Max Pemberton - Police Detective

A shout out to migbird for acting as my muse and to Chloe Tzang for her tribute to Mike Hammer and good old fashioned pulp fiction. Max Pemberton has been with me for years now and eighteen stories later I feel I can channel her. Enjoy.

This story is the eleventh in the timeline of eighteen Max Pemberton detective stories.

Here's the breakdown of Max's stories in chronological order:

Maelstrom

Deception

Blindsided

Jackknifed

Tailspin

Crash Landing

Rebound

Breaking Point

Guardian Angel

Heartbreak

The Queen

Cold Steel (written first, followed by Hot Steel)

Hot Steel

Pink Ice

Betrayal

Loss of Innocence

Revenge is Best Served Cold

To Hell ... And Back

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.

* * *

It was July in Cincinnati and a late afternoon summer downpour made it a steaming cauldron of humid air and hot tempers. I was sweating in my dress blues, standing on a grassy hillside covered in stone markers and monuments, watching an empty black Hearse drive down a winding road on its way out of the cemetery. I was the last one there, looking down at the dark polished wood of Lesley's casket in a freshly dug grave, rain dripping off the bill of my black police hat.

Lesley Groesbeck, my partner, my confidante and my friend.

She gave her life in the line of duty, a senseless death caused by a henchman of my nemesis, Jumbo Williams, a drug lord who ruled Cincinnati's notorious West End. I was filled with an overwhelming sense of remorse and guilt. I was the one who created the situation that led to Lesley's death. In a sense, I killed my partner. Max Pemberton, ace detective turned royal fuck-up.

I reached around to the back of my neck, unclasping a fine gold chain with a cross as a pendant, a gift from my parents for my first communion. Though I wasn't a practicing Catholic I wore that necklace as an homage to my parents. I kissed the cross and then dangled the chain over the casket, letting it slip through my fingers and watching it drop into the open grave. With my parents deceased she was as close to family as I'd ever have.

"Goodbye Lesley," I whispered to the wind. Her infectious spirit and undying optimism would always be with me - - always. I dabbed a tear away with the back of my hand, blinked my eyes hard, and turned away.

Life was hard, but death was final.

* * *

The mood in Vice was somber. Everyone took Lesley's death hard and the usual good natured banter in the coffee room was conspicuously absent. My new partner Lanny Woodford was preoccupied with his phone when I came in. Lanny was a good kid, just a year out of the academy, acting more like a spirited Labrador than a real police officer. It was my job to make him into one if it killed me, which it might do. His heart was in the right place but his instincts in the streets weren't honed fine enough for the rough and tumble West End. Just ask my former partner, now deceased, about the hazards lurking in Cincinnati's most notorious neighborhood.

My dress blues were soaking wet, though I didn't feel cold. I felt numb. Losing a partner I truly loved, maybe as much as anyone I'd ever loved, was the most painful experience of my life. I couldn't stop reliving those last few minutes when one of Jumbo Williams's minions let go a wild shot that caught my partner in the neck. If it had only been me, where the shot was intended, then the world would be a better place with Lesley in it and without me. But that's not the way this cookie crumbled. Like everything in my world, I had no control over my fate or anyone around me.

I dropped my hat on the table Lanny was sitting at. He looked up to me with puppy dog eyes.

"I'm sorry Max."

"I know."

"Is there something I can do?"

"You can bring Lesley back," I said.

"That I can't do," he said.

"Then you can get me a cup of coffee."

Ginny Hamilton, a boot fresh out of the academy who I worked with on my last case, poured me a cup and put it in front of me. She was a big girl, as big as me, pushing six foot with a chiseled body and not an ounce of fat - - someone who could bench press a refrigerator. On her first adventure with me she took down three bad guys with two volleys from her shotgun. I wasn't worried about her even though she was a rookie. She had serious game. It was Lanny who I worried about.

"I used your coffee beans," Ginny said proudly, mindful of my disdain for the station's coffee. She was shaping up to be a champion ass kisser, at least to me. I wasn't complaining.

"Teach Lanny. That big lug has to pull his weight as well."

"Hey, I'm here," my new partner said, pointing to himself.

"So next time make the coffee," I said to him.

I took a sip. The dark, fragrant elixir warmed my belly, temporarily easing the cold I felt inside from Lesley's death. The fresh innocent faces of Lanny and Ginny also warmed my heart. They weren't yet jaded by the harsh realities of life in the West End. Just like a prison guard, it was hard not to get sucked into their world -- the world of drugs, prostitution, gambling and loan sharking -- and not come away soiled and stained by the underbelly of civilized society.

"Hear we got a new Lieutenant?" Lanny chirped. Our former department head, Billie Odette, recently resigned. We had a temporary department head since Billie's departure.

"No," I said. Ever since Lesley's death I hadn't paid attention to anything going on at the station.

"It's Paul Muenster."

"More like monster," Ginny whispered.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"He was formerly in IA in the Canton police department," the rookie said. "Scuttlebutt is that he cleaned house after an internal investigation. My guess is that he wore out his welcome there."

"Great," I said glumly. "Just what we need."

* * *

I moped around all day Saturday in my room, mindlessly watching television and drinking beer. Lanny came over unannounced and uninvited, knocking on my door at dinnertime. I'd just twisted the cap off my second pint of vodka when he knocked on the door. I answered it in a tank top and shorts. I wasn't wearing a bra or underwear. I think his eyes widened when he saw the size of my tits and my nipples poking out of the thin material. Ordinarily my uniform would at least soften the size of my boobs. It was the second time I flashed him.

"Like what you see?" I asked him. He was wearing jeans and an old t-shirt and holding a pizza box and a six pack of beer. He looked cute with his buzz cut, square jaw and chiseled body.

He looked like I caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Sorry Max. It's just that . . ."

He struggled to find the right words so I helped him.

"They're so big?" I said.

"Uhh, yeah," he said sheepishly.

"Too bad they're for girls only," I said.

"I guess," he said. Then he rallied.

"I brought pizza and beer," he said cheerily, showing me his booty after I showed him mine.

"And I just turned on the Reds game," I said, "so your timing couldn't be better."

Lanny had only been to my room at the Royal Palms Motel one time, and that was to retrieve me for a trip back to the station. He'd never been inside. This establishment, once a sparkling oasis for cross-country travelers in the 60's and 70's, had devolved into a fleabag motel catering to pimps, prostitutes and drug addicts. "Housekeeping," such as it was, hadn't visited my room in a week. The trash can was overflowing with empty vodka bottles and fast food wrappers, the bed was unmade, and there were enough food scraps on the floor to reconstruct a dinner.

Lanny cleared some Chinese takeout cartons off the table so he could put the pizza box on it. He popped a can of beer and handed it to me. It was ice cold. Bravo for Lanny.

"Nice place you've got here Max," he said to me, though I knew it wasn't a compliment. I took a long draw off the cold beer. Divine.

"It's just temporary," I said, making my usual excuse for the accommodations.

"So how long have you been here?" he asked, demonstrating his innate detective skills.

"Five years."

"Uh huh," he said, trying not to laugh.

I sat down in my chair. There was only one guest chair in the room so Lanny sat on the bed closest to the window. The game had just started about an hour before. They were playing the Tigers and the Reds were trying to crawl out of the cellar. There couldn't have been more than a few thousand fans in the Great American Ball Park. It wasn't that great with the Reds already down by five runs in the third inning.

"Who's winning?" Lanny asked me, munching on a slice of pepperoni pizza. I was already finished with my first beer. I crumpled the can and threw it towards the overflowing trash can. It hit the side of the can and fell on the floor. A small puddle of beer appeared on the stained carpeting. Lanny gave me a puzzled look.

"Who cares?" I said. "It's baseball and we're going to get shitfaced."

"Fair enough," said Lanny, finishing his beer and tossing his can like I did.

I reached for a second beer before asking a question I'd had on my mind.

"So Lanny, how did it come about that you were assigned to me?"

"I asked for you," he said. Lesley did the same thing. Insanity must have been prevalent in the department.

I was rightfully incredulous. "You did? Didn't you know what happened to my partners?"

Lesley's death was always at the forefront of my mind. Lanny must have heard the whole story about how she died [ed. note, seeHeartbreak].

"It wasn't your fault Max."

"That's what I keep telling myself, but I'm not convincing enough," I said.

"I wanted to work with you Max. Everyone knows you're a good cop."

"Everyone?"

"Well, almost everyone."

I drained my second beer and immediately went for a third. "So who's not a fan of mine?"

Lanny chuckled. "Did you want it alphabetically?"

I threw my empty beer can at him. "Fuck you Lanny."

He easily swatted the can away before it hit him.

"That's an empty threat. You told me you're a rug muncher."

"That may be, but maybe I'll change my mind."

"Really?"

"Lanny. Let's be clear about something. I'm never going to fuck you, OK?"

"Understood boss."

Our attention turned to the television when we heard one of the Reds hit a homer.

"I'm getting pretty fucked up," I said, reaching for my fourth beer, which after a pint of vodka was making my vision blurry. I couldn't tell who hit the homer.

"I better quit. I'll hang out till the end of the game and then I'll drive home," Lanny said. He looked at me, at my surroundings and my current condition. He let out a big sigh.

"Not exactly what you pictured for your mentor, is it?" I asked him. I knew what he was thinking.

"Not exactly," he said.

"Let me tell you something Lanny."

Lanny reached over and took the beer out of my hand.

"I think you've had enough Max."

"I wanted to tell you something," I said, trying not to slur my words.

"What is it Max?"

"I'd gladly give up my life, sorry as it is, for you."

Lanny came over and gave me a big, long hug.

"I know Max," he said, getting teary eyed. "That's why I wanted to work with you."

We watched the rest of the game in silence. When it was over Lanny picked up his jacket and slung it over his broad shoulder.

"See you tomorrow boss."

"Thanks Lanny. You're a good man."

"Boss, I like working for you."

I'll never forget Lesley but I was lucky to get Lanny as my new partner.

* * *

Sunday was my day to do my laundry. I hated laundry day. Of course the Royal Palms, being a sleazebag motel, was lacking in that particular amenity, which meant a trip to the laundromat, conveniently located only a short drive from my morning hangout, Happy Donut. I rescued my dirty clothes from a pile that also included fast food wrappers and empty vodka bottles and dropped them into a scruffy plastic basket. As dreary a duty as it was, it felt worse suffering this injustice while mourning Lesley's death.

The laundromat I used since I moved into the Royal Palms was Spin City Suds, a West End institution wedged between a tattoo parlor and a Kwik Cash. The presence of the check cashing center and the all-night laundromat attracted a lot of undesirables to that area so I'd been called there more than once on a vice related felony. It was in Jumbo Williams's territory and Jumbo controlled most of the good stuff, or bad stuff to be technical - - drugs, prostitution, gambling and of course protection. Everyone in Jumbo's territory paid the King his ransom. That was a nice cash flow for a kid who grew up a promising left tackle and ended up the Kingpin of the West End.

It was a year ago to the day where at Spin City an event occurred that changed my life. I usually went to Spin City early on Sunday morning with a donut and coffee from Bea's, reading some trashy detective novel or watching a movie. My routine got interrupted when I got an urgent call to organize a security detail for a mucky muck's speech in a hotel ballroom. It was last minute and paid double time. I usually blew off that crap because Sunday was my day. I had a nice routine - laundry in the morning, lunch at Nicky's, and then drinking myself shitfaced at the Royal Palms.

That Sunday morning I was two months behind in my rent to the Royal Palms so in a moment of weakness I accepted the gig. Where did all my money go? Probably women and booze. But that's another story. Anyway the owner, Vito Spanos, a balding, leathery complexioned man in his sixties was just shaking me down for the rent payment earlier that morning. I knew he wouldn't kick me out. He always threatened but loved having a cop live at his fleabag. Most of the violent crime in the West End avoided the Royal Palms.

My Sunday assignment turned out to be a complete waste of time, other than the double time and the opportunity to gorge myself on the food laid out for the work crew. I didn't get to Spin City until right before its midnight closing time.

It was an unusually warm and humid night. I was wearing a thin white t-shirt, scruffy jeans and black lace-up boots. I was carrying my white plastic basket of dirty clothes down the sidewalk, but blocking the entrance to the laundromat were three of Jumbo's crew. I'd heard there was a new person controlling the area between Hyde and Fifth, which included Spin City. Her name was Deidra Darnell Johnson. Everyone called her "The Queen," though her good friends called her Dee Dee.

She was a formidable presence in the West End, running the protection and loan sharking operation for Jumbo and providing additional muscle for his drug trade. Dee Dee was a tall, good looking plus size African-American woman with impeccable make-up on flawless cocoa colored skin, full lips painted with her trademark red lipstick, and an impressive bust, probably in her thirties, born and raised in the West End. Her mother died young - overdose - and her father was a ghost. She bounced between foster homes and learned how to survive in the harshest of environments. She joined Jumbo's crew when she was in her 20's, working the corners and running errands as Jumbo's personal assistant.

"Excuse me," I said politely, trying to get by. They blocked my way. Dee Dee was in the middle. I'd never met Dee Dee before because I was always there early. Dee Dee usually didn't show up at Spin City till after dinner and hung around until closing. Dee Dee was recently given the part of Jumbo's territory between Hyde and Fifth for saving Jumbo's life. She was with him when a Haitian gang member tried to kill him in front of Spin City. Dee Dee was quick with her gun and shot the banger dead. Now she had her arms folded at her chest, feet apart, and staring at me eye to eye.

I was in my civvies so she knew I wasn't there to shake her down. The two guys with her were young'uns wearing white t-shirts like me (though for them it was a uniform, for me it was because I didn't have anything else that was clean) with baggy jeans, holding tall boys wrapped in brown paper bags. Dee Dee was wearing a tight fitting leather jacket, unzipped, with a low cut V-neck black t-shirt underneath showing massive cleavage. She wore her hair in tight, immaculate cornrows, braided straight back into a short ponytail. Her earrings were thick gold hoops, about the size of a shot glass rim - bold but not flashy.

She stepped out in front of her sidekicks and used the barrel of her gaudy chrome plated revolver to poke around in my basket to see if I had anything other than dirty laundry in it. She then looked at me and studied my face.

"You Max?" she asked me.

"Uh huh," I answered.

"Word is you like women," she said bluntly.

"Is that so?" I answered.

"Word is you were banging Lily Chao."

So she knew. Everyone in the West End knew. Lily was in Jumbo's seat until Lily met the wrong end of a Russian handgun that was the size of a bazooka. I fucked Lily in the back of her Bentley. I knew it was wrong but I couldn't resist. She was the best piece of ass I've ever had. I always wondered if my relationship with her contributed to her death.

"So?"

Dee Dee shrugged. She was stacked but she was staring at mine. My tight t-shirt hid nothing. I wasn't ashamed of the size of my tits and Dee Dee was admiring them. It was a free country.

"So, seems like you like the female persuasion. I like girls too," she said. She was now openly leering at my breasts. I had enough of her sexual innuendo. The laundromat was about to close so I tried to push by them.

"Excuse me," I said.

I was jostling to get past her and her two young hoods. One of them tried to pull his gun out of his pants and point it at me. I grabbed hold of the gun and twisted it, hearing a sickening crack as one of the bones of his trigger finger snapped.

"Motherfucker!!" he shouted, dropping the gun and his beer on the pavement and clutching his broken finger.

"Don'teverpoint a fucking gun at me again," I barked, admonishing him and at the same time giving his mate a cold stare to stand down.

"Take that fool to urgent care," Dee Dee said, pointing to the banger with the broken finger who was still howling in pain. Then she looked at me.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"I had no choice. He was going for his gun," I argued.

"That little pissant killing you? You could have taken his gun without breaking his finger."

"Maybe," I said, getting my back up, "but it's also a message that I'm police and I don't like to be fucked with."

Dee Dee got right in my grill. "This is Dee Dee's territory. You're here because I let you."

I held my hands in mock surrender to The Queen.

"Fine, fine," I said. "You're the boss. I'm just here to do my laundry."

Dee Dee put her hand on my butt as I passed by.

"You got one fine ass Miss Police Woman. Someday I want some of that."

"Not today," I said, opening the door to the laundromat.

* * *

The owner of Spin City Suds was Tien Le. Tien was Vietnamese, and a first cousin of Binh "Bea" Nguyen, the owner of Happy Donut. They opened up their businesses around the same time. He was a wiry man, probably in his sixties, thinning gray hair that poked up in patches and steel horned rimmed glasses. He smoked Lucky Strikes. Tien couldn't have been more different in personality than his cousin. Bea was brash and Tien was reserved. When I walked in he was sitting in his usual spot in the front of the laundromat at a card table that doubled as his office. He could see everyone coming in the door and also had a clear view of the sidewalk outside.