A Collection of Short Stories by Randy Gonzalez
Sergeant Sage knew the Director’s legendary reputation. He held the rank of Commander within theagency. That meant gold eagles on the collar, just below deputy chief. Injured in the line of duty, heaccepted appointment to the police academy. He had transformed the training center into a premieroperation. Commendations had followed him where ever he went.“Love the uniform,” he said, when he saw her approach. In the heat of passion, they married tooquickly. Then divorced. But, for weeks now, they had started seeing each other again.“Permission to enter, sir?” Sergeant Sage asked from his doorway. A grin spanned her face. “You’relooking good, Ridge. Of course in a mature kind of way. Aging nicely. Still attracting a following of young female recruits?”“Please, Flo.” He stood up from behind his desk. He felt her scan him up and down. Perfectly tailorednavy pinstripe pants. Starched white shirt, with gold cuff links. Silver tie. He dressed well. “Give me abreak. You know that wasn’t our problem. They’re too young. Your freedom was the issue.”“I was always suspicious, though.” Her eyes flirted with him. “And, I know what the issue was, stillis.” She glanced around his office, still very fond of him. Down deep, she liked him very much.“Trying to impress the recruits?” He asked with a teasing tone. “All this formality. My gosh, we’ve gotuniforms older than some of them.” He came around the side of the large oak desk. The black leather chairswiveled and rocketed at his maneuver. He met her in the center of the room. They hugged, held andstared a few seconds. They sat on an overstuffed brown leather couch.She noted the office was done with an oriental flare. None of his diplomas hung the wall. Just Japaneseprints, depicting samurai warriors in action. His penchant for the Orient. He’d even studied at the TokyoPolice Academy, a rough and regimented place. He had injuries to prove it.“Comfy couch, Ridge,” she said, almost suggesting something. That smirk of hers pulled him in. “Doesit fold out into a bed?” A flare of daring showed in her eyes, flashing alluring flirtation.“Why Flo, is that an offer?” He smiled with a raised eyebrow. “We’ve certainly done that before.” Heraccent got him again. Not just a southern woman, like a southern belle. With that genteel seductiveenticing manner. But, a Texan. She’d ride, rope and brand you. And, you’d like it. He did.“Maybe later, but not here.” Her stare said she was still very interested in him. She knew the feelingwas reciprocal. “Call me. I’ve missed you the past few weeks. You have the number in your cell phone.”“Always do.” He longed to be with her on a permanent basis again. She was never one to be tied down.He swallowed, cleared his throat, and started, “Okay, changing the subject. Got some things to run by you.You’re the expert. By the way, coffee? Cigar?” She nodded with enthusiasm. He knew she always likedthe way he made coffee. Plus, the woman liked his imported hand made cigars. Very expensive.“You still making that espresso stuff you call coffee?” She asked with a twang. “If so, I’ll have a cup.”“I always loved your coffee making skills, among other things, Ridge.” She spotted the mahogany humidoron his huge desk. “What was that Freud said about cigars?” Her jesting was intriguing. “Never mind, I’lltake one for later.” Oh well, she mused. Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar, nothing else. By the expressionon his face, she knew a special assignment was just around the corner. That, she liked.