Michael frowned at the sight of falling snow. Winters in Detroit were brutal, and snowstorms often popped up out of nowhere. Treacherous weather conditions made his investigations all the more difficult, and it took him longer to get around the city. He longed for the days of summer but not the higher crime rates that usually followed; it was a catch 22 situation. Last summer alone, he was the lead detective on over 30 homicide cases. Truth be told—he needed a vacation. The vacation he had been planning for several years but had yet to take. Every time he tried to make his dream vacation a reality, guilt sank in. He was the best of the best, and crime never took a day off, so why should he?
    As Michael pulled into the parking lot of the Detroit Police Department 7th Precinct, he let out a heavy sigh. He'd much rather be in bed with Constance having some of the most fantastic sex he'd had in years, but per usual, work came first. "Michael, calm your dick, and do your job!" His brain shouted. "Well, technically, I was doing my job." He chuckled and answered himself.
    Michael knew that he shouldn't be sleeping with prostitutes, and for the most part, he didn't. Constance was the second prostitute he had slept with since joining the police force, despite it being legal for Michigan law enforcement to do so. And though there had been unfounded reports of detectives and police officers taking advantage of the legal loophole, Michael never once threatened to arrest a streetwalker for not having sex with him or make her do something against her will. He thought guys who took advantage of women were scum and should be dealt with accordingly.
     Leaning his head back against the plush leather headrest of his tricked out Mercedes-Benz, Michael inhaled and exhaled loudly. He didn't feel like dealing with his hard-nosed Sergeant and hoped it was nothing serious, but a page at 4 am was always serious.
    No sooner had Michael walked into the station than a voice boomed, "about time you got your ass down here, Jackson. The Sergeant has it in for you. He's been in a bad mood all evening. What'd you do now?"
    As Michael made his way across the room, he paused before knocking on Sergeant Grayson's door and hissed. "Shut the hell up, Bennett. Stop sticking your Goddamn nose in my fucking business. Worry about your own cases—oop's, my bad—you don't have any."
    When the entire office erupted in thunderous applause and laughter, Detective Bennett scowled at Michael and said, "a'ight, smart ass. Keep on. It's only, but so many times, Sergeant Grayson is going to keep letting you do what you want. You're not special! Your ass can get placed on desk duty as well."
    Michael chuckled. "I'll deal with that when it happens."
    Giving a few rhythmic knocks on Sergeant Grayson's office door, Michael took a deep breath. He wasn't scared of his superior in the least, but it was past 4 am, and he was still exhausted from the day before. He didn't get any sleep while he was with Constance, and nor did he plan to. All he needed was to be robbed, and his identity found out. He had heard countless stories of detectives and police officers who had been robbed in their sleep after having sex with prostitutes.
    "Get in here, Jackson," a deep burly voiced yelled through the door. Compared to Michael's gentle but deep timbered tone, one would think he couldn't hold his ground with his Sergeant, but when he was angry, he could respond in an aggressive matter that could shake someone to their core.
    "How'd you know it was me?" Michael snickered, raising his eyebrows.
    "You're the only one around here that knocks like they're performing a drum solo," Sergeant Grayson said sarcastically. "Have a seat."
    After sitting down on the opposite side of Sergeant Grayson's desk, Michael cleared his throat and said, "so, what's up?"
    "Remember the woman that was arrested on suspicion of killing her husband?"
    Forget her? How could he? Michael thought. She was the most gorgeous suspect he had ever laid eyes on. She had silky tawny skin, mysteriously beautiful gray eyes, a glorious afro that reached the heavens, and a body that could make the strongest willed man fall to his knees.
    "Yeah, I remember her. The chick in cellblock 29." He smiled wryly. "She said she didn't kill her husband, but I don't believe her. I'm planning to go to her house today to collect more evidence, but I need a quick recharge before I begin my investigation. It's been a long week, and I've been running on fumes.
    "Sounds good, Jackson, but I wanted to inform you—she made bail around two hours ago and has been released."
    "Made bail? How? Her bail was set at a million dollars!" Michael spoke in disbelief, jumping up from his seat. "You mean to tell me she posted the required 10%? What the fuck!" 
    Sergeant Grayson banged on his desk and yelled, "damn it! Calm down, Jackson."
    "Calm down? Why should I calm down? The chick posted $100,000 bail!"
    "Ok, and? She, her family, friends, or someone she knows is wealthy. It happens."
     Michael nodded his head and laughed contemptuously. "Yes, you're right. I'm trippin . . . We've had a plethora of suspects able to make $100,000 bails on the regular."
    "Don't patronize me, Jackson," Sergeant Grayson spoke briskly as he stepped from behind his desk and stood face to face with Michael. "Keep on being a wise-ass, and you just might find yourself suspended!"
    Michael folded his arms and smirked. "Come on now! You and I both know that's a lie. I'm the best detective you've got."
    Sergeant Grayson knew Michael was right. He was the best detective on the force and had no intention of suspending him unless he did something idiotic. Though he hated Michael's ballsy behavior, he respected him for it. Michael always stood up for what he believed in and never backed down—it was a big part of what made him so great at his job.
    "Listen, Jackson. I had a long day, and you've had a long night. Go home and get some rest for the next 24 hours. If anything detrimental happens while you're away, I'll take care of it."
    "Thank you, sir. As much as I would love to take that 24 hours, time is of the essence. I just need a good 5 to 8 hours of rest, and I'll be fine."
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Author's Note:

Thanks for reading! The next update will be next Wednesday at 7 pm. Please remember to vote, and comment; it's most appreciated. Since this story is tucked away in a compilation book, it'll be harder for people to discover if it's low in the hashtags.

Take care and be well,
Midnight ❤🌛