Naked Dragon (2 page)

The man approached boldly and they were eye to eye in their six foot height.

Something about the intelligence of that stare and the knowledge behind it intimidated Dave instantly. Stammering, he said, "I'm sorry. Am I in your way?"

"No. Not in the least."

The attractive man wouldn't stop staring at him. Dave looked away from that gaze of intense concentration and imagined sitting in his patrol car to write his one page report, then going home.

"You haven't been doing this job very long, have you?"

"Huh?" Dave met his eyes again. "Me? I've been doing it for three years."

"Live alone. Very interested in sports."

Dave started to laugh. It was bizarre being analyzed that way by a complete stranger in a completely macabre set of circumstances.

"...and..." the handsome man whispered, "...you have a very deep secret..."

A wave of boiling heat washed over him. "I ... I have to write up a report..." Dave cleared his throat nervously.

Then, as if clicking back to the present, this charming agent held out his hand and said, "I'm Robbie Taylor." Then he read Dave's name tag as he said, "Officer D. Harris."

"Dave. Dave Harris." He took his outstretched hand. It was as if a jolt of electricity traveled through him on contact. It 12

Naked Dragon

by G.A. Hauser

was so strong he almost jerked his hand away. Instead he studied that concerned expression carefully.

Before he was able to ascertain a reason for the eerie sensation, someone behind him called this man's name.

"Robbie, we need you in here."

"Right. I'll be there in a moment," he assured the small agent, still holding Dave's hand. "We'll meet again."

Wondering if he meant outside work or on another crime scene, Dave knew he'd never have the balls to ask.

"Both," Robbie whispered, and smiled sweetly as he answered the unvoiced question.

"Holy shit." Dave breathed and swallowed down his surprise as Robbie seemed to strut down the hall, looking back at him seductively.

Before he left to write up the report in his car, he overheard the small agent introducing Robbie to his homicide team. "...and this is our in-house psychic. He's worked on these types of serial crimes before..."

Taking a last look behind him, down the hall, meeting that charismatic smile, Dave felt a flutter in his mid-section and then walked to his car in a daze. Once he sat down behind the wheel, he took off his hat and tossed it on the seat next to him, then tried to compose himself. He was hoping that man was right and he would see him again. How he knew he had a

'very deep secret' was beyond him. He'd been so careful to conceal it. Adjusting his cock as it grew hard in his trousers, Dave tried not to imagine a night alone with that man. He had work to do.

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Naked Dragon

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Once he changed his direction of thoughts back to his job, he hit a few buttons on his computer and found a plethora of messages from his co-workers all asking if his crime scene was indeed another victim of the same killer. Deleting them since it was late and they'd all gone home by now, he knew he would have to fill them in at the morning roll call. Dave found his pad with his notes and began typing his report on the computer screen.

Just as he finished the simple one-page report, he spotted Robbie emerging from the apartment house. Sitting up in the seat as he approached, Dave's mouth began to water at the confident strut that made its way towards him. "Damn," he hissed under his breath.

Robbie leaned into his opened window and looked around the inside of his patrol car. "Computer. Nice. I bet it makes it easy."

"Yeah ... it does. It's better than the old MDT."

"MDT?"

"Mobile Data Terminal. You couldn't write reports on it."

"No. This is better."

"So ... you're a psychic?" Dave grew hard again and wondered in some humorous part of his brain if Robbie could sense it, being so clairvoyant. As he waited for a reply to his question, Dave watched as Robbie's eyes flickered down to his lap and his dark blue trousers. Stunned, he looked down at himself and couldn't see anything in the dimness of the car's interior.

"The feeling's mutual," Robbie whispered.

The hairs stood up on the back of Dave's neck. "What?"

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"I've got more work to do inside once the coroner moves the body. But, I will see you again." He removed his wallet from his jacket pocket and dug inside it, then handed Dave his card. "Call me, day or night."

Taking it reluctantly, Dave stammered, "I ... I'm not..."

"Sure you're not. Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

When the headlights of another patrol car shined behind them, Dave quickly checked his rear view mirror and found his replacement. Robbie backed up from the window instinctively and then said as a parting comment, "Nice working with you, Officer Harris."

Dave nodded, but didn't say a word as Robbie walked back to the apartment house.

"Hey. How bad was it?" Jeff leaned into his window.

"Bad. Really bad."

"Shit. What the hell's going on? Why is there always a serial killer working here? Ya catch one and another one pops up ... Who was the guy in the suit? He's not one of ours, is he?"

"No. He's with the FBI."

"FBI? No shit? Why are they here?"

"The same kind of murders happened in Oregon. So they're getting involved now."

"Huh. I didn't hear about it in Oregon."

"Neither did I."

"All right, Harris, go home. You've milked enough overtime." Jeff laughed.

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"Right. Just hang out and be here if they need you. I was just guarding the scene until homicide arrived. Now I have no idea what they need you for."

"I'm not helping the coroner lift the body! Forget it!"

Dave laughed as he put the car into gear. "See ya."

"See ya."

He pulled out and headed back to the east precinct. Once he parked and cleared out his car, he found his report at a printer and gave one copy to the late watch sergeant, one for his own sergeant's file, and he sent one to homicide. His overtime slip was signed and placed in a box, and with that work done, he walked tiredly to the locker room to change.

Dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans and a soft cotton t-shirt, he finally felt he could relax. He hung up his uniform and placed his gun into his waist holster, then closed the locker door with a slam. By the time he was sitting in his truck it was nearing midnight. Before he headed for home, he looked at the information on the business card he was given and shook his head. "I used to think all that psychic business was crap. Maybe this guy's for real." Putting it into his pocket, he drove home wondering how he knew he was gay.

* * * *

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Running the liquid soap all over his solid chest and flat abdomen, Dave imagined what that encounter would be like and felt a flash of fire rush over his skin. Satisfying himself quickly, he then caught his breath and knew being a gay black cop was not the easiest lifestyle in the world, and he would sooner get shot than have his fellow officers know about him. But, no doubt Robbie felt the same way about discretion and would keep his cards close to his chest. Though both departments were quick to pretend that they valued diversity in sexuality, he knew the truth about working with the rank and file. They would be quick to shun him. And on a job where being alone without backup can get you killed, that could be lethal.

The water shut, the towel wrapped around him, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His dark skin was glowing in the dim misty light of the steamy bathroom. He ran his hand over his head and felt the stubs of hair growth, needing to shave it again. Smoothing his fingers over his jaw, he wondered if he should grow back his mustache. "Yeah, why not." Once he had shaved everywhere but under his lip, he stretched his back, yawned tiredly, and crawled into bed for a long night's rest.

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Trying to find some shade in the blazing hot morning sun, Dave adjusted his dark sunglasses and looked out over the volume of people all crowded around Lake Washington for the Seafair celebration. The hydroplanes were getting set to roar around the lake. The drinking of alcoholic beverages was in full swing regardless of the early hour. He was praying for rain to cool him off and dampen the unruly mob.

"I'm ready now." Officer Eric Chu nodded after stepping out of a port-o-potty.

"It's fricken hot and it's only nine o'clock!" Dave wiped the sweat off his forehead.

"Let's stick to the shade."

Dave agreed and they walked down the tree-lined street making their presence known if for no other reason than for people to act discreetly about their transgressions.

"So, another Asian kid was killed last night, eh?"

"Yeah. It's really sad, Eric. I hope they find this creep."

"Three so far?"

"Yeah."

"Sick."

"Yeah, really sick." Dave kept an eye out for anything even remotely illegal. It was easy off duty work. Most spectators were just in it for the fun. A call came out over their radio channel. They were too far away to offer up for it. They looked at each other and shrugged.

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"The FBI has a psychic working on the case. You believe that?" Dave laughed.

"No. You shitting me? A psychic? How lame is that? They must be desperate."

"I don't know. I thought the same way, but I met him.

He's pretty good." When Eric paused to look at him curiously, Dave laughed and asked, "What?"

"You? You believe in a psychic? I never would have thought that of you."

"Why?" Dave nudged him to continue walking through the crowd.

"I dunno ... you're just this big macho guy. I just didn't think it would be something you'd believe in. You're a kind of Budweiser and
Playboy
type of guy. Not some softy who goes in for tarot cards and crystal balls."

"Budweiser and
Playboy
?" Dave laughed at the very wrong evaluation of his character.

"Yeah. You're growing a mustache too, right? Or is that just dirt on your lip."

"Shut the fuck up," Dave replied, laughing. "It's one day's growth. Give me a break."

"Well, I hope this mystic guy can do the job. I bet we get another one tonight."

"No. Don't say that. I'm on shift in a couple of hours." He checked his watch.

"Christ, Harris, get a life! All you do is work. You need a wife and kids like I've got."

"Yeah? Then what the hell are you working here off duty for?"

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"Easy money."

"I rest my case."

"Yeah, never mind. So, when are you going to get married?"

"Are you my mother? Shut up and find someone doing something illegal. I'm bored and hot and wouldn't mind sitting on my ass writing a report for an hour."

"You count girls flashing their tits at you as illegal?"

Dave turned to where he was pointing. "Naa, keep going."

"They like you. Look at them giggling over you. Go and ask one out."

"You want me to ask out a chick who flashes her breasts at cops? Are you insane? No thank you."

"I wish my wife would do that."

"Shut up. Keep walking."

As Eric leaned back for a peek at the girls, Dave shook his head and scanned the area.

Finally arresting someone for having an outstanding warrant when they ran his name for urinating in public, Dave and Eric sat in a trailer and wrote up the paperwork sipping bottled water thirstily.

"I'm heading straight to the east precinct after this," Dave said, checking the time.

"I'm surprised they let you do the overtime so close to shift."

"Why? It's my choice."

"What if you got a late call?"

"I didn't, did I? You finish the booking sheet? Good. Here, give this to the sarge and let me get out of here."

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Eric took the paperwork and then found the attending sergeant while Dave gathered his things and logged off as an off duty unit.

"You out of here?" a lieutenant asked.

"Yeah. Heading to roll call."

"Right. Just be careful. You must be tired."

"No. I'm all right." Dave waved good-bye to Eric and then exited the trailer to find where he'd parked his truck.

Within twenty minutes he was seated in roll call and listening to the recap of last night's latest murder. Sgt. Wilson read from the homicide detective's report as well as a profile of the killer submitted by the FBI.

"...if we get a report of another suspicious death, just don't talk too much over the air about it. Wait for one of the sergeants to back you and we'll go in together. The FBI is working with our homicide team to solve it. We don't want too much information going out over the air. The newspapers would have a field day."

Dave rubbed the stubble under his nose and thought they should put it in the paper to warn young Asian males to watch out. But, he didn't say a word.

"Right. Lieutenant? You want to read that profile?" Sgt.

Wilson asked.

"Yes." She held a paper in her hand and began, "The FBI said according to their investigative findings, we're looking for a white male, age 30-50, average build, blue collar or minimum wage job, beat up sedan type vehicle or something unobtrusive like that. Obviously lingers in the International District looking to pick up young men."

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Naked Dragon

by G.A. Hauser