Sunday, November 12, 2017

Chapter 4: The Baring of Rhonda Darewyzki’s Soul _ "Who's Eating Harry Dick?" _ dark comedy crime caper short story

Chapter 4: The Baring of Rhonda Darewyzki’s Soul _"Who's Eating Harry Dick?" _ dark comedy crime caper short story

Rhonda Darewyzki was peeling off layers. The morning of November 11, 2017 was a record breaking cold day at 18 degrees in Pittsburgh. She couldn’t believe the news she was overhearing from the television. How could Roy Moore and his loyal Alabama voters exist in her perfect world she’s so grateful for everyday? 

And to think that over the airwaves on every news station and in every newspaper what they’re describing in graphic detail. Roy Moore’s accuser is insisting the 32 year old man at the time touched her through her bra and panties and took her hand and guided it where he desired to be touched by the young 14 year old. Breakfast and slut shaming a 14 year old girl who didn’t want to report the incident back then after it occurred! 

Injustices were not tolerated by the moral fabric of Rhonda Darewyzki. She was not one to be her soul however she had an aura about her that was different from the everyday women her age that cluttered the sidewalks of Lawrenceville though she resembled them in many ways. Her jacket was coming off now after having unraveled her pink scarf. 

Rhonda’s dark black raven colored hair parted from a jacket of the same tone as she freed her arms from its sleeves. The black star showcased in the front of her handmade pink beanie shimmered from glitter catching the cold sunshine of a shivering morning. She removed her giant white framed Kurt Cobain sunglasses unveiling her expressive eye rolls. “What a douche bag,” Rhonda sighed out loud to no one but the wooden floors and exposed red bricks of her home. Well, maybe the cat & dog overheard?

Rhonda Darewyzki carried herself like royalty. She had a regale gait even when carrying about going on with everyday routines of life. Back in Russia she kinda was and would be treated that way. Rhonda’s father was what the American public was hearing so much about in the media ever since Donald J.. Trump stated running for president of the United States, a Russian Oligarch. Her father had ties to the Kremlin and direct ties to Vladimir Putin.

However, Rhonda Darewyzki was conceived out of wedlock which is understandable since her mother wasn’t married to the Russian Oligarch. Her mother was his lover. “There are things that a man with a family does not want to do anymore with the wife of his children!” Rhonda’s mother was blunt when providing this family history. 

In fact, Rhonda’s mother had weaponized her sexuality for a living. That’s how she met Rhonda’s father. She attended an exotic animal dining club in Moscow. Her sponsor had prepared her well. Rhonda’s mother knew her mark and knew inside his head already thanks to the keen insights of her sponsor. “For my country I actually tested the virility of men in my hands.” She further debriefed Rhonda matter-of-factly, "people can dominate you for power yet, if you play your cards well, you’re the one that can be in total control.”

Rhonda’s mother was elegantly gorgeous - dripping with refined charisma - and dangerously wicked smart. But she preferred to stay focused on subject matters dear to her heart. She was actually devastated when their affair got too hot after Rhonda’s birth and her father’s enemies knew he was compromised. There was evidence. 

Having a high value target in Manhattan with a highly classified assignment, as a result, Rhonda’s mother was actually appeased by it and she felt like she had won. Rhonda had no idea her mother was in Manhattan to compromise Donald J. Trump. Neither did Rhonda's mother until her sponsor's exact details were followed and she was at The 21 Club in New York City. She was seated at the table of a very important person. 

Her sponsor assured her that the booth was bugged and she was 100% capable of handling this job. After all, the particular booth was, "a favored spot of Mr. Donald J. Trump in 21 Club restaurant," she was informed by the pretty hostess - who incidentally resembled a beauty pageant contestant. The booth was bugged and Rhonda’s mother was doing what she did so well for her profession and her country. She was letting another powerful man dominate her while she was the one mindful enough of the long game to be in control. Donald J. Trump had inserted his hand in between her legs almost immediately after sitting down at the table. Now it was all falling into place like her sponsor promised. At the 21 Club, in Donald J. Trump’s reserved booth, she was clinically testing the virility of a man in her hands. The white heavy starched dinner napkin she casually placed in her in $250,000 Lana Marks Cleopatra Bag was evidence. 

Rhonda stood naked. She peered out the square window onto jagged rooftops of rows and rows of houses. Each one with frames painted different colors, such as, blue, red, white, black & yellow. Her milky soft white skin was well hydrated. Her black thick hair was in stark contrast with the cool tile she rested her hands on as she closed her eyes while the hot running water drenched her body. Her iPhone was going off annoyingly. “Can’t I have five minutes,” she muttered to herself. It was Harry Dick.

More detective work ran across her face when her eyes opened at the 3rd attempt to reach her by phone. Detective Harry Dick needed those hair clippings from her shop. Their relationship started when the then officer Harry Dick busted her for possessing 5 ounces of weed: Lavender, Blueberry Kush, Blue Dream, Diesel, and a hybrid cross pollination between Maui and Train Wreck called Maui Wreck.

The then officer Harry Dick was looking to become a county detective. He had smoked homegrown pot while pounding Ham’s Beer back in the countryside at a picnic table while playing the drinking game “Drug Dealer” in his high school days. Ironically, Rhonda Darewyzki was not a drug dealer. Rhonda was a connoisseur when it came to high quality marijuana. Straight-up, Rhonda just liked to smoke weed. It beat being strung out on heroin! It beat being an uncontrollable functioning alcoholic! Or a coke head!

With five ounces of marijuana Harry Dick could pursue charges that would trigger a mandatory minimum having Rhonda Darewyzki jailed. Rhonda insisted it was for personal use only. She was being dead honest. Officer Dick was working the flip. Asserting his power using the threat of serious jail time. Rhonda accepted and agreed to his terms to provide hair samples of her clients from her grooming & goods shop upon request. 

Rhonda knew her security clearance was equivalent to that of a senator’s son, on the other hand, officer Dick did not. She exuded an obtuse pain in officer Dick’s presence. 

Surely she would use this proposition to her advantage. Having a compromised cop might come in handy. Either way, Rhonda Darewyzki would not being going to jail. Unless she shot someone at point blank with a gun on Fifth Avenue that is. Harry Dick didn't know this though and Rhonda wanted it that way. Detective Harry Dick was exerting power however Rhonda Darewyzki was really in control. The more smug and unafraid Rhonda Darewyzki conducted herself the more agitated Harry Dick became. Thrusting his power. 

Rhonda would provide him with hair samples of targeted clients all right. And officer Harry Dick would be commended and promoted for having an uncanny knack for making drug busts. He busted more users buying from their dealers than any other cop on the force. There was a competition too! Police departments that made a lot of drug busts in return received a lot of money for fighting the war on drugs.

Chapter 4: The Baring of Rhonda Darewyzki’s Soul _"Who's Eating Harry Dick?" _ dark comedy crime caper short story

Copyright John Alan Conte Jr. & 

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