First Sight

Homicide Detective Salvador Bongiovanni pretended he was smarter than he was. He looked like a wise guy from Brooklyn. His textured tan overcoat, black silk scarf, and five-hundred-dollar Caporici shoes accented his slicked black hair. His demeanor was loud and arrogant as if he was better than everyone else. Neither of us moved, and both of us stared at him. I took my time to reach for the ignition. After I turned the car off, I spat in my cup.

"Let's go," he shouted. "Get out of the car and do your freaking job."

Detective Bongiovanni stopped when we ignored him and continued talking.

"Hey," he snapped. "I told you's. Get out of the car. Now!"

Bongiovanni was hostile to us for a reason. It had nothing to do with work and everything with Keegs and Giorgia Bongiovanni, his youngest sister. She and Johnny Keegan had a passionate romance for six months. The relationship ended abruptly, leaving two broken hearts and an unspoken regret over an unwanted abortion. When the famiglia found out she was pregnant, they made her end the pregnancy. The heartbreak of being forbidden and unable to see Keegs left her feeling desolate.

Of course, as the big brother, Detective Bongiovanni confronted Keegs after watch in the six-three's back lot. They both exchanged heated words and soon raised their fists. And my partner, though showing restraint at first, knocked the detective on his ass with a quick sweeping backhand and overhand right.

"Did those stripes affect your hearing, Kelly?" he said.

"Nope, I just love the sound you make when you shut up."

"Your job is to control your pre-schoolers and secure my freaking crime scene. You got it?

Bongiovanni's anger wasn't necessarily directed at me. He judged me for the company I kept, but I felt no guilt. I had ridden with Johnny Keegan for three years, yet I had never seen him so broken and forlorn.

Keegs tugged on the body armor lying between his turtleneck and sweater. "I'd rather be in a refrigerator with mice and rats eating at my feet while covered in freaking sewage before I listened to you." Keegs mimicked him with tongue in cheek, pretending to masturbate.

Bongiovanni stepped toward the RMP as I hurried from the car.

"You know what, Keegan," he said. "You're a pezzo di merda, hah. A real piece of shit." Bongiovanni's outstretched finger, covered with black Gucci gloves, reached across my face, missing my nose.

I glanced at Keegs as he jumped from the car toward the front fender. He worked the tobacco in his mouth, his eyes glazed and face flushed.

I had seen the Johnny Keegan, I despise you, and I'm about to do something stupid look before. And when he cocked his head, stupidity took flight as streaming tobacco juice and spit. The stream didn't quite reach the mark but made the point.

"You know what, Kelly," said Sal. "You and your partner here better get your shit wired tight."

His arm and finger were back, waving at us both. "You two are making a lot of enemies. And one day, real soon, it's gonna catch up to you."

From over Sal Bongiovanni's shoulder, someone shouted at us. I looked at a senior detective whose badge hung from his neck and over his coat.

"Cut the shit," he said. "All of you."

When hearing the voice, Sal backed off and went stiff. He straightened his scarf and lapel, adjusting them to perfection.

"I'll see you soon," he said. Bongiovanni turned slowly, leaving Keegs with a taunting look.

As he walked to the senior detective, Keegs smirked, pushed out his chest, and jutted his chin. He looked at me, and I couldn't help but smile.

"I really hate that guy," said Keegs. "He can—" Keegan took a breath and shouted. "Hey, Sally. Suck my—"

"Keegs," I said. "Let it go." I moved to his side, put my hand on the back of his neck, and gave it a gentle tap.

"Central to an available unit for a noise complaint," said dispatch. I turned up the volume dial on my portable and hoped nobody would respond. This way, we could get back on the road.

"I've never wished so hard to answer a neighbor dispute," I said. "We can clear and get you some more coffee. Benefits of the stripes."

Though Detective Sal Bongiovanni had leaped over a broken curb and hurried to the crime scene, Keegs' gaze remained transfixed. Finally, he huffed, his lips curling in annoyance before he spat.

"Six-three, Charlie's available," said a unit over the radio.

"No coffee, I guess," he said. "You wanted the corporal Stripes."

Keegs swirled the tobacco in his mouth.

He made a rasping sound, formed a tight line with his lips, and wrinkled his nose. "The price you pay for fame and fortune, my man."

I lowered the radio to reduce broadcasts to a whisper and stretched my arms.

"And I'm not a freaking babysitter, Keegs," I snapped.

"Bullshit. Look at these freaking guys."

I put my hands on my head and grimaced.

"Look at this idiot," he said.

Keegs pointed to a boot no taller than five foot eight and portly. But, unfortunately, his uniform was too big. It slipped down in the crotch, and his trouser legs dropped from his heels. He kept tucking in his shirt and readjusted his jacket. It seemed like every thirty seconds, he was fussing about something.

"The last time I saw something like him, I flushed."

Keegs waved his hand towards the second boot, who stood a stone's throw from preschooler number one. He was no better than the first. Just as awkward, maybe three inches taller.

"And Jesus Christ," said Keegan. "This guy looks like the before picture of anal sex."

"Wha—what?" I said. I laughed so hard I spit juice and half of my tobacco wad. "What does that even mean?"

"I don't know, man. Please tell me we didn't look that pathetic when we were green."

Still smiling, I held my hand out for more tobacco, and Keegs obliged. Then, as I took another handful and rolled it, I looked toward the old railroad tracks.

That was when I saw her standing near the cattails.

"Keegs," I said. "Do you know who that is?"

"That's, yeah, um—her old man is retired. He was a deputy chief, ah Christ."

He exhaled and closed one eye. Then, through a squint and drawn lips, he stuttered.

"Maxine, um. McMen—McMan—I can't... McMenamin."

Maxine McMenamin was unlike anyone I had ever seen. She was breathtaking. Her eyes were bright, her lips were full, and her hair tumbled down her back in soft waves.

I felt a deep sense of loneliness and despair consuming me. It had tormented me. I found myself in relationships that could only lead to disaster, unable to shut them off. All the women and physical relationships ended in sorrow and suffering.

As I looked at her walking in the broomsedge, there was a peculiar feeling, an inner compulsion, an unanticipated craving. I felt a sense of comfort and understanding that I had never experienced before. A gentle stillness descended upon me. It was something I never thought possible.

Maxine McMenamin stood with her gentle hands waving across the cattails. She was graceful, adorning, proper, and an enchantress. She was new to my eyes but familiar. Young but mature. She was lustful but innocent. And my heart and mind longed for her touch, to hear her voice. I wanted to listen to her words of tenderness and affection.

She saw me staring boyishly. The slight upturn of her lips and the gentle flutter of her eyelashes held me captive, and I could only stand there in awe. Yet, far down in my center, I knew this was no game.

She was a woman, passionate and empowered, and her worth was priceless.

Woe to me, for this wondrous beauty, has shown herself.