Mission Critical

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Chapter 26 - No Sense of a Job Well Done

I’m sitting at home in the middle of the afternoon. It’s the day after the bank incident. Last night was hell. Sheer, unadulterated, total, massive hell! The debriefing took four and a half hours! Those SRT guys don’t screw around when it comes to debriefings, do they? Not even! They went over every conceivable detail about six times! It was without a doubt the most intricate, painstaking, nit-picky debriefing I’ve ever participated in. It was practically torture, but I get why they feel they have to do it. SRT capers get second and third and tenth-guessed every time, so they don’t leave anything to chance. I was actually bleary-eyed when it was over. I mean I was so wiped out that I seriously considered sacking out in the cot room. I think I’ve mentioned how disgusting that place is, so that should give you an idea of how tired I was. I’m pretty sure everyone was just as tired. It was a long, stressful day and night. Maybe the most stressful I’ve had since that night in that field when I squared off with Corey Faisse. Trust me, nothing will ever top that one. It’s just not possible.

There was none of the sense of a job well done at the debriefing that I’d expected when I first decided to go for a spot on SRT. We all knew – with hindsight – that the Vanguard Bank was the more likely target and we should’ve been at that one all along. No one could escape the ugly fact that had we been there at the beginning, two people might still be alive and maybe the barricaded suspect-slash-hostage situation would never have happened. Yes, we did everything we could do. Yes, we deployed on the Renaissance Bank for a very good reason. Yes, everyone did exactly what they were supposed to do once we were directly up against the suspects. It didn’t diminish our sense that we screwed up. The Sarge was adamant that we didn’t, but he’s got a shit ton of combat experience and he’s trained to think differently than us mere mortals. No, it was a black cloud that hung over all of us no matter what was said or drawn on the whiteboard. Maybe we’re just being stupid and kicking ourselves when there’s no cause for it, but that’s how we felt.

The two wounded hostages? The guy made it by the skin of his teeth. They didn’t get him stabilized until about seven o’clock this morning. I know because I got a call from the station about it. I heard they pumped enough blood into him to just about fill an elephant. He’s going to recover, but it was close. About as close as you can come to dying and survive. The woman? She was stabilized pretty fast, but that shot really totaled her shoulder. She’s going to need a number of surgeries to fix it, and there’s no guarantee that she’ll ever regain full range of motion or whatever they call it. That bullet shattered a lot of bone, or so they told me. I’m guessing they’re both going to sue the crap out of Randall Schoen and his nut job excuse for a security firm, but that’s for later. Besides, old Randall Schoen’s got a habit of coming out on top when it comes to lawsuits. Being a totally corrupt dickhead with a huge pile of money, I guess that’s not surprising, huh? He’ll probably buy them off. He’ll wave a huge check in their faces and get an agreement not to sue. If that doesn’t work, then he’ll buy off the judge and the jury. That’s how it works when you’ve got the money and the power, right?

The woman who was killed in the initial shootout? I don’t even know her name. She was about thirty-five or something; a Korean lady in there to pay some bills. I saw her when they brought out the body. A hit like that? She never had a chance. It was like that kid said: she got hit, fell down, and didn’t move after that. She probably never knew what happened. If you have to die for no good reason, I guess that’s kind of a saving grace. I know it sounds like a load of crap, but it’s the best I can do. She was killed by incidental fire. That’s how the report will read. I’m sure the detectives have notified her next of kin by now. I’m glad I didn’t have to do it. I wouldn’t know what to say. I’m not sure there’s anything anybody can say. Incidental fire. Imagine having that written on your tombstone? What a waste. What a total fucking waste.

The RSS guys didn’t talk to our detectives until about six lawyers showed up. No ambulance chasers, either. They looked like high-powered guys who charge a fortune. I have no idea what they said, but I’m sure it wasn’t much and the lawyers did most of the talking. As angry as I am about them going hog wild and unleashing a hailstorm of lead, even I know they were within their rights to shoot back. The witnesses out front confirmed what Lonnie told me: that fucking assbag Lindstrom turned and fired a couple of shots at them as soon as he saw them and the fight was on. He got his ass shot right away and DeWitt and Maritza dragged him into the bank. Detective Arredondo said there were six bullet wounds in Lindstrom’s corpse: three in the chest, one in the gut, and one in each leg. He really got shot to shit, didn’t he? Screw him. He got what was coming to him. He was a total assbag. We ran his record when we got back to the station and it was all robbery, assault, sexual assault, drug possession, and ADW. He’d been out of prison for five months when he took up with DeWitt and Maritza. Why they ever let an animal like that out of prison in the first place totally escapes me. The same goes for Maritza. He should’ve been doing life with no hope. Some total dickface decided to ty rehabilitation instead of protecting people and let him go. Look what happened. I guess the rehabilitation failed, huh? Oh, well. Shit happens, right? That’s how the system is going to look at it. Nothing will change. Nothing ever changes in that regard.

The girl who got shot in the back? Twenty-two years old. Going to school at night. She wanted to be a nurse. I don’t know her name. It was too heartbreaking to even look. That Hispanic guy? The hostage in the suit? He said she went totally bonkers when the shooting started and when Maritza dragged that other woman into the back and started raping her, they could hear her screaming and crying and begging for him to stop and the teller girl just lost it. She knew she was next. As soon as she saw the assbags open the door to let those first hostages go, she made a break for it. It got her killed. I’ll bet the last thing she thought to herself was “Better killed than raped.” Based on what I saw of the woman who did get raped, she was probably right. That woman was…I don’t even know how to describe it. I’ve seen rape victims before – most cops have if they’ve been on the job long enough – but she was worse than anyone I ever saw in my life. She’s finished. Done for. I could see it in her eyes. It totally killed her soul. She’ll never come back from it. It won’t be long before her husband can’t take it anymore and he packs up and leaves. Her little boy? He’ll never understand it. He’ll never understand what happened. You don’t tell your little boy that his mom got raped by some total piece of shit who was holding a gun to her head. I can’t even think about it. If I do, I’ll start screaming and never stop.

The other hostages were pretty much OK, all things considered. That Hispanic guy was a real tower of strength. He was the one who told the detectives everything that happened in the bank, and he had a real attention for details. How he managed to recount that shit without screaming his head off is anyone’s guess, but he did it. He’s a real stand-up guy, as the Sarge would say. In fact, the Sarge did say that about him. The other guy, too. The one who helped load the cash into the truck. Some people have a real inner strength they can call on in times of need. I wish I had it. The Sarge swears that I do, but yesterday I certainly didn’t believe it. I don’t believe it today, either. Maybe I’ll believe it tomorrow? I hope so. I wasn’t too happy with my performance yesterday. I was happy with the shot I made, but the rest? Not so much. I let it get personal. I know you’re never supposed to do that, but I did and it left a very bad taste in my mouth. I don’t know how you prevent it from getting personal. I plan to ask the Sarge about that. I can’t let that happen to me again. I could compromise the mission if I do things like that. I could make a mistake that gets someone killed. I can’t let that happen. And I can’t let anything that happens on the job become personal or it’s going to eat me alive. I’m going to have to get a handle on it somehow. I just wish I knew how. Right now, I don’t. It seems impossible to me right now. That has to change.

I told Lieutenant Shears that if he ever asked me to serve as the unit’s hostage negotiator again, I’d murder him right where he stood. I meant it, too. I’d rather stick my hand in a blender than do that again. And more than a few of the SRT guys told me the same thing. They said it was the worst, most stressful thing you can do in that kind of situation. Sergeant Persecki said most people don’t last more than three or four incidents as the negotiator. It’s just too much of a strain. I can relate, pal. They all said I did a great job and whatnot, but I got the feeling they were just happy they didn’t get called on to do it. Hey, I’m totally there with them on that one! Oh, and our official hostage negotiator? He showed up at the station around nine o’clock at night and expected Lieutenant Shears to sign his card or whatever you call it so he got paid for the incident! You heard me: he expected to get paid for doing absolutely nothing! I was about to use some totally unauthorized force on that dickhead when the Lieutenant told him to go pound sand. That son of a bitch left us totally unprepared for that disaster. I think that guy is going to be looking for a new career after this. I’d go along with that decision. Wouldn’t you?

As much as I’d rather have avoided it, I added two more officer-involved shootings to my growing list of them. That list just keeps growing, doesn’t it? I got the day off because they won’t go before the grand jury until tomorrow morning. They’ll put a rush on this one because they were so obviously justified that even the DA thinks it’s a waste of time to jump through all the hoops. Doug Surma and I are the only ones who wound up hitting anybody, and because they were sniper shootings with direct authorization from the SRT leader, we’re in the clear. God, they just got through reviewing my shooting from the motel parking lot! I shot Maritza there and now they’re going to hear how I shot him again in almost the exact same place and then I killed the son of a bitch! Well, they’ve all no doubt heard about the incident at the bank by now, so they won’t have a problem with me having put his lights out. No one in their right mind will. Arizona’s death penalty has sort of been in limbo for a few years and if this incident doesn’t bring it back with no strings attached, then our judges and elected officials are totally crazy. Dickheads like Maritza are the poster children for the death penalty. They’re all the proof we need that we need to have a death penalty. I say fry them all! To hell with lethal injection! Shave their fucking heads, strap them in the electric chair and turn on the juice! Fuck anyone who says otherwise!

And then there’s Eugene DeWitt. I don’t know why I feel broken up about him ending up dead, but I do. I guess it’s because I can sort of understand where he was coming from. He was a guy nobody ever paid attention to. Nobody ever gave a shit about him. As far as everybody he ever met was concerned, he was dispensable. Deep down, he wasn’t a bad guy. I got a sense of that. He just made some really bad choices. He threw in with guys who were totally out of his league and he got all swept up in it. Yes, he was a thief and a bank robber and he deserved to go to prison for a long time, but the way it all turned out? I can’t shake the feeling that he didn’t deserve that. He set something in motion that he couldn’t control and a lot of people paid the price for it, including him. He got desperate and he turned to some crazy scheme that he thought would make his life better, and from what the Sarge and I found out about him, his life was pretty intolerable. He just didn’t matter. Not to anyone. I can relate to that. That’s how I felt for most of my life, and let me tell you, it sucks like you wouldn’t believe. I know what it can drive you to. I know how it can screw up your head to the point where you start thinking some really crazy things. His nut job scheme to make a billion dollars on some crazy crypto-money? I’ve been thinking about what he planned to do with it if he ever got it. Do you know what I think? I think he was going to run away. He wasn’t going to lead some bullshit life of luxury with a Ferrari and a hot babe on his arm. I think he was going to find a place as far away from people as he could go and he was just going to live out the rest of his life alone and in peace. Don’t ask me why I believe that. I just do. I’m sure I’m right about it, too.

The funny thing about it all? I don’t mean funny as in humorous. I mean funny as in strange and ironic. That’s the word, right? Ironic? The funny thing is, everybody dismissed him as a total dweeb and at the very end, he was as tough as they get. I saw that wound when they carted him out of the bank. I can’t even begin to describe how horrible it was. It was like his entire chest was torn away from his back. Ninety-nine percent of all human males would’ve shit themselves and died right there on the spot if they’d suffered a wound like that, but not Eugene DeWitt. He should’ve died instantly, but he didn’t. He should’ve been completely immobilized, but he wasn’t. He shouldn’t have been able to form two coherent words, but he did. He was able to speak a lot more than that. And while the vast majority of people are too afraid of death to ever put a gun to their head and pull the trigger; Eugene wasn’t. He knew the game was over and he’d decided he wasn’t going to spend his life in prison where he’d be raped and bullied and who knows what else, so he used his last bit of strength to end it all on his own terms. I was there, remember? There wasn’t anything cowardly about it. I just know it. I can’t really explain it, but I just know it. He really was a tough guy after all. Not a mean psycho like Maritza, but a real tough guy. I wonder if he realized it at the end? I hope so. If he did, then I hope he was proud of himself. As crazy as it sounds coming from a cop, I think he had a good reason to be proud of himself. Just don’t tell anyone I said that, OK? They wouldn’t understand. I’m not sure I understand it myself.

This is my third big case since I’ve been a cop, and in each of them when it was over? I felt bad. I felt like crap. I felt like I should’ve been able to do something to prevent what happened. I feel that way right now; just not as much as the last two times. I keep telling myself that I did everything I could. I did some great work. I found a lot of the answers. I handled myself in the field the best way I knew how. And I didn’t do anything that should make me feel embarrassed or ashamed or anything like that. Not at all. But it’s hard to take a victory lap when you know people died. People got killed: good people and bad ones. I’m not too broken up about the bad ones. I don’t like the fact that I ended up killing them, but I did what had to be done and they’re the ones who got themselves into those situations in the first place, right? But then there are the good ones who got killed. The ones whose names I knew and the ones whose names I didn’t and never will. Part of me never gets over them. I think that’s true of a lot of cops. The best ones, anyway. Some of us handle it better than others. The Sarge handles it better than anyone, I think. I really need him to teach me how he does it. I get the feeling I won’t survive this job for another ten years if he doesn’t.

So another one comes to a close. Our bank robbery crew is finished. Kaput. History. We identified all of them, figured out why they were doing it, figured out about the how-to book and the crazy scheme behind it, tracked them down, and finally cornered them and eliminated them in a textbook SRT operation involving the team’s snipers. It seems pretty cut and dry, doesn’t it? Maybe it should be? Maybe I should be doing my own victory lap right now? Maybe I need to accept the fact that this is as good as it gets? That very few SRT operations are going to get wrapped up without some major downsides? Some major casualties? Maybe I just need to stop getting worked up about it? I always kind of knew what I was getting myself into when I joined the police force. Did I really expect the downside to change just because I decided to take the job seriously? I can’t be that stupid, can I? No, I’m not that stupid. Or naïve. I guess I just hoped things would change for the better. Maybe they did and I just didn’t realize it? Lots of questions and damned few answers. Sound familiar?

So here I am, sitting here and twiddling my thumbs with nothing to do today. There’s nothing happening here. Even Beefy is asleep. I guess he got tired of watching me stare into space and silently ponder the mysteries of the universe. If I say the words “walk” or “park,” he’ll bolt upright and head straight for the leash. Maybe later, big boy. I don’t much feel like going anywhere right now. I didn’t eat anything last night – I gave my steak sandwich to Beefy, which made him very happy – so I’m pretty hungry right now. I ordered a pizza because I don’t feel like going anywhere. I don’t even feel like getting dressed. I’m wearing the shirt that I slept in last night and nothing else. It’s one of the Cydonia shirts that I bought from LC. See, I told you I was going to turn one of them into my new sleep shirt. It works fine for that, but it’s a bit too short to use it as a house dress. I guess I’ll be keeping my big ASU t-shirt for a while. This Cydonia shirt looks good on me. Well, it looks good on me when I’m wearing it and nothing else. I happened to catch myself in the mirror and I have to admit, I liked what I saw. The cut of this thing is very flattering. LC has good taste when it comes to his store shirts, doesn’t he? I’ll have to let him know that the next time I see him.

You know, this thing almost turned into my new sex shirt. I woke up in the middle of the night last night and the Sarge slept over because he was worried about me, as usual. He slept in the sofa bed – as usual. Yes, I know! Exactly how I felt! Anyway, it suddenly occurred to me that I could just crawl into bed with him and finish what I’d started the other night, as I’m sure you know what I mean. The thought of doing it got my motor totally revved and ready to go. I mean, I happen to be an expert in that kind of nocturnal mission, in case I never told you. When I was in college, one of my specialties was sneaking into a guy’s bed and having some fun with him without waking him up. Our little math club gave me the perfect opportunity for that sort of thing. You see, Naomi Ouderkirk and I used to have a sneaky little game we played. Sort of a competition between us girls. The game was, we each had to pick one of the guys and sneak into their beds while they were asleep and do things to them. What kind of things, you ask? For God’s sake, use your imagination! The bet was this: see which of us could get the guy to pop without waking him up. If you could do it, then the guy would wake up later on and think he had a wet dream – until we let him know what really happened. If we both managed to do it, then the bet was to see which one of us could get our guy to pop first. You had to bring back the…shall we say, evidence…as proof. Usually, you brought it back smeared all over your face, but you got bonus points if you could get it on some of the more interesting parts of your body. The loser had to lick it off of the winner and that was hot like you wouldn’t believe! But if the guy woke up and caught you, then you had to give him whatever he wanted from you. I mean you had to do anything sexual for him that he asked, and I mean anything. As you can imagine, we had a whole lot of fun with that game no matter how it turned out. Not only did I become an expert at getting a guy to blow his load while he slept, but I also learned a lot about doing a girl because sometimes it would end with me and Naomi in a total girl-on-girl bang-fest. A lot of the guys insisted on it if they caught one of us, which they did plenty of times because we tended to get a little carried away. Like I said, we had to do anything they asked and we were more than willing to do it. Definitely good times for everyone!

So I was lying in bed last night, thinking about sneaking into the living room and slowly running my finger up and down the Sarge’s dick until he got hard as a rock and then doing my best gentle stroke-and-suck routine until he blew. I figured once he did, he’s probably wake up and see me there with his load on my face and it’d be…what’s the term? A fait accompli. That’s it, isn’t it? He’d have no choice but to go for it and fuck my brains out and I’d be a more-than-willing partner in it. I had a whole list of things I was going to do for him; not to mention to him…I swear, just thinking about doing something that totally naughty with him had me halfway to heaven! My nimble fingers got me the rest of the way there in no time at all! I was totally ready to go for it, but for some reason I just laid there thinking about it and touching myself until I fell asleep again and by the time I woke up, he was gone. Goddamned early riser! Cheated! That’s exactly how I felt: totally cheated! Again! And now it occurs to me how smooth and sexy this shirt would feel with him slowly lifting it off of me; the silky fabric dragging against my boobs…wow! I really need to stop thinking about things like that when he’s not here and I can’t lock him in the apartment!

So here I am with a whole afternoon and nothing much to do. Certainly nothing as good as that would’ve been, huh? I was going to watch a cool-sounding film: Invasion of the Saucer Men. It was supposed to be here already, but I checked the delivery status on my phone and it’s not going to get here for another three hours. Total bummer! What the hell am I supposed to do for three hours? I’m not going to turn on the TV. Have you ever seen daytime TV? If that isn’t enough to turn you into a serial killer, then nothing is. And it looks like it might rain, so I’m not in any hurry to go anywhere. I hate rainy days, as you already know. There’s just nothing to do. I suppose I could go over some reports that I have to look at for work, but right now I’m trying really hard not to think about work. Yesterday got me into so much of a funk that I’m about ready to do anything to take my mind off if it right now. Anything but watching daytime TV, that is. I can’t ask the Sarge to come over here and watch the movie with me because that crazy workaholic is over at the station going over some stuff for a divisional training day that’s coming up next week. That’s great, isn’t it? He could be over here banging me any which way he pleases and instead, he’s at work! Do you have any idea what that does to a girl’s self-esteem? I know I said I like a challenge, but this is getting ridiculous! It’s a good thing for him that I’m not into the whole whips and chains thing or else he’d be in for the shock of his life! I think I’m going to have to try a different approach. I wonder what kind of fantasies he’s into? He’s got to have a few, right? Naughty schoolgirl? I could get one of those pleated skirts and a pair of white knee socks and…

There’s the doorbell. I guess my pizza is here. Damn! Beefy didn’t even get up when he heard the bell! The poor dog is really tired out. He gets that way when it’s a gray day and the wind picks up. That’s why I say it’s likely to rain. The clouds don’t seem to be moving despite the wind, so it’s probably a pretty good storm heading our way. Some day off, huh? Why does this always happen to me? Well, maybe it’ll be a thunderstorm and I can listen to the thunder in the distance. Small compensation, isn’t it?

It’s the pizza, all right. I was kind of hoping it was my movie arriving a little early. No such luck. Hey, that’s the same guy who delivered my last pizza. I thought he worked nights?

“Thanks for this. I’m really hungry. Hey, you were here the last time I ordered, weren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah. I remember you.”

He seems pretty stunned. I guess I should’ve put something on besides just a shirt, huh? Well, feel free to grab an eyeful, pal. It’s my own fault for not putting some clothes on, right?

“How goes it with school?”

His face totally sank! Did I say something wrong?

“Are you all right?”

“It’s nothing. I just…I’m going to have to take the next semester off. I don’t have the money and I just learned that I’m getting laid off from this job.”

Wow! Double whammy! He already got laid off from his main job, didn’t he? Now I feel bad for having asked.

“What happened?”

“Business is down and they’re making cuts. Last hired, first fired. Thy called me in to work early and said ‘By the way, we’re letting you go today. Sorry about that.’ It wasn’t what I wanted to hear.”

I’ll bet it wasn’t! There’s a lot of that going on right now: businesses trying to recover from the whole COVID thing. Pizza delivery places were doing massive business when everything was closed for the lockdown. Now that everything’s back open, I’ve heard a lot of places that brought on more people for the increased business are having to lay them off. That must totally suck.

“They didn’t give you any warning?”

“Do they ever? They don’t give a shit. And now it looks like I’m going to get rained on for my last day. Just what I need right now. Hey, I didn’t mean to dump all that on you. I’m sorry.”

You know, I really hate it when people aren’t appreciated. I think you know why, given the story of my life and everything. It really ticks me off whenever I see it. He seems like a really good guy. It’s like that place where Eugene worked and they could barely remember him. That dickface supervisor who totally discounted him when we were trying to find a lead on him? Yes, like that. And now this guy gets the same treatment. It sucks that they just kick him to the curb like it’s nothing. How can anyone treat people like that?

“No need to apologize. I’ve been there myself. So what are you going to do? Do you have another job lined up?”

“I wish! I’m going to end up moving back home and hope I can find something there that’ll pay my way through the rest of the year. Some senior year this turned out to be. I’ll probably end up at an online school after this bullshit.”

God, he’s really miserable! I’m starting to feel really horrible for this guy.

“Where’s home?”

“Roosevelt, Oklahoma. I’ve got a long drive ahead of me. I’m going to have to head back tomorrow morning. Just in time for tornado season. Sounds like fun, huh?”

I’m thinking that would be a hellish drive in the rain. Tornado season? They actually have such a thing? That’s pretty scary.

“So you’re not coming back?”

“Nope. I’m afraid someone else will have to deliver your pizzas. That’s too bad. I kind of like delivering to you.”

No doubt because I’m standing here half-naked. I saw him checking me out the last time. He keeps peeking down like he’s hoping this shirt is going to hike up and give him a look at the goods, so to speak. What the hell? When I go get the money off the table, I’ll make sure to bend over and give him a good look at my ass. It’s the least I can do, right? This guy definitely needs some cheering up.

“Well, I like you, too. Here, let me grab the money. Just hang on a second.”

I’d kind of like to see the look on his face when I bend over, but I don’t have eyes in the back of my head. And…get a good look, pal! I have it on good authority that I have a very nice ass! Oh, hell! I thought I’d taken out more money than this from the ATM! Shit! I barely have enough to cover the pizza! What was it I said last time about how much I despise people who don’t tip?

“I’m really sorry. I thought I’d taken out more cash when I stopped at the ATM.”

“Don’t worry about it. Nobody’s tipping today. At least you apologized for it. Most people don’t even do that.”

You know what? Fuck it! I’ve got a tip for him! Remember what I said about how a lot of women have fantasized about banging the delivery guy? Well, I’m never going to see him again, right? I think it’s time to strike a blow for all the women who thought about it and never had the guts to go through with it, don’t you? Why not? I’ve got time to kill and I feel bad for the guy and now that I think about it, it kind of turns me on. Why not?

“Hey, since this is your last day, there’s nothing they can do to you if you come back late, right?”

“I guess not. Why? What are you talking about?”

You’re about to find out, pal!

“Straight-up honest answer, OK? Have you ever seen those films where the guy delivers a pizza to a girl and she can’t pay, so she offers to pay for it a different way?”

I think that just about knocked him over! Good! That tells me he’s seen them!

“Uh, are you talking about…”

“I’m talking about giving you a tip the likes of which you won’t believe! What do you say? Are you up for it?”


“I’m not wearing a thing under this shirt, as you already know. It’s going to rain any minute, now. I’ve got a few hours to kill. And I know some really good rainy day games. The kind they don’t teach you in grammar school. What do you say? Do you want to play with me?”

“Are you…are you serious?”

Am I serious? Let’s see…start rubbing my fingers slowly across that growing bulge in his trousers. Now get close enough to him that he can stare down this shirt and get a look at my boobs. Is this serious enough for you, pal?

“You know those films I was talking about? I do all the things you see in those films and a lot more! I just have one rule: don’t be bashful. This is your big chance, but you’ve got to tell me what you want. If you dummy up, I’ll just fuck you good. But if you’re not bashful, we’ll do the kinds of things you only imagined in your dreams. Believe me, whatever you’ve fantasized about doing with a girl? I’m definitely into it. Our little secret, right? So is it a deal?”

Like I even have to ask, right?

“You got a deal!”

“Good choice!”

Step one: yank his ass inside. Step two, latch the door. Step three: Drop to my knees and I get to work on that bulge in his trousers. Come out, come out, wherever you are! And…there it is! And what’s step four? I’m afraid I’ll have to leave that to your imagination. This is a private performance, after all. Hey, you didn’t bring me a pizza and get a ton of bad news, did you? Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a lot of work to do. The kind of work I’m really looking forward to. Maybe as much as he is? I’ll let you know some other time. In the meantime? ’Bye, ’bye!

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