Peaches & Snitches

By M Cordoni

A tactless, devastatingly honest and furiously witty sergeant will take you on a back-seat ride to show you how the crime-solving business always takes care of itself while his not so private business leaves you wondering whether you ever wanted to know all that much about the people sworn to serve and protect. Sergeant Dresdin, our conflicted wanna-be hero, freely sheds his cape and bare-nakedly chases after a killer and the one thing that threatens his case and his humanity: his partner's love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 3, 2002
• ISBN: 9781469712505

M Cordoni

Michael Cordoni was born in Dallas, Texas in 1970. After joining the Army right after High School he did a four year tour. Upon transfer to the reserves he then joined a narcotics task force in San Diego. His latest endeavors involve a period with the New Orleans Police Department and most recently, some time in Afghanistan. He is currently working on another novel.

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PEACHES&SNITCHES

Michael Cordoni

Writers Club Press

San Jose New York Lincoln Shanghai

Peaches & Snitches

All Rights Reserved © 2001 by Michael Cordoni

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in

writing from the publisher.

Writers Club Press

an imprint of iUniverse, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse, Inc.

5220 S. 16th St., Suite 200

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

Edited by L.N. Kleinschmit

Any resemblance to actual people and events is purely coincidental.

This is a work of fiction.

ISBN: 0-595-21232-8

ISBN: 978-1-4697-1250-5 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Hi, I’m Sergeant Dresdin…you gonna eat that French fry?

The Liar, the Bitch, and the Warhol

Evil Saturday

Chorizo Burrito

Cupid’s Erection

Shit Sandwich

Uncle Joe

Pandora’s Box

The Skinny

Blood Smitten

The Fucking Man

Biotch

The Fuck You Face

Grudge Fuck

Sunday Pastries

Stylin and Profilin

Butt Naked

Liars and Warriors

Confirmation

The Darkest Crowe

Pigs in a Blanket

Monday Hospitality

FBI: Famous But Incompetent

Last Letter

The Punch

Calamity

The Dance

Safehouse

Andrew

Stiff and Strong

Bitch Punch

One Stone

Vigilance

Ravin’

Cluster Fuck

Fag Boys

Tuesday

Adversary

Meager Wages

Hanging Over

Holding Out

The Game

Mercy Walk

To Lily…

Thanks to…

My Father for Creativity;

My Mothers for Ambition;

My Grandmothers for Humanity;

My Grandfathers for Dedication with Style;

John P. Dalby, LAPD, a Sergeant’s Sergeant;

Capt. Lundgren, 40th Military Police (Thanks for the job);

Martin Case…my Artist;

Steven McCann…my Mechanic;

The men and women of the 40th Military Police Company;

and Corey…Hey, Bro, I finished it!

Hi, I’m Sergeant Dresdin…you gonna eat that French fry?

s

When the acid wore off I joined the Army to avoid a life of crime and before I was old enough to buy beer, I had a gun, a badge and total reign over military low-lifes. I was blessed with domestic violence, suicide, murder and an occasional drunken brawl. I‘ve been shot at, stabbed, dragged and beaten. When I hit twenty-four my personnel file smelled like a fart in a bathtub…pure, offensive, unhindered, and humorous to children. In my vigorous twenty-seven years of existence I’ve barely managed to make the rank of Sergeant.

Rumors had it I was the John Holmes of Narcs and about two years ago someone had decided to try out a Counter Narcotics Task Force…and there I was…a true king of the gutter, waiting to be swept off my combat boots and pumped in the ass like a federal prisoner. I got this cool assignment that should’ve gotten me promoted, but things went a little shitty. Like the rest of my life this assignment was full of problems:

Problem one: The informant bought it on our assignment and my partner is my superior…in charge of my conduct.

Problem two: My partner had this sweet ass…and the informant tasted it.

Problem three: I was fucking my partner when the snitch bought it, a violation of Military Law: Don’t fuck the help.

Problem four: Because my partner let me diddle with her genitals, I got mushy and covered her ass…even though the Feds thought she waxed the snitch.

Problem five: I don’t know jack about murder.

So I’m still waiting for my promotion…or demotion, whatever. I hope you can see my side of the dilemma.

The Liar, the Bitch, and the Warhol

I wanted my life like it used to be, busting jarheads and squids for narco, but no…my life wasn’t made that way. It was designed for bullshit.

Emerald City was a happening little club that attracted vampire wannabes, skinheads, drag queens, homosexuals and an occasional deviant of society. Once you’ve been assigned to catch the worst scum of the Military, you ended up going to the worst places in town trying to prevent that scum from disrupting the normal flow of life. And San Diego was full of worst places. Standing in front of the club was getting on my nerves, but I knew that he would be here.

If the sicko popped in, the club might turn into a Portuguese Bull Run. With my luck I’d jump the gun, miss the shot, kill twelve innocents and get capped with my own. Either way I’d get to shoot some-one…and that’s always a treat. Or maybe I would get the shot and come out a hero of the community, and the mayor of San Diego would give me the citation for valor; the Army might give me the Army Commendation Medal, a week of leave with hazard pay, a flight to Washington DC, a new position with the Secretary of Defense, a new car…and a frontal lobotomy.

If I missed the bastard, he’d either blind-side my ass or take out someone else. If he tagged Corina, I’d suck a bullet for fucking up. If I bought it, Corina would probably forget me…I hoped not, but I knew I wasn’t that important. She told me I was, but my insecurity was too established.

I looked past the bouncer in the doorway and saw Corina talking to the cashier. She wore a maroon, crushed velvet body suit that laced in the front and flared at the ankles. Five feet and 120 pounds of pure insanity, dressed like a succubus, empowered by the government and trained to rip the throat from any soldier. I don’t know what was more arousing—the fantasy of her or the reality. She liked fussing over her small breasts, but I was content…they were a treat for a guy like me. Her milky white skin with dark pink nipples sent the head of my dick into a swelling frenzy. Anyway…

Her straight black hair slinked and bobbed as she made small talk with a very hairy Andy Warhol drag queen in rubber pants and a cut-off tank top. I watched her lift her leg and slide her hand beneath the bell-bottomed leg of the outfit. She calmly looked around to see if anyone was watching and adjusted her tactically correct thigh-high boot. Her weapon must have been slipping down. Once ensured that everything was in its proper place, she looked in my direction and gave me a quick, embarrassed smile. She always said I saw everything; I only prayed that my eyes were seeing everything tonight.

Last weekend one of Corina’s cover crowd friends was murdered in her apartment in Pacific Beach. Valerie Halewood, also known as Crimson, was eating a microwave burrito and laughing at Saturday morning cartoons. Neighbors described a visitor who had come to her door at about 4am. He was about 6 feet 3 inches tall, with a military haircut, pale white skin and a very muscular build, yet no one saw him leave…

Evil Saturday

At around 2:30am Douglas introduced himself in the chat room. Curtis was chatting with us on the web, and so was Valerie and a few unknown others. I knew Douglas wasn’t friendly from the moment I saw how quickly he went for Valerie. He prodded her sexually and tried to antagonize her conversations with others. Fifteen minutes before this jack-off came on we were role-playing about how we had become vampires. I had typed that I was blind-sided in an alley in 1815, and Corina said something to the effect of being seduced by her cousin in the early 1400s. Curtis was spatting something about the Viking war when I lost interest and went to fetch a cinnamon roll from Corina’s well-stocked pantry downstairs. I was savoring the buttered morsels and washing them down with small sips of skim milk when Corina interrupted a piping mouthful of warm sticky roll. Michael, get in here, quick!!

I hurried up the stairs of the little loft, still chewing on a bit of roll. The room was, by most standards, a large flat. A huge picture window stretched along the whole length of the wall with black velvet drapes resting on the floor. Even more impressive was the wrought iron canopy bed. A large maroon cloth loosely hung over the top of the pillars. The headboard consisted of a dark gray metallic gargoyle whose head centered the top of an ornately carved arch. The gargoyle’s open mouth held a thick, black candle that looked as if it had seen its last days of burning and a healthy wax build-up formed on the chin, giving a drooling effect.

Corina was sitting at a large mahogany desk staring into her computer. The top of the desk was covered with coroners’ photographs of previous cases and empty bottles of E.J. Brandy. Corina spent most of her waking hours glued to the monitor. She had direct access to our office computer at the Criminal Investigations Division at 32nd Street Naval Station and initiated countless investigations by monitoring web sites through observer programs and hacker sites. She had a lot of resources in the computer underground and was assigned to me for just that reason. She ruled the cyberworld as far as I was concerned, but we both knew who ruled the streets…and I was getting strung out from the load.

Corina didn’t glance at me as she manipulated the mouse. The computer screen displayed bloody skulls on a black background. I looked over her shoulder to see who was chatting:

[Douglas] Women like you spawn the evil that rests inside society, and thus extermination would be a substantial solution.

[Crimson] Hey where’s the gatekeeper, I think we have some unwanted bitterness in the room.

[Von Klaus] Sorry, Crimson, but the bitter one is using a hack and I can’t get him off the site.

[Douglas] Now it’s not so fun when you’re not in CONTROL, is it CURTIS! Ha, Ha!!!

[Von Klaus] Who is this?

[Crimson] I’m not into this…bye.

[Douglas] I know where you live Valerie, so don’t think turning off will tune me out!!! I’ll find you, you little CUNT!!!

Corina turned to look at me. Did you see that shit?

You think it was a joke?

I don’t think so, Michael. Curtis spent a lot of time creating this chat room, and Valerie has never used her real name on the site, not even when she got her access password from Curtis.

We both watched the screen go blank, assuming that Von Klaus, who was actually Curtis, shut down the site.

Do you think he knows who you are, Corina?

I have an encryptor, butthead! He’d have to have some really good hacker-ware and a lot of time to trace me. Besides, he could probably find out who I was through my friends.

I inhaled uncomfortably. This hit close to home, but I didn’t think this guy was that bad, or after Corina. He seemed to be focused on Valerie. The telephone rang, interrupting our train of thought. Corina searched the cluttered desk for the little cellular, while I pulled up a chair and ran a trace on the numbers and URLs left on the chat room. Corina nudged me on the arm as she answered the phone. You O.K. Valerie?

Corina hid her southern accent perfectly when she was around her group. She was of Creole descent, straight from the French Quarter of New Orleans, and played her role well. She gave me a curious look as she listened.

So you called Curtis already, and he’s going to stay the night? She mouthed the word ‘yuk’ to me and smiled as she listened impatiently. Well, if you need me for anything call, and I’ll stop by when I wake up, O.K.?

She paused to listen and then laughed at me. Yeah…I think it was that Michael guy from the club.

I watched intently as Corina gave me a disgusted look and giggled. He looks a little strange, and besides, I don’t have time for one of those anti-social guys, they get too serious, you know… She laughed out loud. NO SHIT, those eyes are very intense, kinda like a serial killer… She laughed again, snorting through her nose.

…you too, Val. It was probably just some asshole…and don’t get too friendly with Curtis, O.K.?

She hung up, losing her smile. I resumed my attempt at trying to access, but was coming up sore. The clock on the desk indicated it was 3:45 in the morning, and I knew that trying to create a lead on this Douglas fellow would be impossible until regular people’s hours. Corina walked up behind me and leaned her hips against the backrest of the chair and nuzzled her nose in my neck. I tried to concentrate on the computer screen, but she moved her cold, dry nose along the nape of my neck. Goose bumps shot down my spine and my hand wandered aimlessly on the pad. She laughed devilishly.

Can’t concentrate, can you? she breathed.

I pretended not to hear her. I’m too intense, you know, and I’m probably a serial killer, I mumbled.

Her hot tongue circled small short licks on the lobe of my ear. The sweetest chill rose to my skin. Her palms moved slowly over my shoulders and down to my chest where they rested on my puny chest muscles. I placed my hands over hers while she grabbed the skin beneath my shirt firmly and let out a guttural moan that seemed to come from the depths of her chest. I hummed in unison with her, letting her know that the work I was doing was worthless.

She pulled me backward onto the floor, keeping control of the chair with her thighs. I didn’t flinch at the change of direction, yet I was somewhat surprised by the strength of her legs. She crawled over me, when I realized she somehow had found the time to remove all of her clothing. My heat swelled beneath my jeans and I sensed the growing unrest within her as she pulled my shirt out of my jeans. She placed both hands on the lip of the chair and slowly lowered her shaven vulva on my lips. I didn’t hesitate to envelope her wholeness in my mouth. Ahh, yes…I always liked oral copulation, but if you served me a side of pussy with rice I wouldn’t think of eating it.

In the meanwhile her left hand was working my belt buckle, trembling, anticipating. Lost in the moment, my chest began to tighten as her nails dug into the back of my thighs breaking skin. I lifted my butt and slipped the chair from beneath me. Her freedom engulfed my whole pelvis which by now almost felt…well…inflamed.

She heaved and twisted and let out a mournful whine. Out-done, out-numbed, and out-come by my number…Oh, 69! I wasn’t in the mood to be hallowed and moved between her legs from behind. I lifted her up to feel her back against my chest and placed my arm around her. I was hitting her roof and she gasped. I figured I’d be finished before she’d bust another wad, so I took it slow. I paced myself. Army cadences. That’s why soldiers get so much pussy. Gotta have that pace. Within 20 strokes, spasms of adrenaline coursed from my left ankle to the pit of my stomach. I suck. Corina grabbed the back of my head, pushing my teeth harder into her neck. I squeezed my eyes shut. Different shades of red and yellow lights flickered along my eyelids. Corina descended faster…faster than…I wanted her to. Ooops…

Corina gripped my…uuh…everything, surrendering to another orgasm. BIG THANK GOD. Can’t leave the troops unfed. The ecstasy seemed loose of space and time and I lost my breath as well as my bowels…well, not really.

Anyway, still on my knees I bent over backward; Corina followed, clutching onto my arm and I lost a moment. Her after-cum spasms made my ass twitch. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes—I was getting mushy. The storm was over. Now a long, strange vibration lingered.

We stayed unmoving, afraid to speak. My heart was in my ears. Corina rested her head on my chest, still holding on to my arms. My collarbone felt warm liquid from her cheeks. I knew that liquid…tears. What the fuck just happened? It never hit this hard before. My hand stroked her hair while I tried to make sense. Hot pressure forced its way to the bridge of my nose. I froze. Shit. Tears gushed from my eyes. Corina’s voice cracked. Michael…?

There was a large knot in my throat. Corina?

She avoided looking into my face. What just happened, Michael?

I’d shaven my shit a week before we were assigned together, and that’s probably what got us in bed together—we had a fetish in common. So far, she was my longest partner—

5 months, 2 days and a wake-up. We were assigned to each other in May and were monogamous ever since. It wasn’t planned, but it felt right. If I weren’t so smitten by her vulva, I’d probably be sleeping with informants which is always an occupational hazard. Nice thing about the whole situation was that she was as obsessed about the job as I. The job created an eroticism all its own. The office rats called Corina and myself the dark ones. Everyone at the office assumed we hated each other, which was fine with us. If our cover groups found out we were fucking, we’d be mere mortal freaks who relied on sex for pleasure…which we did often anyway…too often.

Ten o’clock and Corina’s phone, pager, cellular, my pager and cellular all sang the glorious tunes of an abrupt morning. Rolling onto the floor in a haze, I hit my head on the iron claw of the gargoyle. This was the headboard’s third assault on me and as always the beast smiled while my head throbbed. The cold air of the loft tickled my skin. I groped alongside the bed for my cellular. I know I left that fucker somewhere!

I was searching my jeans and jacket when something cold nudged my naked back. I turned my head. Corina shoved my cell at me. I probably looked pretty ridiculous squatting, balls hanging and all, but she just stood there naked, trembling. She was on her cordless and spoke into her cellphone at the same time. I stared long at her face. Tears, new tears, different kind of tears, flowed down her cheeks.

The voice on my cellular had a rich Spanish accent. Sergeant Dresdin, it’s Agent Pena. Last night you accessed a trace, correct?

I cleared my throat. That’s right…

There was a long pause.

The source was a DSN line from the naval community Internet server.

Yeah, and your point? I hated talking in the morning.

Corina padded across the room to her closet, suppressing her conversation.

The agent inhaled deeply. The receiving end of that call was murdered last night.

Say again, Sir?

Valerie Halewood was found in her apartment by your mutual friend Curtis Haynes this morning. He called San Diego Police Department at around O845. He appeared very shook up. I think your cover is going to get compromised.

I was shocked. No fuckin shit, Sir.

Pena sounded distressed. If you can spare your cover, do so, but it’s not a priority.

How do you figure?

The source of the call was from the Navy Internet service. Only naval personnel have access to its services, and those services are free. Pena was getting uneasy.

Well, can’t the Naval Investigations Office get any information?

The naval server went down this morning at 0320 exactly, so no one can even access the backlog. The Navy says it’s in our court anyway since we had direct contact with the victim.

I felt heat in my temples and hardly realized I was yelling. Well, are they even gonna give us a morsel of information?!!!

Pena replied coolly. NIS Head Quarters said we’ll have full technical and administrative support, but no agents and no operations, so we’ll have to coordinate with the locals.

The balls of my feet were getting sore from squatting on the floor. What about local support from San Diego PD?

They’re waiting for you as we speak, so talk to them.

There was a snide hint to his tone, but I decided to ignore it. I’ll show in 20 minutes.

I hung up and stood up. Corina was putting on a pair of blue jeans, still talking on her cordless. She’d stopped crying. She was finishing up her conversation and I walked slowly towards her. I was still naked, but I didn’t give a poop. She wrapped her arms around my waist and groaned a long word that sounded something like ‘whhyyy’. I stroked her arms until she pulled back and took a deep breath.

Her voice cracked. Time for work.

Dressed and ready, I walked down the stairs of the loft. Corina was loading her .45 Smith & Wesson at the kitchen table. I chose not to ask about her reasons for taking such a large piece…

Chorizo Burrito

We rode in silence from Hillcrest to Garnet Avenue. Destination: Tweaker Pac Beach. Although Corina was the primary investigator for whatever case we’d be able to compile, I knew she’d be letting me lead this time…my ass was expendable.

Valerie was a good person, as far as I’d gathered from Corina. Not to mention that Valerie was a primo source of info on the underground scene. She had already provided us with two narcotics busts—a Marine and a Navy officer. She had a talent for attracting shady service members. She wasn’t a slut, but she had…methods. Corina played the delicate game of maintaining a good cover. I believed she genuinely cared about Valerie. She claimed it was just part of the job, but the way she sat in the passenger seat of the Corsica confirmed more than care for Valerie.

By the time we got to the apartment, I had to piss something horrible. I knew, by the number of police cars and suits milling around the small, gated complex, that I’d have to assault some poor innocent tenant for his shitter. I almost wished I hadn’t fucked last night. My groin was aching and sunlight was hurting my eyes.

Corina pulled up alongside the forensic’s van and stared up at Valerie’s apartment. I couldn’t read any expression on her face, but I could feel tension in the air…or maybe just the tension in my bladder. Corina kept her eyes on the apartment. I opened the car door, hoping she’d follow my lead, but she fuckin ignored me.

I slammed the car door and stomped my way to the front gate. I was stopped by a San Diego police officer who smelled of oranges and musk. He moved quickly—all up in me, as if he’d just remembered he was on duty. I forgot that I looked like a crook…after all, I was wearing a leather jacket and beanie cap.

Can I help you? he spatted.

I fetched for my badge in my back pocket. I’m Sergeant Dres-din…MPI. I spoke, despite my bladder. I held it at my chest…my badge, you know, and the officer stepped back and relaxed his hand by his weapon. He smiled a Ken-doll grin. Detective in charge is waiting for you.

The officer stepped aside and let me pass. I felt nauseous at the thought of being waited on by the locals. I glanced back towards the Corsica, licking my lips sensually. My partner should be coming in after a few, Officer.

Sure thing, Sergeant, he replied, ignoring my gesture.

Two uniformed officers were apparently engaged in some sort of light conversation and leaning against the doorframe of the apartment when I approached them from behind. They turned and gave me their best who-the-fuck-are-you stares. I held up my badge and squeezed past them.

The first thing that struck me was the walls, an artistry of well-placed posters accentuated by smears of blood. The second thing was the fresh smell of meat. Funny thing about a relatively fresh kill is its resemblance to a standard rack of lamb. Both smell the same…raw.

To my right, poor Curtis was wrapped in a paramedic’s blanket, well rooted into the couch and sipping on what appeared to be a glass of water. He seemed deeply involved in a conversation with a somewhat distinguished looking gentleman who sat on the armrest of the couch. Curtis’ eyes were bloodshot. I assumed, and not without reason, that he was exhausted and had probably been crying. I remembered the 911 recording and the sound of Curtis’ screaming voice. A stab of sympathy hit through my stomach, but, then again, Curtis could have killed her too.

I turned back towards the officers who were still leaning against the doorjamb and asked one of them where the body was. One of them pointed towards the kitchen with contempt. I resented their animosity, but only because they wouldn’t invite me to their police butt-pumping ball.

Curtis still hadn’t noticed I was there, so I felt it was safe for me to make my way to the damage. I stepped past the coffee table and made sure not to scrape my leg on the edge. I didn’t want to contaminate the crime scene any further. I headed straight for the bedroom.

I was startled. Right down to the position of the books in the corner the arrangement of the furniture was identical to Corina’s loft…except for the nightstand by the right side of the bed. I walked over to the little nightstand and pulled the top drawer open. My eyes widened—there were a number of black and white photos of Valerie and a very familiar friend lying in all their nakedness on the bed. My eyes kept staring at the pictures. They appeared to have been taken in this very bedroom. Several were tastefully lit, but the presence of prop-blood and fangs worn by both parties overshadowed the artistic intent.

Most of the pictures were kind of a role-playing scenario with