“Springfield Sentinel,” Holly, the receptionist, said professionally into her headset.

“Holly, may I speak to Jane,” Allen said, rather agitatedly. Jane was a twenty-four-year-old, recent journalism school graduate working the cops beat at the Sentinel, her hometown paper. More importantly, she had been Allen's babysitter back when she was in high school. Allen desperately needed her to not write anything about the incident earlier that day, or say anything about it to anyone at The Sentinel.

“One mo— wait, Jane?” Holly replied. Holly knew Allen’s voice, and when he called down to the office he always was asking for his father, who published the paper. Why does he want to talk to Jane? she thought.

“Yes, Jane,” Allen said. “Don’t tell Dad, either.”

Holly grimaced, but it wasn’t her place to get involved in whatever this was. “Allen, Jane is up at the police station,” she said. “I can leave a message, or—“

“Fuck,” Allen said. “No, I’ll call back later. Thanks.” He slapped the phone into its receiver, hoping busybody Holly wouldn’t mention this to his dad or start asking Jane questions.

At that very moment, Jane was laying spread-eagle on the desk in Chief Fairfield’s office, receiving his enormous police baton cock while trying to stifle her moans and cries. Chief Fairfield was, in no uncertain terms, the most gorgeous man in their small town. He was a dead smoking ringer for Tom Selleck, with the mustache and everything.

Jane started fucking him on the regular about a week before she joined the Sentinel staff. There was an instant animal attraction. After a city council meeting she was covering, he followed her out to a late dinner, and then the two ended up at The Sleepy Inn by the Interstate. Soon their liaisons involved banging away in his office every time she went to check the police blotter, a regular obligation of the Sentinel’s cop reporter.

Chief Fairfield had both of Jane’s ankles in each hand when the intercom on his desk phone buzzed. “Chief,” the desk sergeant said, “Sinclair says she needs to talk to you.”

Jane literally bit the sleeve on her blouse to keep from crying out. Chief Fairfield slowed his thrusts but continued plowing her tight college-girl pussy with his Magnum P.I. dick. He was such a pro, he could fuck and still carry on a conversation like he was reading the Wall Street Journal.

“Gimme a few minutes here,” Chief Fairfield said calmly. “I’m doing an interview.”

“OK, boss,” the sergeant squawked back over the intercom.

Chief Fairfield continued pumping Jane’s gasping pussy, licking along the pantyhose from her right ankle up to her purple Easy Spirit pump. Just as she was ready to cum, he withdrew. Jane felt the cold air-conditioner breeze on her pussy and closed her eyes to strum her clit and finish herself. She heard Chief Fairfield drag over an American flag trashcan and jack off into it.

Splunk. Splink. Splat. Sploonk. Rope after rope of the Chief’s sexy, hot, cop cum splattered the metal can as he crouched over it. Jane continued diddling herself. She was ready to blow.

Splank. Sponk. Spurnk. Spink.

God damn, Jane thought. How fertile can this guy be? She had been on the receiving end of many a cumshot from the Chief, but not one like this. And furthermore, she had fucked him just yesterday, in the back of his patrol car after the VFW’s Memorial Day ceremonies at the town park.

Spunk. Dink. Splat. Dink dink. Chief Fairfield shook the last drops out and sighed. Then he leaned back, flexing the small of his back.

“Jesus, baby,” Jane cooed. “That was a big mess!”

Chief Fairfield zipped up his pants and put a wad of chewing tobacco into his cheek. “My wife’n I are tryin’ to conceive,” he drawled. “So I’m also takin’ her Clomid, it really increases the volume of my ‘jaculate.”

Jane kicked off of Chief Fairfield’s desk and reached down to hike up her pantyhose. Composing herself, she tippy-toed over to Chief Fairfield and kissed him on the cheek.

“OK, baby, I’ll see you later,” she said.

“See ya tomorrow, sugar,” he replied, opening his office door to courteously escort her out. Officer Sinclair was sitting on a Naugahyde couch in the hall. She gave Jane a suspicious glare as she strutted by, her strappy, heeled sandals clacking against the tile floor.

“Sinclair, you have something?” Chief Fairfield said, spitting into a cup.

“Yes, chief,” Sinclair said, standing and removing her cover, then marching into Chief Fairfield’s office.

“Let’s have it,” he said, sitting down in an enormous, overstuffed leather executive chair.

“Sir, there was an incident out in Calloway Meadows today,” Officer Sinclair said, referencing the rather wealthy neighborhood where Allen, Maria, and Lillian live. “We made no arrests but this might get some talk of the town, so I wanted you to know the whole story.”

Officer Sinclair handed over her written report, which included the statements from both Lilly and Maria, both of which described the triggering incident — Allen beating off on the roof of his house. Officer Sinclair's report did not, of course, mention that she, uh, counseled Allen with a slurping blowjob on the couch in his home. But it did mention that he was naked on the roof that morning and it caused the argument between Maria and Lilly, which devolved into a slap-fight.

“Because he is a minor and his father runs the paper here, I felt like it was best to just cool everyone off and not make this into a real case,” Sinclair said. “Plus, the older lady actually hit the other one first.”

Chief Fairfield thought for a moment. “That’s good work, Sinclair, you thoughtfully handled that one. That's good community poh-licing.”

He spit into his cup again and, realizing he was enjoying a chew of tobacco, courteously offered the pouch to Sinclair. “No, thank you, sir,” she said with a small wave of her hand.

"Let's just bury this," Chief Fairfield said. "Jane was already up here to, um, check the blotter today, so put something real vague in there and get rid of this." He handed Officer Sinclair back her report to be destroyed.

“Fair enough,” Officer Sinclair said, she stood and saluted. The chief returned her salute from his desk and she left. Officer Sinclair prepared a blotter summary, photocopied it, hole-punched it, and left it in the binder under a couple of reports about barking dogs and a Camaro playing music too loud at the teenage hangout. She left the report she had shown Chief Fairfield on the desk of Carla, the office clerk, to be given to the document shredder when its van showed up next week.

Meantime, Jane returned to The Sentinel's newsroom for the early afternoon meeting, and her editor, Ted, led off by asking what she’d gotten from the police blotter if anything.

“Shit,” Jane groaned. She had been so busy fucking Chief Fairfield that she forgot to check the blotter. “Sorry boss, I’ll go back.”

“What were you up there talking about,” Ted asked, nonplussed.

“Uh, budget stuff,” she lied. And the municipal budget was indeed in discussions, it had to be passed by the city council in the next five weeks. “I’ll go back and check the blotter, boss. Sorry about that.”

The meeting adjourned and Jane picked up her pad to head back to the police station. Just after she left, Allen called back to the office, and Holly told him she was still up at the police station.

"God dammit," Allen hissed in frustration, already believing the worst. But that was yet to come.