Intimate Knowledge Part 1 (2 page)

“Just how much of those letters did you read, Nick?”

He shrugs unashamed. “It didn’t take much to get the idea.  Look, I’ll just leave the memory stick.  Delete it if you want.  Or not.” 

He puts the stick down on the desk.  It sits there as we catch up and swap stories.  Later we go for a steak and a few beers, until
the events of the evening take an unexpected turn.  Much later, when I return alone with the potency of my actions churning hotly inside me, I go out to my study.  The memory stick is still there and I stare at it for a while.  Then I put it into the USB port and listen to it whirr and click as it loads up.

Chapter One

Monday 17 June  Four days earlier  15th Police Precinct.  Detective Raisa Gordon’s Desk.

I absently reach for the coffee mug on my desk while tapping in the finishing details of my incident rep
ort.  I grimace.  It’s cold.  It’s my first day back since my leave of absence after my latest law course and I sigh at the pile of paperwork in front of me that should keep me busy for the rest of my evening shift.  The duties of a vice detective are no way as interesting and action packed as the cop shows make out.  Most of the time it is like tonight; filling out boring paperwork on pathetic flashers, spoiled college kids with weed and ecstasy, and frat boys who don’t know when to keep it in their pants.

Occasionally you do get to do some good.  You get to put away violent perverts, maybe even save a life or be part of a sting to break apart a crime ring. 
Even then it usually doesn’t make its way through court.  It gets thrown out on some technicality.  That’s why I started studying the law.  I thought if I knew it really well I could make sure I got it right every time.  Never screw up the arrest or the search.  Somewhere along the way, I just got interested in the law itself, the process and the debate.  Two years of evening courses got me up to speed enough to apply for law school full-time and in about three months, I will be sitting in the halls of learning of a prestigious institution – me, Raisa Gordon.

I look again at the email confirmation approving my unrestricted leave of absence.  I will not be officially off the force
.  This leaves the door open for an easy return should I change my mind or fail.  There is a standard paragraph thanking me for my service, congratulating me on my police scholarship and assuring me that, should I wish to return, my continued service will always be welcome.  Yeah, vice has been good to me, but it’s time.  I feel a quick rush of excitement; something I haven’t felt for a while.

T
he buzzing of my phone breaks through my thoughts and I grin as I see Terri’s animated gif flashing her boobs at me.  Her friendship is another bonus of my interest in the law.  Working in a male dominated profession it is hard to make friends who don’t just want to screw you.  Until Terri, it had been years since I enjoyed the easy camaraderie of girlish giggles.  We met on the first night at our introductory law course two years ago and despite our differences (she is twenty something, going on thirty-five, from a privileged family) we immediately clicked and never looked back.

“Hey, girlfriend, still on for dinner?”  Terri shouts over the background noise of the bar she works at
to help pay for school.  She may be from money, but her parents believe everyone should pull their own weight.  Terri is no rich kid on a free ride.  Another reason we connect.  “Sure.  When are you off?   Hey hold on a sec.”

Another email
has popped up and I scowl.  I knew this was coming.  It is unavoidable.  My obligatory trip to the precinct shrink.  It would be advised for any cop after an absence to check in, but in my case it is required.  I have too many demons they like to track.  She has a spot open now and asks would I come down, like it’s a social call, instead of the last place I want to be. After arranging to meet Terri for a late dinner at the end of our shifts, I stand up.  Might as well get this over with.

“Hi
, Raisa.”  Our precinct shrink looks like she’s a transplanted debutante.  She wears twinsets and flat pumps.  She reminds me of the sorority pledges I’ve come across lately.  It is highly deceptive; she is at least five years older than I am and a barracuda who knows my weak spots.

“Dr. Nichols.”  I nod resisting the friendly greeting.  This woman has sway over my right to do my job.  If I
don’t convince her I am capable, I could be suspended with one click of her keyboard.

“Good to see you back, but only for a few months, I see. 
Law school.  This is a good move for you.  It’s a big shift.  How are you coping?”  She looks at me with deceptively clear eyes designed to encourage confidence.  I answer warily, trying to appear unfazed.

“Sure, it’s all fine. 
I’ve planned this.  It’s all good.”

We sit in silence for several minutes. 
It is a ploy she practices regularly.  I presume it works on most of her patients as they nervously fill in the silence.  She obviously thinks it might eventually work on me, even though it hasn’t at any time in the eight-year span I have had to regularly report to her.  She shifts in her seat and leafs through my file.

“How are the dreams?”

I decide I had better throw her something or she will be suspicious and I won’t get out of here with a pass.  If I give her just enough to convince her I am troubled, but coping, then she will be happy.

“Now and then; waking ones sometimes.”
 
Shit.
  Where did that come from?  It was the truth, but one I wasn’t acknowledging even to myself, or so I thought.

She sits up and fixes me with a stare.  “That’s new. 
Since when?”

Alright
, so we are going there.  I will need to play along to some extent.  It is a good question. 
Since when?

“I went to an art exhibit about a week or so ago, weekend before last.  It
is art by child survivors.  It…well, I guess it affected me.”  She nods.  Strangely, I am encouraged, maybe I want to talk about this after all.  “One of the paintings in particular.  I’ve been back to view it a few times since.  I think it triggers…you know…stuff.”

“Stuff?
  Okay.”  She nods.  “Do you have a copy, a brochure, maybe.”

F
eeling uneasy, I nod and bring it out to show her.  It is open at the painting.

She looks at me piercingly.  She is excited. 
“Raisa.  This is good, very good.  It means your psyche is letting you explore this.  How often are you viewing the painting?”

“A few times
.  Four or five times since, I think.”

“I think you should view it as often as you
can, daily if possible.”  Opening her notes, she starts to write, giving the instruction I always dread. “You need to journal this.”

I try not to groan, nodding instead.  I
won’t get out otherwise.  Taking the hint when I stand up, she says.  “Alright. I understand you have a lot to catch up on, but Raisa, please journal and I’d like to see you next week.”

I make my escape
reeling from the intensity of the past few moments.  Why did I volunteer that?  Putting the thought away from me, I walk down the corridor to my desk and grin at the 6’1’ gorgeous, rugged, rough around the edges detective who hands me a coffee mug as he winks at me and raises his own mug in a salute.  The grin increases when I taste the nip of bourbon.

“Hey, Raisa.
  Welcome back.  Good to see you.”

Luke Kincaid looks at me soulfully before he realizes he is doing it and I see the blush creep up his neck as he drops his eyes.  Seven years on the force, the last two as a homicide detective, he was one of the best rookies I brought through during my days as a training officer.  He was also my partner in vice for three years.  I know he carries a torch for me.  My reputation as a badass and the thirteen-year age gap never intimidated him the way it did the other rookies.  He is a genuine nice
guy and despite his dark, hard man looks, a bit of a soft touch with women.

None of which detracts from his hotness.  Several sources attest to his considerable talent in the sack and I am tempted every time we reconnect, but it would be cruel to hook-up with him.  His feelings are engaged and I know he
wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than a relationship.

Raisa Gordon
doesn’t do relationships.  Hot sex with hot guys when she has the time, but not relationships.  Friendship is fine at a certain level, but love is too dangerous an emotion and to be avoided unfailingly.  I ruthlessly discarded it on any intimate level, lover, husband, child, family when it catastrophically shredded my heart, body and soul eight years ago.

Luke soon recovers and starts talking shop.  He nods over to the senior detective’s office. “So the chief has
been in there with two agents from the bureau for the past hour.”

My pulse starts to quicken as I
look at him.  The only gig we have with the bureau these days is the Gold Task Force.  Their trafficking activities have been under surveillance for over three years and rumor has it there is a new lead in the case.  I wanted to be on that task force from day one, but no way so far.  Luke is on it for homicide.  Letting me live vicariously through him, he usually keeps me updated as much as my classification allows.

“Yeah?  Any idea what the gig is?”

He confirms what
I’d heard. “There’s a new lead in the case.”  He gives me a pointed look like there is something I should know.

I raise my eyebrows, frustrated that he is making me work for it.  Wishing I were a bitch so I could unscrupulously use his feelings for me to indulge in constant pillow talk about the case, I just give him my best badass, I trained you, look.  It really pisses me off that he has half my experience and yet pulls more challenging and higher rated duties.  It may be the 21
st
Century, but the glass ceiling is still there for women in the field as well as the boardroom.

He gives me a meaningful look.  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

I am so excited I almost come.  Active duty does that to me.  “Fuck, Luke, you serious!  They’re bringing me in?”

He nods darkly and gives me a non-committal answer.  “Not for me to say.”

“Hey, you schmuck, you can’t tease me like that and leave me hanging.”  He is clearly not happy about it and I wonder why.  I know it can’t be because he feels I am not up to the job.

He shrugs.  “Like I said you’ll find out soon enough.  I’m just disturbed over the reason.”

My gut starts to contract.  Luke has good instincts and his concern stops me short.  Before I can push him on it, I see my chief come out of his office and beckon to me to join him and the two agents.  I walk across trying to tell myself Luke is just over-protective.  I decide to ignore it.  That protective male instinct is what keeps women relegated to the safer duties.

“Come in, Raisa.  This is Special Agent Wilson and Special Agent Alexander. 
Gentlemen, Detective Raisa Gordon.”

We all nod mutually and then there is an awkward pause as they tower over me like Clarice in Silence of the Lambs before my chief suggests we all sit.  I used to insist on standing in my first year in the force; that way they all have to stand too.  I read somewhere in a women’s lib article that you have a better chance at equality then.  Whoever wrote that article was clearly not 5’2” and 115 lbs soaking wet.  Believe me sitting down always gives you a
way better chance at equality up against those odds.  But, to be honest (forgive me Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem) I’ve discovered just wiggling your ass and thrusting out your ample cleavage works best.  Crossing your legs in a short skirt with black stockings really helps too.  I promptly do all three and then look innocently up at two salivating males, my disapproving chief, and a much more level playing field.  Special Agent Wilson drags his eyes from my legs and then starts clicking through his laptop.

“These photographs recently came to our notice, Detective Gordon.”

At first, I am confused at what I am seeing and then they focus into photos of me.  They are recent, taken over the past couple of weeks.  I start to recognise the when and where.  That art gallery exhibit that haunted me, on my morning run, hanging out with Terri, and, chillingly, sitting out in my shortie pajamas throwing back a beer on the fire escape of my apartment.  I am beginning to get why Luke is concerned.  I look at them accusingly for the why.

“What, you couldn’t get any of me peeing?”

The two agents stifle a laugh and my chief clucks disapprovingly. “Raisa.”  He is old school and I consistently disappoint him the way I do my ageing Mid West parents.  I sense another reprimand showing up on my file before my end of service.

Agent Alexander speaks up.  “These images don’t originate from the bureau, Detective Gordon.  The source is one of our main targets for surveillance in the Gold family.  I believe you are familiar with his code name, Simba.

Whoever came up with that codename was just having a laugh.  We women got together one drunken lunch and decided it was the men and their fragile egos trying to negate the guy’s magnetism.  The men, even drunker, insisted it was logical.  He has the coloring, those spooky lion eyes, he is the heir apparent scion of the Gold Family and he is -
just so gosh darn cute. 
The men mimicked a besotted female voice and then all punched each other and hollered with macho laughter.  We told them to just go off and measure their dicks elsewhere.  Regardless, the codename stuck.  For the purposes of the FBI Task Force, Leo Gold is identified as Simba.

I
get wet just thinking about him.  His fantasy image frequently brings me to climax along with my Jessica Rabbit.  It doesn’t take long.  It’s humiliating. I tell myself its sick that I get off on a much younger guy I only know from crime files, surveillance footage and the media, and who is the heir apparent to a notorious crime family.  But I know that it is a huge part of the fascination.  The fact that maybe he hides a dark, troubled soul behind those smoky, gold flecked orbs and that golden, glistening body.  It’s a crap cliché and I want to kick my ass for falling for it, but then I tell my better half to get over it.  It’s just masturbating, after all.