Courtney Ferreira, Sophomore Cop (?/FF & F/F) - PAUSED (Feb. 24, 2024)
Posted: Fri Jan 26, 2024 3:16 pm
A special shoutout goes to everyone who read The Rookie as this, as the title implies, is a sequel to that story. I hope it lives up to the same standard.
Introduction
One year after the events of The Rookie, I (Officer Courtney Ferreira) am finally back to standard procedures as a precinct officer in the small suburban town of Hopkinton, Missouri. Duties are the same: assist investigators, go on patrol, fill out paperwork, occasionally act as Chief’s secretary when things are busy, and, of course, training officers in the art of the escape. After one officer encounters medical issues, I now find myself tasked with being the beat partner with a young rookie named Cecilia, and a friendship seems to form despite a few disagreements.
Chapter 1 (F/F)
“And what if I am a vegan?” Cecilia says to me in a snarky tone.
“Then no one is making you try it,” I say back to her with my hands on my hips.
“But I am,” she took a bite of the chocolatey, cakey goodness and dropped some crumbs.
“Well,” I stoop to pick some crumbs off the floor of Don Utz, “How is it?”
I look into Cecilia’s eyes the way a friend does when they’re hoping they made someone happy, and I see the spark arise. She motions for me to let her finish the donut, and I know we have yet another winner. It’s the fun of working with Miss Cecilia Smith.
“How was it?” I ask her and pick up more crumbs.
“Awful!” she lies through her teeth and smiles at me.
“Nope. Not buying that. It’d be the first one you didn’t like from this place.”
Ironically, at this moment, a fight appears to break out between the proprietors and a patron. The patron quite angrily slaps his hand upon the counter twice. I calmly walk a little closer and motion for Cecilia to stay behind me for just a moment.
“Where’s my f-cking cinnamon donuts?! You said I could pick up at 11!” the man snarls.
“Sorry, Mr. Carter, someone forgot to frost them, but they’ll be over here in just a few moments.”
“It’s f-cking 11:15!!” he rages.
“Sir,” I caution him, “The price we pay for real homemade goods is that they aren’t made by robots. Please, yelling only makes it unnecessarily stressful for everyone, especially you, when they are trying to fulfill your request.”
“I ain’t listening to no cop!” he seethes in my face with weed breath, and I don’t back down.
“Here are your donuts, Mr. Carter.”
The moment passes. Mr. Carter takes his donuts and walks out of Don Utz while promising to leave an angry Google review. Thankfully, it went no more than shouting, and I can see that Cecilia is a bit perturbed. She isn’t afraid, but I can see that her mind fails to understand why a human being would act that way.
Cecilia is new to this officer game. I am just finishing my sophomore year after the nightmarish events of my freshman year as an officer and now mostly work with the investigative detectives. While normally a veteran officer is the one who accompanies the rookies, I was chosen to do it on account of my unusual experiences but only after our next main female officer in the precinct, Michelle Jansen, had an operation to remove her gallbladder a couple days ago.
“Why didn’t you punch that son of a gun?” the Chicagoan asks me as we walk to the car.
“That’s first not allowed and second it would have made him angrier. Lawsuits are ugly.”
“I wish I had an excuse to tase a jerk like that,” she seems a bit too feisty for her own good.
“Cecilia, that’s the kind of thought that leads a good cop down the road to being a bad cop,” I pause and sigh as I sit in the driver’s seat, “Let’s go to the station, hmm?”
“The theme from ‘Dirty Harry’? Really?” Cecilia teases me in a friendly manner as the music starts playing.
“Hey, I permit myself this one stereotype. Memories die hard.”
Do memories ever die hard. My memories are mine, and Cecilia’s are hers. She’s from Chicago and a rarity in voluntarily taking a job down here in small Hopkinton, Missouri, which for me is the only town I ever really lived in. Perhaps I am perfect to show her around the town area; as it would work out, we lived in the same apartment complex.
The impetuous young girl is a few years my junior and quite green. Her heart is in the right place, but she worries me with her wishes and suggestions. Either the academy she attended was bad, or she didn't listen because those kinds of things were taught to me early. My job includes making sure she learns what she can and can’t do. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
There is another dimension to being an officer under my thumb: training. Training with me has a very different meaning than it does with other officers. As I said, I have unusual experiences. Those experiences included being captured by a criminal, and now I train others in the tricks of escaping just as Michelle taught me. After my experiences, though, I am now upping the intensity of the training for those who wish to learn more.
In small town Missouri, except around days like New Year’s Day and St. Patrick’s Day, there are always at least 3 or 4 empty holding cells. I simply mark it as “occupied” and go in there so that we have peace and quiet. Cecilia has stuck it out and continues to excel beyond the others, and that was part of why Michelle initially took her under her wing much like me two years before.
“Oh, so we're going to finish the lunch hour like this?” she laughs a little.
“If you get out of this one in under 20 minutes, I’ll buy lunch tomorrow.”
“That,” Cecilia has a gleam in her eye, “is motivation to succeed.”
“Whatever makes your ticker keep ticking,” I turn around and roll my eyes.
“What are you using on me this time?” comes a taunt, “Hope you do better than last time.”
“Rope,” I take a deep sigh, “And I will do better.”
Frankly, Cecilia disgusts me in that she likes the training. I hide it, but it disgusts me. I only bite my tongue because she’s so good with it. The little Houdini pin that is on her uniform says it all: she is the great escape artist. For me, it's serious business, but she makes a game out of it to my perpetual frustration.
I have become quite a master at tying people, but Cecilia consistently finds ways to escape no matter what I do or use. Today, I decide to try using ropes tied very tightly. I have learned the hard way how brutal ropes can be, and with crime increasing each year it may pay dividends for us to know how to get out of things. Her taunts, I hope, will spur me to finally keep her down for once. Rope is not nice, to say the least, and I perhaps try to be mean with it. Cecilia yelps a little, but she continues her friendly taunts. She’s being so amiable, and I’m being a bit wretched to her. I only tie her with five ropes. Hands are first, then her humeri, her femurs, her ankles, and her chest. For good measure, I hogtie her as well.
“Is that the best you can do?” Cecilia continues the haughty attitude.
“You need to be silenced,” I show her a roll of black duct tape.
“Well, I suppose you can use that, but you don’t need to be crabby about it.”
“I do, actually,” I start wrapping the stuff around Cecilia’s head with unnecessary tightness.
“Mmmm?” she groans as I crush her head down.
“I almost died! Don’t you forget it!” a little bitterness can be heard.
I start the timer and sit down on the floor to play with my cell phone while Cecilia grunts about her training prison. Paying more attention to my own affairs than my student, I forget that I am supposed to be supervising a training session; her escape is inevitable. Negligence has no place in a police station, though, and I am interrupted from my daydream by a familiar voice.
“Training going well?” Mom’s voice jolts me back to reality.
“Oh!” I jump a little, “Yeah, she does great!” I finally turn and notice my colleague is free.
“Hi, Michelle, her timer is going off in a sec, but I couldn’t help but enjoy her obliviousness.”
“Sweetie, I think you were daydreaming,” she laughs a little, to my relief, “Go down to Dave’s office; he has something for you two girls.”
“I was lost,” I agree, force a smile, and stand up, “I’ll have to gold-plate Houdini.”
“Ooooh!” her girly inflections sometimes seem inappropriate for a cop, “I’d like that.”
I professionally stride toward Pop’s office while the red hair bounces up and around me as we walk that way. I suppose it’s just the personality differences that do it, but the girl with red hair and green eyes (but oddly no freckles), peachy skin, average height, and a perfect figure is a stark contrast to me with my above average height, darker skin, curly black hair, and brown eyes. We make an odd pair, for sure, but we seem to balance. I knock on Pop’s door and wait for him to permit our entry before I push the door open.
“So, with the policeman’s ball in two nights, how would you two like to have your first sting operation under your belts before then?” he asks us with his fatherly smile.
“I can’t speak for Cece, but I’d gladly join!”
“Chief, really?!” Cecilia sounds uncertain, “Aren’t I too new for that?”
“When is old enough?” he fired back, and I laughed at his quick retort before regaining myself.
“Where do we go?”
“Go to Michelle; she’s involved in the station-side part of the setup.”
Cecilia takes the lead on the next leg of the journey, giving me an opportunity to watch her from behind. Her hair is so long that she keeps it in a multi-layered bun, and I briefly wonder how long it is. Her butt isn't as flat as mine, but she's more toned and naturally athletic. Why would a girl from an upper middle-class Chicago family want to become a police officer down here in Hopkinton? I guess just because a girl comes from money doesn't obligate her to pursue riches; this may be what makes her happy and feel like she did the right thing with her life.
“Court, you're just the girl we need. Our precinct’s own bilingual officer,” Michelle says when we come into the room where she is busy with several others.
“What is my role in this?” I take a seat, “I guess it calls for someone who speaks Spanish well!”
“How do you think Courtney would look with blue hair ends and a few tats?”
“Oh, the hair would be amazing! I don't know about the ink though.”
“Wait a second!” I strongly interject, “Blue hair?! Tattoos?! On me?!”
“For sure,” Cecilia continues, “She’d make a perfect undercover Matita.”
I am not sure how I feel about this. I am being asked to play an undercover local female Latino gangster broad. This means I am being pimped or slinging phony drugs to bag folks. If I say neither sounds good to me, they’ll laugh. Bilingual is a bonus because it is common for the gringos to buy products and services from the Matito’s, a gang whose name is a false cognate of the Spanish verb “matar,” or “to kill.”
Thirty minutes later I hear Michelle and Cecilia giggling while the ends of my hair are getting blue juice dyed. The rest will come tomorrow, and I am told exactly how to dress for it. Due to the nature of a sting, I cannot really do much besides stay at the station the rest of the day and then stay home afterwards. If I go out and about, I risk blowing my cover for the next day.
“I’ll get you some dinner, don't worry,” Cecilia says as she dashes into her own apartment.
I sigh again and roll my eyes while walking up to my apartment. I do not know what Cecilia has in mind, but I hope it is good. I have enough things that need my attention and haven't time for immature nonsense. Cecilia, however, has something else in her mind. This girl is full of surprises.
So am I.
Introduction
One year after the events of The Rookie, I (Officer Courtney Ferreira) am finally back to standard procedures as a precinct officer in the small suburban town of Hopkinton, Missouri. Duties are the same: assist investigators, go on patrol, fill out paperwork, occasionally act as Chief’s secretary when things are busy, and, of course, training officers in the art of the escape. After one officer encounters medical issues, I now find myself tasked with being the beat partner with a young rookie named Cecilia, and a friendship seems to form despite a few disagreements.
Chapter 1 (F/F)
“And what if I am a vegan?” Cecilia says to me in a snarky tone.
“Then no one is making you try it,” I say back to her with my hands on my hips.
“But I am,” she took a bite of the chocolatey, cakey goodness and dropped some crumbs.
“Well,” I stoop to pick some crumbs off the floor of Don Utz, “How is it?”
I look into Cecilia’s eyes the way a friend does when they’re hoping they made someone happy, and I see the spark arise. She motions for me to let her finish the donut, and I know we have yet another winner. It’s the fun of working with Miss Cecilia Smith.
“How was it?” I ask her and pick up more crumbs.
“Awful!” she lies through her teeth and smiles at me.
“Nope. Not buying that. It’d be the first one you didn’t like from this place.”
Ironically, at this moment, a fight appears to break out between the proprietors and a patron. The patron quite angrily slaps his hand upon the counter twice. I calmly walk a little closer and motion for Cecilia to stay behind me for just a moment.
“Where’s my f-cking cinnamon donuts?! You said I could pick up at 11!” the man snarls.
“Sorry, Mr. Carter, someone forgot to frost them, but they’ll be over here in just a few moments.”
“It’s f-cking 11:15!!” he rages.
“Sir,” I caution him, “The price we pay for real homemade goods is that they aren’t made by robots. Please, yelling only makes it unnecessarily stressful for everyone, especially you, when they are trying to fulfill your request.”
“I ain’t listening to no cop!” he seethes in my face with weed breath, and I don’t back down.
“Here are your donuts, Mr. Carter.”
The moment passes. Mr. Carter takes his donuts and walks out of Don Utz while promising to leave an angry Google review. Thankfully, it went no more than shouting, and I can see that Cecilia is a bit perturbed. She isn’t afraid, but I can see that her mind fails to understand why a human being would act that way.
Cecilia is new to this officer game. I am just finishing my sophomore year after the nightmarish events of my freshman year as an officer and now mostly work with the investigative detectives. While normally a veteran officer is the one who accompanies the rookies, I was chosen to do it on account of my unusual experiences but only after our next main female officer in the precinct, Michelle Jansen, had an operation to remove her gallbladder a couple days ago.
“Why didn’t you punch that son of a gun?” the Chicagoan asks me as we walk to the car.
“That’s first not allowed and second it would have made him angrier. Lawsuits are ugly.”
“I wish I had an excuse to tase a jerk like that,” she seems a bit too feisty for her own good.
“Cecilia, that’s the kind of thought that leads a good cop down the road to being a bad cop,” I pause and sigh as I sit in the driver’s seat, “Let’s go to the station, hmm?”
“The theme from ‘Dirty Harry’? Really?” Cecilia teases me in a friendly manner as the music starts playing.
“Hey, I permit myself this one stereotype. Memories die hard.”
Do memories ever die hard. My memories are mine, and Cecilia’s are hers. She’s from Chicago and a rarity in voluntarily taking a job down here in small Hopkinton, Missouri, which for me is the only town I ever really lived in. Perhaps I am perfect to show her around the town area; as it would work out, we lived in the same apartment complex.
The impetuous young girl is a few years my junior and quite green. Her heart is in the right place, but she worries me with her wishes and suggestions. Either the academy she attended was bad, or she didn't listen because those kinds of things were taught to me early. My job includes making sure she learns what she can and can’t do. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
There is another dimension to being an officer under my thumb: training. Training with me has a very different meaning than it does with other officers. As I said, I have unusual experiences. Those experiences included being captured by a criminal, and now I train others in the tricks of escaping just as Michelle taught me. After my experiences, though, I am now upping the intensity of the training for those who wish to learn more.
In small town Missouri, except around days like New Year’s Day and St. Patrick’s Day, there are always at least 3 or 4 empty holding cells. I simply mark it as “occupied” and go in there so that we have peace and quiet. Cecilia has stuck it out and continues to excel beyond the others, and that was part of why Michelle initially took her under her wing much like me two years before.
“Oh, so we're going to finish the lunch hour like this?” she laughs a little.
“If you get out of this one in under 20 minutes, I’ll buy lunch tomorrow.”
“That,” Cecilia has a gleam in her eye, “is motivation to succeed.”
“Whatever makes your ticker keep ticking,” I turn around and roll my eyes.
“What are you using on me this time?” comes a taunt, “Hope you do better than last time.”
“Rope,” I take a deep sigh, “And I will do better.”
Frankly, Cecilia disgusts me in that she likes the training. I hide it, but it disgusts me. I only bite my tongue because she’s so good with it. The little Houdini pin that is on her uniform says it all: she is the great escape artist. For me, it's serious business, but she makes a game out of it to my perpetual frustration.
I have become quite a master at tying people, but Cecilia consistently finds ways to escape no matter what I do or use. Today, I decide to try using ropes tied very tightly. I have learned the hard way how brutal ropes can be, and with crime increasing each year it may pay dividends for us to know how to get out of things. Her taunts, I hope, will spur me to finally keep her down for once. Rope is not nice, to say the least, and I perhaps try to be mean with it. Cecilia yelps a little, but she continues her friendly taunts. She’s being so amiable, and I’m being a bit wretched to her. I only tie her with five ropes. Hands are first, then her humeri, her femurs, her ankles, and her chest. For good measure, I hogtie her as well.
“Is that the best you can do?” Cecilia continues the haughty attitude.
“You need to be silenced,” I show her a roll of black duct tape.
“Well, I suppose you can use that, but you don’t need to be crabby about it.”
“I do, actually,” I start wrapping the stuff around Cecilia’s head with unnecessary tightness.
“Mmmm?” she groans as I crush her head down.
“I almost died! Don’t you forget it!” a little bitterness can be heard.
I start the timer and sit down on the floor to play with my cell phone while Cecilia grunts about her training prison. Paying more attention to my own affairs than my student, I forget that I am supposed to be supervising a training session; her escape is inevitable. Negligence has no place in a police station, though, and I am interrupted from my daydream by a familiar voice.
“Training going well?” Mom’s voice jolts me back to reality.
“Oh!” I jump a little, “Yeah, she does great!” I finally turn and notice my colleague is free.
“Hi, Michelle, her timer is going off in a sec, but I couldn’t help but enjoy her obliviousness.”
“Sweetie, I think you were daydreaming,” she laughs a little, to my relief, “Go down to Dave’s office; he has something for you two girls.”
“I was lost,” I agree, force a smile, and stand up, “I’ll have to gold-plate Houdini.”
“Ooooh!” her girly inflections sometimes seem inappropriate for a cop, “I’d like that.”
I professionally stride toward Pop’s office while the red hair bounces up and around me as we walk that way. I suppose it’s just the personality differences that do it, but the girl with red hair and green eyes (but oddly no freckles), peachy skin, average height, and a perfect figure is a stark contrast to me with my above average height, darker skin, curly black hair, and brown eyes. We make an odd pair, for sure, but we seem to balance. I knock on Pop’s door and wait for him to permit our entry before I push the door open.
“So, with the policeman’s ball in two nights, how would you two like to have your first sting operation under your belts before then?” he asks us with his fatherly smile.
“I can’t speak for Cece, but I’d gladly join!”
“Chief, really?!” Cecilia sounds uncertain, “Aren’t I too new for that?”
“When is old enough?” he fired back, and I laughed at his quick retort before regaining myself.
“Where do we go?”
“Go to Michelle; she’s involved in the station-side part of the setup.”
Cecilia takes the lead on the next leg of the journey, giving me an opportunity to watch her from behind. Her hair is so long that she keeps it in a multi-layered bun, and I briefly wonder how long it is. Her butt isn't as flat as mine, but she's more toned and naturally athletic. Why would a girl from an upper middle-class Chicago family want to become a police officer down here in Hopkinton? I guess just because a girl comes from money doesn't obligate her to pursue riches; this may be what makes her happy and feel like she did the right thing with her life.
“Court, you're just the girl we need. Our precinct’s own bilingual officer,” Michelle says when we come into the room where she is busy with several others.
“What is my role in this?” I take a seat, “I guess it calls for someone who speaks Spanish well!”
“How do you think Courtney would look with blue hair ends and a few tats?”
“Oh, the hair would be amazing! I don't know about the ink though.”
“Wait a second!” I strongly interject, “Blue hair?! Tattoos?! On me?!”
“For sure,” Cecilia continues, “She’d make a perfect undercover Matita.”
I am not sure how I feel about this. I am being asked to play an undercover local female Latino gangster broad. This means I am being pimped or slinging phony drugs to bag folks. If I say neither sounds good to me, they’ll laugh. Bilingual is a bonus because it is common for the gringos to buy products and services from the Matito’s, a gang whose name is a false cognate of the Spanish verb “matar,” or “to kill.”
Thirty minutes later I hear Michelle and Cecilia giggling while the ends of my hair are getting blue juice dyed. The rest will come tomorrow, and I am told exactly how to dress for it. Due to the nature of a sting, I cannot really do much besides stay at the station the rest of the day and then stay home afterwards. If I go out and about, I risk blowing my cover for the next day.
“I’ll get you some dinner, don't worry,” Cecilia says as she dashes into her own apartment.
I sigh again and roll my eyes while walking up to my apartment. I do not know what Cecilia has in mind, but I hope it is good. I have enough things that need my attention and haven't time for immature nonsense. Cecilia, however, has something else in her mind. This girl is full of surprises.
So am I.