Melton’s Mettle introduces Daniel Melton, a police detective who has built his reputation as a tough cop getting results solving crimes on the streets and capturing the charms of the ladies like police recruit Mandy. Fellow detective Tommy Rosetti jousts with Melton for top honors on and off the job. A rash of burglaries, and then a string of arsons hit Middleton. Rosetti, part of a family of smoke-eaters focuses on the arsons. Melton investigates the thefts. Melton gets a hot tip at midnight pulling him from a cozy love-nest directing him to a burned-out retail site. The detective is shot by an unknown assailant, surviving with a disabling spinal injury that leaves him incapacitated. Melton struggles through PTSD and demanding physical therapy adapting to his new wheelchair bound reality, re-connecting with and getting support from former girlfriend EMT Michelle.
The city recognizes Melton with an Award of Valor yet refuses to reinstate the disabled detective and defeats his job loss lawsuit. Melton hangs a shingle as a private investigator, pursuing the investigation into finding his shooter. Fires and dead bodies mount. Melton finds a key clue drawing him to a vacant hotel building and into a mega-explosion.
In the darkness, there was a low buzzing sound. The blanket stirred, then there was a sound of a throaty moan. The buzzing persisted, now growing louder like a hollow vibrating echo emanating from a hollow box or a pipe. A bluish glow rose from a bedside table.
“All right,…all right.” A hand reached out from under the blanket, bumped a glass that fell, and thumped onto the carpet below. Fumbling fingers found the vibrating cell phone and pulled it towards the bed.
“Melton!”
The blanket glowed blue momentarily, and then, as the cover was pulled down, the illuminated face of Detective Daniel Melton with its tasseled hair and day-old chin stubble was visible.
“When? Where? Ok,….Ok, on my way.”
“What is it, baby? Wait! Don’t go. Wait, I want to go again.” There was movement under the covers, in the direction of Daniel’s midsection. Daniel started to move, to get out of bed, but he wasn’t fast enough.
“Ooooh,…baby,….ooooh…” The covers bumped again, and she was on him, now riding him like a barrel racer at a rodeo. It continued a minute, two, and three. “Oooh my God, Mandy,…oooh, …what you do to me. ,…oooh, fuck it, baby,…oooh,…oooh,…aaahh.”
Mandy’s head popped out of the covers kissing him tenderly, then resting on his shoulder as they lay, still entwined, damp and sweaty with the musk of sex in the air.
“My God, Mandy, where have you been all my life?”
“I’m right here, baby, right here in your arms.” She nibbled on his ear.
Fighting the urge for a cigarette, Detective Daniel Melton was lost in the moment of post-coital exhaustion. He remembered the first day he had seen her, Officer Amanda Arnold, a new recruit reporting for duty in her crisp new navy-blue uniform and shiny black duty belt and oxfords, a look that screamed Rookie. Although in her mid-twenties standing 5’4”, she had looked so young, so innocent, so like a homecoming queen. He had the hots for her then. Hell, the whole department had the hots for Rookie Officer Arnold. He figured that she would probably wash out, not make the grade. But she had stuck it out, passed probation, and turned out to be a good officer, a credit to the department. And best of all, now, here she was, in Daniel’s bed.
Once more, he felt the urge for a cigarette. The cell phone buzzed again. He wiggled his arm from under Mandy and reached for it, then cocked his elbow so he could see who was calling. Mandy snuggled even closer, her dampness rubbing his thigh.
“Oh shit. It’s the lieutenant now!” Daniel squirmed free of Mandy, turned back to kiss her on the forehead, then crawled from the covers and strode buck naked to the bathroom. After a quick shower, Daniel came out, his 6’2” muscular frame wrapped in a towel, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He rummaged through the apartment finding clothes, shoes, gun, badge, and cell phone.
“Break-in over on Larchmont, they’re waiting for me. I’ll see you at code seven, usual place.” He stretched over the bed and kissed Mandy as she sat in the bed covers pulled up to her armpits. She pulled him tight to extend the kiss as her tongue danced in his mouth. The phone in his pocket buzzed again. He pulled away. “Gotta go. Love ya, babe.”
[two hours earlier – somewhere across town]
The light in the upstairs room went dark at 10:50, just like the night before. A timer, it’s on a timer, thought Skunk, as he stepped through a gate of the back-yard fence that opened to the alley behind the house. Perfect timing, it was a dark night with no moon. Crickets chirped in the grass next door. A dog barked down the block and Skunk froze. There hadn’t been any dogs when he was here last night. Then there was a whistle, the barking stopped, and then the slam of a door.
“Don’t need no damn dogs,” Skunk whispered to himself. He looked around, surveying the backyard once again. He shivered in the damp coolness of the evening. The dark hoody he wore, found in a dumpster behind an apartment building, was well worn and threadbare, offering little warmth to his skinny 120-pound frame. It was cooler here in the Midwest, not as warm as the hill country in Arkansas where he grew up. His mind traced a route up to the second-story window. Fence,… tree,… porch roof,… and then easy access to the back bedroom. There had been no shadows, no movement inside, yesterday or tonight. Their P-I-O-T internet posting had touted the upcoming vacation, a Caribbean cruise. The pictures on the wall had shown the owner and his house, so Skunk knew he had the right place.
Skunk cautiously tip-toed up the back steps and tried the door. Locked. There was a deadbolt lock above the doorknob. He tried the screwdriver against the door’s action, but it was quickly apparent that the owner had placed the deadbolt in the locked position, preventing a quiet easy entry. Plan B was up to that second-floor bedroom; the marks always felt so safe up there, often forgetting to lock upper-level windows, making entry to those upstairs bedrooms usually the best way in.
Skunk sniffled his draining sinus and rubbed his hands together to push back the edginess. He would need a coke fix again soon. He slipped as he stepped over the porch roof; it had a steep pitch and the shingles were well worn lacking the traction of the sandy texture of a newer roof. It didn’t help that his black canvas Converse shoes were worn and slippery, and the edginess of needing another fix made his legs feel like rubber. He peeked inside. Unlocked, the windowpane went up easily and he stepped in.
Shining a tiny Mag light around the room, he noticed that the bed was messed up and looked slept in. He pulled a pillow from the bed and stripped away the pillowcase. Mag light now in his mouth, he started with the top drawer of the dresser. Always found goodies here, a watch, jewelry, and hot damn, an envelope full of money. Skunk rifled through the other drawers, throwing clothes to the floor as he searched for hidden valuables. Next, in the drawer of the bedside table, his fingers bumped something hard.
“Out – fucking-standing! A gun!” In his excited outburst, the Mag light fell from his teeth and thumped on the floor. It was a small revolver, too dark to tell the model at the moment.
WHOOSH. It was the flush of a toilet. Skunk froze, then reached slowly for the Mag light and flicked the button, darkening the room. A door latch clicked and there were the floor squeaks of footsteps coming his way. Oh shit, there shouldn’t be anybody here, he thought. Skunk stepped behind the door, instinctively glancing around for a weapon, then realizing that he held a gun in his hand. His mind racing, he realized that he couldn’t cock the weapon without giving away his presence. He raised his hand, ready to strike. There was a yawn as the footsteps entered the room.
Skunk’s hand came down hard, the butt of the gun striking the victim in the back of the head, as he pushed hard shoving the person into the corner of the dark room. POP. In the shove, the gun discharged; and the body lay still. Skunk’s legs were already moving into the hall and down the stairs to the front door. He fumbled with a deadbolt lock, turned the action, and went flying out the door and down the street. He rounded the corner and ran the half- block to his car jumped in fumbled with the key in the ignition. The old Chevy was slow to start, the starter grinding but the motor didn’t grab. Second try, third try, the engine turned over. Skunk gunned the throttle and dropped the transmission lever to Drive. BOOM! There was a loud backfire as the car rolled forward tires screaming. Sirens were approaching as he rounded another corner and drove away, holding the car at the speed limit.
Skunk’s heart was pounding and his mind was still racing. His eyes jumped from the street ahead to the mirror to the side streets, hoping to make his escape before the cops got there. It hadn’t worked out as planned. Somebody was in there. There wasn’t supposed to be anybody there. He didn’t know if he had shot them or not, his finger must have been on the trigger when he hit the person on the back of the head. It had been going so well, scan the internet postings, see who’s going on vacation, these stupid marks tell everybody. Then, you just hit that empty house and clean up. It had been a good plan.
The car was surging, faster, slower, faster, slower. It was his foot, the edginess. He sniffled again, needing that fix real soon. He made it across town, slowing when he saw a police car zooming silently, lights flashing toward the house on Larchmont. Soon he was at the corner, near the burned-out store, now boarded up, turning into the alley, looking for his dealer.