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Lady Hammett
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Location: Redneck State, USA (Florida)
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Re: Special Agent Hammett to the Rescue
I tried to relax that night, but I couldn't even ditch my uniform to get into my pajamas. My gut instinct told me that something was going to happen. I lay there on that third floor of his Georgian mansion, my hand perched on my pistol.
I strained my ears at every sound. I heard two shufflings, but it was just Darla, the puppy, bumbling around in the dark.
When I heard a grating screech from the floor below, my hand lifted the gun out of my holster and I bolted upright.
The beautiful man lying beside me groaned. He had cut his hair short but I loved it regardless. He lifted his curly black head and rose out of his bed.
"What's going on?" he asked, his voice cracking from lack of sleep.
"It's nothing, baby. Go back to bed. I got it under control." With that, I pushed the bedroom door open and crept out into the hall, my finger on the trigger.
I slowly made my way down the corner. He had a lot of movie and horror posters up and I could make out reflections in their glass.
In one of them I noticed the reflection of a human figure. The figure was down at the bottom of the stairwell which led to the second floor.
It appeared unarmed.
I slowly took in my breath and continued down to the bottom of the steps.
Before the figure could turn to face me, I pulled the trigger.
I had always loved to shoot. I started shooting at age six, with my uncle and cousins back in Florida. We lived out in the middle of nowhere, and everybody loves to shoot in Florida, 'cos it's a Republican state.
It can be hard living in a conservative state when you're a minority. I received quite a bit of racism and knew that owning a weapon might save my life one day.
My first gun was a Colt 9 millimeter, and I still own it to this day.
I went to high school in Land O' Lakes, FL, and graduated in 1989. I proceeded to the University of Central Florida to earn my bachelor's degree in Criminal Justice, earning that in 1993. Living in Oviedo wasn't any different from hillbilly Land O' Lakes. It was time to get out of this state and go to California - a place where nobody would use ethnic slurs against me again.
I had visited San Francisco to meet up with some family I didn't know very well back in 1987. I loved it so much there that I knew I had to live there.
San Francisco was full of minorities like myself. And the SF Police Department was hiring.
I remember getting down on my knees and praying to God that I would get hired at SFPD. And He granted me a miracle. In August 1993 I was accepted into the SFPD after rigorous psychological tests and a polygraph (lie detector).
I said goodbye to all the people I knew this in this state and went to the city of my dreams.
The relatives I had known there had moved to Utah, but that was okay. I was an adult, a free woman now, 21 years old, ready to start a new life.
Police academy gave me muscle. We did 50 push-ups a day and ran every other day for three miles. I developed strong biceps and thighs as a result of this!
I got me an apartment there in the South of Market, and marveled at the nearby Pacific Heights, wishing that one day I would be chief of police and could afford to live there. But graduating police academy was step number one!
I graduated top of my class, excited to begin my career. I would be sworn in to the police department and given my badge on March 1, 1994.
Of course I could hardly wait. The day could not come fast enough. When the day came I was so happy that I wanted to cry. Pride flooded through my body as I was handed the badge and given my new schedule to begin patrolling.
I quickly learned our new police "language", which consisted of 10-codes and signals . . .
Last edited by Lady Hammett, 12/7/2005, 4:48 pm
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12/7/2005, 4:47 pm
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Lady Hammett
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Re: Special Agent Hammett to the Rescue
On my first night on the job, my heart pounded excitedly as I entered the squad car and called into my radio, "Sierra 206, 10-8." You see, all cops have a call sign, using our own word for each letter of the alphabet (military uses this format too). It goes:
Alpha
Bravo
Charlie
Delta
Echo
Foxtrot
Golf
Hotel
India
Juliet
Kilo
Lima
Mike
November
Oscar
Papa
Quebec
Romeo
Sierra
Tango
Uniform
Victor
Whiskey
Xray
Yankee
Zulu
10-8 means on duty. This is called at the beginning of a shift or after one's break is over.
My new call sign and using the 10-code tasted good on my lips. Then my trainer, Joe, got in and said, "Charlie 7, 10-8."
We sped off into the night, ready for the action to begin.
We started off with a 10-50. A 10-50 is when you pull somebody over.
I called it out to dispatch - "Sierra 206, 10-50."
"10-50, go ahead."
"10-65 (can you copy) a California 10-28 (license plate)?"
"10-4, go ahead."
I called out the license plate number. The person had run a stop sign. It was a black Land Cruiser.
Joe had shown me how to write tickets, so I picked up my ticketbook and walked out to the Land Cruiser.
A man rolled down the window. He was really hot. Then I got the shock of my life.
It was Kirk Hammett!
Last edited by Lady Hammett, 12/7/2005, 4:59 pm
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12/7/2005, 4:59 pm
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AwayFromMe
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Registered: 02-2005
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Re: Special Agent Hammett to the Rescue
Crap, she has to give Kirk a ticket, lol.
--- http://kirkhammett.net
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12/7/2005, 7:25 pm
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Edgirl
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Registered: 04-2005
Location: Snuggled up with Cliff.
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Re: Special Agent Hammett to the Rescue
Yes she does. Could the Handcuffs just be a Precaution? 
--- You can't let something as trivial as Death keep you from the one you love...but it's sad when something as long as Life will.
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12/8/2005, 4:35 am
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Lady Hammett
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Re: Special Agent Hammett to the Rescue
Of course when you are face to face with any gorgeous guy it can be an absolute shock and you wonder whether you look remotely decent. But here I was face to face with Kirk. I didn't even care that he was a celebrity. But because he was a celebrity, I knew things about his personality that you would not know about that random hottie you see walking down the street.
He was beautiful on the inside and out.
Before I spoke up, I took a quick look in his mirror. My hair didn't look too bad . . .
Then I caught a wiff of weed. Good gracious, he was busted, and I hated to be the one to bust him. Mind you, since I was a trainee, maybe Joe could . . .
"Is there something wrong, Officer . . . Silvana?" Kirk read my name badge.
I tried to make my voice calm and smooth. I asked the question that most of us officers ask when conducting a 10-50:
"Do you know why I pulled you over, Mr. Hammett?"
Kirk groaned. I could tell he was in a bad mood. "Alright," he said softly. He was mad, but his voice was still soft - so cute!
"I ran the stop sign. I broke the law."
I heard Joe speak up behind me. "Mr. Hammett, if I issue you a citation, you are simply going to pay it off - just like all you rich people do - and move on with your life. Now, I can clearly smell cannabis in your vehicle. I don't think I should go easy on you like I did last time."
I was astonished. How many times had Kirk's drug habits brushed with the law?
Kirk reached over his shoulder to some type of compartment and reached for the marijuana. Joe called to dispatch, "Charlie 7, we have a signal 57 (narcotics violation) in the vehicle, reference marijuana possession."
Kirk handed the bag to me. It was small.
"Is that all?" I asked him.
"Yes it is."
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to step out of your vehicle, sir."
"Please don't call me sir - or Mr. Hammett. I'm not old enough to be called by those names. It's Kirk." With that, he stepped out of the vehicle.
I hated to do the honors - though I could have very easily slapped the cuffs around his wrists. But I played the dumb trainee and turned to Joe.
We took Kirk down to central booking, where I fingerprinted him and directed him to the photo stall. I had felt like I was floating in the air as I moved his fingers across the inkpad - until I realized that we hadn't exactly met in the ideal situation!
After the photo shoot, he turned to us and groaned, "Typical."
When he was out of earshot and Joe and I hit the road again, I burst out, "Oh my GOODNESS! I am one of his biggest fans and I just had to take part in his arrest and booking!"
Joe rolled his eyes. "That guy gets busted for drugs from time to time, and the odd traffic violation. But he is rich so he just pays his dues and moves on. It isn't just him. It's all those damn people in Pacific Heights." He shook his head.
I forced myself to concentrate on my duties that night. The highlight of the night was when some moron lobbed a cigarette over the balcony at the Riviera Apartments in the Sunset District and ended up setting a row of hedges on fire. At least it wasn't a shootout, I figured!
At the end of my shift, I went on the California Booking Information Center database to confirm how many times Kirk had been booked. He had a long list dating back to his teenage.
I groaned, prayed that he would change his ways, and then went home. It was six in the morning - time to go to sleep!
Last edited by Lady Hammett, 12/8/2005, 2:34 pm
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12/8/2005, 2:31 pm
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AwayFromMe
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Re: Special Agent Hammett to the Rescue
Wow, with all those tickets, his insurance rates must be high, lol. Ugh, all that information they packed into my brain from taking drivers ed last year is still in there, haha.
--- http://kirkhammett.net
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12/8/2005, 3:58 pm
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Lady Hammett
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Re: Special Agent Hammett to the Rescue
Joe Markham was one of the few officers that greeted his coworkers on a first name basis. At least, he was the only person who called me Calista.
It was Kathy Windemere who became my best friend on the force. Like me, she was your typical tough lady cop that didn't look like a tough lady cop (she looked more like Brandy, the R&B singer). People said we were too cute to be cops, in which of course, we vehemently disagreed.
Windemere loved to shoot just as much as I did. She grew up in Mariposa County, in the mountains. She was the one who taught me a neat trick - how to shoot guns out of people's hands without shooting the hand or any part of their body.
We would go to the pistol range out in Novato every time we both were not working. We were on a rotating schedule, so it didn't occur as frequently as we preferred. But it happened every two to three weeks.
Sometimes on days off we would just hang out around the city. I quickly learned that Windemere was a huge Metallica fan like myself - and was a Kirk drooler too!
"Hey, I been living here a long time, and San Fran may be a big city, but everybody knows stuff about celebs," she told me one day while we were standing in line at a local cafe. "We see them around here a lot. I see Kirk and Danielle Steel around all the time. They both live in Pacific Heights.
"Some of them hire private investigators, to handle their stalking cases, y'know? Steel went through an episode where some guy was stalking for her and Franklin got to work on her case. That was back when he was an officer, of course. He's a sergeant now."
I knew who she was talking about. Harris Franklin worked in the precinct near the Presidio.
"Let's have a competition," Windemere said suddenly, her eyes sparkling wildly. Now she really looked like Brandy.
I was taken aback, thinking she meant shooting. But I was wrong.
"Let's see if one of us can be Kirk's PI," she cried.
"Whoa." I put up both my hands to signal stop. "First of all, he probably hates my guts since I contributed to his arrest that night. Second of all, what are the odds of working for any celebrity let alone the hottest guy in the world?"
"C'mon, Franklin got to work for Danielle steel and he is fatter than all of us put together," Windemere quipped. "And Starling got to work for Frank Jordan, the mayor."
"Well, Starling's not fat," I joked.
"Yeah but we in better shape than she is!"
We laughed. It was silly, but I wished we really could compete to be Kirk's PI. But I pushed the thought to the back of my mind and told myself to stop being ridiculous.
*********************************************
Windemere was my best friend but I made tons of friends in San Fran that had connections to people in the force or had nothing to do with the police whatsoever. With that, my circle of friends began to broaden across the bay area.
True to Windemere's claim, we did see Kirk again, this time randomly walking into Haight Ashbury at night. He was standing outside a rowdy club - perhaps in line, or waiting for people.
Neither of us were in uniform; we were off duty. As a matter of fact, we had given each other a makeover that night and were both looking pretty sharp.
I tried to peel my eyes away from Kirk. He was with two men about his age. They were all talking together.
Then I saw a guy I knew, a friend of my neighbor. His name was Rick Stevens.
"Rick!" I called.
"Hey Calista," he said. He had spiky blond hair and quite a few piercings. He also had a tattoo of a shark on his bicep.
I introduced him to Windemere. Then Rick said, "I want you to meet my brother, Art. He's here with a bunch of friends."
So we got introduced to Art and all of Art's friends. Would you believe that one of Art's friends was friends with one of the two men that Kirk was with? This was crazy!
We all strode into the club - which seemed a tad on the sleazy side, but we stuck it out for the thrill of the moment! We were grouping with Kirk!
Rick chose a large table for all of us to squeeze into. I felt a lump crawl into my throat when I realized that Kirk was sitting next to me.
Windemere was on the other side of me and she kept nudging me, winking at me, making faces at me, etc. I jabbed her in her side to try to get her to stop!
The club was weird. It was a death metal/death decorated/people of both sexes stripping type of club. A woman came around asking for everybody's ID. She even asked for Kirk's, despite the fact that he was 31! But he had such a baby face.
Windemere hissed in my ear, "Girl, ain't you gonna TALK to him?"
I nervously glanced over to Kirk, hoping he didn't recognize me.
But unfortunately he said, "Do I know you from somewhere?"
"Um, I don't think so," I lied. If my skin were not dark I would have been flushing red by then!
I extended my hand. "My name is Calista," I said, not daring to tell him my last name in case he remembered it on my badge!
Before he could ask me what I did for a living, one of his friends interrupted him. Whew!
They got talking about death and autopsies. Kirk said he would like to see one.
That was when Windemere decided to open her mouth.
"Hey, me and Silvana - I mean, Calista - we could take you to something like that. We handle cases like that all the time," she announced.
"Really?" Kirk asked, looking intrigued. "Are you guys medical examiners?"
"Um, not exactly, but we work alongside them a lot," I broke in.
"Yeah, when are you free?" Windemere enquired.
"Well, why don't you ladies give me your numbers, and we'll go from there?" Kirk asked.
Windemere and I flashed each other excited glances. We knew better than to ask for his!
I nearly reached into my pocket for the police department business card to write on, but Windemere caught me just in time and slapped it out of my hand.
"Whoops," I hissed softly, and found a piece of paper to write on.
The music was pounding loud, and Windemere whispered in my ear, "Dare we ask for his?"
"Are you crazy?" I hissed back.
"Well, he's got ours!" she retorted as she wrote her number down.
We then passed our numbers to Kirk. He smiled, showing his adorable dimples, and put them in his jacket pocket. "I will be in touch with one of you," he declared. Then he turned his conversation back to his friends.
I couldn't believe this was happening.
"I bet he'll call me first," Windemere boasted.
"You wish!" I exclaimed. "This man is mine!"
Of course we did not want to leave. We both wished we could just follow Kirk on home to Pacific Heights! But the group was large and it slowly disintegrated. Once it did, Kirk went off with the two men he was originally with, and only Windemere, Art, Rick and I were left.
"Man - whoever thought I had connections that close to Metallica!" Art cried. "I had no idea that Spencer knew his friend."
Windemere and I ended up talking on the phone for four hours that night when we were home, debating on whether he would bother calling one of us.
"Depends on how bad he wants to see an autopsy!" I laughed.
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12/8/2005, 6:57 pm
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Special Agent Hammett to the Rescue
It would give the story a bit deeper vibe and I dunno..I think it would make it better.
