The Interstellar Police Force, Book One: The Historic Mission Raymond Klein (read out loud books .TXT) 📖

Bollar. “It’s just that I have been seeing your exploits in the paper reports I receive every morning. That last one was rather … colorful! You have the local police baffled and of course, since you're sitting here with me, you have the IPF baffled as well. Using the Interrupter on those jobs was a brilliant move.” Bollar quietly thanked him with a nod.

“I enjoy reading the paper reports of this world.” Prodor turned to the table behind his desk and retrieved the Waterford crystal decanter of scotch. He motioned with it to Bollar. Bollar  and placed his hand over the top of his glass and shook his head. Prodor refilled his glass and continued, “Have you noticed how violent this world is?” He asked. “The crime here is exhilarating! There are robberies, shootouts, and murders. And not just locally, but around this entire planet.” He got up with his glass and started to pace the floor. “On the other side of this world there are wars and civil upheavals. Armies fighting armies. Civil wars placing brother against brother, fights over land of all things.”

Bollar was beginning to become uneasy. He’d seen Prodor Moffit go on rants before, and it always culminated with someone getting hurt. “Ah, no, not really. I don’t read the media reports.”

“Oh, but Bollar you should. It opens and expands one’s mind.” He continued pacing. “When you know how the world on which you live works, it gives you the opportunities to utilize and take advantage of certain weaknesses.” He stopped and turned toward Bollar, who slightly jumped. “You have inadvertently stumbled across one of those weaknesses.” Moffit walked over to his office window. “Using the Interrupter to defeat their inadequate surveillance equipment. That’s a weakness.” Moffit looked down at the warehouse floor. “I ship out these narcotics and feed them to those who are stupid enough to use them so they can escape from their meaningless drab lives. Capitalizing on another weakness.” Bollar could see Moffit’s image reflected in the window as he gazed down at his warehouse floor. “Their weakness of dependency. The weakness of their lack of willpower in needing my product so they can cope with their pathetic existence on this planet.” Moffit took a big swig of his scotch. “And do you know what they will do if they need my product and don’t have the money for it?” He looked over his shoulder at Bollar. “Robberies, shootouts, and murders.” He turned back to the warehouse floor. “And the cycle continues.”

Prodor Moffit tipped back his drink and drained it, ice clinking together. He paused a moment, looking down at the warehouse, then said, “Ah, the beauty of violence.”

Chapter Forty-Five

Jennifer was outside of the Mobile Plus store on Grant Street, where she had just purchased her cell phone. It was something she had researched for several weeks and had plenty for in her savings account. It was the top of the line smartphone and came with an affordable two-year contract. She wasn’t about to get caught again like she did that night in Grant Park without any way of getting a hold of Jeff.

The sun was warm as a cold breeze blew her hair in all directions along with the golden leaves that were scattered on the ground from the now nearly bare trees that were set within the sidewalks. The streets and shops of Old Town were colorfully decorated with bales of hay and bright orange pumpkins of all sizes. There were happily smiling scarecrows and cutout witches and black cats in the windows. She looked at the large display screen with its many icons for the different applications, and selected the phone icon. With a mixture of pride and glee, she placed her very first call.

Jeff Trent was sitting on the couch with the remote control for the TV in one hand and his “World’s Number One Dad” mug in the other. Genghis was next to him, sitting on the floor, typing on the computer. He was going over different police reports from the Westberry Police Department while Jeff channel surfed different news channels on the television. Genghis reached for his “Death Before Disco” mug that was sitting on the coffee table and took a big gulp of coffee.

The white wall phone in the kitchen rang. They looked at each other. The phone rang a second time. They looked over their shoulders into the kitchen.

“What the hell?”

“Oh!” Jeff said, getting up. “That’s the telecommunication device Twinkie set up for us.”

The phone rang again.

“Geez O’ Cow! That’s an annoying sound,” Genghis said. He turned back to his computer. “Couldn’t it beep or buzz?”

Jeff walked into the kitchen and picked up the handset and placed it to his ear. He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Good afternoon, Jeff Trent speaking!”

“Hi, Jeff it’s me!” Jennifer said, then sing-sang, “I got my new phone!”

“Well, that’s wonderful, Twinkie. I’m very happy for you.”

“Yeah it’s so cool, I can’t wait to show you.”

“Well, would you like us to come and get you? Are you still on Grant Street?”

“Yeah. I’ll be waiting for you on the corner of Grant and Fifth.”

“ Okay then, Genghis and I are on our way.”

“Thanks,” Jennifer said. “See yah in a little bit.” She disconnected and started slowly walking to the corner while looking down at her smartphone, going through the different screens and applications. She then heard a familiar voice behind her. A voice she hadn’t heard in a long while.

“Well, as I live and breathe! Is that you, Twinkie?”

Jennifer turned to see a face looking down at her. A face that she was fine with never seeing again.

“It is you. How you been, girl?”

“I’ve been fine, Billy,” she said with little enthusiasm. “When did you get out?”

“Oh, ‘bout two weeks now. Out early on good behavior.” William “Billy Bourbon” Jamerson in Jennifer’s eyes was still a sleazy grease ball. Tall and lanky, his hair was braided in nice neat cornrows that reached down to his narrow