One Day and One Night

The Day Before

*What am I doing?* Detective Robert 'Bobby' Goren said to himself, *Why am I even up here?*

Bobby looked at all the eyes on him, and shuffled nervously. He'd been in front of people before, but never like this. His tall 6'4" frame towered above the other men beside him.

Gradually, the sound of the announcer broke into his reverie, "And what do I bid for this man? Fifty, going fifty-five, fifty five, going sixty, do I hear sixty? I have sixty to the lady in the back, sixty against you Madame in the front. Sixty-five, thank you Madame. Sixty-five, do I have seventy? No more takers? All done at sixty-five? Going once, going twice, going three-times...SOLD!" the auctioneer's gavel came down, and Carver stepped down, sold to his wife for sixty-five dollars.

It was his turn now. One by one, he had seen his fellow male officers fall prey into the clutches of the ladies, most of them girlfriends and wives, who had come to 'buy' a man for one day, and one night. As long as it was legal, the ladies had free-reign on what they did to their 'slaves'. He had only done this because Deakins said it was either this, or do paperwork for the rest of the week. He hated paperwork, so he had chosen this. Now he was wishing he could get back to the paperwork.

*What have I gotten myself into?* he asked himself, *What have I done to deserve this?*

The Deakins, who as also the auctioneer, spoke up again, "Remember, all proceeds from this auction goes into a worthy cause...the Drug Rehabilitation Centre on Third Street, to help the doctors and volunteers keep our kids off the street. And now ladies and gentle-ladies, we have the final lot of the evening. Number 30, Detective Robert Goren. Come now ladies, as long as it's legal, you can do anything you want to your men. How much do you want to start bidding on him? He's a fine specimen of a man. Come on now ladies..."

"Fifty!" a woman cried from the middle of the room. Bobby looked and saw that it was Bishop.

"Fifty-five!" another said.

"Sixty!" a woman at the back cried.

"Sixty-five!" Bishop cried.

"Seventy!" the woman at the back said.

"Seventy-five!" came immediately from Bishop.

"Eighty!"

The woman who had bid second said, "That's too hefty for me, I'm out."

It was now down to the woman at the back and Bishop.

"Eighty-five and fifty cents!" Bishop said, giving a wide glare to everyone in the back, trying to see who was bidding.

"Ninety!" the mysterious bidder cried.

"Ninety-five!"

"One hundred!"

"One hundred and fifty!" Bishop said. There was a pause. Bishop began to smirk.

Deakins looked out and said, "All done for one hundred and fifty dollars? Going once, going twice, going..."

"Seven hundred and fifty-five dollars and twenty three cents!" a cry came from near the back, "To end the bidding!"

Bishop froze. Bobby strained to see who it was. Deakins looked at Bishop, "You have anymore on seven hundred and fifty-five dollars and twenty three cents?" Bishop shook her head in disbelief. Deakins wiped his forehead and said, "All done? No more bids? Let's try this again. For seven hundred and fifty-five dollars and twenty three cents, going once, going twice, going three times...SOLD! Congratulations Madame, you have a fine prize here."

Everyone turned to see the mysterious bidder, who paid so much for Bobby. Even Bobby was interested. He couldn't see who it was. He began to panic.

*Who was it? Why did they pay so much?*

Detective Alexandra (Alex) Eames, his police officer partner, came forward, "Thanks Deakins, I'm sorry, I just had to end this auction early, and bidding that much was all I could think of to do it. Bobby, we have a call, crime doesn't stop, not even for a Charity Police Auction."

"You bought me?" he asked.

Alex seemed preoccupied, "Hmm? Oh, yeah. But there's a scene at West and Fifty-third. Suspected homicide," she lead them past all the officers, missing the venomous look that Bishop gave her, as she dragged Bobby out and into the squad car.

As they sped off to the crime scene, "It's not even in our precinct!" Bobby complained, "Why are we called on?"

"The Mayor."

"What?"

"The Mayor wants us on the case."

"Why?"

She shrugged, "Don't look at me, I'm just the messenger." She grinned at his expression.

The auction came to his mind again, "You do know you own me for the next twenty-four hours."

"Yeah, but I'm sure I can think of ways to keep you occupied," was the saucy reply.