BOOK ONE

“To Serve and Protect,” Chapter 1

by c.w. cobblestone

The steel blade poked Ken’s Adam’s apple. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to swallow.

“Your money, motherfucker.” The gruff voice wasn’t joking.

With shaky fingers, Ken fished his billfold from his pocket and handed it over. The knife lifted from his neck. The victim kept his eyes closed.

There was a chortle. “Damn, girl, you don’t belong with this little faggot. You’re mine now. You hear me, bitch? I got your fine little ass.”

“Fuck you,” Rachel spat.

Ken heard a feminine grunt and pulled his eyes open. Rachel was trying to ward off the brute but was unable to stop him from dragging her to the ground while he held the knife against her torso.

She glowered at her husband as the man pawed her tits. Ken reclosed his eyes. He didn’t want to see.

A booming voice cut through the black: “Drop it, asshole.”

When his vision came into focus, Ken saw the robber on his knees with his hands in the air. He locked eyes with Rachel for a nanosecond before they both turned to the massive cop who leveled a pistol at the thug.

With a deftness that belied his size, the officer stepped forward, kicked the knife several yards down the alley, yanked the punk to his feet and cuffed his hands behind his back.

As the cop’s partner retrieved the knife, the arresting officer turned to the couple. “You guys okay?”

Ken licked his lips. “Er …”

“No, we’re not okay.” Rachel bared her teeth. “This sonofabitch tried to rape me.”

The officer scowled as his partner led the suspect down the alley. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No, that’s not necessary. I’m fine now, thank you.”

“Are you sure, ma’am?”

“Yeah, he didn’t do anything except grab at me a little. You showed up before he could do anything. Thank you so much.”

The cop nodded. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m okay, too,” Ken added.

“Um, that’s good news, sir.” The man whose nameplate said Parks knitted his brow. “What are you two doing here anyway? This is a pretty bad neighborhood.”

Rachel grimaced toward her husband. “It was his idea.”

Ken blinked twice. “I wanted her to see how others don’t have it as good as we do. She grew up privileged. So, we supported a local restaurant in the neighborhood, away from downtown, and then went for a walk.”

“I told you it was a stupid idea.” Rachel huffed.

Officer Parks’ lips tightened. “She’s right. You really shouldn’t go walking around neighborhoods like this. You stand out, and you’re just asking for trouble.”

“What do you mean we stand out?” Ken squared his shoulders. “That sounds kind of racist.”

The officer chuckled. “Whatever, sir. Listen, I’ve got to go talk to my partner for a second. You two don’t go anywhere, okay?”

Parks didn’t wait for an answer before turning and ambling toward his scout car down the block, where his partner had secured the suspect in the backseat.

Rachel slapped her husband’s arm. “Jeezus Chryst, do you have to start with that bullshit now?”

“What?” Ken held out his hands. “You heard him. That was an obvious racist comment. He thinks because we’re white, we must think the same way he does. Fucking white supremacist Nazi. He’s a cop. All cops are the same.”

“Are you kidding me?” Rachel’s eyes burned. “That man just saved our life. I swear to Gawd, you’re getting ridiculous with this shit. Live in the real world, Ken.”

Ken sighed. “You sound just like your father, you know that? You’ve changed, Rach.”

“We’re not at State anymore, Ken. You live in Fantasyland. I told you — you can’t fix the world by pretending you’re poor, and eating in restaurants in the middle of shitty neighborhoods where people try to fucking rape you. I almost got raped, Ken! Don’t you even care about that?”

“Of course, I do. Look, I’m sorry.” Ken bowed his head. “You’re right, okay? This was a dumb idea. I’m sorry.”

Rachel stared down at her 5’7 husband. “Why didn’t you do something?”

“What could I do? He had a knife.”

“I don’t know. Something. Try.”

Ken’s mouth went dry. “I … I …”

“Oh, whatever, Ken.” Rachel turned away and saw Officer Parks approaching with pursed lips.

“You’re lucky we saw him pull you into that alley,” he said. “There’s been a series of robberies in the area, and I think this is our suspect. It’s the same MO, using a knife, and he matches the description, with that scar on his chin. We’re thinking he may also be responsible for some recent sexual assaults, especially since that he tried that with you. We’ll know after we run a DNA test.”

Tears came to Rachel’s eyes. “OMG. I … I …”

She fell into the copper’s arms sobbing. He hugged her back.

“It’s okay, ma’am. We got him. He can’t hurt you.”

Ken’s ears burned as his wife lay her head against the much-taller police officer’s chest. The cop patted her shoulder, repeating, “it’s okay, it’s okay, shh, he can’t hurt you, it’s okay. Shh. Shh.”

Rachel finally pulled away and looked up at her savior. “I’m so sorry. I’m not usually like this. It’s just … it just hit me how … how close …”

“It’s okay, I understand … um, Miss … Mrs. …?”

“Coolidge. Rachel Coolidge.” She smiled at the officer — a little too warmly, Ken wondered.

“Trent Parks.” He took her hand with a twinkle in his eye.

Ken held out his palm. “Ken Coolidge. Her husband.”

Officer Parks let go of Rachel’s hand and gave Ken’s a quick squeeze. “We’re going to need both of you to come down to the station, alright?” He stared into Rachel’s eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can call an ambulance for you.”

“I’m fine,” she said, returning the dreamy gaze. “We’ll follow you to the station.”

During the drive, Rachel reamed Ken a new one. With adrenaline from the harrowing ordeal still surging through her, she released a stream of frustration toward her husband that she’d been holding back for months.

“I can’t believe how you acted back there. Lecturing that cop. What the fuck? All he said was that we stand out in that neighborhood. We do. That’s not racist. You’re getting ridiculous with that bullshit.”

“Ridiculous? That was obvious racism, Rachel. How can you not see that? You HAVE changed. You’re seriously turning into your dad.”

“Gawd DAMN it, Ken! Yes, I’ve fucking changed. It’s called becoming an adult. You need to grow the fuck up. You’re 26 years old and you still refuse to find a damn job. You think you aunt’s money’s gonna last forever? How far do you think $700,000 goes, Ken? You’ve already blown through damn near half of it. I go to work every day and you sit at home playing video games … and lord knows what else.”

“I … I …”

“Oh, I don’t wanna hear it, Ken. Grow the fuck up! And, yes, maybe I am starting to become more like my dad. At least he wasn’t a candy-ass whiner.”

“Ugh. Could you please stop calling me that?”

Rachel scoffed. “Well … you are. My dad was 100% right.”

“Your dad never shut up about my major. Neither one of you did. ‘It’s a useless, candy-ass degree.’ I got so tired of hearing that shit. There’s nothing ‘candy-ass’ about majoring in Feminist Studies. But you wouldn’t let it go, would you? You still don’t. Stop calling me a candy-ass, okay? Stop being your father, Rach. Seriously.”

Rachel gripped the steering wheel. “Look, Ken, maybe now isn’t the best time to bring this up … or maybe it’s the best time.”

“Bring what up?”

“I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now …”

Ken threw up his hands. “What? Tell me what?”

“I … I … I know what you do with my panties.”

Ken’s ears got hot. “I … wha …?”

“You stretch them out. You think I don’t notice? Don’t even try to lie, Ken. I found my red ones in your desk drawer.”

“I … Rach … I …”

“Look, if you’re gonna do that shit, can you at least get your own and not stretch mine out?” Rachel nosed the Honda into the 38th Precinct parking lot. Before Ken could say another word, she exited the car. He followed her into the facility.

After a brief wait, they were both surprised to be greeted a chubby guy in a cheap suit.

“I’m Detective Janowitz. Please follow me.”

Rachel looked around the squad room. “Is Officer Parks here?”

“Well, Ma’am, he’s the arresting officer, but I’m the detective working the case,” Janowitz said. “He’s briefed me on the circumstances of the arrest, and if you don’t mind, I have a few questions to ask.”

It took about an hour for the detective to get through the procedure, and he left his card with the couple, telling them he’d be in contact. The entire time, Ken heard a ringing in his ears — the sound of shame from knowing his sissy secret had been exposed.

The Coolidges barely said a word to each other on the drive home. As soon as they entered the house, Rachel made a beeline for the shower. Ken holed up in the rec room with his laptop, composing a social media post recounting the attempted robbery and sexual assault. When Rachel was finished in the bathroom she hunkered down on the couch and got lost in her own computer.

Ken was checking his inbox when Rachel stormed into the rec room and fired the remote at him.

“What the fuck are you thinking, putting that shit on Facebook, you stupid, candy-ass sonofabitch? Delete that shit now!”

“I … honey, I’m sorry.” He rubbed his head where the changer had bopped him. “I just wanted to share what happened. It’s already got a ton of likes.”

“I don’t care how many goddamn likes it got. Delete it, Ken. Right now, goddamn it.”

“Okay, okay,” Ken bit his lip and spiked the post, although he did so with a heavy heart, since it had already gotten 14 likes and garnered five expressions of sympathy.

“I can’t fucking believe you.” Rachel turned and stomped toward the front door. “I’m leaving.”

“Where you going?”

“I don’t know. Out. I don’t want to be here right now.”

“Look, Rach, I’m sorry. I deleted it, okay?”

“Whatever, Ken.” She snatched up her purse and slammed the door behind her.

Ken moped in the living room with his shoulders slumped. When he snapped out of it he noticed that Rachel’s laptop was still open. He looked around the room to see if anyone was watching, even though he lived alone with his wife. The coast was clear, so he sat on the couch and began trolling through Rachel’s online history.

Blood rushed to his head when he saw the Google search: “Trent Parks, police, Marysville.”

His temples pounding, Ken sleepwalked to his desk in the rec room. He opened the bottom drawer with his right hand while the left one fumbled with his fly.

“To Serve and Protect,” Chapter 2

by c.w. cobblestone

Ken squirmed on the couch watching the door all night, bursting with questions but fearing the answers.

Where was Rachel? Was she leaving him? How long had she known about his crossdressing? Could she possibly see him as anything other than a wimp after he’d stood by and let that creep maul her?

Even before the attack, Rachel’s disdain for her husband had been growing, and she’d taken to calling him a lazy “candy-ass” with a “Fantasyland” worldview — her late father’s favorite put-downs. Was Rachel becoming a reactionary like the single Army colonel who’d raised her? Was her eye starting to wander? Why had she Googled that cop? After the assault, she’d cried on HIS shoulder — why hadn’t she turned to Ken in her moment of need?

The diminutive trust-fund husband fidgeted in the darkness, his manhood circling the drain. He’d exposed himself as a coward and watched his wife make goo-goo eyes at the macho officer who’d saved her. She’d known about the crossdressing for some time. The wondered that Rachel had discovered his kink made him queasy. Recalling how she’d flirted with the tall, square-jawed flatfoot churned his insides even worse.

Ken finally fell asleep feeling completely washed out.

Noon came and went the next day with still no sign of Rachel. Since it was a Saturday, Ken knew she wouldn’t be gonna work, and figured she’d probably rented a hotel room, like she’d done after previous arguments.

This time was different, though. This time, he knew that she knew who he really was. The wondered terrified and depressed him.

Ken had other thoughts. Naughty thoughts. Sissy thoughts. He tried to push them apart. They kept coming.

With his blood running hot, he slithered to the rec room and opened his desk drawer. After wiggling out of his sweatpants, he stepped into Rachel’s red panties — and then the front door slammed shut. In a panic, Ken tossed the underwear back in the drawer and scrambled to pull up his sweats before hurrying to the front room.

“Hi, honey,” he said, breathing heavily with his cheeks and ears burning scarlet.

“What were you doing in there?” Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Were you wearing my panties just now?”

He hung his head. She scowled harder.

“Were you? Answer me.”

Ken gulped. “I … I …”

“You were! You little …”

“Rach. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry.” Rachel sniffed. “You got that one right.”

“Come on, hon. Don’t be that way.”

“Whatever, Ken, I’m exhausted. I don’t want to talk right now.” She breezed past him toward the bedroom, where she plopped onto the mattress without undressing.

While she slept, Ken whipped up a massive meal, working silently so he wouldn’t disturb her. He thought why she was so exhausted. Had she been up all night? Where? With whom?

More questions he didn’t want answered.

By the time Rachel stirred, the table was set and late lunch was served. She sighed at the spread.

“Ken, we need to talk.”

He grimaced. “What’s wrong, honey? Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not now. Sit down.”

Ken wrung his hands. “What …?”

“It’s everything, Ken. You won’t work. All you do is play video games. And …”

“And what?”

“Your … thing.”

“Wearing … your … your panties?”

“Yes, Ken. I’m sorry, but it creeps me out.”

“But … why? Don’t tell me you’re transphobic now, too. Are you?”

“No, jeez, Ken, I’m not transphobic. It’s just …”

“Just what?”

“Well, the idea of my own husband being a crossdresser doesn’t do it for me. You know I’m not transphobic — I was good friends with Darla in drama class, remember? I don’t care what other people do in their bedroom. But you? You’re my husband.”

“And I love you.”

“I love you, too, Ken. I really do. But things need to change.”

Ken shrugged. “What? Tell me what and I’ll change.”

“First of all, you need to find a job. Seriously, I’m not playing this time. I don’t care what kind of work you get — just do something.”

“Um … okay?”

“And…” Rachel crinkled her nose. “Look, Ken, you can dress up however you want when you’re alone — but you need to get your own panties from now on, and stop stretching mine out. And don’t expect me to do any of that stuff with you.”

“But … why? What’s so terrible about it?”

“I didn’t say it was terrible. It’s just not for me. Sorry, but the idea of my husband prancing around in girl’s clothes is a major turnoff. I don’t care what others do, but I like men. Women don’t turn me on, and neither do men in girls’ clothes.”

“I … I’m sorry, Rachel.”

“I’m sorry, too. Have you been doing this all along?”

“Um, ever since I was a kid. When I was little, Sandra used to dress me up in her clothes and, like, be mean to me and make fun of me.”

Rachel cocked her head. “Your sister started you on this?”

“I guess so..”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Ken shrugged. “I dunno. Look how you’re reacting now — if I’d have told you early on, how would you have taken it? You probably wouldn’t have married me.”

Rachel nodded. “Yeah, probably not. No offense, Ken, but that’s not my thing at all. I love you, but I can’t lie. It just … well, it creeps me out, thinking about you running around behind my back wearing my panties. You never told me about any of this.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Ken blinked. “It’s okay, Rach. I won’t ask you … you know, to do anything.”

“Okay. And you’ll look for a job?”

“I promise. First thing Monday.”

Rachel filled her plate. Ken smiled while she ate.

After dinner, she told her husband she was going outside to get some air. As he cleared the table, her voice drifted in from the open kitchen window.

“Hello, yes, could you tell me if Officer Parks is working tonight?” There was a pause. “He is? Great. Can I please leave him a message? Yes, thank you. Please … yes, tell him to please call Rachel Coolidge at 429 820-3251. I was the victim in … uh, the case on Darvin Street; the guy with the knife. Okay? Great, thanks.”

Ken’s stomach felt squishy. Bile flooded his gills. He dashed to the bathroom and puked in the toilet.

“To Serve and Protect,” Chapter 3

by c.w. cobblestone

When two uniformed police officers strolled into the Foxtrot Coffee House laughing, Ken wiped his hands on his apron and seethed.

The taller of the two cops stepped up to the counter. “A couple large coffees to go, please, one black, one double-double. And I guess I’ll take one of those strawberry scones over there on the end.”

“Throw in a bran muffin, too, would ya?” With a grin, the second officer patted his considerable belly. “I’m trying to eat healthy.”

“Well, I’ve got news for you, Officer Zachary.” Ken sneered at the cop’s nameplate. “You won’t be eating anything here. We don’t serve your kind.”

“I’m sorry — what?” The stout cop frowned.

“You heard me. You’ll have to take your business elsewhere.” Ken popped his lips. “Nazi cops aren’t welcome here.”

A thick accent boomed from the kitchen: “Oh! Nazi? Why you say? No!”

Ken flinched. He hadn’t realized Pradeep the owner was within earshot.

The potbellied cop faced the boss. “Your employee here says you don’t serve police officers.”

“No, no, is no true. No true. Police love here. All time. Free coffee.” Pradeep pointed at Ken. “You! Fire. I pay you to end of day. Go! Get out. You fire.”

“I’m … fired?” Ken stood on his tiptoes.

“Yes, fire. You work here three month … all you do complain every time. You fire. Now get out.”

Ken whipped off his apron and threw it in Pradeep’s face. “You can’t fire me — I fucking quit. Who wants to work for a place that supports white supremacist cops anyway?”

“I from India, you stupid-ass. No white suprema. Now — get out.”

Ken folded his arms. “Make me get out.”

The pudgy officer stepped forward. “Listen, sir, I suggest you leave now, unless you want me to write you a disorderly conduct ticket.”

In a fit of rage, Ken shoved the cop — and got coldcocked. The officer squeezed the cuffs on the belligerent barista and wrenched him to his feet.

“Police brutality! Police brutality!” Ken bellowed as the officers led him out of the coffee shop. “I’m suing! Everybody saw it!”

The corpulent cop tossed Ken into the rear of the squad car and rode jump while his partner drove to the police station, ignoring the prisoner’s constant stream of profanity from the backseat. After being booked on charges of assaulting a police officer and disorderly conduct, Ken was allowed his one phone call from the precinct front desk.

Rachel picked up on the third ring. “Hey, babe. This is a nice surprise.”

“Uh, hey.”

“Who is this? Ken?”

“Yeah. Who did you think it was?”

“Um … I don’t know.”

Ken frowned. “What came up on caller ID?”

Rachel cleared her throat. “Um … Marysville Police Precinct 12. But it sounded like you, so … uh … I … I wasn’t sure who it was.”

Ken wondered that was strange but didn’t have time to contemplate it. He cleared his throat. “Um … honey … listen … um …”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Well, you’re gonna laugh.”

“Ken … what’s going on?”

“I’m … I’m in jail.”

“You what?”

“Uh …” Ken licked his lips. “A couple of fascist cops came into the shop and started insulting me, and I told them we didn’t put up with hate speech. But then, Pradeep overheard us, and of course, the rightwing sonofabitch takes the cops’ side. So, not only do I get fired, but they lie on me and say I assaulted one of them.”