ACT III

I, Elisa Maza, hadn't crushed on a guy in a minute. My first, serious crush was on Peter, an intelligent, shy friend during high school. As my lab partner, he assured me that biology and chemistry complemented a law enforcement career. I even wanted to beat up the bullies who tortured him, but he deterred me. As cute as Peter Benjamin Parker was, I never summoned the courage to ask him out.

Jason and I quietly patrolled. At red lights I looked over at him, he looked away and vice versa. I yearned for more than wordless flirtation.

"So, which, um…precinct did you transfer from?" I ended a sentence with a preposition. Would he care it was improper syntax?

"One in another city," Jason vaguely answered.

"Really? What city?" As an experienced detective, I wasn't throwing in the towel.

"A small one compared to this. A town this size must take a lot of work to protect," he answered.

"Yeah, it's more than a job, it's a way of life," I agreed.

"I've heard some pretty wild things about New York, like alligators in the sewers."

"I could tell you stories."

"I'm all ears," he said.

"You're all man." That was an external thought. I talked to myself too much.

To maintain his attention I regaled him with how large, bipedal terrapins were sighted in the sewers. A daredevil thwarted criminals who entered Hell's Kitchen. A superhuman swung around NYC on a web and caught thieves like flies. Four ghost hunters prevented two separate apocalypses.

"Surpassed my expectations," Jason laughed, so captivated by the documents.

"Pretty wild things," I added through chuckling.

Our guffaws were interrupted by dispatch reporting a green van suspiciously parked at the East River Warehouse District. We arrived within minutes.

"Anything?" I asked while we slow rolled.

"Not yet..." Jason answered. A heartbeat later, "marked it."

It was adjacent to a Xanatos Enterprises storage facility, which meant I might need to confront that scumbag.

A huge explosion bumped us. We accelerated toward a steaming, hollowed outward garage door. Two ski-masked men with large canisters emerged and sprinted toward the van. We stopped, crouched behind the car's doors and aimed our guns at the idiots.

"Police, freeze!" Jason and I commanded. They surrendered. Already in sync with Conover in less than sixty minutes; damn shame this was temporary.

"Freeze, yourself."

Shit. Someone behind us growled that out. In my peripheral vision were more thugs who'd gotten the drop on us. I'd become somewhat nervous.

"Drop the hardware," they demanded ten seconds later.

Police weren't permitted to follow such a demand. Plus, there was no way I'd end up being a hostage, raped and then murdered.

Jason tucked and rolled. I ducked when they wildly fired at us and their own. Jason shot their canister, which then exploded and dispelled the first two guys. His rapid heroism helped me rebound from fear.

They seemed down for the count but the others opened fire from behind crates. Jason and I took cover behind the car doors and returned fire. But their van scooped them up and sped off. Jason placed the light on the roof while I hit the siren and began pursuit. "Call it in!"

We chased our assailants at a high speed through Uptown Manhattan. Their back doors parted and the attempted murder resumed. My car was solid steel, not faster than speeding bullets.

This New York Sunday morn was light on traffic, heavy on crowds. The uncaring foursome never decelerated, near missing a dozen pedestrians and one carriage horse. Our vehicles skipped a curb heading into Central Park. They kept shooting, I suppose in disapproval? Conover seemed unfazed while peppering the van's interior, a tactic forcing the goons into steering down a hill.

"My mechanic's going to love this," I muttered. Sure he would. Benny had what, five kids to feed?

We followed, a bumpy ride not helping either side to fire. At least there weren't more people in sight, even past the Bethesda Fountain. Unfortunately, they resumed shooting enough to prevent my enacting a P.I.T. maneuver.

Jason's next shot shredded the van's back tire, which swerved them toward a precipice and out of sight. I gave Jason thumbs up while we rolled toward a clearing with no injured patrons. With three stumbling from the felled vehicle, we cautiously aimed at their heads.

"I said freeze." I was goddamn pissed off my car was Swiss cheese.

"Where's the fourth guy?" Jason bellowed.

"I don't know," the one standing atop the van whined.

Dozens of marked cars and a patrol wagon finally showed up. Arrest procedure was followed to the letter. The danger was over. Nobody died. We observed our brothers clean up.

"Sunday in the park with dirtbags." I winked at Jason. "Not bad shooting, Clyde."

"Thanks, Bonnie, you were pretty good behind the wheel," Jason responded. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

"I'd love that," I accepted. "Of course, after we complete a shitload of paperwork."

"My firearms discharge report'll be a kilometer long," the temp said.

I stared at Jason with incalculable respect. He was a superior cop in the deadly position I placed him. He deftly saved our lives, neither judged nor berated me; the mark of a super partner.

Zero exaggeration about paperwork that took an hour to process. My grumbling stomach reminded me of Colandro's, my secret restaurant that served the greatest coffee and meals. I suggested it to Jason as long as we chose a table distant from prying eyes.

I wanted a bacon, egg and cheese sammich, but hadn't wanted to eat the mess in front of my handsome co-worker. Blueberry muffin it was. The Union-required lunch break allowed for casual conversation.

"You're aware that Bonnie and Clyde were actual bank robbers." Jason noted before sipping his coffee.

"I'm well aware; heat of the moment reference, I suppose." I was so enamored with him, so I immediately aimed high. "Are you married?"

"No, not yet. Are you?" He asked before another long sip of his refill.

"No, not yet. I do have a brother and a sister. You have any siblings?" I asked before a bite of muffin.

"Yes, Jon and Robyn; we're close knit." He showed me a frayed photograph from his wallet.

"You guys looked very happy." It was refreshing to see a tangible picture of three children smiling and frolicking outside. Once I looked up, Jason was not happy.

"We were at that time, but days after Dad took the picture he died in the line of duty."

"Oh, dear God, I'm so sorry to hear that." I covered my mouth, probably because I couldn't put my foot in it.

"Since that day I fought evil to carry out his legacy." Jason sighed at the photo. "But mostly to protect these two; all I have left."

"What's your father's name?" I asked as I draped my hand over his wrenching, reddening hands.

"Charles," he answered with a stronger timber, then lightly grasped my fingers.

"I believe that Charles would be proud of you," an assurance that relaxed him considerably.

But then we'd broken contact like we held hot coals. After fidgeting and stuttering, we simultaneously asked, "Check, please!"

END ACT III