The Minotauress

Courtney decided not to push it. "Well, at least yer on the list, sweetie. You'll get hired eventually."

"God, I hope so."

She giggled. "‘Course, when that happens, you'll break the hearts'a ever gal in Crick City... mine included."

Stu smiled. "Believe me, Courtney," he lied. "If I wasn't dating Kathy, I'd be all over you like a cheap suit."

"Don't tease me like that, City Boy!" she laughed.

He struggled to change the subject. "Hey, day-shift said the chief was all pissed off about something today."

"Oh, yeah, his dang tickets. He thinks someone stole 'em."

Stu lit a Blue Devil cigarette, then kicked his feet up on the desk. "Tickets?"

"The Annual Big Stone Gap Testicle Festival—"

"What?" Stu gaped.

"They'se real hard ta get, but the chief pulled some strings and got on the invite list—"

"Courtney! What the hell is a testicle festival?"

"Oh, a'course, you're from the city. Ever heard'a Smoky Mountain Oysters?"

Stu winced at once. "Oh, shit, you mean like fried goat balls?"

"Yeah. Only these are bull balls, and they'se dang good, too, I've had 'em a bunch'a times. They dip 'em in corn batter and deep-fry 'em in a big kettle. Taste sort'a like meatballs only a little crunchy."

"Jesus," Stu muttered at the thought.

"Anyway, ever two years they have this big whupdeedo in the fairgrounds near the Gap. It's a privilege ta be on the guest list 'cos five thousand people show up."

Stu blanched. "That's a lot of bull balls."

Courtney giggled. "Yeah, I guess it is. Tickets are, like forty bucks, but the county exec gets ten free ones and invites a few folks. That's why the chief's so bent out'a shape. He's all set ta hob-knob at the festival with the county exec and his cronies."

Stu didn't get it. "If he got invited, what's he pissed off about?"

"'Cos he ain't got his tickets yet. He thinks someone stolt 'em out the mailbox."

"For God's sake," Stu sputtered. "See what I mean, Courtney? We got a world full of drug dealers, rapists, child molesters, and murderers, and all our chief cares about are his tickets to a bull-ball party so he can be seen rubbing elbows with a bunch of redneck politicians. Jesus... "

Courtney closed her magazine and got up. "Come to think of it, I plum fergot ta bring in the mail today. Maybe his tickets come in," and then she waddled out the station door.

Stu rubbed his face, depressed. I should've just joined the Army...

When the phone rang, he picked it up before the end of the first ring. A call! Finally! Please, be something hot...

"Sergeant Cummings, Crick City Police," he answered.

"Hey, Stu?" came a guarded male tone. "This is Corky, over at the Exxon."

Shit! A robbery! He stood right up, reaching for his keys. "Someone sticking the place up?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I just got this guy here trying to fill up, but when I ran his credit card, they said it's been reported as lost or stolen... "

Stu exhaled dismally. Shit. That's all? "Did he run off with the card?"

"No, no, that's just it. I jived him about the machine being slow... "

"Good thinking, Corky. Keep stalling the guy and I'll be right there."

Stu hung up and jogged outside for the town cruiser. Courtney's large breasts joggled in her bra as she walked back up toward the station.

"You get a call, Stu?"

"Yeah," he said getting into the car. "Might be a stolen credit card beef up at the Exxon. I'll be back in a few."

"Be careful!"

Stu drove off. He lead-footed it down the street, headlights out, and squealed Adam-12 style into the gas station. God, that was fun...

Parked at the pump was a close-to-mint ‘69 El Camino with a U-Haul hooked up to it. Damn nice car, Stu couldn't help but think. When his cruiser had fishtailed into the lot, two guys leaning against the car looked over in dismay.

Stu got out and hit the thumb-snap on his holster. You never know...

A geeky looking guy in a white button-down shirt and glasses stood next to another guy with long hair, a John Deere hat, a redneck goatee, jeans, and shit-kicker boots. What's wrong with this picture? Stu thought. The two were an odd couple, indeed.

Stu's steel-toed police shoes snapped on the pavement as he approached.

"Good evening, Officer," greeted the guy in the white shirt. "Is something amiss?"

"Amiss?" Stu spoke with authority. "You tell me." He gave them both the dead-eye. "Both of you. Keep your hands in plain view, and don't make any sudden movements." He shot a harder eye to the Long-Hair. "Tell your buddy to get out of the car. Slow."

He looks like a convict, was Stu's first impression. Nevertheless, Long-Hair did as he was told, stiff-upper-lipped. No, no, I definitely don't like this guy's face...

A dopey, fat ‘neck with a buzzcut got out and stood with his cohorts. "Huh-huh-howdy, sir. We-we-we ain't done nothin' wrong."