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BEAUREGARD RIDES AGAIN
“So I have decided to recruit a couple of lady cops”
“Are you sure that’s wise, Mr Mayor?”
“Of course! It’s my idea, ain’t it? It’ll play great with the female voters in the election: they’ll see we are taking women seriously and recognise what the weaker sex can do. Besides, my wife thinks it’s a good idea, too, so that settles it! Hey, don’t you think it’s a great idea, too?”
“Oh, sure, yeah” I lied through gritted teeth “it’s just that…”
“Good, I’m glad you’re on board, Sheriff.”
And that settled it. Snaketit Gulch’s Finest were now to be plus two. The guys wouldn’t like it one bit. They were sort of traditional in their views: conservative in their outlook. Women were for washing your socks, preparing meals, cleaning behind the cooker; oh, and they were useful for keeping you warm at night and – you know- things like that. But cops they were not. That’s a job for a real man. Nope, the boys won’t like it one bit.
And they didn’t. Not that it mattered. What the mayor wanted, he got. So, shortly after my meeting with the mayor, two bright, newly minted Copettes arrived from the police academy to the welcoming flash of camera bulbs and the greetings of the mayor himself. “I want to welcome these two charming ladies, Officers Fumero and Bellamy, to Snaketit Gulch” he began, running his fingers discreetly around their garter belts as he addressed the crowd “where I am sure they will be made welcome by their colleagues as they share their commitment to fight crime, to serve the public and to uphold the constitution…”
“Where’s the puke bucket?” I muttered under my breath.
And so it came to pass that Snaketit Gulch got their two lady cops. But how will they make out? We shall see.
One Saturday night, I was on duty in my office when a frantic call came through. It was from Big Jake who ran the diner on the north side of town. “Sheriff? You’d better get over here smartish. Beauregard has just turned up with what looks like the rest of his Chapter. They’re causing mayhem. They’ve already got the waitresses running around in their panties!”
“Say! That’s a great idea: that’ll bring the customers in!”
“Get serious, Sheriff: one of my waitresses is the mayor’s niece and he won’t like it”
“Oh, yeah. You mean the brunette with the nice boobs.”
“That’s her!”
“I’ll send a couple of cars over right away.”
Well, the only two cars available that night was the one manned by Flanagan and Jones and the one womanned by Fumero and Bellamy so they were dispatched over to the diner. As I had finished reading the sports section of the local paper, there was nothing to keep me in the office, so I thought I’d drive over to the diner to see how things were going. When I got there, things had quietened down and there was no sign of the bikers. Two cruisers were parked outside with their lights still flashing. Flanagan emerged from the diner with a puzzled frown.
“We’re worried about Fumero and Bellamy. Their cruiser was already here when we arrived but there’s no sign of them, although we did find these.” Flanagan said, holding up two torn police issue uniform skirts.
“Did Big Jake see anything?”
“He said the bikers were leaving when the cruiser arrived. When he looked out shortly afterwards he reckoned he saw the bikers riding off with what he calls ‘a couple of nekkid wimmin’ strung across their choppers. He couldn’t make out who they were.”
“Um”
“Shouldn’t we go and look for them, Sheriff?” Jones asked anxiously.
“Well, it’s dark and…”
“Do you want a drink, boys?” Big Jake shouted from the doorway.
“…that sounds a better idea. We’ll look in the morning.”
‘Scoop’ McNeal, ace reporter on the Snaketit Recorder, rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he drove along the unmade track about five miles from town. ’Scoop’ didn’t usually do early, but he had been awoken by a call from one of his ‘sources’ who told him if he drove along a certain track alongside the railroad line within the next hour he would see something of interest. Oh, and he should take his camera with him as well, so he did.
And that is how, in the next edition of the Snaketit Courier, there appeared under the banner headline ‘Kidnapped cops rescued by ace reporter’ several photographs, from every angle, of two dishevelled handcuffed young ladies stripped to their underwear. Below the pictures, a glowing account of the reporter’s heroism threatened to overshadow an account of the courage and dignity shown by the two dedicated officers who single handed and without hesitation tackled a large gang of marauding bikers. A commitment to duty which clearly warranted immediate promotion. The report discreetly avoided any mention of the fate of the cops’ panties which now adorned the wall in the bikers’ ranch house.
In his office, the sheriff leaned back in his chair, feet on the table, studying the Recorder and admiring the revealing photographs of his new recruits. He mused to himself: ‘Beauregard’s did me proud: I owe him one. Still, that’s what kid brothers are for.’