Cop a Feel

by Robyn Peterman

  “Thank you.”

  We walked in and a huge sense of déjà vu swept over me. I had been here, but when and why?

  “Oh shit,” a male voice screeched. “We ain’t got nothing here. We’re clean. Motherfucker, Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and Moses, everybody duck and cover! The Feds are here.”

  About ten scantily clad male and female employees screamed and sprinted around the store looking for hiding places. It was like a Three Stooges episode, except there were ten of them and they were basically, for all intents and purposes, naked. Now I remembered. I’d busted this place four years ago for running a prostitution ring. Prostitution wasn’t on my list of priorities, but when all payments were in grams of cocaine, hooking became my problem. Clearly, I’d made an impression. This was a clusterfuck.

  “Freeze,” I yelled. “Who’s in charge here?”

  “I am,” came a muffled voice from underneath a pile of dildos.

  “Get out here.”

  A tiny woman dressed in a corset, rubber miniskirt, fishnets, and combat boots crawled out from under the dildos and sheepishly approached.

  “Are you still running a bordello here?” I inquired, trying to recall if she had been here four years ago.

  “Absolutely not,” she replied, completely insulted.

  “Then why did everyone run around and lose their shit?” Rena and Kristy stood by me, stunned to silence.

  “Because you’re a Fed and last time you were here, you shot the hell out of the place.”

  “Oh, right. I did. Well, if you’re not running drugs or hookers, we don’t have a problem.”

  “Why are you here then?” the little rubber skirt gal asked skeptically.

  “She’s a customer. She’s here to buy some hot, sexy garb to wear at SCREW-Con,” Rena volunteered, stepping forward to shake hands with rubber skirt.

  “No way,” Little Rubber cackled.

  “That’s funny?” I snapped, wiping the smile off her face.

  “Um . . . no,” she stammered. “Just unexpected. What exactly do you need?”

  “Here’s a list.” Rena handed over a sheet of paper with writing on both sides. “Are you an eight?”

  I nodded. The size of the list made my stomach roil. Rubber gal took the list from Rena and hurried away to start collecting my own personal hell.

  “You are such a fucking badass,” Kristy whispered with delight.

  “Dude, I am impressed,” Rena added. “Your mere presence knocked over a tower of dildos and made the guy in the purple assless leather chaps pee himself.”

  “I can’t do this,” I muttered, and tried to turn and run.

  “Nope,” Rena said, and grabbed me in a hold she must have learned from Jack. I knew I was screwed.

  “This is not about you. It’s about keeping Shoshanna safe. Did you find anything out at the university?”

  I hung my head and realized I was going to have to do this. It was a costume. I’d worn hundreds over the years and never balked. I wasn’t going to start today. “It was a bust. None of them did it.”

  “Do you have any other leads?” Kristy worriedly asked.

  “No, but I’ll find him or her or them,” I told the girls confidently.

  “Then I don’t want to hear any more bitching out of your cakehole about the outfits,” Rena said as she pushed me toward the dressing rooms. “You’ll need these to do the job right.”

  “Were edible panties on the list?” Kristy asked, holding up a box.

  “No,” Rena called over her shoulder, “but if they have strawberry in a medium, I’ll take seven.”

  “How about raspberry panties?” Kristy yelled. “I don’t see strawberry. Oh my God,” she squealed. “They have chocolate. Mitch loves chocolate.”

  “Mitch is my brother,” I groaned. “That is entirely too much information and the visual is vomitus.”

  “Whoops! Sorry.” Kristy laughed.

  This was going to be a long fucking day.

  After an hour and a half of shoving myself in and peeling myself out of clothes made of rubber and other materials that should be used for tires, I was exhausted. I refused to come out of the dressing room so Kristy, Rena, and Rubber Skirt Gal, whose name turned out to be Joan, wedged themselves in every time I changed.

  “Damn, you’re hotter than Satan’s underpants,” Joan complimented me on the black leather pants and corset that were making it next to impossible to breathe.

  “You really are,” Rena said, eyeing me and my hooker clothes. “You’re a knockout to start with, but this shit throws you over into the holyfuckingshitball category.”

  “Am I supposed to say thank you to that?” I asked, shifting in an attempt to get more air into my lungs.

  “Yes, you are,” Kristy announced grandly and began loosening the corset.

  “Thank you,” I gasped as oxygen rushed back into my body. I hoped one thank-you would cover both the questionable compliment and the saving of my life. “Everybody out. I’m changing back into my jeans, T-shirt, and shitkickers.” I pulled a credit card out of my purse and handed it to Rubber Joan.

  “Nope.” Rena snatched my card from Joan and handed it back to me. “Shoshanna is buying—she insisted. Plus, this is going to cost a shit-ton. You’re getting enough to have new slut-duds every day for at least two months.”

  “Oh my God. Put some of that back.” I grabbed a pile and tried to hand it to Joan.

  “Absolutely not. Shoshanna gave explicit instructions about what she wanted you to have and you’ll have it. And,” Rena gagged, “she threatened to eat every meal in my presence for a month if I didn’t complete this mission. You’re keeping the fucking clothes.”

  The three of us contemplated the reality of having to watch Shoshanna eat. I looked at the clothes and I looked at my friend. Her face was desperate, and I was fairly sure she would hurl in anticipation of her punishment if I put even one item back. Kristy, looking a little green, would probably vomit in solidarity, which in turn would cause me to throw up due to my overactive gag reflex.

  “I’ll keep the clothes.” The ecstatic relief on Rena’s and Kristy’s faces made me giggle. “Now out. I need to be me again.”

  They filed out and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The pants molded to me like a second skin and held on to my ass almost as tightly as Luke had when we’d made love the other night. The loosened corset made my breasts spill out of the top. I didn’t even recognize that girl. Luke would lose his mind if he ever saw me like this, but he would never see me like this. The thought made me weepy and I dropped onto the pink fur-covered chair in the corner. I would not cry for him. I would not cry for anyone. Why, why, why did I have to go and try to make things real with him? My heart hurt and a horrible unsettled feeling had moved into the pit of my stomach. No matter what I did, it wouldn’t go away. Shit. Taking a deep breath, I attempted to push all my feelings to the back of my mind, but for the first time they wouldn’t move.

  Furious at myself for being weak, I yanked off the sex clothes and pulled on my jeans and T-shirt. There. I felt a little better. Just a little.

  “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Rena whispered in terror outside of the dressing room door. “Get out here, Candy. We have to sneak out the back. Hurry,” she hissed.

  I pulled my gun from my purse and dove for the door. What the hell was happening? Knocking Rena to the ground, I aimed my gun out into the store and quickly scanned for trouble. At the sight of my weapon, the clusterfuck started all over again—sprinting, screaming, naked sex shop employees.

  “Damn it,” Rena exploded. “Put your gun away. You’ve completely screwed us now.”

  “What’s happening here?” I ground out, unwilling to lower my Glock until I’d assessed the situation and had it under control.

  “Well I’ll be damned! Wasn’t sure about you being Mag the Hag, but I was wrong. You are Mag beyond the shadow of a doubt,” yelled an overjoyed Mrs. C.

  “I’d say you just made at least three idiots pee
and one may have crapped his pants,” Edith crowed, sniffing the air. The shell-shocked employees all filed into a back room. This was clearly too much even for people who knew the ins and outs of butt plugs, passion fruit lube, and strap-ons.

  “Do you see what the problem is now?” Rena grunted in disgust as she picked herself up off the ground. “Your trigger-happy fingers have just ruined my day.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, and holstered my gun. “You could have been a bit clearer.”

  “How in the hell was I supposed to know you’d go all Rambo?” she demanded.

  A bad day had just gotten worse. What were they doing here?

  “You two are supposed to be working right now,” Kristy admonished the sisters, and checked her watch. “Did you close up this early?” she demanded.

  I’d forgotten Kristy owned the knitting shop the two old biddies ran. She was their boss and I was stupefied that they actually appeared contrite. They stared at each other, doing some kind of sibling lesbian telepathy, nodded, and Mrs. C stepped forward.

  “Nobody was there and William Shatner didn’t deliver the bolts of fabric, so there was nothing to do. We were bored and needed some new crotchless panties for SCREW-Con and so we left.”

  “Did you lock up?” Kristy was pissed and the gals were squirming.

  “She did,” they answered simultaneously.

  “You were supposed to lock up, you old cow.” Edith whacked her sister in the head.

  “No I wasn’t, you lazy dyke, you were,” Mrs. C shouted, and trapped her sister in a chokehold.

  “Do you mean to tell me you left the store wide open with no one there?” Kristy stepped in, separated the old gals, and got right up in their faces. Damn, she was brave. “If one of you mistakenly hits me, I will make you count buttons all night tonight and I will revoke the vacation time I gave you.”

  “Sorry,” they muttered. “We’ll go back and lock up.”

  “No.” Kristy blew out an exasperated sigh. “I have to go over there and order new stock anyway, but just know this goes down on the list.” They nodded and tried to pinch each other when they thought she wasn’t looking. “Get your panties and then get your crotchless asses back to the shop. Or else.”

  I needed to get a few pointers from Kristy on handling the girls. It was like she was their freakin’ mother. Amazing.

  “Wait.” Rena was puzzled. “When did William Shatner become a delivery guy?”

  “He didn’t.” Kristy giggled, making her way to the door. “Our guy is the spitting image, so that’s what we call him when he’s not around.”

  “Oh fuck,” Mrs. C muttered. “I thought it was really him. I’ve been calling him Captain Kirkhole for months.”

  Kristy froze for a moment and I watched her silently decide to let that one go. She was a smart girl. She knew when to pick her battles. My insides warmed when I remembered she was going to be my new sister. My brother had found a good one.

  “Who’s Mag the Hag?” Rena inquired as she warily stepped around the sisters and went to investigate the fuzzy handcuffs.

  “She is,” Edith said, pointing to me as she filled her basket with the dreaded crotchless undies.

  “No, I’m not,” I said, hoping I hadn’t actually made anyone poop their pants.

  “Yes, you are,” Mrs. C shot back. “You are the reincarnation of the finest, most fucked-up sharpshooter ever born.”

  “You two are clearly smoking crack and I am not her. Never have been and never will be.”

  “Protest all you want, Mag,” Mrs. C grunted as she tasted all the different lubes. “But you are her and we’re finally all back together again. Good times ahead.” Her face pinched, she spit out the lube and started licking the sleeve of her shirt. “Bubblegum tastes like monkeyass,” she gagged.

  Having no desire to ask her why she knew what monkeyass tasted like, I made my way over to the cash register, hoping someone had recovered enough to come out and ring me up. No one. It was not my day.

  “Candy, I was hoping you could help us out.” Edith ambled over, weighed down by her enormous quantity of edible clothing.

  This was not good. I could feel it, but having them owe me might work to my advantage. “What do you need?”

  “We don’t exactly have tickets to SCREW-Con. They’re sold out and we were hoping you could steal a few or sneak us in,” Edith explained as she grabbed a ball gag and some rope.

  I heard Rena’s snort from across the store. I’d get her back later. “Um, not so sure about the stealing part, but I could ask Shoshanna if she has any extras.”

  I may as well have said The Second Coming of Christ. At the mention of Shoshanna’s name, the old gals went positively giggly. WTF? Shoshanna was one hell of a lesbian magnet. First Professor Junsen and now the old sisters . . .

  “Thanks, Mag,” Edith gushed.

  “I’m Candy.”

  “Yep, whatever you say.” Edith grinned.

  “Since nobody’s working the counter, do you think we can just walk out with our stuff?” Mrs. C asked with two baskets full of sex-related things I’d never seen in my life.

  “Absolutely not,” Rena huffed before I had a chance to say the same. “What the hell is wrong with you lessies? That’s stealing.”

  “Fine,” Mrs. C pouted. “Someone get their ass out here and check me out or I’ll tell the crazy bitch to start using dildos for target practice,” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

  Nine red-faced, puffy-eyed employees tentatively made their way out from the back room. Clearly, I’d made them cry. I felt bad.

  “Where’s the other one?” Edith demanded, looking around.

  “Tommy shat himself,” Rubber Joan whispered. “I sent him home.”

  Now I really felt bad. “I’m, um . . . sorry about all this.”

  “No problem.” She smiled weakly. “Just please don’t come in very often.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  Rena, armed with Shoshanna’s credit card, paid and we left. Edith and Mrs. C invited us to lunch, but Rena let them have it and told them to haul ass back to the store or she would call Kristy. They ran like the devil was on their heels.

  “That was weird,” I muttered as I handed Rena hers and Kristy’s phones.

  “Weird, but bizarrely fun,” she said as leaned in to give me a hug. “You doing okay?”

  It wasn’t just a pleasantry. She really wanted to know . . .

  “No, but I’ll get there.” I smiled and hugged her back.

  “You will,” she promised. “I know you will.”

  Chapter 12

  “So none of them did it?” Steve asked as he rifled through a file on his desk.

  “Nope. My report should be in your e-mail,” I replied, sitting back in my chair and trying to relax. The utter lack of any suspect was making me antsy.

  “I got it. You’re positive?”

  “Absolutely. Did the lab comb over the hard drives from the university?”

  “Yeah, nothing. They were returned this morning.” Steve sat down at his desk and ran his hands through his hair. I giggled because now it was sticking straight up on his head.

  “What?” he asked, a small smile on his lips.

  “You just created one hell of a hairdo.” I laughed.

  “Good. I needed a change.”

  “What’s next?” I asked, glancing over at the file he’d pulled.

  “Couple of changes. Honestly, I thought all the suspects were long shots and the notes were somewhat innocuous, but all that’s different now.”

  “How?” I sat up and got the chilly feeling I always got when something bad had happened. He opened the file and handed me three sheets of paper. “Are these new?” I glanced over the copies of the typed pages.

  “Yeah, these are copies. I sent the originals to forensics. I don’t really expect them to find anything on them,” Steve said with disgust. “Whoever this is, the perp’s smart and has amped up the game.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,�
�� I muttered, reading the vitriolic content. “This is the first time a solid death threat has been made.”

  “I know and . . .”

  “Daddy, Daddy,” two little voices shrieked joyously, and two little bodies came barreling into the office.

  “Hey, babies,” Steve said, scooping up his kids and showering them with kisses. “What are you two little turds doing here? You should be in school.”

  “Mommy taked us here,” his daughter Bella said with a giggle. “She go way on a trip and we get to play at you and Kevin’s house for two years!”

  “Weeks, Daddy,” his son Devon said, correcting his little sister. “Mommy has to go away and we get to stay with you. Is that okay?”

  “It’s more than okay,” Steve assured his seven-year-old son, trapping him in a bear hug. “Nothing would make me happier.”

  “Yay!” Bella shouted, crawling up Steve like he was a tree. “Kevin can be my horsey and I will ride him for five hours!”

  “He’s gonna love that.” Steve laughed, putting her on his lap before she climbed up onto his head. “I think you guys missed somebody . . .”

  “Candy,” Bella screamed, flying off her father’s lap and onto mine. Her sticky little hands held my face still for a sweet wet smooch.

  “Hi, Candy,” Devon said, ambling over for a hug.

  “Hi guys,” I laughed. “Long time no see.”

  “Daddy, can Candy stay at your house too?” Bella asked. “You can’t do hair and I need her.”

  “We’ll see.” He grinned and grabbed Devon. Devon had a harder time with his dad being out of the house than Bella. I worried what that bitch Helen was trying to plant in his little seven-year-old brain. Speaking of . . .

  “Hello, Steve,” Helen, dressed to the nines, said formally from the doorway of his office. “Can you tell the girl to leave? We have some family business to discuss.”

  “The girl’s name is Candy. You’ve known her as long as I have and she’s the godmother of our children, Helen. She stays,” Steve replied as pleasantly as he could for the sake of his children.

  I sat still and held Bella firmly on my lap. She leaned in and laid her curly little head on my chest. She didn’t seem too fond of her mother either. Devon tentatively crossed to his mother and stood unhappily beside her. She patted him on the head like a dog. I felt sick.