There seems to be a legal theme to your prompts lately, and now you’re lamenting February to come. Is the weather just depressing a touch, or have you had to have the kids arrested and restraining orders issued? Last day in Kiev today, but the flight is really late — 10:45pm — so it’s going to be a long day and I will be avoiding everyone on Saturday while I recover from it :)
The indictment The police staff toilets were tiled in beige and institutional-green and had three cubicles, three urinals, and one sink. The hand-dryer next to the sink was the old-fashioned kind that took longer to heat up than it blew air for, and only worked two tries out of three. There was a strong smell of pine disinfectant in the air, which had been enough to make Breaux, already feeling his stomach churn, throw himself into the first cubicle, the door banging futilely against the partition wall, and onto his knees to throw up into the toilet. He knelt there now feeling the dampness of the floor soak into his work trousers at the knees, his stomach still announcing its determination to live a food-free life from now on, brownish-yellow drool on his lips. His vision was hazed with tears, and his whole body hurt. “Breaux, how can Cutlet be in the cells?” Stan, the Duty Sergeant had followed him into the toilets and was standing just outside the door. Next to him was Martin who’d been trying to dry his hands when this all began. “She’s on the game, innit?” said Breaux. His last word was half-swallowed by a belch that turned into chunder and more partially-processed kebab and stomach lining splattered into the filthy water. “How?” said Stan at the same time as Martin said, “Why?” “Make ends meet,” said Breaux, though it was more of a groan. His head pounded and there were little flashing specks of light dancing before his eyes. “She’s dating some guy and she’s told him she’s rich. Well, better off than a copper, anyway.” “Yeah, but what’s she gonna do if she gets caught?” said Martin. “How is she on the game?” asked Stan again. “It’s not like she’s your... classical beauty, right? She’s got a face like a bagful of spanners.” “Bulldog chewing a wasp,” said Martin after a moment’s thought. Breaux’s stomach jerked, but then subsided without throwing anything else out. “I dunno, but some guys like ‘em large right?” said Breaux. His preference in women was mostly for the kind he saw in glossy fashion magazines and got nowhere near in real life. The women he slept with reminded him uncomfortably of his sister. “That large?” Martin sounded shocked. “Anyway,” said Stan, meaningfully. “She’s in the cells, and I’ve done all the paperwork already, so she’s indicted. There’s not much I can do now, ‘cos Amanda’s been down and taken it all up already.” “Could sneak her out maybe? Say there was a mix up with the papers and someone miscounted?” “Maybe,” said Stan. Then he shook his head. “Not with Cyril coming in today. You know what he’s like.” Breaux’s stomach heaved again, but all he vomited up now was luminous yellow bile. “Jeez louise,” he groaned. “If she goes down she’s going to grass up the rest of us for certain.”
Greg - was just feeling inspired by all the legal talk surrounding Trump lately, with the multiple investigations and plentiful evidence of his wrongdoings and such.
Ah, more Breaux. I find myself looking forward to seeing how this will play out :)
2 comments:
There seems to be a legal theme to your prompts lately, and now you’re lamenting February to come. Is the weather just depressing a touch, or have you had to have the kids arrested and restraining orders issued?
Last day in Kiev today, but the flight is really late — 10:45pm — so it’s going to be a long day and I will be avoiding everyone on Saturday while I recover from it :)
The indictment
The police staff toilets were tiled in beige and institutional-green and had three cubicles, three urinals, and one sink. The hand-dryer next to the sink was the old-fashioned kind that took longer to heat up than it blew air for, and only worked two tries out of three. There was a strong smell of pine disinfectant in the air, which had been enough to make Breaux, already feeling his stomach churn, throw himself into the first cubicle, the door banging futilely against the partition wall, and onto his knees to throw up into the toilet. He knelt there now feeling the dampness of the floor soak into his work trousers at the knees, his stomach still announcing its determination to live a food-free life from now on, brownish-yellow drool on his lips. His vision was hazed with tears, and his whole body hurt.
“Breaux, how can Cutlet be in the cells?” Stan, the Duty Sergeant had followed him into the toilets and was standing just outside the door. Next to him was Martin who’d been trying to dry his hands when this all began.
“She’s on the game, innit?” said Breaux. His last word was half-swallowed by a belch that turned into chunder and more partially-processed kebab and stomach lining splattered into the filthy water.
“How?” said Stan at the same time as Martin said, “Why?”
“Make ends meet,” said Breaux, though it was more of a groan. His head pounded and there were little flashing specks of light dancing before his eyes. “She’s dating some guy and she’s told him she’s rich. Well, better off than a copper, anyway.”
“Yeah, but what’s she gonna do if she gets caught?” said Martin. “How is she on the game?” asked Stan again. “It’s not like she’s your... classical beauty, right? She’s got a face like a bagful of spanners.”
“Bulldog chewing a wasp,” said Martin after a moment’s thought. Breaux’s stomach jerked, but then subsided without throwing anything else out.
“I dunno, but some guys like ‘em large right?” said Breaux. His preference in women was mostly for the kind he saw in glossy fashion magazines and got nowhere near in real life. The women he slept with reminded him uncomfortably of his sister.
“That large?” Martin sounded shocked.
“Anyway,” said Stan, meaningfully. “She’s in the cells, and I’ve done all the paperwork already, so she’s indicted. There’s not much I can do now, ‘cos Amanda’s been down and taken it all up already.”
“Could sneak her out maybe? Say there was a mix up with the papers and someone miscounted?”
“Maybe,” said Stan. Then he shook his head. “Not with Cyril coming in today. You know what he’s like.”
Breaux’s stomach heaved again, but all he vomited up now was luminous yellow bile. “Jeez louise,” he groaned. “If she goes down she’s going to grass up the rest of us for certain.”
Greg - was just feeling inspired by all the legal talk surrounding Trump lately, with the multiple investigations and plentiful evidence of his wrongdoings and such.
Ah, more Breaux. I find myself looking forward to seeing how this will play out :)
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