How far can love bend around fate before it breaks?
Twelve months after giving their relationship a second chance, vet tech Juneau Olstead and NYPD Lieutenant Damian Rivera are sweeter, filthier, and deeper in love. Their communication is open, hea...
June and I repeated the pressure-point exercises for five days straight, in the small sliver of time that our schedules overlapped. I didn't push her for any of the class moves beyond the points. She didn't need to have every self-defense move memorized but the more she practiced, the more relaxed she became in her body and she moved with muscle memory.
Even if it left my limbs buzzing with numbness.
The gym's other patrons ignored us, with an occasional smile or wave offered. A cop neighbor had two polar opposite reactions. Most neighbors appreciated the presence, especially if a parked patrol car was involved. However, cops that drew crime to them were very unwelcomed.
For once, June and I behaved ourselves while our bodies grinded and rubbed contact. My concern for June's comfort level and safety outweighed the pleasure I got from her close physical proximity, although we had moments of panting in each other's sweaty faces.
Back in the condo, we fucked like animals. My pride soared with each small improvement my girlfriend showed.
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"Baker Row, any progress?" Hernandez prompted me as my knuckles hovered to pound on his open door.
"Slow and painful," I admitted with a sigh. The majority of papers burying my desk involved tracking down victims for that case. "I briefed the NCOs and they provided a lead. I'll check this one out Monday."
NCOs, or Neighborhood Coordinating Officers, were a crucial link between NYPD and the ground-level neighborhood activity. NCOs offered anonymous residents confidentiality in reporting issues of concern that warranted NYPD interventions.
Instead of sitting silent and absorbing the neighborhood-level updates, I pushed back onto the NCOs what Hernandez and I were presented in the Bronx and Baker Row cases. Flashing pictures of the previously and currently detailed MS-13 members, I solicited any and all potential connections within the 34th's boundaries and into the 46th's.
Thanks to this morning's NCO meeting, several hours ago by a glance at my watch, I secured an appointment Monday morning under a disguised career day event at South Bronx High School. And thanks to undercover detectives on Jenks' team, I had a list of specific girls' names to inquire about at that high school.
Sex trafficking wasn't the largest concern in the 34th, drug distribution was, but it was Vice's concern. As long as all the roads and highways remained accessible to distribution, a drug market flowed through them that was too lucrative for the gangs not to participate in. Despite NYPD's best efforts disrupting the supplier chains, narcotics poisoned many of the 34th's neighborhoods.
All those easy cash flow options cogged up and crashed with one joint DEA, FBI, and NYPD's Narcotics Division raid in Bronx. Its spillover into the 34th was very much welcomed, even if short-lived.
