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From: writerzblocked@aol.com (Writerzblocked)
Subject: {ASSM} I FOUGHT THE LAW, AND...  5.3 (mc)
Date: Fri,  1 Jun 2001 17:10:03 -0400
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I FOUGHT THE LAW, AND ... 5.3(mc)


Copyright by Writerzblocked, 2001.  All rights, well, you know. Repost and
archive to your heart's content, just don't charge anyone for it or I'll have
to send Harry Long after you. You all know the rest of the drill by now.  I'm
not
big on headers and/or labels, so anyone reposting may feel free to add whatever
MF, MM, FF stuff they think is necessary.  

********************************************

{Authors note:   We now take a break from hearing Warren Bandan talk in order
to bring you a totally different point of view - sorta.  If you don't like it,
feel free to ignore it; the bigheaded, egocentric, sadistic, big-mouthed jerk
will be back in action in a month or so.  Apologies to MM and CJ - but not
many}



Tuck Amuck (Part 3)


Fifteen minutes later, Amanda rushed into the lobby of Police Headquarters,
pushed a button on the elevators and waited.  For countless seconds, she
shifted uncomfortably, fiddled with her handbag and finally pushed the button
again. Cursing under her breath, she walked quickly to the stairwell.  Pushing
the door open, she entered the landing, stopped for a second and listened.

Slowly, her right hand reached into her handbag as her left went down and
rubbed slowly on the outside of her pants, up and down her leg, finally
reaching her crotch.  She pulled a cigarette from her bag and stuffed it in her
mouth as she continued to rub her fingers up and down between her legs. 
Breathing deeply, she drew the smoke in and out slowly with her lips as she
gripped the handrail for support. 

Suddenly, she heard the door open on the landing above and she hurriedly pushed
her way back through the stairwell door and into the lobby. Grabbing her phone
from her purse, she pushed a button, the cigarette still hanging from her
mouth. 

"Damn you, Mario.  Where the hell are you?  I'm at Downtown now.  Please,
PLEASE call me back ASAP!  I think I'm going CRAZY!  I can't even THINK
straight anymore!..." Her voice was growing louder and one of the clerks nearby
looked at her pointedly.

Amanda looked up from her phone.  "What the hell are you staring at?"

"No smoking in the lobby, detective."  

"Look, it's not lit, OK?  Can't you see I'm on the phone here?"  She walked
hurriedly away from the clerk down the hall toward the cafeteria, pressing the
button to cancel the phone call.  

Looking around, she noticed no one in the cafeteria, other than the cleaning
staff.  Adjusting the cigarette in her mouth, she headed straight to the Ladies
Room.  Pushing open the door, she immediately bent down to check the stalls,
only to find all of them empty. Rushing to the far handicapped stall, she
pushed open the door and threw herself down on the seat, balling her hands up
in fists and bringing them repeatedly to her cheeks.  Wetness came to her eyes
as she muttered over and over to herself.  

"What is happening to you, Amanda Tuck? What the HELL is going on?"

After a few moments, she grabbed some toilet paper and wiped her eyes.  Then
she drew the phone from her bag and laid it on top of the paper dispenser.
Taking another cigarette from her bag, she gently ran her tongue around the end
of it before placing it between her lips. Both hands moved to her waistband and
she lowered her pants around her ankles and stepped out of them. Pulling her
panties down, she likewise stepped out of them.  Bringing them up to her face,
she stared at them, her face a mixture of amazement and disgust.  They were
thoroughly soaked.

Wrinkling her nose, she grabbed a handful of toilet paper, wrapped up the
panties and placed them into her bag, only to let out a sigh when she saw the
paper slowly disintegrate into a pulpy mess inside the bag. Then she fell back
on the seat and the tears began anew.

Then again, slowly, but deliberately, her left hand fell down into her lap and
her sobbing fell quiet, replaced by another sound. Her right hand went to the
cigarette and caressed it, sliding it in and out of her mouth. She began
breathing deeply and unsteadily and her flats slid quietly back and forth
across the tile floor as her body's wetness caused her to slide to and fro on
the coldness of the toilet seat.  

Then she began to hum.  Softly at first, then a bit louder.  She somehow
recalled the tune, but couldn't remember from where, exactly.  It was a quick
little tune, strangely suited for the job at hand, and relaxing. 

And exciting.  Very exciting. 

Quickly - she began to move more quickly. Now her right hand joined her left,
holding open the gates, allowing the fingers to work their magic on the
treasure inside. Her tongue moved the fag back and forth in her mouth, keeping
time with the rhythm of that magic tune she was humming.  And maybe the end was
near.  Could it be near?  She prayed for the end.

Then the restroom door opened.  

Instinctively, as if from another lifetime, both her feet rose from the floor
to the sides of the door to the stall and froze there, like a statue carved by
an obscene artist, as two familiar voices entered the room.  The cigarette
snapped to attention in her mouth as she went deadly silent.

But her hands did not stop.  Could not stop.

The rhythm was still in her head.  And it was strong. 

"So where are you and Fernando going tonight?"

Then she started remembering.

"I think he wants to stay at home and watch basketball.  Playoffs or
something."

The words. 

"Right.  That figures."

There were words to go with the rhythm.

"Hey, you smell what I smell?" One of the voices started giggling.

She'd heard them once in a movie. 

"I guess one of the cleaning ladies couldn't wait to get home."  More giggling.

A cartoon movie?

"I always wondered what they did after hours.  Makes me wonder what else they
do in these things when there's no one around."

She started remembering the words.

"Ewww, like I needed to think about that."

And her fingers moved faster as she remembered.

"You'd have thought they'd at least spray some of that air freshener around
after they'd finished."

Something about a merry-go-round?

"Unless they get off on having other people know what they're doing in here."

More giggling. 

Yes, a merry-go-round...

"I mean, you're a cop, think about it.  It's not even 5 yet. If the smell is
fresh, that means that they'd just been in here."

...breaking down...

"Or..." 

Moving faster. The rhythm moving faster.

"No."

Fingers moving faster.

"You can check, if you want to. I'M not gonna check.  

More giggles. 

So close. So close.

 From the top of the nearby toilet paper dispenser, the cell phone rang. 
Loudly.

"What the hell??!!!" Came a loud voice from outside the stall.  

Startled, Amanda blindly reached for the phone, only to have it slip from her
hand, fall to the floor and bounce on the tile floor just outside the stall.
Quickly, she grabbed the waist of her pants and pulled them up just as a hand
reached down outside the stall to recover the phone.  Madly, Amanda pulled the
stall door open and rushed past two very surprised uniformed policewomen, one
of whom was holding her phone.  

"Tuck?" asked one of them, bewildered, and tears began refilling Amanda's eyes
as she threw open the restroom door and disappeared outside.  Behind her,
Officers Karech and Mayo stared at each other with shocked expressions.  

Through the cafeteria she ran, oblivious to the stares of the cleaning crew and
assorted clerks straightening up their work areas as they got ready to leave
for the day.  She raced through the lobby, and into the parking lot and didn't
stop running until she was at the driver's door to her Grand Am.  She reached
for the door handle and pulled with all her strength. When it didn't budge, she
reached for her handbag... 

...which still lay on the restroom floor. 

Then Amanda bent over the hood of her Grand Am and wept. 

Which is how Assistant District Attorney Bailey Davenport found her five
minutes later.  

"Detective Tuck?"  Came the voice, and Amanda felt a hand on her shoulder. 

"No," she replied at first, sobbing, with both hand covering her face.  "I
mean, yes," she corrected herself, trying her best to wipe away the tears. 

"What's the matter? You're shaking all over. Are you sick?"  Davenport moved
her hand from Amanda's shoulder to the back of her neck.   

Amanda pulled away and brought her hand up to her neck in an effort to brush
the other woman's hand away.  "No.  Just...stress."  She continued to rub her
eyes with the one hand and stare down at the hood of her car.

Davenport gently clasped her hand and didn't let go.  "I don't know, girl.  You
really look like you're in bad shape.  You sure you don't want to go to the
hospital?"

"Maybe.  I mean NO!"  She pounded on the hood with her free hand.  "I'll
be...fine, really.  Just need to see...Mario."

The DA slid her other hand up and down Amanda's arm as she grabbed her hand,
preventing another slam against the hood.  "I saw Detective Lopez leave about
an hour ago with Captain Delgado.  Something about a meeting with Tammy Spencer
about the Baines case.  I thought he was going to interview me, so I hung
around.  But he said you were going to do it, so I waited."

Good Lord, girlfriend, you're soaking wet!"  She continued as she held both of
Amanda's hands in hers and gently spun her around to face her.  You SURE you
don't NEED to go to the hospital?"

"Yes...  NO!" Again the older woman pulled away.  "I just...wan't...Mario." 
She raised both her hands to her head and leaned back against the hood of the
Grand Am.  

Davenport bit her lower lip as she moved closer.  "Well, I don't think he's
coming back anytime soon.  Delgado looked fairly set on getting some movement
in the case by tonight. Sounded to me like they wanted to do a full session.  I
know Harry, err, DA Fredricks has them both under the gun here."

Amanda moved her hands down to the hood and pressed her fingertips hard against
the paint. "Damn" she whispered under her breath as her legs tensed straight
and her nails bit into the finish, "we were supposed to meet at Roxy's for
dinner," her voice growling louder with every word. 

Davenport moved even closer.  "No reason to think he won't, though he'll
certainly be late. She reached into her large purse and pulled out Amanda's
handbag. "I ran into Officer Mayo a few minutes ago and she said you left this
in the restroom. I figured you might need it."

Amanda's eyes brightened a bit at that as she reached out and snatched it out
of the woman's hands.  "The phone!  Did she give you the phone?"  Amanda was
digging through it furiously now.  

Davenport shrugged.  "No.  Was she supposed to?"  She moved to Amanda's side
and likewise leaned back on the hood of the car, watching the other woman
intently.

"Damn!" Amanda shouted, and ripped the sides of the bag as she pulled.  "Fuck!"
 

Davenport wrapped her arm around the distraught woman and pulled her close. 
"Settle down, girlfriend, it's not the end of the world."

"But you don't fucking UNDERSTAND!" Amanda swore as she ripped the bag totally
open now and its contents flew here and there about the two women, scattering
in a wide circle around the Grand Am. 

Davenport brought her hand up to the other woman's face and gripped it tightly
as she again grabbed for her hands.  "Settle DOWN, Amanda!  You're a police
officer, dammit! Act like one!"

The older woman froze at that, then her legs softened and she leaned back on
the car once again, her arms falling to her sides and dropping the remains of
the handbag, and her chest heaving once, then relaxing.  She closed her eyes.  

"Good," Davenport continued, leaning down to pick up the pack of cigarettes. 
She pulled one out and handed it to Amanda. "Now, listen.  You're in no
condition to drive, but my car's right over there.  I've got nothing planned
tonight, so I can drive you over to Roxy's and we'll wait for Detective Lopez
together.  Hell, you can do the damned interview there if you want."

Amanda brought her hands back to her face at that, her breaths becoming more
and more steady. She put the cigarette in her mouth, but did not light it.
"Ok," she said, finally. "I just need to find a phone." She looked around at
the contents of her handbag and began to gather them up.

"Good." Davenport replied.  "The last thing we need right now is for you to get
into a wreck. You can use my car phone," she finished as she bent down to help
Amanda retrieve the rest of her things.  She was just about to stand up when
she noticed the panties lying underneath the car, near the rear tire.  Quietly,
she grabbed them and stuffed them in the pocket of her suit.  

Five minutes later, the two were safely inside Davenport's BMW convertible,
driving down the freeway.  Amanda was fiddling with the phone and moving the
still unlit cigarette around in her mouth.  She frowned noticeably.

"What's wrong?  Davenport looked over at her, her cinnamon hair flowing freely
in the rush of air.

"I can't remember the damned number."

Davenport laughed.  "Had it on speed dial, eh?  I do that all the time."  She
reached over and put a hand on the woman's shoulder.  "I THINK I might have it
at home.  We're not far from my townhouse right now.  It'll only take a few
minutes for me to track it down." 

"I thought you lived out in Village Oaks?"  

The DA smiled playfully. "That's my official address, yes. But a girl needs a
getaway every now and then, so I have another place I use. Makes my life a bit
less ... complicated."

A few moments later, the BMW pulled into the Fairfield Townhomes parking lot
and into the garage of #169.

"Hey, Liz!" Davenport yelled as she opened the door.  "Are you decent?  We've
got a visitor."

Behind her, Amanda slowly let her eyes get adjusted to the low light. She found
herself reaching for her handbag, but found the plastic grocery bag instead.
She instinctively pulled out a cigarette and put it in her mouth. 

"Yeah, right, like I'm EVER decent," came the response from somewhere upstairs.
 Davenport smirked a bit at that and flipped a light switch.  Amanda noticed
that the DA didn't take off her sunglasses even in the dark, but knew her way
around the apartment seemingly by instinct.  

"Why don't you come down here and fix Detective Tuck a drink while I look for
something?  She's had a really bad day and really needs one,"  Davenport
continued as she walked into the living area, beckoning silently for Amanda to
follow. 

"It's my OFF day, dufus!" came the reply as a shortish, buxom woman with short
jet black hair slid down the stairs. She was dressed in a Hooters shirt and
cutoff jeans.  "Hey, hey, what do we have here?" she said when she spied
Amanda. "Dufus, didn't they tell you not to look for love on the job?  Just
asking for trouble."  

Davenport lowered her sunglasses at that and the newcomer's face suddenly went
red and she started playing with the bottom of her shirt. "Sorry," she mumbled
under her breath.

Bailey took her glasses all the way off, sat down on a chair near her phone and
picked up a small black book. "Why don't you be a dear, Liz, and fix her up one
of your specials?" she asked, but in a tone that sounded more to Amanda like an
order.  Then she turned to Amanda, who had a seat on the couch and continued to
flip through the book.

"She makes THE best 'Screaming Orgasms' in the city," Davenport said, dryly.

Amanda, who had been studying the decor, bit her lower lip and the cigarette
almost fell from her mouth.  She swiftly crossed her legs and brought both
hands to her knee and rubbed it hard through her pants. And she started
sweating. Again. 

"Hokay," replied Liz as she walked up to the bar. "One 'Screaming Orgasm,' it
is."

Amanda crossed her legs the other way and pushed herself further down on the
soft sofa and she wrapped both hands around her abdomen and hugged herself. 
Davenport looked up from her book. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Amanda, did you need a light?"

Amanda took a very short breath and shook her head. "No."  She crossed her legs
again. 

"OK," Davenport said as she continued to look at the detective, who was now
rubbing her elbows nervously with the opposite hands.  "Are you cold?"

"uh, no.  I'm fine," Amanda replied as she forced a smile and resumed her
observations of the surroundings.  

Davenport smiled in return.  "If you decide to talk, Liz and I are GREAT
listeners."

Amanda's foot started shaking rapidly.  "Uh, no. I'll be fine."

Liz bounded up with two liquor glasses.  "Here we go, two 'Screaming Orgasms.' 
If they don't cure your problems, nothing will."

Suddenly both hands went up to Amanda's face and she started rubbing her eyes
again, trying to hold back the tears. Above her, Liz looked bewildered, still
holding both glasses. 

"Did I say something wrong?"

Davenport dropped the book and moved over to the sofa and sat down next to the
woman, who was now sobbing uncontrollably. Liz, after carefully placing the
drinks on the inn table, sat down on the opposite side. 

Both women put their arms gently around Amanda.  "Oh, dear," Liz whispered
softly. "it's THAT kind of problem, isn't it?  Now I feel REALLY awful."

"Never," Amanda started whispering.  "Never ever, ever," she kept repeating
through the tears. "Never a problem before."  

Bailey got up to get a box of tissues while Liz continued to hold her body
close to the crying woman, slowly and gently rocking her back and forth,
occasionally massaging her face and working to keep the hair from her eyes. 
After a few moments, the tears lessened and Bailey handed the tissues to Liz,
who slowly dabbed the wetness from Amanda's eyes. 

As well as from her own.

Then Bailey handed the drinks to Amanda.  In less than a minute, both were
empty save for a few lonely ice cubes.

While Amanda was drinking, Liz drew Bailey aside.

"What the hell is going on here, Dufus?" she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, take a fucking sniff.  You know that smell as well as I do. She's
crying her eyes out, but she's practically soaking your sofa."

"So?"

"So?!!! Is that all you can say?  Something's really wrong here. The woman
needs to go to a hospital."

"I asked. Twice. She doesn't want to go. I can't force her."

"So what are you going to do?"

"She's got a hot date tonight.  I figure the problem might just take care of
itself."

"Bailey, I dunno if I like the way you said that.  This isn't like you."

"Believe me, there's nothing I'd like MORE than to get her to go to the
hospital, but until then, I thought we could humor her. Maybe get her fixed up
and dressed up nicely.  She's about your size."

"Geez, thanks.  Maybe a year ago."

"Well, you've still got some sexy dresses from back then.  I thought maybe that
emerald one you wore when you were dancing..."

"Geez, that would make her look forty trying for twenty.  I dunno."

"Then why don't you take her upstairs and see what she thinks?  And work on her
hair and makeup while you're at it.  She looks like she's had absolutely no
experience at all."

"What the hell, Dufus, is this her date or YOUR date?"

"Listen, do you want to help her get laid or not?"

"Look, it's only for a fucking GUY, right?  Hell, all she has to do is smile
and drop her pants."

"Oh, yeah, like YOU'D know?"

"OK, so she doesn't even have to smile."

"Hey," a voice interjected from across the room. "I'm not deaf, you know."

Liz walked quickly back to the sofa.  "Sorry 'bout that.  You know these law
enforcement types and secrecy.  Feeling better?"

Amanda forced a smile and nodded. "Thanks for the drinks, Liz. And everything
else.  And, no, I don't need to go to the hospital."

Bailey crouched down to her knees at the inn table and smiled back at her.  "I
can't find his cell phone number in my book, only his home and office number. 
But, I might have it on the computer.  Why don't you let Liz here take you
upstairs and get you cleaned up. That outfit is fine for work, but I'm sure
that after all this trouble, you want to look your best for him, right?"

Amanda looked down at her pants and then at her sweat-soaked blouse for a
moment, then finally nodded. "A bath, if nothing else. This has been one
fucked-up day. If menopause is half this bad, I think I'd rather kill myself."

Liz laughed.  "And guys think they have it tough because they get guts and lose
hair. C'mon, big sister, let's go upstairs and see what kind of damage we can
do."  

As she watched the two of them climb the stairs, Bailey Davenport walked over
to her sofa and bent down.  After running one hand across the wet spot, she
brought it up to her nose and breathed.  She grimaced, then shook her head
slightly, then smiled as she stood up.  Then she took the pair of panties from
her pocket, stared at them for a moment, then likewise brought them to her nose
and breathed. Then she sighed deeply once and muttered to herself. 

"Damn you.  Damn you to hell, Bailey Davenport."

As she moved to the computer and turned it on, she heard the familiar sound of
bath water being run upstairs. 

Then she heard an unfamiliar sound. A low, ringing noise. 

Coming from her purse. 

Again, drawing a long, deep sigh, she drew the cell phone from her purse and
hit the "OFF" button.  At once, the ringing stopped.

Then she threw the phone into the waste basket next to the computer and
immediately felt the now-familiar rush.

Turning the computer off, she went to the sofa to have a screaming orgasm of
her own.
 

"Write what you want, how you want, and don't worry about the rest of the
world.  If you do it long enough, eventually they'll catch up."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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