Lo's amusement grew but her attention was caught by a trio of teen girls in the next booth. She tuned out Hum and the sheriff. The three girls had their heads together and were whispering back and forth. Lo could just about make out some of the words. She turned her head slightly and aimed her ear in their direction. A sweet young blonde with hair in pigtails was regaling the others with the details of her romance with Pisky High's math teacher.
"Did you suck him?" one of the girls asked the little blonde.
"Well, I wanted to, I really did. But the semester ended and I didn't see him for the whole summer."
"Are you saying you'd take it right in your mouth! Yuck-k-k!"
"Hey, listen. How bad can it be. I mean you probably said 'yuck' about French kissing before you tried it. Right?"
"That's different from sucking a prick, Tracy. I mean, he pisses out of his prick after all. That's what makes it seem, you know, undesirable."
Lo was dying to put her two cents worth into the conversation. She could tell them a thing or two.
Sheriff Roche was saying, "… and he was sitting there in his car, fully exposed, as the girls were coming down the street. Those teens nowadays have lots of problems. But the problems are coming from the grown-ups. I mean the grown-ups ARE the problem. The kids aren't half bad. Begging your pardon, Miss."
"What. Oh, I'm sorry, Sheriff, but I missed what you were saying."
"I was just explaining to your daddy here how a lot of girls get into real bad trouble because of grown-ups."
Hum, nodding his agreement, looked thoughtful and wise.
"Why shucks," the sheriff went on, "law enforcement in Pisky would be a lead-pipe cinch if I didn't have to spend half my time protectin' the morals of these fine young teenagers."
"Hm-m-m-m," said Hum. "That's a most stimulating thought, Sheriff. I could devote a chapter in my book to that idea, if you wouldn't mind me quoting you. Don't you agree, Lo? I mean, what he says makes a lot of sense… about grown-ups being a big part of the problem, that is. Ah – how many men have you arrested for indecent exposure in the past year, Sheriff?"
Lo leaned toward the sheriff. She didn't want to miss a single word. His answer was quick and forthright.
"Three and a half," he said with a wry smile.
"Three and a half exhibitionists?" said Hum.
"Uh-huh. Woulda been four but a carnival passed through last summer and the fourth perpetrator was a midget with the show. Nothing small about him in the sex department though. That little pervert was hung like a donkey."
"Hung?" said Lo with a twinkle in her eye. She felt full of fun.
"What I mean, Miss Lo," said the sheriff reddening, "is that he had a really big shlong."
"Shlong?" said Lo.
"Yeah. Shlong. You know – dork… weenie… tool… dick… salami…?"
Lo stared at the sheriff, open-mouthed.
"Dork," she said. "DORK? How do you spell it?"
"Lo," Hum interjected, "the sheriff is trying to tell you in a non-offensive way that the midget's pants were open and his thing was hanging out. Dork is a euphemism. The sheriff, very kindly, I might add, prefers not to use a vulgar term."
"Like…?"
Now, Hum's ears began to redden. He figured Lo was pushing her joke a little too far. He threw her a hard glance that said "don't do this". Lo smiled sweetly. Her eyes twinkled mischievously.
Again, she said, "Like…?" Hum felt pinned down. He assumed his academic mask.
"Prick," he said in a low whisper.
"Oh," said Lo, turning to the sheriff, "you meant the midget had a big prick."
"Enormous. Begging your pardon, Miss Lo but that little pervert had the biggest cock I'd ever seen. On a full-sized man, that cock would have been considered a beauty. On him…" The sheriff groped for a most accurate word.
"On him," he continued, "it was awesome."
Bull Roche shook his head and stared out the Sweet Shoppe window, re-living the incident of the midget with the giant organ.
"Yep. Caught the little bugger back of the sideshow tent with two teenage girls. He had a hold of that thing and was wavin' it under their noses. And they was a-gigglin' and a-grabbin' at it. One of the girls wrapped her fingers around it and was pullin' the skin back and forth. Before I could interfere, that huge tool exploded, shootin' his gunk allover them… in their hair, on their faces, all over. It was a gen-you-ine mess."
By this time, the Sweet Shoppe was filling with the after-school crowd. Hum's eyes were all over the place. His glance darted from one toothsome teenager to another. Stevie Nicks, Prince and Bruce Springsteen took turns blaring from the juke box. Computer games pinged and panged. Girls giggled and sucked at Cokes and milkshakes. Boys studiously ignored them – except for the bolder types who hit on the girls with outrageous propositions. Whereupon the girls pretended shock and in the excitement of the moment wriggled their sweet bottoms on the Naugahyde seats.
If you should ask Hum his idea of paradise, he would describe the Pisky Sweet Shoppe and its occupants. Even the presence of Sheriff Roche couldn't dampen his excitement at being in the midst of so much quivering pussy, savoring its possibilities and playing one erotic fantasy after another on the x-rated screen of his fevered mind.
Skillful Hum could run and whistle at the same time. And he could carefully survey a room while appearing to give the sheriff his full attention and concern. Hum had a way of listening that made the other person feel loved and important. Without himself saying a word, Hum made the sheriff feel that his pronouncements were golden and worthy of being passed down through generations – much like the teachings of Buddha or the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Clever Hum.
Lo's interest in the midget with the king-sized equipment was swiftly flagging. She would rather hear more of the opinions of the girls at the next table.
"I run him in," the sheriff was saying, "and chased the girls home. They was cryin' by that time and wipin' the spunk from their hair and faces. The little guy passed an uncomfortable night as a guest of the city. He moved on with the carnival next day. I was gonna pass along a report to the next jurisdiction but…"
The sheriff was interrupted by a shrill sound from his breast pocket. Hum's eyebrows shot up.
"Beeper," Sheriff Roche explained. "Be right back." He went to the phone and checked in with his office.
Lo saw her chance. "How's your dork, Daddy," said Lo the funster.
Hum shook his head. "You take too many chances, m'love. And my dork, for all you care is nearly throbbing out of control."
When the sheriff returned, he was excited. He didn't sit down.
"Here's your chance to see police work in action. Might be something you'll wanna put in your book. My deputy just spotted a flasher down on Main. C'mon, Humbert, this is a rare opportunity for you. You can leave your daughter here. She'll be alright and this won't take too long."
Hum didn't know what to do. He didn't want to leave Lo but he didn't want to cast any doubt in the sheriff's mind about the book he was researching.
"C'mon. Humbert," the sheriff said.
"Lead the way, Sheriff. Lo, do you want to sit in the car?"
"Naw. I'm okay." With the squeal of tires and the shrill of a siren. Hum and the sheriff were on their way to the scene of a crime.
CHAPTER THREE
"Who are you?"
"Do you live in Pisky?"
"How do you know Roachy?"
"Was that your dad?"
"What's your name?"
"Is Roachy a friend of your dad's?"
The three girls at the next table got up when Hum and the sheriff left and they surrounded Lo and peppered her with questions. They moved into the seats vacated by Hum and the sheriff.
"I'm Tracy."
"Hi. I'm Lo."
"Lo?"
"Dolores, actually, but I never use it."