Brass Balls
A Handcuffs and Lace Story
By Mia Watts
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
Resplendence Publishing, LLC 2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349 Daytona Beach, FL 32118
Brass Balls
Copyright © 2012 Mia Watts
Edited by Darlena Cunha
Cover art by Les Byerley, www.les3photo8.com
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-480-2
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic Release: March 2012
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
Thanks to the Twitter ladies who know beer: @BrynnPaulin, @BeatlesJill79, @Kris_Norris, @Terrasha79, @LadybugsAdey. Thanks for helpin’ a girl out, yo.
Chapter One
“Fuck, the new captain is here,” Detective Sommerset declared, choking on his beer. It sloshed as he whipped it away from his mouth and slammed it on the table a little too hard.
Oak Takala snorted. He mentally struck the verbal comma and “is here”. His body was already on board with the idea of fucking the new captain. He glanced over his shoulder as the bar erupted with cheers.
“And the old one,” a familiar voice said near Oak.
A heavy hand fell on Oak’s shoulder. He turned around and grabbed his old man in a half hug. They pounded each other’s backs in the time old tradition of rough men showing rough affection in public.
“Hey, dad. Thought you’d ring in the new regime with the guys?” Oak asked.
Former Captain of Police, now voice of the local tribe, John Takala grinned broadly. “You know it. I’m just glad the powers-that-be took my recommendation seriously. Wyatt Peterman’s been an asset to the department since he partnered with me as a detective.”
“ I’m just glad they chose another guy from our precinct instead of bringing in new blood who doesn’t know us. Means we’re doing something right,” Oak added.
His father squeezed his shoulder. “Means I’m doing something right that they took my recommendation.”
“So what’s your new position like, Cap—Geez, what the hell do I call you now? Mister Takala?” Sommerset wondered.
“Yep, that’s all I am now. A civie. The only captain Takala will be my son when Peterman resigns.”
“No pressure,” Oak noted.
“He’s gotta be as good as his old man, first.” The new voice sent a hot crawl down Oak’s spine.
“Captain Peterman, speak of the devil,” Oak’s dad did the back-clapping thing with his former partner.
They laughed. John lifted Oak’s beer as though it was his own and shouted a toast to the bar filled with off-duty cops. They hoisted their mugs and guzzled amber fluid in deep draining pulls amidst joyful shouts.
Oak tried not to look at the captain out of the corner of his eye, but the man had so much charisma that it grabbed hold of Oak’s attention with invisible fists. Determined not to notice, Oak rescued his beer and drained the contents.
“Whoa! Slow down there, partner. You’re supposed to be my designated driver,” Sommerset complained. “I’ve had way too many to take the wheel, and you just downed a second pint.”
Oak stared into the thread foam at the base of his mug. “I think it’s my first.”
“No way. Chuckie bought you a second round just before Peterman got here.”
“ Captain Peterman,” both John and Wyatt said at the same time.
“Aw, c’mon, we’re off the clock,” Sommerset teased.
“Not when it comes to seniority,” John corrected.
“Fine, fine, but he’s had two beers.” Sommerset faced Oak. “You weren’t gonna drink Chuckie’s.”
“I forgot.” He had forgotten. Wyatt Peterman, Captain Wyatt Peterman, could make him
A Handcuffs and Lace Story
By Mia Watts
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
Resplendence Publishing, LLC 2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349 Daytona Beach, FL 32118
Brass Balls
Copyright © 2012 Mia Watts
Edited by Darlena Cunha
Cover art by Les Byerley, www.les3photo8.com
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-480-2
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic Release: March 2012
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
Thanks to the Twitter ladies who know beer: @BrynnPaulin, @BeatlesJill79, @Kris_Norris, @Terrasha79, @LadybugsAdey. Thanks for helpin’ a girl out, yo.
Chapter One
“Fuck, the new captain is here,” Detective Sommerset declared, choking on his beer. It sloshed as he whipped it away from his mouth and slammed it on the table a little too hard.
Oak Takala snorted. He mentally struck the verbal comma and “is here”. His body was already on board with the idea of fucking the new captain. He glanced over his shoulder as the bar erupted with cheers.
“And the old one,” a familiar voice said near Oak.
A heavy hand fell on Oak’s shoulder. He turned around and grabbed his old man in a half hug. They pounded each other’s backs in the time old tradition of rough men showing rough affection in public.
“Hey, dad. Thought you’d ring in the new regime with the guys?” Oak asked.
Former Captain of Police, now voice of the local tribe, John Takala grinned broadly. “You know it. I’m just glad the powers-that-be took my recommendation seriously. Wyatt Peterman’s been an asset to the department since he partnered with me as a detective.”
“ I’m just glad they chose another guy from our precinct instead of bringing in new blood who doesn’t know us. Means we’re doing something right,” Oak added.
His father squeezed his shoulder. “Means I’m doing something right that they took my recommendation.”
“So what’s your new position like, Cap—Geez, what the hell do I call you now? Mister Takala?” Sommerset wondered.
“Yep, that’s all I am now. A civie. The only captain Takala will be my son when Peterman resigns.”
“No pressure,” Oak noted.
“He’s gotta be as good as his old man, first.” The new voice sent a hot crawl down Oak’s spine.
“Captain Peterman, speak of the devil,” Oak’s dad did the back-clapping thing with his former partner.
They laughed. John lifted Oak’s beer as though it was his own and shouted a toast to the bar filled with off-duty cops. They hoisted their mugs and guzzled amber fluid in deep draining pulls amidst joyful shouts.
Oak tried not to look at the captain out of the corner of his eye, but the man had so much charisma that it grabbed hold of Oak’s attention with invisible fists. Determined not to notice, Oak rescued his beer and drained the contents.
“Whoa! Slow down there, partner. You’re supposed to be my designated driver,” Sommerset complained. “I’ve had way too many to take the wheel, and you just downed a second pint.”
Oak stared into the thread foam at the base of his mug. “I think it’s my first.”
“No way. Chuckie bought you a second round just before Peterman got here.”
“ Captain Peterman,” both John and Wyatt said at the same time.
“Aw, c’mon, we’re off the clock,” Sommerset teased.
“Not when it comes to seniority,” John corrected.
“Fine, fine, but he’s had two beers.” Sommerset faced Oak. “You weren’t gonna drink Chuckie’s.”
“I forgot.” He had forgotten. Wyatt Peterman, Captain Wyatt Peterman, could make him
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