San Francisco's General Hospital was a county run facility located in the Portero District. It served the indigent, the poor and the bleeding of The City.
Concheta Rodriguez was one of those unfortunates. She was barely 18, and an illegal alien from Juarez, Mexico who had made it to El Norte only to get the shit beat out of her on the mean streets south of Market.
She was still pretty under the bandages and the bruises. A fact not lost on a hospital orderly named Daryl Jeeter. As she lay quietly in a private room while an IV dripped away into her arm, Jeeter watched her with interest.
Jeeter was a tall, muscular young man with a brutish face and dull, piggish eyes. Earlier today he had slipped into her room and managed to get a hypo filled with a strong sedative into her IV line.
Her breathing was now deep and regular, just like the others. He had made sure the door was closed and that it was just before the 1 pm shift change when the nurse's station was empty and the halls were clear. He had a good ten minutes all to himself with this sweet little bonita.
The only light was the afternoon sun shifting through the blinds, but it was enough. Slowly, Jeeter pulled away her blanket and sheet, and then her thin hospital gown to reveal her full breasts, trim tummy and ripe little peach of a cunt.
He touched her.
"Awwwright, asshole! Hands off the girl!"
He jumped back. The voice had been a woman's. He watched as the bathroom door creaked open and a woman wearing a hospital robe hobbled out on one foot with a pair of steel crutches under her arms to face him from the other side of the bed.
She was young and pretty too, with long blonde hair, flinty grey eyes and a strong, determined jaw.
"What the fuck?" he rasped. "You're a goddamned patient!"
She flipped the lapel of her robe to reveal a seven pointed silver star pinned to the cloth.
"I"m also a cop," she said. "Officer Sweet, SFPD. Now just step back and keep your hands where I can see 'em."
Instead of doing as he was told, Jeeter tried to rabbit. he shoved the heavy rolling tray at Sweet and rushed for the door.
Sweet used one crutch to block the tray from rolling into her legs and the other crutch to trip Jeeter as he ran by her. He fell in a clatter by the door, hitting his head on the wall.
Jeeter got up, pulling a razor sharp boxcutter from his sock. "Fuckin' bitch..."
He rushed her. She rammed the end of one crutch into his gut, and then the end of the other one into his throat. Hopping one leg, she twirled the first crutch about and caught his forearm between the struts, twisting his arm painfully behind him until the boxcutter hit the floor. Then she slammed him into the wall once, twice... three times, until he slid to the floor, leaving a bloody smear on the wall.
"Yikes. Good thing we're in a hospital," Sweet said to no one in particular.
Concheta Rodriguez snorted and continued to sleep peacefully.
***
Lieutenant Neil Briggs of the SFPD's Homicide Bureau strode into the private hospital room of Officer Gwen K. Sweet to find a half dozen uniformed cops and hospital security personnel already milling about.
Sweet was the center of attention, sitting up in her hospital bed with her game leg propped up, trying to explain to the assembled how she had found out about Daryl Jeeter.
"...so when I was out in the hall getting a bag of Cheetos, I heard the nurses talking about how three patients --all young women-- had complained about having these dreams of being molested and probed while asleep, and how one of them even had some real bruises on her vagina..."
"How come we didn't hear about this?" a hospital security guy asked.
"The chief nurse thought it was all bullshit," Sweet replied. "So I listened in and got the names of the three vics, then I talked to them and got the times of their supposed molestations. Then I checked those times against a personnel shift schedule I swiped from the nurse's station..."
"And you came up this Jeeter guy."
"Yup. Then I checked when he'd be working and looked in on the patients on his floor. I thought Concheta would be his next vic, so I set up a stake-out." She shrugged. "I got lucky."
"Sounds like good police work to me," Briggs said.
The others stepped back as Briggs approached her. He was an officious little man in his fifties or so, wearing a cheap suit and an American flag pin on his lapel.
"Lieutenant," Sweet said. "What brings Homicide here? Someone croak?"
"As a matter of fact they did," he replied. He looked at the others. "I'm going to need to speak to Officer Sweet alone... urgent police business."
The others left the room, closing the door behind them.
"You sure know how to kill a party," Sweet said, sipping a cold Diet Coke. "So wassup? More fallout from the Mandarin Oriental shootout?"
"That's ancient history," Briggs replied. Actually it had only been 36 hours ago that Sweet had been involved in a bloody shootout with Arab terrorists in the underground carpark of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in the Financial District, which is also how she had gotten shot in the left leg. "Less than an hour ago, Matthew McClintock was murdered. Shot to death."
"No shit!" Sweet whispered. She had involved in the search for his missing daughter, getting involved first with a LA private eye named Tai Anne Roper, then her cop friend Iwana Binder, followed by an ex-CIA agent named Jeb Stuart. "Did he get capped in The City?"
"Close enough," Briggs said. "He was aboard his yacht anchored off Angel Island. The ship's captain called us, and took the boat to the Muni Marina. Marin County Sheriff's Office was more than happy to cede jurisdiction to the SFPD."
"I bet!" Sweet chortled. McClintock was a big fish with connections. Finding out who capped him would be a major neccessity. "Got a suspect?"
"Sure do," Briggs said. "We have four witnesses who saw the perp flee the scene and an eyewitness who saw the perp actually shoot McClintock five times before they turned and shot said witness."
"This perp anybody I know?"
"Tai Anne Roper," Briggs replied.
Sweet looked at him in slack-jawed surprise. She wouldn't had been any more shocked if he had said the perp was John Wilkes Booth.
"Think she did it?" Briggs asked.
"No, it's a frame job," Sweet replied softly.
"You sound pretty sure of that."
"I am. I know this girl," Sweet said. "She didn't kill McClintock. But she has enemies who would love to hang a murder charge on her. Or at least muddy the waters so you guys spend the first 72 hours of the investigation looking for her, instead of the real perp."
"You may be right," Briggs said. "And if that's the case, then I'd like you in on the investigation."
Sweet looked at him. She knew Briggs well enough to know that he wasn't doing this out of a sense of justice, but out of a need to cover all the bases... and his ass. At his heart, Briggs was more of a political animal than a real cop.
"I'm a traffic cop for chrissakes," Sweet replied.
"You won't be able to get back on that motorcycle of yours for another four weeks til your leg heals," Briggs said. "I'm talking about a transfer to Homicide and a detective's star if you're interested."
She considered it. "Does this mean a raise in pay?"
"Detective Patrol Officer P-2... a nice pay bump."
"Okay. Sure, why not."
"Good! Now I'm the primary, so you'll be reporting to me. I have three teams of investigators on the case, and you'll be partnered with Inspector Stoner..."
"Harry Stoner?" Sweet was incredulous. "That deadhead?"
"That 'deadhead' was in charge of the Jessica McClintock kidnapping case, if you remember, and has your knowledge of the principals involved," Briggs said. "Just work with him."
"Lovely."
"I suggest you get over to the Muni Marina ASAP and take a look at this yacht before they move the body. That's where your partner is."
Briggs reached in his pocket and tossed a billfold to her. She opened it and saw a shiny new, seven pointed gold star engraved with S.F. POLICE at the top and DETECTIVE below that. Her new photo ID was on the other side.
"Welcome to Homicide, Detective Sweet."
***
Jeb Stuart was four hours into his flight across country and enjoying his second Vodka and tonic when the pager on his cellphone chirped.
Because of FAA regs, he couldn't use his cell, but he could still receive pager messages. It was the San Fran area code, Paige Torne's number with a 911 on the end of it.
Christ, what now? Jeb thought as he unhooked the Verizon AirFone on the back of the seat in front of him and punched in Paige's number. She picked up on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Paige? Jeb here."
"That was quick, where are you?"
"Somewhere over Pennsylvania, why?"
"Get this; somebody whacked Matt McClintock on his yacht parked out by Angel Island about two hours ago. It just made the news."
"Holy shit," Jeb said. "Are we on a secure line?"
You're buddy Langley says we are."
"Good enuff. Anything else?"
"It gets better," Paige continued. "SFPD is handling the case and already has a prime suspect..."
"Oh Gaaaaawd," Jeb muttered. "Please tell me it isn't Tai."
"Right the first time. My source in the department says they have witnesses placing her on the boat and an eyewitness who says he actually saw her shoot McClintock dead!"
"Who's the eyewitness?"
"A bodyguard of McClintock's. Hansel something."
"Great. Have you heard from Tai?"
"Nope. And I've also lost Kunta and my Expedition!" Paige took a breath. "Kunta drove Tai to the SF Marina in my SUV to meet McClintock's bodyguards, who would take her out to his yacht in a runabout. I can't reach Kunta on her cell."
"Damn. How'd you find out about all this?"
"They discussed this with Taffy Chu over at her place. That's where Tai got the call from McCllintock who asked her to meet him on his boat. She accepted, thinking she could help find Jessica."
"And Taffy didn't think about telling you before they left?"
"Taffy says Tai was quite... convincing. Hell, she convinced Kunta to fucking drive her there!"
"Okay, what have you told the police?"
"Nothing. They haven't showed yet."
"When they do, tell them everything," Jeb said. "And also tell then about Taffy so she can confirm all this. Also go ahead and report Kunta Kintare missing and your Expedition as stolen."
"Already did that."
"Good. Now my daughter Tess was over at Taffy's this morning too..."
"Don't worry, Taffy says they sent her on to her classes at SFU before Tai and Kunta left."
"Thank Christ for small miracles."
"So what are you going to do, Jeb? Head back to SF as soon as you arrive?"
"Negative. You're forgetting that both Drew and Jessica need me out here. You can trust Langley to act in my stead. Also, I'll contact Kate and get her involved."
"Don't you want to be here when Tai finally surfaces?"
Jeb took a deep breath. "That's a poor choice of words, Paige."
"Why? You don't think she actually killed McClintock, do you?"
"No, I think she was framed," Jeb said. "Probably by Will Tanner-Hyde and Joe Weskler. But the truth is, Paige... when rich men go to this much trouble to set up a patsy for a murder... that patsy seldom comes up for air."
Silence on the line. "Y-you think Tai is dead, don't you?"
"And also Kunta," Jeb said. "I'm sorry, Paige."
"So what the fuck do we do about it?" Paige's voice was tight and angry.
"Find the people who did this and eviscerate them," Jeb replied. "And also rescue Jessica for good measure."
"Yeah... right." She sighed. "I'll contact you again if something major breaks."
"Same here. Bye, Paige."
She hung up. Jeb stared at the phone for a long second and then called his wife.
"Hello?"
"Kate, its me."
"Jeb! Thank Christ! I just saw on CNN that Matt McClintock was murdered and they think Tai did it!"
"I know all that. What about Tess?"
"I just called her on her cell, she was in her psychology class. I told her to get her butt back home."
"Good. You two stay close. The twins should be safe in school," Jeb said. "I don't think you'll have to go to the safehouse this time."
"Jeb, what about Tai?"
"We're... working on it. So far she hasn't contacted Paige. Our best bet is to let Langley and Paige handle things from the left coast, while I work the right coast."
"While I stay home and babysit the kids, huh?"
"Exactly," Jeb replied. "Now I have to contact Fanni real quick. Bye, hon."
Kate stared at the phone after Jeb clicked off. Stay home and babysit the kids, huh? Like hell!
***
Meanwhile, Callista Horlicks was in hell.
Naked and dangling by her thumbs, her body jerked as another stripe was added to her wealed bottom by a whip welded by Fanni Hall.
The log cabin they were staying in was nice and rustic, with a fire blazing in the fireplace and a table, chairs and a couch scattered about.
Callista was suspended by an oak beam, her long, lean body illuminated by the dancing flames. She was sweating, and rivelets of perspiration mixed with the tears running down her cheeks and onto her firm, exposed breasts. She was moaning into the rubber ball strapped into her mouth.
Fanni Hall circled her prey, flexing the small whip in her hands. She still wore her cinched, brown leather pants and turtleneck sweater. Her skintight leather gleamed as it caught the light from the flames.
"Ready to talk yet, chicklet?" Fanni asked casually. "Jus come clean with me about Weskler and I'll let you go about your beeswax."
Callista snorted into her gag and tried to kick at Fanni. Fanni caught her ankle and gave her a stroke right between her legs that curled along her cunt and between her buns. Callista screamed long and loud into the rubber that filled her mouth, her eyes as wide as pie plates.
Fanni's cellphone chirped. She picked up. "Yeah?"
From across the room, her daughter Dani Hall sat at the table where they had eaten dinner not too long ago. It had been simple fare; canned corned beef, canned new potatoes and canned string beans cooked over the fireplace.
Dani'd had to feed Drew Thrasher herself, cuz her hands were still handcuffed behind her back. But she hadn't minded the chore, in fact she had rather enjoyed it.
While her mom talk quietly to whoever had called her. Dani's eyes wandered over the tortured curves of Callista Horlicks.
She licked her lips and squeezed her thighs together. She had already slipped away to the bathroom twice for a clandestine orgasm or two. She just hoped Mom didn't notice the stain on her jeans when she had flooded her panties.
Fanni clicked off her cell. "Dani? Come with me."
"Yes'm!" Dani sighed. She was hoping that when mom took a break she'd get a chance to have some fun with the bound blonde herself.
Dani followed her mom into the back bedroom, where Drew Thrasher still sat primly on the bed. She had been able to change out of the clothes borrowed from Ms. Santiago into some clothes that Fanni had stashed at the cabin. Right now Drew wore an old black leather catsuit of Fanni's, with a high collar and zipper front that would've done Emma Peel proud.
She also had lost her handcuffs and shackles in favor of a black leather armbinder that kept her arms cinched tightly behind her back, with a criss-crossing of leather straps around her shoulders. Additional straps at knees and ankles kept her from wandering off. She also was drooling from the ballgag in her mouth.
Fanni sat down beside her and gently unstrapped and popped loose the ballgag, even dabbing away the drool on her chin with a kleenex.
Drew licked her lips. "Thank you."
"Your welcome," Fanni smiled. "I just heard from our friend Jeb... bad news I'm afraid."
"What now?"
"Matthew McClintock was murdered in San Francisco... and this Tai Anne Roper you've been telling me about is the prime suspect. In fact, the police have an eyewitness who saw her shoot him."
"That's impossible!" Drew said. "Tai would never do such a thing! Ever!"
"Quiet down now... Jeb thinks the same thing," Fanni said. "He thinks she was framed by a man called Will Tanner-Hyde, who's working for Weskler."
Drew nodded. "That sounds... plausable."
Fanni smiled. "Glad you think so. This means getting intel out of Weskler's bitch out there is more important than ever."
Drew nodded. "I understand, Fanni. You don't have to keep me bound up like this. I won't run away. I won't cause you any problems. I promise."
Fanni Hall grinned and ruffled Drew's hair. "I tend to believe you, girlfriend. However, Jeb is of the opinion that you might try to leave so that you can find Tai yourself. Unwise, since you are a target of Weskler as well."
Drew twisted her arms about in the armbinder, causing the leather to creak. "So I stay bound?"
"For now." She turned to Dani. "Moppet? Stay with Drew while I deal with Ms. Horlicks... I'm afraid I'm going to have to take off the kid gloves."
Dani's eyes widened. That was kid gloves? Yikes! "Okeees, Mom!"
Fanni got up and closed the door behind her, leaving Dani Hall alone with the bound Drew Thrasher.
"So," Dani said, sitting next to Drew. "You like girls."
"I'm not a lesbian," Drew said softly. "But I do love Tai Anne Roper. Its... something I can't explain."
Dani chuckled as she traced Drew's lips with her fingers. "Don't try to figure out love, Drew. Love makes monkeys of us all."
"How true," Drew rasped.
"Have you made love to Tai?" Dani whispered, her lips close to Drew's ear.
"Yes," Drew replied. "But it was while we were bound prisoners of a couple of slavers... we had no choice."
"And what makes you think you have a choice now?" Dani kissed Drew. Slowly, deeply and with passion. Drew returned the kiss, surrendering herself to the old forbidden feelings.
Dani gently pushed Drew onto the bed, unzipping her catsuit down from her neck to past her belly. she started kissing her at the lips, working slowly down her throat, across her breasts and further down to the promised land.
I can't help this, Drew thought to herself. It's not my fault...
***
Meanwhile, back in the living room of the cabin, Fanni had lowered Callista down and released her bound thumbs. Callista wept and was unable to move her arms as Fanni expertly pulled them behind her and bound her wrists together palm to palm with cord, followed by her elbows.
She sat Callista in a chair so that she could bind her ankles with cord, giving her about a 10 inch step. Fanni then led her into a backroom of the cabin.
Callista's long blonde hair was a mess, so it wasn't until Fanni pulled it out of her eyes that she squawled into the ballgag at what was waiting for her.
"It's call 'the Horse', kiddo," Fanni explained. "Two sets of wooden planks set at 45 degree angles, centered by a half inch ridge of wood. One leg on either side, with your cunt taking the full weight of your body."
Callista shook her head so fast that sweat flew off her hair.
"You want to talk?" Fanni loosened the ballgag and yanked it out of her mouth, letting it dangle beneath her chin.
"Puuuhhhleeeease... don't do this!" The once proud Callista Horlicks now dropped to her knees before Fanni. "Please! I beg yeeeew.... no more!"
"Then tell me everything you know about Weskler. Why does he want Drew Thrasher? Why does he want Jessica McClintock? Why did he have Matt McClintock murdered?"
Callista started to cry in earnest, her forehead against Fanni's tight, leathered leg. "I... I can't tell you that! If I did he'd have me killed! Or worse... dammit, there are things that Joe Weskler can do to a girl that you wouldn't believe! I just can't tell you!"
"Then it looks like you're going for a ride, bitch," Fanni said mercilessly, jamming the rubber ball back into her mouth.
She hauled the weeping and now struggling woman up and over the hump of the horse, one leg on each side, her bound ankles behind her, keeping her legs wide and bent, with all her weight now on her cunt, centered on the half inch strip of wood.
Callista screamed into her gag as she wiggled about, which only seemed to make the wood settle deeper into her cunt.
Fanni secured cord through each of her bent knees and tied her so that even if she tried to fall off the horse, she wouldn't be able to.
Callista was in agony, terrible, burning agony. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she hummed frantically into the ballgag, her bound hands flailing around helplessly behind her.
"I'll see if I can't find something to perk up those nipples of yours." Fanni blew her a kiss. "Seeya soon."
She turned the light out and locked the door behind her, leaving Callista in a painful darkness.
***
Joe Killian woke up.
He smacked his lips and stretched in one of the cushioned chairs in the sealed off, VIP section of JFK Airport. He had sat down to wait for the arrival of Qwan and her partner from Montreal when he had dozed off.
He looked up and saw two women sitting across from him, looking right at him. One was a very beautiful Asian woman in her late thirties or so, dressed in white cashmere. The other was a younger Asian girl in a trenchcoat over casual attire.
He blinked. "Inspector Qwan I presume?"
Michelle Qwan smiled. "And my partner, Officer Yukari Mei Awai. Here are our Interpol credentials."
They flipped the offical looking billfolds open for him to look at. He nodded and pulled out his own ID.
"Special Agent Joe Killian, FBI, New York Office. How long have you two been watching me sleep?"
Yukari looked at her watch. "About twenty..."
Qwan nudged her "Not long. From what you've told me on the phone, I figured you haven't slept in 36 hours... I thought you needed a little shuteye."
"You were right. Thanks." Killian stretched and got up from his chair. "So let's boogie, shall we?"
***
"First trip to New York?" Killian asked as they walked down the long, crowded concourse, each carrying some luggage.
"Not for me," Qwan said. "First time since 9/11 though."
"First time for me!" Yukari volunteered brightly. "If we have time, I would like to see the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty and..."
The came up on Killian's illegally parked Ford Crown Vic, guarded by a couple of uniformed National Guardsmen carrying M-16s. They put the luggage away, got in and headed out.
"Where are we going?" Qwan asked.
"Well, we have several Federal safehouses... or you could stay in a hotel..."
"That didn't work out for Mr. Cundalini too well," Qwan observed.
"The fact is, we are dealing with dirty cops... and possibly a few Federales who are also on the pad," Killian said. "I'd prefer we all stay at a location known only to the three of us. And the woman who lives there."
"Sounds good," Qwan said. "You trust her?"
Killian shrugged. "I need her, and she needs me."
Six cars back, also exiting the airport terminal, was a Ford Bronco being driven by Monkey, who was one of Val Corder's lackeys. Sitting in the passenger side, Linda Hansen quick-called her boss on a scrambled cellphone.
"Yes?" Val Corder answered.
"We just picked up Killian leaving JFK," Linda replied. "He's got Qwan and another Asian cutie with him. Other girl is probably ICPO."
"Excellent... make sure they don't know you exist."
"You can tell your new girlfriend that the GPS device she put on Killian's car is working like a charm," Linda said, referring to Emma Blackbyrd. "We can track him from 20 blocks away."
"Just make sure you don't fuck up," Corder said, then clicked off.
***
The Western Addition is one of the last ungentrified, tough neighborhoods in San Francisco, and Nate Craddock's Army Surplus store on O'Farrell was perfectly suited for this neighborhood. Besides selling everything from past due MREs to army boots, he sold a host of illegal weaponry to the local street gangs.
Gwen Sweet entered Craddock's store, using one steel crutch to keep the weight off her left leg. Craddock laughed when he saw her.
"Well goddamn if this don't make mah fuckin' day!" He roared. "Mah favorite pain-in-the-ass piggie all gimped up! Whadya do, bitch? Run that fancy moto-sickle of yours into a doughnut shop?"
Sweet said nothing as she approached the glass counter. She had changed into a pair of comfortably tight blue jeans, a white turtleneck top, street sneakers and a faded-out leather bomber jacket. Her blonde hair was long and cascading down her back, and her mirrored sunglasses hid her eyes.
"I'm looking for a cane," she said. "One of those... special ones, you had awhile back."
"Like the one you busted me for just cuz I sold it to a kid?" Craddock hissed. He was a beer-bellied former biker with bad breath and a bald head. Not a pretty sight.
"Exactly," Sweet replied. "I'll need the best one you have."
"And why the fuck should I sell anything to you?"
Sweet slipped of her sunglasses. "Cuz if you don't, I'll park a black and white in front of this pesthole every fucking day for a month... or until you go Chapter 13."
"You bitch..."
Craddock was slammed back into the wall as Sweet rammed the end of her crutch into his beer belly as hard as she could. As he fell forward, she grabbed him by the ear and slammed his face onto the glass countertop hard enough to spiderweb the safety glass.
"Okay, asshole," Sweet said. "I cut you a little slack cuz I did come in here asking for a favor... but now I'm just pissed off. Get... the... fucking... cane."
Craddock pulled himself off the glass. "Sure, Officer! Shit. I wuz just fuckin' around!"
He hobbled over to a locked bureau and pulled out a selection of ornate, hand carved canes and walking sticks.
"I have mallaca... teakwood... rosewood..."
"What's the strongest?" Sweet asked.
"The bleached oak," he said, holding it up for her. "You can slam it against concrete and it won't even crack."
She picked the walking stick up, and twirled it, liking the balance and heft of it. It also had a squared-off handle and brass fittings on the shaft.
"Nice..." She twisted the handle and unsheathed the eleven inch stainless steel blade hidden inside the shaft.
"That's 440 Benchmade steel, razor sharp on both sides with an inverse sawtooth edge," Craddock said. "Some of the punks come in her wanting a goddamn sword, but you don't want a blade longer than eleven inches... in case you need to get in close."
Sweet snapped the blade back in place. "How much?"
"For you..."
"No... no special favors for me, asshole," Sweet said. "How much would you charge anybody else for this?"
Craddock swallowed hard. "T-two hundred."
Sweet nodded and pulled a biker wallet out of her back pocket. She peeled out two fifties and five twenties onto the cracked glass of the countertop.
"Don't bother to wrap it up, I'll wear it out," Sweet said as she tossed her steel crutch onto the counter. "Keep the change."
Sweet got used to the feel of the walking stick as she walked out to the sidewalk and got into the passenger side of a tricked out, 1970 Dodge Challenger, red with black sidestripes and with a 440 V-8 under the hood that rumbled like a barely contained beast.
Dave Sweet --Gwen's husband of seven years-- lokked over at her. "Any problemos?"
"Naw, lets go."
A few minutes later, the Challenger was northbound on Van Ness heading for the Marina District.
"You're awfully quiet," Gwen said.
Dave Sweet shrugged. He was a handsome man, tall and broadshouldered with straw blond hair and blue eyes. He had his own garage where he restored old muscle cars for collectors.
"Anything wrong?"
Dave shrugged again. "Over the years, I got used to you being a motorcop. I knew you loved it and I knew you could take care of yourself."
"And..."
"And now you're playing detective. And its all... politics. And its all so damned dangerous... you're mixing it up with the same people who got you involved in that firefight at the Mandarin Oriental..."
"I know."
"Last time around it was fucking Arab terrorists and white slavers... this time its a dead rich guy. I just worry about you."
Gwen Sweet reached over and kissed him. "I know."
They didn't say another word until Dave pulled the Challenger up to Marina Green, where over a dozen police cars and support vehicles were parked.
"Love you." Gwen Sweet kissed her husband simply and deeply. Then she was out of the car and heading for the public jetty, where she could see a bunch of cops milling around a large, private yacht. The late Mr. McClintock's boat no doubt.
A uniformed patrolman was guarding the crimescene from onlookers and the press. He stopped her. "Sorry, ma'am..."
Gwen Sweet smiled and pulled out her new gold star and ID. "Off... I mean, Detective Sweet... Homicide."
***
Lieutenant Rachel Cuerda screeched her black and white LAPD cruiser to a halt in front of the Westin Bonaventure Hotel, startling the doormen and some guests waiting for their taxi. She got out and ran like hell for the lobby elevators, leaving the parking valets wondering if she wanted one of them to park her car or something.
She took one of the glass fronted elevators straight up to the 22nd floor, and ran down the curved corridor to 2212, where two of her SWAT guys where dutifully standing guard.
She burst through the door to find three more of her swatties watching TV --right now tuned to CNN, where two old white guys were arguing with each other-- and four others were in the middle of a pretty good poker game.
"Where's Sergeant Binder?" Rachel demanded.
"Back in her bedroom, Lou," one of her men replied as he tried to fill an inside straight. "She was out here for awhile watching the news tho..."
"Dammit..." Rachel walked quickly over the suite's bedroom and closed the door behind her.
Iwana Binder was just coming out of the bathroom. She wore skintight, shiny black leather pants, a black latex sleeveless top that looked spraypainted over her large breasts and low-heeled ankle boots.
Rachel confronted her with crossed arms. She wore a crisp uniform and her Sam Browne, which helped her authority figure persona "And where do you think you're going, chica?"
Iwana looked at her. "You know where Ah'm goin', Rachel. Where Ah hafta go."
"I've already talked to a friend on the San Fran PD," Rachel said. "They haven't got a clue where this Tai Anne Roper is. Do you?"
Iwana bypassed her and went to her small carryall. "Nope. But Ah gots the best chance of findin' her. Ah know how mah sistahgrrl's mind works."
"She killed a man, Iwana."
"The hell she did," Iwana retorted. "Like Ah said, Ah knows mah sistahgrrl. If she wuz pissed off at somebody, she'd kick the shit outta dem, but she shore as hell wouldn't kill'em. It just ain't in her."
"And what about you?" Rachel asked. "I let you run off to SF and you become a target for Scagnetti. Or have you forgotten about him?"
"Ah ain't forgettin' 'bout nuthin'," Iwana said, zipping her bag up. "Ah'm just goin'."
"You know I can't let you just walk out that door." Rachel stood before her. "You're staying here, Sergeant. That's an order."
"Sorry, Lieutenant."
"Goddammit!" Rachel angrily grabbed Iwana by the arms. "You do as you're told... slave."
Iwana looked into her hard, yet pretty face and kissed her. "Sorry... Mistress. But mah sistahgrrl comes first. Before mah job... and before you. And dem the facts."
Rachel blinked away the hurt in her eyes and stepped back. She pulled her shiny, S&W handcuffs off her Sam Browne belt and flicked a ratchet open. "Okay, fine. We do it the hard way."
Before Iwana could twitch, Rachel had snapped one cuff over her right wrist. As she twirled Iwana about to cuff her hands behind her, Iwana flipped her over her shoulder and reversed the hold, getting her own pair of handcuffs off her belt.
Rachel hit the carpeted floor, and rolled out, the two women now faced each other, warily circling around the richly appointed bedroom suite.
"Why doncha call in yore swat dawgs?" Iwana growled.
"Cuz I can take you down by myself, chica," Rachel smirked. "And after that I'm going to strap you down so you can't twitch and have you worshipping your Mistress' cunt... like a good slave should."
"Sounds like fun," Iwana said. "Sorry Ah can't oblige."
Iwana moved in low, throwing her shoulder in Rachel's midsection and carrying her onto the bed. Snapping one her cuffs around Rachel's left ankle, she flipped her over and grabbed her right arm twisting it behind her as she snapped the other cuff around her right wrist.
Rachel Cuerda grunted and twisted about, now cuffed with her right wrist connected to her left ankle. Iwana leaned back and pulled a hairpin of the Rachel's hairdo and used it to pick the handcuff lock around her own wrist in a New York second.
"Iwana! Don't do this! The lil bitch isn't worth it!"
"She is to me, Mistress." Iwana now snapped the second handcuff onto Rachel's left wrist, and drew her right foot back to secure the other cuff to her right ankle. Rachel Cuerda was now drawn back in a tight, inescapable hogtie.
She grunted and fought the blue rubber ball that Iwana finally managed to shove deep into her mouth and secure tightly with a strap. She hummed and shook her head, eyes blazing with anger as her long black hair got in her face.
"Yore beautiful when you be angry," Iwana said with a grin. She kissed Rachel on the rubber ball and relieved her of her 9mm Beretta service piece and two extra clips.
She slipped the pistol under her belt at the small of her back, slipped on a fitted, black leather bolero jacket and quickly collected her things and headed out the door.
"Lieutenant wants me to go to 2214 fo' awhile," Iwana said to the SWAT cops who were still deep into their poker game. "You guys stay put."
"Roger that," one of the players replied.
Iwana nodded to the swatties in the corridor and headed for the elevators. Once in the lobby, she went past the glitzy shops and through the atrium,out to the west side parking lot, where a black leatherdyke named Furious Felicia was sittin on a shovelhead Harley waiting for her.
"Took yore own sweet time, gf," Felicia said as Iwana mounted up behind her.
"Giddiup," Iwana replied.
Felicia headed east on Figueroa, past the long line of tall palm trees that lined the street. She pulled into a parking lot two blocks over, where two more leatherdykes named Sara Darke and Fu-chan were waiting.
There were hugs and kisses all around and then some serious talk.
"You sure you wanna be doing this, luv?" Sara Darke asked. She was a pale, goth dyke in skintight PVC.
"Sistahgrrl is mah life,"Iwana replied simply. "Ah gots to help her."
"I have some friends in SF's Chinatown," Fu-chan said. She was a short, Asian girl in a leather mini. "You need a place to crash, they'll put you up. No questions."
She handed Iwana a piece of paper with an address on it. Iwana took it and hugged her. "Thanks, babe."
"Here's yore bike," Felicia said, showing her to a parked, neon green Kawasaki Ninja racing motorcycle. "Not 'zactly inconspicious, but best I could do on an hour's notice."
"It'll do fine." Iwana secured her carryall on the back and pulled on the helmet sitting on the handle bars.
"You be careful up there," Sara warned. "And if you need us... just call."
"Will do." Iwana Binder paused to hug all of her friends once more and then started the bike. She revved it up and peeled out, heading back onto Figueroa to catch the 101 cloverleaf northbound to San Francisco and her sistahgrrl.
***
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