Chapter 1
Ordinary people can – and often do -- go to some pretty extraordinary lengths, and do some seriously whacky things for love.
Just ask “Fish” Fishbein, L. A.’s repo man and bounty hunter to the stars.
A few hours ago, he was chillin’ on his patio in the North Malibu Clifftop Barrio. Bagging some rays, knocking back a Corona and listening to the whales down below in the cove. Rehearsing their cover of Gene Chandler’s old Doo-Wop hit, Duke of Earl.
But now, he and his two partners in bail enforcement, Kenny and Einstein, were half a continent away.
Shivering in the pre-dawn cold and darkness, and all decked out in all their fugitive apprehension finery.
Outside the door to room seventeen at the End of the Trail Motel. A clapped out, former roadside attraction in Harmony, South Dakota that had seen better decades.
They were there to grab up a Superior Court failure to appear, who was sleeping off an epic bender on the other side of the motel room’s door.
And it was the second time that month they'd flown in to South Dakota to help corral a court no-show for Fish's buddy, Sonny Matoska. A bail bondsman from the state capital, over in Pierre.
All of which was part of the compromise everyone had put together. So that Shawna Kretschman, a blond-haired force of nature and the love of Fish’s life, would feel free to accept the Sioux's offer to be Chief of Police on the Pine Creek reservation.
On Fish’s signal, Kenny hot-footed it around the building to cover the bathroom window with the paintball gun he was packing. Locked and loaded with a full complement of delicate little spheres of law enforcement-grade MACE and pepper spray powder, just in case their no-show decided to bolt.
Fish nodded to Einstein, who removed the economy-sized can of extra-strength Mace clipped to his utility belt, shook it a few times and released the safety.
Then the Big Dog knocked on the door.
No answer.
He knocked again, louder.
This time, the lights came on inside the room.
"What the Hell is it?" demanded a loud voice that sounded like it was in some severe discomfort.
The pained voice belonged to all six feet, five inches and three hundred twenty-five pounds of Timothy "Rushmore" Mikkelsdotter. A local pipeline worker with a nasty temper when he was just plain sober.
But get him this hammered, and the common wisdom around these parts was to simply nod and reply, "Yes, sir" to any syllables that made it out of his pie hole.
"Pizza delivery..." Fish answered at the door.
"I didn't order no fuckin' pizza!"
"Sorry, Buddy. Says here you did." Fish unfolded the failure to appear warrant and read from it. "Timothy Mikkelsdotter, End of the Trail Motel. Room--" He looked over at the cheap metal numerals nailed to the door frame. "Seventeen. That’s one extra large, deep dish Hawaiian. Says here, you also wanted extra anchovies."
"Wasn't me!" The pain and the annoyance in the voice coming through room seventeen’s door had definitely risen a few more notches. All the way to where the Air Force usually moved the threat level up to DEFCON 3, just as a precaution.
"Now...GO AWAY!! Leave me the fuck alone!"
"Sorry, Pal. No can do. Hey, if you don't pay for this pizza, then my boss is gonna make me buy it. And I'm allergic to freakin' anchovies."
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY DOOR! NOW!!"
"Wish I could, man. But the company manual is really clear on this. If you don't pay, then, I gotta. I can't afford it, and fish makes me break out in hives."
"Your trip to the ER’s gonna cost you a lot more than that fuckin' pizza..!"
Mikkelsdotter was sleeping off a bender that had started three nights earlier. After hearing on the radio that the president of the United States was coming to his town to inaugurate a new section of that petroleum pipeline that had been in the news so much lately. Being the loyal Republican he was, Timothy felt like doing a little celebrating.
And now, three days later, the sun wasn't even up yet.
The Prez was due in a few hours.
It felt like somebody was trying to force his head into a length of 6-inch diameter drain pipe, using a 5-pound sledge hammer for a little persuasion.
And some clown with a serious death wish was pounding on his door about a fuckin' pizza?
Really?
REALLY?!
Rushmore drove his fist clear through his room’s cheap, hollow-core door.
"IF YOU AIN'T GONE IN FIVE SECONDS, I'M GONNA DO THE SAME THING TO YOUR FUCKIN' FACE!"
"So...that mean you're gonna take the pizza?" Fish chuckled. "Uh, listen, Timmy…there's just one thing. You got small bills, man? All they gave me is a couple of ones."
Mikkelsdotter pulled back and punched three more fist-sized holes in his door. Then he screamed every obscenity his hung over brain could access as he pushed his head through the opening he'd created.
Somebody was about to die.
Fish nodded to Einstein. "Hose him down."
Twenty seconds later, their target was lying on the floor of his motel room, with a face dyed fluorescent green from Einstein’s spray can, and looking a lot like the old Jolly Green Giant.
Mikkelsdotter was still royally shit-faced.
But now, he was also coughing, crying and puking into the wastebasket next to his bed. While a pair of stout zip ties held his fists together behind his back, preventing them from assaulting any more building materials.
Or pizza delivery people.
And the Big Dog was seated on the backs of his Failure To Appear’s legs, further keeping the inebriated hulk from trying to escape, while he read out loud from the arrest warrant.
"Timmy, Timmy, Timmy...C’mon, it ain't that bad, man. Look, you go into court...tell the judge how sorry you are about standing him up. The two of you'll swap a couple of jokes, maybe grab a brewski and play a round of golf together after work...and that'll be it. No harm, no foul. You with me so far?"
Mikkelsdotter nodded silently.
"Good. So, then...how about you and me take couple of minutes here, to talk about our lord and savior, Lord Valdemort?"
******
"And he didn't give you guys any trouble?" Shawna leaned back against the fender of her patrol car and took one last glance around the fairgrounds while she talked on her cell phone with Fish.
Everything seemed to be in the right place -- there was red, white and blue bunting stretched all over the reviewing stand.
Not to mention the seal of the great state of South Dakota on the curtain wall behind the dais. Along with a copy of the presidential seal, double-face taped to the front of the podium itself.
Network news crews had set up their equipment on the ground right in front of the raised stage and podium.
Silent, beefy guys and women in dark business suits were scrambling all over the place, stopping people to check ID's and then talking into their overcoat sleeves.
And, down in the grass, where, during State Fair season, the food stalls along the fairground's midway usually hawked every variety of deep-fried dessert and appetizer known to man, a tent city full of teepees and high-tech camping shelters had sprung up. Hand-painted banners were flying all over, reminding everyone who could read that, "People need clean water".
"Awww...SweetPea, I'm so damn proud of you!" She threw a kiss into the phone. "In fact, when I get back later, let's just have a quiet evening...just the two of us. You cook, and then I'm gonna treat you to --"
"Jeez, Shawna," Fish interrupted her, chuckling. "Look, I'm stuck in the Harmony PD’s lobby. Hip-deep in cops, perps, and God knows what else. So, please, Sweetie...don't even think about filling me in on the kind of blowjob I'm in for later. I mean, I gotta be able to stand up here when it’s my turn -- without embarrassing the crap out of myself."
"Duly noted, citizen," Shawna chuckled. "You're just lucky I love you so damn much..."
"Love you a ton, Sweetie. Now, you be careful out there. And don't take any crap from that corrupt, tiny-handed moron. If he tries anything weird, threatening or stupid, fire a couple of warning shots into his kidney."
"Yes, Darling..."
Then Fish's law degree came galloping back from parts unknown. "But first, read him his rights."
Shawna was suddenly distracted in mid-guffaw. A convoy of at least half a dozen big, black SUV's was speeding her way over the nearby ridge.
"Gotta go, Darling. Looks like our guest of honor is about to make his bigly appearance. Love ya."
She stuffed the cell phone back into her pocket. Then, the Chief of Police spent a few seconds checking her reflection in her patrol car's window. Adjusting the angle of her Smokey the Bear Hat and making sure her body cam was switched on and functioning properly.
******
"Wait, wait...Goddammit, stop!" The Secret Service driver did his best to honor the president's demand. Slamming on the brakes and hauling the twenty thousand pound armored limo to a screeching stop.
Along with throwing the rest of the presidential motorcade into panic and confusion.
The vehicle was nicknamed "The Beast" among the Secret Service and members of the press who regularly hitched rides in her.
Not bad for a conveyance that only had one operable window, so the driver could get through toll booths.
"Who the Hell is that!?" The president pointed through the permanently rolled up, five-inch thick, bulletproof window at an attractive blonde woman.
Whose uniform made her look a little like a heavily armed ranger from Jellystone Park.
"I believe that's, uh, Shawna Kretschman, sir." Pettibone, one of the brighter-eyed and bushier tailed West Wing drones, quickly flipped through the thick three-ring binder in his lap. A photo ID and description of virtually every resident of this particular time zone.
"Says here, she's Chief of Police for the tribal force at the Sioux Reservation outside Oglala."
"I don't care if she's the New York Yankees’ new starting pitcher, Pettibone. Get her ass over here! I have got to meet this one..!"
He suddenly started patting his pockets in a panic. "Tic Tac! Who the Hell's got some Tic Tacs? I need a freakin' Tic Tac and I need it now!"
Packs of the tiny breath mints suddenly came at him from every direction around the back seat. He grabbed at a full pack of peppermint.
"All right, all you idiots...out of the car, now! I need some alone time with this one..."
As all the Secret Service agents in the limo started exiting for the fresh air and sunshine, the president popped open his pack of breath mints and poured them all into his mouth.
A couple of which tumbled down the wrong pipe. And forced him into a violent coughing fit.
"Mr. President," Pettibone was back. "I'd like to present Chief of Police Shawna Kretschman. Chief, this is Dwayne Kleiner-Dieb, the president of the United States."
Not sure what to do, Shawna extended her hand. As the president reached to shake it, he was hit with another coughing fit. And launched half a handful of saliva and peppermint flavored Tic Tac fragments into his right hand.
Then he completed the handshake.
"I just had to meet you, Chief, uh...?"
"Kretschman," she filled in the blanks for him. "Shawna Kretschman."
Kleiner-Dieb shrugged, as if the name wasn't really all that important. "I just wanted you to know that you and I are going to have one incredible affair."
"Come again?"
"An affair to remember. You and me...It’ll be beautiful. No sense fighting it, Chief Kret..?"
"Kretschman," she corrected him a second time, not nearly as entertained this time around.
"Know why I ate all those Tic Tacs? I want to kiss you."
"Yeah, well I'm glad one of us wants that."
"But you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. And trust me, Sheena --"
"Shawna," she corrected him a third time.
"Trust me, Shawna...I've had them all. Women just can't resist me. Maybe it's my wealth...maybe it's my power...maybe it’s--"
"Maybe, Mr. President, it's because you're a freakin' rich, sexual predator who won't take no for an answer."
"Well, I bet this'll change your mind." He unzipped his pants. "C'mon, admit it, Shania -"
"Shawna, dammit."
"Shawna...I bet you'd just love to wrap those beautiful lips of yours around my mighty, blue-veined thumper here…wouldn’tcha?"
“With all due respect, Mr. President…I’ve seen more impressive equipment on a hamster.”
“But I’ve got to have you. Right here and right now.”
“But I don’t want to have you. Not now…not ever!”
The president took a moment to stare out the window, as if trying to calm himself down.
Then he launched himself at Shawna. And buried his hand in her crotch.
“You can’t say no to me! I’m the fucking president! You know what I could do to you? One call, Sheena. One call to some buddies in the Kremlin…that’s all it would take, and you’re fuckin’ history! I want your ass and I’m going to have you…NOW!”
Shawna grabbed the man’s hand and a couple of seconds later, he was lying face down on the Beast’s upholstery. With one wrist caught in a painful reverse wrist lock, while the other was being snapped into a pair of handcuffs.
She rolled the president back over and sat him up.
“Pay attention, Mr. President. One, my name is Shawna…Kretschman. Not Shania…not Sheena…not Shana. SHAWNA!
“Two, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk with a lawyer and have him present with you during questioning. If you cannot afford to hire a lawyer, one will be appointed to represent you before any questioning, if you wish. Do you understand these rights?”
“On what charges?”
“Assault and battery on a uniformed police person. Indecent exposure. Attempting to solicit a lewd act from a uniformed police person. Making a terrorist threat to an officer of the law. And attempted rape.”
“Your word against mine.” President Kleiner-Dieb just smiled. “You won’t be able to prove a damn thing.”
“Hold that thought.” She reached up at the top of her chest and pushed a button on top of a small black piece of gear. “Yup, got that, too. Y’know, I just love these new body cams. They take the ‘he said/she said’ right out of a good bust.”
“By the time I’m done with you, Shawnee, you’re gonna wish you’d never been born. Now, let me out of these stupid handcuffs. I have to call my office.”
“Life is full of little disappointments, Mr. President. You’re under arrest for two violent felonies, so I’m not taking any chances with my – or any of my force’s – safety. Those cuffs stay on until you’ve been transported, processed and booked.”
“But I need to call my office! I’m the president of the United States, dammit! And you’re interfering with national security!”
“I’ll live. So will the country. Now, with all due respect…please shut the Hell up so I can make a couple of calls.”
The first call she made was to Vern, a member of the reservation police force and a full-blooded Oglala Sioux. He was parked a couple of hundred yards away on the other side of the tent city. Seated at the commander’s station of an Army surplus Bradley fighting vehicle given to the tribal force a few years ago by the Defense Department, along with half a dozen more.
Vern was to collect the tribe’s other fighting vehicles then meet her at the presidential limo, over by the reviewing stand.
Her next call was to Fish.
“Hey, Sweetie! How’s it going? I’ve still got my butt parked at the Harmony PD. You guys done already?”
“Oh yeah, we’re done, Honey. We are s-o-o-o done.”
“Hmm…that didn’t sound good.” Fish was starting to get a little concerned here. On top of being Chief of the police force at the Oglala Rez, the love of his life was also an ex-Army MP.
With two combat tours under her belt, a ton of experience with weapons, tactics and hand-to-hand.
And a case of PTSD that could turn her into a raging force of nature under the right conditions.
“Sweetie, you didn’t go all Red Zone on anybody, did you?”
“No, no red zone. But…”
“But what?”
“Well, Sweetheart…I know we’re probably gonna both have a big laugh over this later. But I did have to arrest somebody a couple of minutes ago.”
“Who, Shawna..?”
“Promise you won’t get mad..?”
“Oh, God…who, Shawna? Who did you have to arrest a couple of minutes ago?”
“Uh…the president.”
Ordinary people can – and often do -- go to some pretty extraordinary lengths, and do some seriously whacky things for love.
Just ask “Fish” Fishbein, L. A.’s repo man and bounty hunter to the stars.
A few hours ago, he was chillin’ on his patio in the North Malibu Clifftop Barrio. Bagging some rays, knocking back a Corona and listening to the whales down below in the cove. Rehearsing their cover of Gene Chandler’s old Doo-Wop hit, Duke of Earl.
But now, he and his two partners in bail enforcement, Kenny and Einstein, were half a continent away.
Shivering in the pre-dawn cold and darkness, and all decked out in all their fugitive apprehension finery.
Outside the door to room seventeen at the End of the Trail Motel. A clapped out, former roadside attraction in Harmony, South Dakota that had seen better decades.
They were there to grab up a Superior Court failure to appear, who was sleeping off an epic bender on the other side of the motel room’s door.
And it was the second time that month they'd flown in to South Dakota to help corral a court no-show for Fish's buddy, Sonny Matoska. A bail bondsman from the state capital, over in Pierre.
All of which was part of the compromise everyone had put together. So that Shawna Kretschman, a blond-haired force of nature and the love of Fish’s life, would feel free to accept the Sioux's offer to be Chief of Police on the Pine Creek reservation.
On Fish’s signal, Kenny hot-footed it around the building to cover the bathroom window with the paintball gun he was packing. Locked and loaded with a full complement of delicate little spheres of law enforcement-grade MACE and pepper spray powder, just in case their no-show decided to bolt.
Fish nodded to Einstein, who removed the economy-sized can of extra-strength Mace clipped to his utility belt, shook it a few times and released the safety.
Then the Big Dog knocked on the door.
No answer.
He knocked again, louder.
This time, the lights came on inside the room.
"What the Hell is it?" demanded a loud voice that sounded like it was in some severe discomfort.
The pained voice belonged to all six feet, five inches and three hundred twenty-five pounds of Timothy "Rushmore" Mikkelsdotter. A local pipeline worker with a nasty temper when he was just plain sober.
But get him this hammered, and the common wisdom around these parts was to simply nod and reply, "Yes, sir" to any syllables that made it out of his pie hole.
"Pizza delivery..." Fish answered at the door.
"I didn't order no fuckin' pizza!"
"Sorry, Buddy. Says here you did." Fish unfolded the failure to appear warrant and read from it. "Timothy Mikkelsdotter, End of the Trail Motel. Room--" He looked over at the cheap metal numerals nailed to the door frame. "Seventeen. That’s one extra large, deep dish Hawaiian. Says here, you also wanted extra anchovies."
"Wasn't me!" The pain and the annoyance in the voice coming through room seventeen’s door had definitely risen a few more notches. All the way to where the Air Force usually moved the threat level up to DEFCON 3, just as a precaution.
"Now...GO AWAY!! Leave me the fuck alone!"
"Sorry, Pal. No can do. Hey, if you don't pay for this pizza, then my boss is gonna make me buy it. And I'm allergic to freakin' anchovies."
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY DOOR! NOW!!"
"Wish I could, man. But the company manual is really clear on this. If you don't pay, then, I gotta. I can't afford it, and fish makes me break out in hives."
"Your trip to the ER’s gonna cost you a lot more than that fuckin' pizza..!"
Mikkelsdotter was sleeping off a bender that had started three nights earlier. After hearing on the radio that the president of the United States was coming to his town to inaugurate a new section of that petroleum pipeline that had been in the news so much lately. Being the loyal Republican he was, Timothy felt like doing a little celebrating.
And now, three days later, the sun wasn't even up yet.
The Prez was due in a few hours.
It felt like somebody was trying to force his head into a length of 6-inch diameter drain pipe, using a 5-pound sledge hammer for a little persuasion.
And some clown with a serious death wish was pounding on his door about a fuckin' pizza?
Really?
REALLY?!
Rushmore drove his fist clear through his room’s cheap, hollow-core door.
"IF YOU AIN'T GONE IN FIVE SECONDS, I'M GONNA DO THE SAME THING TO YOUR FUCKIN' FACE!"
"So...that mean you're gonna take the pizza?" Fish chuckled. "Uh, listen, Timmy…there's just one thing. You got small bills, man? All they gave me is a couple of ones."
Mikkelsdotter pulled back and punched three more fist-sized holes in his door. Then he screamed every obscenity his hung over brain could access as he pushed his head through the opening he'd created.
Somebody was about to die.
Fish nodded to Einstein. "Hose him down."
Twenty seconds later, their target was lying on the floor of his motel room, with a face dyed fluorescent green from Einstein’s spray can, and looking a lot like the old Jolly Green Giant.
Mikkelsdotter was still royally shit-faced.
But now, he was also coughing, crying and puking into the wastebasket next to his bed. While a pair of stout zip ties held his fists together behind his back, preventing them from assaulting any more building materials.
Or pizza delivery people.
And the Big Dog was seated on the backs of his Failure To Appear’s legs, further keeping the inebriated hulk from trying to escape, while he read out loud from the arrest warrant.
"Timmy, Timmy, Timmy...C’mon, it ain't that bad, man. Look, you go into court...tell the judge how sorry you are about standing him up. The two of you'll swap a couple of jokes, maybe grab a brewski and play a round of golf together after work...and that'll be it. No harm, no foul. You with me so far?"
Mikkelsdotter nodded silently.
"Good. So, then...how about you and me take couple of minutes here, to talk about our lord and savior, Lord Valdemort?"
******
"And he didn't give you guys any trouble?" Shawna leaned back against the fender of her patrol car and took one last glance around the fairgrounds while she talked on her cell phone with Fish.
Everything seemed to be in the right place -- there was red, white and blue bunting stretched all over the reviewing stand.
Not to mention the seal of the great state of South Dakota on the curtain wall behind the dais. Along with a copy of the presidential seal, double-face taped to the front of the podium itself.
Network news crews had set up their equipment on the ground right in front of the raised stage and podium.
Silent, beefy guys and women in dark business suits were scrambling all over the place, stopping people to check ID's and then talking into their overcoat sleeves.
And, down in the grass, where, during State Fair season, the food stalls along the fairground's midway usually hawked every variety of deep-fried dessert and appetizer known to man, a tent city full of teepees and high-tech camping shelters had sprung up. Hand-painted banners were flying all over, reminding everyone who could read that, "People need clean water".
"Awww...SweetPea, I'm so damn proud of you!" She threw a kiss into the phone. "In fact, when I get back later, let's just have a quiet evening...just the two of us. You cook, and then I'm gonna treat you to --"
"Jeez, Shawna," Fish interrupted her, chuckling. "Look, I'm stuck in the Harmony PD’s lobby. Hip-deep in cops, perps, and God knows what else. So, please, Sweetie...don't even think about filling me in on the kind of blowjob I'm in for later. I mean, I gotta be able to stand up here when it’s my turn -- without embarrassing the crap out of myself."
"Duly noted, citizen," Shawna chuckled. "You're just lucky I love you so damn much..."
"Love you a ton, Sweetie. Now, you be careful out there. And don't take any crap from that corrupt, tiny-handed moron. If he tries anything weird, threatening or stupid, fire a couple of warning shots into his kidney."
"Yes, Darling..."
Then Fish's law degree came galloping back from parts unknown. "But first, read him his rights."
Shawna was suddenly distracted in mid-guffaw. A convoy of at least half a dozen big, black SUV's was speeding her way over the nearby ridge.
"Gotta go, Darling. Looks like our guest of honor is about to make his bigly appearance. Love ya."
She stuffed the cell phone back into her pocket. Then, the Chief of Police spent a few seconds checking her reflection in her patrol car's window. Adjusting the angle of her Smokey the Bear Hat and making sure her body cam was switched on and functioning properly.
******
"Wait, wait...Goddammit, stop!" The Secret Service driver did his best to honor the president's demand. Slamming on the brakes and hauling the twenty thousand pound armored limo to a screeching stop.
Along with throwing the rest of the presidential motorcade into panic and confusion.
The vehicle was nicknamed "The Beast" among the Secret Service and members of the press who regularly hitched rides in her.
Not bad for a conveyance that only had one operable window, so the driver could get through toll booths.
"Who the Hell is that!?" The president pointed through the permanently rolled up, five-inch thick, bulletproof window at an attractive blonde woman.
Whose uniform made her look a little like a heavily armed ranger from Jellystone Park.
"I believe that's, uh, Shawna Kretschman, sir." Pettibone, one of the brighter-eyed and bushier tailed West Wing drones, quickly flipped through the thick three-ring binder in his lap. A photo ID and description of virtually every resident of this particular time zone.
"Says here, she's Chief of Police for the tribal force at the Sioux Reservation outside Oglala."
"I don't care if she's the New York Yankees’ new starting pitcher, Pettibone. Get her ass over here! I have got to meet this one..!"
He suddenly started patting his pockets in a panic. "Tic Tac! Who the Hell's got some Tic Tacs? I need a freakin' Tic Tac and I need it now!"
Packs of the tiny breath mints suddenly came at him from every direction around the back seat. He grabbed at a full pack of peppermint.
"All right, all you idiots...out of the car, now! I need some alone time with this one..."
As all the Secret Service agents in the limo started exiting for the fresh air and sunshine, the president popped open his pack of breath mints and poured them all into his mouth.
A couple of which tumbled down the wrong pipe. And forced him into a violent coughing fit.
"Mr. President," Pettibone was back. "I'd like to present Chief of Police Shawna Kretschman. Chief, this is Dwayne Kleiner-Dieb, the president of the United States."
Not sure what to do, Shawna extended her hand. As the president reached to shake it, he was hit with another coughing fit. And launched half a handful of saliva and peppermint flavored Tic Tac fragments into his right hand.
Then he completed the handshake.
"I just had to meet you, Chief, uh...?"
"Kretschman," she filled in the blanks for him. "Shawna Kretschman."
Kleiner-Dieb shrugged, as if the name wasn't really all that important. "I just wanted you to know that you and I are going to have one incredible affair."
"Come again?"
"An affair to remember. You and me...It’ll be beautiful. No sense fighting it, Chief Kret..?"
"Kretschman," she corrected him a second time, not nearly as entertained this time around.
"Know why I ate all those Tic Tacs? I want to kiss you."
"Yeah, well I'm glad one of us wants that."
"But you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. And trust me, Sheena --"
"Shawna," she corrected him a third time.
"Trust me, Shawna...I've had them all. Women just can't resist me. Maybe it's my wealth...maybe it's my power...maybe it’s--"
"Maybe, Mr. President, it's because you're a freakin' rich, sexual predator who won't take no for an answer."
"Well, I bet this'll change your mind." He unzipped his pants. "C'mon, admit it, Shania -"
"Shawna, dammit."
"Shawna...I bet you'd just love to wrap those beautiful lips of yours around my mighty, blue-veined thumper here…wouldn’tcha?"
“With all due respect, Mr. President…I’ve seen more impressive equipment on a hamster.”
“But I’ve got to have you. Right here and right now.”
“But I don’t want to have you. Not now…not ever!”
The president took a moment to stare out the window, as if trying to calm himself down.
Then he launched himself at Shawna. And buried his hand in her crotch.
“You can’t say no to me! I’m the fucking president! You know what I could do to you? One call, Sheena. One call to some buddies in the Kremlin…that’s all it would take, and you’re fuckin’ history! I want your ass and I’m going to have you…NOW!”
Shawna grabbed the man’s hand and a couple of seconds later, he was lying face down on the Beast’s upholstery. With one wrist caught in a painful reverse wrist lock, while the other was being snapped into a pair of handcuffs.
She rolled the president back over and sat him up.
“Pay attention, Mr. President. One, my name is Shawna…Kretschman. Not Shania…not Sheena…not Shana. SHAWNA!
“Two, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk with a lawyer and have him present with you during questioning. If you cannot afford to hire a lawyer, one will be appointed to represent you before any questioning, if you wish. Do you understand these rights?”
“On what charges?”
“Assault and battery on a uniformed police person. Indecent exposure. Attempting to solicit a lewd act from a uniformed police person. Making a terrorist threat to an officer of the law. And attempted rape.”
“Your word against mine.” President Kleiner-Dieb just smiled. “You won’t be able to prove a damn thing.”
“Hold that thought.” She reached up at the top of her chest and pushed a button on top of a small black piece of gear. “Yup, got that, too. Y’know, I just love these new body cams. They take the ‘he said/she said’ right out of a good bust.”
“By the time I’m done with you, Shawnee, you’re gonna wish you’d never been born. Now, let me out of these stupid handcuffs. I have to call my office.”
“Life is full of little disappointments, Mr. President. You’re under arrest for two violent felonies, so I’m not taking any chances with my – or any of my force’s – safety. Those cuffs stay on until you’ve been transported, processed and booked.”
“But I need to call my office! I’m the president of the United States, dammit! And you’re interfering with national security!”
“I’ll live. So will the country. Now, with all due respect…please shut the Hell up so I can make a couple of calls.”
The first call she made was to Vern, a member of the reservation police force and a full-blooded Oglala Sioux. He was parked a couple of hundred yards away on the other side of the tent city. Seated at the commander’s station of an Army surplus Bradley fighting vehicle given to the tribal force a few years ago by the Defense Department, along with half a dozen more.
Vern was to collect the tribe’s other fighting vehicles then meet her at the presidential limo, over by the reviewing stand.
Her next call was to Fish.
“Hey, Sweetie! How’s it going? I’ve still got my butt parked at the Harmony PD. You guys done already?”
“Oh yeah, we’re done, Honey. We are s-o-o-o done.”
“Hmm…that didn’t sound good.” Fish was starting to get a little concerned here. On top of being Chief of the police force at the Oglala Rez, the love of his life was also an ex-Army MP.
With two combat tours under her belt, a ton of experience with weapons, tactics and hand-to-hand.
And a case of PTSD that could turn her into a raging force of nature under the right conditions.
“Sweetie, you didn’t go all Red Zone on anybody, did you?”
“No, no red zone. But…”
“But what?”
“Well, Sweetheart…I know we’re probably gonna both have a big laugh over this later. But I did have to arrest somebody a couple of minutes ago.”
“Who, Shawna..?”
“Promise you won’t get mad..?”
“Oh, God…who, Shawna? Who did you have to arrest a couple of minutes ago?”
“Uh…the president.”