Chapter 1: The Deep End of the Pool 1 THE DEEP END OF THE POOL Hovering above me, perched at the top of a short set of stairs and framed like a goddess by the early morning sun, stands a rather large woman. When I say large, I want to be really clear about exactly what I''m staring at. I don''t mean "big-boned." I don''t mean "plus-sized." I mean this lady is four hundred pounds--the same weight as a large male lion or, you know. a bear. She has an American flag wrapped around her head like a turban and she is draped by a long sundress that is flowing just a little at the bottom as the wind blows past her. If someone started playing the theme song to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly right now, it would be oddly appropriate.

But that''s not what''s worrying me twelve whole minutes into my first-ever shift in the Southeast District of the Raleigh Police Department. Nor is it her death stare, as if she''s looking right through me. It''s that right after I showed her the department-recommended steepled-fingers pose and calmly delivered the lines "Hello, ma''am. My name is Officer Tansey of the Raleigh Police Department. Your son is worried about you. How are you today?" she raised her hands into tight fists and assumed a boxing stance, daring me to climb farther up. I''m not new to violence. I spent years in special operations in the military.

I''ve trained in martial arts. I''ve been around. And because I''ve been around, I do not like the fact that her boxing stance looks legit. Her elbows are locked in tight. Her right hand is protecting her chin. Her left hand is just a little away from her body so that the jab can flow freely. More than that, though, she is rocking back and forth, from her left foot to her right, like an athlete. You know that opening screen of every fighting video game where you toggle from one character to another and they''re just kind of bouncing a little? Well, I am apparently playing Street Fighter, Raleigh Edition , because this lady is ready to go.

Visions of getting knocked the fuck out by a woman on my first day on the job dance through my head. I know I''m the rookie, and I know there''d be nothing funnier than me getting starched by this lady. I know I''d never live it down. Hazing, like it was in the military, is a critical part of being welcomed into an elite police force. There''d be nicknames, photos, reminders in PowerPoint presentations. It would never go away. I was also raised to never hit a woman, and I don''t want to start now. More important, I don''t want to overreact and hurt this lady if I have to roll up my sleeves and go to work.

What the fuck do I do now? I look over to my training officer, Jayce, as I round out my thirteenth minute on the force. Jayce has his arms crossed and looks bored. Fingers facing the ground, he extends his arm a little and flicks his wrist at me in the "get on with it" motion. Well, thanks a pantload, Jayce. As I turn back to the lady, she reaches into her mouth with her sausage fingers and proceeds to remove some big white object from it. I squint. Mother of God, those are her teeth! As she calmly places them on the railing of the staircase, she locks right back into her fighting stance. Who takes out their fucking teeth before they fight? Someone who has lost their teeth fighting before, that''s who.

I take one last desperate look at Jayce. Surely he sees this is about to go south, and for the benefit of both me, the rookie under his charge, and her, the lady shadowboxing like she''s Apollo Creed at the top of the stairs, he will now get involved to provide guidance and wisdom. Nope. Now he looks even more pissed at me, spits on the ground, and gives me another limp-wristed flurry of get-on-with-it. I take a deep breath and turn back to the lady. My eyes go wide and my body tenses in fight-or-flight mode. In the moment that I took to look at Jayce, she decided to charge me. And by God, she is lightning-fast.

I now know what elk feel like before they get run down and eaten alive by a grizzly bear. They look over and see this giant creature and probably think, Even if it does try something, I''m so quick that I will easily be able to get away. I''m gonna keep munching on this grass . Wrong. She''s so close that I can feel the static electricity of her body about to connect with mine, and I throw myself to the side with everything I have, narrowly avoiding a major impact with this force of nature the way a matador avoids the charge of a bull. or at least that''s how I think I look. Jayce would later describe my actions as "jumping back like a scared child," but I''m going with "deftly maneuvered like a skilled matador." Her momentum carries her way past me and for a brief moment she takes in Jayce''s presence.

She quickly realizes he''s not getting involved, and huffing and puffing from her explosive assault attempt, she turns her eyes back to me. But something changes. Her eyes soften. Her muscles relax. She unfurls the American flag wrapped around her head, snakes it between her legs, and while making eye contact with me, starts grinding on it. "You want some of this, baby?" she asks as she breaks out Shakira levels of hip gyrations on that poor flag. I''m gonna have to have that thing donated to the Boy Scouts to be disposed of, because there is no coming back from that. "No, ma''am, I do not," I say, steepling my fingers so hard that they hurt.

"Can we just talk?" "You like that, Daddy? You want to arrest me?" she beckons. "Not really, ma''am. I just want to talk. Can we please talk?" I plead. But she has other ideas. She lies down on the flag belly first and begins to grind and hump it, thrusting her hips into it sensually. I''m mesmerized by her rhythmic hip thrusts. How does a woman that size move so gracefully? She looks up at me, still twerking on the flag, and whispers, "You like this, big boy?" I did not sign up for this.

I look back at Jayce helplessly, albeit for much less time than last time, just in case she tries to charge me again. I''m so overwhelmed. I want this to end so badly. I would do anything for just a little bit of help but Jayce looks like he''s about to pour himself a glass of tea and do the crossword or some shit. Actually no, now there is a little smirk, like he''s enjoying himself. Fuck! I have no idea what to say or what to do, but since no one is coming to help, I remember my time in the military. When in charge, be in charge. With my background driving me, I finally muster up the intestinal fortitude to speak.

I deepen my voice and bellow, "Ma''am, I''m going to need you to stand up and calmly walk over to the police car so we can have a discussion, or else I will have no choice but to take you in." My delivery is powerful and masculine. That should do it. Drinking me in with those deep brown eyes, barely visible with those fat cheeks peeking over the edge of them, she rolls onto her side, brings her top knee to her chest, and props her head up, while resting on one hand, also known as the "come and get me" pose. The same pose every man who is even a little bit lucky has seen once or twice in his life, and the same pose I hope to get from my wife if I make it through this shitpot of a day. She adds a sexy come-hither look motion with her finger. Oh God. I''ve somehow made it worse.

She rolls her tongue across her lips and says, "Come here, big boy. You know you want me. You gonna arrest me?" As she delivers that line, she pops up on one elbow so her whole body is in a one-armed push-up position and pulls her dress up. She is not wearing underwear, which was a little gift I didn''t expect to be receiving at 6 a.m. With some minor struggle, her large belly frees itself from the trappings of the dress, but she can''t quite clear the dress over her bosom in this position. With a grunt, she yanks with her arm and straightens her body, clearing the dress completely, and tosses it aside. She is now completely naked.

It''s now a whole lot worse. I know better than to look at Jayce. It''s me versus her. I am going to prevail. "Now, you gonna arrest me, baby?" she moans. "Yeah sure, ma''am. For lewd and lascivious acts, I guess." I take one step toward her.

With a feat of athleticism I generally would only expect from professional athletes or elite CrossFitters, this lady burpees to her feet. The instant those pudgy toes hit the ground, she jumps, spins in the air, and lands in a perfect 180, so that her ass is facing me and she is now looking over her shoulder. The fat jiggles down her body like a wave. Then I hear something. A grunt. I know that sound. I had been trying very hard not to make direct visual contact with her. You don''t want to stare at the naked body of a person in this condition.

It gives you that uncomfortable feeling, like when you''re thirteen and your weird uncle brings you to Hooters. But I have to look, and as I do, I see the result of the grunt. There is a turtle head poking out of this woman''s ass. She is twerking in my direction and she is trying to shit. Oh my God, she''s shitting on me! She relaxes and the shit goes back inside. She grunts again and the turtle head reappears and makes it a little farther out. This time it doesn''t go back in. She hops backward toward me with the poo still protruding from her ass.

I am in a sheer panic. Fight-or-flight kicks in again and I choose flight. I attempt to maneuver past her to get closer to Jayc.