Cop a Feel (Handcuffs and Happily Ever Afters) (10 page)

“So how can I help you?” she asked as she plopped down on a chair, legs spread and boobs swinging. She was a slob.

Holy hell, I was no Polly Priss, but disgusting was disgusting.

“Since you’ve been briefed by your colleague, I’ll just get to it. How well do you know Professor Sue and what issues do you have with her being a best-selling author? Or is there more of an issue that she’s aced you out in the awards department?” I sat back and focused on her face. I usually watched for body language, but I was in danger of making insulting observations if her badoinkees didn’t stop bouncing. Evangeline would be horrified. Just the thought brought a smile to my lips.

“I’m glad to see your interruption of my day amuses you. You’re barking up the wrong tree here. I take no issue with her porno smut anti-female-power fuck musings. I am a better professor and educator than she is and I believe she has paid off the board with her fornication-prose sin money to be awarded so many accolades.”

Was she for real? “I’m sorry. Your choice of words is alarming on a few levels. You’re not helping your case much, Professor.”

“I don’t have to,” she grunted. “My brilliance and my dedication to the advancement of women will win in the end.”

“How long have you been at the university?”

“Ten years. Tenured for one,” she informed me proudly.

“And how many awards have you won?” I asked. She sat there and stared daggers at me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“None,” she groused.

“Interesting. When was the last time you corresponded with Professor Sue?”

“I don’t. I have nothing to say to her. What do you want from me?”

“I want to know if you’re jealous and deranged enough to write threatening letters to Professor Sue,” I patiently explained. “I thought your buddy Randy might have filled you in on that little nugget?”

“What police department do you come from?” she demanded, grabbing a pen and paper.

“I don’t. I come from the DEA and I usually deal with drug shipments and cartels and fucktards with machine guns. I’m taking a little breather because I thought it might be fun. Here’s my card. You can call my boss or I can take you down to his office right now and you can meet him. We can have this meeting in a little room with two-way mirrors and armed guys who don’t like feminists as much as I do. Your choice.”

Winnie blanched and dropped her pen and paper and did a full three/sixty. “I wouldn’t hurt her,” she gasped desperately. “Ever. I plan to beat her fair and square. She rebuffed my sexual advances and I hate her, but I still love her and will make her pay academically.”

I was struck dumb. Of all the things she could have said, that was not remotely what I expected.

“You’re the last suspect on my list and you haven’t made a promising case for your innocence,” I said in a pinched voice, trying not to throw up in my mouth. “Spurned wannabe lover on probation for a bizarre bra-burning extravaganza. You probably need the awards you and Sue are up for to keep your job.”

“Take me downtown,” she pleaded.

“Wait. What?” I so did not want her in my car.

“I’ll take a lie detector test.” Holy hell, she was serious. “I thought if I burned the bras, Sue would be impressed and find me more attractive. I don’t give a damn about the awards or my job,” Winnie blubbered hysterically. “I just want her to go out on a date with me.”

She was now in tears. Her body shook, which did unmentionable things to her bosom and forced me to look at the ceiling.

“Professor Junsen . . .”

“I love her,” she shrieked. “Why doesn’t she love me back?”

“Well, um . . . I’m fairly sure she’s straight,” I mumbled. What in the hell was I supposed to do here? My apparently profound observation about Shoshanna’s sexual orientation sent Professor Winnie into an even louder round of snot-filled sobbing. Shit. “You just need to find a nice lesbian, who . . . um, you know doesn’t like bras and stuff.”

“Do you find me attractive?” she blubbered.

“I’m straight too,” I said much louder than I intended. “Very straight, but if I wasn’t, I might find you, um . . . or your, um . . . passion for women’s rights somewhat interesting . . . kind of.”

“Really?” she asked hopefully.

“Sure, but can I give you a piece of advice?”

“Yes. Please.”

“You might want to consider wearing a bra.”

“Do you think that would help?” she asked, glancing down at her swinging pendulums.

“Possibly,” I whispered, sure I would burn in hell for lying.

“That’s wonderful. Thank you. Could you do something for me?” she queried, wiping her nose on her muumuu.

“Is it legal?”

“Yes,” she said solemnly. “Would you put in a good word for me with Sue?”

“Um, okay, but I don’t know how much weight I pull.”

Her face lit up and she bear-hugged me, squashing me with those boobs. As much as it grossed me out, I felt a little happy that I’d made her feel better.

“Professor Junsen . . .”

“Call me Winnie,” she insisted.

“Okay . . . Winnie. Do you mind if I take your hard drive? I’ll get it back to you tomorrow.”

“God, no! Take it. You can take Pat’s too. Pat only plays Scrabble on the damn thing.”

Damn it to hell, why hadn’t she used a gender-specific pronoun for Pat? I was never gonna find out what Pat was.

I’d come up empty. None of these suspects had panned out. All the same, I couldn’t say I was disappointed. Well, maybe about Randy, he was an ass-hat, but Evangeline and Winnie . . . I kind of liked them from a distance. A great distance.

Who in the hell was threatening Shoshanna? I didn’t know right now, but I sure as hell would find out soon. Of that, I had no doubt.

A
fter the interview weirdness of the day before, I was expecting a break today, but no such luck. I had almost forgotten about my little shopping expedition or I had just blocked it out. As I parked in front of Frisky Business, my butt welded itself to the driver’s seat. I could not go in there. I knew what awaited me—Rena and Kristy. My new friends, armed with a list from Shoshanna detailing the appropriate clothing I would need as her assistant. Fuck . . . Why did this place seem familiar? I racked my brain trying to remember. I was certain I’d never shopped here before and I was certain I didn’t want to shop here now.

If I drove away, I knew they’d come to my house and drag me back. That would be even worse than walking in of my own accord. The hot pink neon flashing light informing all to “Get Your Licks and Lashes Here” was alarming and disgusting.
Licks and Lashes?
I would confiscate Rena’s and Kristy’s phones the minute I walked in . . . if I walked in. The abrupt knock on my window scared the hell out of me.

“Get your ass out of the car.” Rena stood there grinning like an idiot.

“I told you she’d be out here,” Kristy chimed in. “You owe me forty.”

“Fine,” Rena groaned, “but you owe me thirty from the doughnut bet last week, so I only owe you ten.”

“But you didn’t get the picture of Evangeline at the pokey. That was thirty, so you still owe me forty.”

They both stood there lost in confusion trying to figure out who owed who what. Did I really want to have friends? They seemed like a hell of a lot of work.

“Get out of the fucking car, Candy, or I’ll drag your ass out,” Rena informed me gleefully with her hands planted on her hips.

“And I’ll take pictures,” Kristy threatened, pulling her phone out.

I rolled down my window and stuck my hand out. “Give me your phones.”

“Oh, come on,” Kristy whined. “You’re no fun.”

“Phones,” I snapped.

Reluctantly they handed them over. I put them under my front seat, got out, and locked the doors. “You’ll get them back when we’re done here.”

“Nice move,” Rena congratulated me and shoved me toward the entrance. “Very nice.”

“Thank you.”

We walked in and a huge sense of déjà vu swept over me. I
had
been here, but when and why?

“Oh shit,” a male voice screeched. “We ain’t got nothing here. We’re clean. Motherfucker, Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and Moses, everybody duck and cover! The Feds are here.”

About ten scantily clad male and female employees screamed and sprinted around the store looking for hiding places. It was like a Three Stooges episode, except there were ten of them and they were basically, for all intents and purposes, naked. Now I remembered. I’d busted this place four years ago for running a prostitution ring. Prostitution wasn’t on my list of priorities, but when all payments were in grams of cocaine, hooking became my problem. Clearly, I’d made an impression. This was a clusterfuck.

“Freeze,” I yelled. “Who’s in charge here?”

“I am,” came a muffled voice from underneath a pile of dildos.

“Get out here.”

A tiny woman dressed in a corset, rubber miniskirt, fishnets, and combat boots crawled out from under the dildos and sheepishly approached.

“Are you still running a bordello here?” I inquired, trying to recall if she had been here four years ago.

“Absolutely not,” she replied, completely insulted.

“Then why did everyone run around and lose their shit?” Rena and Kristy stood by me, stunned to silence.

“Because you’re a Fed and last time you were here, you shot the hell out of the place.”

“Oh, right. I did. Well, if you’re not running drugs or hookers, we don’t have a problem.”

“Why are you here then?” the little rubber skirt gal asked skeptically.

“She’s a customer. She’s here to buy some hot, sexy garb to wear at SCREW-Con,” Rena volunteered, stepping forward to shake hands with rubber skirt.

“No way,” Little Rubber cackled.

“That’s funny?” I snapped, wiping the smile off her face.

“Um . . . no,” she stammered. “Just unexpected. What exactly do you need?”

“Here’s a list.” Rena handed over a sheet of paper with writing on both sides. “Are you an eight?”

I nodded. The size of the list made my stomach roil. Rubber gal took the list from Rena and hurried away to start collecting my own personal hell.

“You are such a fucking badass,” Kristy whispered with delight.

“Dude, I am impressed,” Rena added. “Your mere presence knocked over a tower of dildos and made the guy in the purple assless leather chaps pee himself.”

“I can’t do this,” I muttered, and tried to turn and run.

“Nope,” Rena said, and grabbed me in a hold she must have learned from Jack. I knew I was screwed.

“This is not about you. It’s about keeping Shoshanna safe. Did you find anything out at the university?”

I hung my head and realized I was going to have to do this. It was a costume. I’d worn hundreds over the years and never balked. I wasn’t going to start today. “It was a bust. None of them did it.”

“Do you have any other leads?” Kristy worriedly asked.

“No, but I’ll find him or her or them,” I told the girls confidently.

“Then I don’t want to hear any more bitching out of your cakehole about the outfits,” Rena said as she pushed me toward the dressing rooms. “You’ll need these to do the job right.”

“Were edible panties on the list?” Kristy asked, holding up a box.

“No,” Rena called over her shoulder, “but if they have strawberry in a medium, I’ll take seven.”

“How about raspberry panties?” Kristy yelled. “I don’t see strawberry. Oh my God,” she squealed. “They have chocolate. Mitch loves chocolate.”

“Mitch is my brother,” I groaned. “That is entirely too much information and the visual is vomitus.”

“Whoops! Sorry.” Kristy laughed.

This was going to be a long fucking day.

After an hour and a half of shoving myself in and peeling myself out of clothes made of rubber and other materials that should be used for tires, I was exhausted. I refused to come out of the dressing room so Kristy, Rena, and Rubber Skirt Gal, whose name turned out to be Joan, wedged themselves in every time I changed.

“Damn, you’re hotter than Satan’s underpants,” Joan complimented me on the black leather pants and corset that were making it next to impossible to breathe.

“You really are,” Rena said, eyeing me and my hooker clothes. “You’re a knockout to start with, but this shit throws you over into the holyfuckingshitball category.”

“Am I supposed to say thank you to that?” I asked, shifting in an attempt to get more air into my lungs.

“Yes, you are,” Kristy announced grandly and began loosening the corset.

“Thank you,” I gasped as oxygen rushed back into my body. I hoped one thank-you would cover both the questionable compliment and the saving of my life. “Everybody out. I’m changing back into my jeans, T-shirt, and shitkickers.” I pulled a credit card out of my purse and handed it to Rubber Joan.

“Nope.” Rena snatched my card from Joan and handed it back to me. “Shoshanna is buying—she insisted. Plus, this is going to cost a shit-ton. You’re getting enough to have new slut-duds every day for at least two months.”

“Oh my God. Put some of that back.” I grabbed a pile and tried to hand it to Joan.

“Absolutely not. Shoshanna gave explicit instructions about what she wanted you to have and you’ll have it. And,” Rena gagged, “she threatened to eat every meal in my presence for a month if I didn’t complete this mission. You’re keeping the fucking clothes.”

The three of us contemplated the reality of having to watch Shoshanna eat. I looked at the clothes and I looked at my friend. Her face was desperate, and I was fairly sure she would hurl in anticipation of her punishment if I put even one item back. Kristy, looking a little green, would probably vomit in solidarity, which in turn would cause me to throw up due to my overactive gag reflex.

“I’ll keep the clothes.” The ecstatic relief on Rena’s and Kristy’s faces made me giggle. “Now out. I need to be me again.”

They filed out and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The pants molded to me like a second skin and held on to my ass almost as tightly as Luke had when we’d made love the other night. The loosened corset made my breasts spill out of the top. I didn’t even recognize that girl. Luke would lose his mind if he ever saw me like this, but he would never see me like this. The thought made me weepy and I dropped onto the pink fur-covered chair in the corner. I would not cry for him. I would not cry for anyone. Why, why, why did I have to go and try to make things real with him? My heart hurt and a horrible unsettled feeling had moved into the pit of my stomach. No matter what I did, it wouldn’t go away. Shit. Taking a deep breath, I attempted to push all my feelings to the back of my mind, but for the first time they wouldn’t move.

Furious at myself for being weak, I yanked off the sex clothes and pulled on my jeans and T-shirt. There. I felt a little better. Just a little.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Rena whispered in terror outside of the dressing room door. “Get out here, Candy. We have to sneak out the back. Hurry,” she hissed.

I pulled my gun from my purse and dove for the door. What the hell was happening? Knocking Rena to the ground, I aimed my gun out into the store and quickly scanned for trouble. At the sight of my weapon, the clusterfuck started all over again—sprinting, screaming, naked sex shop employees.

“Damn it,” Rena exploded. “Put your gun away. You’ve completely screwed us now.”

“What’s happening here?” I ground out, unwilling to lower my Glock until I’d assessed the situation and had it under control.

“Well I’ll be damned! Wasn’t sure about you being Mag the Hag, but I was wrong. You are Mag beyond the shadow of a doubt,” yelled an overjoyed Mrs. C.

“I’d say you just made at least three idiots pee and one may have crapped his pants,” Edith crowed, sniffing the air. The shell-shocked employees all filed into a back room. This was clearly too much even for people who knew the ins and outs of butt plugs, passion fruit lube, and strap-ons.

“Do you see what the problem is now?” Rena grunted in disgust as she picked herself up off the ground. “Your trigger-happy fingers have just ruined my day.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, and holstered my gun. “You could have been a bit clearer.”

“How in the hell was I supposed to know you’d go all Rambo?” she demanded.

A bad day had just gotten worse. What were they doing here?

“You two are supposed to be working right now,” Kristy admonished the sisters, and checked her watch. “Did you close up this early?” she demanded.

I’d forgotten Kristy owned the knitting shop the two old biddies ran. She was their boss and I was stupefied that they actually appeared contrite. They stared at each other, doing some kind of sibling lesbian telepathy, nodded, and Mrs. C stepped forward.

“Nobody was there and William Shatner didn’t deliver the bolts of fabric, so there was nothing to do. We were bored and needed some new crotchless panties for SCREW-Con and so we left.”

“Did you lock up?” Kristy was pissed and the gals were squirming.

“She did,” they answered simultaneously.

“You were supposed to lock up, you old cow.” Edith whacked her sister in the head.

“No I wasn’t, you lazy dyke, you were,” Mrs. C shouted, and trapped her sister in a chokehold.

“Do you mean to tell me you left the store wide open with no one there?” Kristy stepped in, separated the old gals, and got right up in their faces. Damn, she was brave. “If one of you mistakenly hits me, I will make you count buttons all night tonight and I will revoke the vacation time I gave you.”

“Sorry,” they muttered. “We’ll go back and lock up.”

“No.” Kristy blew out an exasperated sigh. “I have to go over there and order new stock anyway, but just know this goes down on the list.” They nodded and tried to pinch each other when they thought she wasn’t looking. “Get your panties and then get your crotchless asses back to the shop. Or else.”

I needed to get a few pointers from Kristy on handling the girls. It was like she was their freakin’ mother. Amazing.

“Wait.” Rena was puzzled. “When did William Shatner become a delivery guy?”

“He didn’t.” Kristy giggled, making her way to the door. “Our guy is the spitting image, so that’s what we call him when he’s not around.”

“Oh fuck,” Mrs. C muttered. “I thought it was really him. I’ve been calling him Captain Kirkhole for months.”

Kristy froze for a moment and I watched her silently decide to let that one go. She was a smart girl. She knew when to pick her battles. My insides warmed when I remembered she was going to be my new sister. My brother had found a good one.

“Who’s Mag the Hag?” Rena inquired as she warily stepped around the sisters and went to investigate the fuzzy handcuffs.

“She is,” Edith said, pointing to me as she filled her basket with the dreaded crotchless undies.

“No, I’m not,” I said, hoping I hadn’t actually made anyone poop their pants.

“Yes, you are,” Mrs. C shot back. “You are the reincarnation of the finest, most fucked-up sharpshooter ever born.”

“You two are clearly smoking crack and I am not her. Never have been and never will be.”

“Protest all you want, Mag,” Mrs. C grunted as she tasted all the different lubes. “But you
are
her and we’re finally all back together again. Good times ahead.” Her face pinched, she spit out the lube and started licking the sleeve of her shirt. “Bubblegum tastes like monkeyass,” she gagged.

Having no desire to ask her why she knew what monkeyass tasted like, I made my way over to the cash register, hoping someone had recovered enough to come out and ring me up. No one. It was not my day.

“Candy, I was hoping you could help us out.” Edith ambled over, weighed down by her enormous quantity of edible clothing.

This was not good. I could feel it, but having them owe me might work to my advantage. “What do you need?”

“We don’t exactly have tickets to SCREW-Con. They’re sold out and we were hoping you could steal a few or sneak us in,” Edith explained as she grabbed a ball gag and some rope.