Wild, Wonderful and Wordzzle

So this is Wordzzle #23. Who woulda thunk it.

Here's the deal. Write a story using the words provided by Raven at the Raven's Nest.

Then go there and get on the mister linky. Then read her stories and comment. Then go read the other stories to see how other folks used the words.

If you have any time left over after that then go ahead and read the continuing saga of Sgt Paul Johnson, Thomas McCool and the alleged eco-terrorist Claude Debaucherrie.

Here it is.

This Week's Ten Word Challenge is: follow-up, Buffalo wings, silversmith, furniture, as the crow flies, little red roadster, photograph, pencil pusher, argument, streaking
The Mini Challenge: Ireland, mashed potatoes, book worm, fog horn, T.S. Eliot

As the crow flies the distance from the neighborhood where Claude was staying was no more than 10 miles to slick South Beach. Yet it might have as well have been on the moon for his current new girl Justine. She had grown up in Detroit and moved to Miami to be a waitress in the fancy south beach clubs. After an argument with her Dad she knew it was time to hit the road and Miami seemed as good a place as any. She'd made some money serving Buffalo wings to men at the local hooters and figured the worst she could do was end up at one in Miami.

That was before she saw Juan Carbarello and his hot Ferrari. He and the little red roadster were like something out of a photograph in GQ when she first met him. She hadn't been in town more than a few hours when he pulled up beside her and offered a ride. She told him her name and what she was in Miami to accomplish. He let her know he had connections and would see about getting her a job at the newest hot club "Silversmith" in south beach.

He took her to his apartment just a few short blocks from the beach. His pad was on the 32nd floor and had an unobstructed view of the ocean. The furniture and decorations were modern and expensive. Juan offered her the use of his guestroom and told her he'd help with finding her a job and a place the next day. Sounded almost too good to be true, because it was.

He had some friends over that night, introduced her to them and a few hits of crack and a hit of ecstasy. She woke up the next morning sore in places she shouldn't have been and feeling wanky. He juiced her up with some pick me ups and they did it all over again the next night, and the night after and for what seemed like years. In actuality it was only 11 weeks, but it was enough to bring her down. She ended up on the street, tricking, and doping and finally got picked up by the cops. While in the can she found out she had an STD. They kept her in the hospital wing of the county jail for 90 days till she was no longer contagious, and then put her back out on the street.

That was when Claude found her. She figured him for just another pimp, but he had proved to be more than that and less than that. He kept her clientele to a small number of above average dudes and spent time with her in "training." She'd never known it could be like that or that someone could make her feel as good and simultaneously as bad as Claude was able to make her feel.

He was a very strange man. He was no book worm certainly, yet he read to her. She now knew who T. S. Elliot was, though for the life of her she couldn't figure out how it would make her a better whore. Claude said he had something big in mind for her and she needed a varied education to pull it off. OK with her if it meant fewer Johns, more money and extra “training” time with Claude.

Justine laid a slim thigh across Claude's groin and purred; "I'm not sure I understood that last move completely, can we try it again?

McCool finished his call with Jack Preston just in time to catch the last vision of a shooting star streaking across the sky. He hollered down to the girls, "You see that?" "Yes" came back from the pair "and we both made wishes on it."

"What did your friend have to say about Claude Debaucherrie?" asked Sgt Johnson. "He thinks we're barking up the wrong tree" McCool replied. "Seems to think that a bunch of Claude's rep is bogus, stuff put out by French intelligence after he went rogue.” “What do you think?” asked Johnson. “I think we had better get more info.” “Jack isn’t just an ecological pencil pusher; he mixes with both sides and knows the personalities of the combatants as well as anyone” McCool continued.

“As my hero Fog Horn Leghorn would say, Now boy, I say now boy, are you sure you is a chicken hawk?” Johnson laughed and toasted McCool. They both enjoyed McCool’s imitations. His favorite was Shawn McFlairity O'Hallerhan and his infamous line: "I say laddie would you be flailing your shillelagh?" Johnson thought McCool could go to Ireland and get away with posing as a local, well at least as long as he only talked to tourists.

“I’ll follow up Monday with forensics and see if there is any other way Claude’s DNA and prints could have gotten in our crime scene” Sgt Johnson remarked. “Between the great booze, this cigar, that awesome meal and the extra helping of mashed potatoes I had; I’m not thinking all that straight right now.” “What do you suppose the girls are up to down there?” he finished. “Let’s go down and find out; maybe a swim will clear our minds a bit.” “Or we could drown” Johnson smiled as they got up to go down to the pool.

RT