John Munch, like most guys, has a spank bank that he's been adding to off-and on, since he was about thirteen and getting kicked out of Hebrew school for being a wiseass. He has classics he still refers to:Brigitte, Barbarella, Gwennie in her first bikini, but unlike most guys on the far side of sixty, pumped full of purely recreational enhancement products, he's having to actively refer to it because his girlfriend(another antique of a word) had to retrieve some fugitive lunkhead from his family's beach house on the Eastern Shore. Where's the justice in that?
If he were another man, he'd marry Kay Howard in a minute. And, not just because, when he told her that, she'd considered, mouth serious but eyes flashing, and said that was great. If she were another woman, she'd accept. They shared a similar terror of sharing space 24-7 and binding legal arrangements.So, there's always the train...where they are scrupulous about not favoring either Charm City or his place in New York. They've come to depend on their weekends together over the last few years, but neither one wants to say so.
John even tries to pretend it's his startle reflex that causes his heart to leap when the old land-line rings in the quiet apartment."I got him," she says, by way of pleasantries, voice husky from the pleasures of the chase. "But I'm not feeling up for much tonight. So I just went home. Disappointed?"
"Crushed," he said, and wished he were kidding."But you can make it up to me."
He hears the shift as she sits up on her couch,pleasantly disheveled in her quest to leave the department behind at night.She tells him Fugitive makes this easier, most days. "I might be able to do that. Within reason."
"Tell me how you did it." Just hearing her voice gets him a little excited, even when he's not as primed as tonight.Almost without thinking, he switches hands on the phone and begins to stroke himself. Coming off a case, she's an animal...it's almost too much for him. Not that he complains.
"Aw, Munchkin, you don't wanna hear about that...the usual way, okay?"
"Come now, Katie Howard, you call that doin' penance?"
"Only my dad calls me Katie, and that accent is a hate crime."
"You know you want to tell me...what are you wearing?"
"That green fuzzy sweater you like and one of Carrie's tiny skirts.And a white bra, because I want to show this mope's mother that even though I'm slutty, I'm a nice girl at heart."
"No, you're not," he teases.
She chuckles that deep chuckle that tells him she's finally found The Mood, and he'd raise his fist in the air, if he had a fist free. "You know that, and I know that...I told him I had a crush on him in high school."
"Yeah? I'll kill him."
"This idiot is twenty-seven, Munchkin. If these mooks ever learn math, I'm fucked."
"Do it for me," She yawned and stretched and something died in his chest.
"Aw, John, there's, like, a voice...it's a whole thing."
Suddenly, he's having trouble breathing and wishing he'd paid more attention to the instructions on the package. "There's a voice? I've got to hear this."
"Jesus. Mary, and Joseph, Munchkin. I can't sound like Sergeant Kay, can I?"
"You brought me in pretty well."
She took a deep breath, and when she came back on, sounded young, flighty, and not at all like herself "Um, hi, Mrs. Munchkin," and the stranger on the other end giggled. "This is, like, really embarrassing, but I used to work with your son John. Well. woman to woman, I had a crush on him...you know how it is. But I lost his cell number...Earth to Katie, right?"
"I'd have the handcuffs on you in two days."
And then, the inevitable. "Oh, God."
"Don't tell me you jerked off to that."
"No, I was already jerking off."
"Stay classy, Munchkin. "
"Why? That's why I have you."