Chapter Eleven
“Well, if it isn’t Detective Callaghan,” a sultry voice said.
Dutch stiffened, and all expression was wiped from his face. His hand clamped painfully around my left arm as he pulled me to a stop.
Huh? The stoic cop was back. I turned to see who had this effect on him. An anorexic blonde with 40EE boobs, bee-stung lips and way too much makeup stared at him hungrily. If she wanted to emulate that actress with all those kids, she had failed miserably. Bee-stung wasn’t quite the right description. It looked more like a severe allergic reaction and she needed to see a doctor immediately.
If she breathed too deeply the buttons on her too tight red silk blouse were gonna pop off and put someone’s eye out. Her over-processed hair sprung out from her head in a tangled mess.
“You’re violating the restraining order Natasha,” Dutch said, pure steel in his voice.
Natasha fluttered her eyelashes like she had something in her eye. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your little friend?”
“No. Leave. Now.”
“Did you tell her about us?” There was a malevolent note in Natasha’s voice.
Us? I stared at Natasha in amazement. Her aura was a muddy forest green with touches of black. She was lying and wanted to create ill-will.
I chuckled. “Have you always been a big, fat liar?”
“You stupid bitch!” Saliva spewed from Natasha’s mouth. “We were lovers.”
“Leave now or I’ll have you arrested,” Dutch snarled.
“The only one getting arrested, is you.” Natasha ripped her shirt open, exposing her humongous boobs. “Help! He’s attacking me. Someone please help me.”
Dutch pulled the police radio off his belt. “This is Two David Twenty, I need a patrol officer at the north entrance of 620 West Washington for a disorderly subject.”
“Copy Two David Twenty,” the dispatcher responded.
Natasha screamed loud enough to raise the dead. “Rape! He’s trying to rape me. Help! Help me!”
“Dear God, give it a rest. Detective Callaghan would rather cut his pecker off than do you,” I interjected.
Dutch muttered, “You got that right.”
Natasha stopped screaming and turned her furious gaze on me. “You don’t have the right equipment to keep a man like him.”
“Honey, have you looked in the mirror lately? Your breasts are lopsided, and your butt implants are sagging,” I shot back.
With a shriek of pure rage, Natasha launched herself at me.
“Dammit Natasha!” As Dutch jerked me out of the way, I kicked out, knocking Natasha off her feet. She fell face first into a thorny bougainvillea bush. Whoops.
“Nice move,” Dutch said.
“Why, thank you.” I noticed a flock of pigeons roosting in the trees overhead and commanded, “Shit her.”
Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat!
Within a minute, pigeon poop covered Natasha from head-to-toe. She struggled to free herself from her thorny prison. “Help me! Help me!”
Dutch grinned in delight. “Are you dating anyone?”
“What?” Was he messing with me? “Why?”
“I’ve decided to keep you.”
“Keep me?” Was that a euphemism for locking me up?
For a brief moment, pure carnal need flared to life in Dutch’s eyes. “You’ve got spunk. Life with you would never be boring and I miss having a woman in my bed.”
“Uh huh.” Was I supposed to be flattered? “You feeling okay? Did you hit your head when you were wrestling with those security guards yesterday? You don’t like me, remember?”
“A man can change his mind, can’t he?” Dutch smiled. A smile so sensual it made my lady parts clench.
A young patrol officer rushed up. “Sir?”
Rats. Talk about poor timing.
“Arrest her,” Dutch ordered, pointing at Natasha.
Natasha squirmed wildly. “Help! He’s raping me.”
God, I hated scheming bitches. I had the pigeons hit her again.
A look of horror crossed the officer’s face as shit rained down. “But sir, she’s covered in bird crap.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Arrest her,” Dutch snapped.
I pulled a pair of latex gloves from my purse and handed them to the officer. “Here ya go. It’s always a good idea to carry some.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He hurriedly gloved up and dragged a screeching Natasha from the bush.
That’s when I noticed we had drawn an audience. The lookie-loos had their cellphones out and were happily filming Natasha’s meltdown.
Natasha yelled, “Let go of me. I’m the victim here. Arrest that fucking bitch. She assaulted me.”
I smiled at the nice officer, twirled my finger around my right ear and mouthed, “looney toons.”
“You are under arrest for disorderly conduct.” The officer slapped the cuff on. “Anything you say can and will be used against you.”
“You idiot,” Natasha squawked and tried to kick the officer. “Detective Callaghan is violating my restraining order. He’s been stalking me for months. He tried to rape me.”
“In plain view? On a busy public street?” I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Not to mention, you’re covered in pigeon poop, yet Detective Callaghan has none on him.”
Dutch pulled out his cellphone and took several pictures of Natasha, then handed his phone to me. “Take my picture.”
I arched an eyebrow.
“Please,” Dutch added.
“My pleasure.” I took several of him, then turned to Natasha, “Say cheese.”
Natasha struggled wildly. “You’re dead. Do you hear me? Dead. I’m going to blow up your fucking house. I will slit your throat and laugh while you bleed out.”
“And that, honey, is called terrorist threats. May I also point out all the security cameras that caught your little act too,” I said.
“Callaghan is a corrupt police officer,” Natasha hollered, trying her best to look like an innocent victim instead of a raging lunatic. “He tried to rape me!”
The crowd hooted and jeered.
One of the lookie-loos yelled, “Who wants tits covered in poop? Not me.”
“Or me,” another man yelled.
A TV news crew van pulled up.
“Take her to booking. As soon as I’m done in court, I’ll be down to finish the paperwork,” Dutch told the officer.
“Yes, sir.” He dragged the loudly protesting Natasha away.
“Please tell me you didn’t date that psychotic bitch?” I handed Dutch his cellphone.
Dutch released a long breath. “My father did. She destroyed his life.”
“That I can believe.”
A reporter rushed up and stuck his mic in Dutch’s face. “Isn’t that Natasha Leggero? Didn’t she sue your father for a million dollars for alienation of affection?”
“No comment.” Dutch ushered me down the street. “The paparazzi vultures made my father’s life a living hell.”
“Shit ‘em?”
“Please.”
“My pleasure.” I smiled as horrified cries filled the air.