Baileys Besieged

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Chapter 8

Larry returns to his office to find the man who had the seizure also suffered from a brain embolism and died in the night. The cop can’t help but feel guilty. It seems like I always stand tall, while everyone else’s world crumbles.

A cup of coffee makes him feel a little better as its familiar warmth fills his insides. After finishing the file on the where-s and what-for’s involving the deceased, he makes copies of the notes he had made on events, conversations, and mental notes he derived from the interrogation. Everything reminds him of how unpredictable life is. He can’t help but think of Tina, or imagine if she’s the one? The one. What does that mean? Is it like the term ‘perfect match’? Where have I heard that before? From that television show The Bachelor?

Larry thinks about what the injured man said. Sammy Moore hired me to steal the woman’s bible. The man chuckles to himself.

“Perhaps, there is more to the infamous Omar Redding than meets the eye.”

He picks up the phone and pages his pursuit man in Bora Bora. It takes several minutes before the man telephones back.

“What’s up?”

“Thought you’d tell me, partner.”

“One of his henchmen gave me a talking to.”

“Any physical threats?”

“No. Just the typical rock star groupie thing.

“He hammered ten percent of the island, yet?” Larry says jokingly, and he laughs.

“At least.”

“You ever see Sammy read anything?”

“Like what?”

“A bible, or anything of the such?”

The other man laughs, as if he thinks it’s the funniest thing he ever heard.

“Yeah…He read the hairs on at least a half a dozen tit-ties.”

“You kill me,” Larry says.

“Is there anything else to report?”

“Na…I’m enjoying the rays—though.”

“Don’t end up in traction.”

“I think I’ve got the imp believing I’m a tourist groupie.”

“Ok. Call me if you find anything pop up—out of the ordinary.”

“Will do.”

“Bye,” Larry concludes.

“Over and out,” the tail man returns.

Larry looks over Sammy’s file. He finds six impending paternity suits that were filed against the singer, and written documentation to the effect the man’s DNA didn’t match any of the claimants’ statements. The lawman can’t believe a half a dozen women were after the singer’s money, while at the same time giving nookie to someone else. Did Sammy Moore pay off the DNA Lab? After so many high-profile cases, Omar Redding’s DNA could be brought up at the punch of a few keys.

Larry fills out another report on the one-eyed, deceased man—for those more important than he. He looks down at the paper he has typed it out on, and he doesn’t know whether those who read it will think it is funny or will take it as a wrongdoing on his part.

It has been thirty years in this hell hole. I cannot possibly make everyone happy. I didn’t know the guy would have such a negative reaction to loud music!

Larry walks back over to records.

“Can you look something up for me?” He asks a new personal assistant.

“Sure.”

“Give me a complete printout of Omar Redding’s purchase habits the past six months.”

“Will do. Gas, food, and lodging as well?”

“No. I guess I meant everything besides those three things. Thanks for asking.”

“No problem…I’ve got you covered.”


Larry treats himself to lunch. He loves getting away from the office, because the fresh air works wonders in clearing his head. His mind returns to thoughts of the redhead. True contact was yet to be made, but he already analyzes the possibilities. Old fashioned. What is that really? The man pushes a five-dollar Combo Meal Sandwich into his mouth. Larry feels rejuvenated, inspired, and ready to tackle the world.


Georgia pulls Jeremiah’s tennis-racket out of a hidden corner of the closet, after avoiding it—for what seemed like an eternity. One time she even yelled at Tawny for playing with the object, as if it was a sharp steak knife. Georgia unzips the sleeve, slides it off the racket head, and warm memories come flooding back as if they were court partners—yesterday. She holds the worn grip in her clenched hand and examines the object’s slightly frayed strings.

“Nice shot!” Jeremiah said. Or, “That short tennis skirt really pumps my nads!”

“Forty love…I think you’re letting me win!” Georgia remembers telling him.

“Don’t hurt me.”

Georgia shook her tush, before he served the ball.

“You know how to distract me with that short tennis skirt.”

The woman had blushed a little, but she also enjoyed his praise a great deal more.

“God…You get me so horny.”

Jeremiah smiled like Leonardo DiCaprio, before saying, “That’s my job!”

Quite an eerie feeling comes over the woman, when Georgia hears the electronic Tiger game sound replicated in Jeremiah’s living voice. “Forehand.”

Georgia swings the racket in her hand. Then, she hears Jeremiah say, “Backhand.”

She swings the racket back and plunges it forward and hears a CUSH! — as the ball suddenly makes contact.

Finally, Jeremiah says, “Lob.”

Georgia does a swift badminton punch and hears her honey return the ball into the net, as well as applause from an electronic crowd. She realizes this rarely happened unless Jeremiah let her win. The automated imitation confuses her. In the end, it amounts to absolutely nothing, because her suitor is gone. Georgia wishes she could hold her lover, if for just five minutes.

Nothing matches the smell of a tennis ball’s nap, nothing on planet earth. In the same way, Jeremiah’s masculine scent floods her sensual memory to the point she thinks she will never reach the same state again. A higher plane seems directly out of her reach, elusive, and causes the woman to be remorseful—sometimes. At other times, Georgia is tearful, edgy, and often mentally hard on herself.

Upon moving to a new place... the woman finds the bible, racket, and gun are all she has to hold onto. And, someone tried to steal the bible out from under me! Not raised overly religious, Georgia doesn’t know where the thought originates from. Perhaps, the bible has influenced me, somehow, spiritually? The only thing man can’t take away from me is God. A little over five years until what? What If I’m only kidding myself?

Georgia so wants to believe she can play real tennis with her significant other again—not Pickelball, and hear that unique ball and racket TWANG!

Could I run with him, until sweat cakes my body, until endorphins flood my mind and I feel the sucking air desire of an exhausting tennis match? With a racket in her hand, suddenly (the chosen one) finds herself a budding tennis player without a suitable opponent.


Georgia starts working out at a gym. It isn’t long before she begins to feel better about herself. Besides, it does her ego good to have so many fitness nuts hit on her, because she really doesn’t have an inkling how sexy she looks in a simple bright leotard. It also helps that she wears a colorful woven headband like Olivia Newton John used to wear in her early, high-energy, music videos. Many of her guy friends come to wonder how long she can play hard-to-get? Georgia is proud that she only intermingled and joined souls with Jeremiah, because she finds his memory more compelling and inspiring than any fleeting one-night stand.
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