Strip Search

1 July 11 I don't care what you've seen on television. This is the truth: Most days, being a cop is one of the most boring jobs on earth. Except when it isn't. Or to clarify, it's huge patches of tediousness punctuated by brief moments of stark terror. That's why so many cops turn in their badges before retirement. That's why eight times more cops die from suicide than homicide. The badge ain't for sissies. I love it. All of itthe tediousness and the terroreven now, six months since my badge was officially yanked. I was a cop for almost ten years; now I'm a consultant, which means I work twice as many hours for half as much money. At least I'm in the game. Tediousness and terror. But still in the game. The officially designated casino escort met Darcy and me at the front door. He was dark and muscular and obviously worked out and I disliked him almost immediately. "You the chick Chief O'Bannon sent over?" Just to prove that I'm not high-strung, hot-tempered, rabidly feminist, or any of those other female cop cliches, I let that one slip. "I'm Susan Pulaski." "You're the shrink?" "I'm a psychologist. I work as a behaviorist for the LVPD." "Whatever." Sure, it sounded rude, but I suspect he was compensating for the fact that he didn't know what a behaviorist is, so I let that one slide, too. "The boss says I'm supposed to take you upstairs to see the floor boss captain." "Then let's do it." "Sure. And afterward . . ." His eyes narrowed and he got that smirky expression that you only get from men who think everyone finds them as sexy as they find themselves. ". . . I could give you a personal tour of the casino." "Thanks, but I've been here before." "You have gorgeous eyes, you know it? I bet you get that a lot. Unusual. One looks darker than the other." "Cat scratch. I was five. Now if you don't mind" I tried to push past him, but he grabbed my arm. "I could show you parts of this place you've never seen. Including some very private rooms. Huge suites. Mirrored ceilings." And then, I swear to God, he actually winked as he added, "Vibrating beds." Grotesque. Repellent. Wildly inappropriate. But I am a trained professional, cool and detached, and I was sent here to do a job. So I let it pass. "Maybe it would be best if you just took us to the captain." "Us?" He glanced behind me for the first time. "Who's the punk?" He was pointing at Darcy, the tall, lanky twenty-six-year-old hovering uncertainly behind me. "The boss didn't say anything about some kid coming along." Darcy flushed, stared at the floor, talked some barely audible gibberish, then began flapping his hands. "Why is he here?" "I'm babysitting," I said. "You know how lousy cop pay is. I have to moonlight." "I don't want to get into any trouble with the boss. The kid looks . . . weird. What is he, some kind of retard or" I flattened him. One punch, on the nose, down and out. Yeah, I know, I shouldn't have done it. Someone will report me to IA, and they'll throw it in my face the next time I make my periodic pathetic application for reinstatement. But honestly. A girl can only put up withBernhardt, William is the author of 'Strip Search ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780345470195 and ISBN 0345470192.