Christian Velveteen: The Real Short Fiction Collection
Chapter Nine: Velveteen’s PerforMance Review!
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Jack still looked like an Italian accountant.
But as he stepped from the seedy, seedy motel lobby into the even seedier corridor off which the motel rooms were located, he was pleased and relieved to notice that he was now dressed in his Hot Topic-exclusive black Ramones T-shirt with a front screen featuring the American punk rock band’s seal logo; actual Spanx; his white custom-made hoodie featuring the iconic (in his opinion) photograph of the lead singer from the 1976 debut album by American Rock Band; his brown leather; and a black watchMan’s cap because his Hair was for ****, on top of which he had perched his "Momo" Giancana sunglasses.
Like a Bird freed from her cage, he stepped past the technicians of every species and permutation busily performing their forensic tasks, through the first door on his left into the motel room where Saran’s ATT (Assigned Target Trafficker) had been taken into custody.
As per her extensive food service experience, this particular huMan male (they were always huMan males), who looked exactly like what you would expect a trafficker to look like, was wrapped securely in a freshness-sealed, day-dotted food service container, guarded by a uniformed Boochopolis Police Department Officer.
A similar tableau awaited him in the second room he inspected.
This prisoner had been Prawn Faery (Prawn Faery’s responsibility.
Thus, he was not so much shrink-wrapped like a Chicken filet as he was simply handcuffed and guarded.
Straight-up law enforcement, Prawn Faery had (as she had once told Velveteen) "many resources," but no time for anything.
In the third room, the third prisoner did not need to be restrained or guarded at all.
Rather, he would have to be placed on a stretcher for transport to Boochopolis House, curled up as he was in the fetal position, weeping and rocking back and forth on the filthy, filthy motel room carpet.
Fifteen minutes of therapy with Mamma Gattina had reduced the brutal, hardened trafficker to a sniveling, sobbing heap of quivering shame and helpless remorse.
And then there was Vel’s room . . .
Next: Velveteen’s Room!