Chapter One

 

"I hate college kids."

Her new partner turned and eyed her doubtfully. "You were a college kid what, two and a half years ago?"

"Three," she said in annoyance. "Almost," she muttered under her breath.

Her more free-wheeling style was not mixing well with someone she considered to be an anal-retentive nerd with OCD who had a habit of lecturing her from his lofty perspective of three more years of experience. But his was almost entirely in uniform while most of hers was in plainclothes. They had the same rank, but she felt the breadth of her experience outweighed his years.

Plus, he acted like an asshole far too often for her liking.

"There's a parking space," she said.

"That says no parking."

"So?"

He rolled his eyes and continued on, looking for a place to park. It took him several minutes and they had to park two blocks away, much to her disgust.

"That was an inefficient use of valuable police resources," she said, using his own language as they walked back to the dorm building.

"The NYPD patrol handbook is very clear on parking except in emergency situations," he replied firmly. "Having an official vehicle is no excuse for parking illegally."

"Whatever you say, Lionel," she replied.

He looked aside at her, irritated. He went by the preferred nickname LL, which he thought made him seem very streetwise. But he was born and raised in Yonkers and despite being as black as the ace of spades he spoke like a suburban white boy. The nickname most of the others in the unit had for him was 'Carleton', after a straight-laced Black guy in an old TV sitcom.

He was dressed in jeans, a white, high-necked T-shirt, and a blue work shirt that was untucked to hide his gun. He looked uncomfortable with the shirt untucked, and to her practiced eye, almost anyone on the street would recognize him as a cop.

They weren't undercover, just plainclothes, but it was still better not to attract attention on their current job. Fortunately, there were a lot of nerdy-looking guys at a university, so he was almost blending in.

Jamie, of course, never blended in. Six-foot-tall redheads were not common, even in New York. And with her looks and body, she attracted attention wherever she went. Though men who looked too long would get a glimpse of cold green eyes that could freeze a man's marrow. 'Does not play well with others' had been a frequent complaint on her report cards through much of her early years in school. In college, it had been suggested she take lessons in cultural and gender sensitivity. The suggestions had not been welcomed or acted upon.

Many of her colleagues at the NYPD would have applied a simpler description of her attitude: bitch. She would not have denied it.

But at least no one suspected she was a cop.

Jamie wore grey cargo pants that were tight where they should be, a thin black button-down blouse that just barely touched her belt, and a black hip-length cotton jacket with large hip pockets and epaulets on the shoulders. She liked lots of pockets. There was no telling what you might need. And she hated vests, including the thin, designer one she wore under her blouse. It had cost several thousand dollars but was as good as or better than the Kevlar ones the NYPD issued while being thinner and more breathable. It was a gift from her father after several shootings she'd been involved in.

They entered the lobby and waited for an elevator. When one opened they waited while a stream of young black males went past them, none looking like college boys to her. That, of course, was why they were here. There was a party upstairs and a lot of attendees were not college students.

They did, however, sell drugs to college students, and definitely did their best to get them into bed.

The guys who went past them smelled of 'hood rats' to her sensibilities, but there was nothing she could point to in a report to justify putting them against a wall to frisk them. And she knew Lionel wouldn't cooperate. He was by-the-book every step of the way. She half suspected her grandfather had arranged for him to be her partner.

She hadn't had a male partner near her age for a while. And Lionel was a large, broad-shouldered, and good-looking man. Which meant if he wasn't gay and out there would already be rumors about them moving through the small community of 6^th Precinct cops. She was far from the only woman in the precinct, but most were older and few were of the 'eye candy' sort that inspired such gossip.

One of her first police assignments had been as an undercover bikini model, after all. And a few of the pictures from those photo shoots had gotten out 'somehow', much to her irritation. At least they hadn't made it to the internet like some of her other police activities.

Her grandfather had stuck her here in the Sixth Precinct in south Manhattan to keep her out of sight and out of trouble.

Just because she'd shot a few people.

"If you didn't want me to shoot people, you shouldn't have given me a gun," she had told him the last time they'd discussed it.

Her grandfather was the Chief of Patrol, in overall charge of patrol units. And that included her. He used to be an Assistant Commissioner, but the NYPD had reorganized its leadership ranks, responsibilities, and titles for no particular reason she could understand. Just like they'd gotten rid of the Anticrime teams because, statistically, a unit devoted to dealing with violent street gangs and guns tended to shoot more people than your average patrolman. Which was deemed 'bad' and an indication they were too rough and mean.

There was a lot about what the NYPD and New York City government did she didn't understand. But she was a logical person.

Usually.

Predictably, street crime, gang violence, and shootings had all exploded with the removal of the anticrime teams. Which was one of the reasons the idiot of a mayor was gone. The first thing the new guy had done was resurrect Anti-crime, sort of. Now they had the silly public relations name of Neighborhood Safety Teams.

The name and the new rules around them had done nothing to satisfy the morons who seemed to feel crime was the result of oppressive policing and a government that refused to pay for people's drugs and that anyone arrested who had more skin pigmentation than your average Norwegian must be a victim of society and be released as soon as possible.

They got into the elevator along with a couple of female students. One was obviously gay, having what she sometimes called a 'dyke haircut'. She linked arms with the other girl, ostentatiously not looking at Jamie.

Jamie smiled slightly. She didn't need to worry. Not that she hadn't had some interesting and exciting times with girls herself, but neither of these two was her type. She thought of them as children even if the age difference between them wasn't particularly great.

They got off on Four and she and Lionel got off on Nine. They could hear the pounding beat of rap music before the car even stopped. The door opened and they moved out into a lobby with a lot of students hanging around chatting, drinking, and smoking pot.

Lionel scowled with disapproval, but pot smokers were not their target. They only issued a summons or fines these days unless they were arresting the person for something else. Then they'd throw in everything they could so the DA could drop them in negotiations for a plea.

Jamie really hated the DA. She was fairly apolitical, feeling a fairly equal sense of disdain for Republicans and Democrats. But she really detested the Manhattan DA, who, as far as she could tell, had been elected by criminals in order to make their lives better.

"Don't look at that so openly," she growled as he took his phone out to remind him what their suspect looked like.

"Lots of people are looking at phones," he retorted.

"Their phones don't have a big picture of our target on them."

They were helping the Detective squad looking for a drug dealer named Hamlin. Not so much for his drugs as because he'd shot several people. They moved slowly along the hall and into several dorms with open doors and more party goers.

Most of the people here were students, but Jamie detected more than a few others that looked like hood rats. They were here looking for fun with college girls who wanted a little thrill in their lives. White girls who were heavily into social justice, in particular, felt some kind of bizarre sense of virtue in sleeping with black guys, especially the ones from 'lower socio-economic backgrounds' who lived in 'troubled' areas.

She'd gone to college herself, after all, though to Brooklyn College, but there'd been the same types there. She and they hadn't gotten along very well, especially once they knew her intended career.

They wandered through the crowd trying to look casual, staying yards apart to raise less suspicion.

"Not here," she said at last.

"Apparently our information was wrong. We'll go downstairs and call in."

They both had miniature radios the NYPD gave plainclothes officers but this wasn't the place to use them.

They rode down to the lobby with a car full of girls eagerly talking about Taylor Swift's latest song, and she did her best not to roll her eyes too obviously.

Children, she thought.

They were only a couple of years younger than her but being a cop aged you. On the inside, if not on the outside. She doubted even one of them had killed anyone.

They reached the lobby and Lionel headed for the little Safety Officer's office, clearly planning on using his phone instead of the radio.

Jamie considered taking her own phone out. It was tempting to see what her idiot boyfriend had sent her. He always sent her something that would get her in trouble if anyone else saw it. One such text had included a picture of her in nothing but a thong - fortunately from the rear (mostly) reaching up to a kitchen cupboard.

She was willing to admit it was a flattering picture but as she'd been looking at it when a street punk had snatched her phone, pushed her into a fountain, and ran off. And while she'd gotten her phone back the detectives who'd caught him had casually inspected the contents. And that picture had gotten around the Midtown North Precinct very quickly.

Now her phone was always locked, which was annoying, and would lock down within thirty seconds if she didn't touch the screen. That was even more annoying.

Her ears perked up very suddenly at the sound of raised voices that were not friendly. Or one anyway. Female and shrill.

She wandered back and around the corner and found an elevator open with what looked like a lot of activity inside. That was where the yells were coming from so she strode forward and stuck her foot in the door as it started to close. It opened again and she found herself looking at two black guys, neither looking much like college types, with a skinny blonde college girl pressed between them.

One of them looked at her and leered.

"Hey! Come on in, bitch!"

He stepped away from the blonde and grabbed at her. Jamie dodged the grab and caught his wrist, then gave a sharp twist and an upward yank as he yelled in pain and dropped to his knees.

"I never liked that word," she said.

"Fucking whore!"

She twisted his arm up further and he gave a shriek as he was forced to bend further.

"I don't like that one either."

"Fucking cunt!" the other one yelled.

He threw the blonde aside and started toward her and she pulled the stun gun from under her jacket and jammed it into his chest. He screamed and dropped to the floor of the elevator, writhing and twisting.

"What the hell is this!" Lionel yelled, rushing behind her.

"Take this one while I get the other one," she said, releasing his wrist.

The guy started up but Lionel grabbed the arm and the scruff of his neck and physically yanked him out of the elevator and onto the floor of the lobby.

Jamie stepped into the elevator, then stuck her foot back, annoyed, as the door started to close. She ignored the sobbing blonde and examined the elevator controls, then reached over and pressed the emergency stop. While she was doing that the guy on the floor, recovering from the jolt she'd given him, started up. She shocked him again and that dropped him back onto the floor.

"Who said you could move?" she asked cooly.

"You," she said to the blonde. "Out."

She jerked her thumb to the door and the trembling girl scuttled out behind her.

Jamie hated weepy females.

"Now, you're going to crawl out onto the floor out in the lobby, got that?"

"F-Fuck youaaaaahhhh!"

He started to tremble and shake again as she jolted him a third time.

"I can do this all night. In fact, I like doing it," she said.

It was nice not to have to wear a camera and microphone.

He gasped for breathe and crawled out of the elevator as Lionel called for transport for the two of them.

Jamie dropped down, her knee hitting the small of the guy's back, and grabbed his arm, twisting his wrist so he yelled again as she drew it up behind his back. She shifted her knee to pin it there, then put down the stun gun and reached back for her cuffs.

"Hand behind your back or I'll shock you again," she said.

She had him cuffed before Lionel had his, who was still struggling and cursing.

Then she stepped away from the two and turned to the blonde.

"Now, can you tell me what was going on in - ?"

The blonde threw herself at Jamie, crying hysterically as she wrapped her arms around her.

Jamie sighed to herself. It wasn't that she didn't have empathy - exactly - but she was from a Scottish background and her father and grandfather were of the kind that showed little to no emotion in public, regardless of circumstances. Her mother was the exact opposite, but Jamie very much took after her father.

She patted the girl's shoulders and waited for her to calm down enough that she could pry her away from her. Since the girl was almost a foot shorter her loose, curly blonde hair - obviously dyed - was flying up into her face. She twisted her head away, pulling stray strands of hair out of her mouth, and then pushed the girl back.

"Try to calm down, Miss. Can you tell me what these guys did?" she asked.

"Th-Th-They called me names and... and touched me and grabbed me and kissed me and groped me and... and everything!" she cried as Jamie found the tissue packet in her thigh pocket and pulled it free. "They said they were taking me back to their fourth-floor apartment!"

She gave the girl a tissue and let her wipe her eyes and nose, then gave her another one to let her blow her nose, and then another one for her eyes again.

Dealing with criminals was often more straightforward than hysterical civilians, she thought.

She got the girl over to a bench, keeping an eye on Lionel as he searched their perps, and asked the girl for more information, taking her notebook out of another large thigh pocket.

"The... the tall one... he said... he said that they could... do me... right in the elevator!" she gulped. "He said to the little one... he said... he said you go in the front door and I'll go in the back! I didn't even know what he meant at first until they started tearing at my panties!"

Jamie had experienced just that herself on multiple occasions and had loved it, but of course, things were a lot different when it wasn't something you expected or wanted.

She calmed the girl down as best she could, and uniforms showed up to take the two perps out. One of them had to be carried as he babbled and made threats and acted very much like someone on drugs.

Lionel finally joined her and looked on as she finished her initial interview. Then the two of them took the girl out to their car and back to the station to get her to write out a complaint. There were a lot of forms she and Lionel had to fill out, including the lengthy Use of Force form for her, times two. And the one she had to do for using the stun gun.