Heartbreak

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.

Chapter One

Sinking Into a Pit of Despair

Two Weeks Ago

“Hey Max,” Crystal called out to me. “Want anything besides cigarettes and your shitty vodka?” She was slouching against the door jamb with one foot on the second floor walkway.

I blinked my eyes hard. I’d already drunk my usual two pints of vodka and tried to focus my eyes on Crystal, a bottle blonde with a sallow complexion wearing a tank top that sagged on her waifish body. It was 3 a.m., and I’d just been on a two-week bender of vodka, cigarettes and pussy. Crystal was some skank I’d picked up at a sleazy bar down the street. I’m sure it wasn’t her real name but I didn’t care. I just wanted to get laid and fucked up, in that order.

We’d already finished the first part. Crystal may not have been much to look at (my guess it was crack that made her look the way she did) but she was one hell of a fuck. She was eager to suck on my tits and then go down on me. My pussy was still sore from her jamming four fingers into it and making me wet the sheets. It was down and dirty sex – – the best kind.

A good orgasm and two pints of vodka was just what I needed to take the edge off a heartbreak I never thought I would suffer. But of course I said that every day for the past two weeks and somehow the heartbreak got worse, not better.

“Bag of Doritos, Cool Ranch,” I yelled out. Hey if you’re going to fuck up your life you do it right. I knew how to fuck up my life. I had a lot of practice.

“Sure,” she said before she slammed the door on Room 204 of the Royal Palms Motel.

The Royal Palms was my abode for the last five years. A fleabag motel in the heart of Cincinnati’s West End, the baddest neighborhood in the city. Of course my beat was in the West End, so I got to live with the very people I was likely to bust, mostly pimps and prostitutes with a smattering of drug addicts and dealers thrown in. I guess my living standards declined when I moved in, but it was routine here to get wasted before dinner and have sex until the wee hours of the morning. It was the code I lived by.

I think Crystal was a working girl who was having a little fun on her day off. I recognized her from some Vice squad bust a few years ago but a few pints of vodka could cloud a cop’s memory. My resistance to my baser urges was always low, but now it was non-existent. Whoring with prostitutes was never part of my sexual repertoire, but the world coming down on you can change your outlook on life. Right then I felt like my life had gone to shit.

I’d been on administrative leave for the past two weeks, and given the direction I was heading I was never going back to being a detective in Vice for the Cincinnati police department. “Administrative leave” was a euphemism for “you really fucked up and we’re sorry (not really) to see you go.”

I fucked up big time. It was only a matter of time before I’d be forced to resign from the only job I’d ever known.

Crystal would be gone for at least an hour. After the liquor store she was likely going to try to score some dope for herself. I was going to wait in the room and try to sleep off my latest drunk. But sleep wasn’t coming easy to me. I kept replaying what happened and kept asking myself why.

Crystal came back from her late-night shopping trip, stumbling into the room in her heels and holding a crumpled paper bag. She opened the bag and emptied the contents onto a small table.

“Two bottles of shit vodka, Marlboro Lights and a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos. Sorry Max, they were out of Cool Ranch,” she said with a glow in her voice. She was high. She must have shot up, snorted or smoked something in the parking lot. Her tits were practically flopping out of her tank top and her tight hot pants revealed a pronounced camel toe.

I twisted the cap off one of the bottles of vodka she bought, filling a paper cup halfway to the top. I took a big draw and let the intense burn remind me I was still alive. The video. Shannon. The gun. Lesley. Stick. It continued to haunt me, no matter how much I tried to squelch my bad dream with alcohol. Maybe I was better off dead.

Crystal had taken her top off and then her pants while I was lamenting my fate. I stopped feeling sorry for myself and starting paying attention to my horny bedmate.

“Fuck me Max,” Crystal said, wantonly spreading her legs for me.

“Where?” I asked.

“Wherever you want honey,” she said.

“In the ass then,” I said. It was one of my many sexual hang-ups. It was also one of Shannon’s. I trembled when I thought of my sexy ex-girlfriend’s ass.

“Get the vibrator that’s in my purse,” she mecidiyeköy escort said, pointing.

She’d thrown her purse on the chair. I got up and retrieved it. It was a big leather bag and had a lot of stuff in it. The usual stuff that was in a woman’s handbag, you know, like a crack pipe (heavily used), an aluminum foil packet containing crack cocaine, a purple vibrator, about eight inches long, and a pink one, about four inches long and smaller in diameter.

“Which one, purple or pink?” I asked.

“It feels like a purple night,” she said dreamily. “With my customers I use the pink one, but with you I want you to make me cum,” she added. Then she slid off the bed and took her purse from me.

“Outside or your bathroom?” she asked.

I knew what she was asking.

“Bathroom,” I said.

She looked at me apologetically, even though we both had long ago crossed into the land of no shame.

“I’m sorry Max. I have to be high to cum,” she confessed. I guess she wasn’t high enough.

“It’s OK Crystal,” I said, “I’m drunker than fuck,” swilling the rest of my half cup of vodka.

She retreated to the bathroom. She left the door open and turned on the fan.

“Are you sure you don’t want any?” she called out.

“No, I’m good,” I said. I wanted to die, but not that way.

I heard the unmistakable sound of her torch lighter, then the sweet, acrid smell of her poison. A minute later she staggered into the room, glassy eyed.

Crystal flopped down on the bed, face down. She reached back and spread the cheeks of her scrawny ass.

“Fuck me Max. Fuck me hard,” she said.

I picked up the purple vibrator and turned it on. I ran it along the length of her slit, back and forth. When I held it up it I was surprised to see that it was glossy. I sniffed. Pussy. That got my motor running. I rimmed her asshole with the tip of the vibrator, watching it clench and unclench. I kept teasing her with it until she could take no more.

“Do it Max . . . do it now,” she begged me. Her begging was music to my ears.

I used the palm of my hand to push down on the end of the vibrator, watching it disappear into her ass almost to the end. Then I slowly pulled it out, beginning a fucking motion that went faster and faster. It was so sexy seeing her ass gape.

“Yes!” she finally cried out after what seemed like hours of ass fucking, bearing down to push the vibrator out, only to have me shove it back in. My wrist was getting sore. We kept this up until her body became stiff as a board and shaking like a leaf in a stiff breeze.

“Oh God . . . oh God . . . oh Max . . .” she cried out. It felt good to be wanted, if only for a minute and with someone I didn’t know.

I held the vibrator in her ass and watched her body writhe in ecstasy while I fingered myself to cum while she did. It was exactly what I needed and was at least a few seconds when I wasn’t thinking about Lesley. I let the vibrator pop out of her ass. She groaned and laid on her side with her knees drawn up.

“That was great Max,” Crystal said in a scratchy voice after she’d regained her senses, her rheumy eyes reminding me where she was really at, which wasn’t with me.

“My pleasure . . . Crystal . . . or whatever your name is.”

“It’s Evelyn,” Crystal said.

“Evelyn,” I repeated. I spooned against her gaunt body and let my arm rest over her side, feeling the beating of her heart. I needed to hold on to someone . . . anyone. I didn’t want to be alone.

“Tonight it’s you and me,” I said. “Good night Evelyn.”

“Good night Max,” she said, wiggling her butt to snuggle deeper into me.

Evelyn drifted off to sleep. My eyes were wide open.

The video. Shannon. The gun. Lesley. Stick.

I didn’t need to wish I was dead. I already was.

Chapter Two

Working the Lead

Four Weeks Ago

It was hot. Unbearably hot. The thermometer had hit 100 degrees for two weeks straight. My partner Lesley never sweated, yet her uniform had soaked through the back and underarms of her shirt. We were miserably sticky and wanted desperately to take a shower after three hours in the sizzling heat of a Midwest summer.

We’d just called on one of our CI’s and were on our way to take a coffee break at Happy Donut, our hangout in the West End. I got out of our air-conditioned cruiser and had to brave the late morning sun. The pavement was already baking and I raced Lesley to the door. She beat me, as always. She was the athlete of the two of us, about ten years younger than me, early 30’s, with long blonde hair tied up behind her head, pixyish face and a perky body that gave no hint of the bulldog under that seemingly soft exterior. She was the sister I never had.

“Beat you again Max,” she said to me laughing in a girly way and not caring. She jerked open the door for me and I felt the rush of glorious air-conditioned air on my face and the smell beşiktaş escort of fresh donuts and coffee in my nose. Ambrosia.

“We miss you Max,” Bea barked at me from behind the counter. Bea was the Queen of Happy Donut, she and her husband founding the donut institution in the West End twenty years ago, shortly after they’d arrived in Cincinnati from Vietnam. For some reason Bea took a liking to me and I’d been a regular ever since I joined the force. I’d been at a training course for the last two weeks in Houston and was happy to be back. As hot as it was in Cincinnati it was hotter than that in Houston, and I spent two tough weeks in field training, mostly outside. At almost forty, I was huffing and puffing by the end of the two weeks.

I went behind the counter and hugged Bea, wrapping my arms around her narrow waist. Her build was slight, but her personality was big.

“You always chasing girls Max. I’m married,” she declared to me.

Every time I came into the shop with a woman, Bea assumed that I was having sex with that woman. The problem was she was often right. But Lesley was now a regular and she knew Lesley was my work partner and not my lover. Bea broke away from me and put her hands on Lesley’s shoulders.

“Now here is a beautiful woman,” Bea declared. She was free with her opinions and was often right.

Lesley blushed. Bea was delighted to get that reaction.

“I get you your favorite jelly donut,” Bea said to Lesley, ducking behind the counter. She plated a strawberry jelly filled donut, Lesley’s favorite and a chocolate old fashioned for me. We each got a cup of steaming black coffee, almost as good as my special roast. Even though Lesley won the race she put her credit card on the counter to pay.

Bea waved off the card. “Your money no good here,” she said to Lesley.

“Hey, you made me pay last time I was here,” I complained.

“You not Lesley,” she said bluntly. So Lesley was now her fair-haired girl. Fine with me.

We sat at the table sipping our hot coffee and enjoying our fresh donuts.

“How are things going with Alessandra?”

Lesley’s face turned glum. Alessandra was Lesley’s wife. I’d introduced them a few years back and their relationship meshed quickly. Alessandra came from a wealthy family and rebelled against their attempts to control her. I got to know her when I arrested her for breaking and entering and put her in juvenile hall. She turned her life around, with help from me, and now was the chef at Nicky’s, a diner owned by my best friend, Nicolette Flores. Lesley and Alessandra had hit a rough patch and Lesley was tight about sharing details.

She shook her head. “Not good.”

I wasn’t going to let her off the hook. Lesley had been my partner for five years and I was entitled to know why.

“C’mon Lesley,” I chided her.

She took a sip of coffee and looked at me, trying to keep a straight face. “She moved out this morning.”

“What?” I said, incredulous she was telling me that now, after we’d been together for almost three hours.

“I was going to tell you,” she claimed. It sounded lame because it was.

“Sure,” I said sarcastically. “So what happened?” I demanded.

She tried to shut me down again.

“It’s personal Max.”

I took a deep breath. That was her “fuck off Max, it’s none of your business” answer. I had to decide whether to press harder or let her by.

“OK,” I said. I didn’t want to fight with my partner.

We finished our coffee and donuts in silence.

* * *

One of our CI’s had told us there was a big drug buy about to happen. He didn’t have any details, other than to tell us supply was short and the dope on the street was weak. He was going to see if he could find out more. In the meantime, Lesley and I were going to shake down our other sources for confirmation and timing.

Our first stop was Belvedere Towers. I had a CI who lived there and was connected to the drug trade and often had a good tidbit of information. Belvedere Towers was part of Cincinnati’s attempt at low income housing in the 80’s and turned into drug central for the West End. Lesley and I walked up the six flights of stairs as of the elevators all were cordoned off with frayed yellow caution tape and a graffiti covered sign saying “Thank You For Your Patience” next to it. We climbed up concrete steps littered with used needles and dodged children’s toys and assorted trash to get to Bear’s apartment.

Bear was one of my go to guys. He was an ex-biker who bludgeoned one of his mates to death with a shovel. I happened to be at the melee and watched Bear administering the deadly beating after finding out his “mate” had raped and strangled his girlfriend. He was still convicted of manslaughter, but based on my character testimony to a judge I knew well he spent only a few years in jail before being paroled. He readily acknowledged my appearance in court knocked years off his sentence. He owed me . . . big time . . etiler escort . and he knew it.

It was sweltering in the building. The last time the air conditioning worked was when a man had just landed on the moon. By the time we got to Bear’s apartment on the sixth floor I was already a sweaty mess. His door had three locks on it, and we patiently waited while he turned each one of them and then opened it.

“Hey Max, Lesley, how you doin’?” he asked, flashing his gold front tooth. Bear got his nickname for obvious reasons. He was a man mountain, bushy beard and tattoos displayed on his bare forearms. His current girlfriend was standing in the kitchen, watching us. She was a stringy haired dishwater blonde, gaunt with hollowed eyes – – the eyes of a drug addict.

“We’re good,” I said. The sofa was covered with empty fast-food wrappers and beer cans. Lesley and I elected to stand. “So word on the street is that there’s going to be a big resupply soon. You heard anything about it?”

Bear held his big paw out. I put a $50 bill in it. “You get the other fifty if your intel checks out,” I said.

“Some guys from Jumbo Williams’s crew were looking for extra muscle next Tuesday. My guess is that the deal is going down then.”

“Do you know where?” Lesley asked, beating me to the punch.

Bear spread his hands out wide and shrugged his shoulders. “Do you think I’d sell that kind of intel for a hundred bucks? I wish I knew.”

“No, that’s great Bear,” I said. “We’ve got other sources we can shake down. But next Tuesday. That’s solid?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“Good. Thanks Bear.” I went for the door but stopped before I left. “Take care of your girlfriend,” I said, looking at her. I knew Bear had already had her in rehab once.

“Working on it Max.”

* * *

“Next Tuesday,” Lesley said as we stepped out into the cramped and dark hallway. “That doesn’t give us much time, does it?”

“We’ve got to work fast,” I said. It was Thursday, so that only gave us a few days to find out the location of the buy and then set up a bust. We walked down the stairwell, trying to ignore the smells of rotting garbage and urine. When we got to the ground level there were two punks standing at the bottom of the stairs openly plying their drug trade in front of the building.

“Show some respect,” I said to them. The taller one had frizzy brown hair and a lazy eye. His hands were in his pocket. His partner was almost a foot shorter, squat and built like a fire hydrant, leaning against the wall with a toothpick in his mouth. I recognized the taller one as someone Lesley and I had arrested a while back.

“Fuck you dyke,” the taller one snarled at me. “And your cunt partner too.”

I guess he did remember us as well.

I was about his height. I grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up and slammed him against the wall. His feet were barely touching the ground. I reached behind him and pulled his gun out from the waistband of his pants. I shoved it under his nose, pushing his face up with the tip of the barrel.

“Listen fuckwad. We own this place. Not you.”

I let him down and ejected all of the bullets into my hand, pocketing them. I spotted a nice big pile of dog shit on the dead lawn. I dropped the gun into it and pushed it down with my boot so the poop squished all over it.

“Enjoy cleaning your gun,” I said cheerfully.

* * *

“So what’s the plan, back to the station?” Lesley asked me.

“Change in plans,” I said. Bear’s intel gave me an idea, an idea Lesley would hate.

Lesley held her hands on the steering wheel waiting for instructions.

“We’re going to see Grant,” I announced.

“Oh fuck,” my partner said with disgust. “Not that guy.”

“Oh yeah. He can get us what we need. We need the location of the buy. Grant can figure it out.”

Lesley looked at me with narrowed eyes. “C’mon Max, there’s got to be another way.”

“So tell me.”

I could tell from Lesley’s face that she was coming up with nothing.

“I’m waiting,” I said.

“I can’t,” she finally admitted.

“You know where to go.”

“Unfortunately I do.” Lesley sighed and made a U-turn and headed for the most tech savvy person I knew.

* * *

The Ohio River had an old rail line running along it. Grant lived in a warehouse he’d converted to his personal electronic sanctuary. It was a large industrial building made of rusted corrugated metal with an abandoned railway spur leading up to it. White painted letters above the man door, almost completed faded, said “ELKO STEEL.” Lesley knocked on the door with the butt end of her flashlight. I looked up into the camera mounted under the eave of the roof. We waited in the late afternoon heat.

The door creaked open. A tall scrawny man in his thirties opened the door. He had longish unwashed brown hair and a scraggly beard. He was wearing a Grateful Dead t-shirt, ripped jeans and sandals over white socks. He was probably a good-looking man if he cleaned up and refreshed his college-era wardrobe.

“Max!” he said, genuinely pleased to see me. “And I see you’ve brought your lovely partner.”

Lesley rolled her eyes. “Grant.”

“Come in,” he said, using a sweeping motion with his hand.

We stepped into his inner sanctum. Grant locked the door behind us. Lesley looked at me like a trapped animal.