Or so we thought. Debbie was leaning back against the tile wall, supporting herself in a corner with one leg thrown over my shoulder. I was on my knee... on the tile floor, with my mouth fastened tightly on her clit. Warm water cascaded over us."Just what do you young ladies think you're doing?"It was our coach, Ms. Elliot, and she fucking well knew what we were doing. I turned my head toward the sound of her voice, my mind racing to think up some believable – or even unbelievable - lie. But she. ”“I know. He’s an honest cop. He actually cares about this neighborhood.”“That’s true.”“Doesn’t he usually carry his cell phone in his shirt pocket with the camera peeking out of his pocket?”“I think so.”“I’ve got an idea.”Martin pulled out his cell phone and made a call. He talked for five minutes with Peter and then hung up. He was laughing about something. Much to Franklin’s chagrin, he wasn’t sharing the joke with him.With the attempt to incite a racial riot over and done with, Martin went. More

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