Prick Van Winkle

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1-2 | 3-4 | 5-6 | 7-8 | 9-10 | 11-12 | 13-14 | 15-16 | 17-18
19-20 | 21-22 | 23-24 | 25-26 | 27-28 | 29-30 | 31-32 | 33-Epilogue

Chapter 9

The following Tuesday, Bob enlisted the aid of Val to drive him to Sacramento, some sixty miles west of Circleton. He wanted to do something about the insurance payments before anyone could accuse him of hanky panky. He and Val talked about many things on that drive, but in the interests of brevity (hah!) we'll skip most of those. Suffice it to say that Val was excited, not only because it gave her time with what was now her favorite man, but because she'd get to go to a real boutique to shop for a new bikini. She dropped her great grandfather off at an imposing glass fronted building and drove off toward the shopping district with a promise to return in an hour.

A more sophisticated author would say "the storm broke" when Bob walked into the Amalgamated Indemnity of America's corporate offices and calmly announced that he was no longer "infirm", and that as such, they no longer were required to make the monthly payments to him that they had been making for fifty years.

A less sophisticated author would just say ... the shit hit the fan.

Priscilla Hardy happened to be the adjustor who was approached by a very timid young man named Paul, who was an intern with the company that summer and who had been asked to take over the front desk by Missy Walker, the receptionist, so she could go get a cup of coffee. Most people just sent Paul to get them things, but Missy had been there ... had that T shirt ... and was almost militant about not making the interns "step and fetch" things. So she smiled sweetly and asked Paul to watch her desk for a bit. When a few minutes later, a man walked in off the street and explained what he wanted, Paul had no idea what to do. So he took the man to Priscilla.

Priscilla was a hard driving young woman, who took control of things by telling the man to sit down while she reviewed his file. She asked for a doctor's release while she tapped keys on a computer keyboard.

"I don't have one." said Bob calmly. "I didn't see the need to go to a doctor. I'm not infirm any more and I just thought you folks should be told that."

"This is highly irregular." she muttered as his file came up.

She blinked when she saw the date of the original claim and the dates of the list of payouts. The file was for a seventy-five year old man. She looked at Bob, who was obviously in his mid twenties.

"Mr... Winkle... is it?" she asked.

He nodded.

"May I see some identification please?" she said, her voice level. There was all kinds of fraud in the insurance business. This man was trying to get them to stop making payments to a man he claimed to be, but obviously wasn't, which didn't quite fit the usual fraud pattern, but she intended to get to the bottom of this. She picked up the phone and dialed security - just in case - while Bob got his wallet out.

Bob's wallet, it turned out, had been put in the roll top desk that Rip's diary had been found in. It still contained all the usual documents - driver's license, social security card, pictures of his three baby girls, and, scraps of paper with long defunct phone numbers on them and, hidden in a hard to find slot, a single folded five dollar bill. That bill was unusual because the seal was in blue, not green, and along the bottom were printed the words "Silver Certificate". Val, Fran and Becca had found the wallet, of course, when they went through the desk looking for treasure. They hadn't discovered the money, but after Bob woke up they remembered the wallet and retrieved it from the desk, handing it to him like the treasure it really was.

In 1950, a driver's license was an un-laminated card, with typewriting on it and no photograph. Bob's had been issued to him only a few weeks before he went into his long nap, and was in pristine condition. When he handed it to Priscilla, and she examined it (both front and back) her suspicions gelled. Still, security wasn't there yet, so she put on a smile.

"I'm afraid I'll need a picture ID Mr. Winkle."

"And I'm afraid that's the only identification I have." said Bob calmly. He hadn't thought it would be this difficult to get an insurance company to stop giving him money.

Priscilla sighed with relief as she saw Chuck, the security guard she had ignored for more than a year, approach. Chuck was a beefy young man who had failed the Police Academy entrance exam because he was basically stupid. He seemed to inflate as he approached her desk. Chuck was a surfer when he wasn't being a security guard, and he was good at posturing.

"What seems to be the problem here?" he asked, importantly. His hand went to the can of pepper spray he kept at his belt. There wasn't actually any money in the building, so they wouldn't let him carry a gun. He had adopted the pepper spray instead and carried it in a pouch where he thought a pistol should be.

Bob looked up at the towering... and glowering man.

"There's no problem." he said. "I was receiving payments for being infirm, and I'm not infirm any more."

Priscilla handed Chuck Bob's driver's license.

"This is the ID he provided." she said, as if that explained everything.

Chuck frowned at the card, peering closely at it and holding it up to the light, as if he could see through it.

"What's this?" he asked.

"It's my driver's license." said Bob patiently. "I know it's expired, but it's all I have."

Chuck searched until he found the expiration date. It was May 15, 1952. He frowned.

"What are you trying to pull here?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound low and grave.

Bob felt the first tingles of frustration as he realized he was dealing with something he obviously wasn't prepared for. He had thought it would be simple. He'd walk in, say "Thanks for all the help" and walk out. He looked at Priscilla.

"Are we done here? Is there anything else I need to do?"

Priscilla was at a complete loss as to what to do. She'd called security not because she wanted them to do anything in particular, but because it made her feel powerful. This couldn't be the man listed as the beneficiary in the file she was looking at, so something had to be wrong, but she couldn't figure out what that was. She made a decision. This man was obviously not Robert Winkle, and he was trying to get the company into some kind of trouble so there would be litigation and they'd have to pay out even more money. Yes, that just had to be the scheme here.

"I can't just stop the payments on your say-so." she said to Bob, explaining it as if he were simple minded. "Mr. Winkle is over seventy years old. I don't understand why you want us to stop paying him, but he probably needs this money and I think you're not a very nice person to pretend to be him."

Now Bob knew that this wasn't working. He didn't want to argue about it, but he also knew that the money should stop being paid and that someone would try to make trouble if he kept taking the money.

"Look," he said patiently. "I took a nap in 1950 and didn't wake up until just a month ago. Your company's insurance policy has been paying out all this time. But I'm awake now. You understand? I'm awake now. I don't want to cause any trouble. I'm just here to inform you that I'm awake."

He stood up to leave and Chuck went into action. The story he'd just heard made it clear to him that he had a wacko on his hands. He grabbed for the pepper spray and gave Bob what was supposed to be a two second burst in his face. Chuck, however, had been carrying his cartridge of pepper spray for a year and a half, and enough dust and grime had collected around the trigger mechanism that it stuck. As Bob howled and went down, his hands scrabbling at his eyes, Chuck dropped the canister and grabbed the handcuffs from the back of his belt. He yanked Bob's right arm, twisting it behind his back yelling "You have the right to remain silent!" He said that three more times, unable in his excitement to remember the rest of the phrase he'd practiced over and over in the mirror in his mother's basement, where he lived. By the time he got Bob's left arm cranked back and had closed the cuffs as tightly as they'd go, he was panting and jubilant. He'd just made his first "collar"!

In the meantime, his canister of pepper spray bounced and rolled, merrily spraying a stream of its contents up into the air and all over generally. It rolled to a stop spraying directly into the air return vent next to Priscilla's desk. The mist formed by this process drifted in the excellently conditioned air. Only the best had gone into the structure of the corporate HQ at Amalgamated. The air in the whole building was reputed to be recycled every three minutes.

Priscilla freaked out. She, too, assumed Bob was a wacko, but he didn't seem violent - merely deluded - and when Chuck "went into action" and some of the over spray of Chuck's pepper spray came her way, making her eyes water and making her sneeze, she panicked. She screamed and tried to run from her desk, and tripped over a wastebasket, sprawling on the floor.

People at desks nearby had been watching as the incident progressed. No one had ever had to call Chuck before, so when he showed up and began his "investigation" there were a lot of interested people watching. None of them had seen what the man did to cause Chuck to spring into action, but there was obviously a struggle going on, and Priscilla was running screaming from her desk, so that suggested the man might have a gun.

911 was called by three different people.

Rodney Jackson, who had a crush on Priscilla, jumped up from his desk to go and render aide. He was elated to find that, in the fall, Priscilla's skirt had whipped up, exposing the peach colored thong she had worn under it that day. Her bare buttocks were exposed to his delighted, if somewhat misty gaze. He was torn between trying to get away from what was making his eyes tear up and hurt, and getting a better look at something he thought he'd never get to see in his whole life. He intended to roll her over, primarily so he could see the front of those panties, when a cloud of pepper spray enveloped his head. His eyes squeezed shut and he gave a massive sneeze. Instead of gripping her waist to turn her, as he intended, one hand went squarely between her naked buttocks and he fell on top of her, incapacitated.

Priscilla, her vision still blurred by tears, felt a man's hands being forced between her soft buttocks and, now in a complete panic, screamed "Rape!" at the top of her healthy young lungs. She kicked with her legs and one foot impacted a decorative floor lamp that happened to have halogen bulbs in it. It tipped, and two of the bulbs shattered with an explosive pop.

By now, others in the big room had gotten a sniff of Chuck's pepper spray and were in the process of fleeing in panic. As they streamed out of the room, pushing and shoving, Henry Stevens was slammed into the edge of a doorway. His forehead hit the sharp molding and split open. He staggered back, bleeding like a stuck pig and, tried to run. Unable to see because of the blood in his eyes, he slammed into another wall and flopped senseless to the floor.

Mildred Hopkins, a matronly woman of about forty five years, if you took her word for it, came out of the ladies room to a scene of pure chaos. People were screaming various things, one of which was "He's got a gun!" Many more were coughing their lungs out and staggering around with streaming eyes. It was about then the halogen lamps burst and Mildred swung her gaze to see Henry reeling, his face bleeding, fall to the floor limply. Being a woman of iron disposition, and having watched every police show that ever aired on television, she calmly reached over and pulled the fire alarm, and then sank down behind a desk and pulled the phone to her heaving chest. She was the fourth person to call 911.

"Shots fired!" she screamed into the phone. "One man down! The place is on fire! We need help and we need it now!" she wailed into the phone.

It didn't help that Alice Trumble, unable to see where she was going, tripped over the phone cord and jerked it out of the wall, cutting Mildred's running commentary to the 911 operator off mid stream.

Police radio bands everywhere are constantly monitored by the news media, not to mention a crowd of ambulance chasing lawyers. The arrival of Sacramento's finest was, therefore, recorded by no less than four camera crews and three lawyers, all of whom had a fist full of business cards they were handing out to fleeing people as fast as they could. The police had to fight for parking spaces with a ladder truck and two pumpers as the SFD blazed onto the scene. Within minutes the scene was crisscrossed with three inch hoses. By now, the entire four story building was being evacuated by panicked and screaming "survivors." And, even though no flames or smoke were seen, water flowed through those hoses as each fireman attempted to be the first one to put water on the fire, wherever it was.

Try to imagine three hundred people, eyes streaming from drifting pepper spray, trying to negotiate their way to safety amidst a maze of hoses and those streams of water. Within minutes there were bodies all over the sidewalk and street, moaning victims of falls, with various cuts, bruises and contusions. It looked like a war zone. It took the fire scene commander five minutes of screaming into his radio and a bull horn to get the water stopped.

And the media got it all in full, living color.

The crowning moment though, was while the cops were barricaded behind their cars, pistols and rifles aimed intently at nothing in particular in the building. They were waiting for the hostage negotiator and the S.W.A.T team to arrive and darting out from cover occasionally just long enough to pull another moaning survivor through a puddle of dirty water to safety, making sure that a cameraman noticed while they did this.

Suddenly Chuck appeared in the now empty double glass doors of the building, the chain connecting the handcuffs to Bob's wrists firmly clamped in his right hand. Bob, being semi-conscious and completely out of it, wasn't helping any, which meant Chuck had to drag him along, Bob's arms lifted high up behind his back and stretched to the breaking point. Had Bob been conscious, the pain in his stretched shoulders would have had him screaming.

The number of hammers cocked and slides jacked back sounded like a truckload of crickets had been spilled in the street. Chuck, wiping his own eyes with one hand, staggered out onto the sidewalk, stopping only because there were two moaning bodies lying there blocking his way, too far from safety to be "saved" by anybody.

"I got him!" he yelled to half a million viewers of the breaking news as they watched the live video feeds. He grinned and looked blearily around, waiting for adulation and interviews.

What he got instead was rushed by the S.W.A.T team, which had just arrived and knew that sometimes, the hostage taker comes out pretending to be someone else.

Amid screams of "I got him motherfucker!" and "He's my collar you fuck!" Chuck went down in the melee as the butt of an M-16 connected solidly with his head.

And it was all on live feed, in living color.

We've all seen the local news "break a story", usually involving someone saying something like "I heard him [bleep]slapping the [bleep] out of her and she was screaming and then the cops busted down the door. Man, they beat the living [bleep] out of that guy. But I feel safer now, that's a fact."

Well that sentence didn't turn out to read very well, but you get the idea. Anyway, the media, as everyone knows, is addicted to drama and violence and being the first to announce anything. Having video of the violence is even better. So, while Detective Sergeant Zack Simpson, the unlucky investigator assigned to "sort things out down there" figured out what actually happened, the media reported, variously:

"Brenda Rogers, Channel Five Eyewitness News, Live at the scene. Today a man tried to rob the Amalgamated Insurance Building, resulting in chaos! Details at Eleven. Brenda Rogers, live in downtown Sacramento!"

"Fred Compton, WZTF First With The News. A terrorist plot was foiled when the terrorist's bomb apparently fizzled. The lives of hundreds were saved by the quick action of an unidentified Amalgamated Security Guard! (flash to tape of Chuck dragging Bob out of the building) We'll try to get you more for an update later. Fred Compton, WZTF First With The News, Scaramento!"

"Thank you, George. I'm Julie Denman. Today, in Sacramento, a man was shot while he tried to defend an unidentified co-worker from a rapist! In the ensuing struggle, unidentified chemicals were released in to the air ducts of the Amalgamated Insurance headquarters and hundreds suffered. We're working on the story. Back to you, George!"

and

"Kip Jackson here with KZWT Action News! I'm at the offices of the Amalgamated Insurance Company in Fresno, where police just captured a man who took at least twenty people hostage because Amalgamated refused to give him money. Gunshots were fired and at least fifty people are being treated at the scene, some of them for life threatening injuries! ... What? I didn't say Fresno. No way I said Fresno. Are we on the AIR?! You stupid [bleep] We're still on the air ..."

Meanwhile, inside, Detective Simpson walked around, a handkerchief over his nose, looking at the destruction caused by the stampede. While the state-of-the-art air handling system recycled the air in the building every three minutes, it didn't have filters that would remove pepper spray, so the air was faintly tinged with the stuff, making Zack's eyes water. The perp was in custody, in bad enough shape they were taking him to the hospital. He could be interviewed later. Zack was trying to figure out something... anything that would give him a clue as to exactly why he was here, and exactly what kind of evidence he should be looking for. The employees he had spoken quickly with, for the most part, didn't know a thing about any hostages, or any robbery, or any gunshots. The vast majority of them left the building because they started sneezing and their eyes burned. A patrolman stuck his head in the door.

"Hey Detective? There's a guy out here I think you should talk to."

"Yeah, right." said Zack heavily. This had all the earmarks of a situation it would take him a double shift to figure out.

He went outside where another burly patrolman had a firm grip on the collar of one Rodney Jackson, who couldn't see much because his glasses had been knocked off by a flailing Priscilla when she tried to beat off her attacker. He was moaning something and looking dejected. As Zack got closer he heard the repeated litany of moans: "I didn't try to rape her... I didn't try to rape her... I didn't try to rape her..."

"Rape who?" asked Zack as he walked up to the mousy looking man.

Rodney's head jerked up. "I swear on my mother's grave officer I didn't try to rape her!" He started shaking and looked pleadingly, if a bit myopically, at Zack. His clothes were wet from the water a paramedic had splashed in his face to clear his eyes of pepper spray.

Zack nodded to the patrolman, who let go of Rodney, who almost collapsed. He coughed dryly and rubbed at his eyes.

"Don't rub them." said Zack. "Blink them. When you rub them you just push more pepper spray into them. If you have to, put your hands in your pockets. Blink as much as you can. Now... who was it you didn't rape?"

His manner, more than anything else soothed Rodney a little. He jammed his hands in his pockets and looked hopeful.

"Priscilla." he said. "I tried to save her and that stuff got in my eyes and we fell down and my hand sort of went between her legs and she yelled rape but I didn't try to rape her, honest I swear all I tried to do was help get her away from that man." He finally had to stop to take a breath and Zack held up his hand, expecting another barrage of words to come rushing out of the man's mouth.

"Just breathe and blink for now." said Zack. "You and I are going to find a nice quiet place to have a nice little chat and you can tell me all about it.

Rodney blinked and looked startled. He looked around and squinted.

"My glasses are around here somewhere." he said, peering at the floor.

Zack saw a pair of glasses lying next to a desk. They were a little twisted. As he approached them he had to step over a fallen lamp. He saw the pepper spray canister lying against the wall by the air return vent. He smiled. It was the first thing he'd seen since he got there that made any sense at all. He bent over and got the glasses, handing them to Rodney, who peered at them and lit up like he'd won the lottery.

"Is there a coffee shop around here someplace?" asked Zack, leading Rodney out of the office.

Rodney, as it turned out, was a goldmine of information. He knew all the names of the major players except Bob, if not the circumstances of what exactly had set off the whole debacle. But he was quite sure there had been no gun, and that the man who had been talking to Priscilla had not done anything strange or threatening except stand up quickly. He had seen Priscilla fall and used that as an excuse to be her savior. When Zack wanted to know why Chuck had used the pepper spray, Rodney frowned and answered: "You know... I have no idea."

Zack's next stop was at the hospital. He intended to talk to Chuck next, but found out he had been taken into surgery to repair a cracked skull. He asked for the man who had been brought in by the police, got the information and turned to find a tallish and gorgeous young woman facing him.

"Did you just ask about my great grandfather?" she asked. There was worry in her eyes, which were the most fascinating shade of lavender Zack had ever seen in his life. Her long, straight black hair framed her face, and those eyes and her earnest expression made his heart start beating more strongly in his chest.

Zack was forty-two, and had worked his way up from the streets. It had taken enough time and effort that he'd lost his wife in the process. She wanted a husband, not someone who occasionally slept over and made her pregnant once in a while. She had taken the kids with her and now lived in Portland. That was just far enough away that he couldn't run up to see them without taking some vacation to make it worth the trip. He did that occasionally, which used up his vacation.

Zack knew he was a good detective, and he could question or interrogate anyone under almost any circumstances. On the purely social scene, though, he was all thumbs. He'd met, wooed and married Rosie when he was young, and when she left he didn't have the heart to try the dating thing. Worse, the few times he did go out with a woman, he invariably got into a situation where he had to arrest someone, or bring his official presence to bear. That tended to put a damper on further dates. He worked long, hard hours, and the kind of women he usually met on the job weren't the kind of women he wanted to spend time with off the job. In short, Zack Simpson didn't have much of a social life outside some time spent with other cops off duty.

Now, with this heart-stoppingly beautiful woman standing so close to him that he could smell the peppermint on her breath, her bulging breasts only a hair's breadth from touching his chest, all he could do was switch between looking at her eyes, and her impossibly white teeth which peeked out between lush red lips.

He swallowed. "Your grandfather?" he asked, not understanding.

"No, my great grandfather, Bob Winkle. I know he doesn't look that old, but I can explain that." she said. "The police took him away and they had handcuffs on him and he looked all beaten up and terrible and they won't let me see him and I can't go home until I find out what's happening." She stopped to take a breath. Unlike Rodney, though, when she took that breath, Zack felt his knees go a little weak. "Won't you help me? Please?" she begged.

Zack forced some control back into his legs. He hadn't had a good look at the perp in the first place, but if all this was over some poor old geezer then somebody's head was going to roll.

"Come along, miss... ?" he paused significantly. She actually blushed and his knees got wobbly again.

"Valerie..." she said softly. "Valerie Johnson."

"Well, then Valerie Johnson, let's just go find your... great grandfather did you say?"

"Yes, I dropped him at the insurance building to go in and get a policy cancelled or something like that and I went shopping and when I came back there were fire trucks and all these people were hurt and they had my great grandfather and were putting him in an ambulance, except that he had handcuffs on and I'm so worried and nobody will tell me anything and..."

Again she stopped to take a big breath and Zack felt his cock begin to stiffen. With a sigh at how unfair the world was he held up his hand.

"Just come with me Valerie, and we'll figure out what's going on."

Bob, however, was under heavy guard. Two policemen stood outside his room, glaring at anyone who came anywhere near the door. He didn't know either of them and stopped to produce his badge. One of them snatched it out of his hand and examined it closely before handing it back.

"No weapons inside the room." he said, his voice short. He looked at Valerie. "And she can't go inside."

Zack looked at him. "You know what, friend? When your mother sucks my dick... that's the day I'll let you tell me where I can and cannot take my weapon. And when your sister lets me do her in the ass, that's the day I'll let you tell me who I can and cannot take into an interrogation."

The patrolman was so surprised that he couldn't react before Zack walked by him and into the room, pulling Val by her hand. He turned to her briefly. "Sorry. I need to work on my patience a little."

Val smiled at him and he thought he might actually fall on the floor. "I thought you were wonderful." she said. Then her eyes went to the man in the bed.

Bob was lying on his back on the bed, his arms at his side, handcuffed to the side rails on the bed. His face was swollen and red and he had a bandage over his eyes. His head turned toward the sound of their voices.

"Val?" he croaked. "Is that you Val?"

Zack watched the girl run to the bed and throw herself onto the man. He winced as she showered the visible parts of his irritated face with kisses. Then again, if that's what it took to get this girl to kiss you, he'd think seriously about lining up to be sprayed.

There were, of course, the "Are you okay?"s and the "What happened?" kind of questions. Zack cleared his throat.

"Who's with you?" asked Bob.

"Oh!" yipped Val. "I forgot. He's a detective. He helped me get in here. Nobody would tell me anything and they wouldn't let me see you and I was so worried and I didn't know what to do and I couldn't go home without you and..."

This time Zack was ready for her deep indrawn breath. He shamelessly got into position to watch as the tips of her fabulous breasts appeared to inflate. With a groan he realized she wasn't wearing a bra under that T shirt, and her nipples were plainly visible.

He introduced himself to the man in the bed to get his mind... and eyes... off those nipples. "Detective Sergeant Zack Simpson, mister... Winkle is it?"

"Yes." said Bob, his face staring straight up in that way blind people do when they talk to someone, but don't look at him. "Bob Winkle. Val and I live in Circleton. We're... related." he said.

"Yes," said Zack, examining the man. He looked to be in the twenty-two to twenty-eight age range. It was hard to tell because of the bandages. But he obviously was not a geezer. Zack sighed again. Such a shame. He finally finds a beautiful girl he can legitimately spend some time with - interviewing her, of course - and she turns out to be simple-minded. It was just his luck. "Valerie told me you're her... uh... great grandfather, I believe it was."

To his amazement Bob nodded. "Yes. It's a very strange story, but what she told you is true."

"Well, I'd like to hear that story some day." said Zack. "But first I need to ask you a few questions about what happened today."

"I have a few questions about that myself." said Bob.

"First," said Zack, "Why don't you tell me why you went there in the first place."

"That's easy." said Bob. "Except that it has to do with that strange story you'd like to hear some day."

Then Bob absolutely made Zack Simpson's day. In twenty years of law enforcement, Zack had heard them all, or thought he had, until Bob Winkle told him the whopper to end all whoppers. Except that, as Bob talked, and Valerie added in details, Zack had the strangest feeling that both of them actually believed the story they were telling. When Bob said that he provided his driver's license to the woman at the insurance company Zack stopped him.

"Do you still have that license?" he asked.

Bob moved his hands until the handcuffs clanked. "They took my clothes when I got here. And anyway, the last time I saw it that security guard had it. I was going to ask for it back when I stood up and I got run over by a Sherman tank."

"Figures." thought Zack to himself "The one piece of evidence that would support his crazy story and it's conveniently left behind." He pulled out his cell phone and punched a number.

"Harry? You wouldn't by chance be over at the Amalgamated building right now would you?" Harry was a crime scene processor. "You are? I want you to look for something for me. It's described as a California Driver's license issued on or before 1950... that's right... you heard me. Yeah, yeah, yeah. It should be in the vicinity of the desk where all this started. There's a pepper spray can against the wall, and a lamp lying on its side... Yeah, you see where I'm talking about?... okay, look around there on the floor... That's right, a driver's license... You're kidding!... really?... does it look legit?... Harry I owe you a beer. Hold on to that for me. Yes it's evidence. Just take good care of it, and collect the pepper spray cannister too. okay. Later."

He looked up to see Val looking at him, a frown on her face. The fact that Zack was beginning to think there might be the slimmest possibility that she wasn't simple minded after all, and that he had stumbled across the most amazing story of the century, made him miss the import of that frown.

"Evidence?" she asked, her voice flat. "Why would my great grandfather's license be evidence. He didn't do anything wrong! You just heard him. All he tried to do was the right thing, and look at him!" Her voice was getting louder and louder. Now her face was positively livid. "I want to take him home and I want to take him home right now!" she yelled.

Zack held up his hands. "Look Miss Johnson... Valerie... I know he didn't do anything wrong." He winced. "Okay, I believe he didn't do anything wrong. But we need to get all the answers to the questions that a lot of people are going to be asking. People got hurt today, and your... great grandfather is one of them. Property was destroyed. Somebody is going to want to lay blame for all of that, and if I know big corporations, they're going to want to blame it on Bob here. If he's innocent, I need to prove that with evidence, so that the facts are clear. My job is to prove... or disprove that a crime was committed, and to prove or disprove who committed it."

"Oh." said Val, a little overwhelmed by his smooth demeanor. It was hard to stay mad at him. He had helped her. And he was cute too, in a homely sort of way. "If you're going to help Grandpa then I guess it's okay."

Zack got Val's phone number - both home and cell - and convinced her to go on home. Bob was being kept overnight for observation, and technically he was still under arrest, though Zack hadn't seen what for yet. The doctor came in and explained that Bob didn't actually need the bandage on his eyes, but they put one there just so the light wouldn't be painful. Fortunately, his eyes had been mostly closed when the pepper spray hit his face. By morning it wouldn't be necessary. They had cleansed the eyes and there would be no permanent damage, though the burns to the skin on his face would take several days to fade away. One shoulder had been dislocated when he was brought in, and the other strained badly. That was actually the worst injury he had suffered. The cuffs had been applied so tightly they had cut his wrists, but those lacerations were shallow and would heal with little or no scarring. Before Val left Zack gave her his card and wrote his home number on the back.

"I don't give that to just anybody." he said. "If I find out you gave those numbers to anybody else I'll have to come get you and work you over." He smiled to show he wasn't all that serious.

Val, feeling much better now that she had some idea of what had happened, and what to tell her grandmother about Bob's injuries, was feeling light hearted.

"Oooooo" she said in a little girl voice. "I've never been worked over by a big bad policeman before." She laughed, kissed her great grandfather on the lips and hurried out of the room.

"Man!" said Zack under his breath.

"I know what you mean." said Bob from the bed.

"Beg your pardon?" asked Zack, astonished.

"Hey, I may have been asleep for fifty years, but it didn't have any affect on being able to recognize a gorgeous woman when I see one." Bob smiled. "And I feel twenty-five. Unfortunately, she's got two more cousins who are just as good looking."

Zack looked after the receding young woman. "I'm going to have to come out there to hear the rest of that story, mister Winkle. I'd appreciate it if all those cousins you mentioned were there so I can question them too." He chuckled.

Bob laughed with him and then winced as his burned face hurt.

"Are these handcuffs really necessary?" he asked.

"You promise not to get violent again?" asked Zack.

"I didn't get violent in the first place," said Bob, firmly.

Zack extracted his handcuff key and removed the cuffs. He didn't know who they belonged to, but he'd just hand them to the door guard when he left. Bob reached to lift the gauze over his eyes, but it was wrapped too tightly.

"Just lie there and rest," suggested Zack. "The next few days will probably be long ones for you. Rest while you can."

"Am I under arrest?" asked the man in the bed.

"How about we just say you're being detained for investigation," said Zack.

Chapter 10

The next morning, as it happened, two new police guards were on duty outside Bob's door. Brian Spruell was a rookie, and thoroughly unhappy that he had been given this duty. Denny Smith was a Corporal and had a thing for nurses, so he wasn't quite so dour about it. It was quiet, and boring, but then police work seemed to be broken into two parts: 98% quiet and boring, and 2% "excitement", where somebody was likely to be killed. A lot of guys joined the force for the 2%, thinking it would be fun, but Denny had been around long enough to know that "excitement" actually translated to "stark terror".

Then, about nine in the morning, the peace and tranquility Denny had been enjoying vanished as they were inundated by nine women who showed up like a tidal wave and demanded entry into the room where Bob was being kept. It took both men to bar the door, their hands up and a multitude of threats spilling out of somewhat panicked mouths. The noise and bustle caused two nurses and a doctor to stop what they were doing and yell for quiet.

Bob was actually feeling pretty good by then. The doctor had removed the bandages over his eyes during the hours of darkness, when he could try opening them without the glare of mid-day light coming through the windows. His vision had been blurred at first, but had cleared during the night. There was some residual pain in his shoulders, and his face still felt raw, but it was livable. He came to the door and opened it behind the two officers. It got quiet almost instantly as the women peered past the police.

Denny turned his head to see what they were looking at and felt a chill run up his spine. The man standing right behind him could have taken his pistol easily before anyone could stop him.

But he hadn't.

"Good morning ladies." said Bob over the Denny's right, and Brian's left shoulders.

"Daddy!" squealed Martha. She was already in the front of the crowd and pushed forward, pressing her breasts against Denny's chest. "Are you okay?" She pressed against Denny harder. "We were so worried about you."

Denny resisted the urge to push the woman back. He didn't know too much about what was going on. His instructions were to keep the man in the room until Detective Sergeant Simpson said otherwise. Denny had worked with Zack before and knew that the mere fact that the man in the room wasn't restrained to the bed meant that Zack didn't consider him a flight risk. Still, he had gone into the room several times, to make sure nothing dangerous was going on in there. The prisoner had been sleeping two of those times, and there had been a moment Denny's heart had stopped when he saw the bed - and room - was empty. Then the toilet had flushed and Bob had stepped out, moving back to the bed. Bob had been nothing but polite. Even so, standard procedure was to keep unauthorized persons out of a prisoner's room.

"I'm really sorry ladies," said Denny. "But I can't let you go in there."

Martha moved sideways suddenly and was replaced by Sunny.

"That's my grandfather, buster." she growled. "And he got beat up by the cops, and I want to see him, and if you don't let me I'm going to have your badge!" she snarled.

Denny smiled. This woman was younger than the first, but bore a remarkable resemblance to the older woman. Her breasts in his chest felt a little firmer too. Then "father" and "grandfather" tripped over each other in his brain. He turned to look at Bob.

"Grandfather?" he said, his voice skeptical.

"It's a long story." sighed Bob.

Denny turned back to Sunny, whose jaw was jutted out. She was a good looking woman, even mad.

"Miss... ?" he waited.

"Johnson." she finally admitted.

"Well, Miss Johnson, I guess you're going to add to your collection of badges then, because you're not going in there with your ... grandfather. I hope you're not going to hold this against me." he said smoothly. "You could have weapons. We wouldn't want that, now would we?"

Sunny looked startled. No one had ever accused her of anything even remotely criminal in nature and she was shocked to her core that this man might think she'd do something underhanded like that.

"Search us then!" called out an even younger girl behind Sunny. "Come on, we're not criminals. We just want to see Grandpa."

Denny kept his cool. The nurses and doctor were still hanging around, not quite in the group, but not far away either. The doctor looked at his watch and frowned. Denny didn't want the situation to get back to its former noisy condition.

"Look, we're guys, and you all are obviously ladies. Department policy frowns on men doing searches of women. I'd like to, but I don't think that's a good idea."

From the crowd of women came a voice that couldn't be identified: "I just bet he'd like to search us."

"That's not what I meant." said Denny defensively.

Val pushed her way to the front. She smiled sweetly at Denny.

"Last night I got to see Grandpa when I was with Detective Simpson. He didn't search me. Not that I would have minded. He's kind of cute."

Denny looked down at the girl. She made his nut sack get tight. He grinned, thinking that he'd be able to needle Zack about this girl thinking he was "cute." Val mistook his grin for a salacious one and held her arms out away from her sides.

"Search me, then. I don't have ... anything ... under my clothes." Her tone of voice was dripping with the insinuation that she didn't have on underwear. In fact, she was braless again today, and though it wasn't quite as obvious as it had been to Zack, it was clear to Denny.

"I'll have to touch you some pretty private places." warned Denny, his fingers curling unconsciously.

"I can take it, big boy." oozed Val.

The older woman who had first gotten into Denny's face slapped the girl on her shoulder.

"Val!" she said. "You're acting like a tramp!"

Val didn't turn her eyes away from Denny's. "I know, but he's kind of cute too."

Brian snickered and Denny tore his eyes away from the lavender ones in that gorgeous face and glared at him. Brian grinned and then looked away.

"I could do her... um I mean search her... if there's a problem..." he offered.

Denny looked back at Val. He frowned. "All right, I'll search you... but remember, you asked for this." he said darkly.

His hands went to Val's underarms, his thumbs against the sides of her breasts. He slid them slowly down to her hips and knelt. He patted her front and rear pockets and then moved his left hand between her thighs, high up, pressing against her crotch. Her right foot shifted to widen her stance and she went up on tiptoes as her cheeks turned pink. Squeezing her thighs, Denny worked his hands down to the bare skin where her shorts stopped. She was wearing sandals, so he went no further. Then he replaced his left hand with his right and did her right leg, again pressing upwards firmly into the juncture of her legs. He came back up, patting her pockets again and ended up hefting her breasts through her shirt as he pressed his thumbs into her cleavage. He came back to a standing stance and looked at her blushing cheeks. Her eyes darted everywhere except his.

"Okay, you can go in." he said.

"Hair, Denny." said Brian, reminding his superior of protocol.

Denny suppressed a groan and brought his hands to Val's head, running his fingers through her long black hair, feeling behind her ears and almost massaging her scalp.

"Okay... now you can go in." he said heavily.

Val pushed by him and grabbed Bob in a bear hug.

Denny looked to find that the other women had taken a step backwards, their eyes all wide and staring.

"Anybody else want to go in?" he asked. He looked at Martha. That ought to cool them down.

She didn't quite glare at him, but stepped forward, holding her arms out like Val had. "I want to see my father." she said firmly.

She had a fuller figure than Val had, being more than twice as old, but as Denny slid his hands all over her body she still felt remarkably good for an older woman. She was wearing a bra, and his fingers traced along the edges, feeling for anything tucked inside. She blushed too, but every time he looked at her face she was staring right back at him. He messed her hair up as he searched it, and muttered "Sorry.", getting a small smile. He stood to one side as she brushed past him, almost attacking Bob.

Next was Becca.

"How old are you Miss?" he asked.

"I'm eighteen." she said.

"Okay. Well, as long as you're eighteen." he said.

She also had on a bra. She wiggled like it was tickling her when he ran his fingers along her ribs and around her breasts. When he searched between her legs she actually leaned forward, toward him. She was grinning when he came up to do her hair. It was in a pony tail and she dipped her head like she was looking at the floor.

"You want me to take my scrunchy off?" she asked.

Denny sighed and just pressed the hair against her head, flipping the pony tail to one side and then up on top of her head to look under it.

"Go on," he said.

Fran went and stood in front of Brian, holding her arms out wide.

"I'm eighteen too." she lied.

"You are not eighteen!" sputtered her mother.

Polly stepped up and pushed Fran to one side. "She's sixteen, young man, and if you're going to search anybody it will be me!"

Brian was only too happy to get his hands on one of these women. This was more like it! This was what he had hoped he might get to do occasionally. And this woman was lush under his hands as he pressed and squeezed and rubbed. At one point Polly breathed "I'll give you just ten minutes to stop touching me like that!" She was breathing hard when it was finished.

"There is no way in hell I'm going to let you do that to my little girl." she panted. "You'll just have to take my word for it that she's not smuggling in any guns or knives or whatever."

Brian grinned. "I'm sure I can take your word for it Ma'am. I feel like we know each other pretty well." He leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear. "Tell your husband he's a lucky man, Ma'am."

He leaned back to find Polly's eyes staring into his. "My husband is a flaming queer, young man." she said softly. "I haven't had a man touch me like that in years."

"Let's keep things professional over there." commented Denny, who was in the process of squeezing Gidget's breasts. Her hands came up to cup his elbows as she closed her eyes.

"I'm not married." she sighed.

There were several titters. June took her place while Polly dragged Fran through the door. "I never get to have any fun." complained Fran.

Betty was last, and she was clearly uncomfortable. All the other women were in the room with Bob as she faced Denny and Brian alone.

Denny just stood there, waiting.

Betty flushed. "I just threw on this dress because it was light and I knew it would be a hot day." she said miserably. When Denny didn't say anything she lowered her voice to a whisper. "I didn't put on anything under it." She closed her eyes and balled her fists.

Actually, Denny was about to tell her to go on in. Both he and Brian were sweating, and their uniform pants were a little tight in the front. He took a breath to give the poor woman a break when she stepped forward, her eyes still screwed tightly shut and lifted her arms.

"Oh, hell, go ahead. I want to see my Daddy too."

Denny still almost told her to go ahead, but Brian stepped behind her and reached for her hair. She took a deep breath when she felt his fingers and her breasts strained at the thin dress she was wearing. Her nipples were prominent and obviously hard.

Unfettered under the dress, her breasts were heavy and soft in Denny's hands as he lifted them. He had the insane urge to run his thumbs over those nipples, but controlled it. He knelt and started at her bare knees, slowly sliding his hands upwards. She stepped sideways with her left leg and held the breath she'd taken. When Denny felt her pubic hairs against his finger he stopped with that hand, but slid his other hand up over her hip and around to cup her bare buttock. He resisted the urge to squeeze that too. She let her breath out explosively as he did her other leg, unable to hold it any longer and her knees relaxed a little, pushing her pussy down onto his right hand. He jerked it out as she made a little sound and ended up holding her thigh with one hand and her right buttock with the other. When he stood up they were both panting.

"Thank you Ma'am." he said, meaning it. Denny didn't date a lot. While women flirted with him when he was in uniform, he couldn't ask those women out. He didn't go to bars when he was off duty, and didn't actually meet many available women during off time. His last serious relationship had been two years ago and he was feeling it now. He was more than a little amazed that he could find these older women so attractive, but they were.

"My pleasure." panted Betty, looking at Denny instead of into the room behind him.

"You can go in now." he said.

"Oh!" she jumped a little. "Yes... of course."

There was enough of a hubbub in the room that Denny went in and warned them all to keep it down. He told Brian to stay in the doorway and he stayed to watch the women.

Denny had seen a lot of families together in situations like this, but the amount of love and care displayed by all those women toward this strange man was noteworthy. The family resemblance between the women wasn't hard to see, and Denny could see some resemblance between the prisoner, as he thought of him, and the older women. This father and grandfather business was obviously screwy, but these women loved this man, that much was also obvious.

He gave them twenty minutes and then demanded they leave. There was a chorus of complaining feminine voices, but he was firm.

"I broke the rules to let you in here." he said. "Now don't give me a hard time."

The first one who had gone in... the one who had flirted so shamelessly with him... looked over and said "You can give me a hard time if you want."

"Valerie Gail Johnson!" yelped Sunny, blushing furiously. "I can not believe you said that!"

Becca laughed out loud and walked over to Denny. She was a full head shorter than he was. "You probably need to search us again when we leave, huh? I mean we might have stolen hospital property or something... right?" Her voice was remarkably like Val's had been when she first demanded to be searched.

Denny felt the thrill of being flirted with by a good looking woman, and grinned sheepishly.

"I'd like nothing better, Ma'am, but I think we've all broken enough rules for today. Now... you really need to get out of here. I wouldn't want to lose my badge over this or anything." He looked pointedly at Sunny.

Becca laughed again and smiled brilliantly. "Oh well, we'll be back to see him tomorrow. Will you be on duty then too?" she asked sweetly.

"He'll be gone tomorrow." said Denny, feeling another shot of pleasure at the young woman's forward behavior. "He'll either be arraigned or released. You'd have to talk to Zack... Detective Simpson I mean, to find out about that."

That led to another round of outbursts and questions as Denny patiently herded the women out of the room. Again, Betty was last and Denny couldn't help himself as he pushed her gently out of the room with one hand on her back, his fingertips partially on one almost naked buttock.

Becca turned and came back to Denny. "Do you have a card or anything? I mean I might see something I need to report to the police or something."

Denny looked at Brian, who was grinning.

"Sorry, Ma'am" said Denny sadly. "I'm fresh out of business cards."

Gidget grabbed her daughter by the elbow.

"We're going home! Leave the poor man alone. He probably has a girlfriend anyway."

"Sorry, Ma'am," said Denny smoothly. "I'm fresh out of them too."

Denny helplessly shooed the women down the hall. They chattered and waved, some of them blowing kisses as they trooped by the nurse's station. He sighed and turned to find the prisoner standing in the doorway waving.

"I can't wait to hear this story... Grandpa." he said, pushing Bob back into the room gently.

When Zack got to the hospital his heart jerked when he saw Bob's door was unguarded. He found Denny and Brian sitting in chairs, chatting with Bob inside the room and felt the opposing emotions of joy and displeasure.

"What's up gentlemen?" he asked walking in.

Both patrolmen jumped to their feet. Denny looked abashed.

"We were just asking the prisoner a few questions." he said lamely.

"I see." said Zack, his face straight. "And did you get any answers?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." said Denny.

"You might be wrong about that." said Zack. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. He handed it to Bob. "Here's your license back, Mr. Winkle. I had it verified with the State Department of Motor Vehicles. It is a hundred percent genuine, though expired, and was in fact issued by the great state of California on May the fifteenth, nineteen-fifty, at which point you were verified to be twenty-three years old."

His statement hung in the air for a few seconds.

"I also matched your fingerprints to those in a file at the Amalgamated insurance company." Zack said. "You, Mister Winkle, are about to be a very famous seventy-five year old man."

"I'll be damned." said Denny, his jaw slack. "You mean it's all true?"

"Every word of it." said Zack, smiling. "By the way, no charges have been pressed against you." he said. "I need to find out, however, if you wish to press any charges against any employee of the company. My investigation has determined that you were unlawfully assaulted while pursuing lawful business in the company headquarters."

"I'll have to think about that." said Bob. "I mean they didn't mean any harm..."

"No, but there is a hospital bill to pay. Since you're no longer under arrest, the city will try to get out of that. I assume you don't have any health insurance."

Bob blinked. "I suppose I don't." he said.

"Things have changed since you went to sleep Mr. Winkle. I'm not a lawyer, but I think you have an opportunity here to obtain some funds to compensate you for your... trouble."

"When do I need to give you an answer?" asked Bob.

"I can give you a couple of days at most." said Zack. "Do you have transportation home?"

Bob blinked again. "The girls were all just here a couple of hours ago, but Denny here chased them all out."

Zack closed his eyes. "You let a bunch of family members visit a prisoner?" he asked the ceiling.

"We searched them first Sarge." blurted Brian. Denny glared at him.

"I see." said Zack. "Was one of them, by chance, named Valerie Johnson?"

Brian hadn't seen his senior partner's glare and dug the hole he was in deeper. "Yes sir, I think Denny searched her. Why? She said you let her in here last night."

"How many complaints is the department going to get as a result of these... searches?" asked Zack.

"Shut up Brian." said Denny immediately. He looked at the Sergeant. "None, sir. I don't think any of them will make a complaint."

"Well, that's good at least." said Zack.

"Actually," said Bob, interrupting, "I'm afraid you may have a flurry of women coming forward to report suspicious behavior. I suspect most of them will want to make these reports to one of these two fine officers here."

"That's all I need." groaned Zack. "Mr. Winkle, I'm about to go off shift. I can write your report later. How about I drive you home. I have a few more questions I'd like to ask if you don't mind. You are an interesting guy and after the folks at the DMV get finished leaking to the media about who you are, I imagine you'll be too busy to answer them later."

"He's really seventy-five years old and slept for fifty of it?" asked Brian incredulously.

"I thought he told you to shut up." said Zack, smiling. "You should listen to your partner more often."

"I don't want to be famous." said Bob.

"I don't think you have a choice about that." said Zack. "We'll do what we can to protect your privacy, but I won't promise you anything. This has Rip Van Winkle written all over it."

"Actually," Bob said, "He was my great great grandfather."

Zack stared at him. "You know, if you'd have told me that last night, I think I might have asked them to put you in a straightjacket. Today I'm not all that surprised. Yes, I think I need to drive you home."

Bob laughed. "Are you sure you don't just want to see Val again?"

Zack drew himself up. "You have wounded my professional pride, sir!" he remarked gravely. "Do you think she'll be there?"

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