Not-So-Divine Intervention ~ Part 3
The following chapter is brought to you by the letters 'c', as in chazper, and 's' as in snowprince, without both of whose help, this would have been impossible. All errors remaining are all mine.
Click the tag for previous chapters.
Chickie said nothing at first. Then, in carefully thought out speech, she said, 'It seems to me that with all that’s gone under the bridge, Dewey isn’t the only one who needs to make amends.''>
Part 3
~ * six months later * ~
John Cooper returned to active duty swearing he was better than ever.
Officer Sherman was happy to be paired again with his T/O. They fell back into an easy working relationship. And it seemed to Ben that John had a refreshed attitude, as opposed to the excessively jaded one he had before he took his IOD leave. He definitely had more patience for the garbage calls they continued to receive.
Ben scrutinized his partner carefully during those first weeks. He could find no evidence that John was using any pills other than Ibuprofen. His eyes were clear and there was no sheen of sweat that his illegal substance usage had caused. If Cooper moved a bit gingerly at times, Sherman chalked it up to preventative caretaking. Ben began to relax and regard his time in the patrol car as a learning experience again.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
John felt good. No, he felt damn good. Better than he had in years. He not only went to PT, but used the gym once his back could bear it. If he wanted to, John could toss the back brace in the trash. He sort of wanted to keep it around as a reminder.
And, really, he only took a pain pill once in a blue moon. Only if he felt a twinge in his back. Or if he’d had a particularly rough day. Or if he was really, really down and maybe his hands started to shake. But hardly ever. Really.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Over beers one night, the subject of Dewey came up. John repeated the story Chickie had already heard about their visit to rehab and just how much Dewey had been drinking towards the end.
“He still calls me once in awhile. Always apologizing, enough to make me want to puke.”
Chickie’s face was devoid of expression, which Ben found peculiar.
John continued, “Keeps asking me why you won’t return his calls. Why is that Chickie?”
The woman shrugged in response and John’s eyes narrowed. “When you gonna forgive the asshole? He needs to make amends.”
Chickie said nothing at first. Then, in carefully thought out speech, she said, “It seems to me that with all that’s gone under the bridge, Dewey isn’t the only one who needs to make amends.”
John glared in response and Ben picked up an undertone from both officers. He started to ask, “What do you mean…..” and was instantly cut off by Cooper’s “So, did anyone watch the Angels game last night?” It left Ben glancing uncomfortably between his two colleagues.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
“If you run, you’ll only go to jail tired. And my partner there? Runs like a cheetah. You’d never get past him.”
Ben was becoming accustomed to these kinds of comments from John, but he thought Cooper said it lightly.
“You have the right to remain silent. Or stupid. If you can’t afford a lawyer, we’ll find ya one, cheap.”
It all sounded innocent enough but it disturbed Ben that John didn’t even bother to watch the guy’s head as he pushed him into the car. The young officer’s antennae were up, but he couldn’t decipher any of the signals yet.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Ben thought that a run on the beach might clear his head. But after forty minutes, the nagging doubts he had felt neither disappeared nor became clearer. With a sigh, Ben chugged on his water bottle and headed for his bike.
Officer Michelle Sands stood next to it, leaning on her car, a wry smile on her lips and very low-slung shorts on her hips.
“Hey.” Ben let his eyes travel down her well-built frame.
“Hey yourself. Feel any better?”
“Do I …huh?”
“Real intelligent response, Sherman. You were….shall we say, distracted?” When he still made no answer, Michelle prodded, “Last night?”
“Oh. Last night. I thought last night went pretty well,” he grinned smugly.
“You were proficient enough, that’s true.” She flushed slightly at Ben’s snort. “Okay, more than once, even. But you obviously had something on your mind. Was it work related?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yeah. It’s just something I need to work out on my own.” Noticing that Michelle visibly relaxed upon hearing it had nothing to do with her, Ben stepped closer to her, kissing her warmly. She responded in kind and then leaned back to search his eyes.
“Okay then. By the way, I’d much rather find you on the pillow next to me in the morning instead of a note and a banana. So not my idea of breakfast in bed.”
Ben smiled, letting his arms slid more tightly around her back. Michelle allowed a few more tonsil-searching kisses before reluctantly pushing him away.
“You’re all sweaty. And you really need a shower.”
“You could come with and join me in that shower.” He tilted his head, one eyebrow lifted, and gave his best beseeching look.
“Tempting offer…but no, I’m due on shift soon. I just came to say good morning and good bye.” Indulging in one last kiss, she reached for her door handle. “Later?”
After Daisy, Ben had been very cautious about dating, rarely making it to a third one with the same woman, though sometimes getting lucky with a hook up right from the start. This *thing* with Sands was already two months old and though neither of them wanted to define it, they ended up together more nights than not. Usually at his place since it was bigger, nicer and in a safer neighborhood.
They had met at the Academy but didn’t cross paths again until recently. Being a fellow cop, Michelle understood what a typical, or more importantly, a difficult shift could do to his mood. And she knew when not to ask questions. It was easy being with her. She was also quite adventurous in bed, the memories of which had Ben grinning ear to ear.
“Definitely.” Ben watched her drive away. He knew she would have understood partner issues, but he still couldn’t put his finger on what it was that bothered him about the new-and-not-so-improved Officer Cooper.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
‘You got somethin’ to say, asswipe?’
Johnnie opened his mouth but no sound came out. He turned to conceal his actions instead.
“The fuck? You callin’ the cops on me now, Boy-O? That’s not smart, Johnnie, not smart at all.” The voice oozed menacing evil.
The boy was grabbed from behind in a head lock. His vision became spotted with pinpricks of light. As the edges of his consciousness began to go gray and fuzzy, he wasn’t sure if it was the ringing in his ears or sirens he was hearing.
John awoke with a gasp. It was still dark and though it was cool in the room, he was sweating profusely. He was startled by movement next to him in the bed - a bed not his own.
“Hey hombre…you okay?”
“Just dandy.” John searched his memory to figure out how he got where he was. He had been at a bar. Something about a T shirt with a nasty logo. Lots of beer….nope, he had nothing after that. Giving up, he asked, “What’s your name again?”
“Nice, John. Glad to know I made such an impression on you.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you needed to be wooed even after we fucked.” John was just guessing about that, but he knew his usual pattern of behavior.
The man, who still hadn’t given Cooper a clue as to who he was, expelled an aggrieved sigh. “I’m going back to sleep. Stay, go, I really don’t care.”
If this had been the first time this had happened, John wouldn’t give a rat’s ass. But this was starting to be a regular occurrence. He was always meticulously careful with condoms, but this particular promiscuous streak was actually starting to bother him. Not enough to stop; just enough to weigh on his mind.
Squinting at the clock radio, John figured there wasn’t enough time for more sleep as he had to be at the station in just a few hours. He moved gingerly from the bed, sweeping the floor with his feet for his clothes. Coop was patting all his pockets when the voice from the bed said, “You left the bottle in the bathroom. You’ve got quite the habit, don’t you?”
‘Shut the fuck up,’ John muttered under his breath, leaving without so much as a goodbye.
~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~
John Cooper was definitely out of sorts. It was the kind of mood that Ben realized was happening with greater frequency. Ben usually knew enough to keep his mouth shut. Anything he might say would be twisted and thrown back at him. He tried to observe his partner surreptitiously but couldn’t contain a snort when John lost his patience at a traffic light.
“Move it, asshole,” he bellowed out the window. “Lights don’t get any greener than this!” He pounded the heel of his hand on the horn.
Ben shifted in his seat, fixing John with a withering glare.
“The fuck’s wrong with you, Boot?”
Not mincing words, Sherman snapped, “You touch the steering wheel again while I’m driving and I’ll kick you to the curb.”
The shock on his superior officer’s face was worth the reaming out he knew was coming.
“Pretty mouthy today, aren’t you, Gertrude?”
Not getting the expected reaction, Ben pressed forward recklessly, probing for the truth. “You not feeling well, John? Need a little pick me up, do you?”
The expression of pure malice aimed in his direction let Ben know he’d hit home. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, dontcha, you little pissant? You don’t know shit.”
“I know your fuse is getting shorter and shorter,” Sherman muttered before clamming up.
Cooper was getting sloppy, there was no denying it any longer. Both professionally and personally. Ben was pretty sure John showed up one day hung over. Just yesterday Ben swore John arrived at work in the clothes he had gone home in, though much more rumpled.
This looseness carried over to the squad car in that John wouldn’t respond to a call if it was too close to the end of their shift. Ben thought his timing was off, too. It made him want to call for back up any time a call sounded even slightly dicey. This was no way to live.
With a heavy sigh, Sherman resolved to talk to Chickie about this latest development before the day was done.
He never got the chance.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The call came in at 2:05 PM. “Any North Hollywood unit 415 man with gun, 6300 Clybourn. Suspect Male white harassing neighbors with unknown caliber handgun. No shots fired. Code 3, incident 1079. Unit to handle identify?" Cooper was riding shotgun again and grabbed the radio.
“15A43; show us responding.” He lit them up as Sherman sped off. “’Bout time we got a legitimate call,” he huffed, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
The scene was as unstable as they come. Civilians all over the place, the suspect weaving and bobbing, a 9mm loosely held in his hand, waving haphazardly at a woman shaking in fear nearby.
John edged out of the car before it had come to a full stop, unsnapping his service weapon while keeping the car door between him and a potential bullet. Ben spoke into the radio before joining his partner. The suspect seemed calm…too calm, a sneer on his face as he taunted first the woman in question and then the cops.
It seemed as if Cooper had the situation under control as he spoke to the man, whose eyes were unfocused and jittery. “Come on, we’ve all had bad days….what, did you have a fight with your girlfriend?” The man had lowered the gun, lower lip quivering. And if Coop had just left it at that, things might not have gone south. “Or was it your boyfriend?” he added. Totally spooked, the guy suddenly bolted as if stung.
“Shit!” As usual, Sherman was off and running. He assumed Cooper was right behind him as he closed the distance to the gunman. The road turned several times, causing Ben to lose sight of his prey and then, at a dead end there was a chain link fence. The man was already halfway up and Ben would only have needed a few more strides to be able to reach up and yank him down. But instead of continuing the climb, the man turned abruptly.
The bullet knocked Sherman backwards. He looked down as pain radiated from a wound already streaming blood. Ben was becoming woozy when he heard the distant wailing of sirens from backup….but not the expected clatter of running footsteps from his partner.
~ * TBC * ~
Click the tag for previous chapters.
Chickie said nothing at first. Then, in carefully thought out speech, she said, 'It seems to me that with all that’s gone under the bridge, Dewey isn’t the only one who needs to make amends.''>
Part 3
~ * six months later * ~
John Cooper returned to active duty swearing he was better than ever.
Officer Sherman was happy to be paired again with his T/O. They fell back into an easy working relationship. And it seemed to Ben that John had a refreshed attitude, as opposed to the excessively jaded one he had before he took his IOD leave. He definitely had more patience for the garbage calls they continued to receive.
Ben scrutinized his partner carefully during those first weeks. He could find no evidence that John was using any pills other than Ibuprofen. His eyes were clear and there was no sheen of sweat that his illegal substance usage had caused. If Cooper moved a bit gingerly at times, Sherman chalked it up to preventative caretaking. Ben began to relax and regard his time in the patrol car as a learning experience again.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
John felt good. No, he felt damn good. Better than he had in years. He not only went to PT, but used the gym once his back could bear it. If he wanted to, John could toss the back brace in the trash. He sort of wanted to keep it around as a reminder.
And, really, he only took a pain pill once in a blue moon. Only if he felt a twinge in his back. Or if he’d had a particularly rough day. Or if he was really, really down and maybe his hands started to shake. But hardly ever. Really.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Over beers one night, the subject of Dewey came up. John repeated the story Chickie had already heard about their visit to rehab and just how much Dewey had been drinking towards the end.
“He still calls me once in awhile. Always apologizing, enough to make me want to puke.”
Chickie’s face was devoid of expression, which Ben found peculiar.
John continued, “Keeps asking me why you won’t return his calls. Why is that Chickie?”
The woman shrugged in response and John’s eyes narrowed. “When you gonna forgive the asshole? He needs to make amends.”
Chickie said nothing at first. Then, in carefully thought out speech, she said, “It seems to me that with all that’s gone under the bridge, Dewey isn’t the only one who needs to make amends.”
John glared in response and Ben picked up an undertone from both officers. He started to ask, “What do you mean…..” and was instantly cut off by Cooper’s “So, did anyone watch the Angels game last night?” It left Ben glancing uncomfortably between his two colleagues.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
“If you run, you’ll only go to jail tired. And my partner there? Runs like a cheetah. You’d never get past him.”
Ben was becoming accustomed to these kinds of comments from John, but he thought Cooper said it lightly.
“You have the right to remain silent. Or stupid. If you can’t afford a lawyer, we’ll find ya one, cheap.”
It all sounded innocent enough but it disturbed Ben that John didn’t even bother to watch the guy’s head as he pushed him into the car. The young officer’s antennae were up, but he couldn’t decipher any of the signals yet.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Ben thought that a run on the beach might clear his head. But after forty minutes, the nagging doubts he had felt neither disappeared nor became clearer. With a sigh, Ben chugged on his water bottle and headed for his bike.
Officer Michelle Sands stood next to it, leaning on her car, a wry smile on her lips and very low-slung shorts on her hips.
“Hey.” Ben let his eyes travel down her well-built frame.
“Hey yourself. Feel any better?”
“Do I …huh?”
“Real intelligent response, Sherman. You were….shall we say, distracted?” When he still made no answer, Michelle prodded, “Last night?”
“Oh. Last night. I thought last night went pretty well,” he grinned smugly.
“You were proficient enough, that’s true.” She flushed slightly at Ben’s snort. “Okay, more than once, even. But you obviously had something on your mind. Was it work related?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yeah. It’s just something I need to work out on my own.” Noticing that Michelle visibly relaxed upon hearing it had nothing to do with her, Ben stepped closer to her, kissing her warmly. She responded in kind and then leaned back to search his eyes.
“Okay then. By the way, I’d much rather find you on the pillow next to me in the morning instead of a note and a banana. So not my idea of breakfast in bed.”
Ben smiled, letting his arms slid more tightly around her back. Michelle allowed a few more tonsil-searching kisses before reluctantly pushing him away.
“You’re all sweaty. And you really need a shower.”
“You could come with and join me in that shower.” He tilted his head, one eyebrow lifted, and gave his best beseeching look.
“Tempting offer…but no, I’m due on shift soon. I just came to say good morning and good bye.” Indulging in one last kiss, she reached for her door handle. “Later?”
After Daisy, Ben had been very cautious about dating, rarely making it to a third one with the same woman, though sometimes getting lucky with a hook up right from the start. This *thing* with Sands was already two months old and though neither of them wanted to define it, they ended up together more nights than not. Usually at his place since it was bigger, nicer and in a safer neighborhood.
They had met at the Academy but didn’t cross paths again until recently. Being a fellow cop, Michelle understood what a typical, or more importantly, a difficult shift could do to his mood. And she knew when not to ask questions. It was easy being with her. She was also quite adventurous in bed, the memories of which had Ben grinning ear to ear.
“Definitely.” Ben watched her drive away. He knew she would have understood partner issues, but he still couldn’t put his finger on what it was that bothered him about the new-and-not-so-improved Officer Cooper.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
‘You got somethin’ to say, asswipe?’
Johnnie opened his mouth but no sound came out. He turned to conceal his actions instead.
“The fuck? You callin’ the cops on me now, Boy-O? That’s not smart, Johnnie, not smart at all.” The voice oozed menacing evil.
The boy was grabbed from behind in a head lock. His vision became spotted with pinpricks of light. As the edges of his consciousness began to go gray and fuzzy, he wasn’t sure if it was the ringing in his ears or sirens he was hearing.
John awoke with a gasp. It was still dark and though it was cool in the room, he was sweating profusely. He was startled by movement next to him in the bed - a bed not his own.
“Hey hombre…you okay?”
“Just dandy.” John searched his memory to figure out how he got where he was. He had been at a bar. Something about a T shirt with a nasty logo. Lots of beer….nope, he had nothing after that. Giving up, he asked, “What’s your name again?”
“Nice, John. Glad to know I made such an impression on you.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you needed to be wooed even after we fucked.” John was just guessing about that, but he knew his usual pattern of behavior.
The man, who still hadn’t given Cooper a clue as to who he was, expelled an aggrieved sigh. “I’m going back to sleep. Stay, go, I really don’t care.”
If this had been the first time this had happened, John wouldn’t give a rat’s ass. But this was starting to be a regular occurrence. He was always meticulously careful with condoms, but this particular promiscuous streak was actually starting to bother him. Not enough to stop; just enough to weigh on his mind.
Squinting at the clock radio, John figured there wasn’t enough time for more sleep as he had to be at the station in just a few hours. He moved gingerly from the bed, sweeping the floor with his feet for his clothes. Coop was patting all his pockets when the voice from the bed said, “You left the bottle in the bathroom. You’ve got quite the habit, don’t you?”
‘Shut the fuck up,’ John muttered under his breath, leaving without so much as a goodbye.
~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~
John Cooper was definitely out of sorts. It was the kind of mood that Ben realized was happening with greater frequency. Ben usually knew enough to keep his mouth shut. Anything he might say would be twisted and thrown back at him. He tried to observe his partner surreptitiously but couldn’t contain a snort when John lost his patience at a traffic light.
“Move it, asshole,” he bellowed out the window. “Lights don’t get any greener than this!” He pounded the heel of his hand on the horn.
Ben shifted in his seat, fixing John with a withering glare.
“The fuck’s wrong with you, Boot?”
Not mincing words, Sherman snapped, “You touch the steering wheel again while I’m driving and I’ll kick you to the curb.”
The shock on his superior officer’s face was worth the reaming out he knew was coming.
“Pretty mouthy today, aren’t you, Gertrude?”
Not getting the expected reaction, Ben pressed forward recklessly, probing for the truth. “You not feeling well, John? Need a little pick me up, do you?”
The expression of pure malice aimed in his direction let Ben know he’d hit home. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, dontcha, you little pissant? You don’t know shit.”
“I know your fuse is getting shorter and shorter,” Sherman muttered before clamming up.
Cooper was getting sloppy, there was no denying it any longer. Both professionally and personally. Ben was pretty sure John showed up one day hung over. Just yesterday Ben swore John arrived at work in the clothes he had gone home in, though much more rumpled.
This looseness carried over to the squad car in that John wouldn’t respond to a call if it was too close to the end of their shift. Ben thought his timing was off, too. It made him want to call for back up any time a call sounded even slightly dicey. This was no way to live.
With a heavy sigh, Sherman resolved to talk to Chickie about this latest development before the day was done.
He never got the chance.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The call came in at 2:05 PM. “Any North Hollywood unit 415 man with gun, 6300 Clybourn. Suspect Male white harassing neighbors with unknown caliber handgun. No shots fired. Code 3, incident 1079. Unit to handle identify?" Cooper was riding shotgun again and grabbed the radio.
“15A43; show us responding.” He lit them up as Sherman sped off. “’Bout time we got a legitimate call,” he huffed, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
The scene was as unstable as they come. Civilians all over the place, the suspect weaving and bobbing, a 9mm loosely held in his hand, waving haphazardly at a woman shaking in fear nearby.
John edged out of the car before it had come to a full stop, unsnapping his service weapon while keeping the car door between him and a potential bullet. Ben spoke into the radio before joining his partner. The suspect seemed calm…too calm, a sneer on his face as he taunted first the woman in question and then the cops.
It seemed as if Cooper had the situation under control as he spoke to the man, whose eyes were unfocused and jittery. “Come on, we’ve all had bad days….what, did you have a fight with your girlfriend?” The man had lowered the gun, lower lip quivering. And if Coop had just left it at that, things might not have gone south. “Or was it your boyfriend?” he added. Totally spooked, the guy suddenly bolted as if stung.
“Shit!” As usual, Sherman was off and running. He assumed Cooper was right behind him as he closed the distance to the gunman. The road turned several times, causing Ben to lose sight of his prey and then, at a dead end there was a chain link fence. The man was already halfway up and Ben would only have needed a few more strides to be able to reach up and yank him down. But instead of continuing the climb, the man turned abruptly.
The bullet knocked Sherman backwards. He looked down as pain radiated from a wound already streaming blood. Ben was becoming woozy when he heard the distant wailing of sirens from backup….but not the expected clatter of running footsteps from his partner.
~ * TBC * ~