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Prepare to be badonkadonked.

♫ Suggested Audio Jukebox ♫

[1] The Police Roxanne
[2] The Fugees Ready Or Not
[3] Sir Mix-a-Lot Baby Got Back
[4] Phil Collins In The Air Tonight
[5] Colonel Abrams Trapped
[6] John Cafferty Hearts On Fire

 

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Two hookers down, ten to go. It sounds wrong just saying it out loud but the stats don’t lie and I know precisely what I have to do. In case you didn’t catch it first time round, the name’s Nick McGovern, and I’ve been tasked with babysitting your ass until which time as every last one of the dirty dozen has been bagged and tagged. To be honest, I wasn’t best pleased about being saddled with a tenderfoot for my very first case and, as far as deputies go, I’ve seen little evidence thus far that you’re going to be anything other than a hindrance going forward. We may have eliminated our primary targets but Devon and Amber were little more than low-level lot lizards and things are only going to get tougher from hereon in, especially given that word travels fast amongst street walkers and the manner of execution was hardly discreet now was it? So listen, if we’re going to do this, I need to know that you have my back in a fix as my quick thinking alone won’t be enough. Teamwork is imperative here and, should you consider any of my methods slightly unorthodox, then I will remind you who is the higher ranking officer and request that you simply suck it up.

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So before we go any further, I guess we should discuss the elephant in the room as I just know it’s been eating you up since we vacated the Bristol Hotel. I may or may not have accidentally slipped inside Devon after putting that bitch on ice and appreciate that this would be frowned upon by our superiors. For the record, I was performing an autopsy of sorts, albeit not the kind of post-mortem you will likely have witnessed before. I understand that you will have some questions and want you to know that I’m an open book with regards to my procedure. That said, if a solitary word gets out about this discrepancy, then I’ll undoubtedly be requested to hand over my badge subject to investigation. This is where you come in as you’d be well within your rights to shop me in after what you just witnessed. However, you could have stepped in at any time and didn’t, which makes you little more than an accessory in my book. Apologies for blackmailing you, extortion isn’t ordinarily my style, but keeping my job at any cost whatsoever is and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let a loose-lipped greenhorn piss away my chances of promotion. Right now you have a choice to make – either you buckle up and agree to sweep this whole sorry mess under the rug in the name of personal allegiance or you scurry back to the precinct like a little punk baby and spill your guts to the superintendent. Your choice buddy and I’d suggest you make it wisely.

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Smart decision. Okay so that’s all I will say on the matter and, from this point forward, I’m prepared to wipe the slate clean and get back to what we’re really supposed to be doing here – shooting those hookers. You heard the chief and his brief was crystal clear about that one. We’re not looking to take the dirty dozen into custody, hand them over to the judicial system, and deliver them intact to their nice cosy cells. These ropy slags must die and I can assure you that the world ain’t likely to miss ’em so I don’t want to see you coming down with an attack of conscience as there is no place for morals where we’re headed. And do you know where that might be? Brooklyn Queens my little second in command and a particularly rough neighborhood where one slip up could cost us both far more than our employment status. We’re going to need an airtight plan for our next hard target as the infamous Coco has a reputation for being something of a handful in more ways than one and isn’t the type to come peacefully.

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Indeed she has a reputation for testing out her lungs when the heat is on and also goes by the name “The Screamer” amongst hooker circles. This makes her a liability in the eyes of her associates but, the thing about Coco, is that she doesn’t give three-quarters of an airborne fuck frisbee what anyone else thinks. I would urge you to consider the fact that Coco is but one consonant from Loco and this pretty much encapsulates her tendency to go utterly postal when any kind of threat to her mini-empire approaches. I read her file from cover to cover and it was an invigorating ✪✪✪✪✪ read let me tell you. This particular gutter whore is dangerous with a capital D, bold case, painted red, and will think less than nothing of pressing her Linebaugh .500 revolver to our temples and pulling that trigger until it goes click then tweaking it some more just for her afternoon shits and grins. Free rides stop here buddy, from now on, I’m gonna need to be seeing those brass balls okay?

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Speaking of which, about that schlong. Seriously was you born in Chernobyl or did your father date rape an African elephant while on safari in Namibia? I’ve never seen anything so unnecessarily swollen and would even go as far as announcing it Brobdingnagian. You may believe that it makes you something of a swinging dick around here but let me remind you what dozens of young ladies have informed me since high school and I shall even paraphrase – “Aw, bless. It ain’t the size that matters, it’s what you do with it hon. Now here is that roll of clingfilm I promised you”. What can I say, it was midwinter. Anyhoots, what I’m trying to say in a roundabout way is that it matters not what kind of meat you’re packing in your locker as shrapnel travels faster than semen (unless you’re in a wind tunnel) and that’s the only lethal weapon that means shit for this gig. So, with that in mind, let’s take a look-see at what we’re up against shall we?

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You like what you see? Well don’t. That’s what Coco would want and she’s not averse to using every dirty lowdown trick in the book to get you precisely where she wants you either. Once this black widow has you snagged in her cruel web, then it’s all over before you can savor the brown sugar and I’m left waiting for another partner to be assigned. As I’ve already explained, she knows her way around a firearm, but she also happens to be rather handy with blades and keeps a katana on hand at all times just in case things get up close and personal. We’ve already ascertained that you possess a foreskin and the last thing you want right now is to partake in one of Coco’s unlicensed circumcisions as she doesn’t waste her time with anesthetic. One swift snip, administered without mercy, and your once snug turtle neck becomes little more than a tattered cardigan and that’s just her warm up act. If you want to know why Edward Scissorhands never managed to get his hedge pruning business off the ground then look no further as nobody can trim a conifer quite like our Coco.

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Just to be clear, she’ll no doubt attempt to trick us into submission, so don’t fall for her baloney for one second as I kind of like my foreskin where it is thanks and don’t particularly relish tasting her metal on account of your rookie foolishness. Thus we shall stake this place out until nightfall; then I’ll enter her fortress alone. Should you hear that blood-curdling battle cry of hers or witness any sign whatsoever of foul play then I want you to call that shit through as back-up will have been gauged as compulsory by that point and I’ll likely be about to be put to the sword. As a little sweetener, here is a glazed doughnut for you to cram into your face hole, gobble that shit up quick newbie and hand me the binoculars while you’re at it as I think I discern movement inside. Okay so I have a positive on Coco and it would appear that she is presently operating solus so I’d say there’s no time like the present to go shoot me a hooker. In the trunk is my chosen disguise and I don’t wish to hear any snickering as it’s all about remaining incognito and I’ll have you know I’m more than comfortable in my skin and deeply committed to my job. Right then, knock knock bitch. Get your head down, she’s coming to the door.

“What? Make it quick”

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“Erm…Wilderness Cookies?”

“I love cookies. Please come on in and make yourself at home my little princess”

“Thanks missus”

“Call me Coco sweet thing. Now what flavor cookies have you got for me?”

“They’re…erm…Snickerdoodle”

“Well would you look at that. Snickerdoodle just so happens to be my absolute favorite. I was afraid you were going to say Macadamia. If you had, then I would’ve slammed the door straight in your pretty little face. But Snickerdoodle? Now we’re talking honey bunch”

Phew. Dodged a significant bullet there with my name engraved in it as I very nearly opted for Macadamia cookies but just liked the way Snickerdoodle rolled off my tongue. Round one, Nick McGovern.

“They’re freshly baked”

“Of that I have no doubt. Of course, you know what goes well with Snickerdoodle cookies don’t cha?”

Judging by the fact that she answered her door butt naked, I’m just praying the answer ain’t ping-pong balls.

“Butterscotch milkshake?”

“Almost and aren’t you just the most adorable little girl scout. It’s champagne actually and I reckon I have a bottle of Moët knocking about here somewhere. Oh how absent-minded of me, you’re too young to drink alcohol aren’t you?”

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If only she knew that I was huffing coke less than hour ago. The thing is, I could really do with a stem of champers right now to settle my nerves as something is making me feel decidedly uneasy and I can’t quite put my finger on what. Perhaps it’s just the fact that I’m dolled up like Pippi Longstocking although that didn’t stop me at last year’s Christmas party and the chief even complimented me on my pigtail plaits. Granted, he’d indulged in one too many sherries and, ten minutes later, attempted to take the reins like I was Ben Hur’s chariot. But the fact remains that I rocked those twin bunches and can rock them again if stated by the directive.

“Tell you what, one glass won’t hurt, and we’ll keep this as our little secret alright?”

“Sure lady”

“Prepare to observe a trick you won’t see every day and I’d advise standing well back in case I get the overwhelming urge to twerk this ebony drum of mine”

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Actually that is a somewhat impressive feat. I swear I’ve seen it done somewhere else but can’t quite place it. What’s more important is that she didn’t spill a solitary drop and I do believe I’m in the presence of my very first live badonkadonk. I mean, damn, the only thing that would have roused me more would have been her also balancing War & Peace on her rear parcel shelf before popping that cork but that’s by the bye as she just made J-Lo look like Maggie Simpson. Moreover, that shit’s Dom Pérignon and would go down delightfully with a bowl of strawberries.

“How’s that sliding down cutie pie? Bubbles gone to your head yet?”

“A little. Say, I don’t suppose you’d have anything in the way of forest fruits knocking around would you lady?”

“Well of course I would. Tell you what, you spread yourself out on the couch and I’ll go get some. How does that sound?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble”

“You’re no trouble at all my little chickadee. Just you put those legs up, they work you girl scouts so hard nowadays. Don’t worry, you won’t have to lift a finger now momma’s here. I must say I do love your manicure by the way”

“Thanks. It’s cherry blossom”

“Just like the little girl wearing it. Bless. We’re gonna have some fun you and I”

“Can’t wait”

“Back in a jiffy angel”

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She called me Angel. It would appear that my cunning ruse is working a treat. Better yet, strawberries and champagne, yummy scrummy. You know, this Coco chick ain’t so bad. I mean, sure she has a gold AK-47 hanging above her mantle piece but it actually ties the room together rather exquisitely. And as for the pair of fragmentation grenades she has hollowed out into Yankee candles, well that’s just bloody ingenious. Actually I think one of them may be incendiary but, whatever it is, I want the number of whichever interior designer is responsible for her decor. Let’s not braid the hair of truth here, she’s a cold callous killer bee and I’ll glean immense pleasure from emptying my clip into her booty just to see whether the legendary badonkadonk is as infallible to short arms fire as has been reported. But not before she feeds me one of my daily five and, if that means getting a little tipsy, then hey is that picture framed wonky? Hic! Zoiks, here she comes. Get that bulbous head back in the game Nick.

“Sorry it took so long sugar pie. Momma’s gonna feed you now okay?”

“Gee whizz. I can’t wait momma”

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Okay, time for a quick status check and I’ll start with those negatives. On the downside, I’m currently being straddled by a pair of thighs that I’m reasonably convinced could crack me faster than R-Kelly can fail miserably in his flight attempts. In addition, the badonkadonk seems to be rapidly cutting off all circulation to my lower torso, and I may well need six months of intensive physiotherapy before I can moonwalk again after this. Flip that shit to reverse however, and I’m about to get fed strawberries by the foxiest brown momma ever to lick her lips suggestively and fully intend it for my sole purpose. In the words of a certain cheeky Italian plumber after vaulting over Donkey Kong’s third rolling barrel in as many pixels – “It’s on!” Now I wonder where she keeps her baby oil. I’ll give you three guesses as I’d imagine there’s all manner of funky junk in that chunky trunk. I swear I just saw an unlicensed plate drop out of her tail quarter as she assumed position.

“How are those strawberries sliding down rose petal?”

“Simply scrumptious thanks”

“Good. Now you feel free to lick momma’s fingers you hear?”

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Screw fingers, I want to bite down on that beaver burger. However, I cannot allow my poker face to slip for one second as I’m under no illusion how catastrophic that would be in my current state of sexual surrender. Speaking of which, it appears momma Coco has a burning question for my ears only.

“So tell me my little China doll, what are your dreams and aspirations? What do you want to be when you grow up? That kind of stuff”

“Well I can twirl a mean baton”

“I bet you can”

“And I’ve had a crush on this boy from school for months now, Paulie Plisetski his name is, but he’s not interested”

“Well he must have doo-doo for brains if you ask me”

“I know right. He prefers Muffy St. Pickering as her boobs are more developed than mine and she’s captain of the cheerleading squad”

“Well this Muffy sounds like a tramp to me. That Paulie doesn’t know what he’s missing. I reckon you can do much better and I bet she can’t twirl a baton like you can”

Dang I’m good. Indeed, my lies are so reeking in authenticity that I’m actually starting to feel a little broody over Paulie’s rejection. As far as undercover agents go, I’m deeper than Axel baby. Hold the press, what’s that stirring in my daddy regions? It couldn’t be could it? Has the beast awakened from its power nap?

“I say, what’s that I can feel chick pea?”

“It’s…erm…my flashlight. Yeah that’s right, it’s my flashlight. We girl scouts are required to carry one with us at all times in case we stray too far from base camp”

“Well I’d say this might be one of those times. You see, I’ve never before known a flashlight with a pulse that balloons in the heat of the moment “

Drat doubled, I believe she may be onto me. Gotta stay calm and think of a response plausible enough to settle that racing mind of hers. I’d better come up with something quick as she’s reaching behind for something and I’m guessing that ain’t Hostess Barbie she’s retrieving by the glimmer of lustrous and deadly steel or the look of growing distrust in her eyes.

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“It’s…erm…imported from Hong Kong. New technology. All the rage in the Middle East I hear”

Fuck you Hannibal Smith, your ass just got downgraded to The B-Team as I believe my plan just came together like the Olsen Twins after six alcopops.

“What do you reckon piggy, shall we just quit the games now and get down to me slicing you open from asshole to appetite?”

I’ve been called little princess, chick pea, chickadee, cherry blossom, sugar pie, cutie pie, sweet thing, honey bunch, China doll and rose petal to my recollection but piggy doesn’t sound anywhere near as motherly. But I don’t get it. How could she possibly have rumbled me? After all, I’m rocking the pigtails like Judy Garland and was this close to getting the Tin Man the heart he’s been bleating on about incessantly since setting off along the Yellow Brick Road. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. Am I doing this wrong or something? Click dammit click!

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“You got anything to say to momma before she guts you like the swine that you are?”

“How did you suss me out? I mean, what was your first clue?”

“Oh I don’t know, perhaps it would have something to do with the badge on your pinafore that reads Desk Sgt. Nick McGovern. No relation to Elizabeth are you by the way? Been wondering where she got to”

Really? Again? If I get out of this mare’s nest in one piece or even two, I’m gonna find myself a fresh deputy as you clearly haven’t got the minerals for this undercover lark and I’m holding you solely responsible for a second time for blowing my lemon popsicle. That said, needs must right now as it’s fast becoming painfully clear that this anaconda don’t want buns no mo’ and I’m about to get served like Oliver and don’t much care for the slop being distributed.

“May seem like a stretch but it’s actually not how it looks”

“And how does it look Nick? You tell me, I’m all ears”

“Like I’m a cross-dressing gumshoe with a penchant for strawberries”

“Listen you little fuck biscuit, I had your number long before you buzzed my doorbell. A little free advice from momma Coco. Next time you stakeout a position, you may want to choose an unmarked vehicle and not sit there guzzling doughnuts while listening to the Hill Street Blues theme music”

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Once again, I blame you for that one Deputy Dawg as I distinctly recall requesting Miami Vice. What do you mean, am I really that clueless? Listen, I’m not getting into this with you now as I’m about to find out how the field mouse felt as it was broken down by stomach acids but I want your report on my desk by 07:30 hours dagnabbit and no passing the buck or I’ll see that you never work in this state again.

“Can we just call a truce or something? You know, go our separate ways and never speak of this to another solitary person as long as we both shall live. That kind of deal”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“Considering I just took a liquid dump in my petticoat, uh-huh, that would be rather fine with dandy sprinkles”

“You filthy little piggy”

“The most filthy. Not to freak you out but I’m currently under doctor’s orders after being diagnosed with a particularly gnarled case of gastroenteritis and reckon it may be catching you know”

“I don’t believe you”

“And you really want to be calling my bluff on that one do you Coco? Let me pose you this question. You ever shat through the eye of a needle and still not touched the sides?”

“Please allow me to bat one back at cha. You ever had every last one of your ribs snapped like defective candy canes?”

“Erm…I did recently take a ping-pong ball full-on to my sternum if that counts and my respiratory function has been somewhat laboured ever since. Speaking of which, how’s about that breather?”

“Oh I’m sorry are momma’s nasty ole hips crushing you?”

“Well I don’t wish to be a wet blanket but I kind of could do with coming up for air”

“You know what I could kind of do with Nick?”

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“I dunno…a colonic?”

“Close but no cigar. I could do with you telling me who sent you and what your exact orders are. Then perhaps I’ll decide to make your last few moments on earth mildly less agonizing”

“You know I can’t do that. Listen, I may be a little confused as to my gender right now, but I’m no rat”

“Is that your final answer?”

“Remind me, have I used my Phone-A-Friend yet? Hell, let’s just put this one out to the audience”

“Sarcasm huh? You’re a plucky one Nick McGovern, I’ll grant you that”

Well I say, nobody has ever pronounced me plucky before, well apart from that one Christmas party where I drank too much rum punch and foolishly mixed tar and feathers. To be honest, and I believe there are few better occasions than when on the brink of being compacted into a human kola kube, it’s not so much pluck as a tendency to wing it when the chips are down. But I appreciate the hell out of the sentiment. Not that this is assisting with the flow of blood any.

“So has my steely resolve won me a walkover to the next round then? You know, best out of three and all that”

“I’m afraid not Nicholas”

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I loathe being called that. My mother used to call me Nicholas around twenty seconds before her moccasin made contact with the back of my knees and Coco just brought that shit flooding right back in three syllables. To toss flammable salt on the slug’s sludge trail, I can now reluctantly confirm that it wasn’t Hostess Barbie she unsheathed, and I suspect that Crystal Ken may have just dodged a bullet. Fucking sissy can go back to raiding her wardrobe for those delightful cork wedges he’s had his eyes on for months while I’m about to take the business end of Coco’s mercenary metal straight to my chirrup box.

“Okay I’ll tell you alright. Now would you please remove that thing from my Adam’s apple as I have a fear of sharp objects resting against my windpipe that really isn’t all that illogical and I think I just went poo-poo a second time”

“I can smell. Damn Nick, you may wanna check yourself in for that colonoscopy. Something ain’t right down there”

“I’ll book one in first thing Monday if you’ll kindly release me from your vice like grip so I can remember what it feels like to breathe. We got ourselves a deal?”

“Tell you what I’ll do as I’m feeling charitable, I’ll let my groin muscles answer that one for you”

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Jesus wept and I would have wiped his cheek with my sleeve if it weren’t for the complete absence of oxygen to my brain, this is beyond excruciating. Besides, you know you’re sailing down shit stream when Colonel Abrams starts playing on the radio. Yeah I get it, you’re trapped, now isn’t it about time you release another single as it ain’t making my plight any less thankless. And to think you call yourself a colonel. I’d expect that kind of stunt from a lieutenant but reckon it’s high time they demoted your ass Abrams. If that is your real name. Whatever happened to being solution minded anyhoots?

“The mission is called Shoot Those Hookers alright. There, I gave you what you want, now please return the feeling to my getaway sticks so they can finally live up to their name”

“Shoot Those Hookers you say? And I’m guessing that my little name cropped up on your dead pool?”

“Fraid so. It’s nothing personal although you are starting to make it a dash more intimate”

“I think I’ve heard enough from you Nicholas”

Once more a shudder. That one even sounded like my mother. Damn that unresolved childhood trauma. You’d think twenty-six would be old enough to cease wetting the bed wouldn’t you? Try telling that to my house maid as I was recently forced to take her off minimum wage in addition to having to shell out for jumbo fabric softener.

“Just get this over with will you. I mean, it’s looking pretty conclusively like you have the upper hand so go ahead and do your worst”

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Note to self – be careful what you wish for. Well I would love to say that it has been a pleasure serving with you, but said pleasure has clearly been all yours and of the sick variety to boot. For the record, when you’ve finished digesting the last doughnut you were supposed to be saving for me, perhaps now would be an appropriate time to call for that back-up. Actually, five minutes ago would have been an idea but I’ll take any miraculous twist of good fortune at this point.

“Oh dear. I think I may have overdone it with the champagne”

But what is this? Could it be a dash of light-headedness at the all-important eleventh of hours? Just as I’d hoped, Coco has been betrayed by her own burly badonkadonk, as the thing about ocean cruise liners is that the capsize is all that more devestating once the iceberg of inebriation hits. She’s clearly wobbling and this could be the life raft I was whistling for. I was starting to think that thing was defective although admittedly the neighborhood mutts got a kick out of it. And to think that I never got to hear that famous scream of hers.

“Room starting to spin is it Coco? Then I would suggest letting gravity take its course. You know what that means sweet pea? That’s correct, time to let go methinks”

“I’ll never let go”

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Easier said than done once those chunder chunks have begun their rise from the land of reflux most acidic. This hateful hooker is indeed going down and this buys me all the time I need to make a dash for my firearm. Of course, this courageous act will entail dragging my pulverized pins over to the cookie jar where I stashed my manual enforcer and my opposite number is also fumbling her way towards that wall-mounted AK-47 which I’m reasonably assured I mentioned being fully loaded and primed to go pop, pop, pop. But I have the eye of the tiger on my side and have never felt so thrilled for the fight. Granted, it may be a little too soon to go rising up back on the street but I’m a better aim when horizontal anyhoots, at least that’s what my wife Meryl tells me between off-putting yawns.

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This is all about hanging tough, staying hungry, and I’ll be damned to the double degree if I’m about to lose my grip on the dreams of the past. Time to become the last known survivor. And fuck you Mickey for the bum comment. I object to that kind of “encouragement” from my corner. Take Paulie with you while you’re at it as he’s as useful as an open-top Trojan. For the record, what kind of name is Adrian anyhoots? Moan, moan, fucking moan. I swear her cycle lasts three weeks. That’s still seven days every calendar month that I have to feign a migraine. It’s hard enough making a laxative commercial sound convincing.

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After emptying a full clip into the badonkadonk, I’m now back on my feet, and the threat of Coco is no longer a priority of mine. Granted, I currently possess the equilibrium of Stephen Merchant on a high wire, but the witch is dead, the wicked witch no less, and that makes it three hookers down and next up is what I like to refer to as a three-way hoedown. Want a clue? Then how does this little lot grab you?

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And no she doesn’t live off wild berries and spend the whole time sobbing over her dead mother.

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Recently tested for syphilis but just got the all-clear. Geddit? I’m here all week by the way.

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Yeah right. Seems like Cinderella gets the prince after all as this shoe ain’t fitting those bunions.

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So there you have it and you’re lucky I’m feeling charitable as I may just let you tag along. In truth I should cut you loose like a C-4 tampon after failing well beyond miserably defending my honor but I’ve got thirty minutes to get to the brothel and aren’t feeling entirely confident about performing any three-point turns right now after having my patella crushed by the mobiest of all dicks. Just know this, one more bodge job and I’m washing my hands of you partner. Take a look at the statistics and I believe you’ll be finding them rather damning right now. That’s three hookers shot, no assistance whatsoever from you, and I was really hanging out for that last doughnut you brigand. If you don’t know what that means then I suggest looking it up, straight after tapping Dunkin’ Donuts into the GPS. And you’re darn well tooting, I expect them bad boys to be double-glazed. Now how are you on groin massages?

Click here to read Third Bust

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Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,

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Keeper of the Crimson Quill

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