The Birth of Horny Town U.S.A.

glynndah said:

I purposely put the drive-in way back in the boonies so the lights of the city wouldn't bother in and it'd be away from the prying eyes of the city fathers. I'm pretty sure the owners play some pretty risque movies very, very late at night occasionally.

Rats! I forgot a library, too?!? How about one of those two little unnamed houses beside the bank or maybe the Write Place would be willing to share quarters?

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Tricky.
A lot depends upon how small-town America likes its libraries. I think it's quite a big one, and putting it in one of those "houses" adjacent to the Bank is about right (Military Academy & Diner close at hand.)

glynndah said:

Rats! I forgot a library, too?!? How about one of those two little unnamed houses beside the bank or maybe the Write Place would be willing to share quarters?

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Even moderately large cities often house the library in or near City Hall. They sometimes even house branch libraries in storefronts left vacant by bankrupt businesses.

glynndah said:

I purposely put the drive-in way back in the boonies so the lights of the city wouldn't bother in and it'd be away from the prying eyes of the city fathers.

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PS:

Most Drive-ins were originally built with exactly those factors in mind, but...

The Las Vegas Drive-in and the North Las Vegas Airport were both once nearly three miles away from the nearest habitation or business and outside the city limits, but just in the last twenty years, North Las Vegas has grown to the point where both are over five miles inside the city limits. (The drive-in and airport are about five hundred yard apart.)

Is anyone making an effort to write a story in Horny Town yet?

I'm mulling over an idea, might give it a shot as soon as I finish a couple of longer series I'm working on.

Tx Tall Tales said:

Is anyone making an effort to write a story in Horny Town yet?

I'm mulling over an idea, might give it a shot as soon as I finish a couple of longer series I'm working on.

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Hey Tx! I am working on a story as we speak, but between school started back up (I already have papers to grade!) and an industrial strength skunk with incredible aim hitting my dog and side of my house I am kind of off track at the moment. Should have it done by Sunday night I hope.

Good luck with all your writing!

Back when I was training bird dogs and such things were fairly common, we discovered that the most effective way to clean off the smell was to make up a double strength solution of Massingil douche powder and pour it over the affected (dog, clothes, side of pickup, whatever) let it sit for about five minutes and then hose it off. Worked pretty good though I have heard that Mythbusters came up with an even better fix. Forgot what it is, however.

voluptuary_manque said:

Back when I was training bird dogs and such things were fairly common, we discovered that the most effective way to clean off the smell was to make up a double strength solution of Massingil douche powder and pour it over the affected (dog, clothes, side of pickup, whatever) let it sit for about five minutes and then hose it off. Worked pretty good though I have heard that Mythbusters came up with an even better fix. Forgot what it is, however.

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I'll have to put that in a story.

JackLuis said:

I'll have to put that in a story.

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The experience is still too "fresh" in my mind Besides I still shudder too much to hit the keys properly to type.

litfan10 said:

The experience is still too "fresh" in my mind Besides I still shudder too much to hit the keys properly to type.

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We've had skunky dog,, more than once, and found that hydrogen peroxide, mixed in the bath water helps a whole lot.

What IS a Bird-Dog please ?
(memories of the Everley Brothers)

Handley_Page said:

What IS a Bird-Dog please ?
(memories of the Everley Brothers)

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All the Sporting Dog category in the UKC are bird dogs. Pointers, setters, spaniels and retrievers hunt mostly feathered game. Fur animals are usually hunted with Hounds.

What we'd call "gun dogs" ?

Handley_Page said:

What we'd call "gun dogs" ?

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Yup. The terms are synonymous and used interchangeably. Bird dogs more likely refers to the pointing breeds while gun dogs is the general term.

Is anybody close to publishing anything?

He shouted down the rainpipe.

JackLuis said:

Is anybody close to publishing anything?

He shouted down the rainpipe.

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a very faint voice was heard; "shut up - we're working on it"

"He approached the drain pipe and whispered, "Pisst, anybody alive there?"
He glanced around, anxious to be caught talking to a drainpipe. "I've 15,000 words waiting to edit, Nano is coming soon."

Sorry, I haven't finished my second Summer Contest story yet and it's already Halloween Contest time. There's a slim possibility I might get to Hornytown for the Winter Contest, very slim.

I started writing one when the idea was new...
Then came all the figuring out of the lay out of the town.. and I got lost, lol.
Then I lost my muse.
Then... well. Here we are. A lonely thread and me with a quarter of a story.

EmeraldKitten said:

I started writing one when the idea was new...
Then came all the figuring out of the lay out of the town.. and I got lost, lol.
Then I lost my muse.
Then... well. Here we are. A lonely thread and me with a quarter of a story.

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Sigh, it sounded so good too.

Got any sexy snippits left laying about?

Who Screws the Postman?

Lester Murphy was 52 years old and had just left the Army after almost 32 years of service. He had taken all the Veterans Benefits that were offered, including the promise of a Government job. That is how he ended up working as a postal deliveryman in Horner Springs.

He had told the VA lady that he’d like a calm job, 8 combat tours and he was ready for taking it slow. She nodded and tapped at her keyboard for a while, totally ignoring Les, then she smiled, “Ah here you go, Rural Mail Carrier, doesn’t pay much but with your retirement pension and the cost of living out there, you should make out all right.”

She handed Les a printout from her printer and said, “Veterans Administration,” her eyes told Lester she was talking to her headphone, so he looked at the printout. The pay would less than he was making as a Master Sergeant, but he would be making more with his pension and he could live with that. He looked at the location, Horner Springs? He smiled, “Never heard of it, sounds perfect.”
“Well, call me in three or four days and I’ll let you know if, or when it’s confirmed, Okay, Mr. Murphy?”
Lester looked at her nameplate and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Fauquier.

It took a few days for Lester to find out that he got the job, but he was shacking up with an old comrade outside of Ft. Dix and was, quite frankly, too drunk to care.

It took Lester a week to drive out to Horner Springs. He had arranged a moving company to move his things, there wasn’t much, but he couldn’t get much of it in his car. The used Cadillac he bought, had a large trunk, but his case of M1 rifles would not have fit in it.
The trip, in the Caddy was long and pleasant, he had decided to stop at the National Parks and sights along the way, so it took several days before he was at the top of the pass that lead down to Horner Springs. He pulled over at a lookout point and gazed at the river valley that held the small town.

Ranches and farms seemed to reach all the way to the city limits. The river ran sinuously though the valley floor through green fields and down thru town. The lake, from which the river came was surrounded by trees. Lester drove down into this bucolic heaven and found the motel he had booked on line. The Sleazy Eights didn’t sound like much, but the pictures of the vintage cabins and knotty pine interiors intrigued Lester.

When he pulled in to the Sleazy Eights, he saw its distinctive sign, of a poker hand, a pair of eights and four deuces. He found that the restaurant was open until ten pm and there was a bar as well in the comfortable lodge that housed the office.
//
The post master had Lester do the downtown route for his first few weeks, “Ms O’Reily is going on her honeymoon and it’ll let people get used to you and you can get to know the town,” the Postmaster, Lynda Lustloss said and handed him off to the flustering bride to be. Guadalupe O’Reily was neither, Latin or Irish as far as Les could tell. She was a brunette in her forties and pleasantly plump, to be kind.

“We’re going to Denver and then down to Santa Fe. My Donald, has it all booked and we’re staying in a Spa!” Lester cringed at her shrill enthusiasm as they walked the route around town and she showed him how to bag the mail. Les caught a bit of cleavage as she bent to open the bag for him to drop in the mail they had collected from the bank building. Which reminded him that he hadn’t had sex recently and should be looking for a woman.

When they got to the Acme Building a surprising number, to Lester’s mind, of long narrow boxes, being sent all over the country, were tied with a red ribbon and had a Card attached addressed to “Lupe”. Lupe took the card and opened it, smiling and rocking side to side as she read it. She blushed and closed the card, untying the elaborate ribbon and dropping the long narrow boxes into the bag. “It’s from a friend of mine, here in the building.” She giggled tucking the card and ribbon in her back pocket while Lester finished collecting the mail. They made the circuit in about an hour and took the mail back to be sorted, that took less time than picking it up, so Lynda told Lupe to, “Go take your happiness to home, Honey,” and patted her on the cheek.
Lupe left without a word, but was laughing and skipping as she fished her keys out of her pants as she skipped out the back door of the small post office.

Les had met a lot of people and most were real nice, though it was hard to shut them up sometimes, but Lester could always hold up some mail, smile, tip his cap and be on his way. By the end of the first three weeks he had met most of the ‘eligible’ matrons in town it seemed. A few had more than obviously flirting with him, but he hadn’t really fancied any of them. He did enjoy making small talk, instead of Tac reports though, and nobody had shot at him in weeks! Lester was loving this job.
//
After he had been in town a few weeks, he decided he ought to look for a place to live. He was still covering the Downtown route, because Lupe Regan, nee O’Reily, had called in her additional three weeks of leave time. She and Donald were going to Arizona before they came home.

There were several Real Estate Agencies on his route, Lester had seen a few places that he might be able to afford, but hadn’t really looked since he had been in town.

He paused at the window display outside one of agencies and checked out the properties for sale. He realized that there were few that didn’t also have large acreage attached and he didn’t need a “house, barns, equestrian arena and a pool, on 500 acres in the heart of the Valley” The price was marked down two hundred thousand, but that was just a few percent of the asking price.
He glanced at the pictures and passed on by. The next agency was more in his league, still the rural attachment to land was evident, most small places were ten to twenty acres. He took the mail into the agency and the woman behind the desk smiled and got up to meet him.

“I’ll bet you’re Mr. Murphy, we haven’t met. May I see our mail?”

Lester handed her several envelopes and a few magazines.

She tossed the magazines on her desk and fanned the envelopes, and laughed, “It’s here Louise,” she called out.
“Hallelujah,” a voice from a rear office shouted.

A large woman in a blue suit, came rushing out of the office and took the letter, opened it and laughed. Louise, apparently, ran back into her office an came back out with a large purse. “I’m off to the Court House, I’ll be a Bennies after.” Louise left the door open as she left.

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.” Lester said and removed his hat.
She smiled, “Sorry but Louise was waiting for a deed to transfer so she could collect the fee. I’m Maureen Sorbados.”
“Lester Murphy, pleased to meet you Mrs. Sorbados .”

Maureen blushed a bit and said, “Ms Please, This is the twenty-first Century, after all.” She glanced down and then up at Lester’s face.
Lester smiled and said, “I’m interested in purchasing a home, but I don’t have a lot of time now, could I come see you again, after five?”

“Well do you have a few minutes to let me know what to look for, I can do a search and have the results by the time you get off work.” Maureen said and picked up a pad, “Please set down, can I get you something to drink?”

It took less time than Lester had thought before Maureen nodded, “I think I have the idea and there are several properties that might fit your requirements. Let me print out the listings and I’ll have them for you as soon as you get off work. The office is open until five thirty, but I’ll wait for you.”

Lester nodded and was rerunning her words in her mind as he continued his route. He thought about Maureen, the redhead that seemed to ooze both a lively vitality and a professional manner.
//
Lester and Maureen go see the properties and he says, I’ve kept you so late, at least let me buy you dinner?’

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Nice start, Jack.

//
As Lester sat at the counter of the Horny Springs Diner, two men were up trying to fix the sign that had been maliciously vandalized by removing the “er” and adding a “y”. Lester was laughing about it as Joann, dropped off his order and topped his coffee.

“Jeagermister, good to see you again.” A voice from his past said softly in his ear, Lester lost his appetite and turned from his meal slowly, “I had hoped never to see you again, Headhunter.”
Morgan Gilhoulie Bernstein shook his head and sat next to Lester, “I can’t say it thrills me either. I was shacked up nice and tight outside of Bragg when Redbeard called. He said he’s calling in his markers and not even Big Tit’s Houlahand herself … Well, Redbeard is calling you too.”

“What’s that bastard up too. I’m free and clear, Discharged and out six months now. I got a job and I ain’t traipsing halfway to Hades for nobody, ever again, and sure as hell, not with you.”
Morgan reached out and took a menu as he waved at Joann, the waitress. “No need to go anywhere Jaeger, strictly domestic, well, for you anyway. Let me grab a burger and we’ll find someplace to talk.

MGB, as Lester thought of him, had crossed Lester’s path several times in the 32 years he had eaten Army chow. He had primarily been the harbinger of death and destruction. While Lester had found their targets, MGB had, neutralized them. They had been teamed up a couple of times and the best that could be said was that they were both on the right side of the grass, after all these years. Sergeant Major Bernstein was a stone killer.
Lester looked at the Authentic Hungarian Goulash and wondered, “Why me, Lords of War?”

“Settle down Les, all they want us to do is find a loose wing nut that lives around here. He’s been on the internet and busting the liberals balls on the net and has Washington all a twitter. So I figure the target must be close by here. We can’t get a fix on his Internet because he uses the wireless net to connect. Most often it’s with in range of the Futter College Wi-Fi base station. That narrows it down but it is still going to take some work to id the bastard.” Headhunter Bernstein said and finished the third beer of the six-pack they had picked up on the way to Lester’s place, out on Slippery Dick Road.

He looked at Lester, “Les, if your tea totaling, mind if I have another?”
Lester smiled and said, “Sure MG, I can’t stand Bud anyway.” As Morgan walked into the kitchen, Les thought that he didn’t like MGB all that much, but he was as close to a friend as Lester had, although he had thoughts about some of the ladies in town.

Morgan came back from the kitchen, “I brought you one, just incase your desperate,” MGB said and handed Les a can of Bud Lite.
Les took the can and sighed, “So, what do you have to start with?”

//
“The guy is all Randian, and is making people nervous. I don’t think he’s dangerous but unibombers come an all sizes and twists,” Headhunter said.

Les drank his beer then asked, “So why is Redbeard interested in this guy? There are lots of nuts on the internet. Shit, I’ve seen some of the wildest crap in the world on the net. Why pick on him?” Les asked.

“Beat’s the shit out’a me, I’m just a trigger man, the men upstairs do the choosing, You know that.”

“You’re not going to snuff him, here are you? Shit this is America?”

“Not that I know of, we just need to find him. who he is and just how crazy he is” Headhunter laughed, “Hell they ain’t paying me enough to shoot anybody. My per diem is barely covering the motel,” he took a drink and sat down. “How the pussy supply in this berg?”
That was how they ended up in Pats, an Irish pub down by the river that served Harp from the tap and Guinness in a bottle.
***
“His handle is Friend of Truth, or The Friend of Truth, I guess that makes the difference, You know why they sent us after him. The singular, and of course, you know how nervous Washington gets when people start talking about “The Truth”.

He laughed, “Well, it’s good for two hundred a day plus per diem, Democrat’s money spends as well as Republican money.”

Morgan had finished his first mug, sat his glass on the back of the bar and turned to watch the young red headed couple, who could have been, and in fact were, brother and sister. She had an Irish drum and he a mandolin/ guitar. She started to beat the drum softly with a stick held between her thumb and forefinger, the heel of her hand added a different tone as her rhythm developed and became more complex, the guitar joined in and they played a reel of music that was almost Appalachian Blue Grass and yet more elemental.

The small crowd was clapping and laughing as she lead him, then he led her in different ways, “Through the Fields of Kerry.” Lester was surprised at the authenticity of the music, he had spent several months in Northern Ireland with the British Sappers defusing the odd shoe box filled with shoes, and that most dangerous thing of all, a charge slip!

Lester was grinning and clapping his beer ignored, because Gilhoulie wasn’t going to drive him home and sleep on his couch. He liked Morgan, but Gilhoulie and Bernstein both gave him the willies.
//

Randy Leroy Johnson had been a Chicago policeman, actually a lieutenant of detectives, until he had a personal epiphany one day and had to be restrained from stuffing a kilo of cocaine down the throat of a drug dealer. His “rabbi” at the Fraternal Order of Police suggested that it might be time to “refocus his efforts” and assisted him in finding suitable employment in the Horner Springs Police Department.

Mr. Johnson was sensitive about his name, and insists that, “It is pronounced ‘Yo-han-son,’ not Johnson, it was a mix up at Ellis Island.”
The Mayor Eloise Bensen, noticed the change in the roster, when the Police Chief came for his weekly meeting with her. “Is this the new man you were telling me about, Randy Johnson?” She chuckled, “I must say, that is a distinctive image.” She said grinning at the Chief.

“Oh, don’t call him Johnson, he prefers Yo-han son. I can’t afford to lose one of the few experienced homicide detectives we’ve been able to attract. He seems to prefer to be called Lee,” the Chief said, and added, “I’ll change the roster before it’s published in the town minutes.”

“Yes, that’s probably a good idea.” The mayor said grinning.

//
Lee Johnson was explaining how to pronounce his last name to Betty Collins the Chiefs Secretary, while waiting to see the Chief, “It is pronounced, Yo-han-son, like Swedish, you know?”
Betty, a 20 year old junior at Futter University, who worked mornings, smiled and looked at Lee. He was medium height, but quite broad in the shoulders and had a dark complexion, which worked well with the mahogany colored suit he was wearing. Betty looked quizzically at him and said, “Forgive me for saying it but, you don’t look Swedish?”

Lee smiled and said, “I hear that a lot. I’m only a sixteenth Swedish, I guess the Nubian comes thru more.” He flashed Betty his smile. That usually worked to close out this particular line of conversation.
//

Lester learns that the long narrow boxes are from “Horner Springs Flute and Fife, Suppliers of Distinctive Accoutrements,” also known as Lenore’s Dildo Factory, or The Dildo Factory. It was in Lenore and Andy O’Shaunessey’s garage right in the middle of town, Andy is a mid forties ex-carpenter, who was put to work by his wife turning exotic shapes and painting them with exotic colors. Andy fills in during the Rodeo-fair as an air brush artist and is clever in his characters.
//

An enterprising young women attempts to open a “Gentleman’s Establishment”, to be called the “Dildo Factory”.
The town council rejects the permit, although salutes the student’s acumen at accessing the changing market base. The mayor recognizes that if the University is serious about stressing the Human Sexuality Studies Program, then town should also adapt their town services. “Take a note to see that all restrooms are equipped with condom machines, Muriel.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Muriel, the clerk said, not bothering to look up from her steno machine.
//
Morgan Gilhoulie, as he styled himself for a cover was, “an entrepreneur, Madam. I am retired military and was attracted by Horner Springs’ ambiance, location and amenities. I’d like to think that I can provide a service to the community and supplement my retirement at the same time.”

Eloise Bensen, the mayor smiled at him, she wondered why this large intimidating man in the checkered suit was at Mabel Perkins tea, but she was gracious, so as not to piss off a potential supporter. She nodded and smiled vacantly, “What did you do in the military, Mr. Gilhoulie?”

He smiled and said, “I was in, ah, irritation removal, it’s not the kind of thing that there is much call for in civilian life.”

The Mayor had just noticed Edger Allen, slip into the room and was jollying up the Chamber Chairman, distracted she murmured, “Pity, it could come in handy at times.” She suddenly realized she had said that out loud and glanced at Mr. Gilhoulie.
Morgan was sipping his tea and ignored her words, He smiled and she realized that she had been foolish to speak aloud, but he didn’t seem so intimidating. His posture was relaxed and the smile on his rather craggily handsome face, one might think, was friendly.

“Well it was so nice to meet you your Honor. I appreciate your time.” Morgan extended his hand and she took it with just her fingertips, because you never know when you’ll run into a Texan, who’ll wring your hand off in macho bravado.

Morgan took her hand smoothly and held the fingers softly, the look in his eye was gentle but his eyes were twinkling. “I think Horner Springs will agree with me.”

Ellen smiled and said, “I hope so, and welcome to the Horner Springs community.”

Morgan left the tea party by the back gate, and walked up the alley to his car. He was pleased with himself, Betty Collins had told him where the Mayor was and crashing a tea party was a lot easier than breaking into a Syrian armory and planting C4. He had established an identity and Betty had also mentioned the condom machine contract.

Morgan returned to his room at the “Sleazy Eights” motel, which had a sign with a poker hand, a pair of eights and four deuces, to explain the name. It wasn’t exactly sleazy, the room was paneled in heavily varnished knotty pine and was reasonably large. The heavy varnish was beautiful in the day light but made it hard to light the room at night. A queen sized bed and a small table complemented the built-in chest of drawers along one wall. There was a small refrigerator with a sign, “Please empty before Check-Out”, Morgan kept a six pack and half a sandwich in there.

He fired up his lap top and connected to the web, using the free Wi-Fi connection of the University. Soon he had a line on the necessary machinery and had reported the need for technical modification of the machines to his support services contact.

“Getting what you need is going to be hard to do quickly. Stall them as long as possible and if worst comes, we can do the installs in the field, by swap-out.” Came back the response to his requirements request.
Morgan smiled, and thought about it. He formed his words carefully. If you gave Quartermaster troops an inch, you would be eating MRE’s forever.

He wrote back, “Understood the difficulty of supply, however, I will need at least two machines, by Monday next, for establishing my capabilities. I will require that additional shipments, be modified to accept the package within two weeks, estimate twenty (20) additional machines, then forty every two weeks to fit expected install schedule.” Morgan sent the message, first encrypted by his laptop’s special communications program and then hardware encrypted, as it fed through the actual communications hardware.

It might say Sony on the cover, but it was built outside Boston at a decommissioned Air Force Base, converted into high tech engineering, design and prototypes. Morgan kept this particular laptop in a special suitcase. It wouldn’t do to have someone try to steal and open it. Most of the building would be destroyed if you opened this laptop. Morgan didn’t want to see anyone get hurt, least of all himself
//
“Mr. Gilhoulie” gets the contract to supply 150 condom machines and has them equipped with ‘Agency Packages”, Camera and sound wirelessly linked to a Surveillance system that only saw faces as patterns of numbers and sounds as Phnom sub processing.

The machines are from a company in Chicago that supplied condom dispensers, and other products such as the spermicidal “Mrs. Nightingale’s Continental Douche,” in a convenient purse friendly pouch in stunning emerald green. “Only eight quarters for a pint of confidence”.

Morgan had written the install orders for them to be in the Hotel and a few of the higher class bars in town, but he was surprised when the Mayor’s office called and asked why City Hall’s restrooms hadn’t been provided such a “Brilliant new product?”

//
Lester was finishing his rounds on Route # 3, which wound out and around the edge of town and had a few rural mail boxes big enough to house a Labrador. Nothing he delivered was large and the few packages seemed to be from “View a Jewel” or some such TV station the girls at work told him sells, “Jewelry with real jewels!”

He remembered his friend in Bangkok who sold ruby and sapphire from up country, of course that wasn’t the only trade item, but that was another time and Lester thought about other things.

He had only one more delivery to make and it was a package from “Horner Springs Flute and Fife, Suppliers of Distinctive Accoutrements,”, Lester had been looking at the slender mailing tube as he drove up to the mailbox took it in his hand. It was heavy for its size, felt firm, but yielded slightly to his grasp. He checked the address on the mailbox and on the package before he put it in the mailbox. Lois O’Mally, #372 RFD, Horner Springs.

He glanced at the number on the mailbox, #372 was in black numbers on a new white mailbox. He slid the box and a handful of bulk flyers into box #372, and he was done for the day.

He checked his new GPS and smiled. “Man this was a lot better than the old M-199M3,” He thought The color display was a bit dim in the sunlight as he made the turn back to the post office, he had the voice prompter off and missed the left turn that would have taken him back in five minutes and ended up wandering around through roads laid out along the back sides of the smaller properties.

He stopped and checked the GPS, realized he had shut off the voice prompter, but was somewhat relieved when the thing seemed to be working, it had a route and it was only four point three seven miles. He glanced around and seemed to be in a thicket the road graveled so he followed the directions on his magic box.

The gravel road gave way to a two lane county road and the voice prompter said, “Turn left at the next opportunity, County Road 298.” The voice was mechanical, but not too bad, sort of sounded like a stoned sophomore.
Lester turned on the county road and passed by a large house set off the road about two hundred yards and up a small knoll. Lester realized he hadn’t noticed the knoll until now, but it was very close to down town. Wondering about the geology of the knoll, he completely missed the naked female who was gardening in the front yard. As Lester obeyed the magic box and turned on to Sly Fox Road to get back to the office, The women stood and turned to watch the postal truck passing.

Les got a flat tire on the Sly Fox Road and is squatting looking at the wheel fittings when he heard a truck pull up. He looked and it was sort of a truck, although it had wheels almost as tall as he was. The Body didn’t fit the chassis. The body had come from a 74 El Camino, the rest of it looked like International Harvester on steroids.

“Hey, Mister, need a hand?” A voice called down from the cab.”
“A flat tire was just looking to fix it.” Les couldn’t see who was talking until the door opened and a rope ladder dropped out. Then the biggest cowboy in the world backed out of the cab and climbed down the ladder. Les knew he was a cowboy, from the shit on his boots and the size of his hat.

Les smile at him, the guy was late twenties, had wild curly blond hair leaking out from under his Setson. “Shit he must be seven feet tall,” Les thought.
-
Norman and Homer could have been twins, while Homer changed the flat and grinned as the pneumatic wrench driven from the compressor that was somewhere in the back of the truck whirred and the nuts flew.

Norman had been a cannon cocker in the First Infantry Division when he met Homer, who had sent half the monstrosity home in pieces. Norman had agreed to help Homer fit it all together when they got out. Homer had been injured by a IED and Norman had waited for him to get out of the hospital and helped him assemble what was part five ton tractor and part , well parts.

They had gotten the body from a junk yard, in San Diego and drove it home to Horner Springs, using an Agricultural plate from Normans father’s tractor.
“We’re in the auto accessories business, Norman said as he helped Homer put the tools away in the truck, Norman tossed them up to Homer, who missed the jack and almost hit Norman with it when he dropped it.
Norman cursed, “Shit-fire, Homer you trying to kill me?”

Homer looked over the edge of the bed and smiled, “Oh Norman, I wouldn’t mean to hurt you.” His face sort of sagged and Les thought he was going to cry, when Norman said, “Homer, You know I was kiddin’.”

Homer’s face eased but he said seriously, “I don’t cotton to kiddin’”

Norman said, “We’ll go get a smushie, how’s that?”

Homer’s face brightened immediately and he nodded laughing softly as he turned to put the tools in the bed. Rather than climb down and then back up, he just climbed into the cab from the bed then leaned out and said, “Come on Norman, Nice to meet you Mr. Murphy. Come on Norman! Smushies!”

Norma grinned and shook Lester’s had, “Nice to meet you, got ta go, when Homer gets to thinking of smushies he’ll drive you crazy.” With that he climbed up the rope ladder, pulled it in, closed the door, and started the truck.

Lester stepped back as they drove off, wondering if that thing was actually licensed, or no cop in his right mind would try to . . . Well that wasn’t worth thinking about Lester reminded himself. “We’re out of the Army, we don’t care if people bend a few rules, as long as they don’t hurt anybody.” Les thought and followed the magic box all the way to the post office where he learned the way to properly fill out an vehicular incident and analysis report.

It was with malicious glee that he typed into the computer under the last heading, Lessons Learned, “Don’t drive over nails.”

//

Les frowned saying, “You have to understand about MGB, he had a... let me say, a difficult life and the nature of his work, didn’t allow him to form any permanent attachments. Hell! neither of us did. But it affected Morgan differently.

First he was Sergeant Bernstein, a straight by the book Infantry NCO. I met him in Germany, I was a buck Sergeant and he was my platoon Sergeant. I didn’t like him very much, but it was strictly by the book between us. He shipped out and then I did and I didn’t see him for a long while, although I did hear about him. He had shifted to Special Forces and they had him do “Special” things. Well, he and I ended up on an exercise together and I guess since I wasn’t under his command and nobody else would put up with him, we bunked together.

That’s when I met Morgan. Morgan was quiet and read a lot, because we had to wait around for,” Lester looked at her and laughed, “Well, had to kill a lot of time, and I gained an appreciation for him as a person. After the exercise I didn’t see him for a while but because I had moved to Special Operation Command, we ran into each other in Panama.

That’s when I met Gilhoulie. He was in pretty deep cover and was acting as a triggerman for... Well, he never said. He took me to dinner in a truck to a small town outside of Panama City. On the way he told me that he was playing a local expatriate and had developed a special relationship with the people in the restaurant. When we got to the place it was nice, palms and ceiling fans tropical, you know.

The next thing I knew, we were in the back of the restaurant, counting guns and money with people who didn’t appear to me to be Panamanian. I followed Morgan’s lead and kept my mouth shut, we had dinner with El Hefie and quite a few drinks, before we left with the money.

On the way back from the “dinner” Gilhoulie looked at me and said, “It’s too bad El Hefie was so tight with his money.”

I said, “What do you mean he paid over retail, and half in gold!”
He smiled and said, “Ah, but that’s what is so nice about this duty. The only ones who know that is us.”

So you see that’s what worries me, Gilhoulie isn’t moral, and Bernstein might not notice he if was holding the kitten too tight. Morgan I trust, but the other two,” he shook his head, “I’m not sure.”

//
Lee and Rachel Washington

Lee Johansson, had been in this berg more than four months and nobody had been killed, except for in traffic, and he didn’t cover traffic. That, it was explained to him, was Belinda Blight’s department and she didn’t need his assistance, “Thank you very much, and Good Day Mr. Johnson.”

She was away on her scooter, and away, so Lee yelled to her, “It Yo-Han-Son, Ms Blight!” She couldn’t hear him over the scooter, but it made him feel better.

Lee had gotten the Chief to allow him to try out the new Infrared Surveillance equipment that had been shipped to them from Homeland Security.

Apparently a Congressman was sure they needed at least one maybe two of them. Lee later found out the Congressman’s aid’s wife was chief financial officer for the company that sold them to the Government.

Lee figured he could cover the night shift from his cruiser, rather than his desk and Lois Quartermain, the dispatcher was happy to get the brooding brown hulk out of the office.

“He need’s to get laid,” she confided to her before work coffee clach in the cafeteria of City Hall. “He’s really smart and funny, but he gets so serious all the time. I think it would be a civic service if somebody just up and fucked him until he couldn’t stand it up.”

“Are you volunteering?” Muriel, the town clerk asked with a giggle.

“No, not me, he’s too complicated for me. I like simple men. Meat, potatoes and football. Keeps ‘em out’a your hair and you get to drool over the locker room interviews.” Lois said. She looked at Rachel Washington and asked, “How about you, Rachel. You look like you could use a beef injection.”

Lois and Muriel laughed at Rachel’s expression which was shocked, but not by the crudity, but by the realization that in deed she could use some masculine company.

Rachel leaned back and began to smile. She too delighted in shocking Lois and Muriel as she said in a drawn out drawl, ”Well, you know us southern girls, so loves a chocolate man.”

Rachel was glad she had been able to shock Lois with that line, but as before she had shocked herself, by voicing her feelings before these women, she was forced to recognize the feelings herself.

While Lois and Muriel, got over their shock in seconds and broke out in knowing laughter, Rachel was having to deal with a biological repercussion of imagining a luscious chocolate shaft reciprocating inside her. Rachel stood and said, “Well enough foolishness, almost time for work.” She picked up her tray and left.

Muriel looked at Lois, “Do you think that she meant what she said?”
Lois smiled and looked at Rachel entering the ladies room, “She meant what she said, but did she know what she meant when she said it?”

“Is that a New Age thing? I swear, Lois half the time, I don’t know what the heck your talking about.” Muriel said picking up her tray.

Lois smiled and said, rising, “Then we’re even Muriel. Half the time it just comes out, I think it’s psychic, or maybe...”

The women left and a few seconds later, Lee Johansson peeked around the edge of the door and seeing it empty, walked over and poured a cup of coffee for himself in a tall stainless steel Starbucks thermo cup. He mixed the cream and sugar to the potent brew that had seen him through many stake-outs and eons, it seemed, of looking at mug-shots and MO’s.
Horner Springs was tame by Chicago standards. There was more crime in a day in his old precinct, than all the time he had been here. Truthfully, he wasn’t sorry he left Chicago, but he was going to have to find something other than crime fighting to think about.

Rachel had tried to re-gather herself in the ladies room. She primped her hair and took her time refreshing her lipstick and the simple routine did calm her libido, a bit. She could still feel it low in her belly. The warmth and the need were ebbing as she thought about her job and she felt calm enough to take her desk at the City Crisis Center hotline.

One last look at her hair and she smiled at herself and thought, “Rachel Washington, you’re hot and sexy, and Lee ‘YO-Han-Son’ just might be the answer to the burning need you feel.” She caught a small flaw in her lipstick and corrected the edge with her fingernail. “There, ready to face the world again,” she thought and exited the rest room.

He had had several opportunities to dip his wick since he had been here, but he had been cautious. Maybe he was looking for something different than just a one night stand? “No,” he decided quickly, “I could use a good slow comfortable screw,” he thought as he sipped the coffee and turned.

Rachel came out of the rest room, just then looking down at her nails, she glanced up and saw Randy Leroy, (“don’t call me Johnson”), Johansson himself standing at the coffee counter. She squeaked as her need, throbbed, down low in her belly.

When she squeaked, Lee choked on his scalding hot coffee, the potent brew erupted from his nostrils as his body rejected the idea that it could accept the scalding coffee while trying to support a Johnson erection that had suddenly reacted to Rachel’s luscious, some might say, overstuffed body, but not Mr. Johnson. Oh no, Mr. Johnson, thought Rachel, a Rubinesque Cherub, dipped in extra dark chocolate.

The pain of the hot coffee exiting his nostrils at high velocity, ended the rising of Mr. Johnson, about as fast as it took for the coffee to hit the floor.
//
Later-
Lee came out of the locker room dressed in his spare Uniform, the silk suit needed cleaning after he had blown scalded snot all over it, right in front of that bodacious Rachel Washington.

As he looked back to the City Hall he wondered about her. She seemed nice and friendly as she had helped him swab up most of the mess. Fortunately he hadn’t spilled his coffee cup too. “It those Swedish reflexes," he thought. He’d always had good reflexes. Mr. Johnson stirred as he started the engine of the Ford Cruiser, 425 Hp and 200 Mph tires they had told him. The rumble from the exhausts was kind of invigorating after driving that ‘POS’ Dodge Shadow in Chi town.

He backed out and drove out along the river the rumble of the engine filled the streets with the sound of Justice as Lee drove slowly through much of the down town, checking shops and pulling into the Liquor store to get a few granola bars and fill his thermos.

The kid behind the counter looked up and grinned as Lee entered, “Hi Lt. Yohanson,” the kid came around the counter, “Here let me wash out your thermos, I just made a fresh pot of Colombian French roast.”

“Thanks, It surprises me that, here we are in Horner Springs and you’re serving Colombian French roast and not, I don’t know, Folgers or Farmers like the truck stops.”

The kid smiled, “With the University and the Institute in town we cater to a upscale market. We sell a lot of fancy vodkas too, and, well stuff I never even heard of.”

Lee selected his granola bars and glanced at the latest issue of “Rowdy Cowgirl” that lay open to the ‘spread’, it appeared. “Mighty pretty, in a blond sort of way, but too skinny,” Les thought as the kid filled his thermos and wiped it down. “Not like Rachel Washington,” he thought, she had some nice big hooters and “an ass like a brewers horse” Lee remembered that line from “The Young Lions” a war novel. He always thought it was funny, but he did appreciate some booty, and Rachel’s uniform trousers were, showing her’s were . . .”

“That all you want Lt. ?” the kid said, looking at him and grinning. “She’s a real looker isn’t she.”

Lee started and looked up at the kid and grinned, “If you like silicon and paint. Real women don’t generally look that good, I’ve found. Although,” He smiled, “you do meet one or two.”

Lee paid up and drove down along the river and crossed near the row of shops and restaurants, that perched on the steep bank.

Jack this is so cool! Great job. Okay my schedule has loosened up. I will finish my first Horner Springs story this week (it's about half finished already) I just need to bounce it off Stella first as I use one of her characters quite a bit and I want to make sure he's completely in character.

I'll post a thread here when it's finished.

Again thanks Jack for reviving HS, and so well too!