The Burglary

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This is my first-ever story, and as I am not now nor ever have been a cop, I apologize in advance for any errors in police procedure.


It was a little after 11 p.m. and I could tell by the way the radio traffic was slacking off that the rest of the night would be pretty slow. It had been a middling sort of shift, not so frantically busy that we were running all over the precinct, but not so slow that we were bored out of our skulls. An accident right after we first rolled out, a couple of shop lifters, and one thankfully not violent domestic dispute had kept us active enough.

Of course, our patrol area was Briartown, a ritzy area with nice homes and upscale shopping, so we were unlikely to catch anything really exciting, not on a Thursday night anyway. Which was fine with the both of us.

Murphy had been on the force long enough to have gotten over the thirst for excitement that young cops bring to the job and I’d spent my first three years patrolling the southwest side, a gang-ridden, run-down shithole overrun with the detritus of society. That and four years in the army had given me my fill of adventure, at least for a while. So I was perfectly happy to spend my time driving past mansions, high-end condominium complexes and ritzy shopping centers. Sure, sometime the people we dealt with were snotty as all get out, looking down their noses at us, but that just made it all the more enjoyable when we pulled them over for minor traffic violations, or brought their sons and daughters home, drunk, stoned or facing a charge of indecent exposure. Sometimes all three.

It doesn’t hurt that these rich bastards and bitches are also more than happy to hand over a couple of hundred bucks to avoid having points taken off their license or their insurance rates jacked up, although why they care about that I can’t imagine. I think bribing a cop makes them feel a little ghetto, gives them a little thrill, and I’ve got bills to pay, so everybody wins. It’s not like either one of us would take a dime to protect some scumbag drug dealer or mob guy, we’re just augmenting our inadequate pay by collecting certain fines directly, rather than through the court system.

Every now and then, Murphy opts for a different kind of punishment for select female drivers. He calls it the community service option. On those occasions I stand lookout while he gets a quick blowjob or, less often, a quick fuck, and afterward he’ll buy me lunch or dinner, depending on the shift. I’m frankly amazed at how many women are really willing to suck dick just to get out of a ticket. I can’t really judge though, I blew a couple of professors in college for better grades and once, in the army, let a sergeant fuck me to get a good performance rating. But even though I’ve had offers from both men and women, when it comes to bribes, I’ve always chosen to take the cold hard cash.

This evening, we were parked in the lot of one of those ritzy shopping centers. I was staring out the drivers’ side window, sipping the evening’s third cup of coffee and watching a smattering of BMWs, Lexuses (or would that be Lexi) and Cadillac SUVs roll down the street when the unit’s laptop pinged. It’s not like the old days, with some scratchy voice on the radio calling out for unit so and so and then reporting a 10-something or other at the corner of Main and 1st. Nowadays we just get a ping and a popup notification on the computer screen complete with address, description of the call and contact info for the reporting person.

“Possible burglary on Le Monde drive” Murphy said, tapping the address on the screen. Instantly, a map appeared with directions on how to get to the location. “Probably just some kid out past curfew sneaking in a basement window but at least it’s something to do.”

“True enough” I said, tossing the remains of my coffee out the window and shoving the empty cup into the driver’s door panel pocket, already crammed with fast food wrappers, napkins and an empty plastic soda bottle.

I put the car in gear and we pulled out, the laptop’s dull, monotone, metallic voice calling out directions as we went. I didn’t need them, but it’s kind of pain to shut it off, some bug in the software, so we just let it drone on. Pretty soon we found ourselves slowly rolling down a wide residential street lined with big, mature trees and behind them, bigger, expensive-looking homes. Some had a few lights on and a few had cars parked out front, but for the most part, you could tell the street had settled down for the evening.

We rolled through an intersection and I noticed, about halfway down the block, someone standing on the left-hand curb, holding a flashlight. As we got closer, I could see it was an older woman, mid-60s perhaps, wearing a yellow bathrobe over blue pajamas. There were, I swear to God, bunny slippers on her feet.

“Hello officers, thank you for coming so quickly. I’m Mrs. Cooper, the person who called. It’s the Henderson house, across the street,” she said as soon as we opened our doors. She had bahis firmaları a soft voice with just the faint trace of southern accent, as if she’d moved away from the area years ago. She pointed at a large, two-story Victorian home with a massive oak tree in the front yard. A porch light was on and light seeped through curtains in a couple of upper-story windows.

“What makes you think there’s a burglar?” Murphy asked in a calm, friendly voice that registered complete belief in her account. You never want to give the impression that you doubt the veracity of the call. Very bad public relations.

“They’re on vacation and I’ve been feeding the cat and checking the house. Those lights up there are on timers, so they should be on. But I was looking out my window, because I thought I heard something, and could swear I saw a flash of light downstairs, just real quickly, and then something like a shadow at one of the upstairs windows” she said, her voice quavering just a little. I wasn’t sure if she was worried that we didn’t believe her, or if she was scared that she actually had imagined the whole thing.

“Well, we’ll go over and check it out. Do you have the house key?” I asked. “If we see anything suspicious, we may have to come get you so you can tell us if something looks wrong. And is there an alarm?”

“Yes, there is. The code is 54879. But it never went off or anything. Should I just come with you now?”

“No Ma’am. We need to check and make sure the house is safe before we allow anyone else in. I’d like you to go back inside and we’ll come back to let you know what we find,” Murphy said. “It’s a big house, so it might take us a while to make sure it’s completely clear, so no need to worry if we aren’t back in a few minutes, okay?”

“Of course,” she said, and then reached into her bathrobe’s pocket and extracted a key ring attached to a large bronze medallion. “It’s the silver one with the red dot on the handle, that’s the house key, I mean. That smaller brown one opens the side gate. Oh, and there’s a pool house out back. It’s on the alarm system and the house key will open that as well. Please be careful.”

“We will, Mrs. Cooper,” I assured her, smiling. “We do this kind of thing a lot. Usually its nothing, but it’s good that you called.”

We watched as she turned and shuffled back up her driveway, and then locked the patrol car and headed across the street. The moon was just a crescent in a sky dotted with clouds, and the only street lights were stationed on the corners, so this section of block was pretty dark. I also noticed that it was very quiet. No traffic noises at all, no distant radios, not even a barking dog.

“So, how do you want to do this, one in the front and one on the back,” I asked.

“Nah, let’s go through the gate and in the back. Better to stick together. It’s probably nothing. Plus, after seeing you at the gun range last week, I’m worried you’ll shoot me if I don’t keep an eye on you,” Murphy replied. I couldn’t see the grin, but knew it was there.

“That’s not fair, I was hungover. And when I shoot you, it won’t be by accident, trust me,” I said.

We went through a tall, wooden gate set in a high block wall fence. It opened onto a narrow lane that ran along one side of the house. We had our weapons drawn and flashlights on but pointed downward, so we didn’t trip over anything. All the windows here were dark and assorted plants and shrubs lined the wall to our right as we crept quietly along. Around the corner of the house was a low deck that ran along the length of the back, and beyond it was a large, kidney-shaped pool. Behind it, with its own porch light on, was what I took to be the pool house.

I mounted the three steps up to the wooden deck, complete with barbeque grill and picnic table, and approached a glass paneled back door. I moved to one side while Murphy took the other. I reached out and tried the handle. It was unlocked, and I gently pushed open the door. Murphy went in first, moved to the side and I followed, both of us scanning flashlights and weapons across the impressively large kitchen that opened directly onto what looked like a dining area. Behind that was a family room with couch, arm chairs and very large television. The alarm made no sound, so it had clearly been shut off. I shot Murphy a puzzled look and he frowned and shrugged. We quickly and quietly moved through the first floor, checking closets and the laundry room, which was just off the kitchen. I also located the door to the basement, and we were just about to check it when we both heard a sound from above us.

A staircase ran down along one wall of the family room and Murphy and I began to carefully ascend. We were halfway up the stairs when we heard it, the clear sounds of a woman moaning. Murphy looked back at me and I just raised my eyebrows. We moved quickly to the top of the stairway, which opened up onto a hallway running the length of the house. On the left was a bedroom, belonging to teenager from the way it was decorated, and another kaçak iddaa that looked like a den or office. These were the rooms with lights on, as their windows overlooked the street. Across the hall were a bathroom and another bedroom, both still dark. All the doors were open and there was enough light that we could turn off the flashlights.

At the end of the hallway, past the lit rooms, was a pair of double doors. It was clear the sounds were coming from somewhere behind them, and equally clear that this was neither a burglary nor any kind of unwanted assault. By now, we could clearly make out her words, “Oh yeah, baby, that’s it” and “fuck you really know how to use your tongue.”

We were both grinning madly and dying to see who was on the other side of those doors, so when we reached it, we assumed positions on either side of the doorway and each of us gave a hard shove. The doors, having been left slightly open, flew back and banged into the wall.

“Police,” we shouted in unison, guns pointing directly at two people prone on the king bed in what was clearly the master suite. The guns were not really necessary, but no cop, no matter what they’re hearing on the other side, goes into a room in that situation with their sidearm holstered.

The sight of us scared the shit out of the naked couple on the bed. One was a very buxom blond girl, maybe late teens or early twenties, lying back with her upper body propped slightly up on a pile of several thick pillows. Her long, shapely legs, clad in black fishnet stockings, were spread wide and between them, face down with his tight white ass gleaming in the light of a bedside lamp, was a tall, skinny kid of about her same age.

She screamed and rolled away, kneeing him in the head as she did so. He stumbled trying to get up and then bent over holding his head and cursing.

“Keep your hands where we can see them. Don’t reach for anything or move until we tell you to,” Murphy said in a stern yet calm voice, designed to keep them from panicking and doing something really stupid.

They just stood there, looking scared and embarrassed, but not angry, which was a sure indicator that they weren’t supposed to be there.

The woman was standing, slightly hunched over, with one arm pressed across both her breasts, smashing them so hard against her body that little rolls of creamy flesh squeezed from above and below her wrist. Her other hand was held directly in front of her pussy, covering her actual opening but not much else. Dark curly pubic hair – she was no natural blonde – peaked out around her fingers and the cute little rose tattoo just above her lips for some reason stuck out like a neon sign to me. Her long hair hung straight down her back, her stomach was flat and her arms and legs were muscular but not bulky. She had a couple of small moles just above her left tit, and her eyes, from what I could see, seemed a soft grayish green, but it was hard to tell since she’d started to cry.

“Okay, do either of you live here, and don’t lie because it’s easy enough to check,” Murphy asked.

“No. It’s my friend’s house. He said we could use it for well, you know,” said the man, who was really just a kid.

He was calmer than the girl, but still clearly shaken that he had been caught naked in someone else’s house. He was maybe 6′ tall and had a runner’s body, lean with long, wiry muscles. The kind of body I liked on men, to be honest. I enjoy getting a little rough in bed and it’s more fun if I can hold my own against the person I’m with. That’s not a problem when it’s another woman, and I’ve got no inhibitions there, but I love it when I can throw a man down, pin his hands and climb on and do whatever the hell I like. I can’t do that to some muscle-head with 20-inch biceps and shoulders so broad they have to turn sideways just to get through the damn door.

“Do you have any ID on you?” I barked at him. I love playing the bad cop whenever I get the chance.

“Yeah, in my pants,” he said, taking a tentative step toward a pair of jeans tossed on the floor by the wall across the room.

“Don’t move,” I ordered. “Just stand there.”

I brushed past the kid, who stood stock still, careful to keep an eye on him as I moved to his jeans. Kneeling down put me at eye level with his still somewhat hard cock and it was a nice one, from what I could tell, maybe average length and little on the thick side. Pulling my eyes away, I extracted a slim, brown leather wallet from a back pocket. The license inside said his name was Todd Sanders, age 20 and lived just a few blocks away.

“What about you, miss. Do you have identification?” Murphy asked the blonde in a gentle, caring voice that someone else might have thought was an attempt to calm her down, but which I recognized as the first step towards a subtle seduction.

“It’s in my purse,” she whispered, sniffling a little and pointing toward a chair on which both her purse and shirt rested.

Murphy grabbed the purse, checked inside for weapons and then handed it kaçak bahis to her so she could extract her ID. It really wasn’t proper procedure, but it furthered his image of the kind, caring policeman that she could trust, the guy who really was on her side and wanted to help her. She pulled out her wallet, opened it and slid out a license. Murphy examined it briefly, scribbled something in his note pad, probably her address, and then handed it back.

“Okay Melissa. Try to take a few deep breaths and relax a little. This isn’t necessarily as bad as it could be,” he told her. “I mean, we could charge you with burglary and trespassing, but what we really need to do now is get your explanation. And we need to do that separately. It’s just procedure.”

Smooth, I thought, as he picked up her shirt and handed it to her. She shyly accepted it and gave all of us a magnificent view of her breasts when she raised her arms above her head to pull it on. That was a good sign, since she hadn’t turned away from him as she did it. She also didn’t make a move toward her skirt or panties, which no doubt bolstered my partner’s confidence.

“I tell you what. Why don’t you and I go down the hall where you can tell me how you came to be here? My partner will stay behind with your friend and get his story. That okay with you, Gina?” he asked, turning slightly towards me.

“Sure,” I said, trying to suppress a grin. “We’ll be fine here. Take your time.”

I didn’t need to hear their conversation to know almost exactly what would be said once they got to the darkened bedroom at the other end of the hall. He’d ask her what happened, and she’d get all teary eyed again and start apologizing, and he’d probably rub her back or hold one of her hands in both of his to comfort her and she’d get the message that there was a way out of this without him saying a word.

And that’s really the key because rule number one is never ask for the bribe. Let them offer it, because people who offer bribes are willing to pay them without turning around and ratting you out to your bosses. Demanding payment pisses people off and you might get away with denying it once or twice, but eventually, well you know what they say, where’s there’s smoke, there’s fire and too many complaints generate a hell of a lot of smoke.

But there wouldn’t even be a wisp of it in this case, because she’d pick up on what he was hinting at, and from the looks she was giving him as they stepped across the room and down the hall, she might even be looking forward to it. After all, we had interrupted them before they’d gotten too far into things. She’d give Murphy a shy smile, lips quivering slightly, then say she was really sorry to cause any trouble and offer to make it up to him. Maybe she’d lay on some bullshit about how she knew how stressful this job can be and she’d be happy to help relieve some of that, so that they could both have a much more pleasant evening. Then her hand would stroke his chest or thigh. And then he’d smile and say that that sounds nice and yes, it is a hard job and gee I wish more people were understanding like you and blah blah blah. And then he’d excuse himself for a minute and come down to tell me that it looked like this might take a little while, cause she’s real upset and all, and would I mind sitting on the boyfriend for a little while longer. And that’s exactly what happened, and I of course told him no problem and thought about where he might buy me dinner during tomorrow’s shift.

But it didn’t sit well with her boyfriend and I guess he could tell from our whispered conversation and my snarky laugh – I think I may have made some crack about Murphy enjoying his interrogation – that something wasn’t kosher because he demanded to know what was up.

“Where’s Melissa? What’s going on?” he asked in an angry, insolent tone.

“Officer Murphy is talking to her, so just relax. You need to focus on telling me what the hell you’re doing here, from beginning to end,” I replied, putting on my don’t-fuck-with-me look, which I’m told actually makes me appear a little constipated.

“This is bullshit. He better not be laying hand on her,” he barked, and then, much to my surprise because I hadn’t credited him with having any real balls, suddenly tried to push past me through the doorway.

But I am a professional and damn good at my job. So it took maybe five seconds for me to ram my knee up into his gut while grabbing, twisting and then pulling his left arm so that I drove him down onto the ground. A second later, I had my knee in his back and was slapping on the cuffs when I heard Murphy hurrying down the hall sans utility belt but holding his gun.

“Everything okay?” he asked, looking down at me. “Shit, you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I replied, my breath a little ragged, more from adrenaline than any real exertion on my part. “Loverboy here just got a little jealous. It’s no problem.”

The kid was wheezing from the blow to his abdomen and his body had gone limp. I guess he realized what was happening, and probably understood that Melissa wasn’t being forced to do anything she didn’t want to, which may have been an even bigger blow than my shot to his stomach. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him.

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