Locomotive to the Past, George Schultz [snow like ashes series txt] 📗

side, she reached back, and delivered a sound—a deafening—slap, to his right buttock! It must’ve been heard—throughout the entire building, he’d felt.

“That’s for being such a smarty-pants,” she informed him!

“No one has ever called me that before! And, now that I’m lying here, facing you… and with a sore fanny… I think I’ll stay here! The scenery is so much nicer, this way.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Look, Jason! Seriously . . . this may not happen again! What we just did!”

“What we just did was… we made love!”

“Yes! But, I really don’t think, that we ought to do it again! Not till we get married! I know! I know exactly what that sounds like! It sounds like I’m dangling sex out there! As bait! As bait… to get you, to marry me! Believe me… if that were the case, we wouldn’t be lying here! In heaven! And naked!”

“Do I now get to slap you on the fanny?”

“Nope! Besides, you gave me a purty good shot… that night, on my front porch! What I’m saying, is that… what we did tonight… is not going to bind you, to the position! To the proposition! To the situation… where you feel as though you’re gonna have to marry me! I don’t intend for this to happen again… till we are hitched! But then, I… really and truly . . . didn’t mean for it to happen tonight! I really did not! Things just…” She simply let the sentence drift away.

“I believe you,” he murmured—at length.

“But, you know? When I saw this apartment… and you, standing there! Standing there… so close to me… my mind didn’t, all of a sudden, blank out! Didn’t, suddenly, lose control of everything! At that moment, my greatest wish . . . was to make love, to you! To make love… with you!”

“Valerie? Valerie… do you think that it’s a good time to get married? I mean, I’d love to be married to you! Have wanted to be married to you… since the beginning of time.”

“Beginning of time? We’re back to that . . . are we? Beginning, of your life . . . and all that?”

“Seriously! You’re so much better . . . at these sort of things! If we went ahead, and got married . . . got hitched, in a week or so, or in a day or two… do you think we could make it?”

“Of course we could! We absolutely could! We absolutely would!”

“Then, will you marry me?”

“NO!” she answered—then, erupted in gales of laughter!

Of course she’d hurriedly accepted! Immediately after he’d slapped her, on her bottom! They would be married—on a date to be named later!

She wound up spending the night! Her determination to not repeat “what we did tonight”—till the couple was tightly bound in Holy Matrimony—held!

All the way through the night! Well, until 7:00AM, the following morning—when “the stupid” Big Ben went off!

TWENTY FIVE

October 18, 2001—two days after the death of Manny Foster:

Prosecutor Buck Mahoney had just seated himself, behind his Rugby field—sized desk—the finest, most lavish, of all the furnishings, in the entire Dearborn, Michigan’s, prosecutors’ far-flung domain! He was somewhat jarred by a loud, insistent, knock—upon his formidable oaken wood door!

“Come in,” he snarled.

Entering—hurriedly—was determined Lieutenant Phillip Phipps, followed by a uniformed police officer!

Behind the obviously-dedicated pair, Mahoney could hear his beleaguered secretary shouting, “I tried to stop ’em, Mister Mahoney! I really did!”.

“What the hell do you want?” growled the prosecutor—as the uniformed cop kicked the office door shut! With great vigor!

“I’m sure that you’ve heard… by now,” responded Phipps, “that your ex has been arrested! Happened night before last,”

Mahoney’s mood brightened! Immediately! “Yeah,” he acknowledged—making not the slightest attempt, to conceal a broad smile. “Pity!”

“Yeah,” snapped Phipps. “You’ll learn… exactly… what a pity! What a pity it is! A helluva pity… if you don’t quash this thing!”

“Quash this thing? What the hell are you talking about? Phipps… you’ve got your head, squarely, up your ass! As usual! Why the hell should I… ?”

“Because,” seethed the detective, “if you don’t, you’re gonna see the biggest campaign, to throw your rotten… your corrupt, your self-centered… ass; throw it out, of your pissy-assed, cushy, position! That’s fucking why!”

“What the hell are you rattling on about? Who’d want me out of office?”

“Well, you’re looking at two of ’em… even as we speak! There’s not a cop . . . not one police officer… who doesn’t hate your guts! That’s from the police chief… on down!”

“Listen, Phipps! I’ve played along… with your stupid-assed little game! Till now! But, right now… right at this moment… you’ve gone too fucking far!”

“You have no idea . . . how far we’re planning on going, Mahoney! How far… unless you quash this thing! I don’t care… don’t really give a damn… how you quash it! But, you will quash it! Otherwise, your ass is grass! And there’s more lawnmowers, out here! More goddam lawnmowers… than you’d ever want to know exist!”

“You clowns ought to stick to… what you call law enforcement! And just go back… to shaking down store owners! Go back to collecting your bribes! Stay out of things… that don’t concern you! You’re in over your head, Phipps! Way over your shit-assed head! Which doesn’t take much!”

“Oh yeah? Well, listen, Mister Smart-assed Persecutor! We all know that you’re fixing… in your evil, pea-sized, corrupt, little brain… to run for mayor, in two-thousand-and-two! How about we get every Dearborn cop . . . and that’s for openers… to go on radio? Go on radio . . . and tee vee? And tell the public . . . the unsuspecting public… how you ran out, on your wife? Your ex-wife? Ran out on her! Left her… flat-out fucking broke! Left her without a red goddam cent! Left her with those two kids?”

“Listen, Phipps! All of that . . . it falls under the heading of no one’s goddam business! None! You . . . or anyone else!”

“Oh yeah? We’ll just see . . . if it’s no one’s goddam business!”

“Right!” chimed in the uniformed officer. “Listen! We both went… went yesterday . . . and we talked, to your kids! Well, talked to your daughter! Talked to that… that beautiful . . . that remarkable, little girl! That wonderful . . . that positively-heroic . . . little girl!