Hurricane Kretschman.
4th book in Fish Fishbein's "Adventures in La-La Land" series.
Chapter 1
Fish shut off the water, opened the shower door and reached for a towel, humming a little Joe Walsh while he dried himself off.
It was the crack of eleven on an already hot August morning.
The sun was out and the songbirds around his patio were doing their best to recreate a scene from Cinderella.
And down below the cliffs that housed his North Malibu Barrio, the whales were hanging out in the cove and singing a little doo-wop.
It was a beautiful freakin’ day.
Made even nicer by the thought that, for the next couple of weeks, somebody else was going to have to be the repo man and bounty hunter to the stars.
Because by this time tomorrow, he and his two buds, Kenny and Einstein, were going to be on vacation.
Lickity-splitting their way to Sturgis, South Dakota for the biggest biker rally in the biz.
Just them and their hogs. Plus Fish’s friend Elias Hope on his Harley trike.
Hanging out and getting silly ‘n stupid with about a million of their closest buds and bud-ettes.
In a town of less than seven thousand.
Fish looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror while he brushed his teeth, and just chuckled.
Still humming his Joe Walsh tune, he wrapped the damp towel around his waist, slipped his little piggies into a pair of thongs and shuffled out the bathroom door.
Life had been good to him so far.
That was his first mistake.
“Dude..!” Kenny held out a steaming mug of coffee. “You like, s-o-o-o gotta try this.”
Kenny and his brah, Einstein were Big Dog Recoveries’ two oldest – and only --employees. They lived in Fish’s guest house, and each brought a unique set of skills to the party.
Einstein was all but dissertation on his Ph.D. in theoretical physics. And since he never met a quark or neutrino he didn’t like, he was a whiz with electrons. Particularly, the kind of sub-atomic particles that flowed through the ignition system of your average deadbeat’s delinquent vehicle.
Kenny, on the other hand, managed to stumble out of the era of sex, drugs and platform shoes a few brain synapses lighter than when he fell in. His thought engine might not always fire on all cylinders. But he was freakin’ Mensa material when it came to the antique Italian espresso machine sitting on the kitchen counter.
Fish took a moment to hang his nose over the mug and savor the aroma.
“Dude, it’s like the fruity spicy-ness of an awesome Ethiopian. Plus like, the totally awe-some lustiness of like, a w-a-a-y delicioso Columbian.”
The Big Dog took a healthy sip, closed his eyes and let a huge grin spread across his countenance.
“Kenny, this stuff freakin’ kills. Really, man.”
Fish’s third in command took a moment to revel in his main bud, boss and mentor’s compliment. While he stood there smiling, Fish’s eye happened to fall on the massive pile of clothes, camping gear and flotsam heaped on the floor at the far end of the great room.
“What the Hell is all that?” he chuckled, gesturing with his head toward the mound of earthly possessions. “Guys, when I said get some stuff together for the trip to Sturgis, I didn’t mean everything you two own.”
“Wull,” Kenny was knocked a little off balance by the Big Dog’s criticism. “How’m I supposed to like, know what goes and like, what stays, Brah?”
Fish opened his mouth to tell Kenny to only take what he could fit in his chopper’s saddle bags or lashed behind him on the seat, when he was drowned out by a loud burst of potato-potato-potato-ing.
Someone, with a big-ass V-twin engine and un-muffled straight pipes, was blipping their throttle out in the driveway.
He took another swig of the coffee, set his mug down on the counter and the three headed out the door to the garage, accompanied by Beast, Big Dog Recoveries’ head of security.
The little guy had started life as a pampered and spoiled little Beverly Hills lap pooch. He was owned by a client, a wanna-be starlet whose boyfriend had set her up in a pad right behind the tuchas of the Beverly Hills hotel. He’d also gifted her with a cute little Lhasa Apso puppy named Mr. Foo. And a dog collar that, he forgot to mention, was stuffed with hot diamonds.
Too bad the starlet and her significant other had to have a run-in with the business end of a hit man who dressed in black Armani and talked like Marilyn Monroe.
Which left the two permanently posing for the paparazzi at that big A-list Oscar party in the sky.
So, Mr. Foo officially joined the payroll at Big Dog Recoveries.
And became another permanent house guest at Casa de Fish.
Plus, thanks to the ex-Baywatch babe who lived next door, the little guy was now rocking a seriously epic tangle of dreds, beads and ribbons that made him look like a height-challenged Parliament Funkadelic backup singer.
Along with a new handle that totally jibed with his new attitude:
Beast.
The three Bounty Hunters to the Stars took a moment to check out the noisy visitor serenading them out by the garage, and then shrugged at each other.
To the best of their collective knowledge, none of them could think of a road brother – or even a nodding acquaintance -- who dinked around on a Harley with a lavender tank.
Nope.
No freakin’ way.
Then there was the mystery scoot’s engine. Decidedly bigger, more powerful and way louder than a Harley Twin Cam 88.
Even the 73 cubic incher.
But what really had the three befuddled was the pair of large lumps in the rider’s outfit. Like they’d shoplifted a bodacious set of ta-ta’s and stuffed them into their leather jacket.
Fish, Kenny and Einstein exchanged another series of shrugs, then the Big Dog turned back to their mystery guest and drew his thumb across his throat.
The lavender-tanked rider nodded in compliance and shut off the engine.
Then raised its helmet visor.
But all that told them was that their visitor had green eyes.
Fish started toward the oddly colored Harley, shuffling in his thongs as he walked.
The rider’s helmet shook slowly from left to right and a loud chuckle came from inside the protective headgear.
Just as Fish got to the now quiet Harley, the rider pulled their helmet off.
Which revealed a striking, blonde-haired woman who was definitely not a road brother, not to anyone they knew.
“Hey,” she smiled.
Fish broke into his biggest, most Buddha-licious grin.
“I’ll be god damned,” he chuckled.
Then he wrapped her in a bear hug that almost toppled the two of them off her hog.
Kenny and Einstein exchanged another set of puzzled shrugs.
“Wull...maybe they like, knew each other from like, some totally other place. I mean, ya think?”
“Yeah?” Einstein just shook his head. “What was your first clue?”
“Guys, remember that whole thing with the RV? The one up in Idaho?”
Einstein nodded, while Kenny performed a quick search of his internal hard drive.
“Whuh, y’mean the one with like, that dead dude in the freezer?”
“On the nose-y,” Fish touched his finger to the tip of his schnozz. “Say hello to Officer Shawna Kretschman. The nice police lady who locked our butts up a couple of times back there.”
He gave her another hug.
“Y’know, when I said come on down for a little riding and whatever, I had no idea…”
Still perched on the seat of her Harley, Officer Kretschman shot him a warm smile and a noncommittal raise of her eyebrows.
“Listen, come on in. You want a little breakfast? Some coffee? What would you like to do?”
She stretched, sending each arm wide to the side.
“Ok, first, I have GOT to grab a shower.”
“No problem. Then what?”
“Then?!” Shawna chuckled. “Christ, Fish. I just rode eight hundred miles with this thing vibrating like a son of a bitch between my legs.”
She let one of her hands find its way inside the towel still wrapped around the Big Dog’s waist.
“What the fuck do you think I want to do!?”
****
The top of the sun had just slithered under the horizon as Fish and Deputy Shawna followed the restaurant’s host to their table.
The two were out for a nice and quiet, romantic dinner at Leonard Elmore’s, a place on the Ventura pier where the sea’s bounty was always fresh; the table linens were always clean and crisp; and the bartender was always more than generous.
Fish was decked out in his one suit, a piece of sort-of formal business attire he kept in the back of his closet for court appearances and those times when he had to look like a member of the bar.
And Deputy Kretschman had cleaned up spectacularly. Somehow, she managed to pull together a gorgeously tailored dress, top and matching shoes from the contents of her Harley’s saddle bags. Add the glow from a little makeup and a handful of orgasms, and the lady law enforcement professional captured every eye in the joint as she and Fish proceeded to their table.
Including the two sets of eyeballs belonging to a pair of ‘one-percenters’ at the bar.
The host led them to a booth in front of a wall-to-wall stretch of glass that overlooked the ocean.
And Fish remained standing until Shawna had taken her seat.
She moved to the apex of the u-shaped banquette and offered him the seat next to her.
“Sit here, Baby,” she smiled up at him. “Got a little surprise for you.”
The Big Dog did as she requested, sliding all the way across the upholstery until he and Shawna were hip to hip.
“First,” She leaned into Fish and kissed him, nibbling a little on his bottom lip.
“Mmmm. I was going to say something wise-ass here. But--” Fish slowly shook his head.
The deputy gave him another quick peck on the lips.
“You’re smarter than you look, citizen.”
Then she laughed.
“Here, close your eyes and hold out your hand.”
“This my surprise?”
“You’ll see,” Shawna giggled and kissed his ear. “Ok, keep ‘em closed, now.”
She took Fish’s hand in hers and drew it down to her lap.
“I just wanted to say thank you, Fish. For such a wonderful day.”
Then Deputy Kretschman slid his hand under the table cloth and under her dress.
She wasn’t wearing any panties.
“Shawna, you’ve got one Hell of a way with words.”
“Ahem--” The two were startled by the sound of their waiter clearing his throat. “Excuse me sir. Sorry to disturb you.”
He was carrying one of the restaurant’s bread baskets, which he set on the table. Inside, was something wrapped in one of Leonard Elmore’s red linen napkins.
“But, this is for you, from the two gentlemen at the bar.”
He pulled up one corner of the napkin, revealing a bottle of Miller Lite beer.
Fish and Shawna looked toward the bar, where their two benefactors were clearly enjoying the show.
“Excuse me, sir. But there’s also a message.”
“Which is..?” Fish was light years away from seeing the humor here.
“The taller of those gentlemen said to tell the lady to enjoy the beer, because--” he was anything but comfortable with the words that were about to follow. “Uh, she’s sitting with, uh, everything she could want in a man. And, well...less.”
The two bikers at the bar were now falling all over themselves laughing at what was playing out at Fish’s table.
The Big Dog made a move toward the outside of the booth, but Deputy Kretschman put a gentle, restraining touch on his arm.
“Relax, Baby. You just take it easy. I got this.”
“No, I’m not gonna rel--“
“Fish,” her voice suddenly sounded a lot more commanding. “Just do like Shawna says, Sweetie. And sit the fuck down.”
She picked up the beer bottle, twisted off the cap and headed for the bar.
Smiling, the way a great white grins just before it chows down.
“Nice joke, fellas. So, which one of you two mental defectives thought it up?”
“Sweet cheeks, you’re about seventeen different kinds of fine. Listen, what the Hell are you doin’ with that old fart? Why’ntcha come with us? We can party all fuckin’ night!”
“Sorry, guys. But I’ve got one rule when it comes to dating. And you two don’t even come close.”
“Yeah?” The taller of the two bikers was a little miffed at Shawna’s turn-down. “And what’s that?”
“I never -- and I mean NEVER -- date outside my species. So that pretty much leaves you two asswipes out.”
“You better watch your mouth, sugar tits. Before one of us closes it for you.”
“And, this is the part where I’m supposed to get all scared, and shut my pie hole?”
“You got it, bitch.”
The deputy grabbed the collar of the man’s t-shirt and yanked it towards her. Then she emptied the bottle of beer down the inside of his shirt.
“Now, I’m just guessing. But from here, I’d say it looks like you got it. Now, what’re you gonna do about it, numbnuts?”
“Son of a bitch!”
He wound up and threw a left hook at Shawna. A punch that traveled so slowly she had plenty of time to duck under it.
And come back with an uppercut to the biker’s nut sack that lifted him off the ground and toppled him on his back, on the floor.
The deputy pounced on his chest, grabbed the man’s hair with both hands and started hammering the hardwood floor with the back of his head.
“Didn’t…your momma…ever teach you? You…don’t…hit…women!”
She adjusted herself so that she was sitting on the biker’s chest, with his head framed between her knees.
“HEY!” She yelled down to him, in a voice so loud it stopped every other conversation in the crowded restaurant.
“I HEAR YOU DON’T EAT PUSSY! THAT TRUE, BIKER BOY?”
The semi-conscious biker squirmed a little and mumbled something that was too garbled to understand.
“WELL, DICKHEAD. I’VE GOT THREE LITTLE WORDS FOR YOU!”
Shawna slid herself all the way up the man’s chest, until she was seated on his face.
“DINNER…IS…SERVED!”
She ground her crotch into his face.
“EAT UP, NUMBNUTS! STARVING KIDS IN EUROPE WOULD KILL FOR THAT PUSSY!”
The biker squirmed a second time, and from under her dress, Shawna heard a faint, “Fuck you.”
She chuckled and moved some of the dress material out of the way, exposing his head.
“HEY, TOUGH GUY. SEE THAT HANDSOME STUD OVER THERE? THE OLD FART AT MY TABLE?”
The biker’s eyes tracked over to the booth, where Fish gave him a friendly waive.
The man on the floor nodded weakly.
“WELL, LET ME ASK YOU, PUSSY BOY…HOW DOES HE TASTE?”
****
“Fish, I’m really sorry.”
“No problem. Hey, it happens all the time.” The Big Dog shrugged, trying his damnedest to laugh it off. "Hell, Shawna. I can’t tell you how many times one of my dates has busted up a restaurant and punched out an outlaw biker.”
But Fish’s body language wasn’t jibing with his story.
They were now parked in a Denny’s just off the freeway.
Facing each other from opposite side of the booth while they waited for their Moons Over My Hammie sandwiches and a couple of Cokes.
Fish’s eyes were glued to the table top.
His hands were also a good five feet from the Deputy’s lap. And not in much danger of stopping by for a visit any time soon.
The Ventura cops had taken their sweet time processing the scene, taking everyone’s statements and scratching their collective heads over just why a female cop from some podunk town in freakin’ Idaho was beating the crap out of one of their locally grown and raised bad boys.
By the time the boys in blue were finished, the kitchen was closed and management was in a huge hurry to escort Fish and his underwear-challenged wing person to the door.
Which meant Denny’s was about the only game left in town.
“You mind telling me what that was all about back there?”
“Fish, I don’t know. I see someone about to get creamed, I just go all red zone. Especially if it’s somebody I care about.”
“Boy,” he chuckled in spite of himself. “You must have made the fifth grade pretty damn interesting for the bullies in your school.”
Shawna laughed and shook her head. “I was just a skinny little girly-girl back then. With tons of ribbons and bows, and Spice Girls posters all over my room.”
Fish had no choice but to smile. “I didn’t know there was a Bad-Ass Spice.”
This drew a loud guffaw from Deputy Kretschman. So big and so loud she started choking on the mouthful of Coke she was in the middle of swallowing.
Fish hurried around to her side of the booth and started thumping her on the back with his fist.
“Arms up, Shawna. C’mon, make believe you’re surrendering.”
“I don’t fucking surrender, Fish,” The Deputy shook her head and sputtered, “Ever! Not where I’ve been.”
“So, where—“
“Iraq and Afghanistan,” she cut him off. “Two deployments back to back.”
“Army?”
She nodded. “402nd MP’s. First, we were in Baghdad. Then we got re-deployed to Kabul.”
“Why the MP’s?”
“Because all I ever wanted to be was a cop. Most of the guys in my family are on the job, or retired. And I just wanted to protect and serve. Hell, Fish. It’s the family business.”
But something wasn’t quite tracking for the Big Dog.
“Wait a minute. You enlisted to be an MP?”
Shawna nodded. “The plan was to do my enlistment, get a criminology degree on the GI Bill and then get on with a police department somewhere.”
She took a sip of her drink. “So, thanks to my Army training, I can disarm or kill you in four different martial arts. Know my way around bombs and IED’s. And I qualified Expert on everything from a nine mil Beretta to an M4.”
“Sounds like you’d be valuable to just about any department.”
“Yeah,” Shawna snorted. “I can also make a tourniquet out of a belt and keep a soldier who’s just had a leg blown off from bleeding out. And I got real good at policing up body parts whenever the bad guys decided to set off a car bomb. I’m about the best arm and leg collector you’re ever gonna see.”
The deputy went quiet for a moment, silently tracing figure eights on the back of Fish’s hand.
“I guess that explains why you sometimes get a little excitable.”
Shawna chuckled. “You’ve got a real gift for understatement, Fish.”
“That why they’ve got you driving a desk?”
She nodded. “The town’s got a shrink who consults for the department. She says I’ve got Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from those two deployments. So, the department’s got me babysitting the office furniture.”
“What about SWAT? Christ, you’d think they’d scoop up somebody with your skills and experience in a heartbeat.”
“Turned me down four times.”
“Why?”
Shawna shrugged. “I don’t play well with the other dirtbags.”
Fish opened his mouth to say something, but his cell phone interrupted him.
Caller ID said it was Elias Hope, an old bud who owned a bail bond agency that was a significant source of Big Dog Recoveries’ income. He was also going to be part of the magical mystery tour leaving for Sturgis in the morning.
“Yeah, Elias. What’s up?”
He listened to the voice on the other end.
And from Fish’s facial expressions and body language, whatever it was, was a long way from good.
“Sorry, man. I didn’t hear my phone go off.”
Fish listened a little more, then answered with one lone syllable.
“Shit. Y’know, we’re leaving for Sturgis in a few hours.”
He stopped a passing waitress and grabbed her pen, then started writing an address on his napkin.
“Ok, got it. Lemme call Einstein and get him and Kenny started. No worries, man. We got this.”
He ended the call and speed dialed his number two in command.
While the call was caroming its way through Verizon’s bowels, Shawna tapped him on the wrist.
“Trouble?”
Fish shook his head. “Just inconvenient. Elias is an old friend and a bail bondsman. Supposed to take off with us for Sturgis tomorrow. But one of his bonds didn’t show in court today, and he’s gonna lose some serious change if we don’t grab the guy up.”
Shawna dropped a pair of twenties on the table.
“Then, let’s hit it.”
“Let’s? What do you mean, let’s?”
“C’mon, Fish. It’ll be fun.”
“Ain’t gonna happen, Shawna. What if you get hurt?”
Deputy Kretschman almost choked again on the Coke she was attempting to swallow.
“You’re so sweet, Fish. But I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, I saw. But the answer’s still no.”
“Aww, now SweetPea,” she smiled and softly ran her finger tips up and down Fish’s arm. “Don’t make me go all red zone on your ass.”
Fish shut off the water, opened the shower door and reached for a towel, humming a little Joe Walsh while he dried himself off.
It was the crack of eleven on an already hot August morning.
The sun was out and the songbirds around his patio were doing their best to recreate a scene from Cinderella.
And down below the cliffs that housed his North Malibu Barrio, the whales were hanging out in the cove and singing a little doo-wop.
It was a beautiful freakin’ day.
Made even nicer by the thought that, for the next couple of weeks, somebody else was going to have to be the repo man and bounty hunter to the stars.
Because by this time tomorrow, he and his two buds, Kenny and Einstein, were going to be on vacation.
Lickity-splitting their way to Sturgis, South Dakota for the biggest biker rally in the biz.
Just them and their hogs. Plus Fish’s friend Elias Hope on his Harley trike.
Hanging out and getting silly ‘n stupid with about a million of their closest buds and bud-ettes.
In a town of less than seven thousand.
Fish looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror while he brushed his teeth, and just chuckled.
Still humming his Joe Walsh tune, he wrapped the damp towel around his waist, slipped his little piggies into a pair of thongs and shuffled out the bathroom door.
Life had been good to him so far.
That was his first mistake.
“Dude..!” Kenny held out a steaming mug of coffee. “You like, s-o-o-o gotta try this.”
Kenny and his brah, Einstein were Big Dog Recoveries’ two oldest – and only --employees. They lived in Fish’s guest house, and each brought a unique set of skills to the party.
Einstein was all but dissertation on his Ph.D. in theoretical physics. And since he never met a quark or neutrino he didn’t like, he was a whiz with electrons. Particularly, the kind of sub-atomic particles that flowed through the ignition system of your average deadbeat’s delinquent vehicle.
Kenny, on the other hand, managed to stumble out of the era of sex, drugs and platform shoes a few brain synapses lighter than when he fell in. His thought engine might not always fire on all cylinders. But he was freakin’ Mensa material when it came to the antique Italian espresso machine sitting on the kitchen counter.
Fish took a moment to hang his nose over the mug and savor the aroma.
“Dude, it’s like the fruity spicy-ness of an awesome Ethiopian. Plus like, the totally awe-some lustiness of like, a w-a-a-y delicioso Columbian.”
The Big Dog took a healthy sip, closed his eyes and let a huge grin spread across his countenance.
“Kenny, this stuff freakin’ kills. Really, man.”
Fish’s third in command took a moment to revel in his main bud, boss and mentor’s compliment. While he stood there smiling, Fish’s eye happened to fall on the massive pile of clothes, camping gear and flotsam heaped on the floor at the far end of the great room.
“What the Hell is all that?” he chuckled, gesturing with his head toward the mound of earthly possessions. “Guys, when I said get some stuff together for the trip to Sturgis, I didn’t mean everything you two own.”
“Wull,” Kenny was knocked a little off balance by the Big Dog’s criticism. “How’m I supposed to like, know what goes and like, what stays, Brah?”
Fish opened his mouth to tell Kenny to only take what he could fit in his chopper’s saddle bags or lashed behind him on the seat, when he was drowned out by a loud burst of potato-potato-potato-ing.
Someone, with a big-ass V-twin engine and un-muffled straight pipes, was blipping their throttle out in the driveway.
He took another swig of the coffee, set his mug down on the counter and the three headed out the door to the garage, accompanied by Beast, Big Dog Recoveries’ head of security.
The little guy had started life as a pampered and spoiled little Beverly Hills lap pooch. He was owned by a client, a wanna-be starlet whose boyfriend had set her up in a pad right behind the tuchas of the Beverly Hills hotel. He’d also gifted her with a cute little Lhasa Apso puppy named Mr. Foo. And a dog collar that, he forgot to mention, was stuffed with hot diamonds.
Too bad the starlet and her significant other had to have a run-in with the business end of a hit man who dressed in black Armani and talked like Marilyn Monroe.
Which left the two permanently posing for the paparazzi at that big A-list Oscar party in the sky.
So, Mr. Foo officially joined the payroll at Big Dog Recoveries.
And became another permanent house guest at Casa de Fish.
Plus, thanks to the ex-Baywatch babe who lived next door, the little guy was now rocking a seriously epic tangle of dreds, beads and ribbons that made him look like a height-challenged Parliament Funkadelic backup singer.
Along with a new handle that totally jibed with his new attitude:
Beast.
The three Bounty Hunters to the Stars took a moment to check out the noisy visitor serenading them out by the garage, and then shrugged at each other.
To the best of their collective knowledge, none of them could think of a road brother – or even a nodding acquaintance -- who dinked around on a Harley with a lavender tank.
Nope.
No freakin’ way.
Then there was the mystery scoot’s engine. Decidedly bigger, more powerful and way louder than a Harley Twin Cam 88.
Even the 73 cubic incher.
But what really had the three befuddled was the pair of large lumps in the rider’s outfit. Like they’d shoplifted a bodacious set of ta-ta’s and stuffed them into their leather jacket.
Fish, Kenny and Einstein exchanged another series of shrugs, then the Big Dog turned back to their mystery guest and drew his thumb across his throat.
The lavender-tanked rider nodded in compliance and shut off the engine.
Then raised its helmet visor.
But all that told them was that their visitor had green eyes.
Fish started toward the oddly colored Harley, shuffling in his thongs as he walked.
The rider’s helmet shook slowly from left to right and a loud chuckle came from inside the protective headgear.
Just as Fish got to the now quiet Harley, the rider pulled their helmet off.
Which revealed a striking, blonde-haired woman who was definitely not a road brother, not to anyone they knew.
“Hey,” she smiled.
Fish broke into his biggest, most Buddha-licious grin.
“I’ll be god damned,” he chuckled.
Then he wrapped her in a bear hug that almost toppled the two of them off her hog.
Kenny and Einstein exchanged another set of puzzled shrugs.
“Wull...maybe they like, knew each other from like, some totally other place. I mean, ya think?”
“Yeah?” Einstein just shook his head. “What was your first clue?”
“Guys, remember that whole thing with the RV? The one up in Idaho?”
Einstein nodded, while Kenny performed a quick search of his internal hard drive.
“Whuh, y’mean the one with like, that dead dude in the freezer?”
“On the nose-y,” Fish touched his finger to the tip of his schnozz. “Say hello to Officer Shawna Kretschman. The nice police lady who locked our butts up a couple of times back there.”
He gave her another hug.
“Y’know, when I said come on down for a little riding and whatever, I had no idea…”
Still perched on the seat of her Harley, Officer Kretschman shot him a warm smile and a noncommittal raise of her eyebrows.
“Listen, come on in. You want a little breakfast? Some coffee? What would you like to do?”
She stretched, sending each arm wide to the side.
“Ok, first, I have GOT to grab a shower.”
“No problem. Then what?”
“Then?!” Shawna chuckled. “Christ, Fish. I just rode eight hundred miles with this thing vibrating like a son of a bitch between my legs.”
She let one of her hands find its way inside the towel still wrapped around the Big Dog’s waist.
“What the fuck do you think I want to do!?”
****
The top of the sun had just slithered under the horizon as Fish and Deputy Shawna followed the restaurant’s host to their table.
The two were out for a nice and quiet, romantic dinner at Leonard Elmore’s, a place on the Ventura pier where the sea’s bounty was always fresh; the table linens were always clean and crisp; and the bartender was always more than generous.
Fish was decked out in his one suit, a piece of sort-of formal business attire he kept in the back of his closet for court appearances and those times when he had to look like a member of the bar.
And Deputy Kretschman had cleaned up spectacularly. Somehow, she managed to pull together a gorgeously tailored dress, top and matching shoes from the contents of her Harley’s saddle bags. Add the glow from a little makeup and a handful of orgasms, and the lady law enforcement professional captured every eye in the joint as she and Fish proceeded to their table.
Including the two sets of eyeballs belonging to a pair of ‘one-percenters’ at the bar.
The host led them to a booth in front of a wall-to-wall stretch of glass that overlooked the ocean.
And Fish remained standing until Shawna had taken her seat.
She moved to the apex of the u-shaped banquette and offered him the seat next to her.
“Sit here, Baby,” she smiled up at him. “Got a little surprise for you.”
The Big Dog did as she requested, sliding all the way across the upholstery until he and Shawna were hip to hip.
“First,” She leaned into Fish and kissed him, nibbling a little on his bottom lip.
“Mmmm. I was going to say something wise-ass here. But--” Fish slowly shook his head.
The deputy gave him another quick peck on the lips.
“You’re smarter than you look, citizen.”
Then she laughed.
“Here, close your eyes and hold out your hand.”
“This my surprise?”
“You’ll see,” Shawna giggled and kissed his ear. “Ok, keep ‘em closed, now.”
She took Fish’s hand in hers and drew it down to her lap.
“I just wanted to say thank you, Fish. For such a wonderful day.”
Then Deputy Kretschman slid his hand under the table cloth and under her dress.
She wasn’t wearing any panties.
“Shawna, you’ve got one Hell of a way with words.”
“Ahem--” The two were startled by the sound of their waiter clearing his throat. “Excuse me sir. Sorry to disturb you.”
He was carrying one of the restaurant’s bread baskets, which he set on the table. Inside, was something wrapped in one of Leonard Elmore’s red linen napkins.
“But, this is for you, from the two gentlemen at the bar.”
He pulled up one corner of the napkin, revealing a bottle of Miller Lite beer.
Fish and Shawna looked toward the bar, where their two benefactors were clearly enjoying the show.
“Excuse me, sir. But there’s also a message.”
“Which is..?” Fish was light years away from seeing the humor here.
“The taller of those gentlemen said to tell the lady to enjoy the beer, because--” he was anything but comfortable with the words that were about to follow. “Uh, she’s sitting with, uh, everything she could want in a man. And, well...less.”
The two bikers at the bar were now falling all over themselves laughing at what was playing out at Fish’s table.
The Big Dog made a move toward the outside of the booth, but Deputy Kretschman put a gentle, restraining touch on his arm.
“Relax, Baby. You just take it easy. I got this.”
“No, I’m not gonna rel--“
“Fish,” her voice suddenly sounded a lot more commanding. “Just do like Shawna says, Sweetie. And sit the fuck down.”
She picked up the beer bottle, twisted off the cap and headed for the bar.
Smiling, the way a great white grins just before it chows down.
“Nice joke, fellas. So, which one of you two mental defectives thought it up?”
“Sweet cheeks, you’re about seventeen different kinds of fine. Listen, what the Hell are you doin’ with that old fart? Why’ntcha come with us? We can party all fuckin’ night!”
“Sorry, guys. But I’ve got one rule when it comes to dating. And you two don’t even come close.”
“Yeah?” The taller of the two bikers was a little miffed at Shawna’s turn-down. “And what’s that?”
“I never -- and I mean NEVER -- date outside my species. So that pretty much leaves you two asswipes out.”
“You better watch your mouth, sugar tits. Before one of us closes it for you.”
“And, this is the part where I’m supposed to get all scared, and shut my pie hole?”
“You got it, bitch.”
The deputy grabbed the collar of the man’s t-shirt and yanked it towards her. Then she emptied the bottle of beer down the inside of his shirt.
“Now, I’m just guessing. But from here, I’d say it looks like you got it. Now, what’re you gonna do about it, numbnuts?”
“Son of a bitch!”
He wound up and threw a left hook at Shawna. A punch that traveled so slowly she had plenty of time to duck under it.
And come back with an uppercut to the biker’s nut sack that lifted him off the ground and toppled him on his back, on the floor.
The deputy pounced on his chest, grabbed the man’s hair with both hands and started hammering the hardwood floor with the back of his head.
“Didn’t…your momma…ever teach you? You…don’t…hit…women!”
She adjusted herself so that she was sitting on the biker’s chest, with his head framed between her knees.
“HEY!” She yelled down to him, in a voice so loud it stopped every other conversation in the crowded restaurant.
“I HEAR YOU DON’T EAT PUSSY! THAT TRUE, BIKER BOY?”
The semi-conscious biker squirmed a little and mumbled something that was too garbled to understand.
“WELL, DICKHEAD. I’VE GOT THREE LITTLE WORDS FOR YOU!”
Shawna slid herself all the way up the man’s chest, until she was seated on his face.
“DINNER…IS…SERVED!”
She ground her crotch into his face.
“EAT UP, NUMBNUTS! STARVING KIDS IN EUROPE WOULD KILL FOR THAT PUSSY!”
The biker squirmed a second time, and from under her dress, Shawna heard a faint, “Fuck you.”
She chuckled and moved some of the dress material out of the way, exposing his head.
“HEY, TOUGH GUY. SEE THAT HANDSOME STUD OVER THERE? THE OLD FART AT MY TABLE?”
The biker’s eyes tracked over to the booth, where Fish gave him a friendly waive.
The man on the floor nodded weakly.
“WELL, LET ME ASK YOU, PUSSY BOY…HOW DOES HE TASTE?”
****
“Fish, I’m really sorry.”
“No problem. Hey, it happens all the time.” The Big Dog shrugged, trying his damnedest to laugh it off. "Hell, Shawna. I can’t tell you how many times one of my dates has busted up a restaurant and punched out an outlaw biker.”
But Fish’s body language wasn’t jibing with his story.
They were now parked in a Denny’s just off the freeway.
Facing each other from opposite side of the booth while they waited for their Moons Over My Hammie sandwiches and a couple of Cokes.
Fish’s eyes were glued to the table top.
His hands were also a good five feet from the Deputy’s lap. And not in much danger of stopping by for a visit any time soon.
The Ventura cops had taken their sweet time processing the scene, taking everyone’s statements and scratching their collective heads over just why a female cop from some podunk town in freakin’ Idaho was beating the crap out of one of their locally grown and raised bad boys.
By the time the boys in blue were finished, the kitchen was closed and management was in a huge hurry to escort Fish and his underwear-challenged wing person to the door.
Which meant Denny’s was about the only game left in town.
“You mind telling me what that was all about back there?”
“Fish, I don’t know. I see someone about to get creamed, I just go all red zone. Especially if it’s somebody I care about.”
“Boy,” he chuckled in spite of himself. “You must have made the fifth grade pretty damn interesting for the bullies in your school.”
Shawna laughed and shook her head. “I was just a skinny little girly-girl back then. With tons of ribbons and bows, and Spice Girls posters all over my room.”
Fish had no choice but to smile. “I didn’t know there was a Bad-Ass Spice.”
This drew a loud guffaw from Deputy Kretschman. So big and so loud she started choking on the mouthful of Coke she was in the middle of swallowing.
Fish hurried around to her side of the booth and started thumping her on the back with his fist.
“Arms up, Shawna. C’mon, make believe you’re surrendering.”
“I don’t fucking surrender, Fish,” The Deputy shook her head and sputtered, “Ever! Not where I’ve been.”
“So, where—“
“Iraq and Afghanistan,” she cut him off. “Two deployments back to back.”
“Army?”
She nodded. “402nd MP’s. First, we were in Baghdad. Then we got re-deployed to Kabul.”
“Why the MP’s?”
“Because all I ever wanted to be was a cop. Most of the guys in my family are on the job, or retired. And I just wanted to protect and serve. Hell, Fish. It’s the family business.”
But something wasn’t quite tracking for the Big Dog.
“Wait a minute. You enlisted to be an MP?”
Shawna nodded. “The plan was to do my enlistment, get a criminology degree on the GI Bill and then get on with a police department somewhere.”
She took a sip of her drink. “So, thanks to my Army training, I can disarm or kill you in four different martial arts. Know my way around bombs and IED’s. And I qualified Expert on everything from a nine mil Beretta to an M4.”
“Sounds like you’d be valuable to just about any department.”
“Yeah,” Shawna snorted. “I can also make a tourniquet out of a belt and keep a soldier who’s just had a leg blown off from bleeding out. And I got real good at policing up body parts whenever the bad guys decided to set off a car bomb. I’m about the best arm and leg collector you’re ever gonna see.”
The deputy went quiet for a moment, silently tracing figure eights on the back of Fish’s hand.
“I guess that explains why you sometimes get a little excitable.”
Shawna chuckled. “You’ve got a real gift for understatement, Fish.”
“That why they’ve got you driving a desk?”
She nodded. “The town’s got a shrink who consults for the department. She says I’ve got Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from those two deployments. So, the department’s got me babysitting the office furniture.”
“What about SWAT? Christ, you’d think they’d scoop up somebody with your skills and experience in a heartbeat.”
“Turned me down four times.”
“Why?”
Shawna shrugged. “I don’t play well with the other dirtbags.”
Fish opened his mouth to say something, but his cell phone interrupted him.
Caller ID said it was Elias Hope, an old bud who owned a bail bond agency that was a significant source of Big Dog Recoveries’ income. He was also going to be part of the magical mystery tour leaving for Sturgis in the morning.
“Yeah, Elias. What’s up?”
He listened to the voice on the other end.
And from Fish’s facial expressions and body language, whatever it was, was a long way from good.
“Sorry, man. I didn’t hear my phone go off.”
Fish listened a little more, then answered with one lone syllable.
“Shit. Y’know, we’re leaving for Sturgis in a few hours.”
He stopped a passing waitress and grabbed her pen, then started writing an address on his napkin.
“Ok, got it. Lemme call Einstein and get him and Kenny started. No worries, man. We got this.”
He ended the call and speed dialed his number two in command.
While the call was caroming its way through Verizon’s bowels, Shawna tapped him on the wrist.
“Trouble?”
Fish shook his head. “Just inconvenient. Elias is an old friend and a bail bondsman. Supposed to take off with us for Sturgis tomorrow. But one of his bonds didn’t show in court today, and he’s gonna lose some serious change if we don’t grab the guy up.”
Shawna dropped a pair of twenties on the table.
“Then, let’s hit it.”
“Let’s? What do you mean, let’s?”
“C’mon, Fish. It’ll be fun.”
“Ain’t gonna happen, Shawna. What if you get hurt?”
Deputy Kretschman almost choked again on the Coke she was attempting to swallow.
“You’re so sweet, Fish. But I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, I saw. But the answer’s still no.”
“Aww, now SweetPea,” she smiled and softly ran her finger tips up and down Fish’s arm. “Don’t make me go all red zone on your ass.”