Disturbing the Peace
I was halfway towards dozing off when a call came over the radio about a public disturbance incident in Sloane Park.
“All units, be advised,” said the dispatcher. “We’ve gotten several calls about a 10-45 in Sloane Park. Subject is a young Caucasian female, wearing green shorts and, um, apparently not much else.”
Instantly, I was wide awake. A young woman with her clothes off probably meant she was high on drugs, but it was a lot more fascinating than responding to yet another burglar alarm mistakenly going off, so I snatched the radio off its stand as fast as I could.
“Dispatch, this is Unit 12. I’m five minutes away. Please show me as responding,” I announced, praying inside that nobody else was closer to the scene.
“10-4, Unit 12,” said the dispatcher, sounding bored as always.
Excited to have something potentially interesting to do, I flipped on my lights and put my car in gear, arriving at the west end of Sloane Park in under three minutes.
After double-checking that all my gear was in order, I got out of the car. It was pretty easy to find out where all the trouble was coming from because there was a group of people all gathered around the central fountain, with more folks eagerly making their way in that direction.
“Make way, make way,” I announced in my best police officer voice as I made my way through the crowd.
Sure enough, a young woman was wearing green shorts standing by the fountain, but she didn’t look like your typical junkie spaced out on drugs. For one thing, her brown hair was long and lustrous, not wild and matted, and her eyes weren’t dilated.
But what really caught my eye was just how attractive she was. Between those toned, slender legs and her generous chest that was barely being kept in check by a skimpy green top, she was easily the most attractive encounter I’d had since joining the force.
As I got closer, I saw that her green top was a cropped T-shirt, only the sides had been cut out, giving everybody in the world a clear look at those big tits of hers. She wasn’t topless, but she was only a few inches away from breaking the law.
But she paid me no mind as she was too engrossed in making facial expressions to the smartphone she was holding out at arm’s length, evidently recording herself, utterly oblivious to the growing crowd that was staring at her.
Several of the sketchier members of the public were now openly ogling her, and the predatory looks on their faces were making me apprehensive.
“Ma’am,” I said, feeling unexpectedly nervous as I approached her.
“Oh well, looks like the fun’s over,” said the young woman with a little giggle. She then pressed a button on her phone and turned to face me. “Yes? Can I help you, officer?”
“What are you doing here?” I said, careful to keep my voice neutral, just like I had been taught at the academy.
“Just filming some content for my channel,” said the young woman, batting her eyes as she looked up at me. “Why? Is that illegal?”
“No, but we got a report of a disturbance,” I said, forcing myself to ignore those magnificent tits of hers as they jiggled around freely in that skimpy excuse for a top. If she so much as sneezed the wrong way, I'd probably have to arrest her. “Come over with me to my vehicle, please.”
“Disturbance?” said the young woman with a coquettish grin. “How am I disturbing anyone?”
“Take a look around you,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “I’m worried something unfortunate might happen to you if I don’t relocate you. So please, for your safety, follow me over to my car, ma'am.”
“Okay, if you insist,” said the young woman with a smile, her perfectly white teeth confirming that this was no strung-out junkie I was dealing with.
“Show’s over, people,” I said, waving my arms as I faced the crowd. “Go on now. Go back to your business, whatever the hell that is.”
Several of the more wizened hoboes and other burnouts gave me an angry look as I led the young woman over to my car, but I was quite relieved to see none of them following me.
“So, are you going to frisk me?” said the young woman with a little laugh once it was just the two of us standing next to my patrol vehicle. “Because I’ve always fantasized about being frisked by a sexy cop.”
“No, ma’am, no frisking,” I said, suddenly finding it hard to swallow. “But I will have to see some ID.”
“Aww, you’re no fun,” said the young woman, tucking her phone into the waistband of her shorts, a move that once again caused her unfettered tits to move around in a most distracting manner.
“Not here to have fun, ma’am,” I said. “Just here to protect and to serve.”
“Oh, hey, your name’s Randall?” said the young woman, leaning in to look at the nameplate on my uniform. “Do people call you Randy? Because randy boys can be a lot of fun if you know what I mean.”
“Randall is my last name,” I said, feeling dizzy as I caught my first scent of her, a heady mix of shampoo and something else I couldn’t quite identify. “Now let’s see some ID.”
“Well, Officer Randy, I’m afraid I don’t have any ID on me,” said the young woman with a flirty grin. “But if I tell you my contact info, will you promise to give me a call? Because you’re really cute. I think you and I would get along great.”
Who was this young woman? And how was she this bold? She was out in Sloane Park, in one of the less well-off neighborhoods in town, half-naked and yet seemingly oblivious about the danger she was in.
And why was she trying to come onto me so strong like that? Maybe she was high, after all.
“Your name and date of birth,” I said, pulling out my notepad.
“Fine,” said the young woman with a theatrical smile. “My name is Amanda Nichols, but my friends call me Mandy.”
She then proceeded to tell me her date of birth, which took me a minute to process.
“Wait, you’re only 16 years old?” I said, incredulous. She certainly didn’t have the body of a young teenager. But when I looked closely at her face, I realized that yes, she had a freshness and youthful vitality that no amount of makeup or serums could ever replicate.
“And so what if I am?” said the girl, jutting out her lip. “I’m an emancipated minor. I can do whatever I want.”
“And that includes coming down to Sloane Park and filming yourself half-naked in the middle of the day?” I said.
“Of course,” said the girl with a brassy laugh. “I’m only in my second year, but that’s all right. I’ve got plenty of time left.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I said, confused. “Second year of what?”
“Why, the Naked Eight of course,” she said, giving me a saucy wink as she formed a circle with her thumb and forefinger on each hand and then joined them together, which I quickly figured out was her making the sign of the number eight.
