Sharkman
Governor
Poor Stan, you had been so near. You bungled the job! Stan, you missed the hottest crux live-show on CF!
Matron, Warden! You should not discuss where this expert attendant Stan is but wonder why the crowns of thorns are missing.
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Barb Behind Bars
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Poor Stan, you had been so near. You bungled the job! Stan, you missed the hottest crux live-show on CF!
Matron, Warden! You should not discuss where this expert attendant Stan is but wonder why the crowns of thorns are missing.
30.
I was halfway up my cross, unable to make it any further, gasping for air, shaking like a leaf, and about to slide back down when suddenly the doors to the arena burst open and Buckner, Rodriquez, Chao and Greene burst in. Covered by the other two girls, Buckner and Rodriquez were holding guns at the ready as they advanced, crouched down and ready, onto the sand.
"Hands up! Everyone freeze!"shouted Buckner at the top of her voice.
"Yeah!" cried Rodriquez.
"What the fuck!" shouted Matron.
"Party's over, we're taking the place over!" said Buckner, firing a round through the ceiling to make her point.
The sound of the gun going off reverberated through the rafters. Inmates screamed in alarm. Warden's cronies gaped in shocked surprise.
“Everyone down on their knees; hands on your heads! NOW!"
“Where’d you get th ... th ... those guns?” stammered Matron.
“From the armory closet,” grinned Rodriguez, triumphantly holding up and jiggling a ring of keys.
“Well this won’t work!” said Warden, stepping forward aggressively, pulling his cell phone from under his toga and holding it up for all to see. “I just speed-texted a coded alert message to the Newtown control center and the whole facility is being locked down as we speak.”
“Take that phone away from him!” ordered Buckner.
“No need,” said Warden, contemptuously tossing his phone on the sand. “You're too late. The message already went through. The whole place is locked down!”
As if to accent his words, the doors to the arena slammed shut, and the sound of a bar being slammed down on the far side of the doors could be heard. A horn blazened out a siren-like wail. And the metallic pre-recorded words, "lock down", rasped repeatedly over speakers mounted high on the walls.
“We’re locked in here!” exclaimed Cindy Chao, who had rushed to the doors and was tugging at the door handles without success.
“Relax,” replied Buckner. “Once word gets out, the television crews will be crawling all over the place. They'll be sure to find us in here. We'll be 'breaking news'! Just imagine it! How do you think you’ll explain this little party, Warden? You and your buddies are in deep shit!”
“No need to worry,” sneered Warden. "My people will keep the shutdown quiet. No one will ever know. There will be no television crews. Now how about you put those guns away and we just forget the whole thing. What do you say, Buckner?”
“No deal.”
“Shouldn’t we be getting Morton and Moore down off those crosses?” interjected Cindy Chao.
Everyone on the arena floor redirected their attention to Deb and me.
“Sure, Get Morton down, but not cop-girl. She can hang there till hell freezes over as far as I’m concerned.” snorted Buckner.
"Yeah," said Rodriguez.
“No!” croaked Deb as she collapsed against the wood after another weak-kneed attempt at gaining a fresh breath of air. Listen to me! Moore’s one of us now! And besides, she’s working with Porter. He's her old cop-partner, Goldman. They’ve been working under cover and they've got the goods on Warden. If we hold out, help just might be on the way.”
“Don’t kid yourself.” sneered Warden. “No one knows about this lock down and no one’s going to believe Porter, or Goldman if that's who he really is, even if he tries. Look around. They may be wearing masks, but trust me. We have the elite of the State's law-and-order establishment right here with us on this arena floor. Goldman doesn't stand a chance. Now let's be sensible! Put down those guns and let's forget the whole thing.”
I was halfway up my cross, unable to make it any further, gasping for air, shaking like a leaf, and about to slide back down when suddenly the doors to the arena burst open and Buckner, Rodriquez, Chao and Greene burst in. Covered by the other two girls, Buckner and Rodriquez were holding guns at the ready as they advanced, crouched down and ready, onto the sand.
"Hands up! Everyone freeze!"shouted Buckner at the top of her voice.
"Yeah!" cried Rodriquez.
"What the fuck!" shouted Matron.
"Party's over, we're taking the place over!" said Buckner, firing a round through the ceiling to make her point.
The sound of the gun going off reverberated through the rafters. Inmates screamed in alarm. Warden's cronies gaped in shocked surprise.
“Everyone down on their knees; hands on your heads! NOW!"
“Where’d you get th ... th ... those guns?” stammered Matron.
“From the armory closet,” grinned Rodriguez, triumphantly holding up and jiggling a ring of keys.
“Well this won’t work!” said Warden, stepping forward aggressively, pulling his cell phone from under his toga and holding it up for all to see. “I just speed-texted a coded alert message to the Newtown control center and the whole facility is being locked down as we speak.”
“Take that phone away from him!” ordered Buckner.
“No need,” said Warden, contemptuously tossing his phone on the sand. “You're too late. The message already went through. The whole place is locked down!”
As if to accent his words, the doors to the arena slammed shut, and the sound of a bar being slammed down on the far side of the doors could be heard. A horn blazened out a siren-like wail. And the metallic pre-recorded words, "lock down", rasped repeatedly over speakers mounted high on the walls.
“We’re locked in here!” exclaimed Cindy Chao, who had rushed to the doors and was tugging at the door handles without success.
“Relax,” replied Buckner. “Once word gets out, the television crews will be crawling all over the place. They'll be sure to find us in here. We'll be 'breaking news'! Just imagine it! How do you think you’ll explain this little party, Warden? You and your buddies are in deep shit!”
“No need to worry,” sneered Warden. "My people will keep the shutdown quiet. No one will ever know. There will be no television crews. Now how about you put those guns away and we just forget the whole thing. What do you say, Buckner?”
“No deal.”
“Shouldn’t we be getting Morton and Moore down off those crosses?” interjected Cindy Chao.
Everyone on the arena floor redirected their attention to Deb and me.
“Sure, Get Morton down, but not cop-girl. She can hang there till hell freezes over as far as I’m concerned.” snorted Buckner.
"Yeah," said Rodriguez.
“No!” croaked Deb as she collapsed against the wood after another weak-kneed attempt at gaining a fresh breath of air. Listen to me! Moore’s one of us now! And besides, she’s working with Porter. He's her old cop-partner, Goldman. They’ve been working under cover and they've got the goods on Warden. If we hold out, help just might be on the way.”
“Don’t kid yourself.” sneered Warden. “No one knows about this lock down and no one’s going to believe Porter, or Goldman if that's who he really is, even if he tries. Look around. They may be wearing masks, but trust me. We have the elite of the State's law-and-order establishment right here with us on this arena floor. Goldman doesn't stand a chance. Now let's be sensible! Put down those guns and let's forget the whole thing.”
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Nice work, Warden. You've just told a convicts with weapons in their hands that they've got the cream of the state's law-and-order establishment under their guns.
Can anyone say "hostage"?
(not that this will help poor Barb, or indeed Deb, struggling on her own cross.)
Can anyone say "hostage"?
(not that this will help poor Barb, or indeed Deb, struggling on her own cross.)
windar
Teller of Tales
Yeah!
I knew she was the brains of that little hanging club
We'll have to see about that...
And I thought the disguise was pretty good
Thanks for the vote of confidence.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Meanwhile in the armory closet : "Did anyone spot the keys lately!?"
Nice story twist!
Yet, no 'one will ever know' is subject to interpretation in that case!
connoisseurs
Senator
Now, Barb, aren´t that good news? That should give you the strengh and motivation to last a few hours longer. All will be well. With a situation like that it will
windar
Teller of Tales
31.
Stan knew Reggie was right. Making this whole stinking mess public was his best hope to move the powers that be to action. It had better be, because if it didn’t, not only was Barb, if she were still alive, a goner, but so was any pretense that this state, this country, this planet had any decency left.
Also, Stan had to consider that the important guests at that party had plenty to lose if word got out and the means to hire goons to kill him, if necessary, to try to prevent that. As long as his video record of the goings on was private, his own life was potentially in danger. Of course, that didn’t compare with the danger that Barb was in, but it wasn’t chopped liver either.
No, the best for all concerned was to get this in the hands of the media and into the public consciousness as quickly as possible. But, which outlet, which reporter? Stan had dealt with the media on quite a few cases during his career as a detective. It had never been something he relished; journalists always seemed to want the crime solved yesterday, never mind the difficulties and the legal niceties of putting together a case that would stand up in court. And their prodding generally made the departmental brass, who should know better, overly eager to make an arrest regardless of the facts and evidence.
But Stan needed to pick one of the members of that profession who could get the story out. There was that guy Morton, what’s his last name, from The Daily News. He was OK, for a reporter. But the video might be better given to a TV station. What about that blond from Channel 7. What was her name?
Stan stuck his hand in his pocket and found a mint that he stuck in his mouth. ‘Candy, that was her name,’ he remembered. ‘Candy Stevens.’ He drove across the Harlem River into Manhattan and followed the FDR Drive down to Midtown, leaving his car in a ridiculously overpriced garage just around the corner from their studios.
“I need to see Candy Stevens,” Stan told the girl at the front desk. “It’s urgent. Tell her I have a scoop that she would swim to Staten Island naked to get.” The receptionist looked at him strangely, then picked up the desk phone.
“Who may I say is looking for her?” she asked.
“Tell her it’s Detective Stan Goldman of the NYPD.” Stan wasn’t sure that Candy knew he had retired, and even if she did, so what? She’d forgive him when she saw the video.
A few moments later, Candy Stevens strode into the reception area. She wore a dark blue skirt that barely reached to her knees and her blouse was unbuttoned just enough to hint at the delights beneath without violating the television codes of decency. Her shoulder length blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, not a strand out of place.
She smiled broadly as she approached Stan. He couldn’t identify her perfume, but it was undoubtedly an expensive one and was money well spent in Stan’s opinion. “Detective Goldman,” she announced. “How nice to see you again.”
“It’s nice to see you again, too, Ms. Stevens,” Stan replied. And, to be truthful, it was nice to see a woman dressed in something other than a prison jumpsuit or a C.O.’s uniform, for a change.
“So what is this big scoop you have for me?” she asked.
“Can we go somewhere more private?” Stan asked. She led him to her office, just down the hall from the main studio where the morning and evening newscasts were done, though it was quiet at this hour. Her perfume smelt even more alluring in the confined space. Stan tried hard not to appear too obviously to be looking down her blouse.
He opened his laptop. “This was shot last evening inside the Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women. Just watch it and I’ll fill you in on the details.” Stan hit the play button and watched the alternating looks of horror, shock and excitement cross Candy Steven’s face.
As the video played, Stan filled her in on the story of Barb’s arrest and sentencing, his decision to go undercover as a guard and the various depravities he had witnessed. Perhaps he left out one or two details that might have appeared incriminating against himself to the average citizen, but he told her enough for her to get the gist.
Finally, when it reached the point where he had run from the arena, he stopped the playback. “The rest is just me getting the hell out of there,” he assured her. No need to mention his gut reactions.
Candy shook her head. “I may look young, Detective Goldman, but I’ve been in this business for some time, as you know, and this tops anything I’ve ever seen. A real honest to goodness Roman orgy and crucifixion in one of our own state prisons. If you hadn’t caught it on film, I’d have had you taken out of here straight to the psych ward for making up a tale like that.”
Stan nodded. “Yeah, I figured that, which is why I went to some trouble and personal risk to film this.”
“This is dynamite, of course. The biggest scandal since I don’t know when,” Candy Stevens said.
“Yeah, and you have it as an exclusive. Not for long of course; once the story hits every network in the world will be on it, but you’ll have a head start.”
“I..I..don’t know what to say, Detective. You wouldn’t happen to know who those guests, those masked beasts abusing those poor women, howling for blood, are, would you?”
“The rumor is that they are very wealthy and powerful men, men who paid a fortune to be there and are used to getting their way. The fat guy getting the b.j. and demanding they use nails is, I think, the judge who sentenced Detective Moore, though I can’t prove that right now. But I’m sure with some digging we can nail him, pun intended.”
Candy Stevens smiled. “My producer needs to see this,” she said, picking up the phone.
An hour later, Stan Goldman and Candy Stevens were in a van with “Channel 7, New York’s Best News Team” emblazoned in bright orange letters on the side, heading up the Thruway towards Newtown. They were accompanied by two cameramen who occupied the front seats, the older one driving. Stan and Candy shared the second row of seats. He couldn’t help noticing that her skirt had ridden up her thigh when she had sat down and at least one more button on her shirt had popped open from the effort of scrambling into the vehicle. Nor could Stan, despite his best efforts, miss the fact that her bra was very sheer and that perhaps she had daubed on some additional perfume when she had used the bathroom before they departed. Once a detective, always a detective.
In the rear seat, was her producer, Jeff Lipman, a tall, thin guy in his mid-40s with a neatly trimmed hipster beard and aviator glasses, Jeff had said something to the effect of “Are you fucking kidding me; you think I’d miss this for a million dollars?” when Stan had asked if he would be coming along with them.
Stan knew Reggie was right. Making this whole stinking mess public was his best hope to move the powers that be to action. It had better be, because if it didn’t, not only was Barb, if she were still alive, a goner, but so was any pretense that this state, this country, this planet had any decency left.
Also, Stan had to consider that the important guests at that party had plenty to lose if word got out and the means to hire goons to kill him, if necessary, to try to prevent that. As long as his video record of the goings on was private, his own life was potentially in danger. Of course, that didn’t compare with the danger that Barb was in, but it wasn’t chopped liver either.
No, the best for all concerned was to get this in the hands of the media and into the public consciousness as quickly as possible. But, which outlet, which reporter? Stan had dealt with the media on quite a few cases during his career as a detective. It had never been something he relished; journalists always seemed to want the crime solved yesterday, never mind the difficulties and the legal niceties of putting together a case that would stand up in court. And their prodding generally made the departmental brass, who should know better, overly eager to make an arrest regardless of the facts and evidence.
But Stan needed to pick one of the members of that profession who could get the story out. There was that guy Morton, what’s his last name, from The Daily News. He was OK, for a reporter. But the video might be better given to a TV station. What about that blond from Channel 7. What was her name?
Stan stuck his hand in his pocket and found a mint that he stuck in his mouth. ‘Candy, that was her name,’ he remembered. ‘Candy Stevens.’ He drove across the Harlem River into Manhattan and followed the FDR Drive down to Midtown, leaving his car in a ridiculously overpriced garage just around the corner from their studios.
“I need to see Candy Stevens,” Stan told the girl at the front desk. “It’s urgent. Tell her I have a scoop that she would swim to Staten Island naked to get.” The receptionist looked at him strangely, then picked up the desk phone.
“Who may I say is looking for her?” she asked.
“Tell her it’s Detective Stan Goldman of the NYPD.” Stan wasn’t sure that Candy knew he had retired, and even if she did, so what? She’d forgive him when she saw the video.
A few moments later, Candy Stevens strode into the reception area. She wore a dark blue skirt that barely reached to her knees and her blouse was unbuttoned just enough to hint at the delights beneath without violating the television codes of decency. Her shoulder length blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, not a strand out of place.
She smiled broadly as she approached Stan. He couldn’t identify her perfume, but it was undoubtedly an expensive one and was money well spent in Stan’s opinion. “Detective Goldman,” she announced. “How nice to see you again.”
“It’s nice to see you again, too, Ms. Stevens,” Stan replied. And, to be truthful, it was nice to see a woman dressed in something other than a prison jumpsuit or a C.O.’s uniform, for a change.
“So what is this big scoop you have for me?” she asked.
“Can we go somewhere more private?” Stan asked. She led him to her office, just down the hall from the main studio where the morning and evening newscasts were done, though it was quiet at this hour. Her perfume smelt even more alluring in the confined space. Stan tried hard not to appear too obviously to be looking down her blouse.
He opened his laptop. “This was shot last evening inside the Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women. Just watch it and I’ll fill you in on the details.” Stan hit the play button and watched the alternating looks of horror, shock and excitement cross Candy Steven’s face.
As the video played, Stan filled her in on the story of Barb’s arrest and sentencing, his decision to go undercover as a guard and the various depravities he had witnessed. Perhaps he left out one or two details that might have appeared incriminating against himself to the average citizen, but he told her enough for her to get the gist.
Finally, when it reached the point where he had run from the arena, he stopped the playback. “The rest is just me getting the hell out of there,” he assured her. No need to mention his gut reactions.
Candy shook her head. “I may look young, Detective Goldman, but I’ve been in this business for some time, as you know, and this tops anything I’ve ever seen. A real honest to goodness Roman orgy and crucifixion in one of our own state prisons. If you hadn’t caught it on film, I’d have had you taken out of here straight to the psych ward for making up a tale like that.”
Stan nodded. “Yeah, I figured that, which is why I went to some trouble and personal risk to film this.”
“This is dynamite, of course. The biggest scandal since I don’t know when,” Candy Stevens said.
“Yeah, and you have it as an exclusive. Not for long of course; once the story hits every network in the world will be on it, but you’ll have a head start.”
“I..I..don’t know what to say, Detective. You wouldn’t happen to know who those guests, those masked beasts abusing those poor women, howling for blood, are, would you?”
“The rumor is that they are very wealthy and powerful men, men who paid a fortune to be there and are used to getting their way. The fat guy getting the b.j. and demanding they use nails is, I think, the judge who sentenced Detective Moore, though I can’t prove that right now. But I’m sure with some digging we can nail him, pun intended.”
Candy Stevens smiled. “My producer needs to see this,” she said, picking up the phone.
An hour later, Stan Goldman and Candy Stevens were in a van with “Channel 7, New York’s Best News Team” emblazoned in bright orange letters on the side, heading up the Thruway towards Newtown. They were accompanied by two cameramen who occupied the front seats, the older one driving. Stan and Candy shared the second row of seats. He couldn’t help noticing that her skirt had ridden up her thigh when she had sat down and at least one more button on her shirt had popped open from the effort of scrambling into the vehicle. Nor could Stan, despite his best efforts, miss the fact that her bra was very sheer and that perhaps she had daubed on some additional perfume when she had used the bathroom before they departed. Once a detective, always a detective.
In the rear seat, was her producer, Jeff Lipman, a tall, thin guy in his mid-40s with a neatly trimmed hipster beard and aviator glasses, Jeff had said something to the effect of “Are you fucking kidding me; you think I’d miss this for a million dollars?” when Stan had asked if he would be coming along with them.
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connoisseurs
Senator
Uh oh... Naturally I hope the best for Barb and Stan and I don´t see how this could go wrong, but...
Glad to know you still thought of me, even if it was after worrying about yourself...
No description of her innate intelligence?
I've yet to see a man succeed at that ... especially Goldman
Two fingers in your eyes!
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
No description of her innate intelligence?
Stan understands that the intelligence of a woman is a given these days, but how she dresses, and smells, and the look in her eyes, and the wiggle as she walks..............these are still essential variables.
30.
I was halfway up my cross, unable to make it any further, gasping for air, shaking like a leaf, and about to slide back down when suddenly the doors to the arena burst open and Buckner, Rodriquez, Chao and Greene burst in. Buckner and Rodriquez were holding guns at the ready as they advanced, crouched down and ready, onto the sand.
"Hands up! Everyone freeze!"shouted Buckner at the top of her voice.
I was halfway up my cross, unable to make it any further, gasping for air, shaking like a leaf, and about to slide back down when suddenly the doors to the arena burst open and Buckner, Rodriquez, Chao and Greene burst in. Buckner and Rodriquez were holding guns at the ready as they advanced, crouched down and ready, onto the sand.
"Hands up! Everyone freeze!"shouted Buckner at the top of her voice.
Thank you, Barb! I needed yesterday for finding and cuttingout the armed girls.
Thank you also for Gibbs Fun-with-the-gun-thread.
windar
Teller of Tales
Her intelligence can't be compared to yours You're both smart, but she's going to use hers to get us out of trouble (I hope)
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Just the imagination!?
Actually, I wondered why the receptionist did not already!
connoisseurs
Senator
It would have been enough to post the first part. At least we men would have completed the rest independent.
Mhm... now that I think about that - I would have completed it different and in a way that would have to be max. font size 5.
31.
...
“Can we go somewhere more private?” Stan asked. She led him to her office, just down the hall from the main studio where the morning and evening newscasts were done, though it was quiet at this hour. Her perfume smelt even more alluring in the confined space. Stan tried hard not to appear too obviously to be looking down her blouse.
He opened his laptop. “This was shot last evening inside the Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women. Just watch it and I’ll fill you in on the details.” Stan hit the play button and watched the alternating looks of horror, shock and excitement cross Candy Steven’s face.
...
“Can we go somewhere more private?” Stan asked. She led him to her office, just down the hall from the main studio where the morning and evening newscasts were done, though it was quiet at this hour. Her perfume smelt even more alluring in the confined space. Stan tried hard not to appear too obviously to be looking down her blouse.
He opened his laptop. “This was shot last evening inside the Newtown State Correctional Facility for Women. Just watch it and I’ll fill you in on the details.” Stan hit the play button and watched the alternating looks of horror, shock and excitement cross Candy Steven’s face.
