He remembered, glowering, one young girl… couldn't have been more than fourteen… who'd been picked up on a charge of possession of marijuana. They'd hauled her into juvie at the county court house; if he hadn't been so concerned about her case, he never would have risked divulging his identity. But, Christ, she'd been wearing a tee shirt so tight you could see the nipples standing out straight under it. And the other's they'd brought in that day! One wore a blouse cut so low and so wide that her round, budding breasts actually bounced out. Then there was one in a see-through blouse who might as well have been naked; the blouse concealed nothing. Not the two round spheres of her firm, full breasts, or the rosy aureoles that were vivid against the snowy flesh or the pert, hard little nipples.
She'd worn pants, too… pants so tight they looked as if they'd been sprayed on. They pulled and strained across the round curves of her buttocks, cupping them, molding them to her skin, rippling like flesh itself as she moved lasciviously across the room. Art had noticed that the pants bunched up and caught in the furrow of her buttocks, outlining the little pucker of her anus. And every policeman in the reception area was staring at her, practically panting with sheer, raw desire to fuck her back there in the ass.
But the most disgusting of them all, Art remembered, was the girl who'd been brought in in handcuffs. She was young – not more than fourteen and slim, with a waist he could have spanned with his two hands. She'd even had a certain beauty, with her olive skin, the raven hair that hung to her shoulders, the eyes round as two black saucers.
No pants for this one, but a skirt as brief as a bikini. It had hardly covered the hard little half-melons of her sensuous buttocks, barely concealed the vee of her crotch.
The girl's full rich thighs were bare – why, oh why didn't these girls wear bras and girdles and stockings like decent people? Her breasts were lewdly tilted, the nipples taut under the sheer summer blouse she wore.
That one had flashed Art a knowing look as she passed by, a look that told him as plainly as words that she would be willing to "put out" for him. Her walk had been an open invitation to him and every other policeman in the court building.
No, he'd resisted. They'd tried to pull that one on him again; the old I'll-do-anything-if-you'll-let-me-out-of-juvie trick. He didn't bite.
But it had been damned tempting. Her walk had been an open invitation to him and every other policeman in the room. Hips undulating sensually, she prowled the room like a bitch in heat, just begging for some man to shove his rock hard cock deep into her quivering little belly. And there were plenty policemen in the juvie hall who were willing to do it, too.
A deceptive calm settled over the hall when the girl sat down, just in front of the desk where the girls were being booked. She smoothed her skirt over the lushness of her hips, pressed her knees together, even crossed her ankles demurely. Beneath the calm, though, was a subdued current of excitement that threatened to explode at any moment. But as the day wore on, as the girls' parents were phoned and alerted, the excitement had drained away. The room was left blanketed in a lethargy that weighed it down like heat.
Art had been waiting for a phone call from the Chief of Police in Allsworth, and had seated himself near the front door, leaning back in a chair. Twirling his thumbs, he'd pulled his golf cap – his incognito uniform for the day – over his eyes, feigning sleep. It had been a long hard night, and a few "z's" would set him up fine. A fly buzzed around his ear, and he opened his eyes to slap at God's curse to mankind. Then his eyes settled on the girl seated in the front row.
The lithe young body had gone slack with boredom, and the girl sprawled in the chair, now, legs wide apart, knees splayed open teasingly. Art stared absent-mindedly. No thin strip of nylon, however narrow, however flimsy, concealed the quivering flesh of her smooth, curling thighs. There was nothing to hide the thin triangle of dark, silken curls that grew so sparsely there in the tight little vee between her legs, nothing to hide the delicate pink tinted edges of her moist, pouting little pussy.
The girl shifted in the seat, knowing his eyes were on her, and now her legs slid farther apart, her smooth skinned, swelling thighs spread open even wider. The pink tipped hair-lined split lay open now, parted like the petals of a flower, and revealed the tiny bud of her clitoris that nestled within.
Art stared in fascinated shock. The tiny, blushing mound attracted him and held his attention riveted to it. He yearned to close his eyes, to ignore the tender tip of flesh, to close his eyes and to close his mind. But he was transfixed, powerless, trapped by the lewd sight.
He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that somebody was calling his name, for what and who, he had no cognizance.
She was a menace to society, Art had though; just as much of a menace spreading her lewdity as her parents were for letting her dress that way. For being a female, she was no more feminine then those boys who start fights in public and push women around.
But someday they'd grow up and find out it took more than a fast line and a dollar stolen from their grandmother's social security check to get through life. It took guts.
Kathy grabbed her husband's hand, guiding him through the crowd, wondering what he was thinking about that made his hands clammy and cold. Why didn't he talk to her? He seemed a thousand miles away.
They chose two seats in the back. Art always preferred to sit in the shades of darkness among the youngest lovers, old lonely singles, and those who'd snuck in a hip-flask filled with Wild Turkey, not caring what was on the screen as long as it wasn't real. Life was real enough.
There, in the darkness, Art could watch the small town's youth slither by in their patched levis, watch for nods of heads and bills slipped into conspicuously open palms. That meant dope, and where there was dope there was a potential bust.
Art clutched the hard, plastic arm of the seat, his knuckles turning white as he watched with squinted eyes a blonde-haired boy named Jim who'd been known to sell dope in small quantities, a lid or two but never more. A year older than most of his freshman friends, and the son of a well-known lawyer, he'd been busted once before, but released. With surreptitious watchfulness, Art spied the adolescent zip open the bulging breast pocket of his levi jacket and, cupping the plastic baggie in his hand, held it close to his body and slipped it to the dark haired boy sitting in the seat next to him.
Art wiggled in his seat! Nothing delighted him more than to catch a law breakers with his fingers hot and dirty! Dope. Art sneered, his nostrils flaring into dime-sized holes. He could smell it a mile away, had a talent for seeking it out. These poor, dumb little snots thought they were really hot stuff selling a couple bucks worth of dope. Well, when that damned rock concert came to town that weekend, he'd have every policeman in the whole damned county out there ready and waiting for them to light up one match… one joint, and they'd be sitting down at juvie with that bare-assed little bitch, plucking at their recent growth of pubic hair for lack of anything better to do.
At least now he suspected who might be one of the poor, duped middle men in peddling that nasty weed. A low rumbling laugh jerked in his belly. Just wait til that rock concert… they think they're gonna pull a big one with those screaming rock and roll bands that shake the tree roots for a mile around, while the poor farmers' fences get stampeded, trampled by the kids who hadn't an ounce of respect for personal property. They're all gonna end up lying to their parents about their whereabouts, then camp out over night and smoke marijuana and take that mind-rotting LSD.
It had happened back in upstate New York a couple of years ago; Art remembered – he was there. Rock concerts were nothing new, just a front for the dope peddlers who eyed a chance to make a buck. But these ignorant kids ate it up, didn't mind spending a month's allowance on a ticket to have their ear drums blasted. Art snickered again, shooting a fast glance around the crowd as the lights in the theater died.