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Basement Bound: A Stan Goldman/Barbara Moore Adventure

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8.

“Russian newspapers, Goldman,” Barb said. “The Sunnybrook Daily Blah doesn’t publish a Russian edition last I checked. And they were recent.”

Stan spread some cream cheese on his bagel and looked at Barb and shook his head. “You don’t read Russian, so how do you know.”

“The paper wasn’t yellowed, smarty-pants. I don’t think they were more than a couple of days old.”

Stan took a bite of his bagel and chewed it well before washing it down with a sip of coffee. “So some Russians are up here from the City enjoying the fresh air and reading papers in their native language. Is that a crime now?”

“Stan, you know very well that the Department has had several sex trafficking investigations involving the Russian Mafia.”

“Yeah, and none got very far, Moore.”

“Sure, because none of the low level guys ever talks for fear of their lives and we never busted anyone in possession of the girls because they ship them overseas. This could be a chance to break these sex rings wide open.”

Stan looked at her and shook his head. “You have no evidence that those girls are at that house and we have no authority to do a damn thing. We’re retired. We can’t go harassing people, peeking in their windows. They could have shot you and if they were real gangsters and they had seen your cute little face peering through their window, they probably would have.”

“Not to mention that if your theory is wrong and they were law abiding citizens, they would have called the cops and had us busted for trespassing. Now, I know you enjoyed playing with those women in the hanging case and you’ve made vague allusions to what you did back in college-which I still want to hear more details about- so you might enjoy the prison experience, but I play only for one team, so I’ll take a pass on that.”

“Alright, Stan, I’ll admit that peeking in their window was a bit of a risk.”

“A bit of a risk?” Stan replied. “You think?”

“Look,” Barb replied, “I’m not proposing anything like that. We won’t set foot on their property again. All I want to do is keep an eye on them from down the road and see who goes in and out.”

“You want to do a stakeout?”

“Well if you put it that way, I guess so. Come on, Stan it’ll be fun.”

“Fun, Moore? Fun? You know how many miserable hours I’ve spent sitting in a car, drinking stale coffee and eating donuts watching some house or bodega or garage for signs of life. That’s not what I want to do in my retirement, Barb. Nope, nein and nyet.”

Barb pouted. “So what’s a few more hours? Look, I know we don’t have a whole team like back on the Force and we can’t cover them 24/7. We’ll sit down the street and just watch for any signs of life in there. If we see nothing by the afternoon, we’ll leave. I’ll even make sandwiches for us, OK?”

Stan shrugged. It was a lost cause arguing with Barb and he knew in the end that he’d give in, so he might as well accept reality. “You’ve done a lot of nutty things Moore, but this may top them all. I’ll go along, but on condition that it’s a one day special. If we see nothing, that’s it, we go about our lives. Maybe take a little trip. How does Hawai’i sound?”

“It sounds lovely, Stan. But let’s see what we find out. If there were a sex trafficking ring operating right under our noses in this sleepy little burg and we could have stopped them, but did nothing, well, I wouldn’t even want to think about that.”

And so, Stan found himself as he had so many times in his career and had hoped never to find himself in retirement, sitting in Barb’s car parked down the street from the rambling Victorian, sipping stale coffee and, despite his best intentions, snacking on a donut. He had to admit that Barb was more attractive company than the other detectives he had been on stakeout with and the sandwiches she had made for them were certainly healthier than the take-out crap he had usually eaten while watching suspects.

But, still, it was awfully boring to spend hours staring at a house where there were absolutely no signs of life. And when nature called, they had to take turns scooting down to the convenience store on the next block, hoping that no one in the house noticed them, assuming there was anyone in the house at all.

Finally, around mid-afternoon, Stan had had enough. He could see that even Barb was losing her enthusiasm. “Come on cupcake, you’ve had your fun. I could really use a drink. Let’s go home.”

Barb sighed. “It doesn’t seem like this is getting us anywhere. Either no one is there or they’re holed up with enough supplies to last a while.” She started the car and drove slowly past the house. There was no sign of life. At the corner, she turned right, in the direction of their house.

Stan noticed a small object, barely bigger than a dot at this distance, hovering a few hundred feet above them circling slowly in a spiral heading in the general direction that they were going. “Must be one of those drones,” he said.

“Where?” Barb asked.

“Up there.” He pointed out the passenger side window. Barb probably couldn’t see it from the driver’s seat. “Must be some of the neighborhood kids. I’ve seen them advertised for not much over $100 and they’re all the rage among teenagers. They have cameras so you can get a bird’s eye view of the world. As long as you don’t go near an airport or a military facility, it’s perfectly legal.”

Barb turned and looked at him, her eyes wide with excitement. “That’s it Stan. We need to go to the mall and get one right now. Then, tomorrow, we fly it over that house. I want to get a look at the back side of the property. We might see something useful there.”

“Barb, I’m tired from sitting in the car all day. Please, no more driving, OK?”

“Fine,” she replied as they turned onto the road that led to their house. “I’ll order it on-line for overnight delivery.” Stan rolled his eyes. Neither of them noticed that the drone was hovering far overhead as they turned into their driveway.

Propped against the door was a package that had been left during the day by one of the delivery services. Stan stooped to pick it up. “It’s for you,” he said, handing it to Barb. “Not a drone, I think. Unless the drone companies read minds.”

Barb smiled enigmatically. “No, it’s something I ordered a couple of days ago. We’ll discuss it after dinner. Which it’s your turn to cook, Goldman.”

“I’m aware of that, Barb. I’ll go start the grill.” He had a couple of nice steaks in the refrigerator with some baby eggplant to grill with them and some pasta with tomato and basil. They were the perfect accompaniment for that bottle of Napa Valley cabernet he’d picked up a couple of weeks ago, and the nice meal went at least some of the way to make up for the long and fruitless day chasing Moore’s wild geese. Stan wondered what wild geese tasted like-probably a bit gamey, he would have guessed.

Stan was drying the last of the dinner dishes when Barb called him into the living room. “We need to talk, Stan.”

This didn’t sound good. “OK. About what?”

“About your attitude, Stan. The negativity. Everything I suggest is dismissed or ridiculed. That might make sense if I were an airhead, but I’m not. I was a damn good detective and you know it. In fact, I’m smarter and better educated than you. Yes, I respect your experience, but I deserve some respect too.”

Stan looked sheepish. She did have a point, he had to admit; he had been a bit grumpy and prickly with her. “I do respect you, Barb. A lot. Sometimes, though, I find you just a teensy bit impulsive.”

“I trust my instincts, Goldman. And given our history, you should too. There’s something going on in that house. I know it and we need to find out if those girls are there. But in the meantime, we need to do something about your attitude, Stan, and this package is just the ticket.”

Barb stood and retrieved the box. Inside was a large brown envelope. She tore it open and pulled out a short whip made of stiff cowhide. “What the fuck, Barb?” Stan exclaimed, staring at it, open mouthed.

“Our old riding crop is getting kind of soft, so I found this one on an equestrian supply site. It’s just the ticket to adjust the attitude of grumpy, negative men, don’t you think?”

“Shit, Barb, you’re not serious are you?”

“Oh, you bet I am, Goldman. Now you get your ass downstairs, on the double. If we straighten you out, and I see some changes in your attitude, I might let you try it on me later. Now, move it, buddy!”

And so, it was that Stan found himself naked, strapped to the St. Andrews Cross. Barb stripped to the waist-to have more freedom of movement, she said, though Stan thought her shirt wasn’t all that confining.

Madiosi-2018-388-06-cellar.jpg

The first whack across his ass hurt like hell. The second was worse. At the third, he literally saw stars. But, through the pain, he felt a tingle in his groin and the blood rushing to his nether regions.

What neither of the detectives heard, over the sounds of the whip hitting naked flesh and Stan’s yelps of pain and Barb’s encouraging words-“So, are you going to be more positive and respectful now?”- was the sound of the kitchen door being jimmied and feet pounding down the stairs.

Until, that is, they heard the gruff voice, its accent a mixture of Moscow and Brooklyn, asking “Detectives Moore and Goldman, I presume?”

Stan turned to look at the three intruders, one with a shaven head, one brown haired with a goatee and one with a blond brush cut, but all three large and muscular, and all three holding very serious looking pistols pointing straight at him and Barb.

The men stared open-mouthed at the scene, before the blond one collected himself and spoke. “If you two like this sort of stuff, you’re really going to enjoy our basement. Sergei, would you please untie Detective Goldman, and, Pavel, would you assist Detective Moore?”
 
8.

“Russian newspapers, Goldman,” Barb said. “The Sunnybrook Daily Blah doesn’t publish a Russian edition last I checked. And they were recent.”

Stan spread some cream cheese on his bagel and looked at Barb and shook his head. “You don’t read Russian, so how do you know.”

“The paper wasn’t yellowed, smarty-pants. I don’t think they were more than a couple of days old.”

Stan took a bite of his bagel and chewed it well before washing it down with a sip of coffee. “So some Russians are up here from the City enjoying the fresh air and reading papers in their native language. Is that a crime now?”

“Stan, you know very well that the Department has had several sex trafficking investigations involving the Russian Mafia.”

“Yeah, and none got very far, Moore.”

“Sure, because none of the low level guys ever talks for fear of their lives and we never busted anyone in possession of the girls because they ship them overseas. This could be a chance to break these sex rings wide open.”

Stan looked at her and shook his head. “You have no evidence that those girls are at that house and we have no authority to do a damn thing. We’re retired. We can’t go harassing people, peeking in their windows. They could have shot you and if they were real gangsters and they had seen your cute little face peering through their window, they probably would have.”

“Not to mention that if your theory is wrong and they were law abiding citizens, they would have called the cops and had us busted for trespassing. Now, I know you enjoyed playing with those women in the hanging case and you’ve made vague allusions to what you did back in college-which I still want to hear more details about- so you might enjoy the prison experience, but I play only for one team, so I’ll take a pass on that.”

“Alright, Stan, I’ll admit that peeking in their window was a bit of a risk.”

“A bit of a risk?” Stan replied. “You think?”

“Look,” Barb replied, “I’m not proposing anything like that. We won’t set foot on their property again. All I want to do is keep an eye on them from down the road and see who goes in and out.”

“You want to do a stakeout?”

“Well if you put it that way, I guess so. Come on, Stan it’ll be fun.”

“Fun, Moore? Fun? You know how many miserable hours I’ve spent sitting in a car, drinking stale coffee and eating donuts watching some house or bodega or garage for signs of life. That’s not what I want to do in my retirement, Barb. Nope, nein and nyet.”

Barb pouted. “So what’s a few more hours? Look, I know we don’t have a whole team like back on the Force and we can’t cover them 24/7. We’ll sit down the street and just watch for any signs of life in there. If we see nothing by the afternoon, we’ll leave. I’ll even make sandwiches for us, OK?”

Stan shrugged. It was a lost cause arguing with Barb and he knew in the end that he’d give in, so he might as well accept reality. “You’ve done a lot of nutty things Moore, but this may top them all. I’ll go along, but on condition that it’s a one day special. If we see nothing, that’s it, we go about our lives. Maybe take a little trip. How does Hawai’i sound?”

“It sounds lovely, Stan. But let’s see what we find out. If there were a sex trafficking ring operating right under our noses in this sleepy little burg and we could have stopped them, but did nothing, well, I wouldn’t even want to think about that.”

And so, Stan found himself as he had so many times in his career and had hoped never to find himself in retirement, sitting in Barb’s car parked down the street from the rambling Victorian, sipping stale coffee and, despite his best intentions, snacking on a donut. He had to admit that Barb was more attractive company than the other detectives he had been on stakeout with and the sandwiches she had made for them were certainly healthier than the take-out crap he had usually eaten while watching suspects.

But, still, it was awfully boring to spend hours staring at a house where there were absolutely no signs of life. And when nature called, they had to take turns scooting down to the convenience store on the next block, hoping that no one in the house noticed them, assuming there was anyone in the house at all.

Finally, around mid-afternoon, Stan had had enough. He could see that even Barb was losing her enthusiasm. “Come on cupcake, you’ve had your fun. I could really use a drink. Let’s go home.”

Barb sighed. “It doesn’t seem like this is getting us anywhere. Either no one is there or they’re holed up with enough supplies to last a while.” She started the car and drove slowly past the house. There was no sign of life. At the corner, she turned right, in the direction of their house.

Stan noticed a small object, barely bigger than a dot at this distance, hovering a few hundred feet above them circling slowly in a spiral heading in the general direction that they were going. “Must be one of those drones,” he said.

“Where?” Barb asked.

“Up there.” He pointed out the passenger side window. Barb probably couldn’t see it from the driver’s seat. “Must be some of the neighborhood kids. I’ve seen them advertised for not much over $100 and they’re all the rage among teenagers. They have cameras so you can get a bird’s eye view of the world. As long as you don’t go near an airport or a military facility, it’s perfectly legal.”

Barb turned and looked at him, her eyes wide with excitement. “That’s it Stan. We need to go to the mall and get one right now. Then, tomorrow, we fly it over that house. I want to get a look at the back side of the property. We might see something useful there.”

“Barb, I’m tired from sitting in the car all day. Please, no more driving, OK?”

“Fine,” she replied as they turned onto the road that led to their house. “I’ll order it on-line for overnight delivery.” Stan rolled his eyes. Neither of them noticed that the drone was hovering far overhead as they turned into their driveway.

Propped against the door was a package that had been left during the day by one of the delivery services. Stan stooped to pick it up. “It’s for you,” he said, handing it to Barb. “Not a drone, I think. Unless the drone companies read minds.”

Barb smiled enigmatically. “No, it’s something I ordered a couple of days ago. We’ll discuss it after dinner. Which it’s your turn to cook, Goldman.”

“I’m aware of that, Barb. I’ll go start the grill.” He had a couple of nice steaks in the refrigerator with some baby eggplant to grill with them and some pasta with tomato and basil. They were the perfect accompaniment for that bottle of Napa Valley cabernet he’d picked up a couple of weeks ago, and the nice meal went at least some of the way to make up for the long and fruitless day chasing Moore’s wild geese. Stan wondered what wild geese tasted like-probably a bit gamey, he would have guessed.

Stan was drying the last of the dinner dishes when Barb called him into the living room. “We need to talk, Stan.”

This didn’t sound good. “OK. About what?”

“About your attitude, Stan. The negativity. Everything I suggest is dismissed or ridiculed. That might make sense if I were an airhead, but I’m not. I was a damn good detective and you know it. In fact, I’m smarter and better educated than you. Yes, I respect your experience, but I deserve some respect too.”

Stan looked sheepish. She did have a point, he had to admit; he had been a bit grumpy and prickly with her. “I do respect you, Barb. A lot. Sometimes, though, I find you just a teensy bit impulsive.”

“I trust my instincts, Goldman. And given our history, you should too. There’s something going on in that house. I know it and we need to find out if those girls are there. But in the meantime, we need to do something about your attitude, Stan, and this package is just the ticket.”

Barb stood and retrieved the box. Inside was a large brown envelope. She tore it open and pulled out a short whip made of stiff cowhide. “What the fuck, Barb?” Stan exclaimed, staring at it, open mouthed.

“Our old riding crop is getting kind of soft, so I found this one on an equestrian supply site. It’s just the ticket to adjust the attitude of grumpy, negative men, don’t you think?”

“Shit, Barb, you’re not serious are you?”

“Oh, you bet I am, Goldman. Now you get your ass downstairs, on the double. If we straighten you out, and I see some changes in your attitude, I might let you try it on me later. Now, move it, buddy!”

And so, it was that Stan found himself naked, strapped to the St. Andrews Cross. Barb stripped to the waist-to have more freedom of movement, she said, though Stan thought her shirt wasn’t all that confining.

View attachment 623934

The first whack across his ass hurt like hell. The second was worse. At the third, he literally saw stars. But, through the pain, he felt a tingle in his groin and the blood rushing to his nether regions.

What neither of the detectives heard, over the sounds of the whip hitting naked flesh and Stan’s yelps of pain and Barb’s encouraging words-“So, are you going to be more positive and respectful now?”- was the sound of the kitchen door being jimmied and feet pounding down the stairs.

Until, that is, they heard the gruff voice, its accent a mixture of Moscow and Brooklyn, asking “Detectives Moore and Goldman, I presume?”

Stan turned to look at the three intruders, one with a shaven head, one brown haired with a goatee and one with a blond brush cut, but all three large and muscular, and all three holding very serious looking pistols pointing straight at him and Barb.

The men stared open-mouthed at the scene, before the blond one collected himself and spoke. “If you two like this sort of stuff, you’re really going to enjoy our basement. Sergei, would you please untie Detective Goldman, and, Pavel, would you assist Detective Moore?”
Those Russians! No manners. You should never interrupt people like that! It was just getting fun.
Perhaps it will get even more fun at the other house!

Love it
 
Those Russians! No manners. You should never interrupt people like that! It was just getting fun.
Perhaps it will get even more fun at the other house!

Love it
The days of the well-mannered thug are over, my friend. But they did offer an invite to their place, so I guess we shouldn't complain. If only Moore hadn't whacked poor Stan quite so hard, she might have heard them coming...
 
The days of the well-mannered thug are over, my friend. But they did offer an invite to their place, so I guess we shouldn't complain. If only Moore hadn't whacked poor Stan quite so hard, she might have heard them coming...
I think she heard them cuming. Oh, you don't mean Barb and Stan cuming, you meant the Russians coming! Right.
 
Stan looked at her and shook his head. “You have no evidence that those girls are at that house and we have no authority to do a damn thing. We’re retired. We can’t go harassing people, peeking in their windows. They could have shot you and if they were real gangsters and they had seen your cute little face peering through their window, they probably would have.”

Stan is so boringly level-headed and logical :rolleyes:

“Not to mention that if your theory is wrong and they were law abiding citizens, they would have called the cops and had us busted for trespassing. Now, I know you enjoyed playing with those women in the hanging case and you’ve made vague allusions to what you did back in college-which I still want to hear more details about- so you might enjoy the prison experience, but I play only for one team, so I’ll take a pass on that.”

Like I said .... ;)

“Fun, Moore? Fun? You know how many miserable hours I’ve spent sitting in a car, drinking stale coffee and eating donuts watching some house or bodega or garage for signs of life. That’s not what I want to do in my retirement, Barb. Nope, nein and nyet.”

Stan is learning German and Russian ... :D

Barb pouted.

Usually works ... :devil:

“We need to talk, Stan.”

A statement that always gets his attention ... :cool:

“About your attitude, Stan. The negativity. Everything I suggest is dismissed or ridiculed. That might make sense if I were an airhead, but I’m not. I was a damn good detective and you know it. In fact, I’m smarter and better educated than you. Yes, I respect your experience, but I deserve some respect too.”

THAT'S telling him ... :mad:

Stan looked sheepish.

In fact, he more closely resembles a bloodhound ... ;)

Barb stripped to the waist-to have more freedom of movement, she said, though Stan thought her shirt wasn’t all that confining.


Well, guys do it ....:p

Until, that is, they heard the gruff voice, its accent a mixture of Moscow and Brooklyn, asking “Detectives Moore and Goldman, I presume?”

Oh Shit! :confused::eek:

The men stared open-mouthed at the scene, before the blond one collected himself and spoke. “If you two like this sort of stuff, you’re really going to enjoy our basement. Sergei, would you please untie Detective Goldman, and, Pavel, would you assist Detective Moore?”

Ohhhh, double Shit! :confused::confused::eek::eek:
 
Stan is so boringly level-headed and logical
One of us has to be...
A statement that always gets his attention ...
It's something no man ever wants to hear
Stan is learning German and Russian ...
Bodega is Spanish, Moore
In fact, he more closely resembles a bloodhound .
Loyal and trustworthy
Well, guys do it ...
They also pee standing up...
 
What neither of the detectives heard, over the sounds of the whip hitting naked flesh and Stan’s yelps of pain and Barb’s encouraging words-“So, are you going to be more positive and respectful now?”- was the sound of the kitchen door being jimmied and feet pounding down the stairs.

Until, that is, they heard the gruff voice, its accent a mixture of Moscow and Brooklyn, asking “Detectives Moore and Goldman, I presume?”

Stan turned to look at the three intruders, one with a shaven head, one brown haired with a goatee and one with a blond brush cut, but all three large and muscular, and all three holding very serious looking pistols pointing straight at him and Barb.
Whoops! Caught in flagrante crucifixio, or something, with pants down, like bear.
I wonder who was running that drone - maybe not kids, eh.

I know they have a buyer for Barb, but Stan might be in some additional trouble.
 
Whoops! Caught in flagrante crucifixio, or something, with pants down, like bear.
I wonder who was running that drone - maybe not kids, eh.

I know they have a buyer for Barb, but Stan might be in some additional trouble.
Good trained bloodhounds fetch a pretty penny. And we know Barb has him well trained.
 
"Baby, you can drive my car."

Asked a girl what she wanted to be
She said baby, can't you see
I want to be famous, a star on the screen
But you can do something in between
Baby you can drive my car
Yes I'm gonna be a star
Baby you can drive my car
And maybe I'll love you


I told a girl that my prospects were good
And she said baby, it's understood
Working for peanuts is all very fine
But I can show you a better time

Baby you can drive my car
Yes I'm gonna be a star
Baby you can drive my car
And maybe I'll love you


Beep beep'm beep beep yeah
Baby you can drive my car
Yes I'm gonna be a star
Baby you can drive my car
And maybe I'll love you

I told a girl I can start right away
And she…


:D
 
Asked a girl what she wanted to be
She said baby, can't you see
I want to be famous, a star on the screen
But you can do something in between
Baby you can drive my car
Yes I'm gonna be a star
Baby you can drive my car
And maybe I'll love you


I told a girl that my prospects were good
And she said baby, it's understood
Working for peanuts is all very fine
But I can show you a better time
Baby you can drive my car
Yes I'm gonna be a star
Baby you can drive my car
And maybe I'll love you


Beep beep'm beep beep yeah
Baby you can drive my car
Yes I'm gonna be a star
Baby you can drive my car
And maybe I'll love you

I told a girl I can start right away
And she…


:D
I better go see if my car is still there...
 
Nope, nein and nyet

... and "non" ? One more a time, French is forgotten ...:D

If we see nothing, that’s it, we go about our lives. Maybe take a little trip. How does Hawai’i sound?”

Oh, Hawaï is overrated ... Rather come in Anjou (France) , the wine and the food are better !:p:rolleyes:
... and you could see ... Messa ... :rolleyes::rolleyes::rolleyes:
Anjou 7.jpg

 
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