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than a
couple of glasses.”
    “Just wait. I’m getting to the good part.
She had on one of those very loose blouses that are cut so low it’s more like a
halter top, and my hand goes right under, and I have a handful of bare breast.
The proverbial crap hits the fan. She starts screaming and swearing, and
because she is jumping all over I can’t get my damn hand out. If I just yank,
I’m afraid I’ll tear the blouse or flip the breast out.
     Of course, the one who was sleeping is now
up, and I find out her favorite word is ‘pervert’. And this in combination with
‘fucking pervert’ is what she is yelling. Next, she picks up the barrel of
popcorn, and you know how you throw a pail of water to empty it? Well, that’s
how she empties the barrel, and I have popcorn all over me.”
    My attitude seems rather flippant to Sam,
but I’m far from calm or casual.  For the last number of months, the Chief has
had me riding a desk in Records and has forbidden me to even come up to the
detective floor. The homicide squad has been warned not to discuss the serial
killers with me, the ostracism an embarrassment for my old crew and me. 
    Now this bloody basketball blond is in the
queue. If any charges result, it will be difficult to keep out of the news,
meaning I’m either fired or it would be many years before I return to
Homicide.  Have I reached the end of the line? I should have moved forward, but
I keep slipping, living in a different world, oblivious to even the extreme
environmental temperatures.
    Sam is groaning. “God…goddamn it ….damn it.”
    “People are standing. A couple of teenagers
are cheering, laughing, and one of them provides the wolf whistle. The damn
blond keeps prancing with me caught in her bra, a reluctant partner to this
embarrassing dance. I use my free hand to wipe the popcorn from my face,
thinking maybe clear vision will help. Finally to the rescue…… Monk stands up
and holds the woman’s shoulder, forces her to sit in her chair and pulls my
hand out; he gestures and we slide away.”
    “Didn’t anyone try and stop you?’
    “Get serious. Monk is huge and not in a
good mood. No one was going to challenge us, and we almost made it. But I had
to visit the bathroom. And when we came out the security people were waiting. I
explained it all as a stupid accident, and we got lucky. The head of security
was one of the Monk’s parishioners. He smiled and told us to wait until he has
a chance to talk to the blonde one more time. Maybe she might be willing to let
it go.”
    I pause because the rest is not the best
part of the evening.
     “Dumb shit! Come on Charlie, don’t leave
me in mid- air. What happened? Were you cleared? Or, were you arrested?”
    It’s hard to go over this again, but I have
to tell him. “I thought we were in the clear, but when the security guy
returned he didn’t look happy, and I guessed this was going to the next level.
He told us she wouldn’t let it drop and wants to press charges.”
     “What’s her concern?”
    “She doesn’t think it was an accident
because she claims, while my hand was on her breast I kept squeezing and
stroking.”
     
     

CHAPTER 7: CHARLIE’S LOG: The REST
    It’s known as the Mamma Mia case, and I’m
the prime suspect.
    It turns out the blond at the pool is an
Italian tourist. So as soon as the woman surfaced, the Chief took charge and
immediately enforced a blackout. Nothing was to get out. Nothing. The last
thing he wanted was a front page splash with one of his men charged with
assaulting a tourist.
    Of course, not many vessels are 100% air
tight and enough leaked that speculation roared around the station. Some smart
ass decided that when a strange hand slipped onto her bare breast the Italian
woman probably screamed. “Mamma Mia!” By placing the emphasis on different
syllables of the two words, it became a day’s entertainment for the station
staff. Thank god I am still downstairs in Records, away from the main