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Kovaks Street Scam Forums • View topic - Burnin' Fever, part 2

Burnin' Fever, part 2

Sometimes a good scam will inspire you to write fiction or poetry. Post it here.

Moderator: UnHab

Burnin' Fever, part 2

Postby UnHab on Wed Jan 14, 2009 9:56 am

Don't forget to read Part 1 first.


The Saint was a Mexican named Santiago who drove a rusty Oldsmobile with a crappy sound system. Through clever investigation Gerry found out that he was actually a former Beaver who was fired a couple years back for soliciting sex from customers. The Saint suspiciously turned up with alarming regularity at most Beaver events, made quick transactions with the valets, and drove off in his broke down jalopy. Sometimes, he would get out of the car, open the trunk, and let the valets peer inside. Gerry couldn’t begin to fathom what mysterious exchanges were taking place, but he was positive that it was highly deviant.


from Part 2 of Burnin' Fever, in which Gerry meets his nemesis: himself.


Gerry began implementing his master plan within the next week. First the uniforms arrived in ten large boxes. He opened all of them and sorted them by size, then stacked them neatly in sets of pants, jackets, and hats. He ordered new pylons, signs, two-way radios, hygienic gloves (for counting money), traffic wands, and little red bow ties. Although the little red bow ties' efficacy in the realm of safety was questionable, and a terrible contrast to his new uniform, Gerry felt that that it was a nice touch. He hadn't told Killfrick about it yet, but he knew that he would like his subtle, debonair enhancement of the Eager Beaver image. It was like the synthesizer solo in the middle of his favorite Sassy Girls song, I'm A Big Girl Now: gratuitous, for some controversial, but undoubtedly amazing when it all comes together in the end. Gerry gingerly placed a bow tie on each neatly folded uniform set. He was ready to introduce the company's new face among the Eager Beaver ranks.

What he hadn't anticipated was the indignant reception he was about to get. At each event, restaurant, and parking lot he went to he was greeted with what he felt was an unwarranted disrespect. It’s all part of the struggle, he thought, the grazing multitudes will see the light in time. Most of all, besides the ridiculous aspect of their new uniforms, the valets were angry that they actually had to pay a hefty deposit out of their weekly paychecks to insure the uniform. Many threatened to abandon the company, and some actually did, but as is the case with most minimum wage workers, many had to endure the new humiliating image thrust upon them. Many among the Eager Beaver ranks were luckless immigrants, excons, drunks, crack addicts, or just plain misfits with no other option for employment.

He made examples out of certain veteran valets like Rudy Molina, the cock-eyed Colombian, who was caught pissing into an empty water bottle in his valet shed.
“I got you buster!”

Rudy screamed and zipped up. Gerry, who had approached silently from behind the shed, was peering through the Plexiglas partition. Rudy could only see his huge magnified eyes and a sinister glare coming from off his hair helmet.

“Your behavior is strictly out of company procedure.”

“Wahht doo you mean bro?! I been dooing dees fo’ years! Everbody dahs eet!”

“And your uniform! It’s a disgrace! Tuck your shirt in!”

“But I wahhs peesing!”

Gerry tried to enter the valet shed but Rudy screamed and swatted him away.

When Rudy filed a counter report stating that he had nowhere else to relieve himself, considering his shed was in the middle of a large parking lot and he was the only employee, he was reprimanded with only a week’s suspension. Rumors of Gerry’s unsound tactics began to spread. The “bug-eyed freak” was becoming infamous among the Beaver ranks.

In a nearby lot one week later Gerry spotted some more abnormal behavior. This time it was a misfit named Robby Rhoder whose behavior had always aroused his suspicion. Gerry chose the cover of night to make himself more clandestine: a tactic he learned in the army. He parked a block away from the lot, crept stealthily to its edge, and hid between two dumpsters. Then with his binoculars he spied on the hapless Robby. The stench from the dumpsters was so intense that when Gerry finally saw the mysterious transaction, definitive proof of deviant thieving activity, he almost thought he was hallucinating from the rotten fumes. Robby, it was plain to see, was selling his tickets twice! He saw one customer approach and return her ticket, then he saw another pull up and Robby re-selling the old ticket to the new customer. Although his putrid perch was making him nauseous he decided to rough it. I withstood worse in ‘Nam, he reminisced; he wanted the moment to be prime for his masterful arrest. He waited and watched the Rhoder kid count out enormous wads of cash, then horrified, he watched him take out an oily rag and polish his vintage motorcycle. You dirty thieving little deviant! That, my friend, is company property you’re polishing! His clammy fists clenched in excitement when he saw a new customer pulling in. He snuck up close, crouching low and using Robby’s parked cars for cover. He got inside the valet shed and waited. After the transaction Robby returned to hang the keys up and Gerry cupped his shoulder firmly
from behind. Robby screamed.

“What the fuck?! What are you doing you freak?!”

Robby straightened out his collar and his vintage Kangol cap.

“Do you really expect me to believe that on your measly wage you can afford to buy motorcycles like that! You earn barely enough to eat! I know! I’ve checked the books! I live in the city too! It’s impossible! I KNOW where you’re getting your money from, you deviant!”

Gerry backed Robby up against the key panel and cocked his head in what he felt was a sufficiently intimidating manner. Robby grimaced and looked hopelessly up at Gerry.

“I happen to have seen your little transaction. All of it! I’ve been watching you the whole time! Think you’re pretty clever don’t you!”
Robby stayed silent and tried to get out of the shed, but Gerry blocked him with his foot. “Nothing to say, uh? I know EVERYTHING that goes on here! I’m on to you! You can spread the word. Gerry Tovida is on your ass!”

Gerry paused and examined Robby for reactions of some sort. A response of any kind was what he wanted. A stammering admittance, a begging for forgiveness. Another affirmation of his superiority. But nothing. So he decided to change his approach. He remembered the interrogation techniques that he had learned in the army’s PSYOPS units: know your enemy and find his weak spots. He sighed to himself; he was yet again a lone bastion against the forces of chaos and deviance. His tone warmed and a gleaming smile spread between two thin lips. Robby checked for spots on his vintage motorcycle boots.

“I just want to hear it come from you. What’s done is done, but you have to make it easier on yourself! Do you really want to be disgracefully fired from our honorable ranks, or do you want to walk away like a man?”

Gerry moved in closer and Robby scowled. Then he reached his hand out and rested it firmly yet gently on Robby’s shoulder. The proximity of his success excited him. His loins churned and strained.

“Get your hands off me you freak or I’ll call the cops!”

Gerry hadn’t anticipated this reaction nor the reprisal that was in store for him. Robby filed a counter report accusing Gerry of attempting to grope him. When the office politics finally came to a conclusion, it was decided to keep Robby on for lack of evidence, and Gerry was given a slap on the wrist. The Eager Beavers couldn’t afford to tarnish their reputation anymore with a sex scandal. Gerry took it as only another minor obstacle in his quest to defeat deviance and chaos.
Sure enough the incident became infamous among the Beaver ranks. The Beavers could now easily spot Gerry approaching in his Suburban truck from a few blocks off. They would then make quick uniform checks, making sure that regulation appearance standards were met. Shirts were tucked in, Beaver caps straightened, and bow ties were quickly taken out of pockets and fastened about the necks. Gerry would then drive by with his window cracked and the familiar Sassy Girls melody would play at a sufficiently safe volume. Gerry looked straight ahead, simulating to the best of his ability the anonymous driver just passing by. His eyes strained to his side as he passed a line of erect Eager Beavers in perfect valet pose. Gerry was proud of his ability to discipline these moronic misfits. What a difference in just a few short months! His sneaky drive-by checkups seemed to prove that his new policies were having a positive effect. But when the Beavers were sure that Gerry was gone they whipped off their uncomfortable bow ties and stuffed them back in their pockets. They also took off their humiliating Beaver hats and stashed them in nearby bushes. Then the usual horseplay was resumed. Gerry by then was lost in the distance in the streets of uptown San Francisco. The deviance and chaos forces seemed to be at bay for the moment.

The nights, however, were still riddled with feverish nightmares - chaos and deviance taking various forms. They were similar to those from a few months before; he would be trapped inside Killfrick’s Cadillac, hurtling through the twisted streets of San Francisco at terrifying velocities. He was often pursued by unkempt former Beavers taunting and teasing him. If he made it past this terrifying sequence, which he rarely did, he finally caught a glimpse of Jimmy Wang, the Asian kid with the Gameboy, who, now it was obvious, was controlling his perilous journey. He would wake up among his neat stacks of deviance reports, wiping copious amounts of sweat from his forehead.

Months went by, and Gerry, never one to trust or take anything for granted, continued his vigilance on the Eager Beavers. He was very pleased with the results so far. Every checkup he made was satisfactory, almost too satisfactory. Gerry’s gut instinct told him that something was amiss, that somewhere that old she-devil chaos was hiding, waiting to foul up his plans. Nevertheless he decided to give Killfrick the grand tour of his new, improved Eager Beaver units.
Gerry rubbed his hands together, clutched two Manila folders with his notes, and walked to Killfrick’s door and knocked. He heard a grumbling coming from the inside and he assumed that it was a signal for him to enter. When he opened the door he stood erect and saluted, but to his surprise there was no response. Killfrick was dozing with his Stetson at half-mast. Gerry cleared his throat and knocked loudly on the already open door. Killfrick gave a start, pulled up his hat, and saw Gerry framed in his doorway saluting him.

“Goddamnit Tovida! What is it! C’mon’! Killfrick doesn’t have all day here!”

“Killfrick, sir! I have a report to make... quite satisfactory I think, sir!”

Gerry babbled on in front of him, and as usual Killfrick barely understood the half of it. But he grasped the key elements of Gerry’s report: that the Beaver ranks seemed to be operating at optimum level. Killfrick, in a rare display of spontaneity, blurted:

“Well let’s see it! I want a first hand tour. I want to see the front lines in person!”

Gerry felt a wave of relief pass through him. He was about to ask Killfrick this very thing. He knew he was putting himself on the line, but he felt the moment was ripe.

“We rendezvous at 1700 hours! Got that! I want my car warmed up by the time we meet! Now leave me alone! You make my head hurt!”

They eased out into the rush hour traffic on the Cadillac’s easy giving suspension. Gerry felt somewhat uneasy driving drillmaster Killfrick’s vehicle, being so low to the ground and without the usual Sassy Girls soundtrack, but he took extra care to hide it. Killfrick seemed completely unconcerned. He sat on the passenger side much like he did in the office, half-dozing with his ratty Stetson propped on his fearful dome.

It was a Friday, and at this time and day of the week there were always multiple events going on about the city. Gerry decided to head up Van Ness to Broadway to check out a private dinner party event. They turned on Broadway and drove up several blocks and stopped at a traffic signal. Up ahead the Beavers had marked off a parking zone with orange pylons and one of them was waving in cars. So far so good, thought Gerry. The light flipped up to green and Gerry slowly accelerated.

“Killfrick, sir! We are closing in!”

Killfrick grumbled something about air support and then looked ahead to the right side of the street where the event was taking place. Gerry realized too late his mistake in acceding to Killfrick’s request for a tour. What he hadn’t anticipated, what he had never even considered, was that the order and discipline had been a facade the whole time! The Beavers could recognize Gerry’s approach from a few blocks away because of his familiar Suburban truck and trademark music. They became experts in simulating what it was that Gerry was looking for. But when Gerry was out of sight they would fall back into their usual routines. The approach in Killfrick’s Cadillac had caught them off guard. Gerry knew that chaos and deviance still prevailed, and now he was witness to it, humiliated along side drillmaster Killfrick. Gerry wished he could escape and hide from the world like a bug under a rock. They drove slowly by with the windows on Killfrick’s side rolled down. Two of the Beavers were smoking and leaning against a customer’s car. Another was relieving himself in-between two bushes. Killfrick growled and Gerry cringed and mopped off his forehead. They drove a little further, still unnoticed, and saw the event supervisor, a smart-ass punk that he should have known better, sitting on a brick outcropping and reading a book. He wore his Beaver cap backward with the flaps flipped up and didn’t notice his superiors’ presence. Killfrick gritted his choppers and cinched his good fist. Next to the event supervisor was another Beaver returning with the keys to a recently parked car. He had his shirt untucked and his hat and bow tie were nowhere to be seen. A few feet further up and Gerry almost had a conniption when he saw two Beavers engaged in a wrestling match on the client’s lawn. One Beaver screamed for help while the other who had him in a headlock screwed his knuckle into his scalp. But the gallery of goons was yet to be topped off. Right after the two subnormal wrestlers Gerry saw Jimmy Wang playing his Gameboy. Killfrick roared and ordered Gerry to stop the car. Gerry panicked and slammed on the brakes in the middle of Broadway. A car that was following close behind slammed on its brakes but was too late to avoid an accident. Although it was just a minor fender bender, the jolt knocked Killfrick’s Stetson off and alerted the valets, who in no time resembled Eager Beaver perfection. The wrestling matches stopped, uniforms checked, and they were all standing erect and alert by the time Killfrick managed to get out of his car. The traffic was a mess, with cars backed up to the end of the block and horns blaring. Gerry felt the presence of chaos more powerfully than ever. Killfrick slammed the door and stood erect in middle of Broadway. Then he marched towards the Beavers standing obediently on the curb. The horns were blaring and a breeze swept in and whipped off Killfrick’s Stetson. His thinning grey hairs flapped wildly in the wind. The Beavers whispered nervously amongst themselves: “Killfrick! It’s Killfrick!”

“You goddamned punks! You are all a bunch of crooks and Killfrick is onto you! Killfrick is going to make an ass salad out of you sissies!”
Gerry mashed in the emergency brake, hopped out of the car, and ran after Killfrick’s tumbling hat.

“You can’t fool Killfrick you thumb sucking tinkerbells! Every one of you punks is on my list! My... my shit list!”

Killfrick was pacing up the line in rare form. His hair flapped loosely against his skull and spittle cascaded over his chin.

Gerry retrieved Killfrick’s hat from under a parked car and trotted back to his side. He held out the hat and lowered his head shamefully.

“Give me that you half-wit mongoloid!”

Killfrick snatched the hat from Gerry and placed it atop his head. Killfrick continued walking to the end of the line. The Beavers were too awe struck to say anything.

“For 20 years I have run this glorious operation and this is the respect I get? I have given you, the absolute dredge of society, a second chance! That is right Jones, you lousy drunk! That is right Snyder, you lousy slacker!”

“But Killfrick, sir! Jones and Snyder were fired two months ago...” said Gerry meekly.

“You do not speak until you are bidden, Tovida! God bless America, you make my balls ache!”

Gerry walked away wounded from his master, towards the accident, and hurriedly exchanged insurance papers.

Killfrick reached the end of the line and spun around. As he walked back up the line a shiny Jaguar pulled into the valet zone. A well-dressed couple looked wide-eyed through their window at the strange circus. Killfrick halted in front of the event supervisor.

“You! What is your name?”

“Gus Bandini, sir.”

“Give me that book you’re reading Zambini!”

The wide-eyed couple watched the spectacle in front of them. Horns rang out and Gerry frantically ate his head trying to think of a possible solution. Killfrick grabbed a tattered paperback from the Bandini kid.

“Goddamnit Tovida! What the hell are you doing? Get over here and take a look at this!”

Gerry ran back to Killfrick’s side and took the book from his outstretched hand.

“It’s a book by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, sir!”

“Who is this Foh-dor doh-steevs-kee? Most likely a fairy and a communist! It makes me sick! I have given you, Zanoli, a chance to rise in a great company, but you are obviously a communist traitor!”

Killfrick’s chest swelled and he pointed at the Bandini kid.

“You are fired!”

People were yelling from their cars now and the frightened couple in the Jaguar pulled up past the valet zone and drove off in search of their own parking. Gus Bandini snatched his book back and threw his Beaver hat on the ground before walking off.

“We need to fight the enemy together!” pontificated Killfrick. “My white brethren, even you, my little brown brothers, we need to unite! We... need... to...”
Killfrick was going limp and Gerry went to prop him up. He was babbling deliriously, speaking in tongues. Killfrick was ever closer to complete chaos. Gerry led him to the car and placed him in the passenger seat. The delayed drivers got back into their cars and shook their heads as they watched the two war buddies drive off together.

That evening there were nine other events going simultaneously, not including the restaurants and clubs. All, with the exception of one, produced the same result. Killfrick made absolutely no more sense by the time Gerry brought him back to the office. Gerry left him foaming at the mouth, delivering Nuremburg style speeches to an empty parking lot. As Gerry drove off to his parking spot in the Marina he was already planning his comeback. He was determined to get to the root of the problem and win back the respect of Killfrick.

The Beaver ranks were more cunning than he had anticipated, but that didn’t deter him. He would be even stealthier this time. He began parking his Suburban some blocks away from the events and footing it to the front lines. This technique worked surprisingly well. He fed a healthy supply of deviance reports to Killfrick for the next few weeks. Things went smoothly until he learned about The Saint.

The Saint was a Mexican named Santiago who drove a rusty Oldsmobile with a crappy sound system. Through clever investigation Gerry found out that he was actually a former Beaver who was fired a couple years back for soliciting sex from customers. The Saint suspiciously turned up with alarming regularity at most Beaver events, made quick transactions with the valets, and drove off in his broke down jalopy. Sometimes, he would get out of the car, open the trunk, and let the valets peer inside. Gerry couldn’t begin to fathom what mysterious exchanges were taking place, but he was positive that it was highly deviant.

He assumed the worst the night he snuck up on Lou Brazil, a slick Filipino working one of his lots near Market street. Gerry was sure he had come upon one of the middle men in what he was sure was a conspiracy to funnel out profits from the Eager Beaver enterprise. The flip is just a lackey, but maybe through him I can finally get The Saint! Gerry wanted to take things slowly and surely, so he waited for the Saint to leave so he could interrogate the Brazil kid alone. Gerry pounced on the unsuspecting valet and snatched a plastic case from him.

“I caught you Brazil! You’ll see where associating with the Saint gets you!”

Lou Brazil was too surprised to respond.

“Nothing to say, huh? Well it’s all right, I think your conduct says it all! What is this? It looks like a videotape! Probably some sinister instructions coming from your nefarious boss!”

Gerry opened the box and couldn’t believe his eyes. Were things this far gone among the Beaver ranks? Could there be no limit to their deviant behavior? Lou Brazil looked fearfully at Gerry who clutched the videotape in his trembling hands.

“I suppose Look How I Fuck Your Wife, Part 2 is your idea of quality viewing material! Killfrick is going to hear about this! You better watch yourself!” yelled Gerry as he walked back towards his car waving the evidence. “Gerry Tovida is on your ass!”

Gerry spent the next few days collecting massive amounts of pornography from the Eager Beavers. His truck had stacks of dirty magazines and videotapes that would make any porn connoisseur envious. He spent the nights in feverish sweats leafing through each magazine, carefully cataloging their contents. This Saint character was far more dangerous than he thought. His corrupting techniques were rotting the Beavers to the core. He noted transactions among Beavers of all ranks. The Saint’s sleazy tentacles had penetrated even the upper echelons of the Eager Beavers. The stacks that Gerry amassed were enormous, and along side his Deviance reports, Gerry found it ever more difficult to sleep at night. His time was mostly consumed by perusing the vast library of pornography in his truck and following the Saint from one event to the other. He was getting ready for what was probably going to be the most important blow to deviance he was ever going to make.

Again, using the cover of night, Gerry arrived at the event. The Saint had just pulled up and pimply-faced valets were already crowding around his beat up jalopy. Gerry parked his truck, got out, and crept towards the sidewalk. Then he got on his stomach and shimmied along the shrubbery: another technique he learned in the army. When he was within a reasonable striking distance, still well hidden, he braced himself for the ambush. The valets were jumping up and down and shoving each other, trying to get the best view of the filthy contents in the Saint’s trunk.

Then the unexpected happened. Gerry felt a sharp snap on his left ankle and heard a vicious growling followed by another snap, this time even more painful then the first. He looked around frantically and saw a fluffy poodle no bigger than a football. Its owner was trying desperately to rear it back, but to no avail. Gerry shook his leg and tried to get up at the same time. He was on his feet now cursing and shaking his leg madly trying to free it from the savage clutch of the poodle. His pant leg split apart at the seam.

The Saint already had the trunk shut and was starting his car when Gerry freed himself. He ran into a stinky cloud of exhaust just seconds too late. The Saint had taken off, smut stash and all. When the cloud cleared the valets were standing in a sloppy formation, clearly they hadn’t had time to correct themselves. Gerry detected snickering but he didn’t know where it was coming from. He boldly stepped into the formation and attempted to grab one of the valets. Any one would do. He just wanted more proof.

“Give it to me! I know you have it!”

“Get your hands off me, you pervert!”

Gerry grabbed at the valets but they easily eluded him. Gerry felt chaos. The laughing faces and the snickering were everywhere. Gerry ran off shaking his fists in the air, his tattered pant leg flapping, almost tripping him. His truck was parked near by, thankfully enough, and he leaned up against it trying to regain his breath. The forces of chaos and deviance would not defeat him even in his worst hour. He turned around, pulled out his car keys, and was about to insert them into the lock when he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. How could he have been so careless? In his excitement he must have forgotten to lock it. But that was understandable. He pulled himself up and sat down on the cool vinyl seat. Gerry noticed something out of place to his side. It was an issue of Teen Stroke, one of the Saint’s more disturbing wares. How did that get there? Gerry puzzled at the misplaced magazine and wondered how it could have strayed from his stacks in the back. Gerry grabbed it and squeezed into the back of his truck to re-file it. Things seemed strangely out of place, like a jolt to the car had slightly misplaced everything. What disreputable event has taken place here? He carefully replaced the magazine in the Teen Stroke section. Then, as he reached for the next stray magazine he noticed a space where formally there had been no space, in-between the deviance reports and his collection of salacious videos. That was where he kept his metallic briefcase with his money! His life savings! All of it gone and one of those little snotty Beavers is making off with it right now!

Gerry tumbled out the back of his truck and limped back to the Beaver event, the tattered remains of his pant leg swinging along with him. The pain in his ankle was greater than ever now. He felt chaos, that dirty minion of deadly deviance, overpowering him. Up ahead he saw the Asian kid, Jimmy Wang tapping away on his Gameboy. Gerry tried to collect himself as much as he could under the circumstances.

“Wang! I need to talk to you.”

“Yo. Yeah bro, like a... just a second.”

Gerry looked at Jimmy and felt a wave of suspicion. Those devious Orientals! Just look at him trying to play it off casual! I’m going to find out where he put that briefcase and then I’m going to let Killfrick handle him! No! This time I’m going to handle it! This is my affair! Jimmy stuck his Gameboy back in his pocket.

“Jimmy, I want to have a word with you. Can you come back to my car with me? It’s better if we talk there. I don’t want the others to hear.”

“Uh, sure Mr Tovida. If it’s about The Saint I don’t know anything about it. That’s their business,” he said, pointing in the direction of the other valets, who stood gaping at Gerry, the madman.

“No. That’s just it. I think you’re the only one I can trust in this matter. C’mon. Follow me.”
Gerry got in his car and opened the passenger side for Jimmy, who got in somewhat reluctantly. Gerry started the car and began driving off.

“Where are we going?” asked Jimmy.

“For a little ride. Don’t worry, you’ll be back in no time.”
Jimmy looked ahead, then glanced nervously at Gerry who was soaking up his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. There was a muted tension, electric, on the verge of sparking. They drove on in silence.

“So... what did you want to talk about?” asked Jimmy, looking ahead.

They were nearing the end of Broadway where the streets got darker and the houses bigger. Gerry stayed silent as he pulled into an open space. Gerry casually rested his hand on Jimmy’s left knee. Jimmy tried to move his knee but Gerry gripped it tighter.

“I brought you here, Jimmy, to inquire about my briefcase. My metallic briefcase that up until fifteen minutes ago was securely stored in the back of my truck!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Mr Tovida... honestly. Can you take your hand off my knee? You’re scaring me!”
Gerry slid his hand further up to Jimmy’s crotch and gripped even harder.

“Don’t play games with me you thief!!! Tell me where you put my briefcase!!!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!!! What’s wrong with you!”

Jimmy jangled on the door latch but it was locked. Before he had time to unlock the door Gerry had both hands clamped hard around his neck. Jimmy gasped and clawed, but the adrenaline driven chokehold proved too much. Jimmy’s face contorted, and then he went limp in Gerry’s grasp. Gerry’s twisted features changed back to a semblance of normalcy and he sat back on his side of the car. The windows had fogged up. He wiped a hole on the front windshield and peered out. No one was around. Good, he thought. He squeezed into the back and grabbed the collar of Jimmy’s coat. The jostling knocked Jimmy’s Gameboy out and it fell to the floorboard. He pulled Jimmy into the back with him. He laid him down and struggled with his jacket until he had it all the way off. In the process of taking it off, Jimmy’s shirt had become partially undone. A patch of dark, still soft flesh showed. Gerry stroked it gently, feeling the malleable texture, electric spasms of delight tingling the thin hairs on the back of his head. His breathing became so rapid that he had to cover Jimmy’s corpse with the jacket before he couldn’t take it anymore. He ducked down and stepped over him and got into the front seat. He rolled his window down and chucked Jimmy’s toy onto the street. It made a dry, cracking sound. He started the car and drove down to the Presidio, got on the 101, and took the Golden Gate Bridge on the way to Marin County. For the first time he sang along with the Sassy Girls tape. He played it loud. Louder than he ever had before. His arm dangled out the window. He looked ahead to his unknown destination, ahead past the speedometer, past the blurring landscapes. He laughed out loud. The simplicity! The purity! Chaos made a permanent home inside him and he mashed the pedal in hard, the highway screaming past him. He was so sure of himself that he didn’t have to think anymore. He didn’t even have to see anymore. He shut his eyes and felt the cool night air rush in. That felt good. Stimulating. He kept his eyes shut and roared into oblivion.
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Re: Burnin' Fever, part 2

Postby yellowrain87 on Fri Aug 26, 2011 2:53 am

::P I like this quote:

“And your uniform! It’s a disgrace! Tuck your shirt in!”
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Re: Burnin' Fever, part 2

Postby Patel12 on Wed Mar 18, 2015 4:42 am

Gerry felt that that it was a nice touch. He hadn't told Killfrick about it yet, but he knew that he would like his subtle, debonair enhancement of the Eager Beaver image. It was like the synthesizer solo in the middle of his favorite Sassy Girls song, I'm A Big Girl Now: gratuitous, for some controversial, but undoubtedly amazing when it all comes together in the end. Gerry gingerly placed a bow tie on each neatly folded uniform set

http://www.solitairechamp.biz/
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