Young Writers Society

Here's chapter two!

I know it's kind of long but it was the shortest I could make it

**Rated PG-13 for mild language**

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CHAPTER TWO

Monday, April 13, 2007

Billie entered the Miami Police building a little past eight, freshly showered after her morning run. “Howdy, Bunny,” her forty-three-year-old-partner, Charlie Wayne, greeted with a wink. Charlie was a southern boy through and through and his accent made Billie smile every time he spoke. Also, his nickname for her didn’t hurt. She was christened “Bunny” after one of their first cases. It had been a chase through the streets of Tampa and when they had finally caught their killer, Billie had knocked his lights-out with one sucker punch to face. Charlie had gaped at her and then had burst into laughter, saying, “You are as sweet as a bunny rabbit, Billie Owens!” And it just stuck.

“Hey, Tiger,” she smiled back, Charlie’s nickname, for he was the complete opposite from Billie, a total sweetheart.

“Fun weekend?” he asked. Charlie was six-foot-two with straight, dark hair that ran in his eyes and big, brown eyes. His face was chiseled and so was his body. Billie sometimes called him “The Rock” as well.

“Emily came over,” Billie informed him, throwing her briefcase onto the desk in her cubicle. Charlie followed, sipping his morning coffee, black, just like he liked it.

“Ah,” Charlie sighed, nodding in approval.

“How are the kids?” Billie questioned him while removing the large stack of papers from her briefcase.

“Tiff and I took them to the zoo for Zoey’s birthday. Walter’s first time,” Charlie told her. Tiff was short for Tiffany, Charlie’s wife of twenty years.

“How old is Walter now?”

“Two.”

“And Zoey?”

“Just turned five. How old is Emily?” Charlie was now looking over her shoulder as she rearranged the papers on her desk.

“Twelve.”

“God, she’s getting so old,” Charlie commented, throwing his empty Starbucks coffee cup into the nearest trash bin.

“Don’t I know it. All she talked about was boys,” Billie stated.

Charlie snorted. “Boys don’t have cooties anymore?”

“Nope. Guess not. Once you hit twelve, I suppose that fear vanishes.”

“Let’s just pray that that fear stays with Zoey until she’s out of the house,” Charlie commented, and Billie laughed, collapsing in her office chair.

Charlie looked over her shoulder again, and gasped. “I knew it!” he practically shouted, and Billie shot him a scalding glare.

“Knew what, Wayne?” Lieutenant Vince Norman asked, wandering out of his office and into the work environment. Charlie hesitated, scratching his head as Billie continued to glare at him. “Well, Owens, what is it?” Norman demanded.

Vince Norman was forty-five-years-old with silvery-blonde hair cropped close to his head and a trimmed mustache. He was only an inch taller than Billie, nearing five-foot-nine. Billie stood, looking him almost in the eye. Norman stood his ground, staring right back into his lead Homicide Detective’s face. Billie Owens was the best damn detective in his whole precinct. She didn’t play around. But she screwed up last week. And if she was doing research, like he suspected she had been this weekend…He didn’t want to think about it. It was too grim to consider.

“Owens?” he repeated, thick eyebrows raised. Billie sighed. There was no fooling the lieutenant.

“It’s nothing, sir,” Billie said firmly. She could hear Charlie shifting from foot to foot behind her. Charlie Wayne, why in the world do you have to have such a huge mouth?

“Nothing, huh?” Norman waited patiently, knowing full well that Owens was lying. “Owens, you know you can’t lie worth a damn. Why not tell me what you have been doing?”

Billie sighed. “Sir, I thought I had an idea and—“

“No, Owens!” Norman ran a hand over his cropped hair. “I told you to leave the crap alone…Christ, what am I going to tell Greggor…” he trailed off, glaring once at Owens, before stomping into his office and slamming the door. Greggor was the Big Man, the Powerhouse. Norman would now have to tell him that his lead detective had done some research at her home when she was centimeter away from being suspended from the case.

Billie groaned out loud and slammed her fist onto her desk. Charlie jumped at such a violent movement. “Bill, I—“ he stopped, knowing he didn’t have a good enough explanation for her.

“It’s fine, Wayne. I just…I thought I had something. I should have never done the research. It wasn’t my place.” Billie hung her head, leaning her whole body into the table. Then, she straightened and walked out of the office.

“Where you going?” Charlie called, bewildered.

“To get a coffee.”

Billie walked across the street from the P.D building to where the local Starbucks resided. Inside her head, she was letting loose a string of swear word combinations that would have drained the color right off of Charlie’s face. God, was she angry! Norman had no right to suspend her off the case if it got to that. Billie was one to follow her instincts, to trust them. Hadn’t Norman always told her that she was the smartest female Homicide Detective that had ever walked through his door?

She pushed open the door to the Starbucks. A little bell rang above her, signaling to everyone in the store that there was a new customer. Many eyes stared at her as she approached the counter. She got that a lot. Her shiny badge and revolver sticking out of the waistband of her black slacks were enough to make anybody stare. But it still left her feeling unsettled.

The lady behind the counter wore horn-rimmed glasses and her hair was pulled back in a half-pony. “What can I get for you?” she asked, faking early morning joyfulness when really all she wanted to do was crawl back into bed. Billie understood completely.

“I’ll have a white chocolate mocha blend, chilled,” Billie said, pulling out a ten-dollar bill from her back pocket. The lady went bug-eyed when she saw her lift her jacket, her shiny revolver glinting in the artificial light. Billie ignored her and slapped the bill onto the counter. The sound grated against the lady’s ears, and she jumped back to work, preparing her fattening drink. But Billie felt that she deserved a pick-me-up, especially after what Norman was proposing would happen to her.

After the lady handed Billie the drink, she quickly turned away. Billie gathered some napkins and a straw before leaving the coffee shop. Her chilled coffee left water on her palm, the condensation from the warm day dripping from the plastic. Billie took her time, sitting on an abandoned bus stop bench. She sipped her white chocolate mocha in silence, glaring with a ferocity that scared the local passer-byers as they traversed across her path. Norman really pissed her off, he really did. She had no heart to be mad at Charlie. It wasn’t his fault. She shouldn’t have done the research when Norman had specifically told her not to. But what really just pushed her over the edge was the thought of being taken off the case.

She wanted this case! She really, really wanted it. It was one of those that you just grew attached to. She knew these girls, these victims. They had all been good, all-American women ready for their life to begin. But it had been cruelly ripped away by some sicko’s fantasies of stardom.

She groaned and stood, no longer able to postpone the moment any longer. Norman would have contacted Greggor by now. She could just imagine her Director screaming into the phone, telling Norman all about what a stupid moron she was. Norman would agree and when she entered the office, he would inform her that she was off the case.

But Billie was ready to fight. Oh my, was she ready! Norman had used to scare her, when she first became a cop. She had started as a Rookie street officer, with little knowledge. But she had worked her way up. She could have gone higher, she could be in the same place as Norman, but she liked being a Homicide Detective. She loved it. It was the job of her dreams.

And now it was going to be taken away.

As if she would let that happen.

A man in a power-suit, all black, observed Billie over his newspaper. His recently polished shoes glinted in the morning sunlight and his hair was swept to the side, styled to perfection. He looked like all the other businessmen, out for their morning coffee and newspaper before work. But Mike O’hara wasn’t a businessman. He had gotten this suit from his father and the shoes were his brother’s. His hair was recently dyed a most dashing light gray, if he must say so himself. He was clean-shaven and had brightened his teeth recently by his own personal dentist. He had worked off the few extra pounds he had gained over the past few months and was now fit and ready to go.

Ready to play.

He smiled at his own audacity. He praised himself on his cleverness and intelligence. No other murderer would step foot out in the daylight. None of them were brave enough. Especially after all the news reports about him.

But Mike wasn’t like all the other insane psychopaths. He wasn’t insane. No, not at all. He was just the opposite. He was intelligent, patient, passionate about what he did. The others all acted on impulse, on what they wanted. They never thought it through. They wanted to fulfill their sick dreams. But David wasn’t a sicko.

This was just a game to him. He wanted to watch Billie Owens struggle. He wanted to watch her play his game with him.

He wanted to watch her die.

Back in Miami P.D headquarters, Billie entered slowly, sipping her mocha as if nothing had happened. She wouldn’t give Norman the satisfaction of a scene. As it turned out, Norman was still in his office. She had expected him to be waiting for her in the lobby, to be ready to intercept her before she got any further. But his door was closed and she heard muffled voices from inside. Who else could be in there? she wondered. Charlie was in his cubicle, emailing his wife. As she looked around, every officer was in his or her cubicle. Everyone was present.

So who was in Norman’s office? She eventually found out when a tall, athletic-looking African American man left his office, Norman on his heels.

Greggor was here.

Nathan Greggor was the Chief of Miami Police force. He was a powerful figure, nearing almost six-foot-seven. He looked more like a basketball player than a Florida cop, but most of them didn’t. He had a very deep, baritone voice that rumbled in her chest when he spoke. His head was shaven and his skin was dark brown. His eyes were a creamy chocolate brown, kind of like the color of her coffee.

He smiled when he saw her, his white teeth contrasting with his dark skin tone. “Billie Owens, so good to finally meet you. I am Chief Nathan Greggor,” he said, shaking her hand firmly. Her fingers felt so delicate in his strong grip.

“Nice to meet you,” Billie said, thanking the Lord above that her voice didn’t tremble.

“Norman here has just told me that you have done some valuable research this weekend involving the Invisible Man case.”

“Yes, sir, that is correct,” Billie answered, knowing there was no point in lying to the Director.

“Amazing work, detective. Simply blew my mind.” Billie gaped at him as he spoke. “Norman here will take you through it but keep it up, Owens. You have a gift.” He patted her fondly on the shoulder and then strolled from the room. Billie peeked over at Norman, not quite believing what she had just heard. Norman forced a smile, clearly angered by her sudden success. But Billie didn’t care. The only thought that was running through her mind was that she did it.

She was still on the case!

- - - -

Billie left Norman’s office around eleven that night. She felt bone-tired and drained completely of everything she had. Norman had went through everything, absolutely every bit of information they had on the Invisible Man case with her. That had taken them a little over four hours.

The rest of the time was spent researching with Charlie. Three computers, two men, one woman, working endlessly to come up with some sliver of proof of what Billie suspected. She was still angry with herself that she hadn’t gotten on the case from the start. But her and Charlie had already been involved with their own double-homicide to be concerned with another. But now she regretted it.

Officers said that they had interviewed all the staff, all the students that knew the victims from the colleges they went to plus relatives and neighbors. But somehow, they had missed one crucial profession.

Janitor.

For some reason, the detectives had seen the janitors to be unnecessary to interview. Billie swore silently inside her head. “Idiots,” he murmured under her breath for extra measure. She glanced over at the stack of information she had gathered over the weekend. It was all on the over one hundred janitors, male and female, who had worked at the five colleges the victims had attended over a twelve-month radius. Greggor had called it genius, but Billie just said it was common sense. “Idiots,” she grumbled again, pounding furiously on the keys on the computer.

“Easy there, Bunny,” Charlie whispered from across the table. Norman snorted from her left side at the end of the long wooden desk. I glared at them both and chose not to answer.

And now, eleven hours later, she was finally heading home and her mind was buzzing. They had a few promising results from the janitor files. There were ten males that had worked at at least two out of the five colleges over the twelve-month period. Maybe Invisible Man had accomplices? Billie thought as she pulled the keys out of her jacket pocket as she left for the outside world.

“Night, Bunny!” Charlie called from across the street, where his black SUV waited for him.

Billie raised her hand in good-bye. “See you tomorrow, Tiger!”

Billie drove in a half-conscious state, which was horrible. She remembered reading all those reports as a Rookie about driving while tired. But she had no choice. So she leaned further over the wheel and squinted against the darkness, her headlights expanding only twenty feet out in front of her. Other cars were around her, which made things easier. She concentrated on the red backlights ahead of her and she surprised herself when she reached her street without trouble.

Her house was dark and it sent a pang of sadness through her. Would she ever come home with a husband waiting up for with a piece of pie in hand, awaiting a kiss from his hard-working wife?

Probably not.

Billie had accepted her fate. She was a female workaholic Homicide Detective who didn’t take bull from anybody and who had a scary backhand. What man wants that? She parked her car into the garage, closing the door behind her. The light flickered above her as she unlocked her door and stepped inside, turning on the lamps as she went. In the kitchen, keys, briefcase, and mail were thrown onto the island. She stripped down to her white under tank, her revolver still stuck to her hip like glue. She stumbled up the stairs, throwing off her jeans as well. She wandered into her bedroom in her panties, finally removing her revolver and placing it on the bedside table, as she did every night. Not even bothering to get into her pajamas, she collapsed into her bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

- - - -

Billie awoke to the annoying sound of her pager going off somewhere in the depths of her home. She scrambled off the bed in a half-trance, tripping over her own feet, trying to find the source of the irritating beeping noise. She finally found it down in the kitchen in her coat pocket. She yanked the pager out of the dark recesses, clearing her face of the hair that had fallen in her face. She blinked repeatedly at the clock on the stove until finally the time registered with her.

10:15 flashing innocently back at her. Shit! She scrambled back up the stairs and into the bathroom while calling Charlie on his cell, who had been the one paging her home. “Charlie?” she croaked out, her throat dry.

“Billie! Where are you? Norman is ready to have stroke!” Charlie’s voice was hushed, as if Norman was somewhere nearby.

“I’m so sorry, Charlie. I just lost track of time, my alarm must have not went off, I just can’t believe this happened,” Billie continued to ramble, stripping off all her clothes as she talked.

“Billie, just get here! ASAP!” Charlie shouted before the line went dead. Billie groaned, whipping the phone onto her bed before jumping into her shower.

Fifteen minutes later, Billie was driving like a madwoman down I-75, her hair still damp from the shower. She knew she looked like hell, but it couldn’t be helped. She knew what was going to happen when she arrived four hours late to work. She could just picture Norman’s face…she shook her head, pounding her fists onto the steering wheel, honking her horn at the people driving too slow ahead of her.

Finally, she reached Miami P.D at exactly 11:03. She parallel parked in record time before sprinting across the street, still pulling on her P.D uniform. Businessmen and women alike stared as she trotted across the busy walkway dressed in tan slacks and a very revealing white tee. She entered the lobby, the receptionist not even looking at Billie. “Hey, Ray!” Billie shouted in greeting. Ray just lifted her hand, typing none stop on her computer, a wireless headset strapped to her head.

Billie took the elevator to the fourth flour. She was just finishing the buttons on her vest when the doors slid open. A very angry, red-faced lieutenant met her, tapping his foot with obvious impatience. Norman looked ready to explode, and Billie wouldn’t have been surprised if steam would have ejected from his ears at this point. “Lieutenant Norman, I know what you are thinking—“

“Oh, do you?” Norman uttered, forcing calm into his voice. Billie stepped from the elevator and the doors chimed behind her.

“Yes. I should have called or something. I woke up way behind schedule and—“

“Greggor was looking for you,” Norman cut in, and Billie stopped dead in her tracks.

“He was?” She swallowed audibly, her blood running cold.

“Wayne has already left. Greggor said that they have a lead on one the janitors.”

“Really?” Excitement bubbled inside of Billie at this news, but then she deflated like a popped balloon at Norman’s expression.

“And you aren’t going,” he informed her before stomping around her to his office.

“But you can’t do this!” Billie shouted, drawing attention from every other officer on the level. “I was the one that discovered this. You can’t take this case from me!”

“Who are you to say what I can and can’t do!” Norman spit into her face, spinning on his heel to face her. His cheeks were heating up to a vibrant purple now. “You were supposed to be here at seven, on the dime, to continue our research. When you didn’t show up and Greggor called specifically about you, I had to send Wayne instead. Dammit, Owens! Do you know how that looks, when my best detective is missing and the Chief wants her on the scene?” Norman turned away from her, unable to look at her anymore. “Continue your research. I am temporarily suspending you from the case. Wayne will fill you in when he returns,” Norman shot over his shoulder as an afterthought before he slammed the door in her face.

Billie was fuming. People from neighboring cars pointed openly as she screamed to the world what a dick her lieutenant was. She pounded on her dash and revved her engine as she waited at the stoplight at the busy intersection. The red light was taking forever to change and finally, she had enough. Switching on her Police sirens and yanking her lights onto her hood through the open window, she took off, not caring who stared, open-mouthed. She sped down the empty highway until she reached rush-hour traffic. But people pulled out of her way, thinking that she was on some kind of emergence mission. A twinge of guilt hit Billie then. What she was doing was very illegal. But she didn’t care. Norman was had just suspended her from the case, and he would probably expel her once he found out where she was going, but she didn’t care. She was too caught up in her own thoughts to think reasonably.

So, she cranked the tunes on her radio and sang along to a Prince song, all the windows down and her voice sounding like nails on a chalkboard.

*Not to be continued...