Rod B. Ice Snake (part 2)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

A celebrity gives Rob B a case so big, he's going to need backup!

The older cop voice responded, “Yeah rookie, I see it. My last day on the freaking job and now I’ve got to stay late tonight to do paperwork. Fantastic!”  I then heard a sound like someone sniffing repeatedly, then the older cop behind me said, “And what on Earth smells like a bag of smashed colons? These bodies haven’t been here long enough to reek that bad!” Ugh, I knew I shouldn’t have cheaped out on those rubbers…

Our veteran officer walked around in front of me, keeping his service pistol trained on me the whole time. Once he saw my face he said to the younger cop, “Lower your weapon rookie, this IS the guy who made the call.” Thankfully, both officers holstered their weapons. As soon as they did, the young cop lost his composure went into a corner and started throwing up- apparently the sight of the mangled bodies was too much for him. The old cop looked at the bodies again and explained in a rather deadpan tone, “Haven’t seen anything like this since 87… boy that was a damn mess.”

Looking over the old cop, I think I recognized him from the local newspapers. I didn’t remember too much about him just off the top of my head, but I recalled that he was a long time Flour City police officer, highly decorated and very savvy, if I remember the gist of the article. Judging by the time of day and what he said, he was almost ready to clock out for good and call it a career, when he and his partner were assigned to my call.

Jesus and I stood up, and I looked over at him to shoot him a glance that screamed, “Let me do the talking here”. I then spoke to the older cop, “I don’t know what info you have right now, but we are looking for a man named…”

The veteran cop cut me off, “Cob Backlund. Big guy. Likes guns and hates Tawny- I’m way ahead of you. Listen kid, me and the rookie have got this one. You and Pancho Vila here just hang back and let the pro’s handle this.”

What a dick! I’m glad he was clued in and I didn’t have to waste precious energy explaining things yet again, but a little tact would have gone a long way. Actually, I think my repeated run-ins with law enforcement and less-than-outstanding reputation in the community (coupled with stank aroma of expired sex lube) probably gives him some justification for this. All of that contributed, plus it was crunch time here. Tawny’s life was on the line, and while planning and working together were important, every second mattered, so I kind of understood why he was all barking orders.

The grizzled officer kept going, “Here’s what’s going to happen. I know this arena like the back of my hand, and I’ve got security access everywhere. I used the automated door locking system to seal the next door ahead of us- the green room where Tawny would be waiting to get out on the ice.”

Just as he finished his sentence, a loud guitar rift broke out, followed by a loud voice over the arena sound system, “ARE YOU READY TO ROCK… ON ICE!?” A massive guitar solo followed, and even some fireworks started going off; the concert was beginning.

The old cop raised his voice practically to a yell and kept his thought going, “I guarantee you that Cob went through this door and is trapped in the room ahead with Tawny. If we hurry, she may still be alive.” At first I thought that intentionally putting them in a locked room together was an awful idea, but actually it keeps Cob isolated in one place. We’d have a better chance of stopping him if he’s contained to one room than if he had the run of the arena. Plus, if Tawny could have escaped that room, she wouldn’t have been able to go very far. Cob would have easily found and captured her, as she was sitting in the green room with ice skates on, so even with the door unlocked it wouldn’t have mattered- Tawny still had no real way to escape.

Our seasoned cop still had more to say, as he continued on, this time with a sense of urgency in his voice, “The rookie here, don’t let him fool you, he graduated top of his police academy class, and is the best shooter I’ve seen in all my years on the force. We’re going through this door at the end of the dressing room here, and set up at the entrance to the green room up ahead. I’ve got the code to unlock the green room door- I’ll put it in, then the rookie and I will bust in and take down that son of a bitch.”

With that, the old cop got on his radio and made a quick call back to headquarters, girded his loins, and left with the rookie out of Tawny’s dressing room. Opening the door out of the dressing room, true enough to the cop’s word, there was a short but very wide hallway leading to the green room ahead. I started to wonder if the green room really was green, and why they called it that. Maybe because some performers got so nervous that they frequently barfed right before getting on stage, thereby painting the walls green.

There was a lot of junk in the hallway, large equipment boxes mostly, stacked up to about 5 feet high. The cops marched out into the hallway first, I took cover behind some equipment boxes on the left side of the hallway, and I instructed Jesus to take up position on the right side. The cops, particularly the older one, would handle this one. I could just sit back, let them do the hard work, and after they make the arrest, I can collect my cool $500. Sure I was knocked unconscious and almost killed in an explosion, but once I got paid it would be all worth it.

The two officers each drew their pistols and lined up in front of the locked green room door. The old cop looked at the rookie (who looked more calm than he probably felt), and the veteran nodded his head to signal he was ready. The rookie nodded back- it was go time!

The veteran cop used a keypad on the door to enter a four digit code. The instant the keypad accepted the code, it issued a loud beep. In one fluid sequence of motion, the old cop stepped back, lifted his right foot, and kicked the door in right on the release bar as to send the door flying open!


Damn, right out of the gate- the cops didn’t last one second.

The door was booby (haha… booby) trapped- some kind of a shaped charge rigged to the door. The instant the door was kicked in, it detonated, blowing the door off the hinges, and sending some kind of shrapnel flying. Whatever was in that bomb, it sent fire and flying bits of metal everywhere in the hallway. The boxes Jesus and I were behind had held, and while a few were set ablaze, we were ok.

I looked at Jesus and yelled, “Bueno?” to which he replied by giving me a thumbs up. We pulled out our weapons- Jesus with the Glock I lent him, and me with my .44 magnum revolver. The dust was starting to settle from the explosion- there was carnage everywhere, fire, blood, shrapnel… the cops bodies were so badly destroyed that the coroner would have to play Mr. Potatohead just to get the limbs and extremities to match the torso bits that were strewn about.

However, the green room ahead, which no longer had a door to it, looked just fine. Whatever that explosive was, it thankfully exploded only towards us, and nothing inside the green room was disturbed. The explosion wouldn’t have killed Tawny, assuming that she was still alive.

That green room was where we needed to go. There was a fire spreading slowly in the hallway here, and the door behind us was still locked. Once the fire suppression system kicked in, all the locked doors in the arena would release, but I didn’t want to stick around near the flames until that happened (if the fire system even still worked after that explosion).

I could hear the roar of the crowd echoing around us: the concert just got underway, and the sound of the explosion was drowned out by an 808 drum solo being played at volume factor 11. Looking over at Jesus I shouted, “Jesus, primero!” Basically I wanted him to lead the way- he was still my little Mexican meat shield and I intended to use his services to the fullest.

Jesus looked back at me and scowled, yelling back, “No way esse, you go first!” I rolled my eyes and decided to compromise with him. “Fine we go together, ok?!” I screamed back. But before we could do anything next…


Out from the green room came a battle cry- it was Cob! Jesus and I popped out from the cover of our equipment boxes, and tried to get eyes (and bullets) on him, but we were too late.


Cob unloaded multiple rounds from his assault rifle- the first few fired at me, but missing their mark. Several rounds whistled past me head and smashing into the concrete wall behind me. The rest barely deflected off the boxes I was behind, sending shards of metal and sparks everywhere. How I wasn’t hit, I’ll never know, but it seemed like Cob SHOULD have hit me, however he was firing way too erratically.

I managed to drop down in time, as another hail of bullets ripped into the boxes. These equipment boxes held lighting rigs, sound equipment, and other miscellaneous electronics- hardly bulletproof material. Every bullet cob fired chewed up my cover just a little more, and I don’t know how much it could take until bullets started getting through.

Cob focused only on hitting me, he either didn’t notice or didn’t care about Jesus. Round after round of high powered ammunition tore up my cover. One bullet shattered some glass inside of a box, sending tiny glass shards flying into my body like tiny bits of shrapnel. I had to get lower- I ducked down all the way onto the ground, hoping that Satan, Buddha, Oprah, or whoever, could get me out of this.

Since Cob was literally unloading as fast as he could pull the trigger, he ran his clip dry fairly quickly. In less than ten seconds he pumped 30 rounds in my direction, and finally stopped to reload. Cob was a pro, and the pause to reload only bought me a precious few seconds. But I was prone on the ground, glass embedded in my chest, a fire slowly creeping closer, and my cover turning into Swiss cheese. I was in no position to return fire- but Jesus was.


Despite all the noise and confusion, Jesus realized that cob was reloading. Cob hit the mag release on his rifle, and let the spent clip fall to the floor. It landed with a thud, and the instant it did, Jesus returned fire!

With the mechanical precision of someone who knew a thing or two about the art of face-shooting, Jesus aimed his Glock pistol at Cob and pulled the trigger as fast as he could. A rapid staccato of gunfire was heard, as a volley of 9mm slugs made their way towards our enemy.

The first round caught Cob square in his body armor, and he staggered back, fumbling the new magazine he tried to insert into his rifle. It fell to the floor, as he yelled out and stumbled backwards and struggled to keep his balance.

And Jesus kept firing… albeit too much too fast. His first round hitting its mark was great, but his follow up shots all missed. They went sailing around Cob, ricocheting off the walls in the hallway, and some even going into the green room itself. In a few seconds Jesus emptied the whole fifteen round clip on the Glock, with only one solid hit to show for it.

But now was my chance- ignoring the pain and the bleeding in my chest, I picked myself up off the ground. Looking over at Jesus, (who himself was now trying to reload), I stood up from my cover, and began to point my .44 at Cob hallway. We had a momentary advantage, and had to keep the pressure up. We were running out of time and didn’t have much ammo, or any good cover to get behind.

The instant my revolver was pointed down the hallway, I cocked the hammer back… but Cob was gone! The brief few seconds between when Jesus ducked down and I got up to fire, gave Cob enough time to sneak back into the green room- Damnit! The last thing we needed was for him to regroup and reload. Jesus and I were in the same position as when this whole thing started, and weren’t able to charge the green room, or retreat.

A few more very tense seconds passed. I kept my revolver trained at the door, and Jesus was working on reloading (his gun must have jammed, maybe he dropped his clip, put the new one in backwards, whatever- it was taking too long). I didn’t know what to do next- the only advantage Jesus and I had in our favor was that there were two of us. Plus, Cob already took one round in the chest- his bulletproof vest was a lot like the boxes we were using for cover: it could take some punishment, but not too much. Also, Cob was firing more erratically than us. Granted he had to, as he couldn’t target Jesus and me simultaneously. But his rounds were more spread out than I figured they would be.

Jesus finished his reload, and he sprung out of cover himself. Just then, I saw Cob’s meaty arm stick out from the door and throwing two objects into the air… Pipe bombs!!

Time slowed to a crawl, my head became clear, and my eyes and arms instinctively guided themselves. There was no fire, there was no pain, there was no fear. There was no concert, no case, no $500 reward. There was no body, no spirit, no Earth itself. The universe consisted of only of my revolver, and the metal cylinders flying in the air. The hammer was already cocked back.


Of the two pipe bombs in the air, I connected with one, and it detonated, sending a shockwave throughout the room. Fortunately, the one pipe bomb I shot was so far away that the concussive force only felt like a gentle breeze. The sound was deafening, but collateral damage was minimal…. For about one second. The second pipe bomb was hit by the detonation of the one I managed to shoot. It bounced all around the small room like a pinball, finally landing on my side of the room, right in between some of the equipment boxes. A moment later, the pipe bomb expl…


Flaming wooden and metallic debris erupted into the air like a volcano. This time, I was knocked flat against the wall behind me, and my cover was now completely obliterated. The impact with the wall racked my body with searing pain, my skull (which had already seen its share of trauma today), smashed into the concrete wall behind me with a disgusting thud.

I was snapped back into reality just an instant later, I wasn’t going to go down this way. I needed to get to Jesus, he had the only remaining cover left, the only safe haven (albeit a very temporary one) left in this room. Exposed, I would be dead in an instant… I had to move.

The impact to the wall was powerful, but my grip on my trusty .44 magnum was stronger. It never left my hand, and to buy myself a few precious seconds while I gimped over to Jesus, I laid down covering fire, right into the green room.


Five shots went sailing into the green room. I have no idea if Cob was hit or not. Hell, at that moment I didn’t care if Tawny herself walked in front of my bullets. I was getting out of harm’s way no matter what. Between each shot I sidestepped a few more feet until I was eventually behind cover- Jesus and I were now wedged behind this fragile equipment box. It was out of the fire and into the… into the marginally less intense fire, I guess.


Cob returned fire, jumping out of cover and heading straight towards us! Jesus and I ducked down as another flurry of high velocity rifle bullets shredded our flimsy cover. Huge chunks of wood splintered and exploded inches away from us. Cob emptied another clip, but he still had many more, and our cover was blown- literally. I was able to actually see through holes in the equipment box at cob, and I watched him as he went to reload yet again. He was burning through ammo fast, but we’d still be long dead before he ran out.

Jesus, knowing the end might be near, outright panicked. He left out from cover, I guess deciding if he was going out, he would go out shooting. Jesus unloaded on his Glock Cob, striking him in his armor again, another round catching him in the bottom of his ear, and several more nearly missing. But Cob never flinched this time, taking the slug in the chest without even having to take a step backwards and largely ignoring his now severed and bleeding ear lobe.

Jesus ran through the second clip on the Glock, and went to reload again. Unfortunately, Cob reloaded his rifle first. Cob slammed the bolt forward with a metallic click, and opened fire. The first several rounds missed their mark, but Cob’s destiny was not to be denied. A 5.56 round finally caught Jesus right into his shoulder. He spun around like some kind of hobo ballerina, the Glock flying into the air, as he fell flat on the back onto a heap of shredded wood and warped metal. Worse, what Jesus landed on was the destroyed remnants of an equipment box, and the pieces all collapsed onto him burying his body in a thin layer of debris. Only one of his hands stuck out from the heap of rubble, twitching slightly.

Cob paused to take in his accomplishment, and I took advantage of the moment. I hit the cylinder release on my revolver, letting the spent casings hit the floor. I reached into my heavily torn jacket to pull out another six round moon clip and… damn! My suit coat was so torn that the moon clips were stuck! I gave a hearty tug, and the jacket fabric gave way, my arms launching forward!

I accidently threw one of the moon clips several feet away and into the growing fire, but managed to hold on to the other one. Six bullets were all that stood between me and certain death. This is the understatement of the century, but things didn’t look good right now.

Jamming the final moon clip into my revolver, I slapped the cylinder back, and cocked the hammer. I couldn’t stay where I was, as the next volley of bullets would likely kill me. But I couldn’t just pop up and start shooting at Cob- he was way too fast and would gun me down instantly.

Just then, I heard a voice from the rubble where Jesus fell. “Rod B! Amigo! Duster! Duster!” Jesus yelled, his one hand sticking out of the pile and motioning for me to throw him the can of extra strength computer duster that I was to give him upon completion of this job.

Stupid junkies… not that I’ve lived a life where I was in a good position to judge someone, but he wanted to get high right now!? Oh well, I figured we were doomed anyway, might as well let him have it. I reached into the remains of my suit coat again, and found the small bottle of extra strength duster. I yelled to Jesus, “Ready, here it comes!” I tossed the bottle a few feet in the air in his direction.


Cob reflexively shot at the can, but every round missed. I watched the can of duster travel in a slow arc over to the one exposed hand of Jesus, who caught it in dramatic fashion! Somehow, some way, that bastard snatched the can as a hail of bullets flew all around him. Jesus’s hand, still holding the duster, disappeared beneath the pile of debris he was trapped in. Ironically, the debris that trapped Jesus also protected him from the incoming gunfire, as rounds ricocheted everywhere off the debris!

As soon as Cob stopped firing, I struck. Leaping up as fast as I could, I returned fire. Despite the fact I was injured, and the room filled with smoke (so I had almost no visibility), I was determined to finally take down that SOB.


My first bullet hurtled towards Cob, justice being delivered at several thousand feet per second. It struck him clean in the chest, cracking his body armor (unlike the Glock, my .44 magnum rounds are dramatically more powerful), and sent him staggering.


This follow up shot only hit air, sailing wide and to the left of Cob, destroying a large chunk of concrete behind him in a miniature explosion of rock and dust.


I would not miss again. Another bullet hurtled through small room, spiraling towards Cob with a raucous sound and fury. Again his chest cavity was slammed with several hundred grains of pain, and his bullet proof vest finally had enough. The armor plate protecting him shattered, stopping the actual round from penetrating, but being utterly destroyed in the process and offering no more protection. Furthermore, the kinetic impact of the bullet, this time around was much more dramatic thanks to the fractured vest. Cob didn’t just stagger; he arms flying backwards, and exposing his chest for the killing shot.

My confidence returned, and I decided to disarm him before I finished the job. Victory, and $500, was mine for the taking.


My fifth round wasn’t targeted at Cob, I took out his rifle instead. Aiming at his AR-15, I shot it square in the receiver (the part that holds the trigger and most of the major components), and destroyed that as well. An detonation of red hot metal and plastic happened right in Cob’s hand. This time, he finally bellowed out in pain and defeat, as his best weapon was instantly reduced to a useless hunk of metallic splinters.

This was it Cob, see you in hell.


Crap… a dud? A dud!


Damn, well this is awkward.

I furiously pulled the trigger again and again, hoping that maybe if I kept pulling it my gun would magically fire. But the cold hard fact was that I was out of ammunition. I looked over at Cob, and saw a wry smile on his face.

Cob looked down at his hand which was burned, but not broken or bleeding. His body armor was still on his shoulders, but it was just dead weight at this point, so he quickly disconnected his vest and let it drop to the floor. Cob stood at me, hulking and imposing, burned and bloodied, and filled with more rage than a rhino on PCP.

He looked like he was about to snort and charge my way in fact. I didn’t have much time. I could keep trying to fire at him, maybe this dud is a hang fire and the next trigger pull will be the lucky one. Or maybe I could try and duck him, making a mad dash for the manual pull fire alarm on the wall. That way I could open the door I came in and try to get away. Maybe there was something nearby, anything that I could fight Cob with, preferably the Glock that I gave Jesus that went flying after he got shot.

Cob started bearing down on me, stalking towards me slowly instead of charging. Even after taking three shots to his bulletproof vest, I imagine he would beat me death within seconds. There was nowhere for me to go- a locked door behind me, flaming rubble to either side, and a highly jacked, extremely pissed psychopath closing the distance between us.

Closer he came, intentionally slowing up as to savor the moment. Before when he tried to kill me, it was just business. I was just collateral damage to him, nothing more- it’s wasn’t personal. But funny how pumping a few live rounds into a man will make him slightly more annoyed. This time, my death wouldn’t be as quick. I imagine his meaty hands could snap my neck like a cute little bunny, but I could only imagine he’d spend a few moments beating me, and then retreat to the green room to finish both Tawny and me off at once.

In moments, Cob was only ten feet away, when he stopped. He was staring me down, slowly tilting his head and cracking his neck, his bulging biceps getting charged and ready, before closing in for the kill.

But before he could even take one more step, Jesus burst out of the rubble that he was buried under! Wood and metal scraps flew everywhere, as exploded from the pile, hands held high in the air (one still holding the extra-strength duster can), and screamed so loud I could hear him over the fire and rock concert.

Cob was ready for me, but not this. Despite Jesus taking a round in the shoulder, he took the fight to Cob. He literally leaped from where he was standing, into a jump kick. Cob, as it turned out, was like most very big men- strong but slow. Plus no one expects a Mexican junky to burst out of flaming rubble and to deploy a jump kick to the sternum. I would use the phrase Mexican jumping bean… but that’s probably pretty racist.

Oh yeah, the epic fight. Anyway, Jesus caught Cob straight in the chest with his worn-out sneaker, the same chest that already had been wounded from the gunshots earlier. Cob winced in pain and stumbled back, but still kept on his feet. Jesus would have to do a lot more than that to take the big man down.

Fortunately, Jesus was more than just a one-kick pony. Empowered by the dizzying high of the extra-strength computer duster, Jesus unloaded a rapid combination of punches and kicks. A left hook smashed one side of cobs face, and a right hook smashed the other, blood spilling out of his mouth as his head recoiled from the impact. Cob took another step back and tried to get his hands up, but the pummeling continued.

Jesus delivered a swift kick to Cob’s knee, shifting his knee cap and causing his leg to buckle. The big guy, now down on one knee, continued to absorb punishment. Every move Jesus did, Cob had no answer- more punches to the nose, kicks to the side of the head, and even an elbow to the neck of Cob.

But after this powerful onslaught, Jesus started to slow. Cob was starting to get his hands in the way and block a few of his moves. Damn, the duster was wearing off already!

Jesus, who just moments ago looked like a UFC fighter who’s kids were being held hostage, now couldn’t even get a solid shot in. Cob quickly took advantage. Knowing that Jesus was shot in the shoulder, Cob used one of his giant bear paws to latch onto that wounded shoulder and wrenched it hard. He didn’t break Jesus’s arm, but Jesus crumpled to the ground, screaming in pain as Cob was using his fingers to drive into the bullet wound. Blood shot out everywhere as Cob ripped open the wound with merely his fingers.

Crap, maybe there was something in my pockets I could hurl at him? Who was I kidding, unless my wallet spontaneously became a grenade, then that was no help. I wasn't about to throw my phone, although maybe that would be smart, as I'd rather my phone be wiped completely before I die here. My lucky spare bullet I kept in my breast pocket wouldn't... holy lord of the underworld, how could I forget! I always kept one extra round in my breast pocket, mostly for luck, and also because I just happened to put one in there one time and forgot to take it out. It's been through the wash once or twice, but I'm sure the proximity to my blanket-like chest hair kept it warm enough to dry out each time.

I hit the cylinder release on my .44, and the spent casings (along with the dud round) dropped down to the floor. Cob assumed I was reloading, and like a predator that was done toying with his prey, dropped Jesus's now limp and barely conscious body and started sprinting towards me. He was done dicking around and was going to take me out quickly.

My hands worked as deftly as they would allow me, my right hand bringing the revolver in front of me to reload one last round, and my left hand reaching into my pocket. Cob was closing the distance fast, I wasn't going to make it! Each step he took seemed like an eternity, as I was deep into the agonizing process of getting one final bullet into my gun.

Cob's body was tilted fully forward, bringing his shoulders down and aiming squarely for me. My hand drew the bullet out and placed it into the cylinder. He took another giant step, his face in a grimace, blood all over him, his quarry in his sights. The bullet slid smoothly into the cylinder, my right wrist snapped, locking it into place with a solid 'click'. Cob leaped towards me, intent on ramming me like a Mack truck into a moped, his gigantic frame now an instant away. The hammer pulled back one more time.



Cob hit me full force in my injured chest, but at that very moment of impact, I fired off my final round. As Cob’s massive frame collided with me, my hand was jostled, so it wasn't a clean shot. But that’s ok- the beauty of a .44 magnum round at point blank range is that ANY shot is a good shot.

His forward momentum didn't break, but his shoulder tackle never transitioned to a bear hug with subsequent massive pummeling. Sure, I felt my ribs break like Dollar Tree Christmas ornaments, and I was thrown backwards into a pile of debris that just started to catch fire, but as they say, "you should see the other guy". I never shot Cob in the head; instead as my right arm travelled in an upward arc, I pulled the trigger. My lucky bullet entered the top of Cob's shoulder, and since he was in the middle of a full-on horizontal leap, it travelled straight down his torso.

Whatever rib cage he had was obliterated bone by bone, and the power of the heavyweight slug travelled down his entire upper body. Oh, and his heart and lungs were also turned to jelly along the way, the round destroying every vital organ in its path, finally exiting near his ass- literally giving him a second corn chute.

Much like Jesus only moments before, it was my turn to crumple into a big pile of broken. As gravity introduced me to the floor, I smashed my head into the concrete (yet again), vigorously shaking my head and killing yet a few more precious brain cells. My whole vision blurred out for a moment, but as everything became clear, I saw the look on Cob's face- he realized that he had only seconds left to live. Worse yet for him, the look on his face tipped me off that he failed in his mission- Cob didn't care if he lived or died. He died inside many years ago when that school bus crashed. But he didn't live long enough to kill Tawny- which says to me that $500 will soon be mine!

But collecting that sweet stack of $10's and $20's was all contingent upon survival. There was still a fire that had quickly morphed into a raging inferno. However the fire and our gunfight didn't go unnoticed any longer.

The previously locked dressing door behind me bust open, and the instant it did, the smoke and heat in the room set off the fire suppression system! I guess there were sensors immediately behind the door, so the moment it opened, a shower of white chemicals rained down on us, much like a very toxic snowfall. It sucked out just enough oxygen from the room and smothered the fire almost instantly.

Following that dramatic extinguishing, the police arrived! I didn't get a good look at them, but a male and a female uniformed officer rushed in, guns drawn. Immediately they pointed at Cob, who had finally expired and was now just a very muscular corpse. The cops shouted, "HANDS MOTHERFUCKER, LET ME SEE YOUR HANDS!!"

Cob did not comply, and I heard the female officer scream out, "HE'S COMING RIGHT FOR US!!"


The male officer put his weapon down and said, "We got him, we saved Tawny Kitaen! I bet we'll get a key to the city for this one!" The female officer replied, “I sure hope so. By the way, why does it smell like that 55 gallon drum of rancid KJ Jelly we found at the gay bath house last month?”

I couldn’t even get my comeback in, as all I could do is slide into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness. Post-concussion syndrome, take me away…


I'm Casey Flynn Toyota with Flour City News, and we interrupt this regularly scheduled program with a breaking story. A deadly shootout has just taken place backstage of the heavily anticipated White Snake on Ice concert last night at the Boer War Memorial Arena. An attempt was made on the life of the star of the show, former model and current ice dancer, 53 year-old Tawny Kitaen. Two heroic police officers arrived just in time to save the life of Tawny Kitaen, and neutralized an active shooter. Exclusive details are coming up now, right here, on Flour City News.


About a week later I was finally let out of the hospital, although Jesus had to stay and detox. I tried to convince the hospital to let him go, and let him be. I mean for once drugs really DID save our lives!

I probably could have been discharged a few days ago, but the morphine kept-a-flowing so I basically rode that train as long as I could.

Tawny was in the hospital all week as well, apparently her ordeal left her with a critical case of exhaustion. But the ice show was rescheduled, and she still was able to perform, just one week after her attempted kidnapping/murder. Thanks to my role in helping bring Cob to justice (and by justice I mean the morgue) Tawny's security gave me two tickets to the show. I was going to take Doug Taro, but since it was too near a school zone he couldn't go. Not that it would have mattered much, as I was seated behind a friggin’ pillar the size of a California redwood. It sounded good though, I guess.

Today was a great day- I was finally going to settle up with Tawny. I'd collect my $500, maybe take a very awkward selfie or two, and even try pickpocket her purse for something cool. I imagine even a used Tawny Kitaen tampon would fetch quite the high dollar on eBay.

Just like at the beginning of this whole tale, Tawny walked into my office. I'm not sure if this was on purpose, but she wore a white dress very reminiscent of what she famously wore while hood-dancing all those years ago.

This time around, Tawny wasn't alone. Apparently hired steak-heads are easy to find, as she had two new body guards in tow. At this point I've had enough of jocks with buzz cuts and hair triggers. So I welcomed Tawny with, "Tawny! So great to see you- great show the other night! Please, take a seat." I pointed her to the chair in front of my desk. I then politely asked, "Listen, it's a small office here, and given the fact that I helped save your life, how about you ask your security to stay outside for just a moment?"

Her security goons looked at her like puppies who'd just been scolded, but they did obey. I think I heard one of them grunt as they went back out in the hallway, most likely standing on either side of the door and thinking about how much many cups of Creatine to use in their next post workout shake.

So it was now just Tawny and I alone, and I decided to put all my cards are on the table. I know we had agreed upon $500, and normally I'd be ok with that from anyone else.... But this was 80's icon Tawny Kitaen. Plus I think I earned myself a little hazard pay. Still, I decided to approach things from a practical standpoint first, before I started in on any hardball tactics.

Looking her in the eyes (as opposed to a place below her eyes), I began my pitch. I needed to lead off with some small talk, "First of all Tawny, how are you holding up?"

She flipped her hair and told me, "I'm doing much better. I owe a lot to you detective Rod B- if you hadn't called the police when you did, who knows what that maniac would have done!"

I tried to stifle the murderous rage inside myself and calmly replied, "Well it all worked out with you being safe, and that bastard won't be bothering anyone ever again." My ribs suddenly ached again as I said that, but the blister pack of hydrocodone tabs I picked up certainly help. Wincing a little, I got to the heart of the matter.

"At any rate, it has really been... quite an experience working with you. I must say it has been a bigger job than I ever could have imagined". I let my tone become more serious, but still polite. I leaned forward in my chair and went on, "As is customary in the private detective field, if any extraordinary expenses arrive in completing a case, we are entitled to reimbursement of said expenses. For instance, some parking tickets when my automobile was parked at the arena, a Glock handgun that my partner was using ended up destroyed in a fire, a new suit, my wrist smelling so terrible it required delousing, and then there is the matter of my medical bills."

In reality, the Glock that Jesus used was something I got off of a gang banger a few cases back, so it wasn't something I actually paid for. I had more than a few completely identical suits. My smelly wrist just required an ordinary hand washing. Plus I wasn't about to pay any of the parking tickets or medical bills I accrued anyway, even if I won the lottery. The bill I received just made for a nice bargaining chip, I think- I've never tried this before and was totally winging it.

Tawny spent a few moments taking my words in, before shooting back with, "Well, what were you thinking would be fair?" Tawny asked this so politely all the while she reached into her purse and pulled out a checkbook. Wow, this was going great!

I looked at her and began the final part of my argument, "Well, all told, including hazard pay and tip, a fair amount would be right at $300,000."

Her response was predictable, but still priceless. Her eyes got big and she looked at me in shock, and bluntly replied, "Look Rod B, that's way too much. I know I put you in harm’s way, not that I had any way of knowing that, but we agreed on $500 and I'm holding you to that!"

Ok, time to play hardball. No... Not just hardball, the HARDEST of balls.

I pulled out my phone, and loaded up the recording Cob made for the media after I was to have been blown up in his basement. Without even saying a word, I hit "play" on the video and held it out for Tawny to see.

After about 30 seconds in to the video, I could see her facade had been completely broken. She looked at me, the dejection written all over her face, and said, "Rod B... I... I don't even have $300,000- even after the show I can't get that much!"

Allowing a few seconds to pass, I leaned backwards in my chair, put my feet up on my desk, and clasped my hands behind my head. I didn't even need to say a word- I just looked down at my crotch, then back at her. Down to my crotch, then back to Tawny. Then one last time- look down at the crotch, and back to Tawny. Finally speaking to her, "All I ask is for my $500 as promised, and five minutes with..." I let my voice trail off but finished my sentence by very deliberately looking down at my crotch one final time.

I saw Tawny's eyes roll back in her head and she replied. "Fine, I get it, just... stop doing that." She continued, "I'll give you the $500, and two minutes for..." She had to stop because I think she threw up in her mouth slightly.

I gave my final counter offer, "$500, two minutes, plus a lock of your hair, and one naked picture of you from the neck down."


Ah... acquiescence to my blackmail induced sexual advances. This is as close to actual attraction from Tawny Kitaen as I was going to get! I'm also not mad I went down to two minutes from my initial request of five. Odds are all I'd need is one minute anyway!


Fin (means "The End" in some other language)

Submitted: August 27, 2015

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