C3 Chase

“Every year, I think I won’t have to come up here and tell you this, but then every year, here I am.”

The sound of the HR director’s tired voice echoes through the large meeting room at our city hall. There’s a cough, the sound of someone behind me discreetly trying to eat something crunchy out of a plastic bag, the whir of a ceiling fan overhead.

The HR director sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping, and gestures to the PowerPoint slide behind him. The slide reads:

Don’t have sex on duty.

“That’s it,” the director says, a touch mournfully. “That’s all there is to it. Don’t have sex in your police car. Don’t have sex in uniform. Don’t pretend to do a business check at Arby’s and then have sex in the Arby’s bathroom. Just don’t do it. Because then I have to fire you, and it’s so much paperwork for me, and then I have to climb back up here next year and beg you not to do it again. Please don’t make me.”

There are a few awkward laughs, a few sly shoulder nudges. Everyone remembers last Christmas, when Captain Knust caught Zach Simmons doling out a little extra Christmas cheer in the backseat of his patrol car. To the Captain’s college-aged daughter.

Or the year before that, when Mike Fox and his wife wanted to act out some role play and Fox’s mic button got stuck, which meant everyone on duty heard him say, “Now that’s the long arm of the law!” right as he came.

Who would be dumb enough to do that shit? I think to myself. Aside from the fact that the backseats of most patrol cars are cramped vinyl shells that have been puked on, pissed on and worse—it’s against the rules, and I don’t break rules.

Rules are good. Rules are there for a reason. It’s my job to protect those rules and make sure everyone else follows them. That satisfies something deep down inside me—not like a hunger for power or anything—but it’s the same feeling I get when all the weights are in order at the gym or when my house is clean and my lawn is mowed. Clean and neat, everything in its place.

I do law so that there can be order.

I think of that kid today, though, definitely out of order and creating massive snarls of traffic trying to get out of the parking lot during the morning drop off. There were three fender-benders, one verbal altercation between a dad and a vice principal, and Officer LaTasha Palmer had to issue a property damage citation because one impatient mom had driven up over the curb and crashed into the school fence.

It was pure chaos—unnecessary chaos—and then the most exquisite woman I’ve ever seen marched right up to me in skintight leggings and flip-flops and started creating more chaos. Normally I wouldn’t have welcomed yet another upset adult demanding answers and action while I tried to sort out the mess, but the thing was, I kind of felt for the kid. She reminded me of my sister—in fact, I couldn’t be sure Megan hadn’t chained herself to school property at one point—and it was almost a relief when Livia appeared and started defending her. Because I didn’t want the teen to get into trouble...I just had to make sure the parking lot exit was cleared so cars would stop crashing into each other.

So I was glad the teen had someone there for her. And it didn’t hurt that Livia wore those tight, tight leggings, which showed off every curve of her sweet thighs and scrumptious ass. Even the T-shirt she wore had been accidentally sexy, the thin fabric revealing a cute pink bra when she stood directly under the spring sun…

My dick stirs in my pants thinking about it, just as it did this morning when I looked at her. God, I’d wanted to pull her hair out of that adorably sloppy knot and twine my fingers in it, wanted to bend her over the hood of my car and run my greedy hands all over her body. I wanted her in the kind of hungry, urgent way I haven’t wanted a woman in a long time.

I have to find her again.

She never gave me a real answer about dinner, after all.

The dispirited voice of the HR director brings me back to the present, and I listen as he describes more ways we can’t have sex on duty. Although now I’m wondering less who would do that and more if I would do it, given the right woman. Like, say, a brown-eyed spitfire with leggings and the kind of face they model Disney princesses after.

The HR director wraps up his speech and leaves the room with the defeated air of a man who knows he’ll be back to give the same speech again next year. The chief takes the low stage at the front of the room, giving us all a quick smile as he adjusts the microphone.

“Thank you for that policy refresher, Eric,” he says to the director’s retreating back. “And even though I know it’s not normally how we do things, I thought I’d take the opportunity to open the floor to any questions you might have for me. No chain of command, no formality—just ask and I’ll answer.”

A ripple of interest goes through the room of bored officers. Our new chief has been pretty invisible for the most part, hiding out in meetings or in his office, and so having the chance to talk to him directly is unexpected.

But not unwelcome…

I shoot a glance over at my sergeant, Theresa Gutierrez, who is already raising her eyebrow in a well, are you going to do it or am I? look.

I stick my hand in the hair.

The chief smiles and points at me, the two quick blinks before saying, “Officer?” telling me that he doesn’t know my name.

“Hi, yeah,” I say, suddenly aware that all the eyes in the room are on me. I think of Livia this morning, all bravery and determination in her flip-flops and messy bun. I think she’d approve of me right now, and for some reason that sends a little glow through my chest. “I was the head of the body camera committee last year, and we submitted a recommendation for the department to purchase the cameras for every officer working the field as soon as possible. I was wondering where we were on that?”

There’s a sudden tension in the air. Not only had I coupled the committee’s recommendation with a detailed budget analysis and cost breakdown by manufacturer, but I’d also done a department-wide poll and found that over seventy percent of the field officers wanted body cameras. But even though I’d done all the research legwork, even though most the cops here want the upgrade, the administration keeps stonewalling us.

The chief’s smile has frozen into something that can only be described as irritated politeness. “I believe there was a memo sent out last month that addressed this very concern.”

“With all due respect, sir, it didn’t address anything. It just said that the department was still considering all their options. But we,” I gestured around the room, “think that this issue is important enough that we need to have it resolved now.”

There are nods and murmurs of agreement around me. The chief lets the forced smile slip a bit. “With all due respect back to you, Officer, this decision is a bit above your pay grade. And while I appreciate your passion for it, I ask that you appreciate the complicated budgetary nature of such a purchase, not to mention the statements made by many citizens concerned with privacy. It’s not a decision to be made in haste.”

“It’s been over a year since the recommendation, sir. I don’t think you have to worry about haste anymore.”

I shouldn’t have said it, I know that the moment the words leave my mouth. It’s easily insubordination, something I could be written up for, and by the way the chief’s eyes narrow, I wonder if he is really considering it.

“I’m sure what Officer Kelly means,” Sergeant Gutierrez cuts in smoothly, “is that most of the other agencies in the Kansas City metro already have body cameras built into their budgets in the coming years. If we’re not careful, our city could be the only one still using outdated policing standards.”

“I just want to make sure we’re serving and protecting our citizens to the best of our ability,” I add to my supervisor’s remarks.

The chief smiles again, a mechanical smile. We’ve got him trapped and he knows it, because in a room full of street officers, the chief can’t admit he cares more about preserving admin salary perks than spending money on citizen and officer safety.

“Duly noted,” he says after a minute. “I’ll make sure to check on the status of the cameras today and send out another department-wide memo.”

“Thank you, sir,” I say. It’s not what I wanted, but it’s not a total loss either. Like Livia and her teen friend, I live to fight another day.