"Am I going to daycare today, or do I have to go with grandma?"

Chloe's face was pure annoyance and irritation as she muttered the word grandma, almost as if the syllables left a dirty, dry taste in her mouth. Being a hyperactive, energetic first grader Chloe liked to stay at her school daycare and play with the other kids from her class. Staying with grandma after school meant she had to finish her homework early, and was limited to only playing with the other kids from her apartment complex. She didn't care for them very much. They picked on her for being tall and rail thin, an attribute she inherited from her Dad. They also shunned her over her curiosity and love of learning, something she got from her Mother. She'd also gotten her Mom's bright eyes, warm skin, and white smile. Her Dad had given her a head full of thick curly hair, long legs, and a love of outdoors and athletics. One of her favorite things to do was spend the afternoon playing basketball with Daddy, and the evening reading inside with Mommy. Well, that used to be one of her favorite things to do....

"I'm going to pick you up after school and bring you to grandma, because I'm going to be working late at the store tonight."

Chloe's eyes rolled and she fired a cheerio from her cereal bowl at the garbage can across the room. Direct hit! It would serve her Mom right if she dumped all the cheerios in the garbage. She kept telling Morgan she didn't like the plain cheerios, but Morgan kept buying them anyway.

"Can I wear my Hannah Montana shoes?"

Morgan's brow furrowed as she flipped through a stack of bills on the kitchen counter. She wanted to listen to her daughter, but first she needed to find the PG&E bill. It was here yesterday....

"Mommy?!"

Chloe's stubborn voice finally pulled her into reality.

"What?"

"I said can I wear my Hannah Montana shoes? I want to wear them."

"Well that's nice Chlo, but we threw those away while we were packing, remember?"

Big brown eyes stared blankly at Morgan before lowering to the ground. The six-year old thought carefully. Hannah Montana shoes were the only ones she'd envisioned completing her ensemble of a pink sun dress and a pink and white striped fedora. Her mom may not have had a lot of money, but she bargain shopped like no other and her little girl was always well-dressed and fashionable.

"What about my pink sparkly ones?" Chloe asked finally.

Morgan, anxious to find the bill so they could finish breakfast and get out the door, waved to Chloe and gave her a nod.

"Those we still have. They're under your bed. Do we keep shoes under the bed?"

"Nope."

"Where do shoes go?"

Chloe was too distracted to reply. She was already making her way out of the kitchen, and into her bedroom.

"Chloe?"

Morgan's only reply was the sound of her daughter's socks as she skipped over the beige carpet.

After dropping Chloe off at school Morgan headed to her first job of the day. Being a working, newly single Mom she needed a lot of hours to make ends meet. Things were never easy for anyone who becomes a parent at 19 years old, but they'd never been quite this hard for her before either. This was in large part due to the fact that her lazy, good for nothing baby Daddy, Devin, wasn't keeping up his end of the financial deal. He'd been ordered by a family court to pay child support, but for the past two months he'd been withholding it, claiming Morgan had denied him access to Chloe. She wasn't denying him access; she was simply asking him to be reasonable. He wanted Chloe during inconvenient times, like during school hours, when she already had a play date with friends or a planned Mother/Daughter day with Morgan. Was it too much to ask that he plan ahead and give his time with his daughter a little extra thought?

That morning Morgan was working at the Shell gas station a few miles from her apartment. It wasn't her main job, just something she did on the side to gain a little extra money. It came in handy for Chloe's surprise needs - like her recent trip to the ER after falling off a swing set, the time she needed to an extra twenty bucks for a special science class after school, or a flashy new pair of ill-fated Hannah Montana sneakers. It wasn't the best job in the world, the hours went by slowly and Morgan was underpaid, but it served its purpose.

Morgan was steadily making her way through a long line or anxious customers when the phone let out a shrill ring.

"Thank you for calling Shell. This is Morgan, how may I help you?"

"You can help me by giving me my damn child, you stupid bitch."

Morgan slammed down the phone, causing the customers in the store to look up at her. She cast down her eyes down at the register and sighed heavily.

"He's got to be kidding me," she whispered. "Fucking kidding me."

That was the fourth call in only a matter of minutes. Earlier he'd distracted her so badly she'd mishandled a transaction and some lucky customer ended up with an extra 4 gallons of free gas. That was a mistake her employer couldn't afford many of, especially considering the ever increasing cost of gas across the country lately. Normally Devin only acted like this when something happened to set him off. Morgan couldn't think of anything she'd done lately... Looking at the watch on her wrist she noticed it was nearly 2:30p.m. It was time for her to head to the school and pick up Chloe.

Morgan finished the customers in line, and then began to gather her things.

"Alright Jasmine, I'm getting ready to head out," Morgan called.

She pushed her black hair back from her round face and put on her white shades as frizzy blonde made her way from the stock room.

"Morgan. May I speak with you for a second?"

Morgan sighed softly and followed Jasmine into the back. This couldn't be good.

"Yes Ma'am?"

Jasmine looked at her apprehensively.

"I know a lot has been going on with you at home and with your court situation…"

Inwardly Morgan rolled her eyes. She hated when people fiend sympathy to her. She knew deep down at the end of the day that no one really cared.

"...But the calls from child's father are becoming more frequent. That's beginning to worry some of your co-workers, as well as my boss. They fear that this situation may be come more than you can handle, and frankly I am beginning to worry about your productivity at work because of this matter. I noticed your little slip earlier with pump eight."

"Ms. Jasmine, I assure that it won't affect anything in this station. I apologize for the inconvenience, and the concerns this situation may cause. I realize that this looks very unprofessional, but you have to understand that I cannot control Devin's actions. I promise you I will handle this."

Morgan's reply was quick in hopes that it would both reassure Jasmine and end the conversation. Very shortly Chloe was going to be waiting for her in the school parking lot, and she hated when her Mom was late.

Jasmine frowned, fiddling with the gold chain around her neck.

"I understand your confidence, Morgan, I do. But, it is my responsibility to assure that the work place is not a hostile environment, and you cannot guarantee that. As you said yourself you can't control Devin's actions. For that reason -I'm sorry- but I'm going to have to let you go."

Morgan was noticeably taken back a little. She stared at Jasmine for a moment, taking deep breathes and trying to get a handle on her thoughts.

"I understand. Sorry," she said.

Devin was ruining her life in every way possible. First he'd gotten them evicted from the apartment they once shared, and then the gas tank on her VW Jetta had been mysteriously filled with sugar. The engine was subsequently ruined, and she was stuck taking the bus for a month before finally being able to finance a new vehicle, a green Jeep Cherokee. Now, Devin was costing her this job.

Jasmine eyed the young girl hesitantly before continuing.

"I've overheard some of the phone calls, and so have some of your co-workers," she spoke softly. "He sounds, I don't know, unstable? I hope you handle this situation before something happens to either of you."

Morgan only nodded in response. What was there for her to say? Devin was crazy and everyone knew it, but knowing the facts didn't change them. After a moment Jasmine nodded, and stepped aside. Morgan grabbed her purse and bee lined it for the front door.

"As if I need this shit right now," she muttered aloud.

It was after 10pm. The sun had set a few hours ago, and the stiflingly hot temperature of day had given way to a comfortably warm evening. It was the beginning of September, the end of summer. School had started just a few weeks ago, and the high school kids were still hanging out in the parking lot, refusing to accept the inevitable end of their vacation.

Morgan sat on the porch of her apartment, looking out at the grassy knoll that blocked the swimming pool from her view. She'd been living in this two-bedroom apartment with Chloe for exactly two months now. Both girls had preferred their old place, the one they shared with Devin. It was a two-story; with French doors and a wooden banister that Chloe liked to slide down on her way to breakfast in the morning. But, Devin had ruined her chances of keeping that place after they split up 3 months ago. Morgan had been lucky enough to have a cousin, Amber, willing to loan her the thousand dollars deposit needed to rent the crummy apartment she was in now.

The Polo Apartments weren't actually crummy. They were in the process of being remodeled, building by building. There were 6 buildings total on the fenced in property. Each building contained eight apartments, four in front and four in back, two on top and two on bottom. Morgan lived on the bottom right back-side apartment of Building C. Her grandmother, Sarah, lived in the bottom left front-side apartment of Building E. It was on Sarah's recommendation that Morgan was able to qualify for the apartment. It was a nice place looking from the outside in, definitely devoid of any flashy colors. The exterior was beige stucco, and the inside walls were bright white, with beige carpets and new fixtures and appliances. If you looked closely you could still see the buildings' true age under the new repairs, but Morgan tried not to let herself get bogged down on the details. The important thing was that she was away from Devin. Here, in this crummy apartment, she and Chloe were safe.

The sharp crash of breaking glass shattered Morgan's tranquil thoughts and sense of security. The high-pitched ringing of a car alarm sounded through the air, ending whatever calming evening the residents of Polo Apartments had planned. Morgan's head whipped to the left, focusing on the parking lot where a man dressed in blue jeans and a white tee shirt was half hanging out of a white SUV. The man's torso was leaning through the passenger window, and he appeared to be gathering things into his arms.

It didn't take long for Morgan to realize that the man had broken into the SUV, and was now stealing whatever he could get his hands on. She and Chloe may have been safe from Devin here, but that didn't mean they were safe from everything. Polo had a reputation, and the cheap rent came with the cost of high crime. It wasn't unusual to see your neighbors' cars broken into, or to look out the window at night to find a drug dealer posted by the fence at the back of the parking lot. It was a reputation the Polo Apartments management team was seeking to change. The high crime was preventing them from raising the rent, and with the cost of repairs and remodeling adding up they needed the additional revenue.

In an effort to solve the crime problem they'd hired a private security company to patrol the grounds 24/7, but so far none of the guards seemed to be doing their job. Once in a while you got a guy who really wanted to do his job the right way, or who felt bad about the conditions in the complex, but for the most part they were middle-aged, balding men who just came to walk laps around the perimeter. They didn't care about getting rid of the drugs and making it safe for the kids, they just wanted a paycheck. This was especially true of the night guards. They tended to be particularly lazy because there was no apartment staff around to supervise them.

Morgan sat back in her folding chair, debating on whether or not to call the police. Realistically the man was going to be gone by the time they got there, if they bothered to come at all. But, at the same time it felt wrong to sit there and watch him steal. If it had been her own car it would have been on like Donkey Kong, so why was this car any different?

'Because this isn't my responsibility, that's why,' she decided.

There was a team of supposedly trained, qualified, slightly portly guards whose responsibility it was to handle situations like this. They carried mace, hand guns, cuffs, and whatever other fancy weapons they needed in those fancy leather belts of theirs. She was just a girl in her pajamas enjoying a cold Bud on the porch while her daughter slept. What was she going to do against a car thief? And, where were those stupid guards?

As if on cue Morgan heard a rustling in the bushes to her right. At first all she could see was the glow of a flashlight, but once her eyes adjusted she could make out the outline of one of the security guards. It was Dale, the oldest of the older, balding, lazy guards. He must have come to inspect the car alarm, but he didn't appear to be in any hurry to do it. He nodded to Morgan as he passed, and she tipped her beer to him. Dale continued past her, raising his eyes to the offending SUV. The thief had finished collecting CDs and random items from the car, and was now filling his pockets and struggling to keep everything in his grip as he backed away from the vehicle.

"Hey, you!" Dale called, shining his light at the man. "What are you doing over there?!"

The man looked up, spotting Dale and dropping all of the items in his arms. They crashed to the ground, sending CDs and pieces of a now broken laptop skidding across the pavement. He turned and broke out into a run, obviously expecting to avoid the guard who'd begun an awkward and jiggly jog after him.

The thief smiled, realizing he could easily outrun Dale. Perhaps, if he was fast enough, he might even be able to double back and grab some of his treasures before re-enforcements arrived. Morgan just shook her head as the thief rounded the corner towards Polo Drive, the only exit from the complex. Poor Dale was huffing and puffing as he shuffled after him with absolutely no hopes of catching up.

With the thief long gone Morgan turned her attention back to her beer. She tilted the bottom up towards the sky, taking in the view as she swallowed. It sure was beautiful out tonight. The stars were twinkling brightly, flashing little sparkles here and there. For a moment all Morgan could think about was the song at the end of one of Chloe's Disney DVDs.

When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are…

'I suppose this is what your life becomes after you have children,' she thought. 'You sit outside, drinking, singing Disney songs in your head.'

Morgan often came out on the porch to sit after Chloe fell asleep. She liked to sit out in the fresh air and relax with her beer before turning in for the night. It wasn't much of a social life, but it beat wasting all their money at the bar or sitting in bed staring at the TV.

Before Morgan could think of a reply to continue her own internal conversation, a scuffle pulled her attention back to the left, where Dale had just made it to the corner. He'd slowed down his wobble to try to make the turn, and had been totally unprepared for the thief, who'd come charging back his direction in a desperate attempt to escape whatever was coming from the other side. The thief had knocked poor Dale to the ground, then scampered over him, and kept running, all the while looking back over his shoulder. Dale didn't even have time to sit up before someone else came rushing past him. This person didn't give Dale a second thought either, just jumped over him with super human agility and continued in pursuit of the thief.

Morgan guessed it was another guard, because he wore the all black uniform typical of Polo Apartments security. They resembled police officer uniforms, only their badges were sewn-on patches rather than shiny metal pins. This guard must have been new because she couldn't recognize him right away - not that anyone would have been able to at the moment. He was a tall, dark blur moving across the manicured lawn.

The criminal was headed toward Morgan and her grassy knoll. Past her building was the back parking lot, and hopping that fence would mean an escape into the city streets. The plan would have been foolproof, had it been Dale who was chasing him. But, this new guard was fast, gaining on the thief with every step he took. She could hear the thief panting as he grew closer, but the only sound coming from the guard was the heavy, determined stomp of his black boots. Finally, when he was close enough, the guard launched himself at the thief, and both men landed on the ground with a thud and a grunt. The guard put his hand on the back of the thief's neck, holding him in place and foregoing any fighting or struggling. By the time Dale made it over to the two, the thief was in handcuffs and the guard was back on his feet, attempting to catch his breath.

"What the fuck was that?" He asked Dale.

"What? Watch it son-," Dale began, pointing the butt of his flashlight at the new guard.

"No, fuck that," the new guard snapped. "I told you I was going around the back to surprise him, and you yell at him and spook him off. If you're not going to help me go sit your ass back in the fuckin' office and I'll do the shit myself, pudgy bastard."

Morgan didn't know if Dale had heard the tail end of his new partner's rant, but she had. She couldn't help but chuckle.

"Calm down there, son. I know you're eager to work but you've got some learning to do before you can-."

Once again, Dale was interrupted by the agitated new guard.

"Don't call me son," he said. "And what do you mean I've got some learning to do? I was doing recon missions in Baghdad while you were sitting on the toilet waiting for your prune juice to kick in. I don't need to learn shit. You need to learn some shit."

Dale stood there, mouth hanging open as the new guard dusted off his uniform. He'd probably never been spoken to like that by anyone in his life, let alone by some new, young security guard trainee.

"Gimme that flashlight," the guard said.

He stretched an impatient hand towards Dale, who reluctantly obliged.

"And radio this in, tell them to send another team down to look for his side kicks, and get the cops out here to take this loser away."

"Hey, fuck you, you rent-a-cop bitch!"

Both guards turned their attention to the thief on the ground. His chin had been cut from face-planting into the grass after being tackled, but for the most part he was okay. He was okay enough to talk trash even when he knew he'd already lost the battle.

"Oh, that's mister rent-a-cop to you," the new guard joked. "I already told you anything you say can be used against you in court, but I'm willing to edit out the 'bitch' part for the judges sake."

"What do you make, sixty-thousand a year?" The thief asked. "I'll own you."

The new guard chuckled again, squatting down next to the handcuffed man.

"Sixty? Ha, not even with the overtime my man. But, the important thing to remember is that while you might think I'm a rent-a-cop bitch, I'm the rent-a-cop bitch who's going home to his own bed tonight. You, however, are the stupid bitch who'll be sharing a cot with Bubba. Let me know how that goes."

The thief didn't have anything more to say. He just grumbled to himself and turned his head. The new guard looked up at Dale, who'd been watching the exchange, and motioned impatiently to his radio. Immediately the older man reached for the button and began to explain what had happened. The new guard stood up and pointed the flashlight at himself, examining his arms and hands for any cuts. For the first time, Morgan could make out his face. He was definitely someone new, someone she'd never seen before.

He was tall, maybe 6'2 or 6'3 with a lean frame and short buzzed hair. He had fair skin, but whether he was white or just very light skinned she couldn't tell. While his voice seemed older and commanding he looked to be on the younger side. She guessed middle to late twenties. He had what Morgan once heard her Mother refer to as 'city miles', meaning he didn't necessarily look old but just more mature for his age. He had been through something significant in his life, something that had aged him beyond his natural years.

His face -while handsome- was stern and tough. He looked like the type of man who meant business, and this was only exacerbated by his obvious irritation with Dale and the fact that he had to chase down that car thief. Actually, now that she thought about it, he seemed to have barely broken a sweat during his pursuit. To Morgan it seemed like she had to take a break every ten minutes while pushing Chloe around on her bicycle. This guy had just chased down a total stranger across half a football field and was barely winded? Where did they find him?

"Hey girl!"

Morgan's mind was snapped out of her thoughts by the introduction of another voice. This one was high pitched and squeaky. Charmaine.

"Hey Char," Morgan replied.

Charmaine lived in Building B with her baby daddy and their three kids. She'd been trying to get a ring on her finger for the past 2 years, since their youngest was born, but her old man could never seem to stay out of jail long enough to attend a ceremony. She was a nice enough girl, a little rough around the edges, with dark skin, large lips, and very wide hips. Every other week her hair was in a different style, and she always wore big gold earrings.

"What's going on here? Anything good?"

Morgan turned her eyes to the place where Charmaine had motioned with her chin: the grassy knoll. The new guard had disappeared, and Dale was helping the thief to his feet.

"Nothing," Morgan said. "Just another statistic taking a ride down town."

Charmaine shook her head, watching as Dale led the man away.

"Such a shame," she said. "Our youth, wasting away like that."

Morgan rolled her eyes, sipped her beer, and waited for the subject change. Charmaine didn't give a damn about the status of their youth, she just liked to gossip.

"So," Charmaine began cheerfully, popping the top on her own beer. "Did you hear the scoop?"

Morgan chuckled. If Charmaine was one thing, it was predictable.

"No, what's the scoop?"

"There's a new guard in town," she smiled. "I heard he got hired a couple of days ago."

Morgan thought back to the new guard she'd seen tackle the thief on the hill. All that remained was a light dent in the grass where the prisoner had been laying.

"He was supposed to train at some other complex uptown," Charmaine continued, "You know the drill: put him in a nice area, let him learn the basics, get comfortable, and then wham! Pull the rug out from under him and stuck him in this shit hole. They don't want the guards to know where they'll be working upfront, because they'd quit and find a real job that doesn't pay in minimum wage and broken windshields."

Morgan nodded along, wondering where all of this was going.

"Anyway, he tells the managers he doesn't want to train at the other complex; he just wants to come straight here. Says he knows the area and knows exactly what to do."

Charmaine paused in her story to sip her beer, and her eyes watched Morgan expectantly. Morgan stared back, confused.

"And…? So, we have a guard that's from the area. Big deal."

"Girl, he's a white boy."

This time Morgan raised an eyebrow.

"A white boy, from the hood?"

Charmaine nodded with a smile, satisfied that she'd gotten some kind of reaction out of Morgan.

"Yep, a white boy from the hood. From what I hear, he's pretty fine too. Tall, blue eyes, clean cut, drives a nice car. Rumor has it he's got special training from the military or something."

Morgan laughed out loud and turned to Charmaine.

"What the hell would some military white boy from the hood be doing here?"

"I don't know," Charmaine shrugged. "That's just the word on the street."

"Stop listening to the streets, Char," Morgan scolded. "Ain't no military guy coming to work here at the Polo Apartments. Any man that was smart enough to get out of this neighborhood is damn well smart enough to know how to stay out. Military men don't come back here, they move to So Cal where all the bases and pretty girls are."

Again, Charmaine shrugged.

"I was just telling you what they say."

"Besides," Morgan sipped her beer, "there are no white people in the hood."

"Truth."

Justin stood beside a patrol car, going over every last detail of his capture of the car thief for the officer. He noted that the man barely wrote anything down as he ran through the scenario. After a while Justin cocked his eyebrow up a bit.

"Aren't you going to write all this down?" He asked with annoyance.

He was never really one to disrespect authority -a characteristic related to the heart of Marine Corps training- but he'd been annoyed ever since he'd started his shift with Dale, and the thief hadn't exactly helped.

The cop scratched the side of his chin and chuckled.

"This kind of thing happens all the time over here. It's nothing we haven't seen or heard before."

"So, why isn't the problem being dealt with?"

"Look soldier, let me give you some information that will save you a lot of time and energy: this type of neighborhood is always going to have problems. There's always going to be crime, there's always going to be drugs, and there's always going to be prostitution. The reason why is because no one cares. The way I see it is: if they want to live in it then there's no need for any of us to try to be a hero. The world you come from is different from the world we actually live in, Marine."

The cop ripped off a copy of the report for the apartment management's records and handed it to Justin, who in turn looked down at the paper and then back up at him. If Justin was irritated before, he was pissed off now.

The officers' first mistake had been his bad attitude and decision to slack on the job. In Justin's world officers didn't see themselves as trying to be heroes, they saw themselves as trying to do their jobs. Their job was to protect the defenseless, same as the police. Only, so far it appeared that the Marines were the only ones actually holding up their end. His second mistake was calling Justin 'soldier'. He wasn't a soldier, he was a Marine. Soldiers were those party animals serving in the Army. Truth be told the two military branches were hardly even comparable, let alone interchangeable. It was a common civilian mistake, but that didn't make it any less annoying.

"You are a sorry ass excuse for a police officer. I'm not surprised that the crime rate is the way it is. But it's not because they don't care, it's because they've got a bunch of little boys running around in uniform."

The cop smirked, putting away his pen and note pad.

"But, this little boy is getting paid more than you."

The police officer walked away and Justin rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe the mindset of that guy. Punk ass officers were one of the reasons this town was going to hell in a hand basket. What was the point of swearing to serve and protect when you had that type of 'fend for yourself/prove you need my help' mentality? It was law enforcement individuals like that who made it hard on individuals like Justin that took their oath seriously.

His eyes began to scan the vicinity looking for Dale wobbling around somewhere. The lazy old fart had probably headed back to the office for a donut and a nap. As Justin scanned, his eyes landed on a pair of women sitting in their lawn chairs, drinking what looked like beers, and pointing out toward the knoll.

He'd noticed one of them sitting outside alone when he'd had to chase down the thief earlier. She hadn't seemed the least bit phased by the scene. Justin figured that any woman would have run into the house and locked the door behind her, afraid that she might get tangled in the chaos. But she didn't, she just watched from the sidelines as if he were evening entertainment.

The girl looked tall, with her long brown legs crossed and a flip flops dangling from her foot. She was sporting a pair of pajama shorts, black with red stars, and a plain green t-shirt.

Justin began to make his way over to them, hoping to ask a few investigative questions. Maybe they'd seen that guy before. He could be working with some kind of crime ring within the complex. If they'd lived here for awhile maybe they knew more about the history of crime in the complex in general. He'd only made it about half the distance when a short, plump Mexican girl appeared in his path. She'd come out of nowhere, and he was startled a bit.

"Hey officer," she chirped with a smile.

Justin's brow furrowed for a second before he replied.

"Hi."

"I'm Sabrina," she said with a suck of her teeth.

"I'm Justin, the new-."

"The new security officer here at the apartment complex. I know. I just wanted to say you did a mighty fine job over there, catching that thief. Lord knows there are enough of them walking around here robbing people of their good, hard-earned money."

Justin nodded, but he wasn't paying any attention to the petite girl. She'd interrupted him while he was talking, and he hated being cut off. She thought she was being cute by finishing his sentence. It wasn't cute, it was fucking annoying. Instead of paying any attention to Sabrina he was looking over her head at the two women in the chairs. They had paused in their conversation, and were looking over at him. The girl with long, curly hair glanced at him for a few moments; looking him up and down before shyly turning back to her beer.

"It ain't every day you see a white boy chasing down a man in the hood for that long," Sabrina added. "And a fine one at that."

She licked her bright red lips and smiled up at him. Justin couldn't but laugh inside. Obviously the girl didn't have the slightest idea that she wasn't even close to being up to his standards. She should have just kept that supposed compliment to herself all together.

"But, poor Mr. Dale," she continued, twirling a chunk of hair around her finger. "He's got his work cut out for him, because they be giving him a hard time round here. I don't know why they got his old ass out here like this... Yeah... He's going to mess around, break a hip, and s-s-someone's going to run over his ass... Ha ha."

As Sabrina spoke she grew more and more nervous and unsure of herself. The Marine's face remained completely expressionless as he watched her. There wasn't a hint of anything - not an amused grin, not a confused crease of the forehead, not a thoughtful lift of the eyebrow, not even a playful twinkle in his eye. It was unnerving. It was damn intimidating.

Sabrina began to get the distinct impression that she was wasting his time; boring him with her very presence. The realization made her begin to shift nervously, looking around for something more to say. Usually she didn't have to put this much work into having her way with one of the guards. Usually all she had to say was, "hi."

As Sabrina stammered Justin looked over her head once again, watching the girls on the porch a few yards behind her. The girl with short hair and long, colorful nails was sucking down the rest of her beer. The girl in green had stood up and began to fold her chair. She was definitely tall, about 5'7 or 5'8 he would have guessed. Her brown skin was covered in dew from the night air, and she glistened in the moon light. She had a shapely figure, full bust, and a bit of a belly but nothing unsightly. Her thighs were a little thick, but that made for a pair of long, luscious legs. He bet she looked great in a high heel.

The Sergeant chewed on his cheek absentmindedly. It had been a while since he'd had enough time to take in the sight of a woman. During his travels over the years he'd seen his fair share of gorgeous women -both foreign and domestic. But, at the age of 26 he'd stopped chasing the model-look-alike, glamorous girls. Now, it was normal every day beauty that caught his eye.

"Well, it was nice meeting you."

The voice drew him from his thoughts, and he looked down at Sabrina. He'd completely forgotten the girl was there. To his defense, she couldn't have been more than five feet tall. At his stature of 6'3, she was easy to overlook.

"Hope your night goes a little smoother. Goodnight," Sabrina smiled.

He nodded, and the girl finally scurried away, heading toward Building B. Now he knew to avoid that one.

Justin looked back at the two women, or at least where they'd been. They'd returned to their respectful apartments, and their doors were closed. But, he'd managed to catch sight of a green t-shirt through one of the living room windows before the blinds were closed. He stood there for a moment, staring at the window. Then, he silently turned and headed back toward the grass.

Justin looked down at his watch, seeing that it was barely midnight. He let out a frustrated sigh. Time to head back to the office and give Dale a stern talking to about tonight's events.