Chapter 2 TWO

She found out that every single day she usually wakes up not because of the alarm clock, but because of the warm light the sun had casted through her window. She opened her eyes and glanced at the outside. The sun had just risen from the horizon filling the sky with hues of orange and yellow. The dandelion-colored sphere greeted the rich green and the flowers stretched outwards. She breathed deeply and stretched her hourglass body in front of an open wide window. She then looked at her reflection on the mirror. She wasn't ugly, perhaps it was her bed hair that made her look dirty.

Now that she thinks about it, what was exactly the reason why male's sense of absorption or interests in women can nowhere be seen in her. Perhaps because her position of employment is less feminine. But would such a job make her less attractive to ordinary men? She had a beautiful face. Thin arms that exceeded the standards of stereotypical femininity. Round blue eyes you'd want to meet an eye with. The scarlet outline where her skin met her mouth, and a lips with such beauty And the indication of best of breeding was spot on.

She was a typical woman, Frances Mitchell, with a typical everyday routine. Wake up, eat breakfast, take a bath, put on her police uniform and walk to duty. She had been a police woman for four years now and believe it or not, between the gap of those years Frances have experienced a lot of danger, lots of troubles, ordinary women usually wouldn't. She almost lost a leg, almost died and almost lost a partner. She had always been told by her co-police that she was one of the most beautiful and strong women in the station. Well that's what she usually hears of what they say about her. It feels so strange for them because her job does not fit her femininity. But she has a reason why she chose to become a police officer. When she was only fifteen, Frances lost a father, and that is because of the largest crime organization in New York City which he was assigned to. He was a good and righteous policeman when he was still alive.

Frances started for the bathroom. Took off her bathrobe and stepped into the shower. The warm and soothing water hissed all over her as though it was a venomous snake, but not terrifying, in fact; very calming. Her hands started to wander around her body as the water slid down along with it, then to her breast. She started to massage it with her bare hands and slowly pinched her nipples. The sensations spread throughout Frances' whole body as the pleasure builds slowly and gradually. How long has it been since a man played with her breast, she wondered. It's been a year since she last had sex with a man. The reason perhaps is because of her job. Most men only flirt with those who they reckoned they'll be the dominant one in bed. They are way too cowardly.

She wend her way out of the house and closed the door behind her and distinguished a familiar man. It was her partner, AJ. He was an inch taller than her. Well built with his wide eyes. He has been her partner for four years.

"Morning," he greeted. The tip of Frances' lips rose and she greeted back.

"Morning."

Her whole life, New York has always been the place where crime organization lurks. Narcotics, illegal firearms, prostitutions, gamblings, and any other form of illegal activity conceived by the mind of man. There were three most known members of the organization. Carlos Grahams, Dante Giovanna and the most known one, Maximo Fargo. They were the underbosses, the mini dons. It was so difficult to get to the top. To the underbosses and the dons. Sure, the small criminals kept falling into their traps with statistical regularity; but the mobs always got away. They always have someone inside the station.

She had just finished clearing her desk when her partner came over and placed a brown envelope on the table. She took a quick look at him then to the case. She opened it and took out the picture inside. The image brought a bitter smile to her lips.

"Is this real?" she wanted to know. He shook his head up and down.

"They brought his body," he answered.

"He died last night inside the restaurant. Witnesses say he was on a killing spree before a group of men wearing a suit brought him down."

"Do they have an idea who killed him?" she asked.

"Yah. The one holding this case said it was the member of the syndicate that killed him,"

"You mean?"

"Yes, he betrayed and attempted to kill the newly declared crime lord,"

"What do you mean, newly declared crime lord?" asked Frances. He took a chair and sat beside her.

"The boss was assassinated, didn't you hear?" he asked. Frances shook her head with no knowledge of what he was talking about.

"Well, one thing's for sure; we only have two underbosses left to take down," he smiled and stood up.

"Remember, after we kill the underbosses, there is still one to take down...the masked boss," answered Frances.

They were inside a patrol car as they drove around downtown. She found herself contemplating what happened. For real? Did Maximo Fargo really die? If it's real, that might be the turning point of this year. The thought built a border on her auditory senses that she didn't hear what her partner was saying.

"Frances!" he yelled a bit and she startled.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yah," she nodded.

"What's wrong?" he asked, quite concerned as he moved the steering wheel. Frances hesitated to answer for a moment. Then she answered anyway.

"I'm just overwhelmed," she answered.

"Overwhelmed by?"

"I don't know, maybe because finally, for fifty years of the organization, we found its weak spot," answered Frances, glancing at the rear window.

"What do you mean finally we found a weak spot? We always have found their weakness, it's just that our seniors don't want us to act without the basis of law," he answered, steering the car on the left side.

"That's what I hate about this thing we call law. Clearly, we should have imprisoned him," she retorted.

"You know what, it seems that the law isn't always right."

A few seconds passed, the radio crackled to life and the officer's voice amplified through the PA system.

"Patrol units be advise, an armed robber has been reported eastbound, past Washington Square Park. Requesting nearby units to head up," the raspy voice chattered over the car. An adrenaline kicked up on him as the sirens blare and the vehicle takes off. He quickly rolled the wheel on the right side and the loud siren wailed in the street. He took the next left turn and weaved between cars.

"Suspect's wearing a blue cap, red shirt and a jean," the woman on the radio uttered. AJ reached for his speaker and answered,

"10-4, we're on our way."

He began to drive faster and reached the location. He looked around, searching for the suspect. When he found him, he moved the car towards the guy with matched descriptions, who was running away. Frances placed her hand on the door handle and prepared to bolt out of the car. AJ pulled to a stop and they moved out of the vehicle.

"Freeze!" Frances shouted pointing the gun at the suspect. He obeyed and slowly raised his hand.

"Drop your weapon!" said AJ and slowly walk towards him.

"On your knees!"

But the suspect no longer moved. It was as if he was planning to do something stupid. With quick motion, he took out his pocket revolver and fired it towards them. AJ fell down when the bullet punched through his right biceps. She quickly pulled the trigger. An adrenaline kicked up and she was hyper focused and aimed accurately at the man's throat. He fell down clutching his neck and a pool of blood formed around him. Frances bent down to check on AJ

"Are you okay?" she asked, examining his wound. He smiled and nodded.

"Nice shot officer," he grinned. Frances reached for the radio and said,

"10-999, officer down, I need help immediately."

"You'll be alright, they are sending back up now," said Frances, keeping him calm. As expected for a man, he just smiled like nothing happened. He even had the balls to start a joke.

AJ and Frances had always been partners since she started. He was a noble family man. A good husband, a good father and a good partner. He had told her that he always wanted to be a police officer since he was five. He always wanted to serve his country and protect the weak.

The individuals wearing different kinds of clothes and each contrasting face clustered around the park. They were on each foot as they gazed at the dead man. The yellow tear-proof plastic polyethylene kept them away from getting near the body. The park wasn't jam-packed ten minutes ago. After she had shot the man, there was only shattering of muttering voices.

Frances fixed her attention to her partner as the medic treated his wound. She was used to death being with them all the time. She was aware of the potential of the both of them being killed. Still, she possessed the terror of being deceased. It is though when danger is far from you, despite expecting it, the fear is far as well. But when death gets near, fear gets near also.

Perhaps it was too obvious that she was concerned about him that he asked,

"Are you okay?"

Seriously? Wasn't he the one who was shot and now he's asking her that question.

"Are you not afraid?" asked Frances, shooting a serious gaze at him.

wondering. He fixed a smile on his lips.

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid of dying,"

"Don't they say that none of us will leave this world alive?" he responded.

"So what's the point of worrying and being afraid of death if we'll face it eventually?"

"How about your family? Won't you feel even the slightest regret knowing that a daughter and a wife lost someone important to them?" she wanted to know...she needed to know.

"Don't you get worried about what their future may bring?"

He remained smiling. Frances saw the worriless through his smile as if the thought made no disturbance to him.

"You're no longer anxious of your family's future if you have God by your side," he said in response. Frances waited for a few moments to drop a question. He was a christian, and she didn't want him to feel bad or lose interest in his religion.

"What if God isn't real?" she asked.

Don't get it wrong, it's not like she's an atheist or something. She did believe in God, but a hint of doubt was still in her.

"You kept on asking about the existence of God but you won't even ask yourself what he would feel about the fact that the creatures he made on his own, doubted him," AJ answered promptly.

"If God does not exist, do you think you would?"

A bitter smile shaped on Frances' lips.

She didn't know what to believe. She still has the pain and anger when her father died. She often asked back on those times, does God really exist? If he did, where was he when my father died? Did he plan it all? Did he do it for a reason that may benefit my father or me? She still hoped an answer would come for her question of multiplicity.

"Nice work officer," a tall, dark man spoke. She stood erect, raised her right hand sharply. Fingers and thumb joined, meeting the end of her eyebrow. He gestured and Frances let fall of her hand. It was the NYPD Chief of police, Caesar W. Dickson. He was the type of police who she held in high regard. She admired him. Not only because he was a Chief, but because he tried saving her father too. He was her father's partner before he died.

It happened fifteen years ago. Someone was able to tip them the location of one of the organization's drug cartels. There were ten of them when they advanced to the location but it was Caesar alone who came back alive. He came out from the abandoned building with blood and wounds around his body. Luckily, he survived. She was not certain , but she does hope he doesn't get pissed by her whenever Frances asks him about her father's case. But he couldn't blame her, she waited long enough, she can no longer wait to punish the man responsible for her father's death.