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Vice Cop Ch. 08

Previously on Vice Cop, Hudson moved from his family home and into Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, to a house of his own. He had flashbacks of his days at the Academy and his assignments as a rookie cop. He remembered his fellow officer and friend Kyle Lennox, who had been his partner for a long time before his death by the alluring but dangerous Candy Spears, herself a pawn to the Columbian drug lord Leo Mendoza and his wife's illegal and evil machinations. He recalled his first love and high school sweetheart Sonya Romandini, who abandoned him for a career in modeling or at least escort work in California. As his trip down Memory Lane ended, he was surprised to discover that Lexa O'Neil, his rival cop had moved in next door to him.

This episode has two scenes involving lengthy sexual fantasies and masturbation. These are found in SCENE FIVE and SCENE TEN.


Hudson awoke thinking it had been a bad dream.

There was no way that Lexa was his next door neighbor. How on earth did that happen? He remembered she had always said she had lived in Queens. Was it possible she had moved to Brooklyn at the same time he had?

After eating his breakfast which consisted of bacon, eggs and a piece of fruit, he decided to investigate whether or not it was Lexa he had seen last night by the window of the house next door. It had been dark after all, and he had only seen her body and face and it could have been a mistake, perhaps another mulatto woman who might resemble her. He finished his milk which he usually drank for breakfast. He showered and changed hurriedly, knowing he would be late to work. He still had time for one little chore which was taking out the garbage.

The sun was warm outside and Hudson loved that this particular street was quiet and seemingly safe. But then again, he had just moved in. He had heard from different sources, many of them being other cops, that Bensonhurst Brooklyn was Mafia territory. So far, he had seen nothing to confirm that. He took out the garbage, which was mostly what he had for dinner the previous night, toilet paper and materials he had found he did not need such as extra boxes.

As he took the bag out into the front of his home by the street, he heard the door to the next door neighbor's house open. He turned to see who it was. Sure enough, it was Lexa O'Neil and the sight of her made his heart race a bit. A feeling of nervousness overcame him.

So it was she who was undressing by the window the previous night after all. She had become his neighbor. He wondered how often such a coincidence happened – two cops who worked in the same precinct and took assignments from the same Chief. Lexa did not see him; her face bowed a bit as she went down the little steps and out into the street, carrying a garbage bag herself. Hudson eyed her up and down. She was wearing what looked like jogging apparel – a sweatshirt and sweatpants, and it hugged her tight body.

She looked at Hudson and her jaw dropped.

They stared at one another in silence and Hudson regarded her with a curious expression, his eyebrow raised, looking like a frat boy who felt he had been treated to a cruel joke by his peers. Lexa composed herself instantly and she put the garbage bag into the can.

"Aren't you even going to say "Good Morning"?" Hudson said to her with a grin.

"You don't say good morning to me at the police station," Lexa replied, "why start now?"

"Well, it's just the right thing to do," Hudson continued, in a dead-pan and humorous way; letting her know he was having a bit of fun which was annoying her, "it's just being polite. After all, we're neighbors now."

Lexa closed the lid to the garbage can sonorously and angrily. She stared Hudson down.

"Look, Banach, you're the one who just moved in yesterday, not me. That house was not occupied before then. I've been living here for over a month now. And it's just a bit of bad luck too."

"Bad luck, eh?"

"Don't start with me. It's bad enough we have to work together. I'm going to appreciate you not talking to me, not bothering me, not "borrowing a cup of sugar" or even looking at me."

"Well, well, Miss High and Mighty, a Queen from Queens."

"I said be quiet."

They stared at each other again in silence.

"I'm going to be living here for a short time only," Lexa said, "only until Mason moves into Manhattan. He's asked me to move in with him."

"Detective Mason Holmes?"

"That's what I said."

"You two are going to be a live-in couple in Manhattan?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Not with you."

"I didn't know you were that serious about each other."

Lexa did not reply.

"I don't want to talk to you," she said, "as far as I'm concerned, you don't live next door to me."

"Alright. I'll pretend there's no one living next door to me either. Sound good?"

"Sound excellent."



Herald Square and Broadway, 9pm

A young girl, her auburn hair in a long ponytail which she kept over one shoulder, stepped into a Yellow Taxi Cab. She was wearing a light grey wool sweater with a New York University logo and a small skirt which showed off her smooth young legs. The cab driver looked at her with a rather cold expression, despite her warm smile. His face was almost completely concealed beneath a cap.

"Where to?" he said flatly.

The girl gave him an address in Greenwich Village.

The cab driver made his way through traffic, and Broadway was always filled with traffic.

A sea of yellow cabs covered the street and the girl found it amusing. She rested her head against the cushion of the seat and looked at the restlessness of the city with the newcomer's usual zest. She had shopping bags at her feet and a shoulder bag with the NYU logo.

The cab driver, despite looking as if he was uninterested in the girl, was checking out all these things about her.

"You a student at the University?" he said.


"And you're not from New York City are you?"

"Actually, no. My folks are back home in Los Angeles. I'm studying to be an actress. I live in Greenwich Village in a rental apartment."

"They must have money to send you all the way here for that."

She found it rude or uncomfortable that he said that so she did not reply and merely froze. She then began to read a book. The route to Greenwich Village was long, even in nighttime, and the girl looked as if she was ready to fall asleep. She had been shopping after her university classes, and had been on her feet all day. The cab driver looked at her from his seat through the mirror. His face was still concealed beneath his cap and because it was dark, the girl could not make him out clearly.

After what seemed like forever, the cab came to a stop. It was serenely quiet outside which the girl found odd for being New York City. She had known night in Los Angeles which had never been this quiet.

She woke from her near-sleep and looked out the window and froze.

"Where are we? This isn't my home. Where have you taken me?"

"Shut up, rich little piece of ass."

He leapt into the back seat; put a hand over her mouth so that she wouldn't scream. The girl struggled, trying to kick him with her legs and trying to open the door of the cab. The man pulled out a knife, glistening in metallic silver and catching the moon's glow. He slit her throat with it and then proceeded to stab her.

No one had seen a thing.


At police headquarters, Chief Barry Hiller, Detective Mason Holmes and the cops from the Manhattan precinct headed by Hiller and Lieutenant Isaiah Dante were in a meeting that was considered urgent and important.

All the important members of homicide division were there. To add to the significance of the meeting, FBI was there. Cops that were loaned to FBI and worked homicide and vice were there as well. This included Lexa O'Neil who worked with Mason Holmes. Also present was Hudson Banach, who of late had done work for them in undercover positions. They sat around a large conference table and Mason Holmes was standing up next to Chief Barry Hiller.

Hudson did not like that Mason Holmes was always hanging around the Chief as if he was the crème de la crème. In all truthfulness, the Chief's right-hand man was Lieutenant Isaiah Dante. Hudson liked to think that after Dante, he ranked as the most important cop. But he figured that Mason, with his brilliant intuition and detective skills, was considered by far the best detective in Manhattan.

"He is being called the Yellow Cab Killer," Mason said, "already he has killed ten victims. None of them fit a distinct type and they were male and female victims. These were random killings of passengers that he drove to different locations that were not their destinations and killed them on the spot. He works tactfully and has avoided any kind of attention. He has not yet exhibited the signs of a master serial killer who enjoys publicity and infamy. The killings were done in non-consecutive occasions and in a span of half a year."

"Do we know anything about him?" one of the cops inquired.

"We believe he is a large man, either white or ethnic," continued Mason, "he hides well in his own clothes and under his cap. He's just begun his wave of murders."

"He's managed to be discreet and tactful," said Chief Hiller, "it's been hard to find this guy."

Chief Barry Hiller gestured for Mason to sit down.

A look of disbelief and confusion spread across the faces of the cops and detectives seated on the table. This was a difficult case, and most likely reserved for only the most skilled members of FBI and homicide. The Chief took out some papers and the cops passed it on to each other to look at.

"These are lists of Yellow Taxi Cab companies in New York City, which as you know there are a lot of," Hiller said, "your job is to look up these companies and begin interrogations. This man is elusive and has probably changed jobs often, perhaps even his appearance. He is working for one of the cab companies and we have to find him before he escapes us again. So far, there is no sign that he works for a Manhattan Yellow Cab Company. The victims' bodies have been found in sewers in the Bronx, in parks, in dark alleys in Brooklyn and in trash cans in Queens. This guy doesn't work in any one borough."

"Hello officers, my name's Oswald Carey, FBI," said an agent, "It's imperative that we act quickly or else we are going to look like we don't care or that we're incompetent. Manhattan residents are horrified by what's been going on and they look to us for help. Alright men –"

The FBI agent looked at Lexa apologetically.

"And Miss O'Neil," he said, correcting himself, remembering she was the only woman on the force, "your assignment is to look up these cab companies, even the private for-hire ones and talk to as many cab drivers as you can. Meeting adjourned."

Lexa O'Neil and Mason Holmes worked as partners in the Homicide Division.

They had been steadily growing closer as partners, both on duty and off, ever since Lexa's undercover assignment in Atlantic City in pursuit of a serial killer who had raped and murdered prostitutes. Lexa was terrific whenever she went undercover, unafraid of being so close to danger and she had been close to death that last time.

She was the most dedicated civil servant in Manhattan, and she had also spent hours helping inner-city school children through lectures and after school programs, warning them about the dangers of drugs and gangs. She gave to charity and was an interesting dichotomy – a beautiful and classy girl, the daughter of her opera diva mother, and on the other hand she was a tough cop who was good at what she did. Mason had hoped he could train her to become a detective but she preferred to work in the capacity of undercover cop.

When she heard about the Yellow Cab Killer, she went straight to work. Mason assigned her to an undercover assignment. Posing as a Manhattan housewife, she did some shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue and then she hailed a cab. She had to do the same thing two more times, hailing different cabs in order to talk to the drivers face-to-face. Mason Holmes had asked to be her partner in this undercover assignment but he was needed at the precinct for another assignment. Lexa went alone. Or so she thought.


"Where to, Miss?" said the Persian cab driver.

Lexa was able to see him clearly in the light of day. He was fat, bald and had distinct Middle-Eastern looks, including dark crescents under his eyes. She wondered in the back of her mind if this was the killer.

"I'm going to Queens," she said, and gave him the address to her old home, the one she had moved out of.

This was part of her cover and she ensured that they would have to drive through traffic so that they could have a longer time to chat.

"Ok," replied the driver in his heavy accent, " but firzt I haf to drop of dis man to Brooklyn."

She hadn't noticed there was another passenger in the cab. She looked to the side and to her surprise, it was Hudson Banach.

He was wearing a "Wall Street" power suit, navy blue, with a red tie and his jet-black hair was slicked back. He was obviously undercover doing a similar assignment, posing as a Manhattan denizen in need of cab service. He looked at Lexa and grinned.

"Hey there," he said to her, "don't I know you from somewhere?"

"I don't think so, sir," Lexa replied, letting him know she wasn't in the mood to play games.

The cab drove down the street and into traffic, and it looked like it was going to be a while before they reached Brooklyn. It was noon and New Yorkers were up and about, the streets filled with activity. Hudson and Lexa were silent and Lexa felt annoyed at annoyed at Hudson's presence. How on earth did they end up in the same taxi while working undercover?

"Aren't you working vice?" Lexa asked him in a whisper, careful that the cabbie wouldn't hear them.

"I was supposed to," Hudson replied, "but they had a shortage of cops according to that FBI man, Carey, so they assigned me to go undercover. And now that we're both on the same team, who's going to interrogate this guy?"

"It makes sense if we both do that. Just follow my lead."

After a moment of silence, the cab was headed for the bridges that led into Brooklyn.

"Do you work Wall Street?" she said to Hudson.

"I'm an investment banker," he answered, "my name's Chester. Chester Cannon."

"I'm Abby Cunningham. I'm also a banker. I haven't seen you there before."

"Me either."

"So did you hear about the Yellow Cab Killer?"

They were speaking in loud voices so that the driver could hear their conversation. At the same time, they were keeping an eye on his facial expressions through the mirror. So far, his face did not change and he was uninterested in their conversation.

"I heard he's hard to find. No one knows what he looks like. How do you suppose he manages to keep faceless like that?"

"I don't know. It's scary. I'm so afraid that I might run into him. I use taxis all the time."

"Me too."

After a moment of silence, Hudson leaned against Lexa to whisper:

"This is so stupid, Lexie. I feel like we're not going anywhere with this."

"I think there's another way."

The cab driver crossed the Bridge into Brooklyn and was headed for Hudson's address.

"Sir," Lexa said, getting the driver's attention, "have you heard about this so-called Yellow Cab Killer?"

"No, I don't know anything about that," said the driver, briskly.

Of course, this reply could either be a lie or just a response that denoted annoyance. It could well be that this guy did not know anything about the killer. Hudson and Lexa stared at each other silently and did not say a word for a while as the cab rolled down the street.

"Are you going to be hailing another cab?" Hudson said to Lexa discreetly.

"Yes, right after he drops me off in Queens, I gave a fake address. Why did you give him your address?"

"I didn't. I gave him the address of my old friend Kyle Lennox...where he lived before he died. I'm going to be taking another cab, too later in the day."

"Mason Holmes has sent another team of cops to do the same. We're going to meet again at six in the afternoon at the station to see what we've dug up."

"Let's hope this works."

After another moment of silence, Hudson, who had been staring at Lexa in her sexy business suit, leaned against her, smelling her perfume, and asked:

"So when are you moving in with Mason?"

She was surprised he asked this and she did not reply right away. She looked out the window, toward the sidewalks filled with ethnic children skateboarding and frolicking toward an ice-cream truck.

"I'll be moving into his Manhattan home in a month."

"Why did you move to Bensonhurst first?"

"It was cheap and I found it to be convenient for the time being. Now stop asking me these questions. You don't need to be so damn nosy. What do you care about me and Mason?"

"Ok. Don't get your panties in a bunch. I was just curious."

"Well mind your own business, Banach."

"What do you see in him, anyways? He's not even a real cop."

She furrowed her brow and gave him a cold stare.

"I will have to ask you to be quiet. I'm not answering any more questions. It's my personal life. I don't ask you things was the last girl you took to bed."

"I don't mind talking about it," he said with a grin.

Lexa's brown eyes met his blue eyes.

"Well of course. You're a guy. Men brag about the women they've had. Women aren't supposed to talk about things like that."

"I want to hear more about your life, Lexie," he said, "so I wouldn't mind if you told me things."

"I'm not telling you anything. And as far as your sex life, I don't care about it."

Hudson remembered The Hamptons and his threesome at that costume party. She had a point. She'd think he was a real pig if he revealed to her that he had engaged in sex while he was undercover at that party.

"Besides," she said, "I'm sure you haven't been with a girl since Sonya."

He looked surprised.

"How did you know about Sonya?"

"Word gets around. Lots of your fellow cops remember hearing about her from you."

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you don't bring it up."

"See? Exactly how I feel. Don't talk about your life and I won't talk about mine."

"Fine. It just surprises me. You and Mason. Some of the guys on the force thought you didn't like men at all."

"Shut up," Lexa said to Hudson, and then she turned to the cabbie. " Driver, please hurry. I need to get home badly."

* * * *

At Police Headquarters, Chief Barry Hiller had organized another meeting. Present at the meeting was Lieutenant Dante, Detective Mason Holmes and other cops from Homicide. They each reported what they discovered during their assignments. They had looked into different Yellow Cab Companies. So far, no one knew anything about an odd cabbie, or a suspicious one. The guy hadn't killed anyone in a long time but the Chief and Mason Holmes were certain he'd strike again before the year was over.

"What we need to do is continue our investigation," said the Chief, "we can't neglect this case. It's urgent that we keep following this nut job's footprints. So what do we have on this guy, Mr. Holmes?"

Mason retrieved some papers.

"Here are sketches about how we think he looks like. He's a large man, not overweight, but burly. He has a dark complexion, but he is not Hispanic or black. He is most likely Mediterranean in appearance, Italian or Greek. He wears a big coat and hat. The best way to get him is if we have bait. We think we know he works in Manhattan but often branches out to other boroughs who hire him. Before long, he'll kill again. Here are your next assignments. Lieutenant Dante, if you please."

The black Lieutenant passed out papers to each of the cops, each with their individual assignment. Lexa took a look at her assignment. She did not like that it was more undercover work. This time, she would be assigned with Mason Holmes, who would also be going undercover for the first time. This was better, she thought. She disliked working with Hudson.
As always, there was tension between them and they never really got along great. But Mason was a different matter. His brilliant mind and his gentle ways always soothed her. He was nothing like Hudson, who said whatever was on his mind, even things other people dared not say. He was in your face and a rough New York guy who had street-smarts. Lexa had known guys like him and had done her best to keep away from men like that. Her mother would prefer she stick with a man like Mason.

Hudson read his assignment. He found it a bit amusing. His undercover job was to play the part of a cab driver himself. He figured he'd have to work on his Bronx cabbie accent.


The night before their undercover assignment, Hudson and Lexa were in their separate homes and relaxing as the night wore on. Restless, they walked about trying not to think about the possible danger that lay ahead. By now the killer had to be aware that New York Police were after him, trying to find him, which would prompt him to escape, but not before killing someone else. This made Lexa nervous, knowing that her undercover job was to pose as a potential victim.

Night fell over Brooklyn.

Tiny stars began to appear over the sky and it was dinner time. Lexa made herself a meal. She was a fine cook owing to spending time in the kitchen with her mother. She was wearing a robe, because she had just showered and it was hot. Her home had no air conditioner so she opened the windows slightly to allow cool air in. As she did this, she noticed that Hudson was doing the same.

He was wearing nothing but his black tight underwear. She was able to see his strong, hard body and the matt of hair on his chest. Her own robe, grey and dotted with white little specs, looked fetching. Her hair was loose and fell gracefully over the side of her shoulder. They stared at each other for a moment and then decided to close the window instead.

Damn Banach, she thought.

Damn O'Neil, he thought.

They wanted nothing to do with each other but it felt as if forces beyond their control were pulling them together, or attempting to. Something about him aroused her most instinctual feelings. He was all the things the Detective said about him: hard-headed, stubborn, brutish, rude, arrogant and sexist.

He was street-smart rather than academically smart like Mason Holmes. Mason had skills that Hudson did not. But then again, Lexa knew that Mason would never do the things that Hudson did - patrol duty, undercover work, always something which included danger and facing criminals in confrontations that were often physical and violent. Hudson had a few scars and wounds here and there from all the action he had seen, like a combat solider. Mason had a body that had no body hair and no wounds. She knew that Hudson was stronger than any man she had come to know.

And he was in her thoughts, in her dreams, whether she liked it or not.

Hudson was in his own home, also thinking of Lexa. How different she looked out of uniform. As always, he was impressed by her beauty. She was not in her sexy sequin gowns, which he had seen before at The Hamptons party and the policeman's ball; but she still looked stunning. In her robe, she looked very feminine. Her figure was enticing and the contours of her body were outlined under the sexy robe.

Without her hair under her officer's cap, she looked princess-like with ebony flowing hair. There were times it appeared she had a streak of blue in her hair, glowing quietly in the dark tresses of her hair. Such a beautiful face, too. She looked soft and vulnerable, like the kind of woman he wanted to marry and protect and love. If he had seen her like this for the first time, he would never have imagined she was also a cop. She was every bit the domestic housewife of his dreams in that robe.

But he knew reality was different. Annoyed at his sudden vision of her, he went over to his bedroom and turned on the TV, trying not to think of her.

From his room, he could hear music floating from her house. She must have been enjoying an after-dinner desert or relaxation by listening to music. It was clearly emanating from a record player and to his delight, it was classical music. The Professor had introduced him to so many classical pieces and this one he recognized as one of Chopin's nocturnes.

The wistful piano music made him visualize her in her robe, opened slightly, revealing her breasts and nipples which he was sure were like the eraser ends at the end of pencils. Her breasts, he felt, had to be beautiful to hold and caress. Trying not to think too much about it, he paid attention to what was on TV.

Just his luck. Because it was HBO and nighttime, an erotic film was on. Granted it was of a soft-core nature, but it was hot enough to arouse him. It was an "Emmanuelle" film and the sex scene was turning him on greatly. He closed his eyes and visualized himself in the film. But to his surprise, in his fantasy Emmanuelle was not the beautiful actress Sylvia Kristel but Lexa O'Neil herself, surrounded in an exotic Brazilian landscape, by the ocean, in the water, fully nude and inviting him for a bout of sex..............

As it turned out, Lexa was indeed opening her robe and listening to the poetic and lyric keyboard strains of Chopin's nocturnal music, fitting for the mood and ambiance of the night. She was at peace, but at the same time her body yearned for a man, a primal man like Hudson Banach, to hold her and to make love to her with passionate and wanton abandon. She was caressing her own breasts slowly, softly, arousing herself and making her nipples pebble-hard. Lexa was not used to doing this.

Masturbation was something which she resorted to only when she was not having sex. Her sex life had never been good. She had one boyfriend during high school with whom she waited to turn eighteen with to have a night of sex that she felt was uninspired. After that, she was too busy being a cop to care for sex. This was a long period in her life, roughly from the time she graduated from the Academy in 1983 to her first assignment with Chief Barry Hiller's Manhattan Precinct. For over two years, she had gone without sex.

She wondered why Mason Holmes did not stir in her the same kind of lust and need for sex as Hudson did. She closed her eyes and Hudson was there, not Mason. She was becoming aware that Mason Holmes's courtship of her was inspired by his own physical attraction to her. Surely he entertained thoughts of making love to her. Nevertheless, she wished Hudson would do the manly thing and pursue her, to make some kind of move. But he had done no such thing. This only fueled her secret desire for him even more. Secret because she did not want anyone on the force to know she even had these feelings for the "Italian Stallion" that was the top-ranking cop.

Lexa did not enjoy masturbation, and she had done it only once. She felt was shameful, having been raised a lady. But tonight, she wanted to at least arouse herself, even if she didn't attain sexual gratification from the act.

Slowly, she removed her robe and stood nude by the vanity mirror in her bedroom. She had made certain that the blinds to her room were drawn. She didn't wish for Hudson, her sudden neighbor, to see her doing this. And all the more reason because it was him she thought about and fantasized about.

She closed her eyes and breathed slowly. She imagined that Hudson, in full uniform, was arresting her. She recalled that she had had a sex dream in which she, in full Afro and in a 1970's black-power girl attire had been arrested by Hudson. She realized that these dreams and fantasies, all which depicted her as sexually submissive and getting off on the power that Hudson seemed to wield as a uniformed cop, was saying something deep-seated about her nature. Despite her own will power and her own toughness, she wanted to be taken, to be dominated sexually, and to give herself to a powerful male.

It was right that she could only respect, admire and adore a man that was powerful. Weak men, which were easier to control, were boring and she had always liked a challenge.

The cops on the force had once called her the Iron Maiden, a reference to a popular rock group at the time, and to England's Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, the first woman to hold such an authority. She had been the only woman in a Manhattan police precinct, and she had shown how tough she could be. Now she just wanted someone to kiss her passionately until she was weak, to melt into a strong man's arms and to feel like a total woman.

Deep in a trance, she began to caress her breasts, squeezing them, imagining Hudson's big hands over them, cupping them, holding them. She envisioned his muscular arms against her like walls, making her vulnerable and moan in a rush of pleasure. His mouth was on the round cups of her breasts, kissing with passionate abandon and licking her nipples. She felt his hands on her thighs, parting them, felt, too the stiffness of his erect cock.

If his sobriquet was the "Italian Stallion" then she hoped there was truth to the size of his cock, which she imagined was quite potent and big. As Chopin's beautiful Nocturnes played in the background, she continued to caress, fondle and arouse herself, never pushing herself over the edge.

She patted her pussy, touched it and rubbed it, lightly, trying to get herself sleepy as well.

She hoped she'd dream of Hudson......

Hudson, still watching the erotic film "Goodbye, Emmanuelle" was still visualizing Lexa at the beach, in the waters, nude, alluring, sensual. He did not see himself in the picture, as an odd thing, owing to the struggle within himself. He felt strong sexual feelings for Lexa, and there was also the slightest hint of a romantic potential.

This girl was unlike any other, and although she wasn't quite the woman he had always wanted, perhaps he'd never find one more suited to him. But he didn't know what to think. He couldn't dream of courting her now. She was Detective Mason Holmes's woman now, or so it seemed. She said they'd be moving in together in Manhattan.

But still, nothing could stop him from fantasizing about her.

Out of uniform, out of clothes of any kind, she was all woman; beautiful, curvaceous, with breasts that ached to be touched. She was pouring water over her body and the erotic feel of all the water on her body made him erect. The sun was setting behind her, casting a warm, golden glow over her, like an aura above her, like a goddess.

In slow motion, as if she were only a dream, she fondled her breasts and moved her hands down her stomach and fingered her belly button. She threw her head back and moaned softly. Ever so slowly, she placed her hands on her pussy and rubbed gently. The sound of the ocean filled his ears and he felt a drowsiness coming over him. How nice it would be to dream of Lexa.

Why did he feel this way about her? Why did he long to hold her in his arms and to make her feel soft and womanly? He knew that if everyone on the force knew he had feelings for her, they'd talk. There was already some rumors that there was something, unseen but palpable, pulsing between them. They were terrific cops when together, so naturally some assumed they were lovers when out of uniforms. But this was all talk. He tried his best not to let Lexa know his true feelings. He never pushed the boundaries of professionalism and partnership as cops.

As his mind was bombarded with the sexual image of Lexa's nude form, he couldn't help but begin to stroke his cock. He began by rubbing it through the fabric of his briefs. He felt it was too constricting so he removed his underwear and began to masturbate. Hudson was used to doing this. Too many lonely nights, without a woman in his bed, had gone and he filled the late lonely hours of the night by watching adult films, fantasizing and masturbating.

He had dreamt and fantasized about Lexa, ever since he saw her at the Professor's home for the first time and when he saw her in her sexy evening gowns, first at the Carnegie Hall concert and later at The Hamptons party.

She stirred in him all the hottest sexual urges.

He stroked his cock and made it big, and he felt the power of it in his hands. He felt good but did not want to ejaculate and have an orgasm. He was tired and sleepy. He was closing his eyes and drifted off to sleep, in the nude, without noticing he had left the TV on, the closing credits to "Goodbye Emmanuelle" playing on the small screen...........


Detective Mason met with Lexa at his office at the precinct.

Lexa was dressed in her undercover "Wall Street" plainclothes, which looked perfect next to Mason Holmes' own brown suit. They were sharing a brief cigarette together, careful not to get caught.

The Chief frowned upon cops smoking at the precinct, but everyone did it when they were sure the Chief was not around. Mason's office had vertical blinds which he kept closed, so they were unseen by others and safe.

After their smoke, Mason kissed Lexa and held her hand. This sent a warm wave over her body, for she was unaccustomed to such gentleman manners from New York men. She blushed and sat down on the chair facing his desk. Mason walked about, pensively.

"Did the Chief tell you what your next assignment will entail?" he said to her.

"Yes, another undercover job," she replied, "same cover – I'm looking for a taxi. I have to try hailing different cabs throughout the day."

"That's right. You did a good job of it the last time you went undercover."

"Are you going to be my partner this time?"

"I am."

He looked out the window through the blinds which he opened a bit. He continued to converse with Lexa.

"I don't care for undercover work myself, but this time we need all the help we can get to catch this guy. The FBI is counting on us. My FBI connections have led me to work on cases like this before and it shouldn't prove to be too difficult."

"Are we close to getting a clear profile on this Yellow Cab Killer?"

"We don't know his name. It's possible that he has an Americanized name and a fake identity which he must have stolen. He may not be too dark-skinned and could even pass for white-Jewish or Italian. He works for a private for-hire cab service."

"So when do we start?"

"Eager for action are we?" Mason said, amused and laughing," you aren't all that different from Banach after all."

"Don't mention him. There's bad blood between us."

"Because you're so much alike is why. But you're right. The less said of that cop the better."

"My feeling's exactly."

"I'm going to talk to the cops who are going to be following the first cab we'll take in case we get our guy," Mason said.

He got up from his desk and a manuscript fell by accident as he brushed against it. The folder fell over Lexa's lap. She looked down at the folder, opened it and read what was written on it. Her expression turned to one of surprise and then she looked up at Mason Holmes who was standing by the door and the window with the blinds which were now open. Outside, the cops in the precinct were busy with interrogating some suspects in a recent prostitution bust and a burglary and the air was filled with smoke from hookers'cigarettes and newly arrested thugs.

"Mason, how dare you keep this from me," Lexa said to him with a grin.

"Oh, that," he said, looking at the manuscript.

The paper on Lexa's lap read in bold letters:


A Novel by Mason Anthony Holmes

"Why didn't you tell me you were writing a detective novel?"

He scratched his blonde hair with his hand quickly, as if uncomfortable. He smiled at Lexa and their eyes did not leave one another.

"Because I'm very shy," he replied, "and it's only my first attempt at writing fiction. I brought it with me to make some corrections. You see, during my coffee break, I try to write a bit here in my office."

"But where is your typewriter?"

He moved to a corner where a bookshelf and writing desk stood. He removed a covering he had over an object. It was his typewriter. Lexa looked at it and giggled.

"But Detective why would you want to hide it?"

"I don't know. I don't want others to discover that I'm writing when I should be doing something else. I have no time to write anymore so I squeeze in whatever time I can get. I need more vacation time. Speaking of which, Miss O'Neil, I'll be taking a vacation in a few weeks. I'd like for you to accompany me. I was going to go alone and work on my debut novel but since you and I have bonded, I thought I'd invite you."

"Where are you going?"

"I have the keys to a cabin in The Poconos owned by a friend. What do you say, Miss O'Neil? Are you up for a weekend of skiing?"

"I'd love to."


The darkness was his perfect cover.

He always dimmed the lights of his taxi cab and the paying passengers were never able to see him clearly. He spoke in quiet, terse words.

He had facial hair which also seemed to add to the "darkness" of his aura, that and his cap which was always worn over his face. He had the instinct to kill again late one night. He had been working at the airport for over two months. He was waiting for someone to use his services, someone fresh out of a flight and looking to go home.

As he rolled down his window, he saw that an elderly man and his grandson, who was a teenager, looked at him and then approached him.

"Taxi, to Manhattan please," he said, "I'll give you the address."

"Get in," said the cabbie.

The man and the teen got into the cab and smiled at the driver. Again, they were unable to see him well. It was night and the airport lights were bright so the cabbie took off immediately, fearful that the lights would help the passengers see him well.

The man gave him an address in the Upper East Side Manhattan.

The cab left the airport and into the city, and the driver was glad there weren't many bright lights around. The man spoke to the young guy in French and some English words here and there.

"Where are you folks coming from?" said the driver.

"I just took my grandson to Paris," said the man, "it was his first visit. He was born here in the States. Please hurry. My wife is waiting for us at home and I want to go home before midnight."

The taxi cab rolled away and there was little traffic. The man and the teen continued to speak in French and at time shared a laugh. The driver's eyes were burning softly with hatred.

They deserved to die, he thought. He didn't know these people, but they were obviously moneyed types and he wanted them to suffer, to suffer as he had.

All his life driving a damn cab. No girlfriend, no wife, nothing but his cab. He wanted to enjoy the same privileges that the passengers he had encountered enjoyed. So the best way to rid himself of envy was by murdering them, satisfying his lust for blood and his need to kill. He had begun to kill puppies and kittens and worked his way up to killing people, coldly, without any guilt.

They did not drive to Manhattan. The driver took them to a remote part of Queens and they stopped by a deserted where house.

"What is going on?" said the man, "this isn't the right address."

"You got into the wrong cab," replied the cabbie.

He took out his knife, glistening in silver and making the old man and his son gasp in horror. He jumped into the back seats and began to stab the old man. Too paralyzed by fear, the old man did not struggle. The teen screamed out as he watched the stabbing in horror. The old man bled to death.

"Now you die" said the cabbie.

But the young man was quick and light on his feet. He swiftly opened the door of the cab and ran away, too quickly for the cabbie to catch up to him. The night helped him to escape, as he disappeared into the dark.......

* * * *

Hudson was called to Chief Barry Hiller's office.
The FBI agents were at the station again.

It was evident to Hudson that they were here investigating the "Yellow Cab Killer" case. There was a news report that he had killed another victim, a 70 year old French-American named Gustav Letelier. The murder had been reported by his grandson, Michel. It was the first time someone had actually seen the killer up close and witnessed him in action.

Michel had described the killer as a white Italian man, with facial hair that looked messy and equally messy hair. He had lots of hair on his chest. The one thing that stood out was the fact he smelled of garlic. Immediately, Captain Barry Hiller put the cops to work along with the FBI.

He was sitting on his desk eating gummi bears from a bag. Hudson resisted laughing. In his years as a cop with the NYPD, he had grown chubby and had become bald. He could play Santa Clause at the mall.

"Sit down, Hudson," he said, "we have an assignment for you. FBI agent Oswald Carey has already assigned Miss O'Neil and Detective Holmes on an undercover assignment together. They'll pose as Manhattan residents who need a taxi. They have back-up, FBI guys, ready to arrest this wicked type. We've developed a profile on him. He's been a loner all his life, has never had a real family, probably an orphan, and also never went to high school. As soon as he learned to drive, he became a cabbie. He's psychotic and kills people he believes are successful when compared to him."

"And what do you want me to do?" Hudson said.

"Did you not read your assignment on written paper?"

"Yeah. My cover this time is a cabbie. I don't understand how that will help track the killer."

"You wouldn't know that because you're not with the FBI and you're not a detective, like our Mason Holmes."

Hudson frowned. Did everyone have to rub that guy's success in his face? No wonder Lexa was his woman. Everyone thought he was the crème de la crème of the NYPD.

"I'm not a detective but I do my job right," said Hudson, "and besides, I've seen a hell of a lot more action than that candy ass."

"Now, now, Banach, there's no need for such language," the Chief reprimanded him, "you have no reason to be jealous. He's a terrific asset but you've got a lot of qualities about you that make you our top cop. You've proven yourself countless of times, even back when you were a rookie cop. That's why I assigned you to various units, and each time you showed the force how fine a cop you really are."

"So what does my cover have to do with getting the killer?"

"With back-up on your side, you'll go into the Manhattan Cab Service assigned to you and you'll see if you can pick out the killer. He has been hired to drive passengers to the airport, particularly passengers who are leaving New York. If you pose as a fellow cabbie, there's a better chance that you can spot him and we can get him. Here's a composite picture. His description was given to us by Michel, who as you know, had the unfortunate experience of seeing his grandfather being killed inside the cab by the maniac."

He handed him a picture, more of an artistic sketch than a photo, which depicted a burly mustached Italian man with dark menacing eyes and large forehead. Hudson thought he looked like one of his mother's brothers, one that was still in Italy, but he perished the thought. It was impossible. All his family members were good people who had never gotten into any kind of trouble nor did anything immoral, being staunch


"Ok, Chief, I'm your man," he said.

As he got up to leave the office, he turned to the Chief and said.

"And wish Miss O'Neil and Holmes good luck."


Hudson had dressed the part. He looked like a cabbie straight from the Bronx. He had to wear a uniform, which was nothing more than a beige jacket and slacks. It fit him well and it showed off his muscular physique. He looked at himself in the mirror above and to the side of the steering wheel.

"How you doing?" he said, practicing his accent and then laughed at himself.

He hated the ridiculous looking cap on his head. It made him feel silly but he bore it with patience. Perhaps he would be lucky enough to catch the killer after all. That would look good. Another evil-doer caught – by him. He had already enjoyed the compliments and praises after he had successfully put a stop to the terrorists who had plotted to blow up the Empire State Building only earlier that year.

He was proud to have been part of a team dedicated to putting a stop to scum like that. He hated anyone who threatened his beloved New York City. His father had fled Italy during the difficult times after Mussolini's reign and had seen much Mafia violence there. Why should America become corrupt and full of crime when so many people like his father had migrated to America for a better life? He wished to make New York City a better place. At times, he felt as if it was too hard a task. Too many evil-doers out there. He wished he could acquire superhuman powers, like Super Man and save the city.

He waited until someone showed up to use his services. It was a man, wearing cold-weather clothes – a scarf, a trench coat and a fedora so big he was unable to see his face under it. The man looked like he was visiting New York or perhaps returning. He had only one luggage.

"Hey, how you doing? The name's Eddie," said Hudson, "where are you going today?"

"The airport and hurry," the man said.

"What is your name?"

"Antonio DeVito."

Hudson looked over to the FBI who were in their undercover cars looking at him. Hudson had learned to make signals briefly so he was able to communicate to them. They were behind him and on the tail of the taxi cab following him to the airport. Perhaps he'd find the killer at the airport, thought Hudson. The cab took off, and they left Manhattan and headed for the airport located in Queens. Hudson looked at the man now and then, trying to appear discreet.

There was something about him, something subtle but palpable; struck Hudson as familiar.

He was a strong-looking man but he was hiding behind too many clothes. His fedora cast a shadow over his face. He realized it was not peculiar for him to be overdressed in warm clothes. It was cold and cloudy, and what he wore was not unlike others wore against the frigid New York City weather. But something about him struck him as strangely familiar. The man was quiet, cold and did not seem to be able to smile. He looked like he could have been Hitler's right-hand man.

"Leaving the US, eh?" Hudson said, trying to make conversation,"where are you headed?"

"I'm only heading to another state," he said, "I have found New York City unlivable."

His words were slow and deliberate, and had an icy quality about them.

"That's too bad. Me, I love New York. No city can compare. I'm sorry to hear you don't feel the same."

"I don't wish to talk, sir, so please drive on, I don't want to miss my flight. I'm going to be late. I can't miss that flight for all the money in the world."

"Sure thing. Just trying to make conversation, you know, but sure, we don't have to talk."

They drove to Queens in silence. Hudson checked the mirror to see if the FBI men were still on their tail.

They were right there behind them, heading for the airport. The night was descending. It was getting chillier and the lights of the city began to glow with their usual beauty. The airport was in sight and Hudson smiled. He felt like a real cabbie in these clothes and he had done a good job of getting his passenger to the airport in very little time. He had had to cut through traffic to get there but he had made it in good time.

"Ok. Here we are. What terminal you need to get to?" he said to him.

"The one right over there."

Hudson drove to the nearest terminal. There were flights to Nevada, California and Arizona. Some were ready to depart in less than an hour. Hudson parked the taxi into the terminal. The airport was full of people, as always, and bustling with activity. People of all colors and backgrounds were up and about. The man looked like he could lose himself in the crowds.

"I can't thank you enough," said the man.

He paid Hudson cab fare. What to do with this money earned undercover, thought Hudson. He felt bad about it since he was not real cab driver.

"You have a good flight, mister," Hudson said to him.

The man looked at him square in the face, too off his fedora and grinned. It was a slightly wicked grin and as their eyes met, a bell rang in Hudson's brain.

Dear God, this was the Yellow Cab Killer. There was the same facial hair, which looked messy, and the same big forehead, eyes and features. The body beneath the trench coat matched that in the composite picture. It was the killer, dressed as a passenger!

"Jesus Christ," Hudson swore.

The man disappeared into the crowds at the terminal.

"Oh, my God, oh my God," Hudson said nervously.

He fumbled as he got his communication device hidden in his pocket.

"I don't know how to say this," he said to the FBI agents who received his call.

They were right behind him parked at the terminal.

"Damn that son-of-a-bitch, damn him to hell," Hudson said.

"Banach, what is it? What's happened?" said the voice of Agent Oswald Carey.

"Mr. Carey, I'm so sorry," Hudson said, "the Yellow Cab Killer has escaped New York."

"What? How on earth –"

"The bastard pretended to be a passenger this time. I was fooled. He was wearing too many clothes and a fedora. He must have taken a flight out of New York and to either California, Nevada or Arizona. I'm sorry. The Chief's sure going to give me a hard time about this. I had no idea it was him. It was a nasty trick. I'm sorry. I failed you."

"Did he give you a name?"

"He said his name was Antonio DeVito."

"We'll have to check if that's an alias, fake name or stolen identity," said another agent on the device.

"I'm so sorry about all this," said Hudson.

"That's alright Banach," said Agent Carey, "you aren't to blame. The man is obviously very smart. No one expected him to do this. He must have already known the FBI and cops were conducting a manhunt for him. You did your part, Hudson. Return to police headquarters. This case is ours now."


Mason Holmes and Lexa were kissing in his office.

It wasn't just any kiss. He had taken her in his arms and held her tightly against him, pressing their bodies together, more intimately than he had dared to before. His mouth was on her in a prolonged and passionate kiss which left her weak in the knees.

His blonde mustache grazed against her lips and she moaned under the kiss. They had enjoyed their time together undercover the previous day, though they hadn't accomplished much. Seeing Lexa in her tight "journalist" skirt and blouse, with her lovely legs in mocha colored stockings, not to mention her high heels, had made Mason want her badly.

They kissed deeply and just as he pushed her against his desk ready to lay her on it, someone was at the door to his office trying to open the door. The doorknob turned slowly. It was locked. There was a knock.

"Detective Holmes, it's Lieutenant Dante," said an African American voice.

Quickly, Mason and Lexa composed themselves, trying to look as if nothing had happened. Lexa was smoothing her hair when Mason opened the door and the Lieutenant walked in. Isaiah Dante looked at them briefly, but it was a scrutinizing look.

"You're wanted at the Chief's office," he said to Mason.

"I'll be right there," he said, "excuse me Miss O'Neil; we'll talk about your next assignment afterward."

He exited his office. Lexa and Isaiah Dante's eyes met. He stood there by the door and there was no mistaking his expression. It was hard. He was staring daggers at Lexa.

"Is something the matter, Lieutenant?" she said to him.

"Yes," he said, slowly, "I can't understand you young women today. Why are you wasting your feelings on that white man?"

Lexa froze. What a terrible thing to say. It was such an unexpectedly racist outburst that she was stunned. Dante had always been quiet but she wondered if he was so racist that he loathed working in a white establishment as this Manhattan Police precinct.

"I beg your pardon?" she said to him.

"You heard me, woman," said Dante, "Look at you. You have black blood. You may be mixed, but you can't deny you've got a black mother. And here you are obviously making out with that white guy. He's only going to use you."

"Lieutenant, you have no right to judge me or to spew those awful comments," Lexa said, "not all white men are bad. And he's on the side of good. He's a detective. How can you think that? It is just as bad to hate whites as it is to hate blacks."

"I don't need a lesson from you," he said, "I know why I feel this way. And I'm warning you, stay away from him. He's going to lead you into a path of danger. He's always investigating murderers and psychopaths and one of these days, you'll be working with him on a case and it will mean your death."

He shut the door.

Lexa was suddenly afraid. The Lieutenant had issues, and obviously he didn't like anyone who wasn't black. And that was a dangerous thing indeed.........


Another hot night in Brooklyn.

Hudson was at home, in his briefs, in bed, restless and observing Lexa through the blinds of his window. He couldn't help himself. She was so beautiful. Her face and body had now become tattooed to his brain, etched into his memory.

He had seen her naked.

She had walked into her bedroom from the shower and her towel had fallen off. Hudson had an eyeful of her nude body, everything - her shoulders, breasts, flat stomach, smooth shaved pussy, legs and feet. Her body had a beautiful mocha color, very light brown but her voluptuous body was that of a goddess. No white girl he knew possessed Lexa's gorgeous figure.

Watching her sleep through the blinds, in that sexy baby-blue negligee of hers, made him feel like coming over there and taking her. She was a Sleeping Beauty, ripe for the plucking. He wanted to make love to her, to feel her alive and warm under him, making her shutter in orgasms he would bring on.

Her breasts fell and rose as she breathed and she stirred in the bed, moaning softly.

Too much aroused, Hudson began to stroke his own cock through his briefs. When his cock was hard, he felt the underwear to be too uncomfortable. He took it off and finished masturbating. All the while he looked at Lexa and imagined himself in her bed, taking her, making her his. His big cock was full of semen for her. He moaned and groaned as he masturbated, closing his eyes tightly as he suddenly ejaculated over his own bed.

God, he wanted that woman. Yes it would be wrong. Yes it would open up a can of worms. But if only she were his, at least physically, a woman he could make love to whenever he wanted. She did not fit the profile for the housefrau of his dreams, not the wife he had been raised to believe was for him, but why couldn't they be lovers?

He knew why. There was too much between them. Not just Mason Holmes, but the fact that everyone in the force probably expected them to be a couple of some kind. And always, they were trying to move up to higher positions, in Vice Squad, in Detective Borough, in positions that would make them bigger wigs in the NYPD. They were rivals in this, and yet the competition made him hot for her.

He looked at the window. Lexa was waking up. Quickly he closed the blinds fully so that she would not see that he had been spying on her. Hudson went back to bed and was ready for sleep.

Lexa, he thought, why did you have to come into my life this way? If only she had come to him without having been a cop...............

Lexa had gotten out of bed to get a drink of water from her cooler. She was in the kitchen when the phone in her living room began to ring. Good God, who's calling at this late hour, she thought.

It was half past midnight.

She finished her drink, not sure whether she should pick up the phone. At this time of night, it could be no one she knew, nothing important like a wrong number. She wondered whether it could be related to her work. Her hesitancy to answer resulted in a voice message in her answering machine.

"Miss O'Neil, it's Detective Mason Holmes," said the Detective's voice.

Lexa was suddenly all ears. So it was work calling after all.

"I imagine you're asleep so I'm terribly sorry to call at such late an hour. Forgive me. But it's very urgent that you come to headquarters, not the precinct, as early as six a.m. The Chief and Homicide Detectives, of which I am now part of, have called a meeting. We are to discuss the next assignment. It involves bizarre murders at rock concerts throughout Europe and here in our US."

She finished another glass of water. She wondered just why she always got the cases involving murders. Perhaps she would need to go undercover again.

It was like Lieutenant Dante had said. Hers was a job which involved risking her life each time. Sure it was easy to get out of the job, to get out of harm's way, to take the coward's way out. She could just live a happy, peaceful, uneventful life taking up some kind of job her mother, the once famous opera singer, could provide for her. She could be a music teacher, like Professor Goldstein. The Professor had always told her that if she should quit her very dangerous career as a cop, she was welcome to help him at the Conservatory.

But she wouldn't dream of it. Being a cop in such proximity to danger gave her an exciting life.

And she would always be able to see Hudson Banach, even if they didn't get along. She had become accustomed to his voice and to his body and presence...............

To Be Continued...................

On The Next Episode of Vice Cop, while working for Homicide Hudson and Lexa go undercover to stop a psychotic shock-rock star. But he's got too many diabolical tricks up his sleeve with the help of theatrical special effects and torture devices used in his performances and shows, and he lures them into a death trap......Chills and Thrills await on the next episode of Vice Cop....
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