It was true. Henge had hubris, per se. Clint Dossier’s observations were right, at least from a far. Hubris, that expression originating from the Greek: a classical crime of pride, of gloating. Henge’s hubris, however, was a rare case of preemptive gloating. A sort of bragging prior to victory, which in modern parlance has become the ( Read more... )

Alpha base, Bravo, copy on the vagrant masturbator over.

“Roger that Bravo,” Deborah said.

Our twenty, the radio said, is Lake Me shore, we have suspects surrounded, the radio paused. May request state trooper back up. Please stand by alpha.

“Roger that ( Read more... )

            As Deborah turned the volume knob of the VHF radio up, she tried to slightly adjust the thong she was wearing. The feeling of butt floss constantly gripping her crack was an unfamiliar and somewhat disturbing feeling.

She picked up the hand mic, and squeezed the thumb trigger.

“Bravo five, this is alpha base.”

( Read more... )

            When the old timey phone on Chief Rick Hollo’s battleship grey desk jangled, the only one in the Sorbonne PD headquarters there to answer it was Deborah Hunt.

She pried herself, grudgingly, from her desk in what became known as “Debbie’s Little Study Alcove” - the desk a hollowcomb door, sans knob, overturned and propped ( Read more... )

            “Yeah.”

“Uhuh.”

“Looked like four of em. Sorbonne PD I think.”

“Uhuh.”

Bill Badalamente said to Carmine that he would call the Judge of Holden County, the County in which Sorbonne was a city, a Judge on the collective ‘payroll’ - one who owed a favor or two here and there, and one who ( Read more... )

            Some joggers, engaging in the pars course, ran out the path from the other side of the parking lot. There were three of them. All three were blonde and had high cheekbones. Two were wearing Milton University sweatshirts, and another had a shirt that said, plainly; “Northface,” in silkscreen. They jogged past and looked at Carmine, ( Read more... )

            Reaching into a compartment of his undergarments, Carmine pulled out a prepaid phone card, and dialed the one eight hundred number, then entered the card number, then waited through about forty seconds of advertisements telling him to shop at Sam’s Club more often, and informing him he could save money on gas. He pulled out a slip of ( Read more... )

The old van spun on the aggregate, spewing limp roostertails out from the back tires, and making a crackling sound as tiny rocks sprayed from their resting places. Carmine wrestled with the steering wheel under his tattered overcoat, and bounced up and down in the captain’s chair, as Rush Limbaugh continued to blare out of the dashmounted factory ( Read more... )

The engine wouldn’t crank all the way, and the radio blared Rush Limbaugh loudly,

echoing across the fetid brown surface of Lake Me. The scene in the lake looked like recess, when a playground monitor had blown her whistle, summoning transgressors to the principal’s office.

Carmine could see Pete slump his shoulders in that New York ( Read more... )

            You are all under arrest, the megaphone said.

Pete Limpelli, sopping wet and drooping after being dragged along the surface of Lake Me at an estimated twenty four knots by Goliath, the cryptid 800 pound catfish looked up and squinted through his glasses. Arrest? What the fuck is all this? Hadn’t he okayed it will Bill Badalamente in ( Read more... )