This Text file is old! In a 🏛️Museum, an unsorted archive of (user-)pages. (Saved from Geocities in Oct-2009. The archival story: oocities.org)
--------------------------------------- (To 🚫report any bad content: archivehelp @ gmail.com)

Jimmy


	Jimmy looked at his watch for the third time in the
last minute.  It's not that he forgot the time or the date.
He was just making sure it was still the same.  He leaned
against the slick, false-marble walls outside of Victoria's
Secret, humming softly to himself, watching the passers-by
passing by.  Women carrying babies, pushing carriages filled
with bags and boxes.  Teenage couples hand-in-hand,
oversexed and underdeveloped.  People alone.
	"Excuse me, sir."  A handsome man, dark and tall, was
speaking to him.  On his arm was a very attractive young
blonde.  Very attractive, indeed.
	"Excuse me.  I know this is weird.  But would you fuck
my wife?  Please?"
	Jimmy smiled slowly in that practiced, charming way
that made every woman melt and every man proud to be in the
same room.  This guy was begging him.  Begging him.  This
was the fifth one today.  And she sure looked good.
	"Oh, I suppose I could do that for you.  If you really
want me to."  He said it like he was doing the guy a favor.
Like it was a burden.
	The patrons of the mall stopped, turned, and looked
towards him.  A crowd formed around him, the women chanting,
"Fuck me, please!", the men urging them on, wanting their
women to experience the perfect man.  The shouting filled
the air as the crowd throbbed around him.  The riot police
arrived to quell the uprising.
	
	Trish grabbed Jimmy's arm and shook him gently.  His
coat slipped off his shoulder slightly with her tugging.
	"Come on, Jimmy!  I told the sitter we'd be back before
dinner and it's 6:30 now.  I'm not paying that girl extra."
	Jimmy nodded and trudged after her, like a zombie,
barely lifting his feet from the smooth floor.  He left the
crowd behind.  The police, the men, the women.  The women...
	The couple walked past stores, past mannequins dressed
in gaudy multi-colored dresses, carrying purses made of fur
or false metallic scales.  Jimmy smiled at them all.  Trish
pushed through the doors and out into the sunlight, and he
followed along, dragging his feet against the pavement.
After several minutes of entertaining guesswork, the two
found their car.  Trish opened the back seat and threw her
packages inside.  Nothing broke.

	Jimmy slid behind the wheel of his new-fangled, state
of the art police cruiser.  The leather crunched beneath the
weight of his body, releasing that new car smell.  Sunlight
glittered off the new paint job, so Jimmy grabbed his
hi-tech police issue sunglasses and put them on.  He
gingerly took the CB from its cradle and spoke into it.
	"This is Car 56, leaving the scene.  The perp is in
custody, and I'm headin' for the station."
	"10-4, Car 56."
	The perpetrator squirmed in the back seat.  She writhed
like a snake, her hands cuffed behind her back, her mouth
taped shut to keep her from spitting.  Jimmy looked at her
in the rear view mirror.  She was pretty hot.  She reminded
him of someone.  He just wasn't sure who.
	Jimmy eased the car out of the parking lot and onto the
main road.  His driving skills were impeccable.  He'd won
the Best Driver Award at the National Police Convention the
last five years in a row.  And that was a record.
	About five minutes into the drive, he saw a black car
pulled over on the side of the road.  Being an officer of
the law, Jimmy decided it was his duty to check out this
situation just in case it was something that required his
lawful duties.
	As he approached the car, he noticed there was a man
squatting next to it, looking somewhat distraught.  The car
looked like it had been hit by some kind of pastry or other
bakery product.  Jimmy eased up next to the car and stepped
from his cruiser, strapping on his gun belt and grabbing his
club.  Just in case.
	He recognized the man.  It was that pasty-faced little
Science Club geek from high school, Eugene.  The guy who you
just wanted to beat up every time you saw him.  It was time
to teach this piece of shit a lesson.  Jimmy approached
Eugene and raised his club high over his head, his grinning
teeth glowing brightly in the sun.

	"Jimmy!  Slow down!  Jesus, are you trying to get us
killed!"
	Trish slapped him in the head from the back seat.  He
never let her sit in the front any more.  She always tried
to grab the wheel from him when she thought he was driving
recklessly.  And she slammed her feet into imaginary brakes
on her side of the car.  Jimmy figured he was safer with her
in the back.  He was an excellent driver, after all.
Nothing to worry about.
	He turned onto the driveway of their spacious 3 bedroom
home and turned off the car.  The sitter was still there.
Sometimes they didn't stay.  That was always a hassle.  But
she was still here, probably trying to keep Adam from
ripping her hair out or tearing her clothes apart.  Adam had
a habit of doing such things.
	
	Jimmy kicked in the door of the small house.  He
sniffed the air.  Blood.  Food.  Death.  Women.  His
nostrils grew to mammoth proportions as he deeply inhaled
the smells.  His gun felt heavy in his hands, a long M-3000
with adjusted sights and a sawed-off barrel.  He felt his
prey somewhere close.  In the next room.  He pressed his
body flat against the wall, feeling the tremor of explosions
from outside.  He inched his way along the wall, making as
little sound as possible.  He slowed his breath, just as
he'd been trained to do.  Jimmy slowly waved the barrel of
his gun across the doorway.  No shots.  He quickly rounded
the corner, gun poised at his waist, finger firmly on the
trigger.  A woman.  A child.  Splattered with... paint?

	The babysitter sat on the floor, her arms at her sides,
looking as if she'd lost a fight with an art museum.  Her
body was covered with paint of various colors and shades.
At her feet, Adam was painting what looked like a rhinoceros
on her shoe.  She didn't look pleased.
	"Hi, Annie.", Trish said, hesitantly.  Annie didn't
move.
	"How was Adam tonight?"  Trish stepped back a few steps
after receiving the look that Annie shot her way.
	After Trish paid her double her usual pay, Annie left,
vowing never to return.  Adam received the customary talk
about not painting people, was fed, and was shipped off to
bed.
	"I think I'm going to go to bed, too, Jimmy.  Good
night."
	Jimmy grunted in her direction and flipped a channel on
the TV.  There was nothing good on at that time of night.
Just a lot of old movies.  Westerns.  Mysteries.  Sometimes
there was something good on cable, but not that night.

	Jimmy followed her into the bedroom, his stride long
but not too eager.  He watched her ass shift under her tight
dress as she walked in her sexy feminine way.  Back, forth,
back, forth.  Like a grandfather clock, only more arousing.
She slipped into the bedroom, her fingers wrapping around
the door jamb before she disappeared.  He followed her in,
purposefully.
	She stood there, naked.  Her quickly cast off clothes
beneath her.  She was in front of the open window, the
moonlight trailing over her long blonde hair and over her
skin.  Making her look blue and white and glowing.  Like an
angel.  Her front was dark, silhouetted.  She said no word.
Didn't move.  Just stood there.  Waiting.  Wanting.
	Jimmy disrobed in debonair style.  Not too quick.  Not
too slow.  Short enough to keep her interested, long enough
to keep her wanting.  Just perfect.  He gathered her up in
his arms, his sex pressed against her tender flesh.  He
threw her on the bed and mounted her savagely.

	The clock rang.  Once, twice, three times.  Three
o'clock in the morning.  His back felt stiff from sitting in
the chair for so long.  A loud bleep blared from the TV,
accompanied by a visual of vertical stripes of color.  Off
the air.
	Shadows dripped from the ceiling, cascading over walls
and furniture.  Jimmy liked this time.  The quiet time.  No
one else around but him and the people in the old movies.
He searched around for the remote, found it.  Leaned back in
the chair and flipped the channels.  Ah.  An old war film.

	He raised his sword above his head, signalling to the
waiting soldiers.  They picked up their guns and scurried to
their places.  Before them was a man, hands behind his back,
pressed close to the wall.  A war criminal named Walter
Mitty.  He was to die today before their guns.  Jimmy
smiled.  He loved his job.
	"Ready!"  He shouted the command.  A chill ran up and
down his spine.  This was the best part.
	"Aim!"  The soldiers raised the guns to their shoulders
and sighted along the barrels.
	Jimmy's teeth, like his sword, glinted in the afternoon
sun, as he shouted the command to fire.