PLEASE read this first First Regret…Final Passion (part one)
The first time I had been in jail had been murder. Literally. The cops I had pissed off during that investigation did their best to piss me off. When the actual murderer left a trail that led to me, they were more than happy to drag me into the station and charge me for the murder of my mother.
It looked bad for awhile, and I didn’t make friends easy inside. Far from it. Eventually, things came to light, the bastard tripped himself up, and I was eventually released. Not before having some severe Not Fun times. I still sport a few shiv scars from not wanting to be anyone’s girl friend.
Thanks, Dad. I still owe you for that.
The second time I went to jail was my own damn fault. Detective Galloway never let up on me, even though I was 100% cleared. I had gotten in his face too much, and this was The King of Grudges, with a badge. No matter where I was on the social scene, and the money Mom left me saw that I could still be around, the Grudge Lord would haul me in for questioning whenever anything wonky went down. Theft, cat fights, something missing, someone’s spouse gone missing…bam! Knock, Knock, Police…we have some questions for you.
When he tried to haul me in out of the blue when I was on a perfectly great date, I had had enough. I did my own hauling off and punched him right between the eyes. I was sick and tired of his harassment. I was tired of his abuse of power, his screaming shit at me, his red face stressed to eating wires. Then…he spit on me.
Who knew he was a wuss? Down he went, out cold…and right into the path of an oncoming car. His partner Dmitri got to him before anything real serious could happen. Galloway had hit his head on my car bumper on the way down, so between the pop in the face and the blood above his eyes, well…Me? I just stood there, in shock more than anything else. The feral grin (yep, I felt feral at that moment) sent Dmitri over the top. Next thing I knew I was thrown against my Mercedes, my hands were behind my back being bitingly cuffed, Lisa (my great date) was screaming her head off, and I broke a heel off my new pump.
“Daddy’s Little Girl At It Again” went the headline of one of the local rags. The TV stations went with it big time. My lawyer plead my case: big bad cop, poor little ol’ me, the injustice, strain, PMS (I almost hit him between the eyes AND kicked him between the legs for that one), my dead mother GOD REST HER SOUL, the LGBT tried to “help” ::coughAgendacough::: that this was a hate thing on his part (he just didn’t like me, even before he knew)…and I still served two months in jail and then a year of community service.
If I hadn’t already been on Galloway and Dmitri’s shit list, I was Number One with a bullet now. He had to kinda stay away from me, which was one of the only good things that came out of it all (well, that and him going down like he did), but that did not mean his buds had to. Nor Dmitri.
Now they had even more reason to come get me. The jerk that Angie..dammit…Jane and her-whatever-he-was-to-her killed was big money that fed into police causes. Of course he was. The wife knew my name. My prints and blood were all over the scene of the crime, and I had fled said scene. Guilty Guilty Guilty. I knew there was no way out of this one, unless I found Angie/Jane and her partner, and handed them over with impunity for me, dead to rights for them.
Angie. You’re beautiful, but it was not time to say goodbye just yet. Things just went up in smoke, and there ain’t no loving in your soul. I’m going to find you, kick your ass, and then show you were all this is going to lead you. Mick and Keith, if only you knew.