Sample Sunday: From Gothica 2nd Edition (to be released soon)

Skip Abrahm was a damn good cop. His unrelenting support of justice helped him to become one of Louisville’s finest. Equally, his unwavering support of his ex-partner Jamie Davenport, along with his sexual preference, gave him short passage to his new assignment. Skip was weaving his way through the crowded Yum! Center. What a name. Leave it to the good folks at Kentucky Fried Chicken to come up with a name like Yum! Center. It was, however, better than than the other option – The Kentucky Bucket. Oh well, he was glad to not be having to police the club from the previous night. Although clubs were his scene, Goth was not. Sweaty hot men in basketball uniforms, on the other hand…

The University of Louisville men’s basketball team was about take the floor. The crowd was on their feet and in the isles. It was his duty to see to it that these events went off without incident.

Under normal circumstances, Skip would be just shy of heaven. Not only did he enjoy the sport, basketball games were a smorgasbord of men to pick from. From the college frat boys all the way up to the standard issue sugar-daddies, any flavor could be had.

This would have been heaven. Would have. Unfortunately, Skip had been yanked away from the best partner he ever had, partnered with the most homophobic cop on duty, and forced to patrol every large event in the area. Skip was in hell.

His new partner, Jim Donner, was short and stocky and wore military hair from his head to his upper lip. He was an annoying little troll that rocked back and forth as he stood; he was begging for a healthy dose of Ritalin. Donner also had horrible hygiene. Not only did he reek of yesterday’s sweat bath, he seemed to be unaware that the average American did actually brush their teeth and swab a bit of deodorant under their arms.

And, Jim Donner hated anything out of the ordinary. If it wasn’t stale white-bread, Donner wanted nothing to do with it. He was a proud member of the unwashed masses and lived to make the lives of anyone not male, white, and built Ford-tough a living hell. How this little grunt of a man had become a functioning member of the Louisville Police Force, Skip had no clue.

“Hey Abrahm…” The little mole spoke. “Check out the rack on that bitch!”

Skip closed his eyes. “I am in hell,” he whispered to himself. He was torn between keeping his new partner in the dark about his sexual preference and just blurting out “Donner,I’m a card-carrying homosexual!” Fortunately, Skip Abrahm had just enough self-control to not endanger his life and profession. For this, he was thankful to Jamie Davenport. She had always served to be his personal system of checks and balances. Whenever he’d start to go a little left of center on the Queen-o-Meter, she’s rein him back in.

With Donner, he opted to keep his homosexuality a secret. He looked in the general direction of the rack in question and, fortunately, found a dreamy band boy blowing on his horn. “Nice!” Skip hissed. Donner smacked him hard on the back. Skip almost doubled over from the blow.

“Damn, what I wouldn’t do to have those tits hanging over me in bed!” Donner’s sotto voce was a bit more voce than sotto. “Come on now, Skipper. Wouldn’t you just love to grab hold of those babies and run your face through ’em like a John Deere in field of month-old grass?”

How could this have happen to to such a proud officer? Skip found himself thinking. He had been paired with his best friend for years and was now thrown into Gay Hell, partnered with GI Jim and the homophobic brigade. Skip was sure he would never last! The fear he would accidentally out himself and be hazed to a bloody pulp before Liza ever gets a chance to remarry was now a real and present danger. Skip turned and looked at his partner. But just as he was about to let loose his mighty fury, he heard a familiar sound that sent slivers of cold fear through his veins.

“Skippeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!” That high-pitched timbre could only belong to the Queen of Queens – Corey Westen. Skip turned to face the underweight, oversexed boy with a look that screamed, “On duty. Shut your hole!”

Corey either didn’t read the look, or didn’t care to closet his personal queen.

“Honey, we missed you last night at the Cha Cha Palace! You missed some special treats. I don’t remember everything, but I do know that I had me at least three mens licking and chewing on me -” Skip’s hand went up to Corey’s flapping mouth.

“I’m on duty.” Skip whispered pointedly. “Cut the queer eye.”

Corey’s brain finally registered the situation, and the backpedaling began. “Oh my gosh, honey, I had you mistaken for an ex-boyfriend. Oh, please forgive me, you big, straight, hunk of officer.” The man flamed away.

Skip took in a deep breath and released every ounce of tension that had just boiled to the surface. He was afraid to even look at Jim. Had Jim bought the lie? Was he right now cleaning his bayonet and loading his musket?

“Fucking homos!” was all Skip heard from his partner. He quickly turned and composed himself before his venom could do irreparable damage.

“I’m going to use the restroom.” Skip hissed through clenched teeth.

He had no intention of going to the restroom. What he intended to do was step outside to call his best friend, and used-to-be-partner, so she could keep him from committing homo-cide.

He managed to get outside before the rage took control. A blast of cold air whipped up his pant-legs, and he braced himself against a wall. He hated cold nearly as much as he hated his new partner.

A pack of smokers were enjoying a few drags before the game started. As soon as they saw Skip-in-blue, their demeanor changed and over half of them did the twist on their cigs and left for the party inside. The half that remained turned their backs to Skip, as if the very act would safeguard them from the law. Skip rolled his eyes and turned his own back to shield his face from the biting wind.

He pulled out his phone and clumsily dialed Jamie’s cell. The line rang twice. “Davenport.” Salvation on the other end.

“Hey Jamie, it’s Skipper. Don’t talk; I need to vent.”