Bill Badalamente knurled through the reams of paper slips, receipts, notes, the yellow legal pads with lists of encrypted names and dates - locations. His olive toned fingers delicately turning each artifact over to the other side of the manila folder. A pencil in the breast pocket of his plaid longsleeve buttondown, his mouth curled ( 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... )

 
A Lake Me Sestina

The most probable outcome of Lake Me

Was a hyperbolic fucking lurking

As a deus ex machina ending to that somebitch

All the people involved, bubba

Knew the end of summer was eminent, and wagers

Were the only real way to put notions in that minchia

Some fucking clownshoe of a minchia

Named Rick Hollo was with me

Around the Sorbonne ( Read more... )

Deborah Hunt

Deborah Hunt is

A PhD lit student

@ Milton Uni.

William Comparetto

© 2007

            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... )

            Carmine fervently itched at his intercostal trunk, and the late summer cicadas chided their horrific dirge - incessantly clacking and grinding in a sine wave hum from the tops of trees surrounding the small parking lot. He covered his mouth over the receiver of the phone, seeing some of the joggers were staring at him, slowly traversing ( Read more... )

            Carmine, to the mirrored polish of the payphone cashbox, forced despondent frown. To the payphone he bayed a slow and deliberate ‘ming - key - uhhhh!’ and put his hand in his teeth and bit in a substantiated act of self loathing.

“Call em off Bill, Christ.”

“I could do these guys, but Christ, the fucking ( 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... )