The Minotauress

Dean was gripped in dread. 'The hospital? What for?'

'He's in a coma, Dean! They say he's going to die! Come home at once!'

No! Not Dad! Dean felt frantic, confused, shattered. 'I'm grabbing the first flight out!' he told Shirley and hung up. Next he raced up the stairs, taking three steps at a time, barged into the bedroom and began throwing clothes into a suitcase. Steam poured out of the bathroom; the shower hissed. Dean stuck his head in.

'Sweetheart? I'm-I'm sorry but—' His lower lip trembled—'I'm not going to be able to clean the house—'

'Why not!' she shouted from behind the shower curtain.

'My dad's in a coma.'

Her voice turned regretful. 'Oh, Dean, honey. I'm so sorry.'

'So I have to go back to DeSmet. I'm not sure when I'll be back.'

'Okay, honey. Have a good trip,' she said and continued with her shower.

What a woman! Dean beamed. I knew she'd understand!

««—»»

Still rattled by the sight of his dead deputy Dodell (and the loss of a pre-eminent source of fellation), Sergeant A.T. Lass cruised down night-shrouded Main Street, frowning at its new-found desolation. Any other time, Main Street would be abuzz with hookers and dealers at this hour. But not tonight, he complained to himself. Everyone's off the street, sitting at home with their doors bolted. All afraid of the big bad wolf.

Diligent law-enforcement officers would approve of this sudden lack of skell, whores, and scumbags prowling the streets but less-than-diligent officers, such as Lass, saw it from a different angle. He wanted those dealers on their street selling their wares; he wanted those hookers turning twenty tricks a night because the first thing they did with their trick money was buy more crystal-meth. Lass had his fingers in those profits, and it was a big pie.

How am I gonna pay for my new Cherokee and pool table if this shit keeps up? he wondered.

That blond bitch newscaster didn't help improve his mood much, either. Made me look like a damn fool, he thought. Tellin' folks we need the damn state fuzz in here 'cos of our limited ‘resources.' The fuckin' bitch!

That was the last thing Lass needed. To hell with the dead kids. Bunch'a state investigators got in here nosing around, they might easily find out about some of Lass' less than dutiful involvements.

Yeah, the blond bitch... Lass wouldn't mind taking her skinny ass around back behind the station and breaking up her pursy face with his billy. Then she'd be too ugly to be on TV. He could toss her to a pimp who'd have her ass turned in one day, out on the street earning cash.

Bitch, he thought a last time.

Couple of kids die in this shit-pit town and once it makes the national news, the whole country's going nuts. And only 'cos it's kids, Lass thought bitterly. And they don't give a hoot that each and every one of 'em wasn't nothin' but trailer park skell no ways. Bunch'a little white ‘gers raping ten-year- olds on the playground, quittin' school in the fourth grade to steal hub caps and CD players and prance around in their ball caps and baggy pants listening to that rap shit. Lass didn't get this Rap business, no matter what that pussy suck-face Hoiter said. To Lass it just sounded like a bunch of shit; all these players did was make up words that rhymed.

Lass, come to think of it, needed some real music now. Like some Reba or Bonnie Rait, or some of the good ‘ol Dolly. He flicked on the console radio:

'Got the big dick itch, dig a motherfuckin' ditch, then my AOL glitch—yo white bitch!'

Lass snapped it off, clacking his teeth. Obviously, Hoiter had fucked up all of Lass' pre-set stations. I'll fix his ass tomorrow. See how he likes scrubbing all the bum puke out of the drunk tank.

He idled down the back streets now. No action here, either. Just house after house and trailer after trailer with their shades drawn. Shut in. Scared.

Bad for business.

And now, to top it all off, those damn hayseed ranchers had to go out and get their asses killed too. I warned 'em, Lass congratulated himself. I warned 'em not to go fuckin' around out there. And look what happens.

Eight of them had met at Lohan's Ranch, and old Jake Lohan himself had been the one to rile them all up with shit like if the police couldn't protect their kids, they'd have to do it themselves. So they'd all grabbed their guns and run off in the woods like a bunch of perfect asses. Couple hours later, the rescue squad was hauling them out of the trees behind Stoddard's Mill in body bags. They'd all been gored right through their hearts.

The only one of them that lived was Jake Lohan but he was in a coma and looking like he'd be cold by morning.

I told 'em so, the dickbrains.

Lass cruised down more dark streets. This wasn't exactly routine patrol, of course. The main reason he was out tonight transcended his law-enforcement obligations. Lass needed a nut in a bad way. And it damn sure pissed him off that none of the whores were out plying their trade like they should be. Ordinarily, any time Lass got horny, all he had to do was pluck a gal off the street and pull it out. They weren't stupid, and they'd always swallow. To tell the truth, though, what Lass really wanted was another hum-dinger cocksuck from that closet-fairy Oly Dodell but there was no way that would be happening tonight, not unless Lass went to the morgue and opened Dodell's drawer.

Christ! Lass pawed his crotch. I need to get off!

His plight took him deeper and deeper into DeSmet's more remote roads. He turned at the corner of 38^th Avenue and Auburn Street, thinking: Please, please! Just one fuckin' whore!

And by the time he'd finished the turn, his plea was answered.

Lass grinned. It was Arianne Zausner, the meth-freak who'd sucked his ass last week. Lass measured a woman's right to exist not by her contribution to society, nor her intelligence, but by her ability to suck ass. And Arianne Zauser got the highest mark in town.

He pulled over, stopped, and flipped open the passenger door.

'Aw, shit,' she said. Her wan face looked half-dead already. 'You're busting me again? '

'Simmer down, sweetie. Your good old Uncle A.T. isn't gonna arrest your dirty ass. It's just time to pay a