Suggested Audio Jukebox ♫
[1] Randy Crawford “Street Life”
[2] Kid Rock “So Hott”
[3] Daryl Hall & John Oates “Maneater”
[4] Sam The Sham & The Pharoahs “Red Hot”
[5] Ron Burgundy & Robin Thicke “Ride Like The Wind”
[6] AWOLNATION “Sail”
It’s a dirty job but someone’s got to do it. When the superintendent bowled into my office and informed me that today’s task would entail “shooting some damn hookers”, I figured that one of the guys had spiked his morning cappuccino and waited for the punchline. However, after an uncomfortable silence which lasted a full minute, consisting of no smiles whatsoever and one continuous curled up eyebrow that appeared only to mean business, I just knew this wasn’t no hoax. Now it’s not like I haven’t shot a firearm before, in the shooting range and once at a Christmas office party when I pretended to be Dirty Harry after one too many jello shots, but never during active duty. I’ve been saving my bullets up for a special occasion and naturally expected that to be some million dollar heist or organized crime shakedown. But perforating hookers? It just seemed a little excessive to me. I mean, not that I’m sticking up for them or anything, but they’re ultimately just providing a service. Had I been requested to simply bring them in for questioning, then I’d have been more than okay with that. However, the chief clearly didn’t have that in mind.
After spending the first six months of my employment on traffic detail, this was the kind of big job I’d been simply gagging for; so I assured him that I was his man and got straight to work reading through their files. Well it turns out that we’re not talking about any ordinary street-walkers here, these harlots are as scarlet as they come, and not to be taken lightly under any circumstances. We’ll get to each in turn as I’m just about ready to hit the beat and will be required to go deep undercover if I wish to get within a hundred yards of these courtesans. This is where you come in as I will be needing me a deputy to watch my back and you come highly recommended by the agency.
I must warn you in advance, the mission we are about to embark on is incredibly hazardous, and I cannot assure your safe passage. That said, as long as you don’t blow my cover, we should be submerged in paperwork by sundown and staring down the barrel of a promotion to boot. If you’ve got a bulletproof vest, then I’d advise you to armor up now, as the dirty dozen trollops we are about to take down are not the type to come quietly if you know what I’m saying. All twelve have killed before and would think nothing of adding to that tally so keep that head on a swivel, remain close, and follow my lead. Do that and there’s a glazed doughnut in it for you back at the precinct.
Okay so here’s the lowdown on Devon. She’s twenty-six, a former Miss Alabama, and was once tipped as the next Pamela Anderson. That was until she fell in with the wrong crowd and converted to a life of crime. For Devon, turning tricks is nothing but a front, as she makes her money through far less hypoallergenic pursuits. Did you hear about the Texas Whorehouse Massacre of 2013? Twelve people died that day and guess who orchestrated that shit. You’re damn right it was her and she only went and got away with it too. Since then she has been laying low, preparing for her next job, and it is planned to go down at midnight unless we throw a spanner in her works. Devon should prove the easiest of our dozen to dispatch as she doesn’t believe in bodyguards and openly flaunts her assets down on the Boulevard where she makes her pocket change every Friday night. However, if she catches a solitary sniff of a rat, then all other targets will be instantly unobtainable as they’re all in cahoots and word travels faster than genital lice on these particular mean streets.
There she is and holy horse manure she’s balmy enough to have Kid Rock jizzing in his pants all summer long. Okay so here’s how this is going to play out – in just a few moments I’m going to make my approach and will need you to have my back as I have no idea whatsoever how this is going to play out from hereon in. Actually I have an inkling but remember that we’re deep undercover and I must remain in character until which time as I have explored all her avenues. Don’t think for a second that I’ll be enjoying the shit out of what I’m about to partake in; I can assure you that business far overrides pleasure where this foul wench is concerned. Alright you’ve got me, it’s fifty-fifty, but I don’t remember reading anything about not taking a dash of guilty pleasure from police work when I signed up and it would appear that Devon has culpable delight pretty much sewn up. Just to clarify that you may well be hearing shots ring out from her fifth floor apartment and will need to remain calm and collected as they’ll likely be friendly fire. The last thing I need is a greenhorn like you bursting into her boudoir with all guns blazing when I’m midway through verifying her fingerprints. Just keep an eye out at ground level for any of her hoons and we should get through this with little to no mischance.
One more thing – I don’t suppose you have any prophylactics do you? This bitch in heat is likely more riddled with bacterium than the monkey from Outbreak and it’s really off-putting trying to fill out paperwork when you’re scratching like Larry Blackman in an asbestos cod piece. Blimey, don’t you have something a little more compact? What do you feed that thing? Ox heads? Listen, I’m no pee wee, but there ain’t no way on God’s earth I’m filling that Johnny bag. It’s not really the best way to commence our hazardous mission, making me feel all inadequate, but I’ll just put it down to you being freakish and watch Bad Lieutenant later to remind myself that I’m not that much of a tiddler. Seriously though, have you never considered a change of profession? Ron Jeremy’s as old as shit now y’know. If I were in your wranglers I’d be taking that zipper ripper on the road and becoming an overnight XXX-rated celebrity. Next you’ll be telling me that you can fuck round corners like Tron. You can? Wasted see. Not that I’m in any position to tell you what you should or shouldn’t be doing but dang to the power of two that custard launcher is massive. I will say this though, while my six inches would fit inside your helmet alone, mine’s prettier by far and looks way less like a pummeled purse snatcher. At any rate, thanks for the lend, and I guess I can just tie a knot in it. So you ready then? Watch and learn newbie, and please put that thing away before it provokes a solar eclipse and our primary hard target makes her getaway.
“Sup?”
“You a fed?”
“Me? Nah. I’m an…accountant. Name’s Tim. Tim McCluskey”
“Well Tim McCluskey, what are you doing out here on a Friday night when you should be at home performing missionary on your wife of thirteen years, Janet?”
“Oh you know, looking for love in all the wrong places. The usual”
“How sweet. Lil’ ole Timmy is wooking for wuv. How adorable. Fuck off wastoid before I fire a ping-pong ball in your eyeball!”
“We accountants are well paid you know”
“Really?”
“Ridiculously over compensated”
“Well honey, now you’re talking my lingo. I wanna see that bulge”
Bulge? I do hope she means my wallet as I’m bricking my smalls here and my six inches seem to have metamorphosed into barely three. I’m guessing that a roll of quarters won’t suffice here. Good job I came prepared although I’m a tad bemused about having to dip into my daughter Minnie’s college fund.
“How does this little bundle grab you?”
“They fifties?”
“Straight out the ATM”
“You know it will take eight of those just to sniff my heels right?”
Unless I’m mistaken, that amounts to four hundred bucks. This is daylight robbery. Where does this chick get off? Actually don’t answer that as I think I’m about to find out. Three figures just so snuffle her stilettos; I want a receipt dagnabbit. That’s a point, I wonder what her return policy is. Is sperm perishable? I’d be more than content with a credit note.
“I figured it would. And that’s why I brought friends”
“I see. Well what do you say we thrash out negotiations upstairs away from all these prying eyes?”
“Lead the way sweet cheeks”
“Name’s Devon bitch and don’t you forget it or else mommy’s gonna get real mad, real fast”
“Affirmative”
“Good boy. Now follow me and let’s see how long you can keep up shall we? I warn you in advance, I once fucked a guy clean in half and then fucked him into quarters”
“As a qualified accountant, you just twiddled my abacus doll”
“I ain’t cha doll. So what’s your real name then?”
“It’s…Tim. I already told you”
“Then why does your badge read Desk Sgt. Nick McGovern?”
Oh fuck sticks, talk about a rookie error. As my deputy, I hold you solely responsible for this gaffe, and will make damn sure you become the laughing-stock when we get back to the station house. What now? How am I supposed to talk myself out of this almighty balls up? Moreover, what’s that digging in my ribs?
“You move a solitary muscle without my prior blessing and I’ll paint the walls with that Ranch Salad you had at lunchtime”
She knows I had Ranch Salad too? What in tarnations, I’m guessing she also knows that I took a poo before we set out and it looked bizarrely similar to an apostrophe. Whatever happened to blondes being dizzy?
“I can explain”
“You can try but just to remind you this is a Desert Eagle .50 caliber nestled into your gut and my trigger finger’s feeling decidedly itchy right now”
“So what are you going to do with me?”
“Well that depends”
“On what?”
“On whether or not I can fuck the cop out of you”
Hold on, am I missing something here? She knows I’m a flatfoot, and yet, I’m still going to get ridden like Greyhound. How does that work? Not that I’m about to raise objection with a semi-automatic pistol pointed at one of my most vital organs. But I could’ve sworn that bumping uglies would be off the table.
“I’ll do anything you say Miss Devon”
“Pig, tell me something I don’t know. Now git!”
“Up there?”
“Did I stutter? Yes up there. Then you wait alright? I’m gonna send Amber in to take you to church. Once she’s done with you, I’m gonna give you a sermon you’ll never forget boy”
Amber … Amber… Where have I heard that name before? Of course, it’s all coming back to me now. Funny how that happens when you’re one false move away from being opened up faster than one of Rupert Murdoch’s off-shore bank accounts. It just so happens that I know a thing or three about Amber.
This fiery redhead actually has no prior convictions to speak of although she has been closely linked with Devon and some say that the pair have a low-key thing going on. Basically Amber is her main squeeze and will do anything whatsoever to serve her mistress. According to her file, she’s not to be taken lightly and, while no actual crimes have been pinned on her, she’s been linked to all manner of unsolved murders and you know what they say about smoke and fire. This presents something of a blip to the programme as I’ll have to make it through Amber to stand any hope other than faint of bagging and tagging the top dog. On the other hand, I detect a vague whiff of a two-for-one deal here and this kind of double coup could see me being deemed hot shit by the interns. Right now they call me Borat and I happen to think I look far more like Hugh Jackman. At any rate, I’d better tow the line fast, or I’ll be slid into a morgue locker before you can say “that’s the incinerator you moron”. Here she comes now, whatever you do don’t call her ginger or there’ll be hell to pay. I believe they prefer the term strawberry blonde.
“Alright then you sorry sack of shit brownies, spread ’em!”
Hasn’t she got things a little confused there? Oh I think I get it, she wants to frisk me. I guess there’s no harm or foul in that although I’m a little perplexed about the piece tucked into my sock right now.
“Aha! And would you mind telling me what the hell this is?”
“What can I say, it’s a cold night. Oh you mean the .480 Ruger?”
“Planning on pointing that at me was you?”
Don’t want to come across as a bonehead but is she still talking about the handgun?
“I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s just for protection”
“Honey ain’t no over-protective grandmother with bingo wings gonna protect you now”
“So you’re going to kill me then?”
“Heavens no. That’s Devon’s job. I’m just here to test out the merchandise first. Call me a fluffer if you like but don’t or I’ll put a hole in the back of your head that Jonah Hill could crawl through and I don’t mean the 24 Jump Street strain either. We’re talking full-on Get Him To The Greek Jonah Hill”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Well first we can’t have you being all tense when I fuck your brains out then fuck ’em back in again. Over there on the blinds is a line I already prepared for you like the perfect hostess that I am. Snuff that shit up mule boy while I get myself into something a little more comfortable”
Coke? But I’ve never done cocaine in my life. There was the time I snorted sherbet from Belinda Cockcroft’s butt crack back in eleventh grade but that doesn’t count as it was sour apple. This is the real deal, the devil’s dandruff, base, blow, the motherfucking big “C”. I’m pretty sure I’ll be breaking state law the very moment I nuzzle that nose trail and I despise the guys at Infernal Affairs. Tony and Clyde – real shit heels. With that being said, I am undercover here, overlooking the fact that I blew said cover faster than Monica Lewinsky can spice up an election debate, and I reckon that makes a little harmless research and development okay right? Besides, what’s one little toot between friends?
Quick question. Is your nose supposed to bleed profusely? Never mind, this has afforded me the ideal vantage from which to spy on our red devil and it would appear she’s a bit of a clusterfuck. I’ve not seen that many lacerations since the Swedish Chef from the Muppets went postal in front of a live studio audience and diced up fifteen free range chickens and Rowlf. She looks like a freaking road map, I don’t know whether to bang her or stick pins in the bitch like Rocky Dennis after a whole summer saving up. A little bird tells me that Devon has something to do with this and it wouldn’t surprise me if there’s some kind of dom and sub dynamic going on here. If that’s the case, then I may yet get my chance to turn the tables and level this red peril before the queen of all bitches returns. By the way, I was onto something with the Hugh Jackman comparison wouldn’t you agree? Fucking Borat. Those guys! Hot damn that stuff must have been Colombian, I need to do something to expel all this overbearing energy. Do you think she’d object to me washing her dishes while I’m here? She’s clearly not very domesticated.
“So are you gonna put that iddy biddy thing in me or do I have to sit over there on my lonesome and cry myself to sleep?”
“I’m…erm…gonna put it in you?”
“You better and don’t you go getting all premature on me or I’ll cut the little tiddler off at the root and post it to your sweet grandmother Ethel”
“You leave Ethel out of this!”
“Why don’t cha try and make me?”
I suspect I am beginning to better understand this dynamic. Unless my dick is tuned into the wrong frequency, Amber wishes to be dominated right about now and I could be just a few angry pumps away from nabbing myself the first of our dirty dozen. Listen, I’m not wishing to be at all crude here, but here’s how this transaction’s about to play out in X-Ray vision and special thanks to the guys at forensics for the unofficial lend. Bill and Carly Sue, this one’s for you.
“So I guess you’d want to be calling me daddy for the next six-and-a-half minutes then?”
“Whatever made you think that? Do I look like some snot-nosed little prick pimple to you?”
“Not in the slightest. I’m ever so sorry if we got our wires crossed”
“No Buster. You got your wires crossed if you think I’m riding anything other than bronco”
Rats. How am I supposed to claim that all-important upper hand when I’m being soundly straddled by YeeHaw McGraw and ridden off into the sunset like Silver? I mean, she may weigh no more than 125 pounds drenched in goose fat but that’s not to say that she’s not a black belt in Taekwondo. Sure I can swing a fairly decent left hook but my mother always taught me never to strike a woman under any circumstances. She didn’t mention anything about blowing their brains out but that’s easier said than done when you no longer possess the firepower to do so. Not wishing to put a downer on things but this is starting to look suspiciously like it could spell curtains.
And to think this is my very first objective. I’m about to nosedive faster than Sarah Jessica Parker on a front-heavy hand glider and the only possible upside I can glean from all this is that I’ll die with a tweak in my nuts. To be fair, that’s a reasonably hefty upside, but it doesn’t make the fact that I’m heading for a pine casket any less bitter a pill to swallow. The very best I can hope for is leg cramps and perhaps that will buy me the time to belt her with the nearest lampshade and make a run for it. Mom may have been implicit about me not hitting a lady but she can take that shit up with IKEA as this is critical mass we’re speaking about. Besides, Amber ain’t looking particularly ladylike right now with that 12″ riding crop primed and ready for the WHOPISH!
“Get on all fours little piggy!”
“Pardon me for asking but whatever happened to foreplay?”
“Zip it hog. You only speak when I say you can”
Well it’s a good job I’ve got my inner monologue then. It would appear that business and pleasure are one and the same to Amber in a similar way that excruciating pain and utter humiliation seem to have paired up in my corner. Back in freshman year I accidentally zipped one of my nuts up and had to be rushed to the on-duty nurse right about the time of the lunch bell. That was a mortifying experience that I’d rather not recollect but this promises to be far more shameful.
“Now I want you to say OINK! OINK! for momma you filthy little swine”
“Must I?”
“OINK! OINK! And I already told you not to open that dirty little mouth of yours. Squeal piggy!”
“OINK! OINK! Fucking OINK! alright. Just stop this madness will you, it’s demented I tell you”
I thought S&M was supposed to be a fun and rewarding experience for both parties. Actually that may have been naked twister but the fact remains that bondage just isn’t cutting it for me. With my pasty skin tone, it’ll be months before these bruises fade, and that’s not to mention the mental scars which I would imagine will remain with me until my dying day before sneaking into my final thoughts and fucking them up too. And to think that I could have taken my father’s advice and become a postman. I’m pretty sure nothing untoward ever happens on their watch. Actually there was this one poor bastard…NO, NOW IS NOT THE TIME NICK!
More pressing concerns are upon me currently and, with Amber about to exceed my six-and-a-half minute fatigue limit and my temple vein getting perilously close to bursting, I reckon it’s high time I get off this cruel carousel and teach this brass monkey some manners. Of course, this will mean declining my mother’s advice over not clenching a fist in anger against the fairer sex, but there ain’t shit about my current predicament that screams equitable and I’ve had just as much…as I can…take.
“Yeah that’s right, you mess with the bull and you get the horns you manky broke-ass bitch. Actually I did hit you rather hard, are you okay there?”
It would appear not as, while the blow was only sufficient to knock her back on her heels, I really should have mopped up that washing-up water I spilled before we got down to beeswax. Talk about health and safety hazard. I would say it’s pretty conclusive when somebody plummets from a fifth floor window to the asphalt below wouldn’t you? Fuck it then pluck it, she had it coming for being such a wretched host and it was only natural that this little piggy would attempt to save its bacon. That said, the chief was fairly crystal when delivering the brief “SHOOT THOSE HOOKERS!” and I don’t wish to come across wishy-washy in my approach to police work. Thankfully I recall where she stashed my piece and I’ve got a clean shot from up here. Let’s see how she’s doing down there at ground zero.
I do believe that’s a death rattle you know. Hell, I couldn’t not put her out of her misery could I? One clean shot to the centre of her dome and it’ll all be over. Oops! Make that one clean shot to the shoulder-blade and another to the head. Dagnabbit! I wish she’d stop twitching. There we go. Bullseye. And by my estimations that means I have officially broken my duck. I feel a huge amount of accomplishment right now although this is admittedly tempered by the grim reality that Devon has overheard the entire fracas and is currently assuming position up against the wall while pre-loading her vulva with enough ping-pong balls to turn me Japanese.
“YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”
“It was an accident. I assure you. Don’t shoot”
Hold up, did I just dream the fact that I’m currently grasping a .480 Ruger with one left in the chamber and that’s a darn sight more dangerous than a celluloid spheroid.
“You ready to draw cowboy?”
She doesn’t appear fazed by the firepower. Heavens above, at what sort of insane speed can she pop those things out?
“It doesn’t have to end like this you know”
“That’s where you’re wrong cretin. You see, you just butchered my sweet honey nectar and now I get to watch you die”
“So they’re lethal then?”
“Not ordinarily no. But have you ever attempted to return a serve at 200 mph?”
200? Did she just say 200 mph? When you consider that she is currently accommodating at least a dozen ping-pong balls up her wizard’s sleeve (an impressive feat I might add) to my one measly bullet, I’d say I’m fully justified in pissing my pants like a pre-scholar. I guess this is one of those do or die situations they harp on about at the academy and I know which one I’m going to plump for.
Well would you look at that, it only worked. Smack bang in the centre of her boobies no less. I fucking knew they were implants. What’s more important right now is that the first two of this dirty dozen have been banished and according to the chief’s stipulations to boot. I’ll be a hero back at the precinct, the sharpest shooter in the ranks, and the biggest swinging private dick ever to grace their halls. I just hope there’s no CCTV in this squalid pit so they get to see me wilting like a pussy willow merely five minutes back. That’s by the bye now as next up is Coco and I know better than to expect anything less than a rough ride from this Nubian nut cluster.
I wonder if she knows Chanel? Never mind that, how long afterwards is it deemed acceptable practice to bone a dead hooker? She’s still kind of warm. Okay, perhaps luke-warm would be more accurate. I promise I’ll be in and out faster than Justin Bieber on his tour of Auschwitz. Now please turn your heads. You don’t need to be seeing this. I believe it classifies as official police business. Well, unofficially. It’s a fair cop governor I swear. Always did want to say that. Now, if you don’t mind limbering up a little Miss Devon, this should all be over with in a heartbeat. Sore subject?
Click here to read Second Bust
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Richard Charles Stevens
aka
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Grueheads Films 2017
