Author's Note: Hello, C.O.P.S fans, it's me, davewriter, with yet another C.O.P.S. fanfic, like I promised. Now, along with the introductory of new characters, it also contains some of the original characters from the first story, "Valerie." I told everyone that I had a SEQUEL in mind, and here it is. If you have not read or finished reading "Valerie," please do not read this one until you've done so, as it may contain spoilers. I see no one has left a review for my last chapter in the first one. If you have, have a nice reading.
Disclaimer: I do not own C.O.P.S. or any of its characters (again, credit DIC Animation for this.) Cheryl Raleigh, Janice Dalhousie, Lorna Waters, Debra Janeway, Marilyn Hobbes, and of course, Valerie Boston, and their respected families and co-workers (except for the "borrowed" Elise O'Malley) are all from my mind, as is the story's plot. Also making a comeback will be my original C.O.P.S. member from "Valerie," Kevin "Blackbelt" Raines. And, as a caution, it may contain the same coarse language, violence and sexuality as the original.
Women Seeking Police
Chapter 1
In Pittsburgh, in late April of the year 2020, Cheryl Raleigh was driving to her sons' conjoined elementary and middle school for yet another emergency conference. She'd learned that her two sons, twelve-year-old Jacob and ten-year-old Brett, were fighting with the same schoolmate. She had mixed emotions. Part of her wanted to discipline her sons for fighting, but a bigger part of her understood the reason why they kept at it.
It had been seven months since her police officer husband was killed on duty, he and his partner brought down in a deadly shooting in a small restaurant, his partner escaping with bad injuries. Cheryl was distraught, but knew she had to remain strong for her children. Her daughter, Danielle – then fifteen, now sixteen – seemed all right, keeping busy with her schoolwork, activities and friends. Her sons, however, were both in emotional, grieving ruins. They were a lot closer to their father than their older sister had been, and Cheryl remembered boasting about these bonds. "They worship Wayne like he's a modern-day Jesus Christ," she told friends, "and are determined to be just like their Dad when they grow up."
Cheryl had a hard time driving because of these memories, and she made a sudden stop when she noticed a red light. She sighed harshly and pouted while waiting for the light to turn green.
"Let me guess, it's that goddamn Greg Levine," she muttered to herself.
It had always been Greg Levine, she knew. She'd heard about him shortly after her husband's funeral, when Jacob and Brett went back to school. He was in the school grade level below Jacob and above Brett. The first time she'd met their principal for a fighting incident, she'd learned that Greg had been calling her boys "bastards," and had been bullying them out of whatever he wanted, and beating them up regardless of whether they gave it to him or not. She later learned through her neighbors that Greg did this to any kid who had no father in the home, and worse, that both his parents encouraged this behavior. She knew it wasn't all their fault, yet the school kept blaming them. She'd kept insisting that her sons not be suspended or expelled.
She found a space in visitor parking and walked quickly inside. In the principal's office, she found Jacob with a portion of his jet black hair torn out, the portion in his hand. She checked Brett's cocoa-colored hair. It was still in place. She looked at Greg sitting across for them, a tall, overweight kid of eleven with curly red hair and freckles, his parents standing next to him. All three boys had shiners on their eyes. The Levines were all smiling and grinning as if they were innocent.
Before she could say anything, the principal, Mr. Penney, started in, "Now, Mrs. Raleigh, before you say anything this time…"
But she was focused on her sons, pointing at Greg. "Let me guess, that's one been after you again with the 'bastard children' comments." Still pointing, she turned to Mr. Penney, "No, sir, I think you should finally listen to me. I want to know what you plan to do about this!"
"Well, Mrs. Raleigh," he replied, looking at Jacob and Brett, "I'm thinking of expelling these two for their role in the fisticuffs they've engaged in with Greg!"
"I have a better idea, sir!" Cheryl retorted. "How about you expel Greg for the constant use of the word 'bastard' to any kid growing up with a single mother? I'm sure Jacob and Brett aren't the only kids in this predicament. This is such bullshit, and I want it stopped now! My sons were only defending themselves when he wouldn't leave them alone."
"That's what we told him, Mom," Jacob told her.
"Quiet, Mister Raleigh!" Mr. Penney bellowed. "You're already in enough trouble!"
"Excuse me," Cheryl spat, "but the only kid here who should be in trouble here is sitting across from Jacob and Brett! Greg Levine! He's the one bullying them and others, and yet all you seem to give him is a little slap on the hand and a warning. He needs to be expelled from this school for the rest of the year!" She focused on Mr. Levine. "And to you, that kid needs a smack on the ass for his behavior! And instead of grounding him, you're taking him to sporting events, and out to eat, and the mall, and rewarding him by having him accompany you on your business trip at spring break!"
"That's because your sons don't have a father in their lives," Mr. Levine said, "so Greg is obligated to call them bastard children. It's very important for kids to have an active, caring father, you know."
"Yeah, well maybe you overlooked the part of how active, caring fathers are supposed to teach their kids right from wrong!" Cheryl screamed. "You're obviously too much of a 'buddy parent.' My God, if you insist on being that, then at least you can use your wise words to tell him he shouldn't be doing that! At least that's what Wayne did with Jacob and Brett, letting them know what was right and wrong, and putting them in their rooms for an hour so they can think about their misbehaviors, and taking stuff away from them." She sniveled and started to sob, thinking about her husband again.
"Okay, obviously, the grief counseling Mr. Penney recommended hasn't been working," Mrs. Levine commented, "because you obviously haven't gotten oven your husband yet, and your boys are causing more trouble than what it's worth!" She turned to Mr. Penney and pointed at Jacob and Brett. "Sir, if those two need a father so bad, then I think both of them can find it in a boot camp instructor who'll get into their faces a lot."
"Fuck you!" Cheryl blasted. "If anyone needs boot camp, it's YOUR son! Or maybe he should be put in a foster home on a military base – I'm thinking Fort Bragg – while Child Services investigates YOU two!"
Then, in her rage, she began to smack Greg alongside his head, palm and backhand, back and forth. Mr. and Mrs. Levine grabbed her arms to restrain her, but she quickly freed herself, and continued smacking Greg. Moments later, she started pounding him on his head, and kept doing it until he cried.
"Cheryl Raleigh, you fucking little bitch!" Mrs. Levine screamed as she and her husband consoled their son.
Mr. Penney stood and glared at the angry mother. "Congratulations, Mrs. Raleigh," he said. "You just got your boys expelled for the rest of the year. In fact, maybe for life! They are not allowed to come back next year or the year after that, and so on!"
"Fine!" Cheryl yelled. "Then I'll take matters into my own hands! I'm making plans to move away from this town! It's been something I've been thinking about for several months now. I'll put up my house for sale, pack all my things and my kids, and get them away from this hostile environment!" She escorted Jacob and Brett from the office, and decided to bring them to her work for the rest of the day.
When they got home for dinner that day, Cheryl told Danielle of her plans. "I want us to be out by the end of July at the latest." Danielle shook her head and looked like she wanted to cry, but her mother grabbed her hand.
"I know you don't want to leave your friends, Dani," she said, "and it's an inconvenience for you to attend a new school with only two years left to go. But I just can't sit back and watch your brothers get taunted and bullied because your father is no longer with us."
"Just because Daddy's gone, it doesn't mean we should just move away to start fresh!" Danielle objected. "Where are we going to move to?"
"I'm thinking about Empire City," her mother replied. "It's a large place, and I know it's expensive, but I can probably advance in my career there. I can see about structured schools for you all. And there'll be lots of activities and sporting events for you guys to do, and lots of malls and shops for you to shop at, Danielle. And I hear they got lots of handsome police officers and firemen there; maybe I can find one to date."
Danielle, Jacob and Brett looked at their mother strangely.
"I know I'm putting myself at risk for déjà vu here," Cheryl said, "but I especially think that's a good idea for this family. Your father was wise and loving, but he was also firm and strict whenever you needed it, and it was his reputation as a caring policeman that taught you three respect, and kept you on the straight and narrow. Having someone with authority in your lives will keep you on that track."
Danielle looked reluctant, but finally said, "Oh, all right. But I'm going to miss all my friends – Emily and Paige and Brandie and Tiffany, even my boyfriend, Matt."
"If it will get Brett and me away from that spoiled bully, Greg Levine," Jacob said, "then I say let's go for it."
In mid-June of that year, Janice Dalhousie was sitting in a courtroom in Los Angeles. Her husband, LAPD Officer Cliff Dalhousie, was sitting across the room from her. It wasn't a murder trial, a gang sentencing or a drug bust case. Today, they were finalizing their divorce.
Cliff and Janice had three sons together, fifteen-year-old Roderick, thirteen-year-old Rydell, and ten-year-old Regan. It was Regan they were getting divorced over, because they could never agree over what was best for him.
She knew going into her relationship with Cliff that law enforcement was a long-standing tradition in the Dalhousie family. She was willing to accept this with Roderick and Rydell, who were all born healthy, and had lots of physical abilities. However, something terrible happened in her final pregnancy, (Janice still couldn't figure that out) and Regan was born premature, diagnosed with cerebral palsy at birth. She could remember the doctor's solemn message for them: "Officer and Mrs. Dalhousie, you can just forget about this one becoming a police officer." Regan couldn't run very fast or long distances without getting tired, or do much heavy lifting, like his brothers could. And he couldn't really use the left side of his body, other than his leg.
Janice's family had law enforcement as family tradition as well; her father and uncles were all policemen, as were all her brothers. She and all of her sisters, except for one who became an officer herself, married policemen. When Janice told them the heartbreaking news, they fully understood that law enforcement was not an option for Regan. Cliff and his family, however, would not accept this.
He would have the boy participating in sports that he couldn't handle, like football and baseball, even a hard obstacle course he built for all the boys. He would always scream after him to run faster, and hired all kinds of specialists to help with memory and observing skills. Not much worked, especially when the parents were told that Regan would have a hard time with advanced mathematics, and harder subjects like history and law, when he got older. Janice and Cliff's fights would always be the same.
"Why are you pushing Regan to be a cop when you know he can never be one?" she'd ask him.
"Don't contradict me, Janice!" he'd shout back. "Just because Regan has cerebral palsy, it doesn't mean he can't follow tradition! There are lots of opportunities for people with disabilities to get into law enforcement."
"Yeah, people in wheelchairs who have upper physical strength in their arms," Janice replied. "Which Regan will never have with his condition. The best he'll do in that area is a secretary with a computer! And I just know you'd expect more than that from Rod and Rydell!"
"Dammit, Janice, you are such a lazy parent with him!" Cliff exploded. "Regan can be a cop with an illustrious career, and he will, and you know that damn well! You're just not pushing him hard enough! And you come from a family of cops, too! You guys should be helping me with this!" It would make her feel defeated every time.
Janice was lucky that Regan's disabilities didn't affect his reading skills. As a literary agent working with lots of author clients and publishing houses, she made sure that all her sons were well read. She'd read to Regan most often, because his skills took longer to develop. By the time he was almost seven, Regan began to fill notebooks with little stories, and some illustrations as well. She said on the witness stand in her divorce, "He loves writing stories. When his Language Arts class would assign him to write a story on anything, any length, Regan would jump at the chance. He'd even write personal stuff at home, but I told him to save that for when he's finished his homework." Janice would read them, and she thought they were so good, she thought writing would be perfect for him. But Cliff called it down all the time, and even started punishing Regan whenever he saw him writing instead of doing his schoolwork or exercises.
"More often than not, Cliff would be wearing his police uniform with all his weapons, like he usually did around the house when he got home from work. He would take his nightstick from his holster, grab Regan before he could run, bare his rear and whack him with the weapon. He would also do this whenever Regan told him, 'Daddy, I don't want to be a cop!' 'I can't be a cop!' I'd try to stop him, but he wouldn't let me, insisting he was trying to discipline our son. It would only work temporarily, until I could comfort him.
"Time and time again, he talked about throwing away all the notebooks with all the stories Regan wrote, but I would never let him. It got to the point where my son had to give the notebooks to me, and I'd put them in a special hiding place no one else in the family knew about." She entered the notebooks as an exhibit for the judge.
"Has your husband ever accused you of living vicariously though your son?' her lawyer asked.
"He would on occasion when Regan first started," Janice said, "but as he grew a little older, he started accusing me of this more and more, every time we argued. I'm a very avid reader of various kinds of books, fiction and non-fiction – always have been, even in high school – and a very fluent writer of business correspondence, rejection and acceptance letters, agency book contracts and that. But my creative writing professor said my brains lacked imagination when I kept handing in work, same criticism I got in high school. I may have signed up for English Lit at UCLA, but I never wrote a story that got me a scholarship. And my skills never improved, so that's when I knew I had to give up. But I read Regan's stories, and l know they have the power to entertain the reader. Just ask his teachers. That's why I'm encouraging him."
When she was cross-examined, Cliff's lawyer asked her, "Mrs. Dalhousie, what do you have to say about your husband's belief that you're living your dreams through Regan?"
"Utter garbage!" Janice replied. "Yes, I realized that I don't have what it takes to be a great novelist. That's why I decided to sit on the other side of the desk in the publishing business. Or, at least help clients get their work to the publishing house to begin with. That's why English-minded people like me get into the game in the first place. Not all of us can be a modern-day Charles Dickens or John Steinbeck or Margaret Mitchell."
"Then, why are encouraging Regan to become a writer?" the lawyer asked.
"I encourage you to read his writing," Janice replied. "He has plotlines of forest animals guiding lost children to find their way home, and elves who are geniuses, and stuff like that. I'm sure children will be delighted to read about those one day."
"Right," the lawyer said sarcastically. "You were so caught up in your belief that Regan can't be much else than that when he grows up, not even a cop, that you told him that he had to follow in your so-called 'English-minded' footsteps. You were convinced he'd be too stupid to learn subjects like Math and Law in high school, and this is the sole reason why! Is this true?"
"Absolutely not!" Janice shouted. "Yes, the doctors told us that his smarts in Math and Science would never go beyond the basics, he'd never be able to do science fair projects, and that subjects like History and Law would be difficult for him come high school. But I was encouraging him to be a writer because I know Regan possesses the talents, totally unlike his brothers. Cliff and his family just could never understand this."
Cliff would always defend his actions on the witness stand. First, he accused Janice of pressuring Regan herself. "I think Janice is trying to live vicariously through the boy," he told his lawyer. "It's true, when we were dating in college, Janice talked obsessively about become a literary novelist. She scored very high marks in English literature, but her creative writing projects were mediocre, at best. Of course, when she read to me, I always told her they were good, or point out some things I'd change in the story. When it came to constructive criticism, she preferred to be let down easy.
"She managed to find work at a literary agency after graduation, the same one she worked at her whole career. She continued to write fiction on the side, but even they would reject her work. She was easily persuaded to give up her dream, and try judging which work to accept, this after Roderick turned two. Roderick and Rydell never had good story writing skills, they simply have no imaginations, and through all of Janice's lectures, this didn't really sink in for her until they were ten and eight, respectively. So she simply looked to Regan. After all, somebody had to live her dream."
Janice was infuriated to hear this. She wanted to scream out lying accusations, but her lawyer silently told her to hold back.
He said to Janice's lawyer, "Regan is being raised as a Dalhousie. Just because he has a disability, it doesn't mean he should be treated any differently than my other children, or my brothers and sisters' children. Roderick and Rydell are deciding to become cops to honor the family tradition, not just because they're physically able to. They know that if they go against this, there will be hell for them to pay. My family and I don't see why Regan should be any different." Nobody in the courtroom looked convinced, so he continued, "Look, lots of people have overcome adversity to become great athletes and businesspeople and doctors and lawyers and whatnot. If only Regan could improve his athletic and observance skills, he'd be a great police officer."
"Keep dreaming, officer!" the lawyer sneered. "Surely you understand that cerebral palsic people aren't all that physically inclined. Your chief of police would state himself that while Regan could do okay on the written part of the exam, he'd fail the physical part." And before Cliff could respond, "You don't have to be a rocket surgeon to figure it out. You name me one member of the Los Angeles Police Department, or any other police department in the state of California or the United States, who has a lifelong disability, hidden or not." When he couldn't answer, "I rest my case. Nothing further, your honor."
Janice smiled at her lawyer. It looked as if Cliff finally realized his mistake. But for him, she knew, it would be too late. Then again, she thought, maybe he'll never get it.
And it was the words of Cliff's police chief, Saul Sandford, that were the most memorable. "I have interacted with young Regan at Cliff and Janice's house time and again," he said. "Let me say that if he went to the academy, while he could do all right on the written part of the final exam if he studied hard enough, he'd do so horribly on the physical part. Cliff has two brothers working the same precinct as him, and they sometimes bring their sons in to work out at the station gym, or ride along with them. Other cops have come into my office with stories of them yelling at Regan because he can't lift the barbells, or he would tire out running on the treadmill after only a couple of minutes, preferring to walk. Why, the only things he could ever do properly in there are the exercise bike and the stair machine. I've ever heard stories where they made Regan cry because one of them hit him.
"I don't know how many times I've called them into my office, and tell them to stop pressuring the boy like this. I've even told them to stop bringing him to the station for this sole purpose. But they'd just tell me they were working him up to follow family tradition. After a while, I gave up; I felt like I was talking to myself. You know how these families get when it comes to tradition, everyone has to follow it in some way, no exemptions, or else! I think that's ludicrous. If either of my two sons had the same problems as Regan, I'd absolutely discourage them from following in my path."
These were just the most memorable parts of the trial. Today, the judge would make his final ruling.
"This custody part of the case is a classic example of families who don't think past the ends of their noses," he said. "When Mrs. Dalhousie explained all the symptoms of Regan's cerebral palsy, I was more than convinced that the only thing he'd be capable of would be a desk job with a computer, typing correspondence, nothing physically or mentally challenging. And when people like Officer Dalhousie take advantage of these limitations, simply to keep family tradition in check, that really shows their ignorance. Chief Sandford's words about this are entirely correct, in my opinion." He looked directly at Cliff. "Officer Dalhousie, you and your family should be ashamed of yourselves, trying to force such pressure on a child such as Regan. If he were to actually become a police officer, I guarantee it wouldn't be long before he got shot by a criminal punk, or perhaps a criminal fleeing on foot would outrun him. You would be disappointed with him then, and the end results would be frightening. And after getting a sample of Regan's writings, I believe that he truly has the strength to succeed down the road. I certainly would like to sample more of it when he gets older, to see if he still has it." He turned to Janice. "Mrs. Dalhousie, you are entirely in the right to encourage him like this.
"Therefore, I would like to split custody between the three boys. Custody of Roderick and Rydell will go to Officer Dalhousie, while sole custody of Regan goes to Mrs. Dalhousie. After all, if the two older boys are adamant of becoming officers like family tradition rules they should, then I see no reason why they should not live separately from their father. Each will be made to pay child support, a sum of five hundred dollars a month from Officer Dalhousie, and eight hundred dollars from Mrs. Dalhousie. Officer Dalhousie will be awarded the house, and have no visitation rights for Regan, and Mrs. Dalhousie will be getting visitation rights for Roderick and Rydell to be set at every second weekend."
"Actually, your honor," Janice's lawyer stated, "I've talked about this with my client, and she's planning to move all the way across the country, to Empire City, where most of her family is. She thinks that those boys flying back and forth across the country that often would be inconvenient for them. She thinks a better idea would be to have visitation during school breaks and summer vacations, and holiday long weekends."
The judge thought it over and said, "Fair enough. In conclusion, I would like to say that this ruling should be a lesson to all families with disabled children and career traditions, to make them realize that certain limitations can and do keep them from following tradition. It is dangerous to make a child go beyond these limitations for the sake of family harmony. I wish Mrs. Dalhousie the best of luck with Regan. Court is adjourned."
A few days later, as Janice finished packing up in the apartment she and Regan had lived in, school let out for the summer for him. She called the airport to book them on the next available flight to Empire City.
Down in Dallas, Texas, a very different trial was concluding for another woman – death penalty widow Lorna Waters – around the same time.
It all started three years ago, when her husband, Stuart, was arrested and charged following a string of murders on some strict, conservative parents. Lorna was shocked, but vowed to stand by her husband. She grew up believing that divorce was, "a family-wreckin' sin," as her father put it. "The only exception would be cases of physical, mental or emotional abuse if they can't be redeemed." Lorna took that into her marriage, and Stuart had never put his hand or her or their two sons. Prior to the arrest, her marriage had been happy and blissful. She used to be a housewife and stay-at-home mother, too, so she had considerable trouble finding a job. She eventually found work as a waitress at a family restaurant.
She went to prison to confront her husband one day. "Stuart, why?" she asked. "How could you be the main suspect in the murders of all those parents?"
"Lorna, they're the ones who claimed they could see through Bobby an' Riley's good, obedient behavior!" Stuart said. "Remember two of the first victims, Michael and Marie Endicott, when they were over to our house years ago? Sweet Jesus, those boys were lookin' at 'em funny, and those damn people pulled out their belt an' hairbrush on the spot. An' remember that fight I told you about, the one I had with Greg Carlson at work, where I nearly lost my job? We never could git anyone to see that Bobby and Riley were too sweet an' wonderful fer that 'good ole fashioned spankin'.'"
"These people say they've never met a kid who didn't need one," Lorna seethed. "Ooh, this is why we never went to church, all this 'spare the rod, spoil the child' stuff. Callin' our children spoiled, what bunk! Surely, God understands that there are some kids who'd never need a smack on the behind. They always learned after a time-out in their rooms."
Her hand reached into the jail cell to touch his. "I believe you, Stuart," she said. "An' I'll stand by you no matter what."
The trial was abuzz all over the South, and the people were shocked by Lorna's decision to support her husband. The evidence against him gained more and more over the next five months in the courtroom. Lorna was much too distraught to talk to anyone about it, especially to the media that she'd avoid. During the trial, customers and co-workers at her restaurant, strangers who noticed her on the street, even her friends told her the same things:
"You must be pretty stupid to stand by this man when you know he's guilty."
"You need to back out of this an' him now. Yer marriage ain't worth savin'. My tax dollars ain't gonna pay fer a death penalty widow's grief counselin'!"
"Lorna, if this were my husband, I'd divorce him immediately, pack up the boys, an' move to New Jersey or somewhere."
It was mostly these times when she would preach her father's words about divorce, about how being tried for murder is no reason for divorce. "And I'll have you know that Stuart never put a hand on me or Bobby an' Riley, despite his use of weapons on other people. Why, our divorce would only hurt the boys, an' they'd never forgive me for deprivin' 'em of a father they love, regardless of his imprisonment."
And she strived to stand by Stuart up until he was inevitably found guilty of fifteen counts of murder just before the courts' Christmas break in 2017. As soon as courts resumed in the New Year, the judge sentenced him to die in the electric chair, and that he be, "bumped up the waitin' list so he'll be executed as quickly as possible." All Lorna could do then was cry for herself, her husband, and their sons.
Lorna visited Stuart every second evening from then up until the execution. She refused to let her sons come to the visits with her. "Your father's cryin' just as much as we are over this, the end of his life," she told them. "If you watch him cry, you'll cry louder than him, an' we can't have that. You must be brave for him."
The day before Stuart was executed, he was breaking down, clutching onto his wife's hand as he cried. He said, "I'm sorry it has to end like this, Lorna. I love you, sweetheart. I always will. Please tell Bobby and Riley goodbye fer me, and they should stay strong, do their best in school, to not grow up like me. And please, I want y'all to reserve a special place in all yer hearts fer me. I can't see ya in flesh no more, but I want to stay wit ya in spirit."
She managed to put her arms into the cell to wrap around her husband. "I love you sweetheart. I'll take very good care of the boys, I promise. And I swear I'll never forget all the happy times we shared. You'll be in my soul forever." Moments later, the corrections officer took her out of the prison.
Stuart Waters was executed at one minute after nine the next evening. Lorna couldn't attend the execution at the prison, and even shielded herself from all the live media coverage, not watching TV at all that night. But she broke down at breakfast when it was in the paper the next morning. She was a different woman since.
For the two years that followed, Lorna was crazy with grief, screaming and swearing at anyone who praised the execution, or the death penalty in general. Her psychotics eventually cost her waitress job, and she hadn't been able to hold employment since. They visited Stuart's burial spot once a month, a wooden cross in a field on the outskirts of town, where she put flowers on the grave and cried poor for her husband. The state of Texas refused to offer her grief counseling, stating, "The state does not believe in extending grief counseling to widows of executed inmates who insisted on standing by their husbands." Even Bobby and Riley started to misbehave. They had been expelled from school for bullying the children of the parents their father murdered, something that Lorna actually encouraged. They seemed a little calmer in their new school with in-school counseling, but they were still angry and upset about what happened to their father.
But it was nothing compared to the night of January 24, 2020. The second anniversary of the execution. The families of the murder victims held a candlelight vigil in Lorna's neighborhood, the brunt of them gathered on her front lawn. She was not happy to hear the preaching and singing outside her house. She waited until they had a "moment of silence," then she came out onto her porch and gave a shocking speech.
"It's your fault that I've been hallucinatin' these past two years!" she shouted. "You an' all your pro-spankin' kind! If all y'all had minded your own damn business about what Stuart and I did with our Bobby an' Riley, all of your family members would still be here, as would Stuart, and we would've still been the happy family we once were!"
"Save it, crazy lady!" one man shouted. "All yer claims 'bout yer boys bein' perfect lil' angels were bullshit! Yer husband wouldn't have had to be executed if only ya listened to my brother, and beaten their asses when he told ya to. You should've used the belt an' paddle on those minions! That's how you create a functional family here in the South!" It was followed by loud applause from the vigil.
"How dare you?!" Lorna screamed over the din, then went back in the house. Minutes later, she came out with Stuart's old hunting rifle and started whacking people over their heads with it, hitting people all over the place, turning a peaceful vigil violent. The people responding by smacking, slapping and beating her. She never noticed her neighbors calling the police, and minutes later, she and sixty others were arrested.
Lorna thought about all this as this three-month trial came to an end; she was already found guilty of assault and disrupting the peace. Now, she was listening to the judge's decision.
"Between the murder trial of Stuart Waters, an' the assault trial of his widow, Lorna," he said, "I am convinced that this is the craziest family ever in the whole state of Texas. It is one thing to support one's husband when he's obviously guilty of a capital punishment crime. It is quite another to take your feelin's out on other people, specifically the survivors of the murder victims, after the husband got exactly what was comin' to him, because she was too prideful to consider divorce." He glared at Lorna. "Mrs. Waters, despite the fact that divorce disrupts families, most women in yer predicament would go fer in a heartbeat, to spare themselves more grief an' heartache. Yer actions went beyond the point of inexcusable an' unlawful, an' it's clear that you don't deserve to live here any longer.
"Therefore, I declare that Mrs. Waters and her two sons, Robert an' Riley, be exiled from this state as soon as possible, never to return. I will call a real estate agency to have the house put up fer sale immediately, and the family is to be out of state by the first of the month. Anythin' that is left behind in the house by then will be confiscated, unless Mrs. Waters requests those items be sent fer to her new livin' space. If the family is spotted anywhere in Texas after the deadline, Mrs. Waters shall be arrested, and the boys shall be placed in foster care."
The judge concluded, "There is a reason why capital punishment is big in the state of Texas, and that is to keep this land in the conservative position of authority that it is. I find it disgustin' that liberals like Mrs. Waters insist on questionin' that authority for the sole purpose of keepin' family together. Let this serve as a hard lesson for people like her. This case is dismissed."
Lorna left the courtroom with her sons, Bobby, now thirteen, and Riley, who would be ten in the coming month. She was thinking of only one destination – Empire City. Two of her cousins lived there; they called it, "more diverse in ethnicity an' background than in all of North America." Perhaps they will help her set up new housing, and find a suitable school for the boys. She told her sons this, and they looked bewildered.
"Empire City?" Bobby asked. "That's up in the north, isn't it? How will we fit in with all of those… Yankees? What would Grandpa an' the family think of this?"
"They'd probably encourage it, telling me there aren't any options," Lorna said. "We're officially a disgrace to the South, and we probably wouldn't be welcome out west, either."
They spent the next week packing up their clothes and personal items. Lorna made a list of appliances they'd leave behind that needed to be shipped to Empire City, including TV's, computers, their microwave, most living room and basement furniture. She called an airport to reserve plane tickets to Empire City. They got reservations for the afternoon of June 27th. The day before, they went to her husband's wooden cross.
"This is it," she told him. "The last time we'll ever see each other, Stu. Tomorrow, the boys an' I will be flying out to this place, Empire City, in accordance to Texan law. But don't you worry, I've got Tammy-Lynn an' Jackson to care for us until we get suitable, affordable housing, and I get myself a good job. I'm actually looking forward to this, I don't want to be a basket case crying over you anymore. I want you to look at me in spirit and see me happy an' free. Maybe Empire City will help me." She was playing with her long, curly light brown hair the whole time.
Bobby spoke for himself and Riley. "Goodbye, Dad. We'll never ferget you. We promise we'll work hard fer our new school an' teachers in Empire City… fer you. We love you, sweet Daddy."
Lorna put her bouquet on the grave and kissed the cross one last time. "Goodbye, my husband, my love. I will always love you." She led her boys back into the car and drove away.
In late July, Debra Janeway was flying to her new home in Empire City with her two daughters, eleven-year-old Stephanie and eight-year-old Emma. Before, they'd lived in Chicago, where Debra was married to a K-9 unit officer named Keith Janeway, and also a successful wedding planner. Keith's "partner", a German Shepherd they named Dodger, was considered the "family pet."
Then, one day in the previous November, both Keith and Dodger were shot to death in a field following a high-speed chase out of town, by three young men whom Dodger noticed had crack cocaine on them. When they'd learned what happened to their husband, father and pet, both girls were ready to start crying, only to be horrified when they saw their mother faint.
At the funeral service, all her friends and co-workers gave their love and support. One co-worker even volunteered to take over her duties while she stayed home for a while. She thought she was feeling better until her client, whose wedding she was planning at the time, made an insensitive comment: "It's better that you're widowed now, Ms. Janeway. After all, who's going to take a divorced wedding planner seriously?"
She wanted to hit her in front of everyone, but remembered she was in a church. So she just said, "Of course you can take a divorced wedding planner seriously. A divorced marriage counselor, now that's another story."
She managed to complete the wedding preparations for her offending client, as well as successfully prepare a lavish wedding for the daughters of the Friedlanders, Chicago's wealthiest business family, in the three months after. It earned her one hundred fifty thousand dollars, enough to start her own wedding planning business. But during this time, she'd thought about leaving Chicago. "We need to move on from losing Daddy and Dodger," she told her girls. She looked online and found some decent office space in Empire City that cost ten thousand dollars. She decided to buy it.
Now, on the plane, the athletic Stephanie was thinking about Dodger, how she'd always go running with him, and she and her sister playing fetch with him, with a stick or ball or Frisbee. She sighed and said to her mother, "I miss Dodger most of all, Mom. Is it okay if we get a new dog once we get settled in Empire City?"
Emma smiled happily at the idea. "Yeah, Mom!" she agreed. "Can we? Can we get a new dog? A German Shepherd just like Dodger." But Stephanie looked upset at her.
"Girls," Debra said, "we'll probably be living in a two-bedroom apartment, and those buildings don't allow pets. You know that." The sisters sighed, disappointed.
"Look, as well as this move that we're making," she told them, "I've read that another step in moving on from losing a spouse is to get back into the social scene when you've recovered. If I can find a man who's a dog person, maybe–" But the girls were cheering before she could finish.
"Thanks, Mom, you're the best!" Stephanie said. She kissed her mother's cheek and faced forward. Maybe now, she could overcome the losses, too.
In Empire City, Valerie Boston had ten chairs set up in one boss's office, in the advertising agency where she worked, Lancer and Sussex. They were all facing her and one of her employers, George Sussex. It was October 15th, two days after the final interviews were conducted, searching for five employees to replace the ones Valerie had gotten fired the month before. They had spent the entire day before informing the finalists, discussing which ones they wanted to hire, discussing the pros and cons of each. Now, it was time to do the hiring. She sat beside Mr. Sussex's large desk, a sheet in her hand.
"I'm ready when you are, sir," she said.
Mr. Sussex smiled at her and pressed on his intercom. "Teresa," he said, "send in the finalists."
Ten men and women entered the office, all of varied ages. Six Caucasians, three African-Americans, and one Latin woman. They were all smiling when they saw Valerie. These were the ones who agreed with her view that physically punishing mentally disabled children was entirely wrong. Children like Valerie's eleven-year-old son, Jeremy, who was diagnosed with Shaken Baby Syndrome so severe, he was declared retarded. Valerie was thinking about Jeremy when these finalists were seating themselves, only to stop daydreaming when she heard Mr. Sussex say, "Good day, ladies and gentlemen. Congratulations on passing the interview process for this company. You have been chosen for a special reason, not just your outstanding work experiences and willingness to work hard for this company. Your views on raising special needs children will help you to work well with Valerie Boston, which will help create an ideal working environment."
"Your cheerful dispositions, attentiveness, determination to succeed, and positive attitudes impressed us both, and I wish we could hire you all," Valerie added. "Unfortunately, we only have five positions to fill, and these were the hardest decisions we ever had to make. So to those who don't get selected, thank you for your interest and submissions, and I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors."
She read from the list of checked-off candidates. "Please stand up when I call your name," she instructed. "First off is our most important position, project manager. The choice for this position is Marilyn Hobbes. Congratulations, Marilyn."
The woman of forty-three years old – whom Valerie had bonded with earlier – stood up, smiling professionally.
"Next position is in our legal department," Valerie announced. "That position goes to Richard Thomas."
The African-American man whom Valerie sympathized with over his heart-breaking loss of his daughter, who also had Shaken Baby Syndrome, rose and smiled at Valerie. "Thank you, Ms. Boston," he said. "Although we have different positions, I'd like to help you spread more awareness of the condition that plagued both our children."
Valerie nodded and went to the list of advertisers. "Finally, our list of 'drones,' as they say in the business world," she laughed. "Our first selection for this position is Jill Watterson."
A younger woman, mid-thirties, with straighter light brown hair and glowing blue eyes, stood up and smiled naturally.
"Our second selection," Valerie continued, "is Peter Loveless."
The young man with the sandy hair stood up and adjusted his tie.
"And the last candidate to work at this agency is Louise Lopez," Valerie concluded.
The Latin woman, around late thirties, grinned in delight as she stood.
Mr. Sussex looked at the chosen candidates. "Congratulations, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "You will report to this building for your first day of work tomorrow." To the candidates still sitting, "To the rest of you, thank you for making it this far and good luck with your search in the future."
He went to his file drawer for five sheets of paper for the selected ones. "I need you to fill out your personal information for our employee files, please." He retrieved pens for them all.
The next morning, Valerie was in her office, looking through her mail. She'd been waiting all this time for a reply from Texas Pride Jeans Company. She had sent two sets of magazine ads, one based on the billboard she completed the previous month. She was mostly thinking of the other set she did with Walker Calhoun, Sundown from one of Empire City's elite team of police specialists, C.O.P.S. One of the many men on that force whom she used to date.
Sure enough, she saw the envelope with the Texas Pride logo on it, addressed to her. She ripped it open quickly and prayed for good news. It read:
Dear Ms. Boston:
We at Texas Pride were pleased to receive the series of advertisements we requested, following the approval of your billboard ad. We are impressed with your decision to put most of the original billboard models in the first serial.
The "Wild West" theme of the first serial, and the use of related props and sets, was very well done, in our opinion. It gives off the authentic look and flavor that we put into our product. We've noticed that in each of these four ads, you've had one model be shirtless at the front, and the other wearing a shirt at the back. This is a wise decision on your part, as if gives off the "sexiness" look of the product without having the consumer thinking about homosexual stereotypes. Again, a job well done.
You've also included an extra serial featuring Walker "Sundown" Calhoun, the sheriff marshal for the Central Organization of Police Specialists (C.O.P.S.), which you did following the disaster that occurred while shooting the first serial. Though I found the shirtlessness and some of the poses to be suggestive, amazingly, this was quite popular among our staff. At the meeting, the women among our decision-making staff were fawning over Sheriff Calhoun and making comments. One, Ms. Davine Hilliard, was quoted as saying, "What is he doing enforcing the law? He should be a romance novel cover model." Some of the men had the same thoughts as myself, but it had the attraction of others. One man, Mr. Scott Wilson, was quoted as saying, "Look at those arms, chest and abs. I'd kill to look like this man." Mr. Paul Malone endorsed this statement, saying, "Women will want this man, and men will want to be him. He'd be the perfect spokesmodel."
At this time, I am pleased to inform you that we have decided to accept both sets of ads. The ones based on the billboard, and the set with Sheriff Calhoun will be placed in major women's magazines for their sex appeal, to entice our female customers. Separately, the billboard based ads will also be shown to magazines aimed at teenage and college-aged readers, in keeping with 16-30 age demographic, while the ads featuring Sheriff Calhoun will be in major men's magazines, to draw the interests of these customers.
Thank you, and we hope to do future business with you. Please call us upon receiving this letter to negotiate payment.
Sincerely,
Jim Kirkland, President
Valerie was enthralled, but knew she couldn't squeal or dance around in her office. "Oh, I can't wait to show this to the C.O.P.S.," she told herself. "Maybe I can ask Mr. Lancer to photocopy it." She went to find her other boss, Chris Lancer , and her Texas Pride project team, Gerinna Donalds and Stephen Flett.
"So, how did you enjoy your first day?" Valerie asked Marilyn Hobbes as they left their work later that day.
"It was all right," Marilyn answered. "It was nice meeting everyone at the introductory meeting this morning, but being project manager is tougher than I thought. I can't believe I have to wait to be assigned something, while Jill, Peter and Louise all got to work right away."
"Yeah, they usually hold interviews to give the details on the ad they want," Valerie explained, "then Lancer or Sussex decides who would be best fitting to lead. Unless the client requests a leader due to word of mouth or personal connections."
She then led Marilyn to her car. "Speaking of which, I'm on my way to C.O.P.S. headquarters. Come along with me. I'll introduce you to Bullseye, like I promised."
"I brought my own car, thanks," Marilyn said. "I'll follow you, though."
Valerie drove to the end of the parking lot, and looked for Marilyn through her rear-view mirror. When she saw her driving her own car, she looked out for traffic, then went her way to the headquarters, Marilyn trailing behind her.
As soon as they arrived, they saw a police car parking in the spot beside Valerie. They saw two officers step out, one with hair the color of sand, wearing a navy blue police uniform that looked somewhat padded, with gold on the shoulders. The other wore an orange cap with the word "SWAT" on it, goggles over his eyes, and a brown uniform with a black device over the left shoulder and pectoral that Valerie could never identify. Valerie smiled; respectively, they were Stanley "Barricade" Hide, crowd control officer; and Colt "Mace" Howards, SWAT team member. But Barricade was the one whom Valerie chose for her love.
"Barricade, Mace, how lovely to see you," she said, then went over to kiss Barricade. She stared into his eyes and told him, "My mother and sisters just adored you when we were at Rhonda's house for Columbus Day dinner."
"I enjoyed their company," Barricade replied, then Valerie felt a tap on her shoulder.
Marilyn looked peeved at her. "Aren't you going to introduce me?" she asked.
Valerie slapped her forehead and said, "Right, where are my manners?" She introduced her to both C.O.P.S. formally, then said, "Guys, this is Marilyn Hobbes, our new project manager at Lancer and Sussex."
"Nice to meet ya," Mace said.
"Charmed," Barricade replied. Marilyn smiled and said her thanks.
Valerie looked at the two C.O.P.S. and asked, "Listen, I'm thinking Bulletproof may be around, but what about Sundown? We have business to show them."
"Bulletproof's in there somewhere," Mace replied, "but I dunno about Sundown." Valerie nodded and left with Marilyn.
Just outside the front doors, Valerie explained before Marilyn could ask. "Bulletproof's real name is Baldwin P. Vess, and you know about Sundown, okay? I showed you the letter at lunch, remember? And speaking of Bulletproof, did I tell you what happened when Sussex and I interviewed his sister?"
Inside, she began telling her about the "high and mighty" attitude that Darlene Vess-Jackson displayed when they were talking about Valerie's son, her comments about how Jeremy looked like a brat, her boasting about how she and her siblings benefited from physical punishment, the criticisms of Valerie's parenting and decision-making skills. Valerie completely ignored any officers she walked past, looking around for Sundown and not seeing him. She and Marilyn arrived at Bulletproof's office when she got to Mr. Sussex's "tell-off" speech in Darlene's interview, and didn't knock on the door until she finished talking.
"Come in," Bulletproof called.
In the office, Marilyn saw an African-American male just closing his file drawer, taking a manila folder to his desk. He was dressed in a yellow shirt and brick-colored slacks. His narrow tie was barely noticeable to her.
"Ah, Bulletproof, how nice to see you," Valerie said. After she introduced him to Marilyn, she said, "Now, let's get down to business. Remember those ads featuring Sundown that I did for Texas Pride?" She presented her letter. "This came today, and I'm sure you'll be pleased with the news."
Bulletproof read the letter, surprised by some details. "Popular among the staff? Women fawning over Sundown and making comments? What? Spokesmodel?" He stared at Valerie for a few moments. "I don't know about this, really. Do you think this is a good idea?"
"It's a great idea," Valerie said. "Ever heard of moonlighting? Lots of police and fire fighters have moonlighted as models and actors when not on duty with their units. And speaking as someone who's had glances of him, if you get my drift, I think Sundown would be just the man to model. Where is he, anyway? I haven't seen him around here."
"He's out on assignment," Bulletproof answered. "I'll pass this along to him when he gets back."
Marilyn whispered in Valerie's ear, and she added, "Oh yeah, and do you also know where Bullseye is today?"
"Sorry, but he just got off duty an hour ago," Bulletproof replied.
She looked at her new friend, who looked disappointed. "Well, thanks for you time, Bulletproof. Have Sundown call me at home about that spokesmodel thing, okay?"
"I'll think about it first. See you, Valerie." The women left, Valerie winking at Barricade on the way out.
At their cars, Marilyn sighed, "Well, that was a bust! Tell me, Valerie, what's his real name, so I can look him up?"
"I didn't get his real name, sorry," Valerie replied. "Now that I think about it, he passed me over without even asking me out. Are you sure you want him?"
"If he likes aircraft as much as Justin does, I'll give him a try," Marilyn said.