personally. I’m relieved to find that today Kate McCafferty bears only a reasonable familial amount of resemblance to Jase. She stands when I enter her office and then leans across the desk to shake my hand, indicating the chair for me to be seated. The tall blonde leaves silently and shuts the glass and wood door behind her without being told. McCafferty and I both ignore the slight amount of extra force put into the task which makes the plate glass window to the left of it rattle in it’s frame. “Captain Dunlap is already here somewhere,” McCafferty tells me, sliding her knees back beneath her desk as she sits. The shirt today is a plum color and looks silk. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t look as much like Jase. I can’t even imagine him in plum colored silk. I glance down at my watch warily but am relieved to see it’s still twenty minutes till the time I was told to be there. When I look up McCafferty is smiling a little and shakes her head. “No, you’re not late. We just thought it might be expedient to have a few things in process already before you arrived.” “What sort of things?” “Oh, things I think you’ll be pleased to learn of, Sgt. Finn,” her voice is mild but there’s a definite flare of some strong emotion in the brown eyes. “For instance, there is now a surveillance camera mounted outside the door of the evidence room. A functioning surveillance camera,” she adds, looking up at me pointedly. “Ah, I see. So there was one sometime which stopped working?” “Yes.” “And why was it not repaired earlier?” I ask and flip the file open in my lap and wait with the pen poised over the paper. “The malfunction wasn’t discovered until six months ago.” She says making no effort to hide the irony in her voice and adds, “We should wait for Captain Dunlap for this, Sgt. Finn.” “Actually, I think you and I had better get through a particular section of it before he gets here, Captain.” The look up to me is sharp. There’s a slight pucker between the familiar brows. She doesn’t speak, but she’s waiting. “The main thing I want to know right now is did this meeting come about because Detective Massey contacted you?” She studies me silently turning a pencil end over end in her fingers. “He called me at home last night and told me you needed to interview us, yes.” She hesitates slightly and I can see she is not finished but it’s a few seconds before she looks up and adds,”He… went to great lengths to make it sound as if this was a request on the part of Internal which Capt Dunlap and I have been intentionally disregarding. He indicated there were memos to that effect which I must somehow have overlooked.” I nod. “And was it his idea to have the surveillance camera finally operational again?” “No.” The one word and the sardonic look behind it speak volumes. “So this is something you and Capt Dunlap are doing independent of whatever Internal is relaying to you.” I say and she nods, slowly. “And Massey doesn’t even know the camera is being replaced.” I add and she nods again. There’s a brief silence and I stick in, “Although I am sure there will be memos indicating you had attempted to notify him.” She blinks several times and then we both burst into laughter as she nods. “Okay.” I’m grinning. “We’re on the same page now, Captain. There’s… I need to talk to you about why he’s trying to pin this—“ I stop abruptly when her expression changes and I hear the door behind us opening. Captain Dunlap is a small neat man with silver hair and steely blue eyes. I stand to be introduced and the hand shake he gives me is firm. There’s a set to his jaw that tells me he absolutely does not like what I am there for but that he, like McCafferty, is utterly confident of his people. Which means he is at least reading the same book and on the same chapter as we are. I begin to relax slightly. I am seeing a way out of this without Exstead being crucified. I just have to stop her from driving the fucking nails in herself. “Alright,” I say when the three of us are seated again and I have made clear I appreciate the two of them taking the time on a Saturday to make this appointment before I plunge right in. “Let’s talk about this Officer Peyton who mans the desk where the sign in/sign out sheet is. I want the personnel file on him. I want full details on history with SFPD and everything in his background prior to his employment. I want to know how long he’s been on that desk and why he was given the assignment to begin with. I want to know what he does on his off time and where he goes on his breaks, who he hangs with, who he plays golf with, how much coffee he drinks and how many times he leaves the desk to pee. Everything. There’s been a breakdown in procedure and security and it appears to me it originates there.” The two of them look at one another and share some silent little communication before McCafferty slides her eyes back to meet mine and smiles slightly. “Can do,” she says lightly, but adds, “However, Officer Peyton is a she.” There’s something she’s telling me, silently and I realize it might be something which I won’t find in this person’s file or records but whatever it is I’m not quite getting it. My brain is trying to connect it to Exstead and recent discoveries but I don’t want to go there because I don’t want that door opened again. So I just nod and scribble it down in the file. Another thing to sort out later. It’s a productive two hours. I’m taken to the evidence room itself and shown the camera which is pointed directly at the locked door. There’s a video monitor hooked to it on the desk which is less than thirty feet from the room. I’m assured it will be taping 24/7 and that the tape does have a time and date stamp on it. And I am introduced to Officer Andrea Peyton. She’s a uniform so the red hair is up in a bun which would probably pass DPS standards except for the bangs which are teased and fluffed into an enormous crunchy confectionary of gel and spray. Her uniform itself is spotless and starched and I can see shiny black boots toeing out from under the hem of the legs but the Cleopatra eye liner and lavender shadow would have to go. Her lashes are stiff with at least ten coats of mascara which is too dark for her fair complexion and the eyes between them are sullen. There’s a pouty set to her whole demeanor which leads me to believe this is her typical attitude and not just a result of suddenly being the main focus of a serious security breach. This is probably why she’s on a desk and not on patrol or assigned to anything more intellectually stimulating than staring at a video monitor and answering phones. I haven’t got her file yet because I wanted to meet her first. The hand she puts in mine is limp. Hazel eyes skitter off to the right when we’re introduced then jerk back sporadically throughout the conversation. The precinct insignia pins attached to either side of her dark blue collar jerk rapidly with the pulse in her throat; she’s freaked and she’s amped on adrenaline. I glance casually at her hands and see eight fingers perfectly manicured, bedecked with an amazing assortment of rings, the nails painted blood red and too long for anything but a desk jockey but the thumbs… They’re gnawed to the quick and ragged and the skin around them is tender and torn. Officer Peyton is coming unglued. I make my smile very breezy and friendly and set out to make her think all is well in her troubled little world and I am the best friend she never had. It takes some bullshit which Dunlap and McCafferty considerately pretend to not be listening to but she’s finally able to look at me without her shoulders and hands jerking spastically without volition. I lay it on thick. It must be hard to sit here all day and I’ve been told from the Captains that her job entails a lot more than just hailing cops over to sign the clipboarded sheet attached to the front of her desk with a little silver chain. She answers the phone as well, right? And I can tell just from my brief time here that SFPD is a very busy place. Plus I understand she’s also responsible for a lot of the reports and memos for Detectives and Inspectors alike; and I’ve noticed that there isn’t a printer on her desk so I bet she has to go somewhere else to collect what she’s written up. Plus, the copier! Where is the copier? You’d think someone might have arranged this a little more conveniently, wouldn’t you? I want her to understand that no one is accusing her of anything and I know what it’s like to be a uniform and I’m just here to talk to her to get an idea of where she thinks the security failed and how it can be improved. Because, really, it’s the people actually doing the work who know these things, isn’t that true? She buys it. Answers begin to come a bit more smoothly. Her eyes stop darting around like a trapped animal’s. When we shake hands I get a clammy grip that feels like a vise in comparison to the initial one. She even manages a tight lipped smile and there’s a less angry note in her voice when she punches a button and answers the next line. McCafferty is slightly ahead of me as we walk back up the hall towards the squad room and her office and her voice is amused when she speaks. “You’re good,” she comments. “Yep,” I say ridiculously pleased, “Bullshit is my specialty.” Dunlap shakes my hand after asking if I need him for anything further and being told no and then excuses himself. McCafferty and I stand just outside her office and then after a brief moment when I think she is going to bring Jase up again she asks if there is anything else I need at the moment. “Yes,” I tell her. “I need the IP and log ins to get onto your network here at this precinct.” Her brows lift and her eyes are questioning but after a moment she nods slightly. “I can give you mine. I can’t make anyone else’s available for you though.” I nod. I’d known that already. If she’d offered up a list of everyone’s user names and passwords I’d have fainted and been more than a little alarmed. “And this needs to stay between the two of us.” “That’s a given,” I tell her. “Just cover for me if someone asks why you’re rummaging through old stuff in there.” After just a second’s hesitation she nods and I heave a mental sigh of relief. All I need is a way in and time to learn the system. I can figure the rest of it out from there. Log ins, passwords... they’re just a different color of bullshit.
END OF TEN
{~> Crossroads Next Story, Please <~}
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