Chapter 4
Benson and Stabler marched into the Piggly Wiggly with all the bravado of the city cops that they were. Guns were drawn and dark clothing swayed in unison as they commanded the fear of Sunday morning shoppers and dull- witted cashiers alike, eyes aimed down respective barrels in preparation for the felony of the century.
Ruby Jackson was still shaking her burned wig and yelling hysterically at Mr. Kibble, who was rubbing his hands in a worrisome cycle that looked more diabolical than terrified.
"Freeze and put your hands up!" Olivia shouted while Elliot slowly crouch- walked and trained his gun on the woman. Saucer eyed, both Ruby and Mr. Kibble threw their hands up the air in comical unison. Ruby's wig dropped to the floor and Elliot kicked the pitiful thing across the linoleum with so much force it skidded out onto the sidewalk.
In all the commotion, no one noticed Fashion glide through the front door of the store and make her sultry way to the processed-meat aisle.
Fashion sauntered along the brightly lit, refrigerated shelves of bacon, hot dogs, sausage links and luncheon meats, her high heels clicking and clacking on the off-white linoleum floor. She surveyed her choices, weighing which items could be secreted away under her clothing without drawing too much attention. The choices seemed endless: kielbasa, Italian sausage, bratwurst, olive loaf. She picked up a super-sized package of bologna and carefully tucked it into the back of her skirt, where it stuck out in a large circular shape beneath the tight fabric. Fashion turned on a high heel and nonchalantly strolled back toward the front of the store, where the confrontation was reaching advanced stages of misunderstanding.
Olivia had Ruby face-down on the floor and was snapping handcuffs on her while Elliot patted down Mr. Kibble, whose lower lip trembled in fear. "He's clean," Elliot said, and gave him a shove. Mr. Kibble burst into tears and began sucking his thumb.
Fashion eyed the scene of the handcuffed, bald-headed lady and the crying manager with a slight bit of interest, but not much, as she was more concerned with the fact that two cops were standing right there and she was shoplifting a package of bologna under her skirt. Well, if you wanted to be particular about it, she hadn't really shoplifted until she left the store. So she wasn't really doing anything wrong, was she?
Fashion's eyes met Elliot's. The detective brain behind those blue eyes could spot a guilty conscience a mile away. They stared each other down like corny cowboys at the OK Corral as Fashion clickity-clacked out the door, turning her head to keep his gaze and her body to hide the bologna shoved down the back of her skirt.
Just as she stepped out the door, she burst into a sprint, but only for a second, as one of her high heels caught on the remnants of the tortured wig and she lost her balance. Her arms pinwheeled and her mouth dropped open as she fell, ever so slowly, onto the concrete on her back side. When she landed, the package of bologna flew over the waistband of her skirt and shot across the empty space between Fashion and the back of Olivia's head, smacking it with an insulting, dull thud that spun her around in indignation, just in time to see Fashion's horrified face and the package of bologna land, finally, at Olivia's feet. Game Over.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Fashion cried. "Our family is starving and we didn't have any money!" Forced tears gathered on the edges of her heavily made up eyes and streaked down her face.
Elliot helped the girl up and snapped handcuffs onto her wrists. "Save the charm, sweetheart. You're going to have to come with us," he said gruffly. He'd heard it all before.
The two detectives marched Ruby and Fashion out of the Piggly Wiggly and stuck them into their unmarked police car. They drove them a few scenic blocks to the historic Dead Twig Police Station and booked them for disturbing the peace and shoplifting. That's when Benson and Stabler's Sunday morning took a turn for the bizarre.
********
In the darkened interrogation room of Dead Twig's police headquarters, Fashion sat on a hard, grey metal chair, chomping on a stale piece of strawberry Bubbalicious. She hid her gnawing fear with a glazed expression of boredom. Although she was alone in the room, every now and then she took in a deep breath and exhaled a flippant "ho-hum."
Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler stood on the other side of the one-way mirror, carefully studying their shoplifter under furrowed brows.
Stabler said, "She's hiding something. My gut tells me that there's more to this shoplifting scene than mere processed beef and pork product stuffed into a tight polyester miniskirt riding ever so slowly up to the rounded, nubile .."
"Elliot!" Olivia cut him off and stared at him in shock.
"Uh, sorry, I don't know what came over me there for a second." He needed to get laid was the problem. All morning long, he'd had tits and ass on the brain, and it just wasn't going to stop until he had full carnal knowledge of Olivia Benson on the lumpy, creaky bed of his mildew-smelling motel room, with the cheap burnt-orange Formica headboard banging against the wall so hard that the clown paintings above the bed came crashing down upon them in a climax of chaotic and insane sex. And guess what, folks. That was not going to happen.
"Look at the way she's ho-humming in there," Elliot continued, more than slightly horrified by the little reverie that took his focus far enough away for him to blurt out something that made him sound like a pervert.
Always one to leave an awkward moment alone, Olivia sighed and stuck a hand into the back pocket of her tight, brown hip hugger stretch jeans and stuck a hip forward. "I think you're right. I'll take a crack at her first. Why don't you talk to Ruby? Maybe she's involved in all this too."
Benson and Stabler marched into the Piggly Wiggly with all the bravado of the city cops that they were. Guns were drawn and dark clothing swayed in unison as they commanded the fear of Sunday morning shoppers and dull- witted cashiers alike, eyes aimed down respective barrels in preparation for the felony of the century.
Ruby Jackson was still shaking her burned wig and yelling hysterically at Mr. Kibble, who was rubbing his hands in a worrisome cycle that looked more diabolical than terrified.
"Freeze and put your hands up!" Olivia shouted while Elliot slowly crouch- walked and trained his gun on the woman. Saucer eyed, both Ruby and Mr. Kibble threw their hands up the air in comical unison. Ruby's wig dropped to the floor and Elliot kicked the pitiful thing across the linoleum with so much force it skidded out onto the sidewalk.
In all the commotion, no one noticed Fashion glide through the front door of the store and make her sultry way to the processed-meat aisle.
Fashion sauntered along the brightly lit, refrigerated shelves of bacon, hot dogs, sausage links and luncheon meats, her high heels clicking and clacking on the off-white linoleum floor. She surveyed her choices, weighing which items could be secreted away under her clothing without drawing too much attention. The choices seemed endless: kielbasa, Italian sausage, bratwurst, olive loaf. She picked up a super-sized package of bologna and carefully tucked it into the back of her skirt, where it stuck out in a large circular shape beneath the tight fabric. Fashion turned on a high heel and nonchalantly strolled back toward the front of the store, where the confrontation was reaching advanced stages of misunderstanding.
Olivia had Ruby face-down on the floor and was snapping handcuffs on her while Elliot patted down Mr. Kibble, whose lower lip trembled in fear. "He's clean," Elliot said, and gave him a shove. Mr. Kibble burst into tears and began sucking his thumb.
Fashion eyed the scene of the handcuffed, bald-headed lady and the crying manager with a slight bit of interest, but not much, as she was more concerned with the fact that two cops were standing right there and she was shoplifting a package of bologna under her skirt. Well, if you wanted to be particular about it, she hadn't really shoplifted until she left the store. So she wasn't really doing anything wrong, was she?
Fashion's eyes met Elliot's. The detective brain behind those blue eyes could spot a guilty conscience a mile away. They stared each other down like corny cowboys at the OK Corral as Fashion clickity-clacked out the door, turning her head to keep his gaze and her body to hide the bologna shoved down the back of her skirt.
Just as she stepped out the door, she burst into a sprint, but only for a second, as one of her high heels caught on the remnants of the tortured wig and she lost her balance. Her arms pinwheeled and her mouth dropped open as she fell, ever so slowly, onto the concrete on her back side. When she landed, the package of bologna flew over the waistband of her skirt and shot across the empty space between Fashion and the back of Olivia's head, smacking it with an insulting, dull thud that spun her around in indignation, just in time to see Fashion's horrified face and the package of bologna land, finally, at Olivia's feet. Game Over.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Fashion cried. "Our family is starving and we didn't have any money!" Forced tears gathered on the edges of her heavily made up eyes and streaked down her face.
Elliot helped the girl up and snapped handcuffs onto her wrists. "Save the charm, sweetheart. You're going to have to come with us," he said gruffly. He'd heard it all before.
The two detectives marched Ruby and Fashion out of the Piggly Wiggly and stuck them into their unmarked police car. They drove them a few scenic blocks to the historic Dead Twig Police Station and booked them for disturbing the peace and shoplifting. That's when Benson and Stabler's Sunday morning took a turn for the bizarre.
********
In the darkened interrogation room of Dead Twig's police headquarters, Fashion sat on a hard, grey metal chair, chomping on a stale piece of strawberry Bubbalicious. She hid her gnawing fear with a glazed expression of boredom. Although she was alone in the room, every now and then she took in a deep breath and exhaled a flippant "ho-hum."
Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler stood on the other side of the one-way mirror, carefully studying their shoplifter under furrowed brows.
Stabler said, "She's hiding something. My gut tells me that there's more to this shoplifting scene than mere processed beef and pork product stuffed into a tight polyester miniskirt riding ever so slowly up to the rounded, nubile .."
"Elliot!" Olivia cut him off and stared at him in shock.
"Uh, sorry, I don't know what came over me there for a second." He needed to get laid was the problem. All morning long, he'd had tits and ass on the brain, and it just wasn't going to stop until he had full carnal knowledge of Olivia Benson on the lumpy, creaky bed of his mildew-smelling motel room, with the cheap burnt-orange Formica headboard banging against the wall so hard that the clown paintings above the bed came crashing down upon them in a climax of chaotic and insane sex. And guess what, folks. That was not going to happen.
"Look at the way she's ho-humming in there," Elliot continued, more than slightly horrified by the little reverie that took his focus far enough away for him to blurt out something that made him sound like a pervert.
Always one to leave an awkward moment alone, Olivia sighed and stuck a hand into the back pocket of her tight, brown hip hugger stretch jeans and stuck a hip forward. "I think you're right. I'll take a crack at her first. Why don't you talk to Ruby? Maybe she's involved in all this too."