Wolf in Gotham Part 1

I don't think I posted this story I wrote in 2007. I may go back and rewrite it and attempt to put in my bogus memoirs since another sweet friend stated that I should get my work published.

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It was a cold, dark, dreary, stormy night, even by Gotham's standards, as I reported to Gotham Naval Air Station. Gotham sure knows how to roll out the red carpet. I entered the processing station and removed my rain soaked jacket. I wiped what water I could off my face and reported in. A beautiful dark auburn haired yeoman sat behind the wooden desk, she looked up unconcerned. I braced for the inevitable cold reception.

Her soft sultry voice welcomed me, "Welcome to Gotham."

I was totally taken aback, I tossed my jacket aside and replied, "Thank you." I handed her my paperwork.

She smiled and took it. The yeoman looked down and asked as she worked, "Is this the first time you've been in Gotham, sir?"

My reply was drenched with sarcasm, "No, unfortunately," as I momentarily looked away out at the rainy Gotham. I hated Gotham. Joker, Penguin, a police force so corrupt it makes the 1920's Chicago force look like the Boy Scouts, and Batman, for crying out loud; you name it. The Birds of Prey, however, were the only exception, maybe I'd get lucky and meet one of them. I positively hated Gotham.

I glanced down and saw her name tag, it rung a bell. I mumbled her name as I looked away, my brain raced at Mach 5 trying to remember her. I asked as I leaned on the counter, "Don't I know you?"

"You said that the last time you saw me...sir," she replied with a hint of sensuousness in her voice as she kept her head down.

"I did?" I couldn't remember.

She stood up and handed me my paperwork. She remained professional, but I could tell by the look in her eyes I had either totally pissed her off or hurt her deeply. Maybe both.

Then it hit me, like a AIM-54 missile kissing a Russian TU-95 Bear; my eyes widen, "Jaime?"

"Hello Ryan," she answered as Mac Davis crooned softly from the radio, "Girl you're getting that look in your eyes
And it's starting to worry me."

Jaime Kelly. She was my first flame out and first score. I looked at her. My eyes ran from her gorgeous auburn hair down to petite waist; she was more beautiful than the last time I saw her. "I tried."

"I know," she replied still standing at rigid military standard, "Daddy changed the number and moved us away."

I looked down and then back up, "I'll buy a drink."

"I have the graveyard shift, sir."

Damn. I hadn't seen her in nearly 10 years. Her dad hated my guts; he didn't want his little girl to marry a future hot shot pilot. Little did he know after 9-11 Jaime would enlist in the Navy; here we are. Standing awkwardly in a dark damp Gotham night. Why couldn't this be more romantic, like Miami on a full moon night?

"Tomorrow?"

"Fraternization, sir."

"No, yeoman. It's not," I answered, "I'm not your superior."

She winked her eye and replied, "Is that all sir?"

"Yes, yeoman."

"Good night, sir. Enjoy your stay in Gotham."

"Thank you, Yeoman Kelly," I replied as I put my jacket back on, "Carry on."

Mac continued to softly sing his warning, "Baby, baby don't get hooked on me. Baby, baby don't get hooked on me."