Vice Cop Ch. 01

Vice Cop: The Beginning

New York City, 1985

Hudson Banach's Polish father had been a cop in the post-World War IIdays, a Poznan, and he had retired years ago to start a family in America. He told Hudson of his many experiences in those often dangerous times whenItaly was just coming off its darkest days. His stories and accounts were full ofintrigue and adventure, lurid tales of the Mafia and espionage. His mother's Italian/Sicilian brother, Vittorio, had been a Carabinieri, Italian police officer, and was still active as a cop. He would shower Hudson with gifts and further tales of excitement as he caught the bad guys whose "evils" Hudson did not understand until he became an adult. Now, at the age of 21, he was sure the stories his father told were more than likely embellished with some lies andexaggerations. But the influence his father and uncle Giorgiohad on him was strong enough to arouse in him a desire to be a cop.

Hudson became a rookie cop, sworn to a life of service and protection of civilians, in a ceremony attended by his Sicilian mother, oozing with pride, and his even prouder father. New York City in the mid 80's wasprobably as dangerous as Italy when Mafia reigned, when even seemingly decent and powerful figures were in fact crooks. New York City's underworld was that of illegal prostitution, crime waves, jewelry theft, con artistry and drug traffic. All of this was right there, just beneath the surface and Hudson, still a rookie was eager to see some action, to do his job. But it wasn't easy........

Hudson was six feet tall, ruggedly handsome, with dark, jet-black hair, cut short, a strong chin, brown eyes and a powerful, big, strong physique. He had once been very slender but before his decision to be in law enforcement he worked out at a gym religiously, lifting weights, doing cardio, and frequented the same gym for years. Before long, he developed muscles and a more confident attitude. People said he was a dead ringer for actor Sylvester Stalone and even his voice was somewhat similar His training as a cop was especially difficult, not so much because he was not fit for it, but because he had lived a pampered life as a New York City teen. His mother, being Sicilian, and not cheap in the least, made gourmet meals and cooked with style often, not only on the times the Italian family visited. He had grown up with her cooking. He had also learned to appreciate the opera, which was his secret passion he told no one about in the force. He had also become interested in classical music through an old professorwho took him to concerts in Lincoln Center. He was aware of his Italian heritage, and for that matter, his Polish, but growing up American he became somewhat spoiled. There was no girl he could not have. No girl ever really put up any resistance or turned him down. He had a string of girlfriends and lovers in New York and New Jersey and his sexual exploits had a touch of vice.

There was the time he had met a beautiful Canadian girl at a dance club, where to the strains of festive pop songs by Oingo Boingo they drank themselves silly and ended up having a tryst in an alley by the parking lot.

"What's your name?" he had asked her.

"Does it matter?" she said, with a devilish smile, "are you going to rock my world or not? Ever do it in public?"

"Uhhh...uhh...no, not really. You?"

"Lots of times. In Calgary I got into lots of trouble for it. Some people are too square or too jealous because they're not fucking the way they should."

She was a beautiful girl with blue eyes and her hair was blonde. To Hudson, she looked like a classy girl who probably did kinky things and acted all crazy simply for the act of rebellion itself. Her parents probably had money, she had probably gone to some boarding school run by nuns and she was most likely even engaged to marry some boring wealthy industrialist type. Here she was, her blonde hair falling down her back like spun gold. She began to unbutton her blouse, freeing herself from her bra. Hudson did not know what kind of sex she was into or wanted so he tried to read her mentally. He was going to remove his red dress shirt when she stopped him with her hand on his chest.

"No, don't move a muscle. I know what I'm doing. I may be drunk but I know what I'm doing," she said with a giggle that echoed in the parking lot.

Hudson looked around and noticed some people walking on the street in the distance, talking, enjoying their Saturday night in New York City, and he was worried the young people at the club where they had just beeen were going to see them. He did not want anyone to recognize him. He was now a cop and this would not do at all. But his fears and anxities slipped away as soon as the nameless girl fell to her knees and undid his belt and unzipped his jeans.

"Uhh...pretty girl? Do you think we should do this?"

"Oh, don't be so lame. Be daring," she said, almost reprimanding him.

Her fingers were deftly stroking his cock, which began to get hard and grow against her palm. She was quiet now, and all he could hear was her breathing. She continued to stroke his cock, caressing the shaft, and then she gently presed her lips against it. Her lips were soft and sensual, making him feel a wave of pleasure that surprised him. He moaned and closed his eyes. The girl opened her mouth, slowly commencing her fellatio. It was not as if it was their first time. She had evidently done this before, not being hesitant to do it, and Hudson had been orally pleasured by women before. But there was something about the skillful way she used her mouth, her tongue, her hands, a special talent she possessed for this type of thing. He threw back his head and his hands were on her hair, gently pulling on her blonde tresses.

"You like that, baby?" she whispered.

"Fuck, yeah, don't stop. Mmmm. Feels so good."

Her ass was raised off the street as she crouched now and she continued to lave his hardened cock. Her tongue wrapped itself around the head and she flicked her tongue, like a serpent would, and felt his pleasure become her own. Slowly, gratefully, she took his penis into her mouth, down her throat like some piece of food. She was moaning and making gagging noises as she began to take it deeper down her throat. This caused Hudson to grunt uncontrollably and his hips began to buck automatically. The music from the dance club blared down the street, the 80's pop music reaching their little enclosure in the alley right by the parking lot. When the music began to pulse, and when it seemed like sexually provocative rock, the girl began to devour his cock with intensity.

"Oaahh, fuck....aah God.." Hudson cried out, ready to burst.

He was going to pull out, as he was now set to ejaculate, but she again stopped him with her hand, silently suggesting that she wanted him to cum in her mouth. Hudson groaned and his big body shook as she swallowed his cum. Afterward, she was silent, but yet satisfied, and she looked up at him and smiled. Hudson composed himself, remembering he was sort of in public. Perhaps some passing crowd had seen them. Perhaps not. It was too late to do anything about it. It had been so naughty and so indiscreet but so fun.

The girl grabbed her purse which had fallen to the floor. "I better go," she said, "it's getting late."

Just like that, thought Hudson. But then again, it was to be expected. The girl did not bother to tell him her name, eventhough he had when they had met over drinks at the club. During their bumping and grinding sort of dance she did not make much conversation. Hudson knew it was going to be like this. He'd never see this girl again. And perhaps it was better that way. She might spot him when he was on duty, she might blab in her air-headed way to some person that she had given a cop a blowjob in public, a sort of thing that could be mistaken for consorting with a prostitute, a thing that was indecent behavior and the sort of thing a cop would put a stop to. "So, listen," she said, as she was walking away down the dark street, turning to look at him, " I....I come to this club now and then. Maybe we might run into each other again. We can always talk if you want."

"No thanks," he said, "it's not....something I want to do."

She nodded as if she didn't care at any rate and walked down the street, her beautiful body bathed in the glow of a street light.............

TWO It was not long afterward when Hudson, off-duty, was on his way to visit the Music Professor he had befriended to talk about hooking up with a girl, a student of his at New York University, and attending a piano concerto at Carnegie Hall. He did not want to walk, or drive, the reason owing to the fact he had a desire to familiarize himself with subways, bus stops and streets which would help him as a cop. Hudson was glad he was out of uniform and taking a much needed day off. He was wearing a small chain which hung over his navel and his shirt was unbuttoned to reveal his hairy chest. His slacks were dark and vintage. His hair had been slicked back. His good looks and good clothes did not go unnoticed by the other women in the street as he approached the subway. Some of them winked at him or smiled flirtatiously.

He felt like he could have strutted to the beat of "Staying Alive" like in the opening scene to Saturday Night Fever. He was excited about meeting the girl the Professor, whose name was Ezra Goldstein, Jewish, over 60. He told him the girl was of mixed white and black blood, around his age, and absolutely gorgeous. Hudson did not like that Professor Goldstein did not elaborate and provide him with a more accurate description of the girl's body, other than "thin". But to Goldstein, every young girl was "thin" and Hudson knew that not every girl was built the same. Lord, no. Some had curves, bigger breasts, some had cuter faces, some had accentuated behinds, some did not. The Professor was so old fashioned that he did not bother to really strike up his interest in the girl's physique.

Why, he probably thought they'd care more about the opera and symphony. Not that he didn't' enjoy the arts, but he wanted to a partner who would also satisfy his sexual desires. It was something the Professor did not understand, coming from a different time, when men wore hats and ladies didn't smoke or wear pants and as he put it "men were men and dames were real dames". Hudson figured he was probably talking about the 1940's. The Professor had known many famous conductors and opera singers who frequented the Metropolitan Opera House. He was an old, white-haired, fragile man with only his memories to hold on to. His wife had passed away of lung cancer, having smoked herself to death. He had himself quit smoking thanks to Hudson's repeated advice against it.

Hudson stepped into the subway, taking a seat next to a rather large, fat woman holding a baby that didn't stop crying. Normally, Hudson didn't mind hearing babies cry, but today he was a little on edge. His nerves were taut. Something was in the air and he id not know whether it was his growing excitement and impatience regarding meeting this girl or something else, something more sinister and unspoken. Another girl sat next to him on the other end. He did not bother to look into her direction. She had long blonde hair that flowed down her back and something about her, as absurd as it was (he was looking at her from behind) seemed oddly familiar. Even the way she breathed.....the way she was fidgeting with her lovely fingers.

As he was checking her out, the subway train made a stop. As some got up to exit, and as the doors opened, a commotion broke out. A man, wearing black, looking insane, fresh off an asylum or jail or something, stormed inside and wielded a gun. His eyes were dark and his voice was loud and angry:

"Everyone stay where you are. I'm taking this train and some hostages and we'll wait until my little buddies come by."

Hudson's cop instincts kicked in right away. He realized this was a dangerous man, decidedly a terrorist and his "friends" were terrorists to, here to highjack the subway. Hudson got up and looked at the man square in the eye.

"Look, buddy. You're not seriously thinking of doing this are you?"

"Why don't you shut the fuck up," he roared.

"I'm with the New York Police Department and I will call back-up to arrest you and this is going to end right here and right now," Hudson said, with a calmness, " no one is going to get hurt. Put down that gun. Put it down."

"Fuck you," said the man and his eyes darted everywhere.

His eyes were suddenly fixed on the beautiful blonde seated by the overweight woman with the baby. He lunged at her and seized her suddenly in a fierce hold. His hands were over her neck and he gripped her arms behind her back. The girl screamed. Hudson nearly growled in a sudden fit of righteous anger.

"This girl is going to die," the man said, "now you're going to listen to me or else you're responsible for this girl's death."

He had the gun to the girl's head and she was whimpering in fear. Everyone aboard the train was frozen in their own fear, eyes locked on Hudson.

"Put the gun down" he said again, in the same calm voice.

"Shut up," the man said, "shut up".

The intensity of his voice was strange and it was almost a fragile thing. He was soon shaking and silent tears fell down his cheeks. He did not turn his eyes away from Hudson, who was staring him down and approaching him slowly. When Hudson retrieved a handgun, the man dropped the gun and stood still, suddenly a different being than the one that had just barged in. He was like a lost boy, crying and helpless. The blonde girl, free from his grasp, walked toward Hudson and stood behind him.

"You aren't a terrorist, really are you?" Hudson said, "and there are no friends that are coming, are there? And this was no high jack, was it?"

"No man. This was...I was...I need help...."

"Uh huh. Drugs? Issues? Are you homeless?

"What are you going to do with me?"

"You're coming with me, alright? I'm placing you under arrest."

The blonde who was now staring at him and smiling faintly became familiar. She was the Canadian girl he had danced with at the club on Saturday and who had afterward orally loved him.

"Thank you for saving my life, officer," she said, her smile becoming a grin.

Hudson felt awkward. He had not imagined he'd see her again and least of all not imagined he'd be in a situation like this one. All eyes were on him and he knew he couldn't be quiet for too long and look sheepish.

"Your welcome, ma'am" he said, taking on his cop voice.

Hudson grew to acknowledge that he had two voices. One was his laid-back, off-duty voice, where he could be himself, and his more grave-sounding, tough cop voice that was always no-nonsense and executive-sounding. He was glad that the girl did not say anything else. She got off the train and walked away, disappearing into the labyrinth that was New York City and this time he knew he'd never see her again..................... THREE Professor Goldstein's walk-up apartment was in a sedate but working-class neighborhood in Brooklyn, a street that was lined with some trees and there were mostly apartments spread out across the lane, as if they were a row of sardines in a can. Hudson had driven to the Professor's humble home many times, played poker with him, had drinks with him and discussed his life and ambitions. Goldstein had not approved of Hudson's decision to become a New York City cop, had in fact encouraged he take courses at the college he taught and earn himself a degree in either music or English. But much to the Professor's dismay, Hudson had opted to go down a different path. Music was still the bond between them. Hudson had become enamored with the opera and the symphony, and it was his dream to meet a young and elegant woman who could share his passion, and perhaps, the rest of his life.

Either this young woman the Professor had raved about was the one or was going to be a disappointment. Curiosity had driven him here, and as he knocked the lion-shaped door knocker, he took a deep breath, bracing himself. Fall was nipping the air, and a cool chilliness soothed him. He was sure the Professor would welcome him with tea (he was nuts with the tea, like a British aristocrat) and some warm food and there would be a fire burning in the fireplace. Hudson was always comfortable in the Professor's home, and it had become second home over the years. But being an Italian, at least by his mother's side, and a cop, and young, he did not want his peers to know that he had a mentor, that he loved the opera and the music of Mozart and Tchaikovsky, for fear of ridicule or the label of wussy or effeminate man. When the door opened, the Professor smiled and lit up.

"Mr. Banach, good of you to come," he said, "and just in time. I was just about to serve tea and fish and chips."

Ever since the Professor had visited London, he might as well have become a citizen, having adopted British customs. Hudson noticed it was precisely four in the afternoon, the traditional time for tea among the English. He walked in, his tall, bulky build squeezing through the entrance, towering over the little old man and following him into the living room. There by the fireplace, her back to him, was a woman. She had long black hair that glistened on its own, as if streaked in some kind of sheen. Her body was slender but strong. When they approached the sofas, the Professor addressed the girl.

"We have company, my dear."

She turned to face them. Hudson was silent and awed as she slowly turned and stared at him, her face soft but expressionless. She was possibly the most beautiful female he had ever seen, and he had known many beautiful girls all his life, each with a distinct quality of beauty, but this girl was a goddess. She stared at him with a look of quiet superiority, almost as if she was looking down upon him, but the look was neither one of cold hauteur nor disdain. She was smiling and her face was glowing, and she seemed pleased to see him, as if she had been waiting for him.

"Mr. Banach, this is Lexa O' Neil," the Professor said in casual tone.

The girl did not get up. Her eyes never leaving Hudson, she extended her arm and her hand to him, offering it to him. He did not expect this gesture and clumsily took her hand and shook it, never realizing for one second that the girl had wanted him to kiss her hand.

"Please, call me Lexie," she said with a smile. "Lexa is a beautiful, exotic name, wouldn't you agree, Hudson?" Professor Goldstein remarked.

"I'm Hudson Banach," he said to her.

"Now, I really ought to leave you two alone while I get the tea"........

The Professor did not return too soon and deliberately stalled so that Hudson could chat with Lexa and get acquianted. Hudson appreciated this move by his part, but he was feeling surprisingly insecure and shy, and it baffled him. He had always known just what to say in any situation, to anyone, and talking to beautiful women had never been hard for him. But this young woman, so drop-dead gorgeous, so poised, so regal looking, made him feel like a speechless schoolboy. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her. He was mesmerized by the ambiguity of her. She was very petite, and slender, but something about her spoke of strength and energy, invisible but palpable. He felt as if she could kick his butt if he was another man, a crazy one, who would attack her. There was a strange feeling that despite her femininity, she had a lot of guts. Also, there was the matter of her bi-racial blood. The Professor had said she was mixed white and black. She could have passed for both. There was a "white girl" vibe to her and yet at the same time a "black girl". Her sedate elegance was very white and classy, but there was something in her cocoa eyes, her strong, quiet confidence and the tanness of her skin that also suggested a "strong black girl" sort of attitude.