EXTRACT FOR
Bad Cop Training Program
(Brandi Foxx)

Dirk fidgeted with his uniform as he strode up to Ben Aires' door. The Ben Aires, he reminded himself. Only the richest, most God-damn powerful man in the state. Geez, how the hell did I get myself into this mess?



He knew the answer to that, of course. He was too trigger happy. God damn! He pounded his fist in his hand, leaving a red, stinging mark. Those civilians needed to be taught a lesson. They needed to understand that he was in charge. Rules? Fuck the rules. He made - and followed - his own rules.



First rule: No one messes with Dirk Haworth. No one.



Hesitating for just a moment as he collected his thoughts, Dirk stood straight, remembering who he was (he was his father's son and his father was a decorated soldier), and rapped on the door loudly.



He stepped back a bit and whistled, admiring the opulence of the place. This was the stuff of fairy-tales. He wondered how much had been paid for this place. Probably in the millions, he figured.



Why was he so richly rewarded? The fucker probably never lifted a finger in his life. This was something Dirk deserved. Yes, after having been on the force for five years, he should've been promoted to lieutenant or something by now. But those God-damn civilians got in the way of his dreams.



He was just about to slap his palm again, when the door opened. Dirk stepped forward and ran his strong hands through his long, black hair. As much as he hated it, he wanted to make a good impression.



"Dirk Haworth, I presume," the tall, stately man standing at the door smiled widely, offering his hand. "Ben Aires. I've been expecting you."



Dirk looked at the forty-something man's hand as if it was a foreign object before shaking it. Yup, definitely never seen real work, he thought to himself.



The shake itself felt like a business deal to Dirk and left a bad taste in his mouth. Then again, everything since the "incident" left a bad taste in his mouth. He just wanted to get back on the force and continue his stellar career.



"Come in, Dirk. I'll have Stella make us some hard lemonade," Ben opened the door and made a sweeping gesture with his hands. "You do drink, don't you?" He narrowed his eyes, before continuing. "Of course you do, all good men drink. Come. Follow."



God damn this rich bastard was good. His tone told him that he wasn't used to being disobeyed. If they were going to have a working relationship, that was going to have to change. But as Dirk followed the old, rich man inside, he figured he'd take care of that small detail later. After the lemonade.



***



Dirk sunk into the lush, white-leather sofa and marveled at just how rich this guy was. A young, beautiful serving girl came and brought them their lemonade. He had to admit that it was the best liqueur that he'd ever tasted; but he wasn't here for the drinks.



"Listen," Dirk began, as he set down his glass on a coaster that protected an exquisite glass coffee table underneath, "I really don't want to take up too much of your time. Let's just -"



"Nonsense!" Ben interrupted, angering Dirk. He wasn't used to being cut off. "There's plenty of time for business talk."



Dirk shrugged and sat back in the sofa. He had the strangest sensation of falling. "Sure."



"Good. Let's talk about us," Ben suggested as he picked up a notepad and pencil.

"Us? What's that for?" Dirk sat up again. He was not liking this one bit. Damn civilians.



Ben stared coldly into Dirk's eyes, "I always take notes on my servants."