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Entropy

By: Irishdragon



Janice Murphy was the object of desire of every man in the neighborhood. A mother of two, she kept her 29 year old body toned through her job as an aerobics instructor at a local health club. Her long toned legs; curved child bearing hips, and well rounded behind all gave testament to her strenuous schedule of 5 classes a week. As was common with most women she had increased in breast size to accommodate the lactation and feeding of the infant, the twin boys now 14 months old were no longer nursing, but the size of her new breasts was a welcome addition to her hourglass figure.

The lawn mower ran over a rock and John Davis was brought back to reality. Every Saturday for the past 4 years he had cut the lawn of Dr. and Mrs. Richard Murphy, and every time he arrived at exactly 7:30 so he could watch her leave for her 8:00 class. Some days he would get lucky and catch a glimpse of her bending down to pick up her keys, or on those really special occasions get to help her with loading her car for the drive to work. "You ok over there John," she asked him. "Oh fine Mrs. Murphy, I just ran over a rock, I hope I didn't frighten you." 

"No don't worry about it, just be careful my husband is at work and I don't want you to cut your foot off" she said laughing. "No I'm ok all my feet are still here," he replied. "Well good I think you will need them when you go away to college in the fall." "Oh john I forgot to mention could you please take some chairs from the living room and put them onto the patio. Here are the keys and you could leave them in the mailbox when you're done. Oh and the boys are at my mothers so you won't have to worry about them. Well thanks John I'm really late have a good one."

With that Janice went off to her class and john went about finishing the lawn and the trim around the house. After he was finished he took the keys and went into the house to get the chairs she wanted placed on the patio. While he was doing this curiosity got the best of him and he began to walk through the house and look to see how the other half lived. He could not get over how good Janice looked today and how he would love to see her naked and feel the touch of her, the feel of her skin on his, the feel of one of he nipples in his mouth, her hand between his legs. He now had a raging hard-on that needed to be relieved, his cock was pressed so hard up against his jeans that it was painful. 

He made his way to the laundry room to find some relief and as he searched through the laundry he found what he was looking for, a pair of Janice's thongs that had been worn. He put the panties up to his nose and inhaled her musky scent and wished that the pussy that these panties guarded was open to him at that moment. He wrapped the panties around his cock and started pounding for all he was worth until he exploded all over the laundry. He then washed up the evidence and headed back upstairs. On his way up he heard the answering machine "Hi honey I'm sorry but I have to cover for Dr. Boyer tonight. I know how much you were looking forward to tonight but we'll do it again soon I promise."

Looking forward to tonight….what did that mean john thought to himself. He ran upstairs to the bedroom and started looking through the dresser drawers until he found her diary. Entry for today read: Rick was very secret about tonight. All he said that by 6:00pm I was to be waiting for him, and I was to be blindfolded, wear the tightest jeans I had, a tight t shirt and not to wear panties. I think I'm going to get laid tonight!!!

John closed the book and thought to himself that if he ever had a chance at Janice tonight was it. He knew it was wrong, sick and twisted, but he was consumed by lust and he wanted her more then anything else in the world. He ran downstairs and erased the message on the machine, put the chairs outside on the patio and left with the keys.

At 6:07pm John stood at the door shaking and after a few moments of fumbling with the keys got the door unlocked. He entered and heard soft music on the radio playing low and heard a husky voice say "up here baby I've been waiting all day for this." John turned and was stunned when he saw Janice she was a vision of beauty in skin tight blue jeans, a white sheer top and blindfolded by one of Dr. Murphy's ties. "Do you like what you see baby" All john could do was grunt approvingly for he didn't dare use his voice. He walked up to her and gently seated her on the sofa and began to gently rub and kiss her breasts through the sheer fabric, paying special attention to her nipples as she moaned her approval. He made his way down her chest to her stomach and began to play with her breasts, gently kneading and squeezing them. 

Janice was moaning with delight and was pushing John down lower to her groin, all the while rubbing her fingers through his hair and calling him Rick. John had now reached his goal and began to unbutton her fly, the scent of her arousal evident in the air. When he was done he left the top button of the jeans buttoned, gently blew on her exposed sex and looked up at her as she said " Oh please god baby do it now….Rick baby eat me!!! Eat me so good baby please." With that John dove in, pulsing his tongue in and out, exploring every undiscovered pleasure spot she had. Janice began to grind her sex into John all the while moaning "That's it baby!!! Don't lose it, don't lose it!" John then found her clit and began to gently suckle from her until she could no longer hold back. "Oh Baby!!!!!!! I'm CUMMMMMMMMING!!!!!!!!!!!!... Oh DON'T STOP BABY!!!!!!!"

With that a flood of juices hit John and he lapped them up as best he could until he could take no more. Janice was now leaning back in the sofa legs spread and breathing hard grabbed john from between her legs and pulled him up and passionately kissed hi tasting her own juices. "I want to taste you baby," she said to john as he stood up and guided her hands to his crotch. She rubbed his rock hard meat through his jeans and said "my god you feel so big today" as she reached up and unbuttoned his pants. His cock flung out and she immediately grabbed it and began to stoke it all the while giggling "Rick what have you been doing to this thing...I've never felt it this big." John strained not to make a sound, afraid he would give himself away. She then grabbed his cock and slowly eased it into her mouth, as a moan escaped his lips; she began to take him deeper into her mouth all the while playing with his balls. She stopped suddenly and said "tell me when baby" and then promptly went back to her work. After about 5 minutes John could not take it any longer and cried out "now," but instead of stopping Janice started sucking harder until he erupted into her mouth and she swallowed every drop. She never recalled he husband cumming that much before, or his cock being that big, but she pushed those thoughts aside when she felt him begin to get hard in her mouth again. "I want you inside me baby right now!!!"

John pulled his pants down, but left her pants on only the fly open, and placed his cock at the entrance to her pussy. He then began to push slowly inside, she was so tight his cock slid slowly in the first time. When he had half of his 8 inches in he pulled out and began to push n again. Janice was shocked at the feel of the cock inside her, it was alien, she had never felt like this before so full!!!!!!

John began to push slowly again until his entire 8 inches was in and their pelvic bones met. Janice was amazed at the cock that was pushing into her cervix as she moaned with pleasure she ripped of her blindfold and stared strait into the eyes of John. "John!!!!! What the Hell are you doing!!!!!!!!" she cried as he continued to slowly thrust into her. "I'm sorry Janice I have to, I need you so badly!!" She looked into his eyes and saw the same lust that he saw in hers. "John I'm a Married woman…please I can't do this" she cried, but he continued to thrust into her and she felt the orgasm coming on. ""John it feels so good…please don't….please don't…stop…fuck me….fuck me deeper baby!" She circled her legs around his back and pulled him closer into her and he began to suckle on her breasts. 

"Not inside….don't cum inside me john…please…..fuck me john!" He continued to pound her until he announced "I'm close Janice" She responded by shocking him and saying "Don't pull out baby…..keep it in me." "Oh my god" Janice cried as she reached her second orgasm and pulled john tight close to her. After a few more thrusts John erupted inside of her and coated her womb with his seed. The collapsed on top of each other as his cock still lay buried in her pussy. Later on during the night John and Janice experienced many more passionate encounters until John went home early the next morning. A few weeks later Janice realized she was pregnant, which turned out to be wonderful increase in her sex drive. With her husband now on the overnight shift, John was always around to help out. John and Janice began a passionate affair witch continues to this day.

Entropy and Sorrow's Kiss



Part I: Debbie

Alan Burnett listened to the same 'oldies' station he had for years now; the music was predictably comfortable and the commercials were kind of funny – sometimes anyway, and besides, almost everyone else in the department listened to the station. You could always count on a happy mix of sixties stuff, but usually they played more seventies music. The mix filled his time with memories of his parents and his childhood, and when things on the street were slow, like they were this morning, sometimes the music kept him awake. 

So, Burnett was cruising down memory lane while driving through suburban neighborhoods in the southwest part of the City of Dallas, keeping an eye out for drunk drivers and suspicious vehicles at two thirty in the morning, and he was bored, but not tired, yet. Still, he wanted some coffee in the worst way, and lunch couldn't come soon enough.

ELPs Lucky Man came over the radio, one of his dad's favorites, and he turned up the volume a little as he crossed over the interstate highway that bisected this part of the city. Traffic on the broad roadway appeared light, so he turned down the 'on ramp' that led to the highway and pulled over onto the left shoulder and turned off his patrol car's engine. He listened to the music, but even so he turned it down a bit, and began 'listening' for drunks.

It was something one of his FTOs, or Field Training Officers, had taught him years ago – when he was a rookie. Drunk drivers have a hard time keeping their cars in one lane, or so he was told, and they tend to drift wildly from lane to lane the drunker they are. Highway lanes have little raised bumps on them, called BotsDots after the engineers who developed them, and even though drunks swing from lane to lane they tend to drive on the Dots for extended periods of time, too, and probably because they know – if they are – they're not weaving too badly. His FTO, a great cop named Everett Tomberlin, had called this rumbling sound 'the mating call of the DUI,' and Burnett had never forgotten the lesson. When you heard that distinctive extended rumble coming your way, you almost knew there was a drunk behind the wheel.

He hadn't been on 'Deep Nights' in years, 'Nights' being the midnight to eight in the morning rotation, but the shift sergeant had called him in to work when a couple of guys called in sick. He really hated this shift, as well as the types of calls you got on 'Nights', but one good thing could be said for 'Nights: the shift was rarely dull. You could always count on lots of family disturbances, more than a few businesses would be burglarized before sunrise, and there were always a handful of really, really bad accidents as the night wore on, yet there was a real rhythm to the work because more often than not all these types of events happened at curiously predictable times. 

Disturbances were most predictable from midnight until two in the morning, yet even so Thursday nights, that night before 'payday', were the worst. People fight about money – a lot: their lack of money, who is spending the most money, and how irresponsibly, and it was really odd how violent these fights became. Even so, fights late on a Thursday night and into Friday morning were usually bad ones, by any standard. Thursdays with full moon out? Awful, really awful 'knock-down drag-out' fights were the norm, and lots of women went to the hospital after these, and more than a few would make the one way trip to the Medical Examiner's in the basement at Parkland.

Burglaries were, generally speaking, less predictable timewise, yet even so burglaries on 'Nights' followed definite patterns. Most occurred at businesses closed for the night – and not houses, and they usually occurred between three and five in the morning, after cleaning crews left for the night but before the targeted company's earliest employees showed up for work the next morning. Burglars on 'Nights' tended to be well armed too, and therefore more dangerous, but they were only marginally more intelligent than their daytime brethren – which is to say they tended to be a little less stupid than the almost moronic burglars you typically ran into on Days.

Drunks, on the other hand, tend to be out all night, but from two in the morning on, drunks tend to view streets and highways as their personal playground, and as a result that's when the really bad MVAs, or Motor Vehicle Accidents happen. Still, the really, really bad drunks hit the street about a half hour after bars and saloons are required to close, or two thirtyish, and Burnett knew that as entertaining as it sometimes is to tuck in behind a drunk and tail them for a while, doing so carries risks. Drunks can simply loose it at any time and pass out behind the wheel, and there's no telling what that might lead to but it's never anything good. Even more entertaining, Burnett remembered from his time on Nights with Tomberlin, is to stay behind a drunk for a while, then pull up along side their car and stare at them while driving along. This approach carries risks too, like the drunk freaking out and taking a sudden detour through your patrol car, but more often than not it's like watching someone undergo an intensely religious experience, what cops call the 'come to Jesus' moment. Drunks, when they saw a patrol car driving alongside their car, tend to become the best, most attentive drivers imaginable – for about thirty seconds, anyway. Then they forget the speed limit and before you know it they're driving along at thirty 'miles per' – in a fifty-five zone on the interstate. Still, the most hilarious thing to do to a drunk is to simply follow them for a few miles, then flip on the strobes. This usually results in all kinds of wildly amusing gyrations, Burnett recalled, both outside the drunk's car, and in, and if the drunk makes it to the side of the road intact you could almost always count on finding the poor wretch sitting in a puddle of urine and excrement.

So, Alan Burnett sat by the side of the road, listening to Lucky Man and checking his rearview mirror from time to time for the loom of approaching headlights when – voila – he heard the mating call...the sustained rumble of tires thumping over BotsDots. He made sure his car's headlights were off, then turned on the engine just as the suspect car rumbled under the overpass just behind his patrol car.

It was a red sports car, he saw, some sort of ovoid shaped Infiniti or Lexus, and the driver was having a really hard time keeping it between the lines. The eastbound highway was five lanes wide here and traffic was light, yet this poor slug was having a hard time keeping the car in any one of them; Burnett slipped his patrol car into Drive and sprinted down the on ramp, easily catching up to the red car in less than a minute. Burnett decided to try the 'drive alongside the drunk's car' technique for a while and pulled all the way over to the leftmost lane; once he was tucked away nicely off the car's rear quarter he started watching the drunk – a middle aged man with disheveled blond hair – then almost immediately he caught sight of another person in the car.

This other person in the car had very red hair, but that was about all Burnett could see because this person's head was bobbing up and down in the driver's lap at a pretty fair clip. "Oh boy. Here we go," Burnett sighed as he called dispatch. "2112, possible signal forty eastbound on I-20, passing 67 at this time, on X-ray seven, Tom Oscar Peter, George Union November."

"2112 at 0-2-40 hours.

Burnett watched as the bobbing head picked up the pace, and the driver began frantically gripping and releasing the steering wheel as things seemed to approach that climactic moment – which apparently was much sooner than expected because the red car veered sharply to the right and ran right up the steep grassy embankment that lined the highway. Burnett braked hard and flipped on his strobes and pulled onto the shoulder behind the red car.

Burnett got out of his patrol car and walked up to the driver's side window and knocked on the glass.

The guy behind the wheel looked up at Burnett like he'd just swallowed a squirrel, while the girl still down in this guy's lap was apparently unfazed and boring on in for the kill, dancing away on the head of the poor fella's dick like she was auditioning for a porn flick. His hands still flexed on the steering wheel, but he looked up at Burnett and grinned.

"Let me know when she's through, okay?" Burnett said, and the guy actually shot him the 'thumbs-up'.

"Un-fucking-believable," Burnett said, just as another patrol car slid-in behind his on the side of the road.

"What's up?" Paul Cotes asked as he walked up to Burnett.

"Gal up front is playing a solo on the bone-a-fone. I think she's about to finish the piece."

"No shit. Will wonders never cease." Cotes yawned, rubbed his nose. "Slow night, huh."

Cotes and Burnett walked up to the window and peered inside. The driver's face now looked a little strange; his eyes were squinting, his teeth were locked in a tight over-bight, and his upper lip and nose were quivering. 

"Ya know, that man kinda looks like a rodent," Cotes said, scratching his ear.

"Woodchuck," Burnett replied. "Definitely a woodchuck."

"I can see that. Whoops, I think we're about there!"

Woodchuck-man's head was flailing back and forth now, and his partner-in-crime's head was bobbing up and down so furiously fast neither Cotes nor Burnett could see her distinctly anymore, then Woodchuck-man grabbed the steering wheel so hard it looked like it was bending, and his legs went rigid.

Both Cotes and Burnett started applauding, and Cotes let slip a whistle that nearly deafened Burnett. The girl looked up from Woodchuck-man's lap when she was finished, her mouth utterly full of the rodent's cum, and she smiled at them.

Cotes lost it at than point and started laughing so hard that Burnett did too, a little, anyway, then he walked up to the driver's window and motioned the driver to roll down the window.

"Are we through now?" Burnett asked.

Cotes, still laughing, declared: "And the East German judge gives that one a ten, ladies and gentlemen. Perfect form, and what wonderful form on that follow through!"

The girl started blowing bubbles with the rodent's cum. Cotes grew silent, almost mesmerized before saying to one and all: "Hot damn. I think I just met the next Mrs Cotes."

"Got a driver's license, sir?" Burnett asked dryly.

"Yup. Gimme a minute to get it together, okay?"

"Been drinking, sir?"

"Actually, no, I haven't."

Burnett leaned over and looked into the car more closely, saw the shoulder boards of a four-striper on the man's uniform jacket – and the wings over his left breast pocket.

"American?" Burnett asked.

The man nodded.

"Married?"

He nodded his head again.

"This your wife?"

"Nope," the Captain said.

"Can you get where you're going without killing anyone, Captain?"

"Yessir."

"Well, y'all have a good night."

"Yeah," Cotes added, "y'all come again, and real soon now, y'hear!"

Burnett rolled his eyes, looked at the girl, a really pretty flight attendant who did indeed look like she was pretty good at what she was doing.

"Thanks, Officer. I mean it. Thanks a million."

"I know the score, Captain. I write this up, you lose your job. That about right?"

"Yessir."

"Well, I reckon y'all better get going. And I hope I don't see you again out here, Captain."

"Understood."

"Adios, muchachos!" the girl called out to Burnett and Cotes as they walked back to down the grassy slope to their cars. "Thanks!"

"Can't wait to fly the friendly skies again," Cotes said as he got to his patrol car.

"That's United's slogan, not American's."

"Who gives a fuckin' shit! That was some righteous tail in there, bro!"

"Reckon she was," Burnett said as he slid behind the wheel, still seeing her wrecked mouth. "2112," he called into dispatch, stifling a yawn.

"2112," came the reply.

"Show units clear, Signal forty unfounded, show this as a welfare concern, and clear, contact made."

"2112, clear at 0-3 hundred, K-D-L 0-0-1."

"What time are you checking out for grub," Cotes asked through their open windows.

Burnett looked at his watch: "0330."

"Where?"

"Denny's, I guess."

"Okay. Maybe I'll catch you there."

"Right. Later."

Cotes drove off while Burnett made the entry for this call on his DAR, or Daily Activity Report, then he too got back on the road, heading for Overland, and lunch – hopefully – at three thirty.

"2112," dispatch called, and Burnett groaned.

"12, go ahead."

"Signal Five report, 5-1-0-0-1 Atchison Way, apartment 41 F Frank."

"12, Code Five." 'What the Hell,' Burnett thought, 'an apartment hit in the middle of the night?'

"2112, en route at 0-3-20 hours."

"Well, there goes lunch," Burnett said to the car; he made a u-turn and headed towards the concentration of apartment buildings over by the mall, and wound his way through the warrens until he found the address. He grabbed his clipboard and notepad and walked up a million stairs to the apartment and knocked on the door – even though it was apparent the door had been kicked-in.

A girl answered the door, she looked about twenty five years old, and was wearing a nurse's uniform.

"Ma'am, I'm Officer Burnett. You've had a break-in?"

"Uh, yeah," the girl said, clearly upset, "I'm not really sure what to do right now, ya know?"

"Have you been through the place?"

"Yes."

"Okay," he replied, "but probably best not to do that until we check out the place first, in case you were to walk in on somebody."

"Oh, shit! I didn't think of that."

"Is there much missing, Ma'am?"

"Not much, some jewelry, my iPad, a phone charger, that kind of stuff."

"A phone charger?"

"Yes, why?"

"Kind of weird, I guess. For what kind of phone?"

"A Motorola, I think."

"You think?"

"It was for my boyfriends phone."

"Oh, not yours?"

"Nope. I got one of those Samsung things a while ago. The big one, ya know?"

"And your boyfriend? He around?"

"Nope, we broke up. Say, you don't think he did it, do you?"

"Does he still have a key?"

"No. I got it back from him."

"Uh-huh. Got a phone number for him?"

"No, I sure don't."

"That's okay. Look, I'm going to poke around here for a bit, look for finger prints, and I'm going to photograph the shoe print on the door, take some measurements, then I'll need to speak with you again and get some information for the report. Ought to take about a half hour or so, then I'll be out of your hair..."

He found a few possible prints, got his kit from the car and dusted the area down, and managed to get a few good ones. He walked around the doorway, imaged and measured the shoe print, then went to find the girl and talk with her again.

She was apparently just getting out of the shower when he knocked on her bedroom door.

"Just a minute," she answered.

"I'll be out here."

She came out a minute or so later, wearing a red beach towel wrapped under a white terrycloth robe.

"You ready?" she asked, perhaps a bit more nervous now than she had been when he first met her.

"As I'll ever be. I'll need your name, date of birth, phone number and whatever you can tell me about your ex-boyfriend.

"Debbie Wassermann," she began, and he had all he needed for his report in just a few minutes. He put away his notepad and gave her his business card. "This has the service number for my report, and you'll need that for any insurance claim you make..."

"What time do you get off?" she interrupted.

"What?"

"What time do you get off? From work?"

"I'm sorry, but what has that got..."

"Well...I'm not real sure I want to be alone. If you know what I mean."

"No, what do you mean?"

"Could you stay here a while?"

"No, I'm sorry. Is there anyone you can call?"

"No, no one, but what I'm saying, Officer Burnett, is that I don't want to be alone. Now. Tonight."

"Look, I'm sorry, but I hope I haven't given you the impression that..."

"Nope, you sure haven't." 

And then, she started to cry.

"Uh, Ma'am?"

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" She came up to him and hugged him. "I'm just scared, I guess I don't know what's going on."

"I understand."

She looked up at him, looked into his eyes, and he thought she was going to try and kiss him. "Miss Wassermann, you know, under any other circumstances..."

"So? When you get off work, could you come over?"

"You know how many rules I'd be breaking if..."

"I'm not gonna tell anyone."

"Tell you what. I've missed my lunch break, so how about I come over around nine or so, and I'll take you to breakfast."

"Sure, that'd be nice." She wiped her tears away on her robe. "I mean, I didn't mean...anyway, I'm sorry for this."

"That's okay, Ma'am. Nothing to be sorry about."

"You see, I just don't get to meet many people, not like you, anyway, and you have nice eyes. They're honest, dependable looking eyes."

He looked at her, didn't quite know what to say, but Alan Burnett hadn't had a serious date in a long, long time, and this girl was seriously cute in a homegrown, freckle-faced sort of way, and besides, her legs were the best he'd seen in way too long.

She held him when he turned to leave, and she pulled his face to hers and kissed him. He responded to her, and almost gasped when the girl rubbed up against his groin with her thigh. Then he really felt like responding to her.

"That's so you don't forget," she whispered.

"I won't," Burnett said, his voice trembling. "You can count on that."

"Nine o'clock?"

"Unless I have a late call."

"Please. I really don't want to be alone."

"Okay. See you then."

She leaned forward and kissed him again on the lips, then shut the door behind him when he left.

He walked down to his patrol car and got behind the wheel, wiped a little sweat from his brow and checked into service with dispatch. 

He looked at his watch; less than two hours 'til shift change. He needed to write up this report then fuel the car, and he might have enough time to get some coffee somewhere along the way...

+++++

Burnett sat in his ancient BMW outside the apartment on Atchison Way, wondering what he should do about Debbie Wassermann for the hundredth time in as many minutes, then he recalled the old adage about a stiff prick having no conscience and shook his head, so he opened the door to whatever lay ahead. He walked up to her apartment, knocked on the door, and it sprang open immediately – revealing an almost completely different girl.

She was not quite as tall as he was, maybe five-nine or so, and her deep brunette hair was long and brushed out to silky perfection. She had on a bright sun dress and cute little sandals and if anything her legs looked even better now, but there was something really special about this girl, he saw. She was cute as Hell, true enough, but she looked like something out of an Ivy League college catalogue. She had smart, inquisitive eyes, and a vibrant personality. Maybe the lonely girl routine had been just that, because this confident, alluring woman hardly looked like the same frightened girl.

"Wow! Look at you!"

She beamed, then pirouetted for him. "You like?"

He stood back and looked at her, but his eyes roamed south then locked on her legs – and wouldn't budge. "Wow," was about all he could manage.

She danced forward and kissed him again, harder and longer than those first plaintive kisses. "Still wanna do breakie?" she teased, measuring his intent.

He stepped back, looked her in the eyes. "You know, I think I do."

"Ooh, are you gonna get all serious on me, Officer Burnett?"

"Alan."

"Alan. I like that."

"Would that be a problem, Miss Wassermann?"

Now it was her turn to step back, and when she did Burnett witnessed a startling metamorphosis.




Entropy and Sorrow's Kiss



"Not at all, Alan," she said in dulcet tones as she focused on his eyes. "But that's not what I expected."

"Oh? What were you expecting?"

She looked into his eyes again, still measuring him. "I'm not sure anymore, but I'm beginning to think that I'd like to know you better."

"Better than just a roll in the hay?"

"Yes."

"Good, because that's exactly what's been going through my mind."

"I like the sound of that, Alan."

"So, breakfast?"

"Do you have time?"

"Two days. That enough, or are you really, really hungry?"

She smiled seductively. "I've got three off."

"Oh, my," Alan Burnett smiled back.

"We could get into some serious trouble in two days."

"We could indeed."

She had a favorite deli she wanted to go to, and they sat in a small booth under a large window and she ordered iced coffee and bagels and lox for them both. They made small talk, she told him about growing up in Lawrence, Kansas, growing up with two stern, overprotective parents, both physicians, both very liberal, both Jewish, and how disappointed they'd been when she set off on her own to become a nurse. Her mother was diagnosed with cancer during her second year of nursing school, and died within months. She'd always been very close to her father, but she'd been devastated to learn that he had grown very withdrawn since his wife passed, and she missed him. She talked about nursing school, how she'd finished her RN at Baylor and was working at Methodist four days a week as a scrub nurse in the OR. She'd had two boyfriends in four years and both had been major duds, and she'd just about given up on the idea of ever meeting anyone here in the city – until last night.

"Oh, you got it bad, huh?" he said when she came up for air.

"I'm tellin' ya, Slick, there's somethin' in those eyes of yours that's got me real worked up. Anyway, tell me about you, 'cause I'm all talked out."

"Me?"

"Come on! Fair's fair. Spill the beans now, or I'm walkin'!"

"Where would you like me to start?"

"Parents."

"Both dead."

"Oh, Alan, I'm so sorry. How long?"

"9/11."

"You don't mean..."

"Yup. World Trade Center."

"Oh, Christ."

"My thoughts, exactly, but turns out I'm better at the agnostic thing than the mackerel snapper stuff I was brought up on."

"Catholic?"

"Nominally. The Agnostic branch of the Church, however."

"School?"

"Went to high school on Long Island, college in California."

"Where?"

"Berkeley."

"Ooh, I like it. You're not exactly stupid, in other words."

"Probably more so than you might think. I am a cop, you'll recall? Not a brain surgeon?"

"Point taken. Major?"

"Philosophy."

"Good background for a cop. Just the right amount of inherent lunacy."

"I thought so too."

"The old Beemer is a dead giveaway, though. You probably ought to get a pickup truck, a red one, if you want to fit in better, anyway."

"Not a high priority."

"So, why become a cop?"

"It was either that, or do the priest thing."

"Not a good choice for an agnostic though, huh?"

"Good point. That never occurred to me."

"You know, we're a good match."

"Oh?"

"You're an even bigger smart ass than I am."

"Well, it's a little to soon to make a call like that. I do see real potential in your style, though."

"Okay, so the real scoop. Why a cop."

"Goes back to 9/11. A cop saved my life, kind of gave me hope."

"Really? What happened?"

"I was on the Golden Gate Bridge. We had a long talk."

She looked at him with soft, knowing eyes then: "Bad time?"

"Really. But I learned some cops are actually decent human beings; they can make a difference. That was it for me."

"Been married?"

"Nope."

"Any boyfriends?"

"You mean...?"

"Yup. You're not batting for the other team?"

"Nope."

"Girlfriends?"

"One in high school. One in college."

"Serious?"

"Yup."

"What happened?"

"They were coming out to visit me. On 9/11. She was on the plane with my parents."

Her eyes teared up at that. "God, I think I'm gonna be sick," she whispered.

"I've been there, Debbie. For a long time all I wanted to do was go away. Can't really say much more than that."

"You don't have to, Alan. Not ever. But if you do want to talk about it, I'll be there."

"You will, huh?"

"Yup. Any time. Any place."

"So, this is getting kind of strange," he said.

"I know. Intense is the word I was reaching for."

"I was going to reach for that last piece of salmon. Want it?"

"You win, Alan. Ain't no way I'm ever going to be a bigger smart ass that you."

"You're probably right. Better to quit while you're ahead. Smart."

"You know what?"

"Probably. But go ahead and tell me anyway."

"I think I'm falling in love with you."

"I completely understand."

"Oh? You do?"

"Yup. I fell in love with you about five minutes ago. Just in case you hadn't figured that out yet."

"So let me get this straight. Your falling in love with me, Miss Hyper Jew."

"Guilty as charged."

"You think I'm cute enough for you."

"You have great legs. I'm a leg freak, so you could be a cyclops, and it wouldn't matter to me."

"Thanks, I think. Uh? Freak?"

"Some guys like boobs. I like legs."

"And you think mine are..."

"Great. Fucking Great, with a capitol G."

"Really, the Jewish thing doesn't bother you?"

"Really, the agnostic Catholic thing doesn't bother you?"

She laughed. "Point taken."

"So," he said, "I'm gonna go out on a limb here. You wanna date for a while, say a few years or so, or would you like to go to the airport and hop a ride to Vegas."

"Vegas?"

"Get married."

Her eyes went wide. "Are you serious?"

"Hey, I'm circumcised. What else do you want?" 

"A wedding. With my dad and my family, at home in Kansas."

"Okay. Have anyone in mind you'd like to do that with?"

"You."

He nodded his head. "So, you're the one, huh?"

"Kinda feels that way to me, Slick." 

She was looking at him now with such love in her eyes he felt weak in the knees. "I think we need to get out of here," he said.

"Why bother. I'll do you right here under the table."

"That'd pretty much be a one way street, Ma'am."

"Yeah. So?"

"Not quite what I had in mind."

"Oh? You still hungry too?"

"Yup."

"Anything in particular you'd like to eat?"

"Yup."

"Care to tell me?"

"Nope."

"A man of few words, huh?"

"Yup."

"Uh, Miss, could we have our check, please!"

+++++

The time he spent with her those first few weeks together would always ring true as the best he'd ever know. Laying beside her their second full day together he had leaned over and kissed her on the cheek then rolled over on his back and looked at the ceiling. 

"This is like puppy love, you know? Puppy love for grown-ups."

"Oh? Is that what we are? Grown-ups?"

"I guess so, yeah."

"Speak for yourself. I don't ever want to grow up."

Burnett laughed, then rolled on his side again facing her, marveling once again that even her breasts were perfect. "I know what you mean; this feels almost childlike to me. Innocent, kind of pure, and fun as Hell."

"Listen, Slick, like what you just did to me wasn't so innocent..."

"You liked that, huh?"

"Shattering. That's the word."

He reached over, cupped her breast, leaned close and took a nipple in his mouth.

"Oh, no you don't!" she said, sliding off the bed. "Look here, Slick, the only thing I've had to eat in the last twenty four hours comes out of that rocket thingy you got tucked in between your legs..." 

She stood there before him and he drifted off within the currents of her beauty. "What? You don't like..."

"Don't put words in my mouth, Slick. Listen, I'm hungry. Got it? Even slaves get time off for bread and water!"

"Can we at least shower first, or shall we come as we are?"

"Nope, Slick, ain't fallin' for any more of those cute little 'double entendres' you keep tossing my way. Sorry."

"Okay," he replied, his lower lip jutting out. "What sounds good?"

"Oh, stop it with the lip, would you? My God in Heaven, I must bring out the worst in you, you know?"

He looked down at his cock, which against all odds was rising to the occasion. Again.

"Oh my God! Make it stop!"

"I can't hep it, Ma'am, just can't hep it," he cried as she laughed, then she ran off to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

"Get in here," she called out.

"Who? Me?" He walked in, stood before her.

"God, you're like some kind of weird poster child for Viagra!" she said as she grabbed it and pulled him into the shower. "I had a roommate in college who told me you could lead men around by their cocks, but never in my wildest dreams did I think she meant that literally..."

"Yup. They're handy for all kinds of things."

She squeezed it: "Yeah, like hammering nails!" She turned, faced him under the spray and let the warm water run down her neck and shoulders. "Getting cold yet?" she asked, taunting him...

...he started on her face, kissing, licking, then nibbling the landscape between her neck and shoulders. He paused, then went down to her breasts and worked them over for a long time. He felt her respond under his tongue, then knelt lower, played with her navel, before sliding down to her lips.

The water running down her belly led him deep, and she raised one leg and put it over his shoulder. Soon she was holding his head in her hands, grinding her face into his mouth, coming again for the millionth time. He stood, turned her around and pressed her against the back wall of the shower, then lifted her and slid her down on his cock.

"Don't you just love showering together?" she said, her eyes half closed as the water ran over them.

"Well, I know I love you," he said to her eyes as they rolled in their slow motion.

"I'm really getting hungry," she said, her eyes rolling back.

"I may have something for you..."

She drove her tongue into his mouth, held his head fast as she ground down onto his shaft. "Not this time, Slick," she whispered grittily in his ear. "I want this one inside me."

"Only too happy to oblige, Ma'am," he grunted as his back arched, sending his cum deep inside her womb.

He held her there in the afterglow, not for the first time wondering what she felt for him. Easy words of love were one thing, but now all of a sudden he was beginning to feel like this was the real thing...like he didn't want to ever let go of this girl, ever. 

"Excuse the fuck out of me, Alan, but are you crying?"

"Me? Are you for real? That's sweat, whore-bitch, and you done it to me, too!"

"Alright, dickhead, them's is fightin' words. Names yur weapon!"

"It's all you can eat pancakes at IHOP. First one to ten wins!"

"Yur on, you cur-dog." She kissed him while she rubbed the tears falling down his cheeks. "And Alan, if you could just let that thing down there get soft for a minute, I just might be able to climb down off this horse..."

+++++

"So, what were the tears all about back there," she said as she finished up her first plate of pancakes.

He looked at her, then at her plate and shrugged. "I was just lost in thought for a minute, that's all."

"Did you find your way back?"

"I think so, yes."

"Are you getting serious on me again?"

"Sorry. Can't hep it, Ma'am," he said with a grin.

"So. What were you thinking?"

"This feels real to me, Debbie. You feel real to me. I've got to go in tomorrow, but I don't want this to be over."

"What makes you think this has to end?"

"I just don't want it to. Ever. Hope that doesn't sound selfish."

"I'm not sure how you got through it all, Alan. Your parents and all, all that horror." She reached across the little table and took his hands. "But nothing has to end, Alan. Nothing."

"Okay. I mean, I understand."

"But?"

"But...I just don't want to lose you. I don't know what else to say right now, but I'm afraid of that."

"Can you get a few extra days off? Say in two weeks?"

"Probably. Why?"

She dug around in her purse for an hour – looking for her phone, then took it out and pulled up a screen. She dialed a number and listened to it ring.

"Dad? Yeah, hello to you too... How're things at the clinic... No kidding... That sounds like a lot to take on. Are you sure? So anyway, Dad, I've got a guy I want you to meet... Yeah, really, finally... Anyway, not this coming weekend, but the one after... Yeah, maybe have the rest of the family around, if you know what I mean... Yes, Daddy, I'm sure... No, I don't want to get into that right now, I just want you to meet him, get to know him... Yes, I love him, and I think you will too... Okay, Dad, I know... We'll get a car at the airport... No, no, you don't need to pick us up... Oh, alright, Daddy. See you there, at the baggage claim. Love you too. Bye."

Burnett sat in silent awe, looking at her. "You are kind of a force of nature, aren't you?"

"So, cop, you sure you want to do this?"

"What? Meet your family?"

"Well, that too. But I was thinking more about the whole getting married thing. You sure you want to?"

"Yes."

"That's a definitive yes? Not, like, a 'maybe' kind of yes, or an 'I think so' kind of waffle, but a real, solid 'yes'?"

"Yes."

"No shit? You really mean it, don't you?"

"Yes. And you? Do you want to? I mean really want to?" 

She looked at him for a long time, hard and direct, eye to eye, then she stood from her chair and came around to Burnett and knelt there before him.

"Alan Winslow Burnett," she began, and every eye in the crowded pancake house was on her in an instant, "would you be my husband, to have and to hold, through sickness and health, for the rest of our gosh-darn lives?"

The entire restaurant fell dead silent, waiting for Burnett to say something – but instead he got down his knees in front of her and kissed her once before speaking.

"Debbie Whatever-your name-is, being of unsound mind but apparently hung like a horse, and knowing that that means a whole lot to you, I do hereby and in front of all these God-fearin' people promise to love you at least twice a night, more on weekends, 'til death do us part. Amen."

"Amen, brother!" someone yelled from the back of the restaurant, and the whole place erupted in applause.

Debbie grinned, hugged him. "Hot damn! Knew you wouldn't let me down, Slick. You are the best – the world's champion smart ass!"

He grinned back at her, then held her tight. "If I'm the best'," he whispered in her ear, "'it's only because you inspire me."

"You better take me home now, Slick, 'cause I'm getting horny again..."

He stood, took a bow as the applause continued, then helped her up as he took out his wallet and dumped some money on the table.

"Y'all gonna have to excuse us," he said to the crowd, "but BessieMae here is gettin' right horny, and I am too, and it's a fifteen minute drive to the nearest mattress store..." More laughter, more applause, some of the men standing and stomping their boots on the floor...

"Go get 'em, horse!" cried the old lady at the table next to theirs, who proceeded to slap Burnett's ass as he walked by.

"We better get out of here," Debbie said, "before we start a riot!"

"Or an orgy!"

"Ooh...tell you what...you can have that old lady..."

"Nope, I'm havin' you."

"Hope you can drive fast, Slick!"

"Hope you remember how that zipper thing works."

+++++

Burnett looked out the window, at thunderstorms boiling out there along the western horizon, and his hands gripped the armrests as a savage gust tore into the little 737 on final approach to Kansas City International.

"Fuck!" someone yelled as the wing dipped violently.

"I second that!" Burnett replied.

"Geez, Slick, never knew you was a pussy. Maybe we'd better just call this whole thing off."

He looked at her, sitting there as calm as a cucumber, as she grinned at him.

"Just a typical Kansas City slobberknocker, Slick. Ain't no big deal."

"Yeah, right," he said – just as the right wingtip plunged straight down towards the ground.

"FUCK ME IN THE ASS!" he heard Debbie scream – amidst all the other cries.

"That's more like it," Burnett yelled. "If we're gonna die, please scream just like that, okay?"

"You got it, Slick!" she said, gripping his hand tightly. 

"Hey, lookie there..." Burnett said as he looked out the window again. "A tornado. Now, gee whiz, Debbie, this is such a treat. Did you and your dad arrange this just for me?"

She leaned over his lap, looked at the window. "Ah, that's nothin'. Just a puny little F2."

He continued looking at the black ropey thing hanging beneath the advancing wall cloud. "Puny, huh."

"Hey, Slick, after dealing with that horse's dick of yours for a couple of weeks, everything's beginning to look kinda' small."

"Gee, thanks. I think."

"I mean it, Slick, I've never been so saddle sore in all my life."

Burnett looked at the man across the aisle looking at them; his knowing smirk was a little disconcerting and she saw the expression in Alan's eyes, followed them and turned to look at the man:

"You know, what can I say?" she said to the man across the aisle. "Ever since my sex change operation, he just can't get enough of my asshole..."

The man made a little retching sound and turned away, hid his face.

"Hey, Wassermann, not bad. You win that round."

She beamed, just as the landing gears slammed down on the runway.

+++++

Dr Henry Wassermann, MD, FACS, met them at the baggage carousel; and while Burnett hadn't heard enough to really develop any serious expectations of the man, he was nevertheless surprised. Far from a wizened old Jew, Henry looked like a western movie star straight out of Central Casting: he was taller than Burnett, and still had a fair shock of silver blond hair on his head, but it was his physique that was a little out of the ordinary for a man nearing sixty. He looked like a boxer, and still left the impression he could knock men half his age around a boxing ring.

Their handshake left little doubt that Burnett's first impression was right on the money.

"Alan, good to meet you." Direct eye contact; an open, friendly face.

"You too, sir."

"Sir won't cut it 'round these parts, son. It's either Hank, or Doc. You choose."

"Okay, Doc."

"Fair enough, for now. That's a pretty mean looking storm out there, Deb. Did it give y'all any trouble coming in?"

"Oh, not much," she said.

"My guess is there're a couple of pilots who'd disagree with that statement, sir."

"Alan, you call me 'sir' one more time, and we'll have to go to the ER to get my boot out of your ass. Comprende?"

Debbie laughed. "C'mon Dad, it's his first day. Cut him some slack, okay?"

"Oops, there's a bag," Burnett said, dashing for a spot beside the spinning carousel.

A few minutes later they were heading south out of the airport and onto Highway Five.

"Ever been to Kansas, Alan?"

"Drove through once, on the way to college."

"That's a big mother," Henry said suddenly, looking up at the towering thunderstorm rolling across the prairie just ahead. He turned on the radio and the chirping of a tornado warning filled the car; he took the next exit, pulled into a gas station and listened to the alert. "C'mon, Alan, let's fill this thing up."

Burnett got out of the huge Chevy Suburban and opened the gas tank while Henry slipped a card in the pump and entered data. "Okay, should be good to go," he said a moment later. "And, use premium."

Burnett filled the tank, Henry came over and stood close while the pump churned away.

"This thing between you two is getting serious, I take it?" he said.

"Serious? I love her, if that's what you mean."

"And she loves you?"

"Yessir, I think so, but maybe you ought to ask her."

"Fair enough. So, you went to Berkeley, studied philosophy, and became a cop. You'll have to tell me how that came about someday."




Entropy and Sorrow's Kiss



"Okay."

"9/11 hit your family pretty hard, I hear."

"Yessir."

"That must've been tough. Well, anyway, I hope you like ribs and potato salad and all that other malarkey. My brother Ben is working the pit this afternoon, and his BarBQ is legendary 'round these parts. Oh, his wife Frida and my sister Elaine are workin' the kitchen. Now, that can be good news, or bad, depending on how much bourbon Elaine's had for breakfast. Let me just say, well, you be real careful around her, son. She's the wild one in the family, if you know what I mean. A real unstable compound."

"I'll do my best, sir."

"Don't get me wrong, Alan. She's fucking brilliant, teaches psychiatry at the medical school and trains residents, all that crap. But like a lot of shrinks, she's about half nuts herself – and that's on a good day."

"She married, Doc."

"Stopped counting, son, after the last one. I think she's divorced right now, but really, I ain't so sure. No one with her, that's all I know. Like I said, be real careful around her."

The pump snapped off and Burnett replaced the nozzle and screwed the tank's cap down, but Henry handed him the keys. "You drive, son. I want to look at the sky."

"Yessir."

They turned west on I-70 and cruised along, Henry and Debbie keeping a sharp eye on the storm just to the south. 

"Big one," Henry said as he watched a huge burst of lightning flare in a wall cloud about five miles away, and they watched as the cloud seemed to turn in on itself: "It's turning green. Better slow down a little, Alan. There's a rest area just ahead; better pull in."

They pulled off the interstate and got out of the Suburban, stood by the back and watched the cloud fall and begin to rotate, and Burnett was fascinated by all the power gathering in the sky.

"See how that white cloud is building, spreading out?" Henry said, pointing at the wall cloud. "When it begins to fall over on itself the funnel will form, somewhere right over there."

"We okay here?"

"Here? Oh, sure. Folks over in Hesper are gonna take it on the chin, though."

"There it goes, dad!" Debbie said, pointing, and they watched as white wall cloud rose for one last instant, then seemed to cave in on itself – in slow motion. A new, spreading low level cloud seemed to flow out the bottom of the existing wall cloud, and the first tornado spun out of this new base... 

The funnel was whitish and stood in stark contrast to the dark greens and grays behind it, then it began twisting, leaving plumes of debris along it's base as the storm scoured the landscape in it's path.

"About three miles away," Henry said. "Ought to be okay here unless it turns north."

"Uh, Dad?" Debbie said as she watched the funnel veer towards them.

"Alan, go start the car, would you?"

"Yessir." Alan climbed in and started the motor, then closed his door.

"Dad, I think he's had enough excitement for today."

"Yeah, but they're still kind of fun to watch, don't you think? Besides, he hasn't met Elaine yet. This is good practice."

"Oh God, don't tell me..."

"Yup. She's making the potato salad."

"I wonder what that'll taste like – with bourbon in it?"

"I don't know, cupcake, but I reckon we're about to find out."

+++++

Doc Wassermann's place was on the southwest side of town, near Clinton Lake, and to Burnett the place looked like a painter's idea of a real American homestead, only circa 1890 or thereabouts. The house, an elaborate white two story Victorian with turrets and a wrap-around porch, was set back from the main road by perhaps a quarter mile, and the house was surrounded by huge trees spreading shade everywhere over an intensely green lawn. There were barns big and small scattered behind the main house, and even a small metal grain elevator, and he saw fences everywhere, as well as a couple of horses drinking from a trough.

"Well, be it ever so humble..." Debbie said.

"Where'd you grow up, Alan," Henry asked.

"Long Island, mostly. Some time on the Cape."

"Oh? In close to the city?"

"Montauk."

"Way out there, eh? What did your folks do?"

"My parents were oceanographers, worked for NOAA a lot, but they spent a lot of time at Wood's Hole, too."

"That never interested you? The ocean?"

"Never. Every time I see the ocean all I see is silent, oppressive loneliness. No interest in it at all, sir."

"You say something like that around Elaine and she'll have your ass on a couch faster than you can say 'menopausal hot flash'. Got that?"

Burnett laughed as he car pulled up the drive to the house, and despite the growling clouds a few miles away there appeared to be a few hundred people gathered in the front yard, and he saw a huge stone fire-pit smoking away in the yard behind the main house.

They got out of the Suburban and everyone rushed to Debbie's side, because – it seemed – she hadn't been home in a few years. Now all her aunts and uncles and cousins wanted to both hug and chastise her for having ignored her family obligations – and for way too long! Then, like a wave having expended all it's energy breaking on the shore, this rush of people flowed away from Debbie and over to Alan, where they pulled him into some kind of deep, familial embrace, welcoming him – and with most everyone pulling him aside furtively, warning him to be careful around Aunt Elaine.

Their bags mysteriously made their way into the house while the human tide carried Alan and Debbie into the house, through the kitchen, and finally, out onto a back porch paved in huge gray flagstones. Uncle Ben abandoned his BarBQ for a moment and came over and shook hands, whispered something in Alan's ear about being careful around Elaine – "because she's in rare form today" – and then someone handed him a drink.

"I suppose everyone's warned you about me by now?" he heard a sultry, feminine voice say from somewhere behind, and he turned towards the source... 

...and the sight of this woman nearly took his breath away...

'Holy Mother of God!' he said to himself as he tried to catch his breath. She was fiftyish, her hair a deep auburn, but it was her face that crushed the wind right out of his consciousness. She looked a little like that girl in The Graduate, only her eyes were bigger, a little more luminous. Maybe five feet tall, perhaps a hundred pounds, she looked like a human dynamo – and then he saw her legs.

Debbie leaned in close, whispered in his ear: "Don't stare, Alan. It's not polite."

He stuck his right hand out: "Elaine, I take it?"

"You got that right," she said as she took his hand in hers; she held it a little too firmly, and a little too long, but Alan dared not let go for the woman was looking into his eyes with an inquisitiveness that was frankly intense, and not a little unsettling. Indeed, he felt like he had been put under a microscope, and that he was being intensely, dispassionately examined.

"Thanks for the drink," he said at last, and Elaine let go of his hand, turned to Debbie, and said "He'll do," before walking back into the house.

Everyone seemed to let loose a huge sigh of relief, yet Alan was reeling under the impact of the woman's eyes.

"Told you to be careful, didn't I?" Debbie said as she poked him in the side. 

"Well, looks like you passed the Pecker Test," Henry said as he came and stood next to Alan.

"The...what?"

"The Pecker Test. Listen, son, because we've had this whole thing figured out pretty good for a long time. Any man who meets Elaine and doesn't pop wood is batting for the other team. Know what I mean?"

Alan looked down, saw his raging hard-on and fought to get the thing down by running a few algebraic equations through his head.

Henry leaned close, whispered in his ear: "You tryin' math?"

"Uh, yessir. Algebra."

"Forget it. Doesn't work. You won't be able to get her out of your head for a few hours. Just hang on, she's kind of like a bad cold. It'll pass; just gotta give it some time. If not, take an aspirin, then maybe a cold shower."

"Was it her legs?" Debbie whispered.

"Was it her legs?" Burnett whispered back. "Jesus Fucking Christ!"

"Good you're hangin' with a bunch of Jews today, Burnett, talking like that. There're some Baptists down the road that would nail you to a cross for talkin' that."

"Jesus Fucking Christ!" he whispered again.

"There, there. It'll pass," Doc Wassermann said. "Deb? You may need to take him upstairs for a minute. Maybe get him a change of underwear."

"Okay, everyone!" Uncle Ben called out. "Ribs and chicken are done, so grab a plate and come and get it!"

"Jesus Fucking Christ!" Burnett said again, as Debbie led him over to the BarBQ. She loaded his plate with ribs and a breast, then guided him over to a table laden with salads and potatoes and desserts, and she filled in the empty spaces on his plate with more and more food.

They made their way to a picnic table under a huge pecan tree and sat; Burnett watched a little bug flying around a burning citronella candle and knew just what the little beast was feeling, then Uncle Ben came over and asked him what he thought of the ribs.

"Jesus Fucking Christ!"

Ben smiled and turned back to the fire. "It's the sauce, you know," he said. "Just the right amount of spice does it."

"Every time," Debbie said with a smile. She reached under the table, felt Burnett's still raging hard-on, then moaned. "Oh, what am I going to do with you?" she said, clearly exasperated.

Burnett turned to her, and whispered in her ear.

"Alan! What's gotten into you?"she said. "Jesus Fucking Christ!"

+++++

The sun was setting, thunderstorms were dying when Elaine came over and sat next to Debbie. She had a highball in her hand, pure bourbon Burnett guessed from the scent of it, and she started talking to Debbie about her father and how lonely he was now that her mother was gone, and wasn't it about time for her to move back to Kansas, settle down, have some kids and take care of her father in his dotage?

Then she turned on Alan.

"What about you?" Elaine said, slurring a few of her words.

"What about me?"

"Don't play games with me, boy. What about it? You going to come between this gal and her father?"

"What do you think I should do, Elaine?"

The woman looked away, looked like she was trying to come up with a good answer to his question, then she turned her eyes back at Alan and she smiled.

"That's pretty good, Alan. Active listening, breaks down resistance every time. You study psychology?"

"Philosophy."

"Oh shit. You're not one of those eggheads, are you?"

"No Ma'am."

"That's right. You're the cop." She turned and looked at Debbie. "You really going to marry a cop? Don't think that's a little beneath you?"

"You don't know Alan, Elaine. If you did, you wouldn't say that."

"So, you love him. Really love him. Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Yes it is, Aunt Elaine."

"Alan, look at me."

Burnett turned and looked at the woman, fascinated by the ebbs and flows within this drunken intellect.

"Alan? You love my baby girl? Is that about right?"

"No, that's not quite right, Elaine."

"What?!" the woman cried, suddenly huffed up and ready for battle.

"There's no 'about' about it, Ma'am. I love her. Period." Then he motioned her to lean closer, and she did, but not without a little trouble. "And I'll tell you something else, too."

"What's that?"

"I used to think Debbie has the best looking legs in the world. Then I saw yours." 

Elaine looked at Alan, then at Debbie. "Yup. You're alright," she said, getting up from the table. "And let me tell you something, Officer Alan. You two don't work out, you come see me. I'll set you straight, in a Goddamn New York minute." She walked around the table to him and kissed him on the cheek, then drove her tongue into his ear and swirled it around until he felt like his cock was going to explode. She kissed him on the cheek again, then walked away, back towards the house.

"Jesus Fucking Christ!" they both said, watching her walk across the lawn in five inch heels.

"Well," Doc Wassermann said as he came to the table and sat by Alan, "I see really met Elaine that time. Any thoughts?"

"Jesus Fucking Christ!"

"Yup. That's about what I thought you'd say."

+++++

They went into Kansas City their last night, went to the Doc's favorite hangout, a dirty little French place in the River Market District called Le Fou Frog. This was to be a dinner given by the Doc and Elaine to Deb and Alan – as a kind of engagement gift, and the four of them had just been seated at a little table and were looking over menus when Burnett felt a shoe on his ankle.

"So Alan," Elaine asked, "what do you feel like tonight? Something roasted, perhaps?"

"You know, Elaine, I think I'll let you order for me tonight. Feel up to it?"

The shoe retreated, and he smiled at her.

"Why? Have you not had French food before, Alan?"

"Oh, I have once or twice."

"New York City?" 

"Paris?"

"Indeed?"

"I spent my junior year there."

"In Paris?" Elaine said, now clearly interested.

"You never told me that, Alan." Debbie said. "Was that part of your degree program?"

"Yup."

"The Sorbonne, I assume?" Elaine asked. "What did you study?"

"I went for their standard introductory course in existential philosophy, but stayed for a second and did a concentration in literature." 

"Really?" Elaine said. "That was my major!" The shoe returned to the ankle, only now it was moving slowly, seductively. "Where did you live? When you were there, I mean?"

"A little hovel off the Rue Saint Jacques, by the Cluny."

"Perfect!" Elaine said. "That's always been my favorite part of the city!"

Debbie was sitting back in her chair now, arms crossed protectively over her breast. Henry looked on with wry amusement in his eyes.

"And your favorite author?" Elaine asked.

"George Sand."

"Who's he?" Debbie asked.

"He's a she, dear," Elaine corrected. "Amantine-Lucile-Aurore Dupin, and she was Chopin's last lover, though it ended badly, as I'm sure it was doomed to."

Alan reached over, took Debbie's hand in his and held it territorially for the rest of the evening; having parried Elaine's thrusts successfully, she withdrew and grew cordial, even accepting of Burnett as the evening rambled on.

"Alan, I don't want to step on any toes here, but there's something we need to discuss while we're together," Henry said as desserts and coffee arrived, and Burnett knew the real purpose of the dinner was now at hand.

"Yessir. Fire away."

"Two things, really. The first concerns faith. My wife made us promise that any grandchildren that might happen-along be raised in our faith, and to that end, the family would like to see a more traditional wedding ceremony than either of you might have had in mind."

"I see. And the second point?"

"Debbie, I know we've mentioned this before, years ago, but your mother wanted you to have her rings. Her wedding rings. Actually, they were your Grandmother's rings. I'm not sure you knew that."

"No, papa, I didn't."

"Alan? Any objections?"

He looked down at Debbie's hand in his, then into her eyes – and he smiled. Then he looked at Elaine, and finally his eyes settled in Henry's.

"There are a few things I need to say first, so I'll ask that you let...that you give me a little room." He looked around the table again, and squeezed Debbie's hand. "The first, and perhaps the most important thing I need to say, is how much I appreciate your making me feel welcome this weekend, and took me into your home. It's been a long, long time since I felt this thing called family, and there've been times when I assumed I would never have the opportunity to feel a family's love again. That's one reason why this weekend has been so special to me. I never expected to feel this way again, yet you've shown me there is always room in the heart for a second chance. I've felt loved, and I can not tell you how much this has meant to me."

He looked at Elaine, saw her wiping away a tear.

"The other things? Religion? Once upon a time, I was Catholic. Once upon a time. And though raised a Catholic, I think I understand Judaism, as best as an outsider might, anyway. Continuity and promises are beautiful ideas, but I see a problem, and it's simply this: I couldn't raise a child in a divided household – Christian and Jewish. The only way I could see raising a child, in a Jewish home, would be to embrace your religion as my own, to raise our children in a true Jewish household. So the question then becomes, Henry, Elaine, could you accept me as a Jew?"

"Go on," Henry said.

"As to a Jewish wedding? I have to ask Debbie. Is this what you want?"

"Yes."

"Then that's what we'll have."

Henry sat back, sighed, his happiness clear, his victory almost complete. "And the rings?"

"Again, Debbie? Is this what you want?"

"Alan, my mother promised me the rings when I was a little girl. I always knew they would be a part of my future, and now that you are my future I want those rings to join us to my mother." She looked at him, then her father. "Did I say that right?"

"Yes, my love," Henry said, "you couldn't have put it any better. So, are we in agreement?"

"Of course. But what of my question, sir."

Henry looked at Burnett, looked at him as a father might look at his son, then he stood, and asked Alan and Debbie to stand.

"Welcome to our family, Alan."

Debbie rushed into Alan's arms, held him fiercely, protectively, then he felt her father embracing them both. 

And still he felt Elaine's shoe caressing his ankle, and it struck him as very odd indeed that he felt himself growing hard with each brushing, yet when he looked at her he saw something completely unexpected.

There was fierce love in the woman's eyes, but love of what or for whom he could not tell.

+++++

When their flight home was over, when they had gone back to his place and were sitting on the balcony overlooking the swimming pool behind his apartment building, Debbie looked at Alan while he opened a bottle of wine, measuring her words, trying to understand her own feelings. 

"So, did you really mean all those things you said to Dad last night?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just that. It sounded like it came from the heart. Did it?"

"I'm not sure I understand where this question is coming from, Debbie. I mean, do you think I was just telling him what he wanted to hear?"

"Were you?"

"Well, now that you ask, the answer is No."

"Then, you really meant those things?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

"What about Elaine."

"What about her?"

"I could see her rubbing your ankle all night long, you know. And I could see it in her eyes, too."

"See what?"

"Love! She's in love with you, Alan!"

"Okay."

"Okay? Is that all you've got to say?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, there you two were, knee deep in Paris and she's playing footsie under the table with you!"

"It was a one way street, Debbie. She was playing that game, not me."

"So you're telling me you're not attracted to her?"

"She's an attractive woman, Debbie. She's also almost twenty years older than I am."

"So what!"

"Well, she may be an attractive woman, I am not attracted to her."

"Bullshit!" 

"Okay. It's Bullshit. So let's just say, for the sake of discussion, that I am wildly attracted to her. Then what? Dump you? Get on a plane and go declare my undying love for her? Are you insane?"

She laughed, but he saw a few tears running down her face.

"Debbie. I'm not marrying Aunt Elaine. I want to marry you. I'm sure Elaine is an amazing woman, and yes, she's gorgeous, but I am wildly attracted to you, not her. So, let's get this straight; I am not going to raise a bunch of rug-rats with Aunt Elaine..."

"But you want to raise some with me?"

"You got it, darlin'."




Entropy and Sorrow's Kiss



"God, I love it when you call me that. And what about the Jewish thing. Were you serious about that?"

"You know, kid, becoming a Jew wasn't at the top of my to-do list, but it's not a deal breaker for me, either. We're talking about the same God, after all. Just different paths to the same place."

"You'd really do it? Take the classes and everything?"

"If that'll warm the cockles of your heart, darlin'? Then yes, I will."

She looked at him with hard, disbelieving eyes, still unsure of his answers, and of her own motives in asking these questions.

"Let me ask you this," he continued. "Do you want to raise our kids as Jews?"

"No."

"Excuse me?"

She shook her head. "No. I'd do it to make Dad happy, but that'd be the only reason. I hated it. The whole Hebrew school thing, the holidays. All of it."

"Have you ever told him that?"

"Sure. That's part of the reason I left Kansas and came here. I wanted to get away from all that stuff."

"So, I just fell into his trap?"

"Nope, I don't see it that way."

"Oh? How do you see it?"

"You just fell into my destiny."

"And do you believe that should make me unhappy?"

"It should!" she said, laughing and crying at the same time.

"Well, if that's your destiny, and you just happen to be my destiny, then that kind of leaves me in a pickle, doesn't it?"

"What? A kosher pickle?"

"Not bad, Wassermann. Not too shabby."

"Thanks. But, Alan?"

"Yup?"

"You love me? I mean really, really love me?"

"Yup."

"Do you always want to be a cop?"

"It's what I am, Deb. I've tried on a few other things, but nothing seemed to fit."

"Oh, okay, it's not that I don't like what you do..."

"Then what is it?"

"The danger thing. You know, the knock on the door in the middle of the night, being told you're dead."

"I know. It happens. On average about a hundred times a year, too."

"Oh my God..."

"But try to put it into meaningful context, Deb. Every year almost a thousand convenience store clerks are killed in armed robberies, and every year about two to three thousand people die falling down in their bathtubs. So think of it this way: I'm big, I'm strong, and I carry a big fucking gun. What could be safer?"

"I need you to hold me, Alan. Right now, please."

"Right now sounds good, darlin'. Matter of fact, I think I was born to hold you right now."

+++++

He put in a request for time-off, for the wedding and a two week honeymoon, and worked his finances into shape and put in an offer on a little three bedroom house Debbie liked. A couple of days before they were due to fly back up to Kansas City he and some friends from the department moved all their things to the new house, and that was that. 

Instant change, perpetual change. He liked it, liked where life was taking him, and he liked the idea of spending the rest of his life with this funny little Jewish girl. She fit him like a soft leather glove, and he felt like he was happier than he'd been in years when they were together.

The day came around and they flew north to Kansas City on a crystal clear day and checked into a very nice, very old downtown hotel; the ceremony was going to be at a nearby temple Saturday evening and the rehearsal diner and bachelor party were going to happen in the downtown area as well, so it was just easier, Henry said, to keep everything around 'one big waterin' hole'.

"Bachelor party?" Burnett remembered asking, and Henry laughed.

"Don't ask, son. You'll only make a liar out of me."

"Secret, huh?"

"Kind of, but no big deal. Thought we'd go out, have some fun."

"Sounds good. What about the rehearsal dinner?"

"At the Frog. Hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all. Great place."

"So, where's the honeymoon? Deb won't say."

"She's never been to Paris."

"Oh, so that's where..."

"Didn't say that."

"Does she know?"

"No sir, she has no idea."

"Are you going to tell me, at least?"

"Switzerland. A little village called Mürren."

"Hidden depths, Alan. You are full of hidden depths. Not sure I'll ever really get you, if you know what I mean?"

"I'm a lot less complicated than you think, sir."

"I kind of doubt that, but I am real happy you met my daughter. That you're a part of our lives now."

"Thank you, sir."

"And you're always going to call me sir, aren't you?"

"Never can tell, sir."

"Alright, son. Alright. Listen, I'm going to take Deb out to lunch at noon, and I think Elaine wanted to take you out about that time, too."

"Sir?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about her. She's been on the wagon for the past couple of months. She's done all the wedding stuff, you know, and she loves Debbie. Feels right to me, anyway. She's helped hold this family together for a long time."

"Yessir."

"And if she gets out of hand? Well, just put her in her place, but don't tell her I said that. You'll do fine, and she'll be alright."

+++++

She was waiting for him out on the street, in her Mercedes, an old C-class coupe from the 70s, a real classic. Silver-gray, with a light gray interior, pure MB, pure class. She said hello as he climbed in and buckled up, but remained silent while she drove through town to a small tea room near the river. A valet took the car and Burnett offered his arm and walked with her into a trim little trellised garden, and he held out her chair for her, then sat across from her in the shade. 

She was if anything even more stunning than he remembered her, dressed now all in palest gray – a fine linen suit, silk blouse and stockings, very high heels, and she looked to Burnett the epitome of everything he'd ever imagined a truly fine woman could. She was, he also realized, dressed to kill, and she'd done a fine job of it, too.

An English woman brought tea and sandwiches, then left them alone in the garden as fluffy white clouds passed over their heads, leaving small, fleeting shadows in their wake.

"I assume you have something you'd like to say to me, Elaine?" he said after several awkward minutes – for not a single word had passed between them.

She canted her head a little, looked him in the eye.

"I've taken a room upstairs, Alan, and I'd like to spend the afternoon with you."

"Oh? I see." He felt his heart racing. Look, he is unsure of himself.

"Yes. I've thought of little else these past few months." She is as well, Keeper.

"It's odd, Elaine. Debbie was sure I was attracted to you. She was jealous of you, when we went home in May."

"Really? Why do you say that?"

"She told me as much, in a roundabout way."

"And what did you say?"

"I told her that you are an attractive woman. And that I wasn't attracted to you."

"And? Were you telling her the truth?"

"I was, then."

"And now?"

"Do you really want me to answer that, Elaine?"

"Yes. Very much."

"And then what?"

"What might pass between us today would remain a secret. A secret between friends. Forever."

"I see. You know that would never work, of course?"

"Perhaps, but tell me the truth. Do you want me?"

"Have you looked at yourself, Elaine?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, have you looked at yourself. In a mirror?"

"Yes, of course."

"What do you see?"

She turned away for a moment, then looked him in the eye. "An old woman, one I hardly recognize. An old woman loosing every one of her charms with each passing day. Is that what you want to hear, Alan? But now I'm curious. Why do you want to humiliate me so completely?"

He watched her, watched the trembling lips, the quivering eyes, the eyes growing moist, a tear forming.

"Would you like to know what I see, Elaine?"

"No, I'm sure I don't."

"Well, let's assume you do, for the moment, anyway."

"Alan, please..."

"When I first saw you today, when you got out of the car, when we were walking to this garden, you can't imagine how lucky I felt."

"Lucky?"

"Oh yes, Elaine, lucky. Lucky to have the opportunity to be here with you, be be with a woman as totally, unashamedly gorgeous as you. Whenever I look at you I grow weak in the knees, whenever I think of the line of your neck, the grace of your fingers, the shape of your legs – it's all I can do to control myself."

"Alright, Alan, you can cut the bullshit now."

"Oh? You think I'm playing you? Trying to make you feel better about yourself?"

"Aren't you?"

"You know, you really underestimate yourself."

She looked away, sighed. "I didn't always."

"So you feel there's something unattractive about turning fifty, or sixty?"

"Don't you?"

"Not when I look at you."

She took in a deep breath. "What are you saying, Alan?"

"Only this, Elaine. I love Debbie, with every fiber of my being. But if you ask me to go upstairs with you, to that room, there's absolutely no way I can resist you, and I won't even try. I am so powerfully attracted to you, so overwhelmed by your beauty, I would be lost. And I'm not sure I could ever find my way back."

"You were a poet once, weren't you? In another life, perhaps?"

He shook his head. "Those poets you studied were inspired by great beauty, Elaine. If I stayed with you long enough, perhaps I might find words pure enough to describe the beauty I see when I look at you, but I doubt it."

"Could you ever love me, Alan?"

"Perhaps I already do, Elaine, but with time I believe I could love you completely."

"Could you love us both? Debbie and..."

"And if I could? One love would destroy the other. How could such love ever do anything but?"

"I want you, Alan."

"And I want you."

"Do you want me enough to walk away from Debbie?"

"No."

"If I asked you to, begged you to? Would you come upstairs with me?"

"Yes."

She took in a sharp breath, looked him in the eye.

"I'm so sorry Alan."

"I know – I think I understand."

She stood, and he hurried to pull her chair out for her, then she took his hand and led him to the stairs that led to a little room looking over an English Garden, and time stood still in the shadow of another passing cloud.

+++++

The rehearsal dinner at the Frog was a light little affair; perhaps fifty of the doctor's closest friends and family were on hand, but Henry had invited several of Burnett's friends from the department to attend, and had graciously paid their way. Debbie was radiant, Henry the replete, elegant host, and Elaine had, once again and to no one's surprise, surpassed even her own high standards of sumptuous beauty.

Alan Burnett walked into the dining room, found Debbie standing beside a table with what he thought might be friends she had grown up with, and he walked to her side.

"And here he is, finally," Debbie said, then she turned to him. "And just where have you been?"

"A few last minute details, darlin'. Presents for the groomsmen."

"Ah."

"And who have we here..."

With Alan in tow, Debbie made her way through the room, making introductions and catching up with old friends, and then it was time for dinner. They sat with Henry and Ben, Ben's wife Frida and Elaine, at a large round table in the center of the dining room, and for most of the evening Elaine studiously ignored Alan, preferring instead to talk away the evening with Ben and Frida.

When at last she turned to Debbie – and Alan – it was almost as an afterthought.

"I don't suppose you two would ever consider moving back to the area?" Elaine asked, pitching the ball into the center of a discussion concerning the problems police officers face when dealing with racially charged situations.

Debbie looked at Elaine. "Not for a while, Aunt Debbie. We just bought a house, you know, and..."

"And your father needs you, Debbie."

"Now Elaine," Henry interrupted, "there's nothing pressing happening right now."

"Henry, how long are we going to keep up this charade?"

"Elaine!" Henry barked, slamming his hand down on the table. "Enough!" 

"Daddy?"

"Alan?" Henry said, turning away from Debbie as fast as he could. "Let's take a walk."

"Yessir."

They walked out into the little parking lot and over to Henry's Suburban; he opened the back doors and sat down on the cargo bed, pulled out two cigars and handed one to Burnett.

"COPD. Know what it is?"

"Elaine told me about it this afternoon," Burnett said. 

"Figured she might. Goddamn it to Hell!"

"Pretty far along?"

"For my age, yeah. I've probably got ten years or so, of productive life, anyway."

"What can I do to help, sir."

"Any chance you two could...No, no, that's not fair. I don't want to ask that of you. Not when you're just starting out."

"Would it make a big difference if we were here, sir."

"Not right now, but in a few years? Yes, it would be a big help Alan. The farm will belong to Debbie after I pass, and running it isn't easy. If I had a couple of years to work with you, get you familiar with everything, that would make a big difference."

"The farm? Is it so important?"

"My great-grandparents came out here, in the 1870s. Been the family's homestead ever since. Our roots are here, Debbie's roots are here. Hell, son, you can put down roots here, work in the department or go back to school, teach, you name it. Lawrence is a great town, great people, and it's not some jerkwater hick-town, if you know what I mean."

"We've never even talked about his, sir. I mean, Debbie's never talked about wanting to come back here – all of this is a surprise."

"Is it? Well, you've had a glimpse of what I'm up against with Debbie, and all I'm asking is that you consider the idea. This will be your decision, for the two of you to make, but you will be needed out here, son. I can promise you that."

Burnett nodded his head, looked off into the distance.

"Now, tell me what happened with Elaine today."

"Lunch. She wanted to talk about you, and..."

"And, she made a pass at you."

"Yessir."

"Well, I knew that had to happen, sooner or later, anyway. If you don't mind me asking, how'd you handle it?"

"I let her handle it, sir. I laid out what I thought she wanted, what was on the line, then let her make the decision. I think she made the right one."

"Oh? She upset."

"Yup."

"Well, figured that. She's been pretty cool all night long."

"She's an amazing woman, sir."

"She is that. Like my mother. Debbie too, in a way."

"Why didn't Debbie go to medical school, sir."

"Reason why most physician's kids don't. I was hardly ever around, missed a lot of her growing up."

"I think she'd be a good doc."

"Oh? You could talk her into it."

"Maybe."

"Nothing would please me more. But she knows that."

"I'm not sure if those things are really set in her mind yet, sir. Still a lot of things about her I haven't figured out yet."

Henry laughed a little. "Good luck with that, Alan. Women in general are tough, but these Wassermann women are damn near impossible. One last question, Alan, if I may."

"Shoot."

"Would you be opposed to moving here? To the farm?"

Burnett looked up to the sky, watched clouds drifting through the night and it was like all his future was being laid out before him. 

"Henry, I don't know what the future holds, what will happen next week, let alone what might happen a few years down the road, but if your family needs me here, I'll be here."

"My family, Alan? Or, our family?"

"If you need me, sir, I'll be here."

"We'd better get back to the party, son, before Debbie has a fit.

There were speeches and toasts and a few anecdotes of life on the street thrown in for good measure, then Debbie and her childhood girlfriends were off to visit a few bars, while Alan and Henry set off with a gaggle of cops to hit a few strip-joints. He got back to the hotel a little after four in the morning, exhausted, thinking that Henry Wassermann was just about the greatest human being on earth.

Alan was undressing, getting ready to brush his teeth when he heard a faint knock on the door. 

He opened the door, saw Elaine standing in the hallway and asked her to come in.

"Thank you for seeing me," she said.

"Elaine?"

"I just need to hold you, have you touch me, one more time." She went to the bed and sat, revealing stocking tops and garters – and, he guessed, no panties.

"This afternoon? What was that?"

"I know. I just never expected to feel the way I do."

"And what do you feel?"

"Love, Alan. 

"You love me?"

"I don't know how, Alan, or why. I don't want to know, either. But I don't feel old and unwanted anymore, I don't feel like I've been discarded. I see that in your eyes, and then I feel like I've been waiting for you all of my life, and I'm not sure I can exist without you. Doesn't that sound ridiculous?"

"No. It sounds tragic."

Her eyes blinked rapidly. "Tragic?"

"This will all come to a tragic end, Elaine. For you, me, Henry, Debbie. All of us."

She stood, and he came to her, and he kissed her, lightly, gently. "I can't hardly stand to look at you Elaine."

"What? Why..."

"You are so gorgeous, yet you'll always be forever just beyond my reach. I hope you know that every time I see you, I'll want you."

"It doesn't have to be this way, Alan. We could make it work, the two of us."

"At the cost of your family, Elaine? What would we do? Move to Paris?"

She smiled. "You have been thinking about us, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"You do love me. I know it. I can feel it."

"Of course I do."

"Say it, Alan. Tell me that you love me."

"I love you, Elaine. And I will. Forever."

She flew into his arms. "Oh why-why-why!"

"Because I love Debbie. And you do too."

She pulled back, nodded her head. "You're right, of course, but Alan?"

"Yes."

"I'll always love you. And I'll always be there. When you need me."

He kissed her again, longer, and held her close.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "I could hold you like this forever."

+++++

Alan and Debbie were married the next day, just as the sun set, and early the morning next they flew to New York, then on to Zurich, but in the weeks that followed their return to Texas Alan Burnett saw the truth of the mistakes he'd made when Debbie fell away from him in a series of meaningless affairs, with interns and residents at the hospital. He didn't know what she knew about his brief time with Elaine, and in the end, it didn't matter. She had seen what she'd seen, and moved on.

Less than six months into their marriage Debbie filed for divorce, citing irreconcilable differences, and she asked that he move from the house he had bought for their new life, together.

Part II: Diane

Seven Months Later

Alan Burnett listened to an 'oldies' station, an AM radio station that had been around for longer than forever; the same station he always listened to, the same music rooted comfortably in the seventies. Steely Dan was still Reelin' In The Years as he sat in his air-conditioned patrol car, and his eyes swept the streets, his thumbs drumming away on the steering wheel while he cruised down one suburban street after another, looking for something – anything – out of place. A door standing open, an unfamiliar car in a driveway, a shout, a scream, a barking dog, Hell, even a woman in a bikini at that point in the morning would have been a welcome distraction...especially a woman in a bikini, he thought.

Less than an hour 'til lunch, he said to himself as he looked at his watch, yet he wasn't hungry – he rarely was these days. 

With no significant calls so far this morning, and no reports to write, he was bored...yet something felt odd, some second sight was bothering him. The streets seemed quiet – almost too quiet – for a midsummer's morning, yet he knew there were burglars out now, because late morning was prime time on Days for burglaries. Houses on these late summer mornings were ripe for the taking, because they were either empty for the day, or for weeks on end as summer vacation rolled along, and, Burnett knew, every 'scrotey' looking car that could be stopped would be stopped, today, like every day, and brief investigations would follow. That was the job. That's how you deter crime.




Entropy and Sorrow's Kiss



He turned a corner and headed down another street, his eyes once again searching for something, anything out of place, but his stomach burned, his eyes too. 

Then it hit again, he felt like some sort of autopilot was steering him through life, yet he realized he'd felt like he was somehow being guided most days, being pulled through life from one seemingly 'preordained' encounter to the next. He had arrived at a place in life where he no longer believed in coincidence, and he took that feeling to heart with each new day, with each passing landscape he visited, even if everything he saw was painted in undertones of hate and fear. He had, in fact, been feeling for some time that he was being put in situations that would allow him to atone for his sins, perhaps for having fallen in love with Debbie while having the audacity to even think he knew what love is, or may be. 

No, that wasn't quite right, he told himself with more conviction than he felt. No, he thought of himself as being shoved into situations that would force him to relive his past, to confront the mistakes that had torn his life apart, because all he had held within his grasp was gone now. Debbie, Elaine, Henry... all of it. Gone.

And with each passing day, reliving each and every moment of that nightmare day after day, his soul had turned into a burned out landscape, and now he felt as if his life had been scorched by a horrible fire – and all that remained was a deadly, self-inflicted fatigue. He could barely sleep anymore; the final papers of his divorce had burned his eyes and still glowed in his mind, the last simmering embers of a promising life turned suddenly, terribly wrong. With sour consequences reverberating through his nights, he tossed through the darkness gripped by memories of her legs and her eyes and her mouth, stale anger bouncing around in the dark for so long he could no longer see the truth of his mistakes. Now his memories were hollow, the burned-out shells of better days that had withered in the sun, blanched echoes of bad dreams. And it was always Elaine he saw, and the way she had opened up to him, and her opening led into the fire, every time.

And this morning, as he cruised through one bleak suburban landscape after another, he realized he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in months, indeed, since Debbie filed for divorce, and the dreams he relived in this perpetual night were simply parodies of their shattered love, a shadow-puppet show of forces he didn't understand, his love lying dead in the gutters of his betrayal, the silent betrayal of an oath lingering in the wake of her passing. Her affair. Her new lover. Her new life, all the consequences of his own searing blindness.

Down another street, up another alley, each beige brick house looking like the one next to it, each standing mute as monuments to a life of cornered acquiescence. Endless broken dreams in neat ordered rows, Burnett thought, and not for the first time he felt these houses seemed to stand as silent enclaves to an endlessly vapid futility, and that preening vanity thrived behind all these closed doors. He thought about the lives he saw day after day, the lives that inevitably played out behind all these brick walls, the lives inside mundane and trivial, each and every one full of bad marriages, the despairing people trapped inside these self-made prisons already well on their way down the slippery slopes of dissolution. This was life cast in beige sandstones, he thought, dull, meaningless and uselessly fragile, all emotion walled neatly inside little brick containers so nobody could see inside and discover the meaninglessness. So that all these people wouldn't have to be reminded of their own meaningless existence. 

He shook his head, tried to shake himself out of the blue funk he felt coiling around his soul like a snake, then thought about talking to one of the department shrinks. Maybe, he said to himself, maybe he was simply losing it. 

But, really, what was the point. Another day on these mean street, another night on a never ending journey through an endless progression of memory, and he knew, really knew, that all he would see and hear out on the streets today would only reinforce his understanding of this meaningless sonata called life. He knew this was true because all he saw, day in and day out, was human pain and anger spilling out of these little beige containers, spilling out onto the streets in crimson hued agony. Everything eventually boiled over and ruined itself. There was no escape, because people simple couldn't escape their own greed.

He listened on the main dispatch frequency as another unit checked out for lunch, and he gazed reflexively at his watch. Perhaps he just wanted a break in the monotony more than anything else, something that might remind him that life wasn't simply preordained misery. He shook his head again, listened to The Doors sailing away on the radio, sailing away on their The Crystal Ship, and Burnett drifted along within days that were bright and filled with pain, enclosed in Debbie's gentle rain one more time. Then he saw an old man in his front yard waving at him, and he waved back – waved through Jim Morrison's pain. 

But no – the old guy was motioning for him to stop, so he pulled his squad car over to the curb and rolled down the window. He turned down the radio and leaned out the window a little as the man drew near. "Good morning, sir. Something wrong?" Burnett said.

"There's a strange van parked in the driveway out back," the old man replied, pointing across the street. "Been there about ten minutes. Couple of rough looking customers went in through the garage."

"Right. Which house is it again; can you point it out to me?"

"The brown over there," the man said, pointing at yet another beige brick delusion. "Just to the left of that big pecan tree, other side of the alley."

"OK. We'll check it out," Burnett said to the man as he reached for the radio mounted under the dashboard. 

Burnett switched the channel dial to the primary and turned down Jim Morrison's voice as he drove quickly to the corner. He stopped the car and got out, then paused and reached under the front seat and removed the Remington 870 pump shotgun from it's floor mounted rack. He craned his head a bit and looked at the back of the house in question, saw a beat up Ford Econoline van parked behind 511 Byron Court. "Ah, 21–14," he said into the radio.

"Twenty–one fourteen, go ahead," the dispatcher replied.

"Signal 53, possible Signal five at five–one–one Byron Court. Going to move in toward the back of the house. Send back-up." He'd reported this incident as a suspicious vehicle call, with a possible burglary-in-progress. 'Oh well,' he thought, 'might be an exciting day after all.'

"2114 at 1143 hours. 2118, respond to 511 Byron Court, Signal 53, possible five in progress."

"2118, Code five."

"2110, en–route," the shift sergeant replied.

"Units in route at 1144 hours."

Burnett moved alongside a tall, weathered cedar fence until he came to a hedge, and he looked through thick summer foliage at the van behind the house; he watched as a young man carried a television set from the house and put it in the back of the van.

"2114, I think this is a five; one male white 20s with black hair exiting house with a television. Vehicle is a primer and brown Ford van, license 2 Mike Paul 333."

"2118, received. I'm about 2 minutes out."

"2118, received at 1147 hours. Ah, 2114, 2118 is about two minutes out."

"2114, received. Have responding units take the front of the house."

"2114, 10–4. Units responding to 5–1–1 Byron Court, officer on scene requests units cover front of the residence."

"2118, received."

"2110, received, and get some more units headed this way."

Burnett turned down his radio, watched the house and listened. The young man with the television disappeared back into the house, then the old man from across the street poked his head into the alley. Burnett popped up and motioned to the old man, waved him to get away and he watched, concerned, as the old man withdrew down the alley. Burnett broke cover and moved closer toward the house; he racked a round into the Remington as he ran, then he heard the gunning engine of first one squad car, then another, then units checking out by radio near the front of the house. 

Then... from inside the house...

"Fucking pigs, man, let's move!"

Burnett heard running in the house, then one man emerged carrying a pillow-case stuffed with goods in one hand and a scoped hunting rifle in the other. Burnett launched from his concealed position and yelled: "Freeze, Police!" just as a second man appeared in the garage. Burnett watched the first man drop the pillow case and raise the rifle; the second man had a pistol in his hand – and it was coming up, fast.

"Drop the gun, NOW!" Burnett yelled. He could clearly see both men, could make out both weapons; he was reacting now, not thinking, and time seemed to slow to a crawl. His right index finger snapped off the Remington's safety then slid to the trigger as he brought the shotgun up to his shoulder. The man with the rifle was the greater threat, so he moved the sights on the front of the Remington toward him. He could clearly see this man, see the rifle moving up to his shoulder, and Burnett aimed low, knowing that double–ought buckshot gained elevation when fired from this range, and he squeezed off a round. He racked the spent shell from the Remington and rammed a fresh round into the chamber as he sought out the other man, the man with the pistol.

Burnett heard "Signal 33, shots fired!" on his hand radio, then felt the air above his head rippling. He heard the gunshot next, saw the man with the pistol down low in a crouch taking aim, and he covered this man in his sights and squeezed off another round. As the gun roared and recoiled, he racked the shotgun again, readied to fire again, as he looked for the next threat.

Then the smoke cleared.

The first man, the man with the rifle, lay on the garage floor. Motionless. Burnett moved slowly in that direction, his shotgun still up and covering the area. He moved cat-like, slowly, on the outsides of his feet, towards the garage. Out of the corner of his eye he saw another man in uniform moving along the side of the house – towards his position. Burnett moved quickly to the driveway behind the house, and the man with the pistol emerged from behind some boxes and fired at him. Burnett fired again and saw his buckshot tear into the man's neck and shoulders; he heard another shot, and another, and turned to see that the other officer had exchanged fire with yet a third man, and each man's shot had hit the other. This third man was raising his weapon to shoot at the other officer, and Burnett racked another round and fired at this man, then he chambered another round as quickly as he could.

Burnett moved quickly into the garage. Three suspects were down and quiet, and he moved to the stricken officer. "2114, officer down in the alley, need ambulance code three this location." It was Charlie York, an almost sixty year old man, a thirty-plus year veteran of the department. "Shit, Charlie – you OK?"

"2114 received at 1155 hours."

"Yeah," – gasp – "think so. Side hurts like Hell."

Burnett moved to York's side, it was a bloody mess above his left hip, and the unseen wound was bleeding profusely. Burnett felt another presence; it was the old man from across the street. He dropped to his knees beside Burnett and ripped open a pack of gauze and slapped it on the wound. Then he heard another set of footsteps running up the driveway.

"You OK, Alan?" he heard 2110, the shift sergeant, asking, then he saw York.

"I haven't checked the house. Or the van. Hell, I haven't even checked the guys in the garage."

"Yeah, well, not much anyone can do for them right now, Alan. Three down in there."

Burnett heard sirens wailing in the distance, then a rough sounding engine drawing near. He turned to see an ambulance stopping behind the house, in the alley, so he stood and ran into the garage to secure the area for the medics. Then the sergeant was standing next to the door that led inside the house from the garage, his pistol drawn. He pointed at his ears, then his eyes, and held up two fingers. He had heard and seen two more people in the house. Burnett took three shotgun shells from the elastic band on the shotgun's stock and slid them into the gun's tube, then he felt the safety to confirm it was still off and moved up to the door. Then he heard it.

The sound of a hammer being pulled back on a firearm.

Both Burnett and the sergeant jumped back from the door as it exploded. Two men bolted from the shattered door then skidded to a stop as they confronted Burnett and the sergeant. The first man raised his weapon, a sawed off rifle of some sort, while the second started screaming "don't shoot, don't shoot!" Burnett simply said "Stop" to the man with the rifle; the end of the barrel of his Remington was poised about six inches in front of this man's face. Little else needed to be said. Check and mate.

The man with the rifle dropped his weapon, looked at Burnett, and said "OK, Pig, you win."

"On your knees, hands behind your head," Burnett said.

As Burnett and the sergeant handcuffed the two suspects, Burnett tried to recite the Miranda warning: "You have the right to remain silent...the right to a lawyer, yada, yada, yada," but that was as far as he could get. All of the tension and adrenaline of the last few minutes flooded into his consciousness, and he felt his knees giving way – he went to lean on the garage wall.

"You all right, Alan?" the sergeant asked. 

Burnett felt light-headed, and now there was the growing awareness of a burning sensation on his left forearm, and with an absent-minded gesture he reached for it. He felt warm, slippery stuff on his arm and looked down to see a thin stream of deep, red blood pulsing down his arm. "I think I've been shot," Burnett said to no one in particular. "I will be dipped in shit!" he said as he slid down the wall and sat on the garage floor.

+++++

About an hour later detectives from CID and Internal Affairs had finished photographing the entire house, and Burnett looked down at the tightly bound wound on his arm with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. He watched a small cluster of detectives laughing and cracking jokes, and he walked over to them, listening as he approached. 

"Man, that's some weird shit in there. Never seen that kinda stuff before," one of the men said as he laughed and shook his head.

"Strange–ranger, that's for sure. Looks like a goddamned vampire."

"Wouldn't want to run into that bitch in a dark alley, ya know what I mean?"

"Man, if my wife dressed up like that, I don't know what the fuck I'd do!"

"You'd cream your jeans, Pencil Dick!" The group laughed as they walked off, leaving Burnett with a few dozen unanswered questions hanging in the air. The burglary was his call, so he was going to have to get the basics for the initial incident and arrest reports, and then he'd head down to the ER at County and get his arm looked at. It wasn't too bad, or so a Paramedic had said, and it could wait. Interviews with CID and IA would round out the rest of his day.

He walked inside and immediately sensed this wasn't your generic suburban ranch-style house; the floors were a deep gray berber, the kitchen had a black slate floor and black laminate cabinetry. Other walls in the house were either painted dark gray or wallpapered with rich, dark fabrics, but now there were papers strewn all over the house, and appliances knocked around by the burglars sat at odd angles on the countertops and floors. Drawers stood open everywhere, the floors littered with things that couldn't be sold quickly by junkies looking to score their next hit of heroin. 

He had his aluminum clipboard nestled under his good arm, and walked into the living room. He looked around at well kept leather furniture, all dark colored and very elegant, then he heard a woman's voice in another part of the house, and moved in that direction.

The voice he heard was calm – maybe too calm, he thought. There was a crisp edge to the words he heard, something vaguely menacing that ran under the surface of her voice, like a knife leaving it's scabbard. The woman, he could tell, was talking to her insurance agent; she was asking questions and he guessed she was writing down instructions, asking about coverage and where to get a clean up crew to help her get the house back in some kind of order. Burnett listened for a moment then knocked on the woman's bedroom door.

"Just a minute," the voice said. "Be right out."

Burnett heard the woman finish up the call, and he watched as she came out into the living room, and when she entered the room, it was all Burnett could do not to stare. The woman was tall, very tall, and her skin was preternaturally white. Her straight hair was quite long, and was an oddly attractive jet-black that stood in stark contrast to her alabaster skin, while her eyes were a vivid electric blue, almost a cobalt–blue, and they were set off by heavy black and blue eye mascara. Her long fingernails were painted black, and looked razor sharp. She was, it seemed, dressed almost entirely in blackest black; an open black leather vest revealed a studded corset underneath, her short black skirt barely hid black stocking tops, and she walked confidently about the room on black leather high heels that had to be at least six inches tall.

Burnett looked at the delicate black choker around her neck as he unconsciously bit his lower lip. His eyes went down to her ankles; there he observed a bracelet – under her stockings – around her right ankle. He suppressed a sigh as his eyes lingered on the woman's legs and shoes.

"Are you the officer who was shot?" the woman said, looking down at his left arm.

"Not really, Ma'am," he said. "This is just a flesh wound; Officer York was taken to Parkland before you got here."

"How is he?" she asked.

"Haven't heard, Ma'am, but it looked pretty bad. So, sorry, but I've got to get some basic information for the main report. You'll need our service number for your insurance claim as well. I'll need to go room to room and get an inventory of the stuff those 'scrotes tried to take."

"Scrotes?"

"Oh, sorry. Slang for scrotum. Bad Guys, I guess you'd say, in cop-talk.

"Oh. Do we have to do this today?" the woman asked.

"Yup, 'fraid so. Won't take too long if we get right to it. Where would you like to start?"

They made their way from room to room; Burnett wrote on his clipboard and looked furtively at the woman every chance he got – while she grew more and more impatient and, it seemed, nervous. They came to a locked door off the main hallway.

"Uh, this door was locked; those guys never made it in here," she said.

"I'll still need to take a quick look in there, Ma'am."

"Why? I mean, really, if they didn't..."

"I have to, Ma'am. Report has to be completed; this is a four bedroom house, and I'll need four bedrooms accounted for in my report or the DA will roast my tail for the next month..."

Exasperated, the woman took out a key and unlocked the door. "Help yourself, Officer," she said in a voice thick with barely contained anger – and no little amount of sarcasm.

Burnett entered the room – and he entered another world. The room had stone walls, and leather restraints were set into the stone on one wall at heights for wrists and ankles. A black and red padded-leather crucifix stood against another wall, restraints attached to this as well. A rolling cart stood in the middle of the room; it was stocked with toys and equipment to give enemas and electric shocks.

"Everything in this room accounted for, Ma'am?" Burnett asked, his face a blank mask.