Miami Vice Tales An alternative world of Vice City for myself and fnchristie81

[JackHemingway]

Colt took a drink and nodded. "Thanks, Mr. Vercetti," the man interrupted and replied, "Tommy is fine, Colt. We're friends and besides all day. It's Mr. Vercetti. Anyway, continue."

Colt acknowledged him and continued as directed. "I love the car, but I'm trying to keep a low profile. It's safe under lock and key at the house. I take it out at night, and it's helped me clean up during midnight racing, so thanks again. As to the house, Boston George was stranded here with his people. I have other places, so I thought I'd make some money. I hope you don't mind."

"Hell no, as long as you like the car and the house, buddy. George is a friend, and you kept him from crashing here with his people, so trust me, it's appreciated. He's paid you, right?"

"Yeah, in cash, airline tickets, and plenty of weed."

In that brief conversation, there was plenty to unpack for those who were in the know during the cocaine wars. El Swanko Casa was one of the properties owned by real estate mogul and rancher Avery Carrington. The man was instrumental in turning cocaine money into real estate holdings and was buying up every construction company in town. The small estate was a gift to Colt for performing security work for his Shady Acres company, ranging from making sure extra patrols checked on his buildings to conducting clandestine military-style operations.

Boston George was originally a middle-class kid who came to Miami on a football scholarship, but after his first two years of school, he had little interest in classes or working for a living. The young, lazy quarterback got a bunch of gym buddies and hangers-on together and began smuggling in weed. In a few years, it involved many stewardesses, boat captains, drivers, and a host of other minor criminals. Now, he moved cocaine with his fleet of planes and employed mercenaries and thugs. As far as Colt was concerned, the whole hippie surfer persona was utter bullshit.

Lieutenant Mel Bernstein was the lead detective of Little Havana's Vice unit and handled all the corruption in the precinct. From his first day in uniform, he was easy to grease, and as he climbed in rank, he only got worse. He conducted raids where they robbed drug dealers, took on hits, and were involved in arms smuggling and money laundering. Ricardo Diaz referred to him as his intelligence officer and trusted advisor. When Tommy Vercetti took over, Mel made the mistake of telling "the kid" how things were, and according to the streets, Vercetti let him know things were changing in town personally.

Finally, the limited edition blood-red Infernus with a white stripe used to belong to Vercetti's late underboss. It was given as a gift because of his loyalty after he'd admired the vehicle in the garage. Colt had no idea it had been repainted and rebuilt after the gangland-style killing of the traitor. All these items reminded Colt how deep he was in with these people and that he was a player in a game he could never walk away from. Sometimes, it was painful just to look at them, even if you were living in luxury.

 

[fnchristie81]

"God, that was just what I needed," Sandra/Christina thought to herself as she quietly let herself out of the hotel room the following morning. She had gone with the leader of the sma group and his second in command and had allowed the men to fondle her while she paid cash for the room, unashamedly meeting the eyes of the desk clerk while he checked them in. The two gang members wasted no time once actually in the room before removing her clothes and helping themselves to her body, and the activities had lasted until the wee hours of the morning. Sandra had awakened to a beam of sunlight glaring through the curtains and into her eyes, and had risen to quickly don her clothes and quietly slip out to return the key and walk home.

Once home, she started a pot of coffee and took a shower while it brewed, changing into cutoffs and a tank top. After a quick breakfast, she went downtown to get more groceries and a stop to the hardware store. Upon returning home, she arranged some discrete weapons. A cord hanging from a tapestry concealed a piece of piano wire embedded inside, as did a vase sitting on an end table. A bannister cap was removed and the screw hole enlarged so that the cap could be simply pulled off and used as a stabbing weapon. A walking staff was placed in an umbrella holder, after cutting the end off and driving a nail through it and then capping the nail with another piece cut off the staff-a quick flick against the ground or her heel would nudge the cap off and expose the spike.

After a bit more arrangements and unpacking, she decided to explore the beach. Changing into an emerald green French-cut bikini, she strolled out the back door and onto the beach. Surprisingly, it wasn't especially busy. Even as she checked out several decent looking men from behind her oversized sunglasses, she knew that she was likewise being examined-and that at least a few were for more nefarious purposes than a quick ogle or one night stand.

Only a few miles away, she found what she was looking for. She spent several minutes while she approached to make sure she hadn't been followed, playing at the edge of the surf, examining shells, and generally enjoying herself while making sure nobody was paying much attention to her. Retreating from the water, she ducked inside, andmade the necessary arrangements, exiting soon after with an ice cream and drink before making her way home.

As she approached the beach front house, she kept an eye for additional tails or observers. She knew they would be there eventually, and used the opportunity to to examine likely hiding places. Once inside, she made a quick, discrete phone call, then headed back out to the beach with a towel to soak up some sun while she awaited the FBI's construction team arrival to begin making the needed changes to the house.

 

[JackHemingway]

Colt Hagen had half a dozen safe houses, plenty of friends, and more than a few women he knew who would be happy to take him in, let him sleep, fuck him, and do his laundry, but he made his way back to the mini estate that was El Swanko Casa. That real estate mogul Avery wanted to build tons of these, but he hadn't acquired the land he wanted yet, so he was building high rises. Right now, though, Colt didn't give a damn about that. He used to want to be within the mansion's high-security walls, enjoy the AC, and fall asleep on one of the luxury oversized beds. The clean-up crew had been through doing their deep clean, the kitchen and beer fridge had been restocked, and the guys from the spy store had searched and scanned the whole place. As Colt unloaded his food and headed from the garage to inside the house, he was greeted by barking and frantic scampering across the tile floors of his rottweiler Lola. The happy creature practically knocked him down in the doorway and was all about licks and sniffs, though she did take a deep inhale of the food containers. Colt knelt, petted her softly, scratched between her ears, and smiled.

"Hey girl, you watch the house good, honey? And I'm sure lobster and pasta aren't good for dogs. Come on, I'll feed you. I'm sure nobody's given you a treat for hours."

With his faithful companion, Colt headed into the large kitchen and put his food away. He then took out a ziplock bag of her premade meals and filled a bowl with the mixture of turkey, beer, and gravy that she began eating almost instantly. Lola was the offspring of a champion fighting dog and a Mother who guarded a drug dealer's stash. Considered not aggressive enough, Colt caught one of the drug dealer's underlings trying to drown her and some of her litter mates. He got the location of a stash house and a new furry friend who seemed to know she was rescued. While not a fighter, she was very protective of Colt, and while she had a beautiful dog house outback, she still managed to find her way into his room, and tonight was no different. After letting her out and taking a shower, Colt took some pain pills, collapsed in bed, and stayed knocked out until half a dozen rings on his private phone. He answered in the late morning from a dead sleep and just yessed Amanda Singer Gwendoline Mathew's weekend coverage to death. Someone had called the captain and made the case that despite him getting a well-deserved weekend off, he needed to come in, and he was pissed.

Within an hour, though, Detective Hagen was pulling up at the section of beach in Little Havana next to Miami Point's very active port. In his regular Hawaiin shirt, sneakers, and complete with a sidearm and Miami Police Department ballcap, Colt trudged out onto the sand cigarette hanging out of his mouth. A uniformed officer offered him a light and directed him to the detective in charge. Colt spotted veteran homicide detective David Addison. Addison had been on the department ten years but had also served on the New York and Los Angeles Police departments ten years a piece, along with a stint as a private investigator where he'd met his wife. As usual, the detective with the receding hairline wore a suit with a skinny tie. Once he saw Colt, he beckoned him over while he stood next to a body already inside a black bag, along with technicians in chemical suits and masks all around. Colt moved alongside him, and in a weak gesture, the detective, who looked like he'd been up all night, raised his coffee cup.

"What do you have, Dave, that you had to bother me on my day off? Never mind, I'm not a homicide anymore; I'm on Vice and working with Narcotics."

Addison swallowed another mouthful of coffee and took a long drag before responding. "I was at the Blues spot until two in the morning when I got the call. I can sympathize, but calling you in cases like this is a standing order. Never mind, I found your business card in her purse."

"Looks like another Bikini Murder?"

"If it isn't, it is pretty messy for a pissed-off client or some pimp. You know an Autumn Knight."

"Yeah, red-head stripper, party girl, posed for some calendars. She always spent more on coke and gambling than she brought in. She informed me for cash a few times, but nothing serious or official."

Addison waved his arm across the scene and replied, "Yeah, well, she'd been working the docks with the night crew and the beaches sometimes to make enough to get a hit. Any notes that you think would help would be appreciated. We found her county ID in her purse, but I didn't know about her hair. This psycho took off her head."

Colt tried not to get rattled. It still was pretty shocking, especially when someone you knew intimately had been decapitated by a madman. Well, intimacy was a stretch. A few handjobs, blowjobs, and hooking up in a cheap motel were hardly what you'd call intimate. It was the kind of sex busy people had, and you had it with who was handy. She had beautiful red hair and a lovely smile, even for a girl who walked the streets. Her addictions got the better of her, but that didn't make her a bad person. Colt knelt down, opened the bag, and did his best to keep his composure before closing it again, standing up, and nodding to Addison. "I'll send you the Vice Files on her. She has parents in Ohio, I think. They're older people. She used the clinic down here by the docks if you need any info. I'll give you everything I have. I was last trying to run down a guy who made custom knives for the Haitians, but that was just a long shot."

"Ah, thanks, man. Just have your girl make copies and send the stuff over and we'll keep in touch. Are you okay, man? You normally don't get sick from this kinda thing."

"No, I'm fine, man. Seen one dead hooker you've seen a million, am I right."

 

[fnchristie81]

Sandra spent much of her time people watching, catologuing the beachgoers as locals, visitors, or tourists. Visitors and tourists made up the majority of the crowd.

She accomplished the task by alternating vetween leafing through magazines-her eyes concealed by oversized sunglasses, watching the people rather than the leaves of the publications-and frequent position changes and adjusting of her bikini to minimize the tan lines.

Several times, she arose and went into the water, as much to cool off in the still-chilly ocean as it was to get better vantage points of people she wanted to better scrutinize. Each time she emerged, she was acutely aware of her nipples noticeably peaking her top. Rather than be embarrassed, she internally thrilled at the feeling, as well as the none-too-discrete glances theg caused.

After several hours, she returned home. She used the outdoor shower, then wrapped a towel around herself and slipped her bikini from beneath it to wring it out. Carrying it inside, she draped it over the towel rack in the master suite. Draping the towel next to it, she took note that at least one of the cameras had been installed in the bathroom, judging by the new trim work above the towel closet. She idly wondered if anyone were watching it as she walked nude out of the bathroom and into the master bedroom. The area also showed signs of the work that had been done, although all traces would ve gone vefore morning

Nonplussed at her nakedness while men were working in the house, she flipped through the few items in the walk-in closet. Not finding anything she wanted, she checked the false panels and located a pair of handguns and a Thompson inside, all at the ready.

Flipping the light off, she stalked back into the bedroom and slipped straight into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with an obscure band name emblazoned on the front. Barefoot, she padded through the house to check the progress of the work. The crew was performing admirably, and it appeared that the work was almost half finished. Obvious and discrete cameras were mounted throughout, and all were feeding into the central display in the office. In the vault, a teammember was hooking newly run cables into the new monitor, although he looked up at her entrance and watched her approach, his face turning a faint pink.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, she turned to the monitor. Here, all the discrete cameras were fed, and she noted that the bedroom and walking were already functioning. So, she'd had a voyeur after all... Not that it made any difference. She fully expected more would see as much of her over the coming months.

Turning from the monitor, she surveyed the rest of the vault. Several disguises were already present, as were a number of the firearms she'd requested.

 

[JackHemingway]

Part I

Saturday night into Sunday was all about Colt trying to distract himself from the scene on the beach that day. You worked as a cop long enough that you'd see your share of dead bodies, and while you'd lie to yourself and say you got used to it, there was no getting used to seeing people you knew. Autumn Knight might have been a street walker, but she'd made him smile more than once, not just for going down on him in a cop car.

So Colt ate, drank more than he should, took some pain pills, and laid out on the couch as game after game played out on the sports channel. He'd placed some bets but was not in the mood to care and drifted off. He was awakened by an unexpected but pleasant call from Zaibatsu Pharmaceuticals representative Kawata Yoshino, known to close friends and associates as "Kat." She'd arrived on a late flight, and her accommodations hadn't panned out, so she was looking for a place to crash.

Kat was always a handful when she came to town. She'd willingly do shots with fratboys and have sex with married doctors to make a sale, and their first meeting was when she killed a would-be car thief in the parking lot of the Malibu Club. She had a background in nursing and sales, had several black belts in various martial arts, and was a sexy Asian girl with tattoos and breast implants concealed under a high-end pantsuit. She carried sample cases and almost always a firearm in addition to traditional weapons. That night, after handling all the paperwork and being released, they went back to her hotel and did sake bombs until closing, and he fucked her in the presidential suite.

Zaibatsu Pharmaceuticals was a shady operation with divisions handling finance, industrial equipment, arms, and electronics. Rather than capitulate and pay the Yakuza off, the company went to war with them in Japan. Sales representatives and office workers fought with thugs and hitmen on the streets and in the clubs. After over a year of conflict, the criminal empire was driven back into the shadows. One of the spoils of war that Zaibatsu employees toughed was driving the blue Miara sports cars the Yakuza drove with the company logo—around 1 AM, Colt heard Kat's screech in front of the garage.

Colt went out to meet her in only a robe and sweatpants. Kat's heels clicked on the asphalt. She took a large bag from the car's passenger side, looked up, and smiled. "Hey cowboy, I'm so glad you dressed up for my visit. Can you help a lady with her bag?"

"Sure, but I'll help you anyway, and you didn't exactly ask. You said you were on your way, and your assistant was waiting at the airport for the rest of your luggage. Why do you drive this thing? It can't carry half the crap you lug around the globe."

They shared a lingering kiss, and she hugged him before sliding the bag over his shoulder. She kissed him again, leaned in, and whispered, "For all the blood this car cost, it's not going to sit in the office parking lot. I'm in town for a few days but wanted to say hi and party with you. You look worn out."

"I've had a rough couple of days, baby. You're welcome to the guest room, and there is food and booze."

"You off tomorrow, honey?"

"Yeah, yeah, I am Kat," Colt replied, knowing what would happen next.

"Come on, baby, I have a bag of party favors and some sake to wash it down. I'll take good care of you."

Fifteen minutes later, the pair were in the kitchen doing shots of sake to wash down a cocktail of different pills ranging from sexual enhancement to pain management to a cold medication with some interesting side effects. Within a half hour after that, they were pawing each other in a hot shower as Colt groped and caressed her lovely light brown skin as he searched for new tattoos among the Japanese characters, tigers, and dragoons she already had decorating her fantastic petite body.

The drugs had kicked in by the time they were out of the shower, and they barely toweled off when Kat put her lovely pedicured foot up on the counter, hair in a towel turban, and Colt grabbed he hips and fucked her from behind in view of the bathroom mirror. The pair had a history and knew what each other liked, and Colt knew how to bring Kat to orgasm quickly. The drugs just enhanced the experience. They weren't finished by any means, and she dropped to her knees before the large California king bed and sucked him off, slurping loudly as she hung on to his muscular frame.

They eventually made it into bed and prolonged their pleasure as long as they could. Kat enjoyed at least a dozen orgasms, and he shot his load into her twice, shaking so hard from his intense pleasures. The final time was when he took her doggy style, and they both collapsed on the sheets and, for a long time, just panted, only reaching out to hold hands before drifting off.

 

[JackHemingway]

Part II

Colt woke up late in the morning to the phone ringing. He was sore but felt surprisingly good, considering he woke up on the floor with an empty bottle of sake. As he crawled toward the phone's sound, Colt reflected on doing it with Kat again in the early morning. As usual with Kat, it was a night of drugged-fueled ecstasy, but as always, the morning came. Speaking of which, where was she? Colt answered the phone angrily and commented about the time.

Gwendoline Mathews politely told him it was almost noon, and she didn't want to work her day off either before transferring Captain Collins. Jack "Bull" Collins was a former local high school football star who knew all the right people and climbed the ranks quickly thanks to his tenacity and physical prowess. With stints in Swat, Narcotics, and Homicide, he landed the top slot by getting his hands dirty for the powers that be. While fiercely loyal to his team, he often struggles with his demons, including infidelity and a propensity for gluttony. He uses a charming, charismatic side to manipulate situations to his advantage.

When he heard Collin's voice on the other end this morning, he figured it was about him putting out another fire, but it was worse. He had to handle something at work. After half listening to the speech, Colt replied, "Why do I have to cover watch commander? I'm a sergeant, and we had a deal."

"We do, C.J., but Garcia broke his leg at a pool party. Don't ask, and everyone else is assigned to training or on vacation, so you're acting first watch commander for at least a week, and you've got to put on your training officer hat. You're riding with a rookie cop, Sandra O'Conner. She's an out-of-state transfer."

At this point, Colt was sitting up, lying against the bed, yelling back into the phone. "Jack, this isn't fair. I don't break in new kids anymore. They either quit or demand a transfer, and I can't stand all that paperwork."

"You're it, buddy. You know the deal. If you play by the rules, you get burned. If you play by my rules, you get ahead. If you do this for me, I can help you out. You can keep using the war wagon, not the lieutenant's car. Gwen will help you with the shift reports. Besides, if you scare this girl off, good. She'll transfer to communications or marry somebody, but for now, we have to take her. The department needs personnel."

"Fine! But just for the week, I have a business to care for. What do I do with her?"

"Take her along and see if she's a team player. If she isn't, it isn't anything we can't handle. By all accounts, she's a good street cop from some suburb of Alexandria. Sandra's got arrests and citations and has been wounded in the line of duty. Sound familiar? Just be at Shift room A at 0700 Monday morning, ready to lead."

Colt talked a little more, then hung up the phone. He went to the small bar in the corner of the room and went through the mini-fridge. He put a concoction of energy drinks, milk, and a few protein bars into the blender and turned it on after securing the lid. He pulled on camouflage shorts and a gray department t-shirt, walked over to take his frothy drink, and drank right from the container.

He walked outside onto the small balcony, looked out at the small estates walled in a patch of jungle that flanked his large pool, and then looked down. Kat was in a one-piece bathing suit and cap, doing her laps. She seemed to be an endless fountain of energy. She'd be gone soon enough, so he watched her, smiled, and thought about the week ahead. The new girl probably would be less fun.

 

[fnchristie81]

Once the "workers" had left for the day, Sandra threw on a pair of jogging shorts over her bikini bottoms and set about fixing a cobb salad for dinner. She mixed up a pitcher of iced tea and poured a glass, then took her meal up to the widow's walk to eat. To her surprise there was a hot tub on the roof that she hadn't realized was there. Setting the salad down momentarily, she experimented with the switch and found that it functioned. She left the tub on to warm up, then took a seat near the railing and propped her feet up, watching the street in front of "her" house while she ate.

There was obvious signs of gang and drug activity, but nothing especially overt. She also made estimated ranges to different places on the street, and made note of cover and concealment options for attackers. She was only an average shot with a rifle-she was better with a pistol- but some of the firepower downstairs helped alleviate that fact.

The sun was just beginning to lower towards the horizon when she finished eating. She gave a small, private smile to herself as she stripped in the middle of the roof in preparation of getting into the hot tub. Several roofs-and windows-had a vantage point to her, but she guessed that any occupants had seen far more before. And likely would again. Maybe soon.

Once she was nude, she climbed into the bubbling water and relaxed back. Her eyes catalogued the nearby roofs and windows for potential sniper and surveillance positions. While it was difficult to plan at this stage, her pussy quivered in anticipation of what that surveillance might reveal her doing in the pursuit of justice.

After a bit, she changed positions. Half of her mind was dedicated to the security of her position, the other half to naughty fantasies. Her fingertips teased her breasts and slit until she debated going out to find someone to let pick her up for the night. Reluctantly though, she decided against it and instead stepped out and put her shorts back on, electing to remain topless while she watched the changing shadows reveal previously unnoted places of low observational probability.

Once it was fully dark, she gathered her dishes and clothes and moved back inside. Still feeling naughty, she decided to enjoy taking a risk. Shedding her shorts, she pulled the t-shirt back on, then re-hung her towel from earlier at the outdoor shower. The beach was nearly deserted by this time, and she doubted anyone would be successful in checking her out in depth as she shed her shirt and ran into the ocean, naked as the day she was born.

Wading out until the water was just velow her vreasts, she turned and swam parallel to the shore for about 20 minutes. Then she reversed her coarse, swimming for another 40 or so, taking note of the darkened outline of her house when she passed it at the halfway point. At her estimated time, she once more turned around, this time swimming more freely and leisurely.

As suspected, she couldn't find her shirt once she got to shore. It could have been blown or washed away, but she suspected that it had been picked up by some bypasser. Or she was just that far off from where she was supposed to land. Sandra shrugged mentally. That was just part of the thrill.

Sure enough, she found after approaching one of the beach houses that she was off her mark. It took almost another hour of approaching houses to find hers, at which point she was feeling chilly and glad for the shower and bed.

The next day was more of the same, except in reverse. She walked inland for a ways, wandering through the streets around her house to learn all of the routes she might have to find and use in a hurry. She noted several locations for dead drops or clandestine meetings, additionally. Then another outdoor shower, which she noted likely had another camera aimed at least near it. She smiled up at it and waved as she stood naked beneath the cascading water, then wrapped in a towel to find clean clothes.

Dinner was once again on the roof, this time primarily facing inland, and another after-dinner swim. This time near where she'd bought her ice cream. Then a shower and bed.

The next morning, she arose and dressed carefully. Her makeup was minimal, her hair perfectly smoothed and in a tight bun. Her uniform was snug, but not inappropriately so. She arrived to her precinct and find her way to the duty officer and be at her post 10 minutes early.

 

[JackHemingway]

Part I
Sunday wound down for C.J. as he continued his visit with Kat, who enjoyed the pool. Then, after her assistant Oshiro Yuko arrived, all three did Aikido together at his home gym to relax while wearing gis. The soft training led to karate and self-defense training with blades and other weapons C.J. had. Both women were qualified and skilled in martial arts, while petite had athletic and beautifully fit bodies. They made a striking pair with matching hairstyles, nail polish, and breast implants.

That training, in turn, led to them all enjoying a sauna together, where Kat pestered her modest young disciple to undress until the petite young woman stretched out nude in the sauna. Yuko was embarrassed that her vagina wasn't shaved clean like Kat, but C.J. assured her she looked beautiful and natural and sat with her on the same bench. He worked his hand between her legs and began rubbing her clit, and in turn, she reached out and gave him a very pleasant handjob. Kat was content to watch and cheer them on as they both worked their way to intense orgasms in the heat. Afterward, they shared a group show before retiring to the bedroom.

They laid together in his large bed four a few hours before them, women dressed and readied for a reception that evening downtown. C.J. lounged around in shorts and a t-shirt, and before the women left, they did some business. As always, Kat gave him a large sample case of Zaibatsu products, a bunch of corporate swag, an assortment of pills and medical supplies, and condoms. Yuko was interested in the MP5 he just got. Since she would be taking part in some close combat training soon, she traded him for it for some traveler's checks, large bottles of saki, and a razor-sharp katana Yuko acquired from an incident where she had to defend her honor and company property. He watched the two women drive off in matching cars and tried to remember the Japanese maximum that business was war.

After that, the night was quiet as C.J. prepared for the next day, checking all his gear and weapons and setting several alarms. He played with his rottweiler Lola, fed her, ate his meal in the kitchen, and then smoked a cigar before bed on the balcony. Lola was on the bed enjoying a chew toy. Colt stared out at the city and wondered how many robberies, rapes, and murders were taking place. As one old-timer told him years before, you do your best, kid.

At 0500, Colt's first alarm went off, and he was up and running. He let Lola out, did his morning workout, started the coffee machine, and let the dog in before hitting the shower. The routine was different as he put a few concealed weapons on his vest and then pulled on the tan and brown department uniform he'd worked hard to get out of. It was just temporary, Colt told himself. He glanced at the sergeant stripes in the mirror and headed out the door with his thermos of coffee and attache case.

 

[JackHemingway]

Part II
Colt handed his truck over to mechanic Mac Rawlings with instructions to have it out front by 0630 ready for street duty, and he'd have a new partner join him. The older Black man laughed as Colt headed in the door, saying something about how long this one would last. Inside Havana station, Colt was greeted by the usual chaotic scene. Night shift officers trying to finish up, hookers fighting and bitching at the cops, and citizens trying to complain. The only comforting sign was Sergeant Alexia "Loba" Reyes, who was behind the desk as duty officer.

To her friends, Alex is a tough, street-smart former detective with a sharp mind and a no-nonsense attitude. She comes from a long line of law enforcement officers and is determined to make her mark in a male-dominated profession. Raised in a rough neighborhood, Lucia learned to defend herself at an early age and has a deep understanding of the streets. Her father was a champion boxer, and her mother was a veteran police officer. Alex got her nickname for protecting her pack and ruling the house with strength and attitude.

Seeing him through the crowd, she beckoned to him to approach the desk. The rugged, older Hispanic woman gave him a peck on the cheek and hugged him in Spanish, "Hey baby, you want the bad news or the worse news. You inherited well," as she handed him the daily reports and the intelligence file.

"Give me everything. Where is the captain?"

"Oh, that is the first bit of news, hun. He's at a golf outing, so he'll be gone for the day, so you're king for a while. All the other divisions have their orders, though, so don't worry."

"Great, just patrol and the rest of the chaos. What else, Alex?"

"Well, you won't be in charge for long. Lt. Ethan Prescott is on his way from downtown to cover the rest of the week. He already called and said you could stay in your office, and he'd take care of the rest."

"You have got to be kidding me! Thompson knew about this, and that's why he went to play golf. That preppy weakling can't run this place."

"You've got no choice, hun. I'll do my best."

Colt just shook his head and started walking to his office half-heartedly, returning salutes and good mornings as he walked his way to his office space. He nodded to Gwen, who raised her hands, showing she was surprised, too. Once in his office, he checked the situation, checked his messages, and made his way toward the patrol unit conference room.

Lieutenant Ethan Prescott Ethan was a tall, clean-cut, athletic man in his late twenties. His neatly styled brown hair complements his bright blue eyes, and Ethan has a strong jawline and a charming smile. The prick literally was on the department's recruiting posters as the next generation of cops, and due to some family connection, he golfed with the mayor and the other elites of the city. He spent most of his career working at city hall or as an aid to the higher-ups and little time on the street.

Colt would have to deal with that later, though, as he now had to be a sergeant and a field training officer this morning. As he walked into the room, one of the senior officers called attention. The room was crowded, with everyone sitting at long tables or lining the back wall. The room smelled of sweat and coffee. He returned the salutes and placed his items on the podium as everyone sat down.

Colt scanned the room quickly and counted twenty-six officers he knew in one way or another. He then spotted the new girl and gave her a quick nod before clearing his throat. If you knew how to read the room, you could tell who was friends, who didn't like who, and who was sleeping with who.

"Morning, first watch. Captain Thompson is home ill today, but he's counting on everyone doing their job and dealing with the acting Lieutenant when he arrives. So, let's be polite and professional out there. The crew in intelligence says the Haitians are on the warpath, and they're buying up a lot of arms and ammunition, so keep that in mind when you're pulling over any of their people or associates. "

He paused and came out from the podium and weaved his way through the room looking at officers. "Not everyone is wearing a vest, and that's a problem. If you put them on before you head out, there won't be any write-ups. Every cruiser is supposed to have a carbine and a shotgun. If they're in a locker or at home, fix that now. Ladies, no excessive makeup, and guys freaking shave and shower, please."

The last few items got a few laughs as he returned to the podium and turned around. "Let's be careful out there and go through those information packets. There are some good leads, but start cultivating your own. On that note, there was another Bikini Girl murder, this time Autumn Knight, who I'm sure some of you know since she's been busted plenty of times. There is a jumbo bottle of Ragga Rum for whatever team brings this prick down. In cuffs or a body bad either way. Any questions?"

There were always a few with questions and some who had statements about fundraisers or things they'd noticed. Colt leaned back and listened until everyone had their say. "Alright, before you head out, I want you to all welcome Officer Sandra O'Conner. She's new to us but not the job. Everyone make her feel welcome. She'll be riding with me. Sandra, get your gear and meet me at the garage. You'll know which one is the war wagon."

 

[fnchristie81]

The room soon began to fill. A couple of silent nods of greeting were sent her way, but it was obvious that she was infringing, and therefore suspect to the group of officers. She gauged them all from her seat in the front row, near the far end of the room. An experienced eye showed her a couple cops who were definitely dirty and poor at hiding it, plus several more probables. She also caught sight of a few clandestine romances, which amused her. The acute awareness of each other was rarely secret from those trained in determining what someone else was paying attention to.

Sandra groaned to herself as she caught that her FTO was also currently in charge of the precinct-however brief. That usually denoted a rising knob polisher rather than someone who'd earned the position. And put her at even greater risk due to being distracted.

After being dismissed, she scurried to find the gun locker. Even if the sergeant  was the duty officer today and likely going to be held up by paperwork and the million things needing a commander' s attention or approval, she was going to need every second she could get.

Finally getting to the front of the line-apparently some of the duty cops had either lost or neglected to obtain the requisite gear in advance, on top of the usual trades for repairs or tweaks-Sandra was able to submit her slip for a sidearm and vest. The weapons sergeant looked her over critically and her eyes sharpened. This man knew his trade, and his gaze was to fit her, rather than just ogle her.

"I'm training with Sgt. Hagan today," she told the man.

"Colt?" the man asked, surprised. "He said he swore off training rookies for Lent." The sergeant leaned on the counter. "What's your backup?"

"An extra .45, plus a Python," Sandra answered.

"Good," the sergeant grunted, then stood and disappeared in the back, returning a few minutes later.

"Vest is as good as you're going to get for a few days. Come back Thursday and I'll have a better fit for you. There's extra mags and a speed loader for your Python."

Sandra arched an eyebrow at the loadout, especially for her Python, but the Sergeant just shook his head. "They don't call it 'Vice City' for nothin', he said.

Sandra stepped aside and put on the ill-fitting vest, arranging everything as comfortably as she could manage. When she was as satisfied as she could be for the circumstances, she headed out front. Sure enough, the "war wagon" stood out.

 

[JackHemingway]

https://www.grandtheftwiki.com/FBI_Rancher
https://gta.fandom.com/wiki/Businesses_in_GTA_Vice_City

With all the chaos that morning, Sergeant Alexia "Loba" Reyes exited the desk area, grabbed Sandra O'Conner in the hallway, and hugged her. "Welcome aboard, trooper. I see you got your gear. Let me know if you need anything else," she said, handing her a manila envelope with the department seal, a package that held the key to Sandra's new journey, a journey that would test her skills and character in ways she couldn't yet imagine.

"That's got your copies of the paperwork, your locker number and combination, parking space, and a phone directory for Havana station—a paper file of all the businesses friendly to cops in the district. You'll need a maid, a mechanic, and good takeout. Oh, and honey, don't tell C.J. this, but he does the lone wolf thing on purpose. He had a bad experience with his first partner out of the gate. Give him time, honey. It's not in his DNA to lose a man or a woman."

While Sandra headed out to the parking lot, which was buzzing with activity, Colt returned to his office and put together a care package for his new partner. Why did they keep doing this to him? Either they were a spy or someone he had to watch out for, but it would only be a week. Show the new girl around, see where she stood, and then dump her off on the first uniform officer with at least three years on the job and a free spot in their cruiser.

Your standard law enforcement version of the Rancher was a beast on the streets, but for Colt, that wasn't enough. Over the years, he'd transformed it into an assault vehicle, a symbol of his unwavering commitment to law enforcement. It had an engine that belonged in an offroad racing vehicle, a turbocharger, extra large fuel tanks, and a power supply. The pristine official paint job concealed the armor and was mixed with flame retardant, and the tires were puncture-proof. The tinted windows also concealed armored glass. You'd need a cannon to slow down this truck and see and hear the lights and sirens from a mile away.

The communications system was state-of-the-art, and the console was jammed with radios and many photographs. A shotgun, assault rifle, and heavy pistol were visible in the cab, a clear indication of the intensity of the law enforcement environment. But you'd be naive to think they were the only weapons. The back seat was a standard bench seating, and surprisingly, it was clear of coffee cups and takeout containers. The rear storage was divided into gray steel lockers with perforated doors. There was swat gear, firefighting gear, scuba gear, and plenty of other first responder equipment.

Mac Rawlings was finishing his office checklist, holding a clipboard, and chomping on a Cuban cigar as Officer Sandra O'Conner approached the vehicle. He was pretty sure who she was, but he could still have some fun. "Keep dreaming, rookie. Nobody takes this out besides the man," he looked at her thoughtfully for another second before he laughed and put out his hand to introduce himself.

"You will find room for your stuff in the back. You can tell him that it's fueled and ready for another day on the streets. But he can clean up his own damn truck."

As Sandra talked to Rawlings, getting the rundown of how the shift was run regarding vehicles and what to look out for, several officers walked by the front of the SUV. Several threw envelopes into the back seat, and it didn't take much imagination to figure out what was in them. Rawlins just grunted and soon walked back inside the garage.

"Have we won the war on crime? People get moving, and be careful," Colt's voice bellowing through the parking lot and got a swift reaction. Those drinking coffee, flirting, and otherwise hanging out rushed to their cars, and a sea of green cruisers was soon on the road. Colt approached her with a large box and nodded, gesturing for her to get in the truck. Once she sat down, he handed the heavy cardboard box to her, got in on the drive-side, and fired up the vehicle.

The engine roared to life, and they soon headed down the road. The radio filled with life as units called in. Colt turned to his new partner, took a long look, stared out the windshield, and said, "Are you hungry? I'm having breakfast, but it's my treat. If you have any questions, ask away."

Inside the large cardboard box was an assortment of departmental items. Surprisingly, half a dozen green Havana Station t-shirts and one softball jersey were the correct size. A hot pink Ammu-Nation tanktop that was probably too tight, a pair of women's stone-washed jeans, flip flops with the department logo, and a large Protect & Serve travel cup.

If all that wasn't odd enough, then there were the less mundane items. There were two cartoons of Redwood Premium Cigarettes, a Zaibatsu Pharmaceuticals jumbo bottle of painkillers, and a smaller bottle of The Mount: American Bourbon Whiskey. On the more lethal end, there was a razor-sharp switchblade, a pair of brace knuckles, and a Mac-10 with three fully loaded thirty-round magazines. The final item was a shiny metallic butane lighter with "Death Before Dishonor" and a skull and crossbones stenciled on the side.

As Sandra went through the box, Colt commented, "We get a lot of free stuff and extras, so we're just sharing with you. You don't need to thank me or anything. You married?"

 

[fnchristie81]

"Are you hungry? I'm having breakfast, but it's my treat. If you have any questions, ask away," her FTO said rather abruptly. Sandra didn't mind; this was familiar territory.

"I'll trust you for something that doesn't light my ass on fire tomorrow morning, but short of that I'll trust you to know what's good around here," she amswered whils sorting through the box. Some common first-day stuff, and a few surprises. She shook out the tank top and eyed the size, then held up the brass knuckles with a raised eyebrow, but continued looking through the box, eventually turning the lighter over and over in her fingers contemplatively.

"Married? Hardly, unless you consider being .arried to the job to count," she snorted. "I got close once. But I'm a woman in a man's game, and he didn't appreciate me letting the guys treat me like one of them. Nor anything else I had to do to fit in. And no, it didn't involve any hanky panky-at the time." She shot a side glance at Det. Hagan, then turned her attention back out the window.

First impressions, he was a decent guy, but she'd seen the envolopes being put into his "war wagon". Maybe they were some of the "extras" he'd mentioned, which likely was against department policy, but she didn't think so. She decided to keep silent on it for now and just get used to the city and her FTO. There was lots of time to dig. Later.

 

[JackHemingway]

Colt reached for a pair of dark sunglasses and turned down the scanner as everyone reported on their morning radio test, along with friendly chatter and jokes. A few annoyed replies and comebacks were heard, but he didn't indulge and just turned on the F.M. radio and listened to the music. The banter over the radio is a daily occurrence, a mix of professional communication and personal jokes that help lighten the mood during long shifts. Soon Like a Rock: By Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band filled the truck's cab as Colt made a few turns.

He finally replied to what she'd said a few minutes before. Colt didn't like being emotional, especially with someone he barely knew, but you had to talk with your partner, or your day would last forever. "Yeah, I know what you mean about being committed to the job. I've been married three times. The job doesn't make it easy, but love is what matters at the end of the day, kid. The rest is just details. Hope you're hungry."

It was a drive he made a million times, and Colt observed a host of minor crimes ranging from drug deals and hookers walking the stroll and ignoring all. He did give a hard look at some potential car thieves, and a pimp got a dirty look when he raised a hand to one of the girls. He did pick up the radio, though, and called for a unit to handle the situation. It was all about having priorities in a city like this.

"I was here for their war with the Haitians. The Cubans took Tommy Vercetti in when they were at war, and the man didn't forget them. That's not to say we can't have another war any day or some skirmishes. The intelligence people say the Haitians are working to get their numbers up, and that means a lot more machetes and guns on the streets. We make a stop. When you get out, you grab that shotgun. You got me?"

They soon rolled up in front of the Café Robina on a busy corner. Cuban gang members mingled with neighborhood girls in short dresses, some holding their children as their men tossed weapons into gang-marked Voodoo, classic luxury two-door lowriders, and work trucks. A few bikers and construction workers walked out with coffee and paper bags. There was even a Carnicero Romero truck there unloading meat, with one of Vercetti's crew looking on, wearing a tracksuit, glancing at a clipboard, and trying hard to conceal his weapon.

Despite this flurry of questionable activity, Colt pulled into an empty spot, and soon, a young Spanish boy in his late teens in an apron came around to the driver's side. Colt conversed with him briefly, asking about his parents and the neighborhood, and only glanced back at Sandra for a minute before he said for the young man to double the usual and handed him ample cash. The young man nodded, thanked Colt, and rushed back inside.

A few minutes later, the young man returned and handed a cardboard box containing two large egg sandwiches with large sausages on them. One was marked with hot sauce, a pack of smokes, a pack of chewing gum, and two large hot Cuban coffees. The aroma of the coffee immediately filled the truck. Colt grabbed his coffee before Sandra had a chance to set it all down on the console, took a long drink, threw back some pills, and took another sip. "You eat, I drive, then I'll give you a turn. These sandwiches are the best," he said, pulling out into traffic again.

"A little bird told me you're a homeowner. Most people don't do that their first year, but hey, it's good to build up equity. I know some people in banking, if you need help, and people who do repairs. This job can really suck, but there are perks. Know when to take advantage of them. What was your side hustle when you were living up North?"

 

[fnchristie81]

Sandra also caught sight of the myriad small crimes being committed while they were on their patrol, noting that Sgt. Hagan took note of them but made no effort to interfere with any. She pressed her lips together tightly, but didn't know if it were mere prioritization or if he was involved as protection for the gangs behind the activities.

And guns. God was there a lot of guns. She readily acquiesced to the detective's direction to step out aoth a shotgun if they stopped. While it wouldn't be effective at a distance, it would mitigate extraneous casualties as well as be a major psychiatric deterrent-one that may well be a deciding factor in their survival.

Once she had breakfast in her hands-and her FTO his coffee-she relaxed a touch. It had enough spice to let her know she would need to avoid extra peppers the rest of the day, but not enough to make her feel the burn twice.

"Yes. One of the transfer agreement perks was being able to acquire a good place for extremely reasonable. I'd have been a fool not to take it, although it's far too much house for a woman alone," she admitted readily. Never mind it was the bureau's house. "If any come up, I'll limely be hitting you up for the repairman recommendations. I'm not particularly handy that way," she laughed.

"As far as side work, we don't often. Heaven knows there's more than enough overtime that one isn't necessary. Plus I ended up with a few undercover assignments. Prostitution and the like, you know," she said with a dismissive tone. "Anything to get the women on the force to wear less. Like that," she said nodding to a prostitute lounging against a streetlight wearing only a bandana for a top. "The money was tempting, but not enough to make me second guess my career choice. I'm a cop, through and through."

 

[JackHemingway]

Colt grunted in response and hoped Sandra would finish her sandwich and take over the driving for a while. He could mark off driver training and, more importantly, eat his sandwich. Sandra was riding with him, but their relationship was more of a mentor-mentee one than a partnership. She was his responsibility for now. So he nodded and drove around, listening for radio chatter and remembering not to do anything that would make her spill her coffee. He might not have cared, but he wasn't inconsiderate.

During the ride, Sandra had ample time to observe the unique shrine of pictures Colt had arranged on the dashboard, crowned with a small statue of the Virgin Mary. The fact that he had a police blue-clad Virgin Mary, complete with a gun belt, was a topic of intrigue among the uniforms. The shrine featured half a dozen snapshots of Colt and his fellow officers, from his rookie year to more recent times, including one of him and the station crew in baseball uniforms.

The other pictures were more personal. Colt was in each of them at different stages of life, showcasing the diversity of his experiences. One is in hunting attire, another is holding up a swim team trophy and wearing a sweat suit, and another is in a Navy Dress White uniform. These pictures represent different aspects of his life, from his love for the outdoors to his dedication to his work. In all of them, he was with an attractive Asian woman who looked about ten years older than him but always with a smile of pride and love. This woman was his stepmother, who had taken over after his father remarried less than a year after the death of his birth mother. Finally, there was a picture of his dog, Lola, as a puppy.

Colt's attention was drawn to the left, where he spotted one of the many 24/7 convenience stores popping up all over the city, including in the vibrant Little Havana neighborhood. Despite having so many drinks available inside and never closing, they still had vending machines outside. What was concerning about that today was that someone was smashing the hell out of one with a sledgehammer? Taking a look, though, there was a woman on the ground lying in front of the machine, bleeding.

Colt cursed, fired up the roof, and said, "Call in assault at our location, and hang on to your coffee, Sandra!"

He waited for a second longer, and if she didn't grab, he didn't care as he accelerated forward and pulled a u-turn, negotiating traffic like a race car driver for half a block before pulling into the parking lot and slamming on the brakes. The driver's side door flew open, and Colt grabbed his nightstick and looked over at the rookie. "Back me up, but don't hurry. I know this guy."

Colt turned to face the older-looking man dressed like a construction worker sporting gang tattoos, who'd glanced back and now turned around to face the police officer. He spit out angrily and stared down Colt. "You told her to leave! She was good; she listened until you got involved!"

The man rushed forward and tried to bring down the sledgehammer on Colt's skull, but the nightstick skillfully blocked it, and a second later, Colt's left fist came across so hard you heard the smack. Dazzled, the man staggered, and Colt took him down by the legs with the nightstick but swung around and hit him before he was on the ground. He then dropped down, kneeling on the man's back as he hastily cuffed the man firmly.

Colt got up, panting. He worked to control his breathing as he called out something in Spanish and then asked louder, "Watch him, rookie. Is help on the way yet?"

Colt kneeled down and helped guide the bleeding and whimpering woman to her feet and asked lovingly in Spanish, "Dalila, you said you'd leave if I put him in the county. He left two days ago, and I thought you'd be gone."

The woman in the 24/7 convenience store uniform responded by falling onto his shoulder, bleeding and crying loudly. She replied in English, "I'm sorry! I got the transfer and got my stuff. I even filed for divorce, but they were short, so they asked me to do another shift for overtime, so I said yes, I'm sorry."

Colt held her and shook his head. "It's not your fault you're a good person. He was a bastard. You must go to the ER and get out of town."

"I can't not again. I'm on his insurance, and I already put a deposit in on an apartment, and there is gas money,.."

Colt moved back and held up his. After putting away his nightstick, he took out a large roll of cash from his front pocket. He started counting out money, and when he slowed down, he looked at her and counted out more, then handed it to her with a business card. "Dalila, Doctor Kay O'Brien, she's a friend of mine. She helps women like you. Pay her whatever you have left, and she'll square it away with the hospital. You get a room, get some rest, and head out tomorrow morning, okay."

Dalila just cried and hugged him again, and Colt turned back and looked for Sandra. "Backup here yet? We're going to need an ambulance. We got stuff to do, and I have to write up an assault on a police officer."