Russ huddled in his basement, staring up at the steps from the upstairs. He was having a bad day. First the Witnesses, then the not so nice Girl Scouts from Heck, and now an Officer with a baker's dozen of police cadet explorers. He hadn't thought of cookies, let alone nookies, rookies, or hookies, for at least an hour. He just tried to remember how to do the "Hail Mary."
They still pounded the reenforced door with the battering ram. He waited. Soon, they would be through the door and they would find him. The dog would snitch him out; it was still mad about the glass shard.
The pounding stopped. He waited, but the pounding stayed stopped. Suddenly, there was a crash. Bits and pieces of cinder block sprayed across the room. Dust flew everywhere. Russ huddled even tighter.
From behind the plume of dust stepped Officer Sherry. She walked directly over to the shivering figure. She glanced down and smiled. It was a cold smile. The smile of a sadist dom that has just found another play thing. She smiled until Russ let out a whimper.
"Hello, Russ."
Whimper, whine.
"Thought you could flag your story for removal, dincha Russ?"
Whine, whimper.
"It don't work that way, now, does it, Russ?"
Whimper, whine.
"I was delayed. There was a group of Mormons disguised as police trying to batter down your door. But, I'm here now, Russ."
The buff, leather clad police officer bent her sinuous legs so she hunkered next to the quivering once-man. She placed a slim, long finger under his chin and gently raised his head. She kissed his nose.
"You've been a very bad boy. Misusing your moderating powers. Stealing that nice Mr. Gamera's idea. Trying to hide behind disclaimers. But that's not the worst of it, is it Russ?"
Whine, whimper, whine.
"Now what would Godzilla the Dietitian say about the semi-truck of cookies, Russ?"
Whimper, whine, weep.
"Yes, Godzilla will not be happy. That's a lot of calories, Russ. A lot of calories. And carbs. We can't forget the carbs. Bad things, carbs. Aren't they, Russ?"
Weep, moan.
"Brooke!"
Officer Sherry turned to the opening. A young, developing redhead in tight leather and a riot helmet appeared. She looked at Russ and smiled at him the way one smiles at a twenty-one ounce slice of prime rib. She licked her lips.
"Brooke this is Russ Hoisington. But we'll call him 'Hoistigon,' okay dear?" Brooke nodded. "Russ, this is Brooke. She's a junior high school cheerleader, as well a police cadet explorer. Brooke will be starting your punishment."
Brooke struggled out of her tall boots and clinging leather pants. Her white skin beneath contrasted sharply against the black of her jacket. She turned away from Russ. She sighed as she bent over and took her ankles into each hand.
Russ broke himself from his whining and whimpering long enough to admire the sight of a young teen exposing her fresh hinie to him. Sherry reached down to him and handed him a book. He looked at the cover: it was a thesaurus.
"Yes, Girl Scout Cookies are just loaded with calories and carbs and even fat. And that isn't good for you, is it Russ?"
Stare, drool, stare, wack.
"I said, is it Russ?"
Russ shook his head.
"So you need exercise. Lots of exercise, Russ."
Stare, drool.
"Brooke."
"Yes, Officer Sherry, ma'am."
"Make sure he keeps it up till his arms fall off."
Russ turned to stare at Sherry, but more numbly than with any drool.
"Oh, he will. He will."
Sherry walked to the opening in the basement wall.
"Have fun."
"Oh, I will. I will," answered Brooke wiggling a long finger at Russ.
Whimper.
© Kenny N Gamera 2005
