Avery Black drove her flashy new ride, a black four-door Ford undercover cop car she'd bought, off the lot, and she smiled to herself. The smell of the new car and the feel of the wheel beneath her hands gave her a sense of joy, of starting anew. The old, white BMW that she'd bought as a lawyer, which had constantly reminded her of her previous life, was finally gone.
Yay, she inwardly cheered, as she did almost every time she sat behind the wheel. Not only did her new ride have tinted windows, black rims, and leather seats, but it came fully equipped with shotgun holster, computer frame on the dash, and police lights in the grilles, windows, and rearview mirrors. Better yet, when the blue-and-reds were turned off, it looked like any other vehicle on the road.
The envy of cops everywhere, she thought.
She'd picked up her partner, Dan Ramirez, at eight o'clock sharp. As always, he looked the model of perfect: slicked-back black hair, tan skin, dark eyes, decked out in the finest clothes. A canary yellow shirt was under a crimson jacket. He wore crimson slacks, a light-brown belt, and light-brown shoes.
"We should really do something tonight," he said. "Last night of our shift. Might be a Wednesday but it feels like a Friday."
He offered a warm smile.
In return, Avery batted her ice-blue eyes and flashed him a quick and loving grin, but then her features turned unreadable. She focused on the road and inwardly wondered what she was going to do about her relationship with Dan Ramirez.
The term "relationship" wasn't even accurate.
Ever since she'd taken down Edwin Peet, one of the strangest serial killers in recent Boston history, her partner had made his feelings known, and Avery had, in turn, let him know that she might be interested as well. The situation hadn't escalated much further. They'd had dinner, shared loving looks, held hands.
But Avery was worried about Ramirez. Yes, he was handsome and respectful. He'd saved her life after the Edwin Peet debacle and practically remained by her side the entire time during her recovery. Still, he was her partner. They were around each other five days a week or more, from eight AM to six or seven or later depending on a case. And Avery hadn't been in a relationship in years. The one time they kissed, it had felt like she was kissing her ex-husband, Jack, and she'd immediately pulled away.
She checked the dashboard clock.
They hadn't been in the car for five minutes and Ramirez was already talking about dinner. You have to talk to him about this, she realized. Ugh.
As they headed toward the office, Avery listened to the police band radio, as she did every morning. Ramirez suddenly turned on a jazz station, and they drove a few blocks listening to light jazz mixed with a police operator detailing various activities around Boston.
"Seriously?" Avery asked.
"What?"
"How am I supposed to enjoy the music and listen to the calls? It's confusing. Why do we have to listen to both at the same time?"
"All right, fine," he said in mock disappointment, "but I'd better get to listen to my music at some point today. It makes me feel calm and smooth, you know?"
No, Avery thought, I don't know.
She hated jazz.
Thankfully, a call came on the radio and saved her.
"We have a ten-sixteen, ten-thirty-two in progress on East Fourth Street off Broadway," said a scratchy female voice. "No shots have been fired. Any cars in the vicinity?"
"Domestic abuse," Ramirez said, "guy's got a gun."
"We're close," Avery replied.
"Let's take it."
She turned the car around, hit the lights, and picked up her transreceiver.
"This is Detective Black," she said and offered her badge number. "We're approximately three minutes away. We'll take the call."
"Thank you, Detective Black," the woman replied before she gave out the address, apartment number, and background information.
One of the many aspects Avery loved about Boston were the houses, small homes, most of them two to three stories high with a uniform structure that gave much of the city its communal feel. She hung a left onto Fourth Street and cruised to their destination.
"This doesn't mean we're off the hook on paperwork," she insisted.
"Nah, of course not." Ramirez shrugged.
The tone of his voice, however, coupled with his attitude and the unruly piles on his own desk, made Avery wonder if an early-morning drive had been the best decision.
Not much detective work was needed to discover the house in question. One police cruiser, along with a small crowd of people that were all hidden behind something, surrounded a blue stucco house with blue shutters and a black roof.
A Latino man stood on the front lawn in his boxers and a tank top. In one hand, he held the hair of a woman who was on her knees and crying. In his other hand, he simultaneously waved a gun at the crowd, the police, and the woman.
"Get the fuck back!" he yelled. "Every one of you. I see you there." He pointed his pistol toward a parked car. "Get the fuck away from that car! Stop crying!" he screamed at the woman. "You keep crying, I'm going to blow your head off just for pissing me off."
Two officers were on either side of the lawn. One had his gun drawn. The other had a hand on his belt and a palm up.
"Sir, please drop your weapon."
The man aimed at the cop with the pointed pistol.
"What? You wanna go?" he said. "Then shoot me! Shoot me, motherfucker, and see what happens. Shit, I don't care. We'll both die."
"Don't fire your weapon, Stan!" the other officer shouted. "Everybody just stay calm. Nobody is going to get killed today. Please, sir, just-"
"Stop fucking talking to me!" the man howled. "Just leave me alone. This is my house. This is my wife. You cheating motherfucker," he simmered and shoved the muzzle of his gun into her cheek. "I should clean out that dirty fuckin' mouth of yours."
Avery turned off her sirens and sidled up to the curb.
"Another fucking cop!?" the man seethed. "You guys are like cockroaches. All right," he said in a calm, determined way. "Someone is going to die today. You're not taking me back to prison. So you can all either go home, or someone is going to die."
"Nobody is going to die," said the first cop, "please. Stan! Put your gun down!"
"No way," his partner called out.
"God damn it, Stan!"
"Stay here," Avery said to Ramirez.
"Fuck that!" he stated. "I'm your partner, Avery."
"All right then, but listen up," she said. "All we need now is two more cops turning this into a bloodbath. Stay calm and follow my lead."
"What lead?"
"Just follow me."
Avery hopped out of the car.
"Sir," she commanded to the drawn officer, "put your gun down."
"Who the fuck are you?" he said.
"Yeah, who the fuck are you?" the Latino aggressor demanded.
"Both of you step away from the area," Avery said to the two officers. "I'm Detective Avery Black from the A1. I'll handle this. You too," she called to Ramirez.
"You told me to follow your lead!" he yelled.
"This is my lead. Get back in the car. Everyone step away from this scene."
The drawn officer spit and shook his head.
"Fuckin' bureaucracy," he said. "What? Just because you're in a few papers you think you're super cop now or something? Well, you know what? I'd love to see how you handle this, super cop." With his eyes on the perpetrator, he raised his gun and walked backward until he was hidden behind a tree. "Take it away." His partner followed suit.
Once Ramirez was back in the car and the other officers were safely out of firing distance, Avery stepped forward.
The Latino man smiled.
"Look at that," he said and pointed his gun. "You're the serial killer cop, right? Way to go, Black. That guy was fucking crazy. You got him good. Hey!" he yelled at the woman on her knees. "Stop fuckin' squirming around. Can't you see I'm trying to have a conversation?"
"What did she do?" Avery asked.
"Fuckin' bitch fucked my best friend. That's what she did. Didn't you, bitch?"
"Damn," Avery said. "That's cold. She ever do anything like that before?"
"Yeah," he admitted. "I guess she cheated on her last man with me, but shit, I married the bitch! That's got to count for something, right?"
"Definitely," Avery agreed.
He was slight of frame, with a narrow face and missing teeth. He glanced at the growing audience, then looked up at Avery like a guilty child and whispered:
"This don't look good, right?"
"No," Avery answered. "It's not good. Next time, you might want to handle this in the privacy of your own home. And quietly," she said softly and stepped closer.
"Why you getting so close?" he wondered with a cocked brow.
Avery shrugged.
"It's my job," she said as if it were a distasteful chore. "The way I see it? You have two choices. One: You come in quietly. You already screwed up. Too loud, too public, too many witnesses. Worst-case scenario? She presses charges and you have to get a lawyer."
"She's not pressing no fucking charges," he said.
"I won't, baby. I won't!" she swore.
"If she doesn't press charges, then you're looking at aggravated assault, resisting arrest, and a few other minor infractions."
"Will I have to serve some time?"
"Have you been arrested before?"
"Yeah," he admitted. "Five-year stint for attempted manslaughter."
"What's your name?"
"Fernando Rodriguez."
"You still on parole, Fernando?"
"Nah, parole was up two weeks ago."
"OK." She thought for a moment. "Then you'll probably have to be behind bars until this gets worked out. Maybe a month or two?"
"A month?!"
"Or two," she reiterated. "Come on. Let's be honest. After five years? That's nothing. Next time? Keep it private."
She was right in front of him, close enough to disarm him and free the victim, but he was already calming down. Avery had seen people like him before when dealing with some of the Boston gangs, men who'd been beaten down for so long that the slightest infraction could make them snap. But ultimately, when given a chance to relax and take stock of their situation, their story was always the same: they just wanted to be comforted, helped, and made to feel like they weren't alone in the world.
"You used to be a lawyer, right?" the man said.
"Yeah." She shrugged. "But then I made a stupid mistake and my life turned to shit. Don't be like me," she warned. "Let's end this now."
"What about her?" He pointed at his wife.
"Why would you want to be with someone like her?" Avery asked.
"I love her."
Avery sucked in her lips and challenged him with a stare.
"Does this look like love?"
The question seemed to genuinely bother him. With a furrowed brow, he glanced from Avery to his wife and back to Avery again.
"No," he said and lowered his gun. "This ain't no way to love."
"I'll tell you what," Avery said. "Give me that gun and let these guys take you in quietly and I'll promise you something."
"What promise?"
"I promise I'll check in on you and ensure you get treated right. You don't look like a bad guy to me, Fernando Rodriguez. You just look like you've had a rough life."
"You don't know the half of it," he said.
"No," she agreed. "I don't."
She held out a hand.
He let go of his hostage and handed over the gun. Instantly, his wife scrambled across the lawn and ran to safety. The aggressive cop that had been prepared to open fire came forward with a snarling look of thinly veiled jealousy.
"I'll take it from here," he sneered.
Avery got in his face.
"Do me a favor," she whispered. "Stop acting like you're better than the people you arrest and treat him like a human being. It might help."
The cop blushed in anger and seemed ready to push past and destroy the tranquil vibe that Avery had created. Thankfully, the second officer reached the Latino man first and handled him with care. "I'm going to cuff you now," he said softly. "Don't worry. I'll make sure you get treated right. I have to read you your rights. Is that OK? You have the right to remain silent…"
Avery backed away.
The Latino aggressor glanced up. The two held each other's gaze for a moment. He offered a nod of thanks, and Avery responded with a nod of her own. "I meant what I said," she reiterated before she turned to leave.
Ramirez had a big smile on his face.
"Shit, Avery. That was hot."
The flirtation bothered Avery.
"Makes me sick when cops treat suspects like animals," she said and turned back to watch the arrest. "I bet half the shootings in Boston could be avoided with a little respect."
"Maybe if there was a female commissioner like you in charge," he joked.
"Maybe," she replied and seriously thought about the implications.
Her walkie-talkie went off.
Captain O'Malley's voice came over the static.
"Black," he said. "Black, where are you?"
She picked up.
"I'm here, Cap."
"Keep your phone turned on from now on," he said. "How many times do I have to tell you that? And get over to the Boston Harbor Marina off Marginal Street in East Boston. We have a situation here."
Avery frowned.
"Isn't East Boston A7 territory?" she asked.
"Forget about that," he said. "Drop whatever you're doing and get over here as fast as you can. We've got a murder."
