Synopsis: Sergeant John Jablonski has been assigned a series of breakins of only homes of single women, all while they were sleeping. He's also been given a new detective trainee, one he knows as a street prostitute he's arrested twice with no conviction. She turns out to be the niece of his Police Chief. Currently, during a drinking contest, the two drunken detectives have lured the perp to John's home, late at night. The two are crouched at the kitchen door, john with a camera to catch her in the act....

John pressed the button on his camera, the flash further illuminating large white nether cheeks. A good shot. The second was of the ceiling as John tried to rise, jerking the camera upwards.

Doris bumped him hard on the shoulder while getting her pistol out, thus ruining the third. The fourth was the best. As good as the first but with both a brown extension in the white field and an astonished face looking at them from on top. That was the last shot, as the camera fell and was inadvertently kicked into a corner by Doris.

“Like yr’ unna’a ar‘rest,” Doris called out, crouched with gun waving gently from clasped hands, “hans’ on head,” she ordered.

Laughing loudly at the sight, John looked around for his camera, not finding it.

“You heard ‘er,” he growled menacingly.

Ethel clasped both hands over her head, obviously in shock. The wobbly table shook, causing the woman to slip and land half on and half off its surface. One foot on the floor, her torso fell into the pile of crap she had just produced. She rolled off onto the floor where she lay, panting, as John cuffed her.

“Pull my pants back up,” Ethel pleaded.

“No, uh, uh, sistar’ ‘ats evidd, evild, evidence. You stay rit’ dere’. Hear. Red’er rights, honey,” Doris called to Jablonski, who was again looking for his camera.

Come on, come on, he thought while searching under a cabinet, it could be the best police photos of the decade and he lost his fuckin’ camera.

“I can’t. Need the cammea’. You seeit any'were?”

In the end, they managed to dial “911" to get a patrolman over to take Ethel in and book her. It could be embarrassing in the morning, after the other officer had spread the story, but not as much as if they had gone in to do it themselves.

By the time it was over, each had a quart of instant coffee in them and were a little soberer.

“You did good, girl. I didn’t like your grip on that pistol, though. Not too steady.”

“It was fun, but you gotta find that darned camera. Bet you got some good pictures.”

“You gonna stay over tonight? We can go in late tomorrow, ya know? I’ll just put down we got off duty late and I’m sure Ethel won’t mind any. Since we caught her, Louie won’t say nothing.”

“Na, I better get home. My goldfish haven’t been fed for four days now.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“In your condition? I can call a cab.”

It wasn’t until she had left that he realized they hadn’t been sparring at the end, and he hadn’t even heard the dreaded word, “Uncle”, once. Somehow, he was sorry to see her go.

“Fuck it,” he told himself, reaching for a nearly empty whiskey bottle.


Jablonski was hungover in the morning. That damned woman, he thought. Once a whore, always a whore. How the holy hell did she do it, go from hooker to detective? Reluctantly and pissed off, he got up and dressed for work.

At the station, he was again greeted by a happy crowd of his peers. Doris was already sitting at his desk, surrounded by leering and smiling fellow detectives. The lieutenant’s office was filled with a mass of flesh, most adorned by gold-braided hats and shoulders. Something was going on?

“Didn’t you see the news this morning, John.” Peterson asked him, beaming as he stood in the doorway. “Your partner’s famous.”

“Yeah, I know. Her Uncle George. I’m sick of hearing about fucking Uncle George.”

“No, not her uncle. You didn’t hear? Really?”

“Shut the hell up and tell me, then. No, I didn’t hear nothing.”

“It seems Uncle George and her were involved with an FBI sting. She posed as a hooker for almost two damned years. They brought down a mafia chief. It’s a long story, but she managed to crawl way down into the mafia shithole, deep enough to root out at least one big one. She found proof implicating him and others in several killings. Even judges and congressmen will lose their heads on this.”

“You mean she wasn’t really a hooker?” John was astounded.

“Well, we’re not really clear on that part. How could she get that high up by faking it ... you know? I think she must have slept with someone, but they say not,” Peterson told him. “It was then that she decided to join the force for real.”

“Yeah?” He felt a cold chill rising up his body. “Look, I’ll be back later. Don’t tell anyone I was here, Pete.” Jablonski hurried back out to the hall. He then staggered into a stall in the nearest restroom to lay his head on cold porcelain, throw up, and think.


“Jablonski, you in here?” It was detective Johnson. John could see his cowboy boots outside the stall. “I know you’re in there, John. The captain wants to see you. Him and the chief are waiting.”

“Damn it, Johnson. Tell them you can’t find me.”

“No can do. It’s my ass too. He saw you in the squad room.”

“Christ. I’ll be there in a minute.” Jablonski exited the booth, wiped a feverish brow and washed his hands. He left the restroom and started for the stairs to the captain's office.

“Na. The lieutenant’s office. They’re in there.”

“Ain’t you got no work to do, Johnson? I don’t need no fuckin’ nursemaid.”

John turned and headed for the detective squad room. As he expected, the chief and that damned woman were in the lieutenant’s office, along with Louie -- waiting for him. Why can’t things go back to normal? Jablonski moaned to himself. Now the chief’s gonna bust my ass for insulting his little girl.

Not really giving a damn, Jablonski jerked too hard on the door to the lieutenant’s cubicle, tearing it off its fragile hinges. After the clattering result, he stood with a stupid look on his face, door hanging down at his side like a large thin briefcase.

“Good work, Jablonski. That’s only the second time you did that.” Louie glared. “This time you’re going to pay for it.”

“Yeah? Says you, lieutenant. Not according to the Policeman’s Union. Our contract says you, as the owner of the room, pay. You’re responsible for your own office.” Jablonski had found that out the first time around.

“Just what I said, Jablonski. It’s your room now. It’s beyond my understanding, but the chief here just gave you my old job. Even made me a captain.”

“Say what?” John turned to the chief of police, a puzzled look on his face. He was sure that damned woman had badmouthed him, and her being the pet of the day because of her mafia bust. Hell, she could name her own price. “You did that, Chief? But why?”

“Officer ... excuse me,” the chief said, smiling at a smirking Doris. “Sergeant McKey here, told me about you saving her life last night while catching that woman. How she had a knife at mu niece's throat and you saved her life by your quick thinking in throwing a camera at the perp.”

Jablonski was so surprised that all he could do was open and close his mouth, no sound coming out. Still in a daze, he had a vague sensation of the chief shaking his hand. When he came to his senses, the chief of police was gone and he was in the small cubicle with only Louie and Doris. Doris was sitting at the lieutenant’s desk, calmly filling out a form.

“Uh, You say I’m the lieutenant, and this is my office, sir?” John asked the smiling man, who was still wearing lieutenant bars.

“For all practical purposes. You can take over right now,” Louie told him. “I’m going home. My promotion won’t be cut for a couple of days and I’m taking a vacation.”

“Is that so?” John thought a minute. Why the hell not? The only chance he’d get.

“Then get your fancy ass out of my office, asshole, before I kick you through this glass wall. You don’t outrank me right now and I’d love to show you what I think of your fucking ass.” He took a step forward and laughed as the man ran from the room and out into the squad room.

John knew he might have to pay for it in the future, but what could they do to him today, with them both officially the same rank? Needless to say, John’s reputation went sky-high after that. Of course it was referred to as the only time a lieutenant ever threatened a captain and chased him out of the room. That sounded better than two lieutenants -- take your pick.

John turned back to a laughing Doris, who was fishing in her purse.

“What’s that paper for ... Doris?” Jablonski softened his voice, “Look, I guess I have to apologize. I had you figured wrong.”

“That’s all right, Johnny. I couldn’t very well tell you until Public Relations and the FBI released the story. I forgive you.” She stood, walked over, and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, almost forgot. The paper? I was just signing evidence over to you, Lieutenant Jablonski.”

Before he could stop her, Doris took out the evidence bag full of two-week-old shit, unzipped it, and poured it over his desk.

“Bye. Asshole. I'm keeping my evidence bag, but it's your shit. You ain’t a lieutenant yet. See you tomorrow,” she yelled as she hurried out the door.

Damn, he thought over the roaring in the squad room. There went his new reputation. She’d upstaged him again.

The End. The rest was posted over the last four days.