Harsh Fuzz

Harsh Fuzz
by Plato Voltaire
Copyright 2011

1
Having been born and raised on a red dirt farm Kelly Osgood could tell by the air alone if it was going to storm. The humid air was thick enough to cut into quarter pound steaks, a meal that Kelly very much wanted to have tonight after the 89ers baseball game. Instead he got a call from Mr. Baker, an associate of his boss' new business partner. There was a private party being held at northern part of Lake Eufaula, a two-hour drive from Oklahoma City. Baker said that some good news would be disclosed and that Kelly was a central part of it. Sensing that a promotion or even a hefty raise was in the offering Kelly didn't mind missing his 89ers play this one time. For the length of the trip Kelly had his car's air conditioning at full blast to keep the heat and humidity at bay. On the 8-track he listened to his newly acquired Bad Company album. He could see a brewing line of storms to the south and southwest during a gas stop, hoping that the weather would clear up after the party is over.
     It was sunset when Kelly reached the private house. A ranch style affair, its obvious recent construction and light red paintwork were at odds with the gravel driveway and unkempt berry bushes. Even the road-side mailbox was what one would expect on a rural farmhouse after decades of exposure to the elements.  The road leading up this house was paved, so Kelly guessed the owner had to have some redneck touches to his property. He noticed that the bottom of the porch awning was colored blue when he stepped up and rang the doorbell. It was a superstition, a method to fool ghosts to go up instead of entering the house. Above the door itself was a set of bull horns with a horseshoe, and he was looking at it when the oak door opened. "Welcome, Mr. Osgood," said the man behind the still closed screen door. "I'm glad you made it before the storms did. We have just enough time for some grilled outdoor steaks." He opened the screen door and beckoned Kelly in.
     "Have the other guests arrived, Mr. Baker? I didn't see any other cars in the drive way." Going from an air-conditioned car, then outside and now inside a cooled house made Kelly sweat. He dabbed his face with the hand towel he always kept with him.
     "They parked in the garage, Mr. Osgood," said the distinguished-looking man. Appearing like a senior lawyer from back east, he should've looked mismatched with the western style shirt, jeans and boots he wore. Instead he conveyed the feeling that he wore such clothes all the time, and that this hands were calloused showed he pushed something heavier than paper. "Before too long you can move your car into the barn to protect it from the hail. These Oklahoma storms always produce hail."
     "Ain't that the truth." Kelly followed Baker through the house and into the back yard. The patio had a trio of benches surrounding a table set into its concrete surface. Four poles with burning mosquito repellent were posted at the perimeter, and the barbecue pit was ensconced in a brick facade. In front of the pit was a shapely young woman in cut-off shorts and front-tied shirt, donning an apron with the words 'kiss the cook' emblazoned on it. Kelly's eyes lingered on the cutie's obviously larger-than-normal chest, and he got a playful admonishing finger pointing at him for his trouble.
     The back yard, immaculately mowed, sloped down to the lake. A small boat dock and equipment shed was evident, and a boat was but 100 yards from the shore. "Looks like someone forgot to tie up the boat," Kelly quipped.
     Baker handed Kelly a small pair of binoculars. "Oh, not forgotten, Mr. Osgood. It was quite deliberate."
     Peering though the spy glasses Kelly could still see in the fading light that there was a person in the boat, tied to an outdoor recliner and gagged. A further turn of the dial... "Hey, that's my boss!"
     "You are correct, Mr. Osgood," said Baker, his voice sounding to the startled man like Lorne Green with a hint of menace. "Mr. Cutler thought he could increase his profit margin, already considerable under the agreement made with my boss, by using a substandard substitute for the main product. Such a thing is intolerable as it would've attracted attention from the food inspectors had the product gone to market. Now there's an entire warehouse of product that has to be disposed of, and it may delay our target release date. So, Mr. Cutler had cost my boss time, money, and product."
     A fresh explosion of sweat covered Kelly's forehead. "Why show me this? What's preventing me from calling the police?"
     Baker took the binoculars back and had a look for himself. "Incentive, Mr. Osgood. My boss wants to convey what will happen to you should you fail as the new president of Mighty Meats." He waited as shock and dismay played out on Kelly's face. "Yes, Mr. Osgood, now you don't have to 'outlast that old bastard.' Of course, you're up to your neck in regards to your former boss, so we expect you to follow our instructions to the letter and behave. Your personal percentage of profit from the sale of the product is double than that what we offered for Mr. Cutler." Baker placed the binoculars back in Kelly's hand. "Now, look, Mr. Osgood. That's the price of failure."
     Kelly expected the boat to sink, dragging Cutler down to his death. Instead he witnessed a scene so bizarre and surreal it made his mouth wide open in shock. It was like watching a train wreck as it happened, complete with the inability to tear one's eyes away. When it was done only ripples proved that something was on the lake just moments earlier. To highlight the event there was a burst of distant lightning from the south, followed by low, brassy thunder.
     "Oh, dear," Baker said, putting his hand on Kelly's shoulder. "It appears you'll need to put your car in the barn now."
     "Well," Kelly replied, his voice resigned, "I think with my company president's salary I can buy a new car instead of repairing any hail damage."
     "The first of many perks, Mr. Osgood."

The rain came down hard just at the end of the 89ers game. Taking refuge from the deluge in a nearby bar was one Cookie Cal, drug dealer and self-deluded lady's man. He did have the eye to pick out potential customers, and so far none of the fans that came into the bar met his criteria. Sucking down a beer, Cookie almost spluttered as he spied two rain-soaked fans of the female persuasion enter, their 89ers shirts clinging to their above average chests in a most revealing manner. It was clear they were braless, and that was all that Cookie needed to talk to them. He slithered more than sauntered to the booth the girls sat down at, and offered the wad of napkins in his hand like it was a bouquet of roses. "I hope these will be of some help, ladies."
     The blue-eyed one, with short-styled hair that glistened like black enamel in the bar's light, took the napkins and gave some to her friend. "Thank you. It's raining cats an dogs out there. So much for KOCO's forecasting."
     "89ers fans?" Cookie asked. He could see the pitched little tents and crease lines in the wet shirt fabric caused by the girls' nipples. He kept his voice clear from his rising lust. "How was the game?"
     "It could've been better," the short brunette admitted. "I'm not that big a fan of this current crop of players, but my friend never saw a baseball game before, and this was the best time to see one before school starts."
     "University students?" He wanted to say high school, but Cookie felt that would've spoiled the groundwork.
     "The University of Okie," said the blue eyed pneumatic angel. "We're both in agricultural science. Lisa's been in the states for only two months now."
     Cookie's eyes gravitated to the tall, lightly-browned foreign girl of their own accord. She was as much as a balloon smuggler as her shorter friend, and her dark brown hair reached down to her shoulders. "Ah, Vietnamese? Phillipino?"
     "Taiwan," said the brown-eyed bird. "My father is a missionary. He sent me to university here so I could learn about agriculture as well to get to know my relatives." She gestured to her rain-soaked companion. "Karen is my cousin."
     For Cookie the lightly accented English used by Lisa was like listening to words dipped in sugar. When one adds the fact that the two girls were cousins... "May I have a seat?"
     Karen batted her deep blue eyes. "Only if you have smokes. Mine got soaked in the rain."
     From an interior pocket of the light jacket he wore Cookie produced a half-pack of cigarettes. He sat down next to Karen, pack in his left hand while his right fished out a lighter. "Camels?" Karen's lowered voice sounded disappointed. "Got anything... smoother?"
     "It depends on what you mean by smoother," Cookie replied.
     Arching her back briefly Karen made her pneumatic glories stand out that much more under her wet shirt. Cookie could make out the muted color of her nipples as well as the quite obvious firmness of her boobies. "Lisa's a bit of a naughty girl," the blue-eyed chick confided in a voice associated with lovers. "She sneaked smokes behind her parent's back in Taiwan. Now she wants something that has a more... American flavor."
     "Oh, I think I have some of that." From another interior pocket came a well-used packet of Virginia Slims. He shook it like one would dispense a chicklet but instead of candy it was a joint that landed in his hand. "This is as American as you can get. Normally there's a charge, but if you ladies are open to a suggestion..."
     Lisa beamed. "Oh, my place is nice. My aunt and uncle are out until tomorrow afternoon."
     "You are quick on the uptake," Cookie managed to say, seeing that Lisa also pushed out her lungs, the tee shirt hurting to bust open to free the tits underneath. "I'm without a car tonight, so I hope it isn't that far away."
     "Not far at all, Romeo," Karen cooed. "It's just down the street. Ever heard of the Pig Pen?"
     Only a jackrabbit could've moved faster as Cookie bolted from the booth. He shoved the joint into his mouth and swallowed, something he done several times before. His flight ended just as quickly as Karen tackled him from behind. Her breasts might as well have been steel bowling balls pressing into Cookie's back as far as he was concerned. "Hello, Cookie," Karen said as she slapped a pair of handcuffs she cleverly kept hidden onto the man's wrists. "The lord works in mysterious ways. If it wasn't for the rain we would've gone to a different bar."
     Not for the last time Cookie damned himself for letting his manhood do his thinking for him. "Ouch! That hurts, bitch pig! What are you arresting me for!"
     A crowd of bar patrons formed a circle around the scene. Lisa turned over Cookie with her foot like he was a dead dog found on the highway. The accent she used earlier was replaced by her natural Oklahoman one. "Possession of illegal drugs for starters, plus attempting to sell and purchase services with same. If having bad breath was a crime we'd be charging you with that as well."
     "Good luck, pigs! I ate the only one I had with me. You can't prove a thing!"
     Karen gave her partner a knowing look. "Well, I guess he has a point. We'll have to induce vomiting immediately. Some vinegar down the pipe should do it."
     "We could, partner. But I think a dealer of Cookie's reputation would have more product on him. I say we strip-search him right here and now and save the boys at lockup the trouble."
     "We need gloves. I'm not going to touch that Sasquatch without protection."
     "Hey!" Cookie protested. "What about my rights, pigs! Stripping me here in public will rob me of my dignity!"
     Those female patrons in the bar whistled and hooted at the druggie's expense. Karen put her foot on the man's thigh like a big game hunter, flashing her badge like Kryptonite in his face. "You sold your dignity once you started selling drugs, Cookie. Plus were not pigs, we have names. I'm Officer Karen Wilcox, and that's my partner Lisa Parlor. You probably know us better as Sugar and Cinnamon."
     Terror replaced indignation in Cookie's voice. "Those two?! The Double Bubble Twins? You're not gonna kick me down there, are you?"
     Lisa pulled the perp off the floor like he was a duffel bag stuffed with a midget. "Just be a good boy, Cookie. Tell everyone that you got banged in your pride anyway. If they found out you got preferential treatment from us, your reputation will be worth for shit."
     "Maybe we should anyway, Lisa. It's been awhile and we need to keep in practice."
     "Oh, God, please take me in already! I'll cop to a possession charge if you don't harm me!"
     Karen grunted, gripping the man's forearm like a vice. "Okay, Cookie. I'm going to call in a cruiser to pick you up. Just remember this. The next time you sell your junk to anyone, even kids, we're going to make you wish we really had kicked you in the jewels! You dig it?"
     "I dig you, Officer."

2
The central air conditioning was working after a fashion at Police Headquarters. It didn't matter as abused window units and hyperactive fans gave a semblance of cold in the July heat. Wafting in this man-made turbulence was the smell of sweat and other odors that peculated in the heat. Relief only came in the form of cold water, iced tea, the not-so-hidden cans of brew, and the uncommon hint of perfume. Source for the latter came from one Jasmine Walker, secretary for Captain Mugsford. A tiny black woman with an outsized presence Jasmine was the office mom for the detectives that had their desks in the squad room. She was the one the big, tough detectives went to for advice when it came to getting gifts for birthdays and being reminded of anniversary dates and other family obligations. Nothing escaped her eye, and she let everyone in earshot know it. "Bacon and grits! You two make the uniform fit!"
     What made Jasmine exclaim was the presence of Officers Wilcox and Parlor in the squad room. They wore the regulation summer uniforms and equipment belts alright, but the curves and swell of their busts gave definition to their shirts, even more so from where it adhered to bare skin thanks to sweat. As the duo went down the rows of desks one of the detectives made a low-pitched wolf whistle, making Parlor reply by tapping the side of that particular desk with her custom-made, steel-tipped reinforced patrol shoe. That stopped the whistling, leaving the men only to silently savor the sway of the duo's steps as they got to Jasmine's desk. "Thank you, Jasmine," said Wilcox, hat tucked under her arm as she shoulder-hugged her shorter friend. For Parlor she had to bend down further to administer her affirmation of friendship. "What does the Captain want to see us for?"
     Jasmine beamed. "I want to say you made it over the top for a merit award for arresting all those pushers. If you were in trouble he would've asked for you two by your last names. Instead, he asked for Sugar and Cinnamon."
     "An award?" Cinnamon said with snarkiness. "Me and Sugar have been on the force for four years and we're finally getting one? Some male rookies got merit awards in two years and for far less."
     "Now down you get riled up, Cinnamon," Jasmine said with an pat to the thigh. "We all know it'll be long time before most men take women as professional equals. For those that don't they can sleep on the couch until Hell freezes over."
     The intercom on Jasmine's desk came to life in a brief explosion of static, followed by a voice. "Mrs. Walker, if you're quite done with the water cooler talk, send in those two."
     "You heard the boss, go right in." Jasmine motioned to the walled-off office with the clouded glass windows behind her. Once inside Captain Mugsford simply waved the two women to take a seat. Being of high rank, Mugsford had two window air conditioners. Even so he had a light glaze of sweat on his face and forearms. His hair was damp from perspiration, making it look as if he combed it with a greasy chicken leg. A fair assessment for fried chicken was the 21-year veteran's favorite food, and it showed with his pronounced gut and double-chin. In this heat he was less attentive to his appearance, even more so since a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken was on his desk along with a pitcher of iced tea. From her vantage point before taking her seat Cinnamon saw the bucket still had chicken in it, meaning the Captain had something really important to say rather than have the officers wait while finishing off his brunch.
     "That was good and quick police work you two did on Tuesday," said Mugsford. "Cookie Cal had been on short list of pushers we wanted to nab. His lawyer is trying to say that the plea he claimed you two twisted out of Cookie won't stick, but there's enough evidence on him to keep him off the streets for the time being. The street is getting scarce of the low cost, high volume pushers thanks to you two and your improvised stings. But I'm afraid the rest have gotten wise to your game. They now know to avoid women of your obvious... talents."
     "Well, me and Cinnamon are getting tired of nabbing ogling pushers and suckering in johns on prostitution stings," said Sugar in a mixture of resentment and expectation. "We were thinking of moving up in the hierarchy. Are there any openings in the mayoral escort squad or the public affairs and safety department?"
     "If the higher ups had their way both you and Cinnamon would've been anywhere else but on the street. And no, Sugar, there wasn't any hints or requests from your Papa to keep you out of harm's way. You two are getting prompted, hopefully not to the level of your incompetence." From a desk drawer Mugsford produced two shiny badges, tossing one each to the officers. "You can thank the workload the other detectives are having right now. This promotion is provisional, so be good for the next six months and it'll be permanent."
     Sugar's eyes were like a child opening a present on Christmas. "Thank you, Captain. Your trust isn't misplaced, I assure you."
     Cinnamon held the detective badge with the reverence one reserves for a crucifix. "I'm honored. My mother is going to be so proud."
     Mugsford smiled. "You'll be hitting the ground running. Your first case is that of one Mr.Nathan Cutler, president of Mighty Meats. He's been missing for two days, and his wife reports that he has a history of going off on benders and winding up far from home. Sometime hundreds of miles away. We found him several times in the past, so it should be a good starting case for you two. Jasmine has compiled a file for your reference."
     "Thanks, Captain," Sugar started. "I know we have to start out with the small stuff first..."
     The door to the office opened harshly, allowing the entry of one Detective Dixon Mantooth. Six-foot-one, 220 pounds of inflated self-worth, the husky man was downright indignant as he looked at Sugar and Cinnamon as they turned around in their seats. "Good, you're both here and the Captain too. I want him to see this."
     "See what, Mantooth?" It was clear Mugsford was irritated that the detective barged in without being announced.
     Kept hidden behind his back when he first entered, Mantooth showed the small dog carrier for all to see. "This, Captain. Those two juveniles took my piece while I was in the shower, stuffed it in this, and left it at the reception desk for Animal Control to pick up!"
     "Piece?" Sugar said innocently. "Oh, it was a toupee? Could've fooled me."
     Seeing the bald spot on the man's head turning a light shade of red made Cinnamon giggle. "Yeah, I thought it was poodle-chihuahua mix. That thing almost bit me when I tried to find its tags. Since it didn't have them, we had to contain it until Animal Control could pick it up."
     "Some joke, you two," Mantooth sneered. "This piece cost me $500. There are certain things that one doesn't do, and that's touching a man's piece."
     "Looks who's talking about touching," Cinnamon countered. "With all the ass you grab you could be the next spokesman for Charmin."
     Mugsford pounded his desk, silencing further banter. "Hold it right there, all of you. The last thing I need is high school pranks conducted by people who know better. And Mr. Mantooth has been reprimanded for his behavior. In the best interest of your records refrain from such activity in the future. Do you get me, officers?"
     "I get it. We'll be nice," said Sugar on hers as well as Cinnamon's behalf. Dixon only nodded sharply.
     "Good. As all of you have other places to be get going. Sugar, Cinnamon, I expect to see a write-up of your preliminary findings by 4 p.m. tomorrow."
     Cinnamon made a two-finger scout salute. "Aye, Captain, and in triplicate too."

With proper acknowledgment to serendipity the officers had clothes in their lockers suitable for their new status as detectives. Two weeks earlier the duo were at a cattlemen's convention, nabbing a drug dealer red-handed as he tried to sell his wares in his hotel room. For that gig they wore conservative yet western-style womens slacks, suit jacket, white pinstripe shirts, Texan ties and calf-length boots. Heads turned as Sugar and Cinnamon walked out the main entrance, donning sunglasses, and went for the parking lot. A wolf whistle issued from between Cinnamon's lips as she spied Sugar's new ride. "Sweet wheels, girl. I thought that rust box was your new car."
     Sugar patted and stroked the hood of the green-and-black '74 Plymouth Barracuda (notchback coupe) like it was the family dog. "That was a rental. Thanks to that tornado last month I got my birthday gift early. Daddy and his oil money."
     "Speaking of Daddy," Cinnamon said while admiring the lines of the 'Cuda, "it sounded like he and Mugsford are more than just acquainted. Otherwise Mugsford would've said Mr. Wilcox instead of Papa."
     Unlocking the driver's side door, Sugar got into the car and let her partner in. "It's something I don't want to become common knowledge," she said while buckling up. "My dad and Mugsford served in the Army together in Korea. When they got back to Oklahoma they stayed in touch, and when Daddy made it in the oil business he became a big contributor to the Police Charity Drive. Some would see that as a back-handed bribe to get me into the Police Academy."
     "A blatant lie, Sugar. You were in the top percentiles of all the applicants that year. Including me, of course." Cinnamon's eye noted that the 'Cuda came equipped with an 8-track player and a standard issue police radio. From the fit of the radio she knew it was Sugar's handiwork and not slap-dashed into place by a motor pool wrench monkey. "You got any tunes to go with this box?"
     Turning over the engine, Sugar drank in the sound of its throaty growl like an ice-cold beer. "Glove compartment. The Lynyrd Skynyrd tape." "No Stones? How can you not have a Stones tape?"
     "I don't follow bands that have a lead singer with lips bigger than mine, Cin." Sugar pulled the 'Cuda out of the lot and onto the street. "They remind me too much of my dad's attempts to sing Frankie Valli tunes." After a pause for a stop light she continued. "Now that you brought the subject up, you barely talked about your father. I couldn't help but notice at Academy graduation four years ago that only your mother showed up. I didn't bring it up then, so as not to create an indelicate scene."
     Cinnamon looked taciturn, like an elder about to dispense some harsh life truth. "No, the question isn't indelicate, but the answer might be. My father was in the Korean War too. He got killed at the Chosin Reservoir, and his remains haven't been recovered, or are still being held by those commies. I was three back then, and I only have the photo album, the letters and what mom tells me about him to go by. I went through a lot a grief defending my dad's name when bigots called him out for marrying my mother and having me."
     Sugar lightly bit her tongue so as not to saying anything stupid at that point. Back in the Academy Cinnamon confided some personal history after confronting several neanderthals. She was of mixed birth, the loving product of a stubborn dirt farmer and a Cherokee woman. When father Parlor, an Army reservist called up for duty in Korea, died the mother could no longer manage the farm on her own and moved to Tulsa to live with a half-sister and work at a printing company. Young Cinnamon grew up in an environment where subtle and not-so-subtle expressions of racism were directed at her, especially if the people making them knew her parentage. The worst came from other Indians, calling her an 'apple' - red on the outside but white on the inside. She endured, teaching herself martial arts to fight off the bigots that got too close, and studied to such an extent that she earned her way to the top of her high school class. It was easier when she attended university. With her looks she allowed people to think she was Korean, Chinese, or any other combination of Asian with Caucasian. When some ignoramus of a senior did call her out on her heritage it was Sugar, a fellow student, that rallied to her side. They became best of friends from that day on. Deep down, Sugar knew this friendship meant a lot for Cinnamon as well as herself, and she didn't want to do anything that would harm it.
     "Anyway," Cinnamon continued, "that's old history. Let's get rolling on these interviews, starting with Mrs. Cutler. I think we can get the three bars Mr. Cutler frequented this afternoon."
     "Sure thing, partner," said Sugar nonchalantly, glad that there were no further recriminations. "Now that we're detectives, do you want to be the 'good cop' or 'bad cop'?"
     The lightly browned woman grinned. "Me? I'll take 'very bad cop,' thank you very much."

3
Kelly Osgood looked at his office with growing disdain. When he was made vice-president of Mighty Meats three years ago Kelly considered it the best day in his life up to that point. Only gradually,  and now with Mr. Cutler 'missing,' he saw it as the joke it was. The office wasn't even on the same floor as Cutlers, but consigned to the ground floor of the processing plant. That meant most of the time the heat, smells, and flies were major annoyances. Air conditioning only made the smells sicker, and fly catching strips hung from the ceiling like so many party decorations. While Cutler got a new 20" color TV every year and had a stereo credenza all that Kelly had for distractions was a ten-year-old pitiful 9" B&W set and a radio that could only get AM stations. That's not even mentioning the mini-bar and private bathroom, and the fold-out bed that Cutler used for 'late-night work' with one the secretaries. All of that will be in the past, once Mr. Baker and his mysterious boss' plan comes to fruition. When the board sees the new evidence, cleverly provided by Mr. Baker, on Cutler's already proven impropriety then Kelly's ascendancy to the presidency will be legitimized.
     A voice from behind Kelly startled him so that he nearly fell over. "Ah, Mr. Osgood, taking a final look for posterity's sake?"
     "Yes," Kelly said after recovering his wits. "Now I won't have that pain in the posterior in the form of Mr. Cutler." Then he noticed that Mr. Baker wasn't alone. With him was an attractive young woman and a grey-and-white haired old man. "Are these the new employees you talked about?"
     Baker nodded. "Indeed. This is Dr. Gunther Jansen and his granddaughter Janeen. Gunther is in charge of quality control for the new Biggy Burger product, and Janeen is his assistant."
     "Pleased to meet you." Kelly offered handshakes were replied in kind. "Welcome to the Mighty Meats family."
     Janeen smiled. "Thanks, Mr. Osgood. I'm so looking forward to this job, and it'll help pay my bills at the university."
     "University of Oklahoma?" Kelly queried.
     "Yes. I'm getting a degree in agricultural science specializing in livestock."
     "Good to hear, Miss Jansen. As for you Dr. Jansen," Kelly said, shifting his attention, "do you any particular needs you have right now?"
     The older man smiled. "Yah, I do. I will need an office. It is a condition of my employment. If this one," he gestured like he was a child at a bakery, pointing out cookies and treats for his mother to buy, "is available I can set up immediately."
     Kelly raised his brow. "On the processing floor? With all the odors and..."
     "Yah, this one is perfect. It's a step up from where I worked at before, a literal pigsty."
     It was a contrast Kelly couldn't help but notice. While Janeen had an Okie accent the one from Dr. Jansen had a German flavor. Especially when he said 'yah' when it should've been 'yes' or 'yeah'. Something to look into later. "I'll be able to accommodate you, doctor. I won't be in this office for too long."

It was lunchtime, and that placed Karen and Lisa at their favorite greasy spoon, Dinah's Diner. They were sitting at the counter, and while chowing down on burgers and fries they compared notes on their interview with Mrs. Cutler. "She's a very patient soul," Lisa said after a swig of cola. "What does she get out of the marriage other than a hefty expense account?"
      "Perhaps hopeless romanticism?" Karen came back after inhaling half of her burger. "Their living room is a practical shrine of photos of family and themselves."
     Lisa shoved some ketchup-soak fires into her maw and finished it with another swig of cola. "She is rather on the retentive side. Mr. Cutler is a smoker, and I noticed no ash trays in the living room, or in the salon that had the big TV set. I'd say she's willing to let her husband engage his vices as long as they don't happen in the house."
     "No alcohol in the house either, by her own admission," Karen quipped. "Though she did say Mr. Cutler was undergoing some stress related to work, something about a new product at Mighty Meats." She snapped her fingers, a look of revelation filled her face. "There was something in the paper a few months back about Mighty Meats being in the red for losing market share in the Midwest, but gained a new investor that helped shore up their bottom line. Plus Mrs. Cutler did say her husband made a call the night he went missing about going to a private party with 'board member uppity-ups'."
     "I know that look. You thinking it was something dirty, partner?"
     Karen smiled as she got up and slapped a ten-bill down on the counter for Dinah. "We're detectives now, and no stone will go unturned until we get our man. So I'm going to use my resources."
     Lisa harrumphed. "You mean you're going to use your brain trust. Honesty, if you don't do something nice it'll spoil on the vine."
     "I've been building up to it, Lisa. Like my mom said, love is like a crock pot: it takes a long time to cook but the end product is worth it."
     "Well, you better hurry anyway, girl. Wait too long and that crock pot will crack from the pressure."

The detectives went to Oklahoma City Courthouse, and once inside they went to the motor vehicles department. The women at the counter knew them on sight and permitted the duo into the office area. Tucked to the side and behind some partitions was the desk of one Nathan Vickers. His ears picked up the oh-so-slight whispers of his co-workers, and the familiar pattern of foot-falls on the floor told him who was coming. He stood up to his full 6'2" height and saw over the low partition his girlfriend and her partner approach. "What do I owe this pleasure, ladies?" Nathan said, looking quite happy for getting this pleasant break from the routine. "Quite nice outfits. Another undercover sting?"
     "Promotions," said Lisa, putting her arm around Karen's shoulders. "We're temporary detectives, with the prospect of being permanent ones."
     "Hopefully part of the reason was from the information I provided over the past few months." Nathan was tempted to whistle, for Karen did indeed look quite fine.
     "I have a favor to ask." It was almost a purr coming from Karen's throat. Looking up at her fine catch of a man she arched her back, and with her suit jacket unbuttoned it allowed her bust-defined shirt to issue forth like a pair of air pockets in a heated piece of dough. "Can you use that fine brain of yours, and your contacts, to get some information on Mighty Meats? I need to know about that investor that helped the company a few months back."
     Nathan's brown eyes locked on Karen's blue ones. He recalled that day five months ago when he first met Karen. She wanted some information on a set of license plates that belonged to a suspect. He was at the counter, and Karen wore a rather conforming sweater  on that February day. The look on his face had been atypical of men that wished they had x-ray vision. To her credit, Karen looked past that automatic reaction to her chest and instinctively knew Nathan was a 'keeper.' So, after almost drooling his willingness to provide further help the officer came back later with another request. That went on for two months before they both went out on their first lunchtime date. Being a handsome hunk Nathan used his charm to enlist the help of other city government employees, females of course, to gather information for Karen. A few more lunches and a dinner followed. Being a modern man, Nathan was willing to let Karen decided when to upgrade the relationship. However, he did decide to drop a hint. "No sweat, Sugar. I think I can give you something by closing tomorrow. Would you like it if I deliver it in person?"
     Karen was pleased that Nathan used her nickname, especially in this setting where subtle and not-so-subtle listening-in was conducted by Nathan's co-workers. If he was comfortable in addressing her in public that way then perhaps they were both ready. "Why not come over to my place tomorrow night for dinner and TV? Do you like pizza?"
     "Yeah, that will be nice. Beer too?"
     "Beer too." She patted the chest pocket of Nathan's short sleeve white shirt. "Come over at 7 p.m., and call my pager number before you leave so I'll know you're coming."
     "Okay, Sugar." He watched as the women left, and not for the first time wishing he did have x-ray vision so as see the sway of Karen's hips unobstructed by clothing.
     Once back in the hallway Lisa turn to her partner. "You're not supposed to give out your pager number. It's only for official police business." For emphasis she waved her cigarette pack-sized pager in front of Karen's face. "Since there's no number read-out, you have to treat each page as if it came from the Captain's office."
     "Oh, like you haven't given out your number too," Karen bantered back. "Plus the things don't work half the time 'cause were out of the pager's range. Tell me, does Darren page you in the middle of the night so you both can talk dirty?"
     "Like that's any of your concern, girl. What me and Darren do on the phone is our private business."
     "Yeah, and to any perv listening in at the phone company." Karen's grin would do the Cheshire Cat proud. "What do you do on those nights he's away with the baseball team? Do you snuggle with a blanket made from his back hair?"
     "Dream on, girl! You're just jealous that I've seen my boyfriend bare chested. I bet good money that Nathan is a Bigfoot under that shirt."
     "You're on, Lisa. I'll take a Polaroid to prove it."
     "Okay, but I'll know if you shaved him. Cherokee women can tell."

In that section of Oklahoma City that had the money from cattle and oil one would find either old, distinguished mansions or ones no better that gaudy eyesores. Mr. Baker was entering one of the latter. The fake Roman columns and heraldry screamed Hollywood cheapness. Whoever saw it had to conclude the builder had more money that fashion sense. Baker carefully timed his entry so the front yard sprinklers wouldn't get his boots wet. Once inside he took off his boots and proceeded towards the den, mindful that he didn't slip on the smooth hardwood floors. In the den itself the shades were drawn, the only light coming from the color television. An occupied recliner blocked the view of the set. Baker saw the left hand of his boss hover over an ashtray resting on a small cocktail table. In his hand was a cigar, and at just that moment a spent portion fell into the tray, the ash making a tiny puff. "Everything is going well at the plant, Sir," said Mr. Baker. "Dr. Jansen will be working all night to ensure the first test batch of Biggy Burgers will be ready for the site visit tomorrow."
     "Good, good," said the man in the chair. He didn't bother to turn around or have his subordinate come forward so as to see him directly. The boss then laughed and hacked, for he was watching The Lucy Show, one of his favorites. From an adjoining room came a wonderfully endowed, short slim woman in equally tiny dress that only barely covered her modesty. She gave the man a glass of iced tea, subduing the hacking. For that relief he planted a pair of pats to her bottom, sending her back. "Once our customers see the virtue of our new product they'll gladly help us in distribution and sales." He took another draw of iced tea. "Just one minor problem. My contact in the police department tells me a pair of detectives have been assigned to the case regarding Mr. Cutler, not the usual one they use to locate him after his pub crawls. A pair of young female detectives, from a familiar... pedigree."
     "Oh, I see. Will that entail a delay on our part until they accept the cover story, Sir?"
     "I will brook no delay," said the boss, snatching the cigar from the ashtray and taking a long draw from it. The exhaled smoke plume was fit for a back room poker game at a dockside warehouse. "Being such eager young beavers, the detectives will follow the script. They will ask questions at that bar in Norman tonight, and I have made arrangements. After all, what does one expect when women possessing such measurements and figures are in the midst of surly, unruly men? They won't be murdered, of course, as that would be counter-productive. In the aftermath, the Police will assign an unimaginative short-timer that will come to the conclusions we so carefully arranged beforehand."
     "As you wish, Sir. What shall we dine on tonight?"
     "Chicken! Lots and lost of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Seeing those pretty legs and breasts on Mary Lee gave me the hankering for some deep-fired comfort."

4
Norman, south of Oklahoma City, was the home of the University of Oklahoma. As a college town it was use to the partying done by students. However, even in this place there were spots that only the most foolish or confident of students would go to for a good time. The one bar Karen and Lisa were visiting this night, the Double Clutch, catered to a tough crowd, composed of grimy truckers, low-lifes and other dregs scrapped off the bottom of a shoe. In the air hung a definite haze of cigar and cigarette smoke, the ventilator fans either not working or at a fraction of their speed. The audio from the TV behind the counter was muted; it was showing a rerun of Toma, an ABC show. Other than conversations by the patrons the only other sound came from the ceiling speakers, and it's honky-tonk music that played. Eyes followed the duo as they went to the counter, getting the bartender's attention with flashing badges. Karen produced a photo from her interior suit jacket pocket, allowing the lusting eye of the bartender to gaze upon the woman's shirt-covered bounty. "I'm Detective Wilcox, and this is Detective Parlor, OCPD. Have you seen this man in your establishment last Tuesday night?"
     The man looked at the photo. From the corner of his eye he saw the woman's partner had her suit jacket unbuttoned too. With hands on her hips her shirt-wrapped globes came into view as well. He also noticed the shoulder holster she had on too. "He's been here before, but not Tuesday. Back on Saint Patty's Day. Paid for a round of drinks for everyone, and lost $500 in a pool game."
     "You know his name?" This came from Lisa, her face all business like Joe Friday.
     "Cutler. He gave me one of his business cards, saying that I'll get a discount if I used burgers and steaks from his company." The bartender pulled the card from the rollerdex he kept behind the counter and showed it to the detectives. Karen committed the card's appearance to memory.
     "Were you working here Tuesday night?" Karen, like Lisa, also took on the aire of Joe Friday.
     "No, one of my other bartenders was here." He gestured with the jerk of his chin towards a corner booth, next to the dart board and pool table. "Some of my regulars back on St. Patty's Day are here. They'll remember Mr. Cutler if they saw him on Tuesday."
     "Thank you for your co-operation," said Lisa, buttoning up her jacket as Karen did the same with hers. The duo went to the booth, finding it occupied by stereotypical rednecks one would expect from an exploitation film. "Excuse me, gentlemen," said Karen, almost mentally gagging for using that word on such brutes. She flashed her badge and then the photo. "Have you seen this man Tuesday night?"
     The grin from one man revealed teeth stained from chew tobacco. "Why, you're such a purty little thang in that get-up, missy. Why don't cha sit those sweet britches on my lap and I'll whisper it in ya ear."
     The man's breath's reeked of beer, chew, and beef jerky. Had the Geneva Convention been there they would've labeled the odor as a war crime. "So you're saying you don't know?"
     "Maybe I do, and maybe I don't, sweet britches. You're a public servant. Get me some beer and I'll tell ya."
     "Yeah," said the brute's confederate sitting next to the window. "You two look like waitresses at some of them fancy titty bars in Dallas instead of cops."
     A third brute with a mullet let the extinguished cigar in his mouth fall out. "Hell, both ya are all dolled-up like some of them Opry singers or Vegas girls. Do them threads come off easy with the tug of a finger?"
     The fourth man licked his lips after slamming the last of his beer, crushing the can in his hand. He looked at Lisa hard. "What are you, girlie? Are you some breed of Chink, Gook, or Jap? You the bastard brat of some Air Force grunt stationed in Ko-rhea?"
     Karen didn't need to see Lisa's face turn red from hate. She felt the heat of indignation radiating from her friend on her face. There was still a chance to pull out of this situation without resorting....
     "I'm part Cherokee, and the only bastards I see are sitting down in front of me." It was the way Lisa said those words that confirmed in Karen's mind that there was only one way out now.
     "An Injun half-breed?" said the first brute, stroking his unkempt bread. "Why you wearing such a nice suit, Squaw?" From the back of the man's throat came a glob of chew and mucus that landed with an audible hit on Lisa's lapel. "There, now you look like one of your chiefs on your reservayshon!" The men laughed and got up. From around the bar the booth confederates were joined by four others. Giggling, hooting, whistling, they boxed in the duo, the dart board at their back. The head brute cracked his knuckles. "Let's have us some fun, boys! Ain't no way they can get their guns fast enough. I'll take the Injun first. I haven't had me a squaw in a coon's age."
     It should've bothered the men that no fear or hesitancy were shown by the detectives. Instead the women had the concentration of tennis players about to deliver a serve. "Fun?" Karen said eagerly. "Let me show you some tricks first." To some hoots and whistles resulting from the men having juvenile thinking Karen retrieved a yo-yo from her outer suit jacket pocket. It looked like a normal yo-yo, but even the most junior aficionado would seen it didn't act like one. Then there was the sound. An ominous, low-pitch whistling one expects to hear in a graveyard.  Karen performed the Sleeper, Walking the Dog, and the Gravity Pull. Her eyes were bright and purposeful as she held the yo-yo in her hand, looking at the boss brute. She tapped the side of Lisa's boot, unseen or dismissed by the others. "And now, the Forward Pass." What came out of her hand was no Forward Pass; it was moving too fast for that, and the yo-yo's string was longer than she led the men to believe. At that moment in the bar, above the sound of the radio playing honky-tonk, was the crescendo of shattered teeth caused by a well-practiced throw of a yo-yo that was much heavier that one would expect. The head brute fell to the floor in abject pain, no longer able to make good on this word of having 'fun' tonight with Lisa.
     A pair of brutes charged only to be on the receiving end of the duo's martial art skills. They took a diver faster than a boxer in a fixed game. Judging their options, two other brutes got a little smarter and picked up pool cues. One swung at Lisa and missed, getting a boot to the elbow and blow to the jaw, falling like a bag of laundry. The other didn't close enough for that, for Karen employed her yo-yo, hitting the man directly in the forehead like it was a target at a fair. Far from convincing them that leaving was the best option the last three pretended that they were martial artists, for it was the beer that did the thinking for them. With exaggerated movement and sound they stepped over and stepped on their fallen brethren to get to the detectives, one throwing darts. Karen put a stop to that by hitting the man's hand with her amazing yo-yo. Limp wristed, the man watched as both women toyed with the other two brutes, slapping them instead of delivering fight-ending blows. When that wasn't enough to convince them to leave it was up the patented 'leadfoot' blows to the groin that took them down for the count. The last brute tried to book it. What he got was the yo-yo wrapped around his neck, and it wasn't thread but metal he felt on his fear-pulsing skin. A quick jerked rendered the brute unconscious, falling to the floor in a heap.
     "So uncivilized," Karen commented as she retrieved her yo-yo from around the greasy brute's neck. "Now I'll have to sanitize it."
     Lisa grabbed a napkin from a table, removing the worst of the glob from her suit jacket. The other bar patrons, just as scummy and uncouth as the brutes, were cowering at their tables and booths, and Lisa's face wasn't helping matters one bit. "Anyone else here know if Mr. Cutler was here last Tuesday?" When one patron pointed to the bartender the wrathful woman had a target for her visage. The man was attempting to dial a phone, soon put to an end when Karen's yo-yo knocked it off the counter, the now shattered casing becoming more so when it fell to the floor.
     "It must've been a good pay-off," Karen said, unconsciously speaking in the tone of an indignant Joe Friday. "Otherwise you wouldn't have directed us to any of your customers. So what was the plan? Beat us up so badly that we'll be taken off the case, or worse?" The whistling from her spinning yo-yo sent chills up the man's noodle of a spine. She aimed and released her deadly toy at the love tester at the end of the counter. The device screeched and wailed when the yo-yo hit, lights blinking fast enough to induce a seizure.
      The bartender sweated. "I never saw him before. He came in before opening and gave me some cash, telling me to direct you to the guys that'll be in that booth tonight."
     Lisa approached the counter. "Now we're making progress." She reached across, grabbed the bartender by his apron, and pulled him close. He stank of fear. "This is how it's going to go down. You have two options. It's all too clear that Mr. Cutler was here last Tuesday. You can tell us what he did that night and if he left with anyone else, plus whatever you call tell us about the man that gave you the money."
     "What's the second option?" The man said on the verge of stuttering.
     Karen took care of this, the yo-yo still making its ominous whistling. "If you don't tell us, then instead of telling the Norman PD that this was simply a drunken brawl we'll say that an attempted rape was involved. You know what that would entail, don't you, other than a messy new coverage you can't nowhere near afford. You'll have cops taking their off-shift brew here every day from now on. Hell, it'll become a cop bar, and I'd imagine you'll lose all of your clientele and whatever take you get from under the table business that occurs here. Now, which option do you prefer? Offer expires while you wait."

Captain Mugsford would be enjoying his coffee at this particular moment Friday morning. Instead he was reading a copy of a report from the Norman PD. On the other side of the desk, waiting patiently, were Sugar and Cinnamon. They wore different outfits today. Gone were the slacks, replaced by skirts that just reached the knees. Boots were exchanged with shoes, just as fashionable and steel-reinforced for all occasions. The jackets were open and loose, police badges on neck chains rested on firm, blouse-covered bosoms that rose and fell with measured breaths. Aside from the badges and the shoulder holsters one would think they were applying for receptionist and secretarial jobs, especially with the optimistic faces they wore.
      Mugsford looked at the report, then at the duo, and then back to the report. "Where to begin? I suppose the bartender's account is as good as any. He said that a fight started out when those rednecks attempted to assault the two of you. What resulted was a fight, and I quote, 'straight from that Kung-Fu TV show'."
      Cinnamon made a dismissive sound. "Hardly, Captain. Not everybody was kung-fu fighting. We were fast as lightning compared to those jokers."
       "It was a little bit frightening," Sugar added, "actually having to use our hand-to-hand skills against so many opponents at one time. We were diamonds in the rough, though we fought with expert timing."
      Cinnamon broke in with perfect synchronicity. "We were chopping them up and down, doing feints and slips, kicking from the hip. Give us credit for not resorting to our guns."
      That raised Mugsford's brow as he looked at Sugar. "Speaking of weapons, the bartender and some patrons said you used a yo-yo to knock out some of the rednecks. Broken teeth, fractured bones, deep bruising. Even the love tester machine was destroyed."
      "I'm sorry for any collateral damage that resulted. I had to use what I know, Captain." Sugar produced the apparently innocuous object. It was painted red-and-white. Instead of wood it was made of steel, and its metal string was as strong as it was flexible. "Daddy got it while on occupation duty in Japan."
      "Yes, I do remember that now. He used that once to take down a Commie in Korea, saved my life in fact. As for your professional lives the bartender and the rednecks aren't going to press charges. The way you subdued them got past their drunken brains and put the fear of God into them. Was all that mayhem worth it?"
      Sitting up straight, Cinnamon spoke with great enthusiasm. "Oh yes, Captain, very much. The bartender was paid by a so-far unidentified man to have us put out of commission by those rednecks. Plus the bartender swore it was an employee of Mighty Meats, a regular at the bar, that drove Mr. Cutler away that night he went missing. We have the name of that employee, one Jesse Durkel."
      Mugsford stroke his considerable double-chin. "Hmm. You two are onto something. Okay, take it up a notch. Go to Mighty Meats and talk with Mr. Durkel, the vice-president and anyone else that might have helpful information. As this has the beginnings of a potential kidnapping case you'll need some help." The Captain pressed a button on his desk intercom. "Jasmine, get Detective Dixon...." The door to office exploded open twice as in many days.  "....Mantooth." He released the button, glaring at the intruder. "Why compels you to enter my office with such urgency, Dick?"
      "Dick?" Sugar giggled and smirked. "That's his nickname?"
      "That's the first time it's ever been used in our presence," Cinnamon managed to say pass suppressed laughter. "Perhaps they were being considerate of our company."
      "Captain, they did it again!" Dixon raged. "They took my piece when I wasn't looking."
      "You broke the truce first... Dick." Sugar got up, followed by Cinnamon. "Our bras went missing as we took our showers here this morning. We're both going half-commando, and we're using flesh-colored bandages to cover our nips. If our boobies weren't so firm to begin with we'd be busting buttons left and right."
      The top of Dixon's bald head was red again. "Well, I sure as hell didn't take'em! Now, where is it?"
      Cinnamon consulted her watch. "Hey, partner, they should be here now."
      Sugar looked at her timepiece also. "If we hurry, we might see them leave."
      "Who? Who!" Dixon demanded.
      "Come and see." Sugar lead the others to a window that overlooked the parking lot. There sat a vehicle from Animal Control. While one officer held the back doors to the vehicle open another came into view. He had one those long poles used to keep vicious dogs under control at a safe distance. Instead of a dog being held in the leather straps at the pole's far end it was what appeared to be a small bundle of fur. Dixon knew otherwise. "My, my piece!" he shouted, running through the squad bay towards the stairwell.
      The two detectives did a high five, making their firm but braless busts wobble from the effort. Mugsford only sighed. "Go, just... go. I still want your preliminary findings on my desk by four."
      "You won't be disappointed, Captain," Sugar beamed.

5
The Mighty Meats processing plant was located right next to the Stockyards. Combined with the usual smells that came with thousands of head of cattle being processed daily those odors from the plant were part of the ambiance. Stepping out of her 'Cuda, Karen didn't allow the raunchy emanations to harsh her calm, while Lisa appeared to be trapped in a cow patty minefield. "Oh, for goodness sakes, Lisa. You lived on a barn as a kid. You're acting like a city girl that considers a public park to be wilderness."
     "I grew up on farm," said Lisa, her words muffled by the handkerchief she had over her mouth, "not a cattle ranch."
     "Speaking of ranches, here comes the shit-kicker himself." Lisa saw and waited as Dixon parked his red-and-black '72 Camaro. With toupee in place the man walked up to the duo, both not sure if it was smells or them personally that made his nose itch like a rabbit. "Good timing, Dix. Now that we're all here let's start with Mr. Kelly Osgood."
     The man's nose still twitched like it had a mind of its own, and if it did it would be a shade smarter than the body it was attached to, truth be told. "Lead the way, Wilcox. The Captain has made it clear that you're leading the investigation."
     "Then let's get to it." Greeted by plant security, the trio were informed that Mr. Osgood was on the top floor of the processing plant extension. Waiting for them by the elevator inside was the receptionist/secretary Madlene. She was five inches taller than Lisa, and showing off a generous amount of leg that came from the bottom of a short skirt. Madlene's blouse was tight with the top four buttons undone. Even then there was a muffin effect for her considerable bounty. Karen hazard a guess that the woman's bosom equaled Lisa's and her own combined. Apparently a Christian woman, Madlene wore a small crucifix around her neck. Half of it was out of sight in the woman's cleavage. Had the separation between the fleshly orbs been greater then the suffering image of the Son of God would been smothered in loving comfort. It was embarrassing the way Dixon's eyes seemingly wanted to pop of out their sockets right then and there, so Karen slapped him in the small of his back. "Manners, Detective Mantooth."
     "That's quite alright, Detective," Madlene said in a silky smooth voice. Her accent was different, more Chicago than OKC. "I can't blame men for looking at the body God gave me. Please, follow me." From the look on Dixon's face if she wanted him to jump off a cliff he would've asked how high of a one to do it from. On the elevator Madlene was in the rear, and being such a small space her lungs were up against Dixon's back, much to his private delight. Up on the third (top) floor the elevator doors opened up to a plush reception area. There, waiting by Madlene's desk was Mr. Osgood.
     After the introductions the detectives started their interview, sitting on the ornate furniture that decorated the room.. After confirming all previous information on Cutler's drunken misadventures Karen struck out on fresh territory. "Mr. Osgood, it has come to our attention that on the night Mr. Cutler went missing that he was in the company of one Jesse Durkel, one of his employees. We would like to interview him."
     "Hmm. I believe he's one of our delivery truck drivers." Osgood turned to the left in his plush chair. There, leaning over to hear his words, was Madlene. All three detectives got a double eyeful of the woman's cleavage, and Karen revised the woman's estimated bust size by 20%, that is to say basketballs instead of volleyballs. "Madlene, please go to the records department and fetch Durkel's file for the detectives."
     "Yes, Mr. Osgood." She slinked out of the office, and if asked Dixon could recall the number of steps the secretary took.
     "More questions, Sir," said Karen. "Mrs. Cutler said that her husband was agitated due to work, something regarding a new partner."
     Osgood nodded. "Truth be told, Cutler had some reservations about the new partner and the Biggy Burgers product. Mainly, though, it was a personal reason."
     "Personal, Mr. Osgood?"
     Appearing uncomfortable, the man looked at Karen and then glanced at Lisa. "It's no small secret, but Cutler was bigoted. He disliked minorities in general and Italians in particular. Cutler fought in Sicily and Italy in World War 2, and lost some friends. It reinforced an already negative view he had of Italians, and it took little prompting for him to go off on the subject, especially when he's been drinking."
     Lisa jotted down some words in her notebook. "Is this new partner in town? Mrs. Cutler mentioned a party her husband attended on Tuesday night. We would like to know if  this partner was in attendance. We would like to talk to him."
     "You're in luck, Detective Parlor. I'll be able to introduce him to you presently. I'm having a plant tour to promote the new Biggy Burger."
     "Thank you." Lisa turned. "Karen, would you stay to get that file on Mr. Durkel and interview Madlene? She should be able to give us more details on Cutler's doings leading up to Tuesday. Me and Dixon will go on this tour."
     "Good. I'll interview Durkel once I'm done here," Karen replied. "Mr. Osgood, if anything else comes up regarding Cutler please give us a call. Here's our card."
     Osgood accepted the card and drew one of his own from his suit jacket pocket. "Here's mine. Now, If you'll follow me my other guests are arriving."

Down on the processing floor a group of five men, already in white overcoats, hard hats and goggles were waiting. Lisa, Dixon and Osgood joined them, a floor worker handing out the required gear. Just as they were done the final members appeared, comprising of one young woman, a tall middle-aged man, and two older men. While the woman called Janeen was all-American her grandfather Dr. Jansen had an accent that Lisa labeled as Kraut. The tall one, Baker, sounded like he came from out East. As for the last one he was a shorty, not quite 5'0" and had a complexion of a man that spent his youth in the fields. A smoker, the man took a final draw on the cigarette he had and crushed the resulting butt on the floor under the heal of his expensive loafers. With his age-lined face and easy smile Lisa imagined him to be an Italian grandfather. He also dressed well, looking official and wealthy. Osgood did the introduction. "Detective Parlor, this is Gaspare Giganti, owner of Marsala Manufacturing and partner with Mighty Meats."
      "A pleasure, to be sure." Giganti took Lisa's hand and kissed the top of it. "How can I be of help to such a fine, beautiful member of the Police?"
      The accent was Italian alright, and his height lent weight to the idea that he was Sicilian. Lisa's father had a scrapbook of the Sicilian Campaign, and she was reminded of the number of short Sicilian men in those photos. "I would like you to answer some questions in regards to Mr. Cutler."
      "Of course, of course my Latin Rose. I shall try to answer to the best of my recollection. As you say, the devil is in the details."
      Lisa blushed. In her life she gotten very few honest compliments on her beauty, let alone having a gentleman kiss her hand. "Me and Detective Mantooth will ask them as we take the tour. First, though, where we you on the night of July 16th?"

While the tour group was shown the particulars of the rendering, processing, and packaging lines of the Mighty Meats plant one would find Karen in the cafeteria interviewing one Jesse Durkel. Built like a brick and easily over 6 feet in height Jesse took a draw on the cigarette he just lit. His forearms were bare. On his right was an American flag tattoo while on the left was a snake in the shape of a circle, the tip of its tale in its mouth. After five minutes of the basics Karen got down to the meat. "Mr. Durkel, were you asked by Mr. Osgood to be Cutler's chauffeur on the night in question?"
      Exhaling the latest draw straight up Durkel appeared to have fog around his head. "Only at the last moment, ma'am. Mr. Osgood told me that he had a hunch that Cutler would be at that bar in Norman. He had me go down there in Cutler's car, pick him up, and take him to a house on the north side of Lake Eufaula." He rattled off the address, taking another draw on the cigarette. "He chose me in case Cutler ran into trouble at the Double Clutch. I've been there before several times and it's a rough place."
      "Did Mr. Osgood tell you the reason why it was important to take Cutler to that house at Lake Eufaula?" Again Karen came off sounding like Joe Friday. She couldn't help herself, for Dragnet was one of her favorite shows, and one of the influences that shaped her desire to become a cop.
      "Yeah. Said that Mr. Giganti wanted to show his appreciation for Cutler's patience and co-operation by throwing him a party. Told me to return to OKC once I've dropped him off at that Eufaula house."
      "Can anyone say they saw you that night?"
      "Yes, ma'am." Durkel flexed his guns, and Karen was tempted to ask if he licenses for them. "Ask the Shell gas station attendant at Okemah. He saw me and Cutler."
      Karen wrote down the address of the gas station. "That is all for now." She pulled a card from her right blouse pocket. "Phone in case you recall anything else."
      Durkel held Karen's hand in his massive paw. "Say, Detective, how about I give you a call after you solve this case? I like to take you out to the rodeo and show you a good time."
      Karen leaned forward in her chair, giving Durkel's eyes the pleasure of her generous blouse. "Not to mention Police regulations, I'm already committed to someone else. Plus, I don't think you'll be attending any rodeos in the near future." With that she delivered a swift kick to the shin under the table. Durkel's eyes glazed over with pain, his teeth clenched and Karen's hand was released out of reflex. "You didn't listen to your mama. It's not nice to take a lady's hand without her consent." She left the cafeteria and the prideful, hurting man to his misery. With a floor manager showing the way Karen caught up to the tour at the processing portion. Like Lisa, she was surprized by Mr. Giganti's height. Man he's fucking short, she thought. Either that's borderline dwarfism or that's a kid with one hell of a makeup job. She had her questions for the man, top of which was what happened to Cutler after the party.
      "Oh, I hope I'm not in trouble, my raven-haired beauty," said a suave Mr. Giganti. "One of the gifts I gave to Cutler was a three-day stay at my house in Bermuda. I had Mr. Baker drive him to the airport at Tulsa and use my plane. He should be back early Sunday here at Oklahoma City."
      "I see." Karen jotted down that little tidbit. The tour eventually ended at the loading docks. Karen talked with Osgood about Durkel, and Lisa confirmed the driver's schedule with the dock manager. With coats, hats and goggles returned the duo thanked Osgood and Giganti for their time. At the 'Cuda they were met by a hustling Madlene, her bust putting great stress to the buttons of her blouse. "I'm glad I caught you before you left." In her hands were four small coolers, emblazoned with the Mighty Meats logo. "Compliments of Mr. Giganti. These are the first samples of the Biggy Burger."
      "Technically we're not supposed to accept gifts," Lisa said. "But since we were part of an official tour we very well can't refuse."
      "Plus we don't want to hurt the old man's feelings now, would we." With that Karen took two and Lisa the other pair. Bringing up the rear was Dixon, and he had four of small coolers in his hands. "That patently unfair," Karen said with fake indignation. "You get four while use girls only get two each."
      "Oh, come on, Karen. Be fair to the man," chided Lisa. "He has a family, after all. Plus he has Scruffy to feed."
      Dixon got the reference, and didn't appreciate it. "Get bent you two," came what passed for as wit. "Just watch it, or else one of your little stunts will get the Captain all flipped out and you'll be busted down to traffic control. Now, meet me back at the Station and we'll make the report for the Captain all copacetic."
      Lisa just smiled. "Catch you on the flipside... Dick."
      Back at the docks Giganti watched as the officers loaded up their cars with the frozen meaty gifts and drove off. Dixon was what he expected, an unimaginative gumshoe with an atrocious toupee. The two women, however, were far more interesting. With his keen eye and decades of practice he deduced their measures, even though it was in his power to get them from police records. Karen Wilcox was 5'4", 126 pounds, and wore a 32G bra. Lisa Parlor was 5'6", 136 pounds, and needed a 32H bra to corral her puppies. Baker stood by Giganti's side, looking concerned. "Sir, was that the prudent thing to do? Those two didn't become detectives just on their good looks."
      "Yes, they have the grey matter," Giganti conceded. "But they're part and parcel of this new feminism. God's witness, they were so committed that they didn't bother with bras this morning. I could hear their boob meat rustle under those blouses when they walked."
      "They're formidable fighters, if you can believe the bartender," Baker amended.
      "That's why I gave them those burger patties, my good friend. They look like the kind that'll give those patties a try this weekend, and by Monday at the latest they'll be too distracted by 'recent developments'." Giganti's laugh was quickly followed by a short hacking fit. He resumed after drinking some cola offered by Baker. "That plus the other parts of my plan will ensure they'll reach the conclusions I so carefully arranged. Wilcox and Parlor?" Giganti made a dismissive gesture. "They are nothing to me."

6
Back at the station the detectives went about filling in the blanks before finalizing their report. Karen called the Tulsa PD and sent a photo of Cutler via a facsimile machine. She asked for them to check the airport to confirm that Giganti's plane was there Tuesday night and that it had taken off with Cutler on board. Lisa likewise called the Okemah PD, sending a facsimile of Cutler and Durkel for them to show to the attendant of the gas station where Durkel refueled the car. In a reversal of roles it was Dixon that wrote the report under the supervision of Karen with an occasional addition or correction from Lisa. All three presented their report together to Mugsford. He appraised the contents like an instructor grading final tests. "Now you see the virtues of working together," the senior officer said. "Now get out of my office and enjoy the evening. If you feel the need to follow up any lead then by all means do so. Being a cop is a 24 hours a day job, and crime..."
     "...never sleeps." This came from Jasmine, head poking under the proverbial tent. "Captain, I need to leave work early to beat the rush at the grocery where I shop."
     "Okay, Jasmine." He waved her off. "I think the world will survive if you left 30 minutes early. That goes for rest of you as well. Now get."
     While Dixon went to his desk the three women went outside together. At Karen's car their was a divvying of the Mighty Meat take. Karen and Lisa kept one small cooler each while Jasmine took two. "Oh, thanks you. Now my hubby has something for the grill this Saturday, and I saved some money in  the process."
     Karen patted her belly. "As much as I like burgers and barbecue I have to watch what I eat. I think eight patties over the next week is enough."
     "So speaks the rabbit," Lisa said with tongue planted in cheek. "I'll take what you don't finish."
     "You'll take what Devlin doesn't finish. I heard you making that call from the pay phone earlier. You're having him over at your place tonight to celebrate your promotion."
     "That I am, Karen, while you're having a working dinner with Nathan. Just tell me what he found out about Mighty Meats."
     "I will, partner. Take care."

Nathan Vickers, 27, six years of Marine Corps service under his belt with two of those in Vietnam, felt a hesitancy that only the confessional booth evoked as he knocked on the front door of Karen Wilcox's house. It was a small affair with an equally small front yard. As that yard was now in shadow Karen had a sprinkler at work to feed the parched grass with much needed water. Karen answered presently, ushering in her boyfriend to the much appreciated relief of air conditioning. "A nice, cozy place you have here," he said automatically, unbuttoning the second of three buttons on his polo shirt.
      "Thank you, Nathan." Adorned in jeans, t-shirt, and kitchen apron Karen also had flour on her hands. "I'm still rolling the dough for the pizza. Have a look around the living room. I'll be with you in a couple of minutes."
      Nathan found the room as he imagined it, sized for a past era that couldn't have predicted the present contents. The cream-colored curtains for the windows were drawn closed, light being provided by a combo ceiling fixture/fan and two poles with funneled bulbs pointing in several directions. In the corner was a 24" color TV, obviously a gift from Karen's father and his oil money, while a credenza radio/tape/record player took the wall under the windows. A large aquarium filled up another wall. Of the various tropical fish present the largest was a Jack Dempsey. The watery critter rose to the surface, mouth puckering in a Pavlovian manner as Nathan stood there gazing back at it. He took it upon himself and fed the fish from an already open jar, watching as it inhaled the flakes like a vacuum cleaner. A large couch took up the third wall, and upon closer inspection it had a fold-out bed. On the last wall were bookshelves, filled with tomes and family photos.
      As Karen mentioned very little about her family Nathan was pleased to see she came from a large one. Being the sole girl among five boys would tend to make fathers either treat them as a princess or a tomboy. Judging from Karen's behavior and views it was undoubtedly the latter. The family photo in question it was clear she was the oldest of the siblings, standing a head taller than the oldest brother. Mrs. Wilcox, graced with a face that would evoke envy in Hollywood, had the youngest sibling on her lap, a baby perhaps no older than one year. Another photo that held pride of place, being right next to the family one, was of Mrs. Wilcox in an archtypical Rosie the Riveter garb. This photo was labeled November 17th, 1944, Douglas Bomber Plant, Tulsa. Nathan looked at the rest of the photos. All of them had labels as well, so it was this way he learned that Mr. Wilcox served in WW2, fighting in New Guinea and Okinawa followed by occupation duty in Japan. He was also a Korean War vet, for one photo's label had him at the Pusan Perimeter. It was while so enthralled that he was startled when Karen made her presence known.
      "Oh, I should've said something first," Karen admitted, hands now free of flour. "Marines and their hard-wired reflexes and all. You could've spun around and twisted my head off like a bottle cap."
      Nathan's boyish grin was all natural and not forced, something that endeared him to Karen. "Despite what the papers and magazines would have you believe, Marines don't twist - we bite'em off like chicken heads."
      "I see that you've taken an interest in the rouge's gallery." Karen picked and held the family photo, her hand brushing away dust both real and imaginary. "Do you have much in the way of family?"
      "Three little sisters, all of them in college. Umm... I've been meaning to ask. Not to sound like I'm rushing things, but where you going to introduce me to your parents? I'm sure they'll be proud that you landed a catch like me."
      That made Karen raise her brow. "Catch? It's more like beaching Moby Dick." She patted her tall beau's firm chest. "Kidding. I'm sure my dad will approve, despite you being a Marine. As for mom..." she held herself for a moment, hand covering that portion of the photo. "She's not been on this Earth for thirteen years now. Cancer."
      "My condolences. Again, not to sound insensitive, I'm sure she would have approved the way you turned out."
      "Turned out? Nathan, it's more like fill out." Following that sassy line Karen pushed out her tee-covered chest, showing her man that there was no bra to mute her small but tweakable nipples. "When she passed, I had to be more like a mother than a sister for my little brothers, all at a tender age of 14. While I got my blue eyes and great legs from her I got my chest and strength from my father's side of the family. Here." She placed the family photo back to its treasured spot on the shelf and picked out another. "This is my father's sister Rebecca. She and her friend Pamela Parlor disappeared in southern Egypt in May of 1949. Dad has a key taped behind the mailbox, just so it'll be there if Rebecca returns." Handing the fancy-framed picture to Nathan for a closer look, Karen fetched another. "And this is his other sister Tabitha. In the war she was a FBI agent, and has been a Forest Service ranger for the last 27 years in Idaho."
      Having seen and done things in 'Nam that would curdle one's blood Nathan felt his own warm up like taco sauce in a microwave. "I see they're rather... well equipped, especially Tabitha, and are very lovely indeed."
      "Good choice of words. Other boys couldn't help but comment on how big those 'damn boobies' were when I showed them those pics back in high school and college. That turned me off, even more if they showed themselves to be pot-smoking anti-war hippie commies."
      "Well, I'm none of that," Nathan grinned. "So, when will the pizza be ready?"
      "Thirty minutes. It's hamburger, onion, pepper and olive. With extra cheese too. If you're still hunger after that, then there's some TV dinners we can dig into."
      "Good. I love hamburger."

While chowing down on pizza, drinking beer and with the TV turned to NBC with the volume set low Nathan told Karen what he found out about Mighty Meats. What he had to say jived pretty much with what Karen found out earlier in the day. What was new was the fact that Marsala Manufacturing, Mr. Giganti's company, made it a condition of his partnership to install new equipment at the Mighty Meats processing plant. This despite the fact that Mighty Meats had a major upgrade not more than two years earlier. Additionally, Mighty Meats, having tried to provide hamburger meat at All Sports Stadium, home of the 89ers, finally succeeded just before the season started. Coincidentally, this was shortly after Mr. Giganti arrived on the scene. Karen placed those two facts in that part of her brain that concerned itself with police matters. After eating her half of the pizza and downing three beers there were other matters that required her attention.
      "Damn, it's hot in here," the detective commented, looking at the thermostat like it was holding out during an interrogation. "I've set the temp to 70 and it's still hotter than an oven." Sweat rolled down her face, prompting her to fetch another beer. She got one for Nathan as well, and only after drinking half a can did she come up for air. "I don't know about you, but you know what makes me feel cooler? Music."
      Unable to deny his covetous eyes, Nathan wished he was the sweat-soaked tee that conformed to Karen's bust like a second skin. "Put on a record, any record. Your house." For saying that he was treated to seeing his girl's jean-accented backside as she opened the credenza and fetched a record from the bookshelf. He admired the small and obviously toned bottom she had, thanking she wasn't saddled with a wide-end that typified the majority of his female co-workers at the DMV.
      "If you'll excuse me for a moment," Karen said in a quite sultry voice, "I'll need to freshen up." After engaging the record player she left the room. Nathan's expectation was fueled to greater heights when he heard what record it was - Barry White's Can't Get Enough. His hand went to his wallet, an unneeded action as the package rubber was still there, his Marine training insuring that he was 'always prepared.' He did wish he had the power of future sight, for had he known what was about to happen then he would've truly been prepared.
      Karen had returned to the living room. She was now clad in a Japanese styled robe that reached only a little bit beyond her crotch. Her raven-black hair was draped over her right shoulder, and it stayed there as she did a full turn in front of her man. Nathan lusted, for he saw his woman wore an abbreviated panty that the serving girls in Saigon's bars typical had under their short-short dresses. Karen's voice flowed like soothing liquor down one's throat. "Daddy got this while in Japan. He had to outbid a fellow solider to get it. Twelve cartons, cartons, not packs, of cigarettes and 20 bars of chocolates." She sat down next to Nathan, folding one leg under her and putting a hand on his chest. "Mommy gave it to me before she died, telling me it was a special."
      "How is it special?" Again, the understandable lust came to the fore as his eyes looked down at Karen's front. The top of the robe was loose, and he could see the mass and cleavage of Karen's sweat-glistening boobies.
      Karen played with the third and last button on Nathan's polo shirt. "Well, every time my Mommy wore it she got Daddy to make babies with her. Six times she wore it, and nine months later each time came another baby."
      The track on the record changed, and it was You're the First, the Last, My Everything now swelling the air with the sexy tones of White's voice. Nathan was swelling in a certain spot as well, and being a detective Karen didn't fail to notice. "You saying you want a hot oven?"
      Playtime over, Karen undid the polo shirt button and worked on the belt buckle. "Not now, not next year, not until I showed those pigheads in the squad room that I got what it takes to play in the big leagues. You want to be with me when that happens?"
      "Oh, yeah, baby." That phrase came out Nathan's mouth without any effort. Strange, but it would've taken twice as many beers to reach this level of willingness. He took off the polo like it was on fire, and Karen helped with the pants, pulling them off like the sweat-soaked garment it was.
      "Help me," Karen cooed. Nathan obliged, moving the coffee table out of the way and then deploying the fold-away bed from the couch. He did another kind of deploying, removing his briefs and putting the rubber on in record time.
      The smile on the woman's face showed that she loved what she saw. The robe fell to the floor, exposing a pair of breasts that were almost a handful for Nathan. She had her man get on the bed first, and while he watched performed a sensual belly dance that ended with the removal of the panty. She climbed into bed, straddling him like she was about to arrest him, hands on his firm, masculine shoulders. On his part Nathan moved his hands over Karen's gleaming body, from thighs to breasts, his hands cupping them like baby pumpkins. He played with them for a minute, thumbs moving back and forth over the nipples like rocker switches, making the couple sweat all the more, despite the fact the house was downright chilly.
      "What's the charge, officer?" Nathan teased, lightly pulling on Karen's tits, bringing her face down lower for a kiss.
      "Theft. Specifically, this woman's heart." She said after pulling back.
      "Is there anything that I should be doing at this point?"
      With her hands moving down Nathan's chest, Karen stopped at his waist. "You can help... by resisting arrest."
      The room got noticeably hotter and humid for the next hour. The record player, set to automatic replay, kept Barry White's music in the air all night.

7
Other than registering Devlin's presence next to her as she roused from the realm of sleep Lisa nearly exclaimed a profanity on how the air was downright cold. She got out of bed, donning a panty followed by a bedshirt that went down to her thighs, and, still drowsy, made for the thermostat. After adjusting it to turn on only when the temperature rose to 75 Lisa then went to the bathroom. She turned on the radio she had hanging from a hook next to the mirror. It was set to a country music station, the song Jolene coming from the speaker. It was then she heard the back door of her house open thanks to the little bell installed above it. Living in what was considered a rough part of OKC, Lisa got the .22 she kept under the sink, checked the action, and tip toed out. The footfalls coming down the hall were familiar, but it was the patter of dog feet that sealed the deal. "Okay, Karen," the Parlor woman said, venturing into the hallway. "What's so important that you had to come to my house on a Saturday morning unannounced? It better be work related, or so help me I''ll give you a Dutch rub if I miss my cartoons." She secured the .22 between the elastic band of her panty and hip, and then looked at the German Shepard by Karen's side. It was Rufus, Lisa's dog, having spent the night outside while Lisa and Devlin were being intimate. A loyal, devoted pet, the only people Rufus accepted as friendly were Karen, Devlin, Lisa's mom and the mailman. The dog sat their happily, tongue hanging out in a comical manner. "Why are you looking so happy for? I bet she gave you a handful of bacon to keep you from bow-wowing, you silly dog."
     Far from the intention of surprising a friend Karen looked downright concerned. She wore sandals, jeans, and a voluminous 89ers t-shirt. "Lisa, something weird happened last night. I must've caught a bug. Even though the house turned into an icebox I was burning up."
     "So you had some red-hot loving with Nathan last night? Righteous, sister!" Lisa smiled like cat that ate a honey barbecue canary. "I hope it was just love and not a bug. You had protection?"
     "Of course I did." Karen said defensively. "But it has to be some kind of bug to cause this!" She pulled the tee off, exposing her chest to a now dumbstruck Lisa. "My bras don't fit me anymore. I'm ether busting out of the cups or the straps can't latch."
     "Hot damn, girl. You're bigger alright! Two cup sizes easy. You're giving Dolly Parton some competition now."
     Karen handled one breast like it was an oversized cantaloupe at a grocery, fingers sinking into the firm yet yielding flesh. "It's as cold as Hell in this house too, Lisa. Did you and Devlin get all hot and bothered last night, bumping uglies?"
     Cupping her breasts initially, Lisa took off the bedshirt for a visual confirmation. Now it was Karen's turn to be startled. "You had some growing too, girl. Did yelling out God's name last night cause that?"
     Lisa felt up her left breast like it was a large, fresh fruit at a roadside stand. "Damn, I'm bigger for sure. If there were doubts of me having a photoshoot in Playboy they're gone now."
     "Wow, so it is true." Both women turned to the source of the voice. It belonged to Devlin Mancuso, center fielder for the 89ers and Lisa's man. Wearing a towel to cover his pride, the mustachioed baseball player leaned up against the bedroom door frame. "So this is what girls do in locker rooms or when the men aren't around." Covered in goosebumps due to the cold air, Devlin couldn't help but notice Lisa and Karen's nips were fully extended. If they were much bigger they could be compared to meat thermometers in cooking turkeys. "Want me to help determine who's larger? I have expert hands, after all."
     While Karen covered her lungs out of modesty Lisa pointed with conviction to Devlin like he was in a line-up. "You just turn around and take that hairy man-back of yours into the shower. You have a game today, and if you're late like the last time I'll help the manager by scalping you." Her finger, initially pointing at this head, moved down to his crotch. "It would make a fine war trophy."
     "Okay, Apache Chief, I'll be good." The smiling man crossed the hall and dipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him before Lisa could slap his posterior.
     Karen put her massive tee back on. "As much as I like the freedom, Lisa, we're going to need new boulder holders pronto. Our boobies truly are moron magnets now."
     "Then there's just one person that can help us. We'll go as soon as I can get a shower and change."

On a Saturday morning one expected a man of Dr. Jansen's standing to be hitting the links, but he was happily working on a journal in his office. His granddaughter Janeen was with him at the plant also, doing some inspections on the processing floor when something caught her eye. She consulted the floor plans twice, and then talked to the floor manager about a particular hopper that fed an ingredient into the mix just before the meat patties were made. She took a sample from that hopper as well as the others. For the next hour she tested the ingredients in a quality control lab, and when she came to the ingredient from the mystery hopper she couldn't make heads or tails of it. Notes in hand, she went to see her grandfather.
      "Ah, my treasure, what is it?" Jansen stood up, taking off his glasses.
      Janeen held out the folder that had her findings. "Grandfather, we should stop the processing line now. There's an irregularity that needs to be addressed."
      "Oh? Do tell." For the next five minutes Janeen explained what she found, the good doctor nodding acknowledgment every so often. Fetching a cloth from his desk the elder man rubbed his glasses. "Don't worry, my dear," he finally said. "I'm sure Mr. Osgood has accounted for that ingredient. The FDA knows about it, and It's in the records, I assure you."
      Janeen's face said otherwise, showing a steadfastness that came for her father. "Assuring is one thing, grandfather, but proof is another. I want to see the relevant documentation. Proof that this ingredient is safe and has FDA approval. Until then I will insist that the line be stopped and no further product be made, let alone distributed, until everything is copacetic."
      "I see." Jansen patted her hand. "You go on and make your case with Mr. Osgood. With my support he'll have to give you access to the files."
      "Thank you, grandfather." With that Janeen left the office, unaware that her conversation was overheard by a figure that pressed an ear to the wall the whole time. Kept in shadow for the most part, it was only a brawny bicep that identified the figure as a man. That plus an artfully down tattoo of a snake in the shape of a circle, seemingly biting its tail.

Meanwhile in that section of OKC called Midtown, dominated by brick and mortar buildings from the turn of the century, one can find an establishment called The Perfect Fit. It was owned by Jasmine's tall aunt, Wanesha. One can safely say that she was a large woman, but none dare use the word fat within earshot, or even think it within her line of sight. Jovial and experienced, the woman plied her garment-making craft to satisfy any customer. She was also quite opinionated and expressive, and today was no different. With the album Let Me In Your Life playing over the store's speakers she let everyone know of the arrival of her two special customers. "Smilin' Mighty Jesus!" the sassy black woman exclaimed. "You two waited this long to see me? Your puppies must be barking something fierce."
      Sugar and Cinnamon, both wearing large t-shirts in an effort to conceal their enlarged size, walked briskly over to Wanesha so as to talk quietly. "How did you know, Auntie?" said Sugar with a little bit of embarrassment. As friends, Sugar and Cinnamon could call her that ever since they bagged a thief in the shop three years ago. Since then they had custom clothes made there at a discount.
      "Girl, nothing gets past these eyes of mine." With that she hugged Sugar with one arm and Cinnamon with the other. Again, Wanesha was large woman. "I saw the way you carried yourself outside the shop window, plus the wind helped when it did a number on your shirt and highlighted your chest bumps. Now, you two, come with Auntie. I'm gonna measure you for a new set of boobie buckets."
      A minute later both detectives and Wanesha were in the back room. On the walls were garment patterns, photos of completed dresses, and fabric samples. Sugar went first, taking her shirt off and letting the expert measure her bust. Not once, not twice, but three times the measure was made. "Sweet Heaven, Sugar, you're 43 inches of ivory goodness!"
      The raven haired woman crossed her arms over her now-confirmed more ample bust. "43 inches? I'm 4 inches bigger?"
      "As sure as Jesus rose on the third day," Wanesha sassed. "Now you, Cinnamon. As firm as they are, you need a proper bra to keep your modesty like any good Catholic girl should."
      The lightly browned woman removed her shirt, bust heaving briefing as she held her arms over her head. "Get on with it, Auntie. I'm dying to know just as much as you and Sugar."
      Again the measure was made three times, and the answer came out the same. "43 inches?" Cinnamon looked down at her proud mammical pair. "I grew 3 inches overnight?"
      Rarely surprized, Wanesha expressed hers so loudly that even the people at the front counter could hear her. "Overnight? Cin, you telling this lady that your lungs got that much extra puff in them in one night?"
      "Yes, and Sugar's as well," the adamant detective said as she put her shirt back on.
      "Praise be, you two! Just how did this happen?" With rapt attention Wanesha listened as Sugar and Cinnamon gave brief accounts of what they did the previous night. The grin on the older black woman's face was fit for three Cheshire Cats. "Hot love and cold houses. Girls, I'm gonna hold off on making bras for you two. You may have a case of the 'love mumps'."
      "Love mumps?" Sugar said quizzically after emerging from the huge tee she put back on.
      Wanesha put an arm around the shoulders of both women, drawing them close like treasured grandchildren. "Girls, sometimes when the love making gets so hot the boobies swell up from the heat like cakes in the oven. Now, this swelling lasts for hours, sometimes for a full day. What I want you two to do is avoid making woo with those fine gentlemen for the rest of the weekend and see me on Monday. If your chests haven't shrunk by then I'll make your bras then and there, free of charge."
      "Thank you, Auntie," both detectives said, giving the large woman a group hug. "You're the best!"
      "And don't you forget it! Auntie always takes care of friends and family."

8
The afternoon party was in full swing. With high fences in place only the most intrusive of nosy neighbors got to see what their ears heard and minds imagined. Like the mansion that was built along with it the oval-shaped pool had cheesy adornments. In this case it was Roman statues of females in various stages of undress. Frolicking in the cool water were eight women and six men, having as much fun as teenagers would in the same circumstances. From nearby speakers tunes from the Endless Summer album wafted through the air. Baker was tending the grill, cooking hot dogs and burger patties. In a lounge chair looking at the merry-makers was Giganti, smoking a cigar and sipping a Long Island. He was reading the stock section of the paper when Baker came by with a plate, loaded with two hot dogs embellished with the works.
     "Thank you, Aldred," said Giganti, taking the plate in hand. "It seems our junior partners are quite pleased."
     "Yes, Sir. It seems their wives and 'companions' have enjoyed the samples we gave out yesterday. Thanks to your prior work these distributor representatives will hustle the Biggy Burger like it was the Second Coming."
     "That they will." Giganti took a bite out of the hot dog, but the savoring of it had to wait as Jesse appeared, stepping onto the patio via the sliding glass kitchen door. With one hand he held a scared-looking boy up in the air by his shirt. "What's that you got there? Did he follow you home?"
     Jesse shook the boy like he had a puppy by the scruff of the neck. "I caught this little man looking over the fence, Mr. Giganti. He had a camera and was taking pictures. He might've taken some when the women went topless." In his free hand Jesse gave Giganti the camera, a KMZ Zorki 4.
     Like appraising an archeological find, Giganti inspected the camera, making the boy sweat even more. "A fine camera, boy. You were taking photos for your private collection? Or were you hoping to sell them to an adult magazine under a false name?"
     The boy's silence only made Jesse shake him, prompting a response. "I was going to share them with my friends at school this fall. Honest."
     Giganti took a puff from his cigar, then opened the camera and removed the film. He handed the roll to Baker who then fed it to the flames in the grill. The boy looked sick, seeing his effort going up in smoke. He had Jesse return the camera to the boy. "Let that be a lesson to you. You'll have to be sneakier and more careful next time. What's your name and how old are you?"
     "Barry, Barry Harkin, and I'm 14." said the freckled dark haired wannabe photographic voyeur.
     "Well, Mr. Harkin, I'll let you onto something. In a month you won't need photos or nudie magazines. When you go to school this fall you'll have a girlfriend built like Madlene over there."  Giganti motioned to the woman behind the glass sliding door that linked the kitchen to the patio. "Come on out, Madlene, and give this boy a memory that his descendants will remember."
     If Barry's eyes were wide when taking his photos earlier then they were absolutely bugging out when Madlene stepped outside. She wore a red slingshot swimsuit, the straps of which didn't quite cover her areolae. Blond hair, full of body, draped her shoulders and it bounced along with her basketball breasts as she slinked her way to Giganti. Far from tired, Jesse simply lowered Barry so that his face was level with Madlene's bounty. Giganti grinned. "Now, Barry, do I have your word that you won't take any more photographs at my house or tell anyone what you saw here?"
     "Yessir! Cross my heart!"
     "Good boy. Jesse, see to it that Mr. Harkin finds his way home okay. I don't want him to take a rest somewhere to relieve any sudden pressure. He can do that in the privacy of his bathroom. When you get back, you can tell me what's so important that it can't be mentioned over the phone."
     "Acknowledged, Mr. Giganti." With that Jesse took the now very happy boy away, for not only did he see the largest pair of boobs in his life but also that Madlene had a small, shapely bottom, slim waist, and long legs that completed the whole package. Once the boy was out of sight Madlene sat in Giganti's lap and helped him finish the hot dogs. She giggled like a school girl when the man licked off her boobs those condiments that fell on them while he ate. "That tickles," she cooed. "Do it again."
     "I will, my beauty, as soon as I get another one of those hot dogs. How about tonight I give you a taste of vertical bacon."
     "What's that, lover? A new product?"
     "Yes, a new product... just for you."

It was the nine o'clock mass at the Catholic church Karen and Lisa attended. With them were Nathan and Devlin in their Sunday best. Though they were in the House of the Lord they couldn't take their eyes completely off their respective girlfriends. By their own admission the girls were without bras, having been told by their friend Auntie to wait until Monday to be measured again. Seeing the clothed bosoms swell and receded in the morning light made the service more bearable, but they had to hide their enjoyment. Two of Karen's little bothers,  Mike (17), and Charlie (19), where there as well as Mr. Troy Wilcox himself. As tall as Nathan, the elder Wilcox patriarch had gotten stocky over the years, seeking the relief of food since the death of wife thirteen years earlier due to cancer.
      Proper introductions weren't done until after the service in the parking lot. With an arm under his and a hand on the shoulder Sugar presented Nathan to the family. Troy sized up the man mountain like a potential site to strike oil. "Well, well, Sugar, you landed a big one alright. Just like that fishing trip when you were ten. Just what did his momma feed him? Polecats?"
      "Yes, he is rather big," Sugar started, then gave a warning glance to Mike and Charlie to keep their traps shut. They had a history of making juvenile remarks at the most inappropriate times. "We've been going steady for the last five months. He works for the DMV, and is eager to know more about you and your time in the Army."
      "That's fabulous. So, tell me Nathan, have you played football or been in the Services?"
      "Just high school football, Sir, and I served two years in 'Nam. Marines."
      Troy took Nathan's hand and pumped it like he was drawing water to put out a fire. "It's always good to have served for one's country. I see my Sugar has excellent tastes. It must be her cop instincts." He turned to his left. "Same goes for you, Cinnamon. You can't go wrong with a man with strong arms."
      "Thank you, Mr. Wilcox." Cinnamon blushed. Having known her story thanks to Sugar, the older man had come to treat Cinnamon as if she were his second daughter. For all his bluster and cowboy sensibilities Troy did have a tender heart and was happy to see she made of friend of Sugar. Far from being insensitive, when he bestowed his nickname for her it was the highest of compliments. "You and the boys are welcomed to come to the afternoon game. Devlin has extra tickets that are burning a hole in his pocket."
      Troy released his grip from Nathan's hand and applied it to Devlin's with the same energy. "Mighty generous of you. How about joining us for brunch?"
      "I'm absolutely looking forward to it, Sir," said the baseball player, wishing that the grip Troy was using was much less firm.
      "Good. Meet you at the Waffle House in ten minutes."
      As the assembly broke up there was something Mike had to ask. "Hey, Karen (he never called his sister by her nickname), you been working undercover recently to bust a balloon smuggling operation? You're bigger than normal."
      Karen stuck out her tongue. "You turned into a boob expert while I wasn't looking? Someone's been stashing Playboys under the floorboards. Besides, it's not nice to point out something like that amongst company. It makes you look retarded, Mike."

The game between the OKC 89ers and Tulsa Oilers was well attended despite the afternoon heat. In deference to her younger siblings Sugar drank tea instead of beer, and made sure everyone else had non-alcoholic drinks. The girls were decked out in jeans, ball caps, sunglasses, and extra-large 89er tee-shirts. Cinnamon cheered whenever her Devlin made a catch out in center field, but didn't jump up and down as was her wont due to her extra buxomness. During the sixth inning the detectives made a rundown of what they knew. "Got a call from the squad room earlier this morning before church," Sugar said, sipping her tea. "Tulsa PD confirmed Giganti's plane was there and a man fitting Cutler's description was seen boarding said plane. There were stopovers at Birmingham and Orlando. The Royal Bahamas Police confirmed that the plane landed at Nassau and that Cutler was taken to a house owned by Giganti."
      Cinnamon took a chug from her bottle of Coke Cola. "The Okemah PD confirmed Mr. Durkel's story, Sugar. The gas station attendant said he remembered Cutler, upchucked by the air pump. Made a big mess." Cinnamon stopped to cheer a run made by the 89ers. "Now, why would Giganti offer the use of his Nassau house to Cutler, a man known for his dislike of Italians? If anything, by being under the influence of alcohol his prejudice would've been more pronounced."
      "One wonders," answered Sugar. "Though Cutler did have the controlling majority of stock in the company. Perhaps at even this late of an hour he wanted to nix, or at least modify the conditions of the partnership with Giganti. Something we can ask Mr. Cutler when his plane arrives tonight." Just then both Sugar and Cinnamon's pagers went off. They hit their respective acknowledgment switch and stood up. "I'll be back, Daddy. Police business."
      "Okay, Sugar," said the happy father, looking like an old cowboy he fancied himself to be. "Don't take too long. Our team is on a winning streak."
      Both women had to scoot past Mike and Charlie to get the stairs. Once the duo were clear Charlie whispered into Mike's ear. "You're right, brother. Karen is bigger. Lisa too. You saw the way their jugs were jostling under their shirts? It was righteous."
      "Well, don't women get bigger as they get older?" Mike whispered back. "Perhaps Karen finally did 'it'."
      "Anything I should know about, boys?" said Nathan. He had very good ears that served him in good stead in 'Nam.
      "Nothing, Sir," said Charlie innocently.
      Sugar and Cinnamon found a pay phone in the tunnel under the stands and called the squad room. "What?" Sugar said to the detective on the other end. "Is that so? When did it happen?" A moment past, and an incredulous look filled her face. "Thanks, Brubaker." She hung up the receiver, turning to Cinnamon. "Guess what. Giganti's plane crashed halfway between Nassau and Miami. Coast Guard is searching for survivors."
      "Well if that don't beat all," Cinnamon quipped. "The star man of the hour has upped and gone missing in the Bermuda Triangle."
      "I guess that leaves the transcripts from the Nassau Police, Cin. We can also check in with Mrs.Cutler to see if her husband called her in the past few days."
      "If he called, Mrs. Cutler would've told us and saved us some work. Checking the phone records are in order."
    "Agreed. Let's..." Sugar stopped, slapped Cinnamon's arm and pointed. "You see what I see?"
      "Why if that don't beat all, Sugar. Looks like Cookie Cal's lawyer got our boy out on bond. Plus he has a friend."
      "Sailor Sam" The slightly shorter detective said the name like it was a curse. "When those are together drugs aren't far behind. Five will get you ten that both have product on them."
      Cinnamon rubbed her hands. "Let's go over and say hi."
      "That's all?"
      "Yeah. Just a friendly hello and how's he doing." Cinnamon, as well as Sugar, wore her badge around her neck on a necklace. She drew it out like a fish from a creek, resting it on the outside of her tee-shirt for all to see. Sugar did likewise.
      For being a typical late July day in OKC both Cal and Sam wore jackets, that alone being a tip-off that something wasn't kosher. The glint from the badges caught their eye, and that was all that was needed for them to spring like jackrabbits from the brush. "Oh, look, they're running. Just why do they do that?" Sugar questioned.
      "It must be a deep-seated irrational fear of authority figures." Cinnamon commented. "Probably when they were paddled by their elementary school teachers. I'll get Cal, you get Sam."
      Fast as they were, the two drug pushers couldn't put enough distance between themselves and the detectives. What they did see as they glanced back were two women with pneumatic chests that heaved, wobbled, shimmed and shaked under their shirts, their necklaced badges flopping off one covered breast to the other. The pusher known as Sailor Sam had a rare flash of inspiration and knocked over a popcorn stand in passing, causing a mess that slowed the buxom duo. Cookie Cal had a similar idea, snatching a large cup of cola from a refreshment stand and tossing it behind him. Cinnamon slipped on the resulting puddle and landed on her chest. Thanks to the resulting profanity she knew a trip to the confessional booth was required.
      The pushers split up, and Sugar kept after Sam. The spry, skinny man weaved in and out of knots of people in the tunnel quicker than Sugar, finally getting some distance. He reached a stairwell, bounding two steps at time. He thought he'd made it, only to be proven wrong. While she didn't carry a gun today Sugar did have her special yo-yo. An accurate delivery by the police woman ricocheted the yo-yo off the railing and nailed Sam in the small of the back. He fell down the stairs in a heap, and the joints and baggies he had in his jacket spilled out like so much loose change. "I've caught my man on the run," Sugar said to Sam as he sat him up against a wall. "You are under arrest for possession of illegal narcotics."
      As for Cal he showed a familiarity with All Sports Stadium. He went down a service hallway that took him and Cinnamon down the locker rooms. Once inside the 89ers locker room he barred the door with a laundry cart, giving him several crucial seconds. Once passed the barrier Cinnamon knew there was only one route Cal could take to avoid her and stadium security. Bolting from the 89er's dugout and onto the field was Cal. It was the Seventh Inning Stretch, the field clear except for one desperate man and a resolute Cinnamon. Enough adrenaline flowed through Cal's veins to permit him one prodigious leap at the outfield wall. He succeeded and scrambled to the top, and felt cocky enough for one look at his pursuer before jumping down the other side. A bad move, for in a flash (both figurative and literal) of improvisation Cinnamon exposed her breasts at Cal, his reaction akin to a deer caught in the headlights of a car. He hadn't seen such a pair of large, luscious lovelies this close up. A thunderstorm of conflict between the need to flee and further viewing kept Cal on that fence long enough for Devlin to rush out from the dugout and nail the gawking dope peddler in the chest with a fast ball. Cal fell onto the field, and a now-covered Cinnamon applied a pair of handcuffs she kept behind her back. "Well, Cal, looks like your Cookie has crumbled for good."
       The crowd cheered as stadium security came to Cinnamon's aid, holding Cal until OCPD officers came to haul him to the station. Cinnamon smiled at her man Devlin. "Thanks for the assist, honey. After me and Sugar get finished interrogating Sailor Sam would you like to come over to my place later tonight to celebrate the removal of a pair of drug peddling trash off the streets?"
      "I sure do, Cin." As much as he wanted to wrap his arms around his woman's waist and get a deep hug then and their Devlin knew he could make himself wait. "Do you have any more of those hamburger patties? They were delicious."
      "You're in luck, lover boy. I have four left. Tonight they'll be some meat between two soft buns."

Dixon Mantooth would've been at the game today too, but something came up that had to be addressed. It was night at the Jansen house, and Dixon came to see Janeen. The young woman was understandably concerned. "What brings you here tonight, detective? Is it in regards to what I told Mr.Osgood about the plant?"
      "I've some bad news, Miss. Jansen," said the big man. "Your grandfather has been badly injured at the plant two hours ago. I believe it was the result of attempted foul play. We would like you to be by his side when he regains consciousness. He might tell you the identity of his attacker."
      "Oh, God yes! Please take me there!"  Janeen grabbed her jacket and purse, and it was while doing this that Dixon came up behind her and plunged a syringe into her neck. She turned and had the look of betrayal on her face, eyes damning the man she thought well of just a moment earlier. In a heap she fell to the floor, and only then did Dixon's confederate appear.
      Dixon nudged the body of the subdued woman. "Mr. Giganti wants this girl taken to the house by the lake, Jesse. Once that's done go back to the plant for further instructions. Mr. Baker will get in contact with you."
      "Okay, Dix," said the muscle as he picked up Janeen. "What'ca going to do here?"
      "I'm gonna look for anything that she wrote about her findings at the plant, then make it look like she went out with her boyfriend for an impromptu lovers fling in the countryside. Has Harold picked up the loverboy?"
      "Yeah, Dix. It well all smooth-like."
      "Good. We'll get our bonuses from Giganti for sure after all the risks we're running."

At the station in one of the interrogation rooms sat Sailor Sam, besieged by the buxom pair comprised of Sugar and Cinnamon. Never did Sam feel so miserable to be confronted with such bountiful lovelies under such circumstances. So he had to do the only thing he could in such a situation, namely being an ass. "You're not going to get anything outta me, pigs! I have my rights! Where is my lawyer!"
      "But we are getting something out of you, Sam." Cinnamon countered, putting her foot on the table and leaning towards him. "Your breath can be classified as industrial effluent. So just go on and keep talking shit, jive turkey. You'll be in the red after paying all those fines for polluting the environment."
      "Now, now, Cin. Let's not get nasty." Sugar put a restraining hand on her partner's thigh, prompting her to put the propped-up leg back on the floor. "I'm sure Sam will tell us where he got his supply from if properly treated."
      "Like Hell I will! You bitches ain't gonna beguile me with those boobies, not like the last time. Besides, why are they bigger?"
      Cinnamon pounded the table with her fist so hard that it made Sam jump in his chair. "We ask the questions, you piece of shit! I bet you want prison time so you can make up lost time with your butt-buddies!"
      Sugar made a tsk-tsk sound. "Now that was crude and uncalled for. This calls for a fresh approach. Perhaps Sam would like to fess up in the presence of two male detectives instead of us. Perhaps he really is intimated by female authority figures."
      "Okay, okay, sure." Huffed Cin, giving Sam a brace of evil eyes. "Brubaker and McGlannan will do. They love sports, especially baseball."
      With a knock on the one-way window the door to the room opened. In came the aforementioned detectives. Both were six foot if not an inch, and together weighed 550 pounds. Both had short-sleeve shirts and ties stained with sweat and cigars perched from thick lips that were on equally chubby faces. Though they didn't look threatening Sam began to wonder if he should take his chances with the women. "Okay, boys," said Sugar, "keep Sam company until his lawyer arrives. If his conscious acts up please take down everything he says."
      "Sure thing, Sugar," said Brubaker. "And thanks for the dinner you gave us. It was delicious."
      "Dinner?" Cinnamon said aloud, looking at Sugar. "That was such a nice thing to do. What was it?"
      "Boston baked beans and cabbage. Plus some barbecue chicken wings. It was the least I could do on such short notice."
      "Hey, Sugar, is it okay if we finish our dinner in here?" said McGlannan. "These rooms are so much cooler than the squad room, plus I don't want the leftover to spoil if the lawyer is late."
      "Sure, go ahead. No sense to let such 'fulfilling' food to go to waste." With that the women left, and only then did Sam knew the significance of the men's dinner. Only ten steps from the now closed door did the buxom duo heard what sounded like a duck being flatten by a truck tire.
      "Now that was a cruel, nasty thing to do, Sugar," said Cinnamon. "I should've played good cop."
      "Too late, partner. So you're going to have some fun with Devlin tonight?"
      "Yep. You're going to do the same with Nathan, aren't you?"
      "Yeah. As much as I respect Auntie and her wisdom I think our new sizes are permanent. We'll know for sure tomorrow."

9
It was 5 a.m. Monday morning. The alarm went off in Karen's bedroom. It was set for Nathan so that he could go home, shower, and change for work. He got up and turned on the lamp on his side of the bed. In the low light he saw the movie posters on the wall that he only got a glimpse of before last night's... entertainment. The collection included Magnum Force, The French Connection, and The Seven-Ups. He stretched and turned, nearly getting his left hand nipped by the ceiling fan when he saw something was different with his woman. He shook her gently until she roused from her slumber.
     "What is it? Did we oversleep," Karen said as she sat up in bed.
     Having no way around it, Nathan just said what came naturally to him. "Ah, Sugar, you got more, ah, sweeter overnight."
     Karen looked down at her chest. What felt like two jello-filled balls before were now more like water balloons. "Oh damn! It happened again!" She gingerly held her now even larger breasts like they were orbs filled with nitroglycerin. "Damn if they're not as big as volleyballs now."
     "They are bigger. Even with my big hands I couldn't reach your rib cage from glomming them from the front." Nathan had his right hand in front of him with all the fingers arched like he was gripping a softball. "They're more firm and proud, too. Sexier, even."
     The now more voluminous woman blushed, her hands covering her little nipples. "Is this God's way of tell us to stop our hanky-panky and get hitched? Why is it that it only happens after we had a night of eating, drinking and sex... Oh God, Lisa!" Having the phone on her side of the bed Karen dialed her partner's number and impatiently waited. She hugged the phone cradle to her left breast like it was a newborn.
     After eight rings came an answer. "Is your house burning down?" came Lisa's groggy voice over the line. "Or is Nathan stuck in you and you need some Vaseline?"
     "Wake up, silly woman! Look at your boobies and tell me what you see." Karen waited another patient moment when a large gasp of surprise filled her ear.
     "Saint Mary and Joseph! Karen, I'm huge! My cantaloupes got swapped with baby melons! No wonder I had to practically push Devlin off of me 'cause he was using my boobies as pillows, for the love of God!"
     "Oh man, we should've listened to Auntie," confided Karen. "As soon as you get Devlin weaned from your tits come on over to my place. We'll take the 'Cuda to The Perfect Fit and wait for Auntie."
     "Okay, Karen," said Lisa in a vampish tone. "You should trace Nathan's hands so that Auntie has a pattern for the bra."
     "Just get over here." With that Karen hung up the phone. She tried to achieve the look of Ronin's Thinker, but her added volume made it look more erotic than contemplative. The look on Nathan's face, however, demanded comment. "Just what are you doing there, mister? You're going to be late for work at this rate."
     Nathan's grinning was suited for a boy that saw his first Playboy centerfold. "Well, I was thinking you might need some help getting out of bed. I got a great pair of front loaders." He held out his hands like he was about to carry a heavy bag of grain.
     "So speaks the giant. Wilcox women can hold there own, thank you very much." The pneumatic lady got onto her feet with no trouble despite her bust jiggling for a full moment after the fact. Nathan's pleasure in seeing such a beautiful action was to make pride all the prouder. "Down, boy. I'm going to have to see a license if that thing isn't restrained."

The Perfect Fit opened at 7:00 a.m. weekdays so that customers could pick up their alterations just before work. For Sugar and Cinnamon it was a godsend as they met Auntie as she opened the store. Just as soon as Auntie's assistant arrived a minute later to operate the counter the three women were in the back room. This time the sassy woman only did two measures of the tape on the raven-haired beauty. "Sweet Baby Jesus! Sugar, I don't need another reading of the tape. You're 48 inches on top if not a fraction more."
     "Five inches? In one night?" Sugar regarded her magnificent orbs in a full-length mirror. She had seen the crude cartoons drawn on the walls of the men's restroom back at the station. It appeared now that art had indeed imitated life. "It has to be divine intervention. Nothing natural can account for this kind of swelling. There's no pain or stretch marks on my puppies."
     "Might as well measure me, Auntie," said a resigned Cinnamon, removing her shirt. "It looks like me and Sugar are the same size, but I want to be sure."
     Like she was a participant at a breast-centered rodeo Auntie lassoed and corralled Cinnamon's rowdy naked bust with a length of measuring tape. "Just what have you girls been doing? Messing around with an Ouija board?" She measured twice, and was confident in her findings. "Sweet Hallelujah! You're 48 inches of pride incarnate, Cin."
     Sugar put her shirt back on. Actually it was Nathan's, for there was nothing in her wardrobe that could stretch across her orbs without stressing and then busting buttons. "Just like on Friday night, I had to lower the air conditioning and drink a whole lot of bear. Plus Nathan insisted on playing twister while listening to Barry White after dinner. Then things took their natural course from that point."
     "Hot and saucy," Auntie beamed. "If this keeps happening even Nathan won't be able to carry your load, Sugar."
     "That's the same script for me and Devlin," Cinnamon confided. "We were watching the NBC Mystery Movie, eating hamburgers and listening to some..." She snapped her fingers. "Praise be! Didn't we give Jasmine some of those hamburger patties?"
     Concern filled Sugar's face. "A total of 16. She claims to have a very active metabolism, and if she ate..."
     Interrupting the scene was no less than Jasmine herself. The petite, five-foot-even ebony woman wore what had to be the most stressed tee-shirt seen outside of a Texan titty bar. She cradled the immense bust like a pair of twin infants, undoubtedly wishing that was the case instead of the reality that confront her and everyone else in the room. "Auntie, I hope you can do something for me 'cause I got a load that makes Dolly Parton look like a bra-stuffer."
     "Sweet Heaven, girl! If Coffy was a cup, then you're a whole gallon!" Looking at Sugar and Cinnamon in turn, the large woman then asked what was on their collective minds regarding the little black woman. "What did you do this weekend?" She pulled out a chair from her sewing table and patted the seat.
     Jasmine took the chair offered by Auntie, sitting down gentle while still corralling her shirt puppies tightly. If she was a balloon smuggler, then she was a very ambitious one. "Well, me and Tyrone had planned a family barbecue on Saturday but my Daddy got called to a fire and Momma had to do a double-shift at the hospital. So we had eight hamburger patties along with ribs and steaks. Well, I'm not that big a steak and rib eater, so I had six burgers. Then we went inside, had a few beers, watched TV... then it got strange."
     "How did it get strange?" Cinnamon asked, her still naked tits bulging over and under her crossed arms.
     "Well, it got so hot in the house. Even when the AC was fit for a polar bear we were drenched in sweat." Jasmine moved her hands, palms down, over her breasts in a circular pattern. "So we took a shower together, and it got even, ah, hotter, if you know what I mean."
     "I think I know where this is heading," said Sugar, catching herself rubbing her own covered breasts in sympathy with Jasmine. "But continue."
     "Well, you know I'm not shy about saying how things between me and Tyrone get righteous, but this was way more intense. The Holy Spirit had to be involved 'cause when I woke up on Sunday morning I got boobies that were as big as Sugar's... back on Friday." Jasmine patted the top of her tits, making the stressed tee ripple with waves of undulating flesh. "I'm ashamed to admit it, especially to you, Auntie, but me and Tyrone didn't go to church yesterday. We were powerfully anxious, and believe me we got no rest at all. We didn't eat until the afternoon, and only then we cooked up six more of those burgers. Then it started all over again, except, this time,  Tyrone commented how I was growing as the hours passed. He gave up trying to gauge my size after his hands cramped up."
     Auntie made a sound like she tasted the best barbecue in her whole life. "And what big hands Tyrone has. As God as my witness, I've never had to make custom bras before that were big enough to handle a lady your size."
     "Good question,' quipped Cinnamon. "Just how big is she?"
     Jasmine looked resigned. "Only one way to find out." Unlike her previous careful walking and sitting the really endowed little woman stood up fast. This caused a  tear to appear in the tee that started from the center and went straight up and down. Her breasts exploded free like puppies that bolted through an open door and onto the front yard to greet a child returning from school. The shaking, much like cymbals, only stopped when Jasmine wrapped her arms around her ebony lungs, lungs tipped with light brown nipples.
     "That chest is bigger that 48 inches," commented Sugar, and she got confirming mermers from Auntie and Cinnamon.
     Cinnamon made a half-hearted effort putting her shirt back on. "What are we going to do, Sugar? We're gotten heavier in the chest, and now we'll really stand out in a crowd. Every street hood and low-life will try to cop a feel even if it means getting broken bones."
     Like she was channeling a long-past spirit Sugar spoke with the tone of the fictional Joe Friday. "It's clear what we're going to do. We three had burgers first, then we got thirsty for beer, followed by the need to turn on the AC to max to cool ourselves off, and then... well, you know came next. It's the burgers at the start of all this, and we'll do our best to determine if that's really the case!"

Having been in the company of Mr. Giganti on a few occasions over the past three months, and with some of those definitely not related to business, Mr. Osgood felt the creep of second thoughts entering his head. There was a meeting in Cutler's former office, and it was a full house. Sitting behind his old boss' desk was Osgood himself. To his right on the couch was Giganti and Baker, looking fine and well-monied in their $300 suits. On the left sitting on chairs brought in from the reception area were Detectives Wilcox, Parlor, Mantooth and Captain Mugsford. One Ashleigha Nash, from the City Health Board and Kimberly Finch, FDA, were sitting in the middle. Though his eye wasn't as trained as Giganti's, it was clear to Osgood that the detectives were more pneumatic than before. They wore slacks, dress jackets, boots, shirts, and sleeveless vests that acted as improvised corsets to hold near basketball-sized breasts. Nash and Finch were dressed in blouses and skirts, but they too were also more endowed than a typical woman, being only smaller than Wilcox and Parlor by a small margin. Finally, sitting in-between the two aforementioned woman was Dr. Jansen. He wore a clean white lab coat and black rimmed glasses that reinforced his appearance as an elderly man of science.
      "I must say that's a strong accusation, as well as an odd story, Detective Wilcox," said Osgood in a surprized tone of voice. "Claiming that my new product, the Biggy Burger, was responsible for yours, Detective Parlor and one Jasmine Walker's expansion of the breasts. I'm willing to assist your investigation insofar as to prove that my product is safe. However, any attempt to generate some noise over what very well may be an one-time incident will result in legal action on the behalf of Mighty Meats."
      "Don't be so hasty about legal action, Mister Osgood," Wilcox replied. "If anything, you should be more concerned with the FDA and the Health Board. If they find anything that's not kosher then you can bet the farm that the OCPD will sue on the behalf of myself, Parlor and Walker for causing harm, namely poisoning."
      "Poisoning?!" This came from Giganti, the little man getting on his feet in a huff, waving the plain black cane he had in his left hand. "You think what happened to you was the result of poisoning? That's slander!"
      Parlor stood up, ignoring the restraining hand of Mugsford on her arm. Even with the heavy-duty stitching and buttoned vest her most majestic mammaries raged against the fabric like bulls in a rodeo launch chute in her sudden ascent. "We'll prove that the Biggy Burger is the cause for our condition. It was the only common factor, for us three had different beers, potato chips, and desserts." She glommed her own chest for effect, getting a most stunning look on Osgood's face. "I'll swear in court on a stack of Bibles to that effect."
      "Please, please, my Latin Rose," said Giganti in a voice of reconciliation used by a grandpa that broke a grandchild's favorite toy. "We'll cooperate with the lovely ladies of health. Mighty Meats is anything but substandard when it comes to product integrity."
      "The investigation will be thorough, detectives." This came from Nash, her green eyes firm. "Along with Miss Finch we'll get answers for everyone."
      Mugsford stood up and dabbed his sweaty neck with a handkerchief. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Osgood, and gentlemen. We'll keep in touch if anything else emerges about Mr. Cutler. You have our condolences on your loss. He was a generous contributor to the Police charity drive."
      "Thank you, Captain. Marlene will show you out." Osgood stayed seated as his secretary (yes, he could now call her that) ushered them out of the office. He didn't fail to notice the subtle sign Giganti gave to Mantooth, a finger tapping the ear twice signifying that the toupee-wearing cop should call in two hours. As for Nash and Finch they grinned when Giganti touched his lips with two fingers and sent the attached kiss in their direction. That meant a private dinner at Giganti's house later tonight.
      With the cops and inspectors out of the room the all-but-confirmed new president of Mighty Meats sighed. "Well, that was strange."
      "Yes, a very good thing to have definite proof," said Baker as he gave Jansen a nod of approval. "Along with our other guests from Friday we're highly confident of the success of the project."
      Giganti stroked his aged chin in contemplative thought, ignoring the confused look on Osgood's face. "We'll still have to be wary of those detectives. I had hoped Wilcox and Parlor would've had their compulsive righteous fire turned into just smoldering embers of passion. I'll have Jesse tail them, and another 'incident' has to be arranged to take them out of the investigation."
      "Oh, speaking of investigation, has anyone seen my treasured granddaughter?" Dr. Jansen wrung his hands. "Janeen isn't answering her phone, and hasn't arrived at work today."
      Giganti walked up to the doctor, putting a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of support. "You know, Doctor, she's a bright bulb. It'll be a shame should anything cause that bulb to burn out."
      "What are you saying?" Jansen wanted to get the short man's hand off him, but Giganti grasp turned into a vice. He winched from the sudden onset of pain.
      Osgood, now even more confused, wanted to speak, but was held back by Baker. Instead of the Italian accent Giganti's voice now sounded low and gritty, like it had smoked a lifetime's worth of cigars. "She was going to rat on us, dear Doctor, or should I say, Dok-tor. Perhaps it was my fault. I should've suborned her like I did with Nash and Finch."
      Jansen sweated and felt weak. He was compelled to sit down, guided by the still firm grip of Giganti's hand. "Oh, God in Heaven, it's you!"
      "Yes, it is me, you Kraut! Looks like I need to remind you why you're still breathing air. Back in the War you were perfecting a food preservation process for Germany. It went horribly wrong, as the test group of soldiers you used it on grew breasts! You got tortured by the SS for that little blunder, and Himmler was going to have you executed but I saved you at the last moment. I made you swear to isolate and refine that portion of your formula responsible for making boobies bigger, and in return I gave you a new life, new identity, and funds to further your research. When the time came to put that formula to use I donned one of my many disguises, telling you that I was another man that was saved so as to be of service when the time came. I watched you as Giganti, and in a moment of weakness I allowed Janeen to join because I felt sorry for you. Now it's up to you, Jansen, on whether your treasured Janeen will live or die."
      Osgood looked like he saw his mother fooling around with man that wasn't his father. "You... you're telling me that Jansen is a Nazi? And that you're not Giganti? And this 'addictive' agent you talked about is actually a boobie drug?"
      The short man turned and gave the Mighty Meats man a devilish grin. "That's right, Kelly! And thanks for keeping your cool when confronted with that accurate description from those detectives! You've been dealing with the main man himself all along, and Jansen was only a Nazi in name. Hell, for what he did to that SS platoon he should've gotten a medal! Let me remind both of you that you're in this too deep now. Betray me, and you'll be visiting a certain ranch house by a lake. You know what I mean, Kelly."
      The memory was all too vivid for Osgood to deny, and he shook visibly. "Umm.. sure do, Gigan... ah, since we're in this deep, as you say, what is your real name?"
       The man that was known as Giganti laughed, then coughed and hacked for a good ten seconds. "Sure, why not. It's not like anyone is going to believe you. My name is Mr. Big."

10
Back in the squad room those few detectives at their desks did their best not to stare at Jasmine. Though she wore an ensemble that covered and supported her righteous bust, and not one inch of tit showing, eyes inevitably landed on her. It seemed everyone in the station knew, and people went out of their way to have a quick look of her watermelon bust resting on the top of her desk, and the way it was interfering with her typing and even answering the phone. What couldn't be denied was the raised voices coming from Captain's Mugsford office.
     "There's no case left," Mantooth said like he was chewing a stick of jerky. His breath certainly smelled like a cheap brand one would find at a low-rent truck stop, making Sugar and Cinnamon wonder what the grab-ass had for breakfast this morning. "Mr. Cutler is dead, and we all know how difficult it is to find a body in the ocean. He may be nothing more that a pile of cold shark shit by now."
     "Yes, that would be terribly convenient," Sugar shot back. "I still find it hard to believe that Cutler would up and go on an impromptu vacation provided by a man that was only a company partner for just a few months. That, plus his known dislike for Italians. If anything, we should be widening our investigation."
     "If you want to interview all those that attended the party the night Cutler left then I'll certainly help, detective." It pained Mantooth to use that word for Sugar, regarding her as nothing better that bait for drug and prostitution stings.
     "Helpful, but it'll only confirm what we already know," Cinnamon amended. "I say we look at that Giganti guy closer. He came to Mighty Meats with money coming out of his ears and endorsed a product that Cutler had some misgivings."
     Mantooth got up to Cinnamon as close as possible without getting pressed by her pneumatic glories. "You saying Giganti had Cutler snuffed just to have a new burger product launched? Is that what your Injun insights are telling ya?"
     "Take one step closer and you'll be scalped for real, Dick."
     "Put a sock in it," Mugsford growled, "both of you. Sugar is onto something. After all, Cutler did have the controlling majority of stocks in the company, and once the dusts settles they'll be going to his widow. Now, thanks to Sugar and Cinnamon's interview, we know that Ms. Cutler doesn't care all that much about the company, and would likely sell her stocks. If this Mr. Giganti character is as rich as he seems to be, and having made this commitment to the Biggy Burger, then it's likely he'll make a pitch to buy them."
     Sugar looked vindicated, hands on her hips and proud bust out. "You think it might be foul play, Captain?"
     "It looks highly coincidental, Sugar. However, that little wop was radiating some vibes that didn't jive. He should've been up in arms over your accusation or giving us hairy eyeballs, yet he was a cool cat. You dig like there's an underground cable in the yard. Don't go where Giganti is having his lunch and lay a gasser on him like you had Brubaker and McGlannan do for Sailor Sam. By the way, they said the air in that room was turning green like cheese, and Sam confessed before his lawyer arrived. One less heavy pusher on the street. Not bad for a Sunday."
     "Thanks, Boss, and we'll be careful." Sugar said, giving the Boy Scout salute. The trio left the office and went for their respective desks. Because she had to, Sugar looked at Dixon and managed not to bite his head off. "Mantooth, check with the phone company and see if Mr. Cutler made any calls to his wife while he was in Nassau. Me and Cinnamon will check the financials on Marsala Manufacturing and how Giganti got into the hamburger business. It's kinda odd for an Italian company to get involved in an American market that's already saturated with established competitors."
     "Okay, but remember what Mugsford said." Mantooth wanted to say more, but settled on watching the duo leave, imagining their heaving breasts trying to break out from the confinement of the vests while admiring the sway of their steps as they were still adjusting to their even more topheavy condition. He looked at his watch, then made a call from his desk. "Yeah," he muttered under his breath, "those bitches will find out those boobs are more of a liability than an asset." After two rings Mantooth talked quietly, but it wasn't a phone company technician on the other end. What he didn't see was Jasmine, with a receiver to her ear, listening in to the toupee-wearing man's conversation.

It was a late dinner for the duo, 9 p.m., chowing down at a pizza parlor they frequented. Until the mystery of the hamburgers was solved they were staying away from their favorite on-duty food. With them was Nathan, and being the gentleman he payed for both pizzas: one for Karen and Lisa to share and one for Nathan all by himself. "Thanks for paying, my mountain of a man," said Karen after sipping some Pepsi. "You shouldn't have, since you're the one providing the information."
     "Well, I do feel guilty in a way," Nathan admitted. "I didn't tell you everything about Mighty Meats on Friday, and after what happened that night I went to work on Saturday and did some magic on the phone and computers. All of it unauthorized use of DMV equipment and off-the-clock, of course."
     Karen patted her man's hand. She had wanted to hug him, but with the number of eyes on them for the other patrons already it would've drawn too much attention. "Some of the best work is done off-the-clock, lover. So, what's the skinny on Giganti?"
      "Skinny is the word, Karen. I called Marsala's equivalent of the chamber of commerce Saturday morning. Luckily for me there was an English-speaking person on duty. I passed myself off as a financial reporter and asked about one Gaspare Giganti." Nathan wolfed down a slice of pizza and chased it with some Pepsi. "Well, our short friend appeared three years ago, and in a series of moves bought the company outright last year and expanded operations. This is the first venture Marsala Manufacturing is making into the food processing market. Instead of competing in Europe or in the Middle East our Mr. Giganti chose our fair city to pitch his equipment."
     Lisa wiped her mouth after downing a particularly cheesy slice of pizza. "You mean Mighty Meats. What made one Mr. Cutler decide to go with Marsala?"
      "It was the board that went with Marsala," corrected Nathan. "Giganti gave them the equipment at no charge, in exchange for becoming a partner. Cutler may have gone along only because Giganti only wanted 10% of the resulting profits from the sale of Biggy Burgers. Not from the company as a whole, but just the burgers. For that tidbit I owe Fanny at the Chamber a big favor."
     "Just remember that your drawers belong to me, Nat." Karen patted her man's hand again. "Perhaps you can get some 89er tickets from Devlin."
     "Something's not jiving here." Lisa said while deciding which slice of pizza to go after next. "Giganti goes through all this trouble and wants only a portion of the profit from his Biggy Burgers? You think the Mob is involved somehow."
     "You've been watching too much TV, Lisa. Besides, it could be something more perverted." Karen gestured to her chest as well as her friend's. "I mean, we grew like gangbusters during two nights of eating and lovemaking. What if this was meant to happen, and was Giganti's plan all along?"
     Lisa looked incredulous. "Burgers, beer and busting out? So some dirty little old Sicilian came up with a way to get women bigger upstairs and anxious whenever their men are around?"  She was looking at how Karen was still rubbing Nathan's hand with hers. "Girl, I also know you're playing footsy with Nathan under table. Stop it. This is a family restaurant."
     "Sorry," Karen blushed, working her foot back into her shoe. "It could still be a freak occurrence. Remember, our families have a history of more buxom than average women. Our aunts in Idaho and our cousins in North Dakota, for example. Perhaps something triggered those genes responsible for making boobs bigger."
     "I grant you that, Karen. But what about Marlene and those two women in the office today, and Jasmine? They can't all have the same genetic inclination to huge breasts. Besides, I saw a photo in the reception area. It was of the 1974 Mighty Meats July 4th Picnic, and Marlene was in it. She was as flat as a table in that pic."
     Before Karen could respond there was a ruckus at the registrar. A man with panty hose over his head came barging in and pointed a gun at the attendant while another disguised man was waving a shotgun at anyone nearby, prompting screams and cries. "Two more dipshits trying to ice skate uphill," the raven-haired woman said softly. "Good thing we sat next to the exit. We'll take my car and chase them. Nathan, stay here."
     "I could help," said the 'Nam vet in a whisper. "I knocked off Gooks in situations tougher than this."
     Karen gripped Nathan's hand. "I would never forgive myself if you got involved and were injured. You have all the things women are looking for in a man, and I want to stick with the one I have rather than start all over again."
     The man with the shotgun fired it into the ceiling, prompting more screams from the patrons, then joined his cohort and left the restaurant. "Well, that was uncalled for," said Lisa. "C'mon, partner, you can play footsy with you boyfriend after we put those two on ice."
     "Later, alligator," Karen said in parting, hustling out the back exit after Lisa. Nathan could only watch as they got into Karen's Barracuda, praying that they would come through unharmed.
     Karen placed the rolling blue light on her car top and activated the siren while driving as Lisa talked on the police radio. The robbers had gotten into their getaway car, one that make Lisa almost burst out in laughter after calling in the description and location. "A VW Bug? They're using a red VW Bug?"
     "Guess that's all they could afford after splurging on drugs and liquor." Karen quipped as she poured on the coal, catching up to the Bug. The streets were fortunately light on traffic, but that didn't stop the Bug driver from performing chicken with oncoming cars, making Karen do the same. Still faster, the 'Cuda bumped the back of the Bug. It must've hit a magic button because the little car gained a burst of speed.
     "Definitely an after-market modification." Lisa observed. "Let's give them another rub."
     "No need. They're pulling into that laundromat's parking lot."
     "Crashing, more like it." Indeed the Bug driver had hit the brakes, a miracle either working or yet another after-market modification. Still the car hit the wall of the laundromat, its front end crumpling like a soda can. The two robbers were unfazed, spilling out and rushing inside. The 'Cuda came to a screeching sideways halt in the parking lot with Lisa launching herself in a tucked roll, ending up on one knee with gun drawn. Karen followed as soon as she radioed central dispatch on the status of the chase.
     Lisa looked at the laundromat with suspicion. It was a one story affair with the glass-composed front facing the street and with several AC units on the roof. The lights were on and bright. "How are we going to do this? I heard no screams or people rushing out. There ought to be customers in there 'cause this one closes at 10 p.m."
     "We'll take it slow, partner." The weight of the .357 felt heavier in Karen's hand than her breasts. "We've been at this place before, two years ago. We'll go in the back."
     "Yeah, now I remember. Leaky Louis. They did have a devil of a time getting him out of that industrial-strength dryer."
     Fleet of foot the two went to the back of the building, finding the door locked, but it caved from the combined effort of the women. Then they snaked their way through the back room, past racks of dry cleaned clothes, the air stuffy with the smell of chemicals. The dove through the double doors and got into crouched shooting stances. Instead of hearing active washers and dryers it was a solitary pair of hands clapping. Looking up, the duo saw a man sitting atop the same industrial strength dryer that served as his temporary holding cell two summers ago. His voice was the same, akin to a band saw taken to a sheet of tin. "Hello, girls. It seems you got bigger upstairs when you got promoted. If only that were true of other working women."
     "Hello, Leaky," said Karen, gun pointed at the criminal man. "I thought you would avoid this place like the plague. It was max heat, wasn't it, Lisa?"
     "Yeah," confirmed the lightly browned partner, her artillery also leveled at the scruffy-looking man. "I put in the quarters myself."
     "Now, now, girls, or should I say gumshoes? Doesn't matter. I've come here, and arranged this little party, to overcome my fears of dryers and of pig bitches like you two." He snapped his fingers, and out from their hiding places appeared five other men, including the two that robbed the pizza place. "First, set your heat on the floor and slide them across the floor to that man over there." He pointed a finger at a shotgun-armed brute. "You toss that stupid yo-yo to me. Do anything retarded, and you'll get your backs full of shotgun goodness." The duo complied, making Leaky smile.
     "You know, Leaky, that backup is coming," Karen said matter of factly.
     Like a king sitting in judgment Leaky looked down on the still crouching forms below. "Oh, Wilcox, I'm counting on it. You see, this has become a hostage situation. I'm going to make it last as long as possible. But we're going to have some fun while doing it. Get up and strip for my friends here. They haven't seen a titty show since Friday."
     Lisa nudged Karen's foot with her own with both breaking into smiles. The got up slowly. Leaky pointed imperiously. "Now turn around and face the windows and start stripping. With glories like yours they have to be shared with everyone, even pigs. Once I'm done your reputations at the Pig Palace will be for shit."
     First came the shoes, followed by the lowering of the pants. Both women went slow and sultry like professional strippers at a high-grade gentleman's club instead of the clothes-tearing variety favored by construction workers and truckers. The jackets they swung over their heads and let fly down the aisle of dryers. Clearly getting into the mood, the men started to lower their guns. Karen and Lisa took note of what the men were armed with, and which side they seemed to favor, among other things. When it came to the vests they unbuttoned them in perfect sync, thrusting their chests forward after the last button was undone, and letting the garment fall to the floor. Now clad just with panties, bosom-stuffed shirts and empty shoulder holsters the duo began to unbutton each other, each release revealing more and more tit, free to expand from the confinement they found themselves in all day. On the fourth button they stopped, with Lisa fetching two long metal rods from a special attachment she had on her holster.
    "What are those?" Leaky pointed at the objects with a .22 in his hand.
    "Knitting needles, you silly," said Lisa. "Big knitting needles." Then, with the interested men looking on, she used the six-inch long needles to undo her fourth button. Her breasts puffed out in the free space like cakes rising in the oven. She then did the same for Karen, exposing more soft, pliable and glommable breast skin.
     Karen's eye noticed movement outside the Laundromat. She had called for backup not to use lights or sirens, and to park just out of sight of the building. She saw the first of several officers taking positions in the parking lot behind light poles and parked cars. The time was now. "Hey, Leaky," she said aloud for the five other men's benefit. "Did you ever tell your friends here how you got that nickname?"
     "Shut up, pig! No-one is interested in that!"
     "I wanna hear," said one of them. "I've been getting all sort of grief from other guys just because I work for Leaky." The others muttered agreement, though they were more interested in seeing more boob.
     Lisa did her delicate work quickly and precisely, undoing the fifth button on both her and Karen's shirts. The hooting and whistling was loud. Karen sounded downright sultry. "Okay, boys, listen good. Leaky got that name because of..."
     The man in Karen's story got more agitated and leaned down, the .22 only scant inches from the woman's head. "Shut the fuck up, bitch!"
     "...his weak and excitable bladder," Karen continued without missing a beat, though she could sense the proximity of the gun. "He lost it when I distracted him by flashing him my boobs during a drug bust right in this very laundromat."
     "Why, you..." Leaky's finger was no longer on the trigger guard, just itching now to feel the trigger itself.
     Shimming and shaking in place like a burlesque girl, Lisa had her glories put the few buttons left intact on her shirt to the test. So enthralled they were with the show the men didn't notice how she stopped, gripping the knitting needles in a particular way, and then let them fly at two of the men. They weren't plastic needles, but made of steel, and each found their respective target Lisa aimed for - a man's eye. Had Nathan been there to listen even his blood would've curdled from the screams the two men produced.
     Leaky was distracted just briefly enough for Karen to turn and yank him down to the floor like a rotten tree limb. She gave him a body blow with an elbow to the throat for good measure. Lisa ducked, grabbed the .22 and fired at a third man that was just standing there like a stick in the mud. It was a perfect hit to the neck, and he fell to the floor like so much dead weight. The other two men recovered and fired their shotguns, peppering the machines that separated them from the women with hateful lead pellets.
     Karen got her yo-yo back, holding it like a talisman. "We can't wait for our guys to save our bacon, Lisa. I saw one of them in the parking lot." She motioned to the fallen back down the aisle. "We need to get our guns."
     The .22 felt like a peashooter in Lisa's hand, and she knew she couldn't count on getting a lucky shot again, let alone twice more. "If it was anyone else covering me with a yo-yo I would call them crazy."
     A shotgun was fired again, but not in their direction but towards the windows. A cascade of glass fell to the ground, followed by the distinctive sounds of .357s. Lisa scooted and crawled towards the man she felled with her .22 shot, seeing that the two .357s were tucked into his waistband of his jeans. About to get one gun free, the shadow of the second brute fell over Lisa's face. She didn't waiver, for Karen's yo-yo nailed the scraggly-bearded man in side of the face. For bringing down the 4th man another blast riddled the dryer Karen was hiding behind.
     Lisa sent the second .357 skidding down the aisle to Karen, then moved from one row of machines to another, crouching made difficult with her bust in the way. Fire from cops outside kept the last man down as well, only the sound of scuttering and of a shotgun banging against the floor and machines gave an indication of where the man was. Time seemed to slow to a glacial pace, adrenaline pumping and sweat beading on brow and neck. Following a hunch, Lisa tossed the .22 down past two rows and was rewarded by a shotgun blast at the third, the glass window on the front-loading dryer exploding from the hit of pellets. This was followed by a .357 round fired from within the laundromat. A man's pathetic cries of pain wafted in the air along with gunshots and shouts from outside.
     "Clear! Clear!" It was Karen, and when Lisa tentatively stood up she saw her partner, gun in hand and yo-yo shoved into a shirt pocket, standing over what had to be the last man. Lisa went to her friend's side, and saw how the brute was brought down. Being a little bit more quieter and quicker Karen and snuck up behind the man and shot him in the ass. "As you see, he has a lot on his mind. Get their guns," she said harshly.
     "Gotcha." While doing this the first of the backup came, the cops both in awe and understandable lust at what were obviously the most endowed detectives of the OCPD. A big veteran had the presence of mind to fetch two blankets, giving them to the duo as they handed over the brutes' guns. As for Leaky Louis it was Karen that cuffed him with Lisa reading him his rights. Once the ambulances were away the duo settled on getting their clothes back on, and when Lisa saw something was amiss.
     "Karen, you're bleeding."
     "I am?" She checked her right arm, and found a single red spot and trail of blood going down the sleeve. "I must've been hit by a shotgun pellet."
     Lisa ripped off the sleeve and used part of it to wipe away the blood around the wound, then used the rest to make a crude bandage. "Yep, that's what it is, partner. You need to get that pretty body of yours to hospital and get that pellet removed. Be a shame to have to amputate that arm."
     "Ha, ha. Don't talk so fast, Miss Martial Artist. You did a number on those two jerks, taking out an eye each. What possessed you to use knitting needles as weapons, and steel ones at that?"
     "Well, you have your special weapon," the part-Cherokee woman said, helping her partner into her suit jacket. "I exactly can't kung-fu a guy from a distance, so I used what came natural."
     "Steel knitting needles? Were you making a sweater out of Devlin's backhair?" For that joke Karen was light punched over the wound by an incensed Lisa.
     "Yeah, Karen, what about that line you gave to Nathan at the pizza place? About not willing to see him come to harm on your account and having all the qualities a woman looks for in a man. You afraid if you have sex with him a third time you'll have to get married?"
     "I can say the same for you. I noticed you're not wearing granny panties today." Karen smiled as Lisa involuntary covered her pants-clad bottom. "I bet you had Auntie make up a pair of custom panties, and with Devlin's name on the back no less. So, does he have a set of lucky boxers with your name on the front?"
     "Shut up, you." Lisa stuck out her tongue. "Just for that I get to drive the 'Cuda to the hospital."

11
The last 36 hours have been a blur for Janeen and her boyfriend Blake. They had awoke to find themselves in a well-furnished bedroom with attached bath, but with the door locked and windows bolted and shuttered from the outside. Powerfully hungry, the availed themselves to the plate of hamburgers and cans of beer in a bucket of ice on the small table in the corner. Thus, just like what happened to Sugar and Cinnamon with their boyfriends, and Jasmine with her husband, the young couple engaged in several sessions of love making, each time in accompaniment to Barry White music being played over a speaker in the ceiling. It was only in the late morning on Tuesday that they took an extended break.
     In a generously large shower the couple washed each other off, and in the cool water they regained the full use of their faculties. "Damn, Janeen, you're really healthy upstairs! My hands can't even cover the front of your boobies now."
    "I thought I was dreaming it all," the girl mused, hands under the breasts to get a feel for their size, heft and weight. "I was a B-Cup for the longest time, and now I have these melons."
     "Melons? Hell, I can play some heavy B-Ball with those funkadelic funbags."
     Janeen hugged and kissed Blake under the showerhead, wishing it was a real waterfall in a secluded place in a forest. "You can touch them anytime when we're alone. Question is, how did I get so big?"
     "I don't know," Blake admitted, enjoying the huge orbs pressing into his chest like any hot-blooded man would. "But it would make one great research paper. Let's measure you after we dry off."
     The couple did exactly that, wearing just pajama bottoms and using a cloth tape measure they found in a drawer in the first few hours of their captivity. "Holy Jesus, Jan," said a nearly breathless Blake. "You have 51 inches of fun female flesh on that chest of yours."
     "Good God, I'm that huge?" Janeen gawked at her twin hemispheres in disbelief. "That makes me bigger than Jayne Mansfield and Mamie Van Doren combined!"
     The wonder shared by the couple was interrupted by an well-spoken male voice. It came from the same speaker that the Barry White music came from. "Metaphorically speaking, Miss Jansen. Yet you can clearly claim that you make those two women look flat-chested in comparison."
     Janeen covered the front of her breasts as best she could."Mr. Baker, is that you?"
     "Indeed it is, young lady. I regret that your investigation into the 'mystery ingredient' had lead you to state of affairs. I'm sorry, but we can't allow you to leave until certain conditions are met."
     "Oh, so there is something funky in those patties, isn't there?" Janeen shook her glories for emphasis, even though Baker couldn't see her. "Does my grandfather know, and are you threatening to kill me if he goes to the police? Also, why is Blake here? He didn't do anything."
     "To keep you company so as to make the passing time more... enjoyable," said Baker like a parent that disciplined a naughty girl. "By the time you're ready to leave you'll think your bigger bust was the best thing to have happened in your life. As for your grandfather, his ongoing co-operation will ensure your eventual release."
     "Then you'll need a lot more drugs for that to happen, you dink." She stuck out her tongue at the speaker with Blake joining in.
     "I'm afraid you don't have a word in the matter, young lady. Already the addictive quality of the burgers, made stronger thanks to beer, will work and pick at you until you give in and accept the bounty provided by my kitchen. However, I warn you. The grounds are patrolled by dogs as well as men, trained to direct you to a particular spot." It sounded like Baker stepped away from his microphone, giving orders to an assistant. A moment later the heavy outer shutters to one window were opened, granting a view of a pier that jutted in what appeared to be a lake. "Take a look, both of you."
     The couple gathered at the window, with Janeen crossing her arms over her bust. What they saw on the lake was a cow on a raft, looking placid in the situation it found itself in. What followed was a scene that would've been at home in a horror movie, the cow baying as it was dragged under the water by a terror that prompted Janeen to bury he face in Blake's chest. It was all over in fifteen seconds, the disturbance on the lake rapidly subsiding.
     "That is the only other option for you two," intoned Baker. "So behave, and you'll be freed, conditioned to think that you were at a hippie camp popping magical 'shrooms, thus explaining your still expanding breasts, young lady."
     Janeen's eyes went wide, pulling free of Blake and placing her hands on top of her pneumatic wonders. "Just how big am I going to get?"
     "It all depends on how may burgers you eat, young lady, and I have a freezer full of them."

Despite the heat, Karen, Devlin, and Troy Wilcox were waiting on the church steps for Lisa to finish her confession. The man Lisa shot in the neck at the Laundromat was still in critical condition, and it weighed heavily on Lisa's conscious. Even though the man was grade-A scum that would just as soon shoot at police officers as spit on them Lisa felt the situation could've been handled differently. Finally she emerged, looking haggard after apparently saying a collection plate's worth of Hail Marys. She hugged Devlin and didn't care for the looks passers-by gave.
      "Feeling better?" Devlin managed to say once Lisa pulled back.
      "Much. I had a talk with Father Daniel. He assured me that what I done last night falls entirely within justified self-defense."
      "Including the knitting needles?"
      "Even those." Lisa looked at Karen, her partner making an inappropriate grin. "As for you, I hoped you confessed about your use of that killer toy as well as planting a .357 slug in a guy's posterior."
      Karen made the Scout Pledge. "Of course. Now, if you had shot that guy in his pride then everything would be kosher." Had she been standing closer Karen would've been pinched by her friend.
      Mr. Wilcox placed a fatherly hand on Lisa's shoulder. "Girl, I'm happy and full of pride that you got through last night intact and putting those no-good-niks in their place. From what Karen told me it sounded like you two were set up."
      Lisa nodded. "I agree. Me and Karen visit that pizza place irregularly. The only way Leaky Louis would've known we were there is by trailing us. However righteous it was taken those jive turkeys down it cost us. Now we're off the Mighty Meats case pending a review."
      "Leaving it in Mantooth's greasy hands to finish," Karen observed. "Well, it does give us time to visit Auntie and get fitted with those bras she's making for us."
      A smile crept on Lisa's face. "Karen, since we do have extra time now, we can observe one Gaspare Giganti as private citizens. Real subdued and distant, of course."
      "Good idea. I can always check to see if Nash and Finch are doing their jobs, though the way they were built I have suspicions about them too."
      Devlin raised an eyebrow and his mustache twitched. "Built? Like you two?"
      Lisa put a hand to the side of her vest-supported mammary mass. "They're almost our size. Karen, check to see if there are photos of them taken earlier this year. If they were as flat-chested as Marlene use to be we'll have our answer."
      "Don't forget to be at Auntie's place at closing time," Karen chimed. "She has our first bras waiting for us."

"Thank you for stopping by," said Giganti to the departing newspaper ad executive, his Italian accent a bit less noticeable. "I would've gone to the paper today, but my schedule is rather tight."
      "Quite all right, Mr. Giganti," the silver-haired paper veteran said. "When one takes out an entire page for an ad then more consideration is required. It will be printed in the morning and evening editions on Thursday, the same night as the game."
      "Good, good. Take care, and Marlene will show you out." Giganti smiled as the ad man did a double-take as the fulsome blond ushered him out. The miniskirt she wore would've been enough, showcasing her perfect legs, but they were a sideshow compared to her tight and straining blouse. The blood in the man's veins was pumping with a purpose as he was lead to the elevator.
     Sitting in what by all rights was now his chair behind the desk Osgood's face changed from charmed to irritated. "And now you're commissioning and approving ads behind my back. Is this what drove Cutler to drink last week?"
      Giganti dropped his accent and spoke in his natural, Mr. Big voice. "Oh, don't be a pisser, Ossy. It was your ad, after all, but with a minor tweak."
      "Minor? Hell, you could've been honest and called it 'Beer and Burgers and Boobs Night' at the All Sports Stadium. Except the ad managers wouldn't allow the Boobs part." Osgood fumed for a moment. "I see that Marlene is even bigger upstairs."
      "Oh, you've noticed," Giganti giggled. "Don't worry. She's at a size that won't be too inconvenient. Amazing she's able to type so fast, let alone type at all, with lungs like those."
      The eyes of the acting president of Mighty Meats were turning red. "My family tried those burgers on Saturday. I don't need to tell you what happened next."
      Giganti sat down in a chair and planted his feet on the desk, knocking over Osgood's family picture. "I bet you had the best sex with your wife, no, make that the best sex ever! How many patties did she have?"
      "Three," Osgood grated. "My daughter Sissy had four."
      "Four? Oh damn I bet she's a treat to the eyes!" Giganti chortled. "Now she'll be called Hot Saucy Osgood!"
      "Sissy is fourteen, you heinous troll! It's an act of God that prevented me from strangling you Monday morning in front of those cops!"
      Giganti's tone turned downright hostile to match Osgood's. "That would've provided a mere moment of excitement before I pounded your ass into the ground, Ossy. Now, Sissy is a fine girl with lots of energy and will. She'll do just fine with a 37 inch bust, and once her natural growth is over when she turns 20, well," he made a dismissive wave of the hand, "let's just say she won't be lacking sutors with 44 inches of tit on her frame. I bet she'll be the most popular girl in the ninth grade this fall and have a harem of boys at her beck and call."
      "How in the Hell did you know how big Sissy is?"
      The little man put a finger to his lips. "I have my ways, and I won't tell."
      The buzzer on the desk intercom went off, stopping Osgood from issuing further invective. He pressed the answer button hard. "What is it, Marlene?"
      "Sir, the lawyers are here with Ms. Cutler," the endowed secretary said over the speaker grill. Osgood swore he heard her bust brushing up against the microphone.
       "One moment." Osgood released the button, looking at the short man sitting across from this desk. "Explain."
      "Ossy, Ossy, enhance your calm. You're about to inherit the presidency of the company for real, and take your share of the stocks."
      "What? Ms. Cutler isn't keeping her stock?"
      Giganti's grin showed off his pearly white teeth. "Last month I... convinced her that it would be in her best interest to relieve herself of all that stock should something untoward happened to her hubby. You'll get 25%, while I'll get 50% with the rest divvied up between the board members."
      Osgood snarled, wanting to spit at that moment. "What you're saying is that, despite the amount of stock involved, you'll have control of the company. I know you have the board in your back pocket, and don't think for a moment that I didn't see the way Ms. Cutler acts when you're around. Did you hypnotize her and the board?"
      "Let's just say I have a power that few can resist. For everything else there's cold, hard cash." Giganti stood up and adjusted his suit, brushing off imaginary lint. "Now, don't keep the good lady and the lawyers waiting,  Mr. Kelly Osgood. You're reign as Mighty Meats newest president is about to begin."

"It's wonderful, Auntie!" Sugar beamed as she turned and stopped quickly, admiring the craftsmanship that went into the outsized boulder holders. In the full length mirror she admired her figure. Slim, athletic arms and a flat stomach provided a background for the massive white garment that graced her tits. "This bra can carry a pair of trucks as far as I'm concerned."
      "Strong, isn't it?" Auntie beamed, arms crossed in deserved smug satisfaction. "I used the same design from the bras I make for myself. Of course, I had to upscale certain sections. It's a sports bra, but I left some access to the cleavage should the need arise."
      "No doubt. I can put my yo-yo in there instead of the custom holder, so the baddies won't know I'm carrying it."
      "And I can put my knitting needles in my heavenly valley as well," Cinnamon said. She, too, was admiring Auntie's handiwork in another mirror. The light brown lovely moved her hands over the bra fabric like it was gold. "This helps, but I found the added weight isn't bother me much at all, like my body was expecting heavier tits all along."
      "Me too, Cinnamon." Sugar tested the elasticity of the bra straps, finding them to have the right amount of give. "Our cousins in North Dakota said the same thing when they visited for Christmas last year."
      "All of their growth was natural, but I wonder how things would be different if I was as busty as cousin Stacey?"
      Sugar made a singular laugh. "Cin, if that was the case then you would've married into oil and be the richest woman in Tulsa."
      "I would rub everyone's noses in it too." Cin smiled. "But I wouldn't have you as a friend. That's too much of a sacrifice."
      Sugar placed a hand atop her left breast, moved by Cinnamon's words. "That's very touching. Had I gone the way Daddy wanted me to then I would've been married into oil. Then I would've been denied the honor of being your friend."
      "Let's hold it at that, Sugar, and not let it dissolve into mushiness."
      "So I was right," crowed Jasmine as she walked into the back room. She had just her blouse on top, the vest draped over one shoulder like the male detectives do on occasion to look cool. There was a gap above and below the button that was centered on Jasmine's lungs, exposing ebony fleshy cleavage. "This is a bra party. When do we get wine and cheese?"
      "As soon as you get fitted, Jasmine baby," Auntie said.
      The little black woman looked at Sugar and Cinnamon. Expecting to her say something on how they looked real fine the duo were treated to something else. "Girls, why weren't you answering your pages today?"
      "No need 'cause were on 'temporary administrative leave'," Cinnamon said in a parody of Mugsford voice. "If we're needed back on the job then he'll leave a message on our answering machines back home. His words."
      Jasmine put her hands on her hips in a huff and pushed our her chest, making enough stress to pop the middle button right off. "Well, this gallon of hot Coffy has been sitting on the lowdown on one Detective Mantooth. I overheard a conversation he had yesterday that was heavy with a capital H. But I know you two needed more proof, so I checked the records of the phone calls Dick made over the last three months." From her huge purse Jasmine produced a thick stack of teletype printouts and held it over her head like preacher would a Bible. "Girls, our Dick is really a dick!"

12
For most of the day the two detectives that weren't supposed to be detecting were doing just that. Wilcox checked out Nash and Finch's places of work. With a disguise and under the alias of Fanny Newark she passed herself off as an ergonomic specialist. She chatted with the coworkers of the aforementioned women and gained access to their offices. She explained that since the two women now had 'substantial development upstate' their workplaces had to be redesigned to take that into account. Thus, while engaged in what appeared to be earnest work Wilcox snagged the most recent photos of Nash and Finch that showed them before their current pneumatic state. Moreover, Wilcox dropped word that she did similar work at the Mighty Meats plant, asking in a roundabout way if the Health Department and FDA ever did recent work there. The answer from both was no, something the disguised woman confirmed by sneaking peeks at conveniently open daily ledgers and wall cork boards covered with items of interest.
     As for Parlor she snooped at the Giganti residence. Passing herself off as a Korean reporter for an Asian livestock and agriculture magazine she asked the neighbors about the little man. Being terrible gossips, the mostly elderly couples said that Giganti had all sorts of parties, both inside and out in the back yard, with the majority of guests being women. They, too, noticed that small chested women that entered said house came out the next day with larger assets, easily determined by the brevity of the tops they wore. The neighbors right next to Giganti allowed Parlor to photograph the house from their property. It was this way that she photographed the sun room, no less than three topless melon-chested belles laid out on recliners soaking up the late morning rays. In the afternoon Parlor staked out the Might Meats plant, noting the comings and goings of delivery trucks. She saw a refrigerated trailer being loaded up with boxes of burger patties, all of them graced with the Biggy Burger logo, and watched it leave. This was proof that the Nash and Finch were clearly in Giganti's pocket if not his pants. She wanted to follow it, but noticed Dr. Jansen on the loading dock, looking guilty and resigned. Jesse was with him, acting more like a prison guard than a truck driver.
     At 5 p.m. both detectives were at Karen's house for dinner. First and foremost to be fed was Oscar, Karen's pet Jack Dempsey. While the fish inhaled its flakes the women partook of porkchops, mashed potatoes and green beans. Karen took a sauce-dipped piece of skillet-cooked meat and ate it. "Our city and federal ladies aren't doing a thing about Giganti. There's no orders for health teams to inspect the processing line or for samples of the product and associated ingredients to be tested."
     "And there was no signs of work suspension or even a slowdown," Lisa added. "No inspection teams either. Giganti sure has some deep pockets to have the authorities to look the other way."
     "I wonder about that Dr. Jansen fellow. We could follow up and ask him some questions. After all, he did say his previous work included studying the effects of hormones used in beef production on the human body."
     Lisa shook her head. "No good. Even with that faux Korean accent I use on the pushers I couldn't get past Marlene on the phone. I did take the liberty of calling the university for Janeen Jansen. She hasn't reported to her summer lab course on Monday and today, so I left a message on the answering machine at the house both she and her grandfather are living at. She'll call Jasmine and in turn will page us."
     "She's seems like the eager beaver type," Karen said after shoveling in two spoonfuls of mashed potatoes. "I'm sure she'll help us. If there's one thing today's youth likes to do is sticking it to the man."
     Lisa grinned. "Speaking of sticking it to the man, you want to harsh Giganti's buzz tonight? One of his neighbors mentioned distinctly hearing the little fart saying to a double-bubble blond in his driveway about dinner tonight at the Steak Salon, 7 p.m."
     "By all means. He's surrounded himself with boobs, so he might as well feel like one too."

It was Wednesday evening at the Steak Salon, a high-price restaurant noted for serving the best of Oklahoma steaks. In a private dining room, inbetween bites of succulent meat and sips of wine, Giganti regaled his guests about his exploits in World War 2 as an anti-Mussolini partisan. Outside the room was Jesse, looking like a slab of muscle shoe-horned into a tuxedo, with orders to keep unwanted guests out. It looked like it was going to be a boring night until he saw two women approach. They were detectives Wilcox and Parlor, wearing a similar ensemble they had for Monday except they wore regular ties and the slacks were replaced by thigh-hugging skirts that stopped four inches above the knees. Being the man that he was, Jesse had to say something. "Sorry, ladies. The room is already full. Perhaps your companionship can be put to use at the bar."
      Wilcox gave the muscle a harsh glare. "Where the law is concerned there is always room. We want to see Mr. Giganti."
      "Like I said, no more room," Jesse said. "However," his eyes on the well-filled vests and blouses the duo wore, "we can have a party all to ourselves later tonight."
      Fast as lightning Parlor had one of her steel knitting needles up Jesse's left nostril. With her right hand clamped hard on the muscle's shoulder she dared for him to react, looking wicked. "Funny, isn't it, Mr. Durkel? It's like you almost can't feel the needle. We have business with Mr. Giganti. Unless you want acupuncture on the brain you'll let us in."
      "G.. Go ahead." Jesse relaxed when Parlor removed the needle and wiped it off on his sleeve. Wilcox opened the sliding door and stepped in. After giving Jesse a harsh look Parlor went in also, storing the needle in its holding slot on her shoulder holster. Once inside the duo found Giganti, Osgood, Dr. Jansen, Madlene, Nash and Finch. Also in attendance was Carl Bushmaster, the radio voice of the 89ers, and Larry Wingman, food writer for the The Daily Oklahoman. Those two men, having already seen the busty tops of the seated women, felt their eyes bug-out looking at the duo's well-endowed fronts. The blue-eyed detective noted how Madlene was now noticeably bigger, her breasts muffining from the opening at the top of her tight blouse. She also wore no bra, her small nipples standing out like eyeballs against the thin fabric.
      With a pleased look on his face Giganti placed his steak-tipped fork on his plate. "Oh, my Latin Rose and Raven-Haired Beauty, good evening. Feminine intuition has served both of you well. Tomorrow will be a glorious day for Mighty Meats."
      Wilcox place her hands on her hips, stressing her suit jacket and making Bushmaster and Wingman's eyes bug out even more. "How so, Giganti? Mighty Meats is marketing a product that causes a pronounced side-effect in women. You'll be shut down and dismembered in the courts, and the press will run hog-wild all over the story."
      Osgood blanched when he heard the word dismembered, but was ignored as Giganti went on. "Ah, but you're wrong, detective. You see, Mighty Meats has co-operated with the lovely Nash and Finch here, and we shared the data provided by the good Dr. Jansen. They're satisfied that the Biggy Burger product is within the accepted guidelines of a product undergoing market trials."
      "Market trials!?" Lisa said incredulously. "After what happened to me and Detective Wilcox? And what about them?" She pointed to the seated women and Marlene in particular. "How many burgers did they eat?"
      "More than you," said Jansen, standing up and taking a defensive posture right in front of Parlor, blocking Giganti's view. "You and your partner happen to have a particularly... agreeable metabolism. However, I've instituted a slight change to the mix where the taste of the Biggy Burger remains the same while reducing the possibility of mammary expansion." He placed a hand on Parlor's shoulder, but the palm was uncomfortable close to the top of her left breast. "Such market trials are permitted by law and are needed to validate a product before it goes nation-wide."
      "Take your hand off me," Lisa said calmly. "Or else you'll have a bloody stump." The doctor withdrew his hand immediately and sat down.
      "Well said, Doctor," Giganti beamed. "It's better to fix a problem this way than go nation-wide from the onset."
      Wilcox's righteousness rose to the fore, making the stitches in her vest whisper in protest from the strain. "That's despicable. Even if the Biggy Burger's effects on breasts is reduced it'll still mean hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of women will be getting unnaturally big upstairs. Have you considered what that will mean health-wise? Sore backs from the added weight and shoulders from bra straps digging into them. That's just for starters. How about all those 15-year-old girls that'll end up with 50 inch busts? They'll won't be fending off the boys with sticks, but with machetes! It'll be like a frat party grope fest, but on a nation-wide scale!" She reserved her harshest Joe Friday glowering for Nash and Finch, making the two women uncomfortable despite each having a reassuring arm around the shoulder from Giganti. "As for you two, by helping this sexist midget of a man you're setting back the progress women have made in America by decades. I hope you're proud for what you've done." From her jacket pocket she pulled out and threw a pair of photos at the two women, photos of how they were just a few months before. "Your new breasts are wasted on a weasel like Giganti. Go and find yourselves proper, honest men that'll appreciate and love you more than just those hefty set of lungs you're now carrying."
      "You're overreacting, detective," said Giganti. "Sure, it may add an inch or three of bosom, but it's not like women will eat burgers all the time. Anyway, the percentage of women expected to have any breast growth is around 5%. For women of yours and even Madlene's mammical predisposition, one-half of one percent. Our product was initially tested out in Argentina, you see, and their regulations are lower than those in American. Besides, a few more healthy chests in the world is a very good thing."
      Now it was Lisa's turn to be righteous, the straining of the stitches more easily heard. "We'll have our eyes on you, and yours having been blinded by boobs you won't see justice coming until it cracks your head."
      The little man laughed, coughed and hacked. "Very good, my Latin Rose. You and your partner talk the talk, but it remains to be seen if you walk to walk. I assure you, there will be no need to strip to your unmentionables to arrest me. Jesse, see these ladies out."
      "Like we need to be shown the door," Wilcox said indignantly. With that the duo left, giving Jesse the eye in passing.
      Giganti turned to his guests. "No need to worry about them. With breasts that big very few men will take them seriously." He gave Nash and Finch a wink. "Present company excepted, of course."

Lisa was in a huff as she got in the 'Cuda. Karen had tossed her the keys, fulling a promise to let her drive the car that night. "Be glad I didn't follow through on my threat, Karen. I have a thing regarding older men putting a hand on my shoulder.  It goes back to my childhood. They always did that when about to say something racist about me and my mixed heritage. Only your father can do it 'cause he treats me like family."
      "Frankly, Lisa, I expected you to shove that needle up Jesse's nose anyway." Karen buckled herself in. "He could use some readjustment."
      When Lisa pulled the seatbelt over her shoulder her fingers felt something under her left suit jacket lapel. Upon inspection it was a folded up piece of paper. Under the light of the Steak Salon sign she read it, mouth and eyes grim. "Karen, I think we found our golden ticket."

Giganti couldn't have known that Captain Mugsford was one of those men that would take a pneumatic-chested woman at her word, provided he knew about their integrity and dedication to duty. Both Sugar and Cinnamon went to Mugsford's house right after their meeting with Giganti and told their findings on the man, the company he kept, Mantooth, and the note Jansen planted on Cinnamon.
      The Captain dabbed his sweaty forehead with hand towel, settling down in his chair in the family room. Mrs. Mugsford had finished serving tea and taken her place in an antique-looking rocking chair. The duo were on the well-used couch, cushions still in disarray from active grandchildren earlier that evening. "Well, Sugar and Cinnamon, you've had an interesting few days. Your initiative is to be commended, and Jasmine as well, and she knows more of what's going on in the squad room than anyone else. She informs me about those detectives that seem to be in trouble. I never figured Mantooth to be in the pocket of anyone, but that phone record she gave you has changed that."
      Sugar nodded. "It makes sense, especially if he was involved in Janeen's kidnapping. We tried again to make contact with her at the University today, and found out she missed her Wednesday lab work also."
      "The note Jansen slipped us said that something was going to happen at All Sports Stadium tomorrow night," Cinnamon said. "He didn't specify the action, but said it would make Giganti act quickly and that his daughter would be in danger as a result. He's asked us to rescue her."
      Mugsford rubbed his neck with the towel. "Good thing I have friends in the Tulsa PD and the Highway Patrol. They'll quickly determine if Jansen is telling the truth and take action."
      "Captain, It's no coincidence that the address Jansen provided on where his granddaughter is being held at is the same where Mr. Cutler went for that party last week," Sugar added. "He's taking a great risk by ratting on Giganti."
      "Speaking of rats," Cinnamon said impishly, "what about Dick? We very well can't have him in the loop, and we need to know what he knows about Giganti and his plans."
      A suitable laugh came from the Captain, rolling his gut like a casual Santa Claus. "Girls, I do believe Dick could have his 'piece' taken again. I'm sure he'll cooperate to get it back in 'one piece'."
      "Oh, Reginald," said Mrs. Mugsford. "Stick to fighting crime and away from witty jokes."

5:45 a.m. Thursday morning. One Dixon Mantooth roused from bed with a might yawn. Next to him, still sleeping, was his wife of twelve years Nancy. Smiling, Dixon remembered the passionate night of lovemaking he had with her last Friday. She had consumed two Biggy Burgers and a like number of Coors. It didn't take long for things to get groovy and heavy, leaving a trail of clothes to the bedroom with the thermostat fit to freeze even penguins. What had been enough to fill Nancy's c-cup bra now need the services of the f-cup variety. He gave one four-pack of frozen burgers to a newlywed couple that moved in next door two months earlier. The girl in question already had some health upstairs, so four or five more inches of chest meat could only spice up an already sexy body.
      It took some effort of the will on Dixon's part from glomming Nancy. He had to continue 'going through the motions' of conducting the investigation of the Cutler case. Today it was to certify that there wasn't any underhanded tomfoolery in the making of one Kelly Osgood the new president of  Mighty Meats. After a shower and breakfast Dixon got dressed. When it came time to don his toupee, kept in its own case, he received a surprise. In lieu of the expensive piece of headgear a Polaroid Instamatic photo was taped to the stand. Said photo had the toupee in question on it, and a .357 was planted on its side like it was on an actual head. Dixon's face heated up when he recognized that the photo was taken in his house and in his living room specifically. Along with the photo was a note, and in large block letters written with a grease pen the contents told Dixon that if he wanted to see his 'piece' again that he should come to a storage room in the station's motor pool.
      "Them bitches," Dixon rankled. "Now I will have the Captain suspend them without pay for two weeks." Not for the first time the naturally-balding cop drove his '72 Camaro hard and loudly through the streets of the residential neighborhood. Such was his haste that he didn't have the chance to see the morning paper and the full-page advertisement of Mighty Meats, the one proclaiming a free beer or soda for each purchase of the new Biggy Burger at All Sports Stadium Thursday night.

13
The motor pool, being the lowest level of the station, did have the advantage of being cool even on scorching days like Thursday was promising to turn into. As only actual police cars and those designated unmarked vehicles were allowed in the motor pool one still-fuming Dixon had to park in the open air lot. He trundled to a small caged office first and encountered the chief mechanic, Winslow. Grabbing a paper cup Dixon poured some coffee. Looking for some sugar, all he found was a half-used packet that was taped at one end in the can next to the coffee maker. He emptied that packet into his cup, stirred it with a plastic stick, and drank it down in three gulps.
     "Well good morning to you, detective," said Winslow in a deceptively jovial manner. A Korean War vet in his mid-forties, the black man had notable scars on his bare forearms and chin thanks to an exploding Chinese grenade. A polite, respectful soul, it takes a lot to get this particular gentleman mad at anyone. In Dixon's case, however, all that was needed was to bogart the last full cup's worth of coffee from the machine. "Has your cat pissed in your Wheaties this morning?"
     "Where are they?" Dixon growled, crushing the cup. "I know that you're friends with them. Which storage room are they in?"
     Winslow put a hand to his chin, forefinger curling under the light-colored scar. "Well, they did mention they were holding a certain dangerous animal in the barricade and sign storage. But I think you need to sit down before you hurt yourself."
     "Hey! Don't get all riled up just because I drank..." Dixon caught himself almost falling over. He steadied himself on the counter, the world swimming before his eyes. He wanted to speak, but felt like there was a stopper in his throat.  Throwing dignity to the wind the bald-topped dick crumpled to the floor like a rag doll, prompting Winslow to come over and prodded the unconscious body with his shoe.
     "I'm a mechanic," Winslow said to no-one in particular, "not a janitor. I don't get paid enough to pick up white trash."

When Dixon came to he found himself in the storage room. It was dark, save for a solitary light shining above his head, but that wasn't all. First, he found that he was in a chair. Next, his arms and legs were tied to that chair. Last, but most important, he was naked save for a handtowel over his crotch. "What the hell is this?" he demanded outright. "Wilcox! Parlor! You'll be glorified meter maids at best after the Captain is through with you! That's assuming you'll be cops after this!"
     "The same came said for you, Dick." It was Wilcox's voice, but she remained in the shadows just beyond the harsh glare of the light. "I thought that current piece was an expensive clump of hair. Now I know how you're able to afford it, all for doing some legwork for a man that has a deficiency in that regard: Mr. Giganti."
     "What'ca talking about, you lung-chested floozy. I had to bring lunches from home to save up for that toupee."
     Wilcox tsk tsk'd as she walked the perimeter of the light, keeping to the shadows. "It's not ordinary, Dick. Genuine human hair, imported from the finest donors in Italy, and craftsmanship to match. You didn't get it here in OKC, despite the money that's floating around, but in Dallas. At the very least it's $1,000 cash-bucks."
     Joining the darken form of Wilcox was Parlor. In this case only her head was in the gloom with her vest-confined bosom poking out into light. "You're going to need as much money as you can get, Dick, for your lawyer. We took the liberty of checking your bank accounts, and with my charms the men at the counter were quite helpful."
     "Oh, of course you'll be here, Cinnamon," Dixon said sarcastically. "Bet you been itching to put The Man in his place? Well, I'm not talking. All of this is nonsense."
     "Really?" Wilcox took a step forward, her vest-covered ladybumps now joining Parlor's in the light. "Well, after explaining how you got $10,000 in your private savings account in the past four months, perhaps you can get that lying mouth to work on all those calls to Mighty Meats. Especially the one you made on Monday, when, and I quote, that you'll 'fix those double-bubble twins for good.' So, have you been spying for Giganti as well as arranging for accidents?"
     Dixon remained silent, even when Wilcox and Parlor were on either side of him, busts just a hand's breath away from his head. "Amazing," Parlor said, lightly rapping her knuckles on Dixon's bald spot. "It's solid. While this proves he has a brain in there then something must be controlling it."
     "Agreed, partner. It's time to put the beast to rest." Wilcox patted Dixon on the head. "Don't worry, Dick. Your nightmare is about to be over."
     An understandably confused man watched as the duo brought a table into the light. Next came the toupee, placed on the center of the wooden top. "We should act quickly," Wilcox said urgently. "Before it becomes aware of its master."
     "I agree." Parlor went behind a stack of street barriers, picking up something and coming back into the light. Whatever it was she kept it behind her back for now. "Let's do this."
     Wilcox made the sign of the cross over the hairpiece. "Oh Lord, grant us thy divine power in dispatching from this world a most heinous evil. May your will be done through our hands."
     Initially amused, Dixon's eyes were wide as he witness Parlor bring forth a wooden stake, planting the tip in the center of the toupee. In the other hand, her left, was a hammer. "No! Don't do it!" he yelled. "This isn't some Christopher Lee Dracula movie!"
     "It must be done!" Wilcox said like a latter-day Van Helsing. She pointed to Parlor. "Now, send that demon back to Hell!"
     When the first hammer blow landed on the stake a most anguished scream erupted from Dixon's mouth. Two more blows of the stake were needed before the man literally tripped over his tongue. "Okay... Okay... you're right," he finally said.
    "Right about what?" Wilcox put a hand to her ear.
     "Speak up, Dick," Parlor demanded. "Two more blows will put this piece to rights."
     "Just don't hit it again," Dixon pleaded, his eyes on the spiked hairpiece. "Giganti hired me to get information on Nash and Finch, as well as finding muscle for the plant."
     Wilcox nodded. "So that explains Jesse. And you had access to the case files, explaining why you chose to sic Leaky Louis on us. How did he hook you, Dick? It was that piece, wasn't it?" When the man became unresponsive she took the expediency of slapping him. "Now, what is Giganti planning for All Sports Stadium tonight?"
     "He's going to watch the game, that's all. Him, Nash and Finch, and members of the board."
     Parlor gently lowered the hammer onto the top of the spike, getting rewarded by Dixon's anguished look. "Where's Dr. Jansen in all this?"
     "I don't know, perhaps going to the game as well."
     "Stop with the passing gas, Dick," Parlor countered. "We know what Giganti has done. Janeen Jansen has been missing for days. I swear, if you had a hand in it..."
     "I'm telling you, I don't know. Giganti doesn't tell me everything."
     Wilcox treated the bald spot on Dick's head to some knuckles instead of a pat. "A lie if I ever heard one. Your head is sweating. I'm sure some fresh air will revive your memory. Cinnamon, free the piece and help me untie Dick."
     Yanking the spike out from the table like an arrow from a body Parlor tossed it over her shoulder and produced a switchblade from a vest pocket. Dixon sweated as the lightly-browned woman held that blade over the handtowel-covered crotch. "Are you sure, Sugar? Perhaps I should shave him and make him a backup toupee from his..."
     "Now that's uncalled for, Cinnamon," said the dark-haired woman. "No sense in making him bald in two places. But I do want to know something. Dick, did you steal the bras?"
     Recalling a traumatic childhood memory of being called to the principal's office one Dixon Mantooth spilled his guts in reflex. "He made me, that damn shorty Giganti. He wanted those boulder-holders for his collection and to prove my loyalty to him. Thankfully the shift change made it possible as it was only you two in the showers at the time."
     Both women raised their brows with Sugar giving the man's bald top a taste of tapping knuckles. "Did you take photos of us showering?"
     "No, I didn't! I could do only one thing or the other, not both. I would've been too much of a risk otherwise."
     "Fine." In a minute the rope restraints were cut, leaving Dixon still sitting in the chair, hands now over the handtowel.
     "Where are my clothes? And hand me my piece" Dixon asked harshly. Parlor fetched the pierced headgear and tossed it in such a way that Dixon had to lean so far over that he almost fell out of the chair.
     Wilcox grinned, pulling a set of keys from her jacket pocket. "They're in your car, Dick. If the traffic is right, you'll be able to cross the street with no problem." She tossed the keys like Parlor did with the toupee, making the man almost fall out of the chair.
     "Like hell I will! You go get them!"
     "We're not your slaves." Wilcox stuck out her tongue. "And don't count on Winslow on helping you either. He'll be taking Polaroids in two minutes if you don't get off that ass."
     "Ha! Make me move, you witches! When Captain Mugsford hears about..." Dixon stopped when he heard the ominous growling of a dog. A German Shepard, actually, as it crept from behind a cabinet, coming to Parlor's side. The snarling beastie was fixated on the toupee, ears twitching from anticipation.
   Parlor consulted her watch. "You better get going. Only 100 seconds."
    Gingerly, Dixon got up, toupee and handtowel kept in place with his left hand while the right held the car keys. Even in this situation the man just couldn't keep his damn mouth shut. "Before you two get fired over this, I want to know something. Just how did you get your nicknames?"
     "Really, you want to know?" said Wilcox with fake incredulousness.
     "Why not," added Parlor. "Let's give the man his last request."
     "Okay, partner. Here's the low down, Dick. Originally we wanted to be known as Batman and Robin, but that was already taken by those two cops in New York. Then we thought about being called Kirk and Spock. That would've sounded even more corny than Batman and Robin years from now. So we went with the nicknames my father used for us. It works 'cause they're catchy and memorable."
     Dixon had to laugh more to relieve stress than for anything else. "That's a bunch of phooey. You know what nicknames would've been appropriate for you two?" He looked at Parlor first. "You should've been known as Moose..." he then glared at Wilcox "...and you Squirrel."
     Parlor's harsh countenance was matched by the dog's snarling. "And you'll be Rabbit. Rufus, sic'em!"
     Never in their lives had the two women seen a man run so fast as Dixon was doing at that moment. Gone was the handtowel, his left hand clutching the toupee like it was a bundle of money while the right still held the car keys in a death grip. Winslow was there by his office, Polaroid at the ready. He took a picture and waved as Dixon sprinted pass with Rufus right on his heals.
    Walking back towards the office Wilcox shook her head. "Just look at that, fasting thing on two feet."
     "I wonder if he's as proud as he could be of his anatomy?" Parlor mused. "He's going to give everyone a peek."
     "Well, he's showing off his physique, that's for sure. Wanna bet he'll have a complete breakdown when he realizes that those are the wrong keys?"
     "The rubber room guys are standing by. He won't get his phone call while undergoing a psychological examination. That'll leave Giganti in the dark." Parlor make a questioning look. "Will Mugsford think that we went too far?"
     "We did get it on tape, Cin, and plus it's easier to get forgiveness than permission."
     Winslow walked up to the duo, smiling and handing over the Polaroid pic. Tucked under his arm was a section of the morning paper. "There you go, ladies. Too bad I can't show it to anyone else. It would've made for a good story at the game tonight. The Omaha Royals are playing against the 89ers. At least there'll be a free beer with the purchase of that new Biggy Burger."
     Actually Parlor did fancy the nickname Spock as it suited her mixed heritage, being of two worlds yet not quite finding acceptance in either one. She even got the raised eyebrow express down pat, and used it at that moment. "What's that, Winslow? Was there an ad?"
     "Sure is, Cinnamon. A full page ad in the morning edition." The mechanic unfolded the paper to the page in question.
     Wilcox whistled. "Damn, this is what the good Doctor was talking about! With thousands of beer-guzzling baseball fans eating those burgers..."
     "...and using the timing from what happened to us," Parlor broke in, "by the seventh inning stretch we could be seeing the biggest open air orgy since the fall of Rome!"
     "Correction, Cinnamon. It will be the first mass expansion of breasts in history. The feminists will get their wish in not wearing bras anymore because, if Giganti succeeds in his marketing ambitions, there'll be none able to cope with breasts as big as beachballs!"

It was now thirty minutes before the start of the game. Already ensconced in the Mighty Meats skybox at All Sports Stadium was Giganti, sitting in a plush seat with Nash and Finch on either side. The board members and Osgood were in attendance as well, including their wives. All wore 89er tee shirts and jeans. Madlene, serving as hostess, wore a tee that was two sizes too small, making the team logo look as if it was being distorted by a pair of large balloons. Nash and Finch wore tees that were just one size under what was considered decent, leaving breast-centric imaginations little to improve upon. As for Osgood's wife she was absolutely smitten with her unanticipated addition of chest meat, pressing her tee-cladded bust into her man's arm as they sat down together behind Giganti.
      "Where's you man Baker, Mr. Giganti." said Osgood, leaning forward up to Giganti's ear. "I would think he would be here for this promotion."
      "Ah, pressing business matters. Baker is refining our ad campaign in preparation of positive feedback from the audience here tonight."
      Osgood decided he had nothing to lose by asking the obvious question. "Any particular reason Dr. Jansen isn't here?"
      "He's at the plant, overseeing the quality control of the burgers," Giganti said richly, his Italian accent more noticeable. "We have a winner on our hands, Mr. Osgood, and we have to be sure the product remains up to specs."
      With his eye Osgood noted that even the board members' wives appeared to be a little more pneumatic than they were during the 4th of July company picnic. He could only wonder if  there was going  to be anyone left in the skybox once the mix of beer and burgers starts working its magic later in the game.

Keeping watch outside the Mighty Meat plant was Sugar and Cinnamon. From the front seat of the '74 Barracuda Sugar monitored the radio while Cinnamon used a pair of binoculars, observing the comings and goings of plant employees. Both wore black pull-over shirts like the kind worn by Steve McQueen in the movie Bullet. They matched the black pants and  shoes well. Both had shoulder holsters and hip-straddling pouches filled with reloads for their .357s. They had gotten dressed at Cinnamon's house. Devlin was there, having to come over to pick up his laundry. He commented on how the duo made Emma Peel and Catwoman look like pikers. Sugar was a little jealous as Cinnamon was able to hug her man before leaving. There was no way the raven-haired woman would've been able to go to the DMV and do the same with Nathan, not with the way she was dressed (not that anything was showing, mind you) and how her pneumatic orbs gave truth to the phrase 'balloon smuggler.' So she had to settle with scratching behind Rufus' ears, the big happy German Shepard resting in the back of the car with his head poking between the two front seats like a happy child.
     "Any word from Captain Mugsford?" said Cinnamon as she came back to the car for some soda.
     "None, and it's the bottom of the 3rd." When Sugar paused to get some soda of her own Rufus felt that she wasn't done yet, so the dog planted his muzzle on the side of the woman's face and proceeded to lick her cheek. It felt like beard stubble, very much like Nathan's snuggling on the couch.
      "Hey, you big rat," Cinnamon admonished her pet, "no kisses while on duty. Plus you'll make Nathan suspect that Sugar's seeing another man." The dog made a plaintive whine and settled in the back seat.
     Sugar  drained the can and crushed it like styrofoam. "Too bad we have to wait until the burgers take effect before Mugsford will allow us to enter the plant." She patted the side of her ample bounty. "Then I call pull out the warrant I'm carry between these lungs and get some sweet justice done. We just have to make sure we get to Dr. Jansen before Jesse and his fellow muscle-heads do something stupid."
     Cinnamon sighed, putting down her now-empty can and looking at the plant again. "I hope that the State Trooper and Tulsa SWAT teams can rescue Janeen and grab that Baker character without incident. The fact that the ranch house has dogs and armed guards seems to confirm that there's something there worth so much security. I guess Giganti takes his investments very seriously."
      "Well, we should know before the end of the game, Cin. In this heat you can bet a lot more beer is gonna end up becoming hot passion fuel."

14
During the 3rd and 5th innings Giganti went to the concession stands to see how sales of the Biggy Burger were going. He was pleased with the numbers, especially with the percentage of repeat customers. At the beginning of the 7th inning, however, he noticed something. From his perch in the Mighty Meats skybox he saw people leaving in ones, pairs, or groups. Surmising that the additive was working as planned, he excused himself again from the skybox and went to see if there was a spike in burger sales again. Far from it, the concession works said they had a run on soda and water for the last twenty minutes. On the way back to the skybox he noted there was a line for the restrooms, and that the people were in definite discomfort. They way they grabbed their bellies and waddled more than walk made more than clear that it was something they ate.
     "Ah, man," said one heavy-set man in the line to a buddy. He was sweating buckets and grimacing. "Those damn burgers must've been undercooked. No way beer could've made me sick."
     A woman in the other line, top damp from perspiring heavily, fanned herself with a Biggy Burger promotional flier. "My chest feels like its on fire, and fireworks are going off in my gut. If I don't get to the can soon there's going to be a mess out here."
     As fast as his legs would carry him Giganti went back the skybox. He flung open the door and was immediately assaulted by a wave of smell. Both of his hands were waving in the air before him. "What in the wild world of sports is going on here?" It was in the voice Giganti used in the Osgood's office back on Monday, the accent akin to a bandsaw taken to a piece of corrugated tin. The situation soured faster than milk in the desert sun, leaving the man with just one option. Without further adieu he went to the wall-mounted rotary phone and started dialing.
     Save for Giganti everyone was sweating hard, as expected after eating the burgers, but were in gastronomical distress like the people lined up for the restrooms. Marlene, Nash and Finch were at the open skybox windows for fresh air, stretching the necklines of their tee shirts down for relief and exposing copious cleavage in the process. Osgood actually took off his tee, one hand gripped on this stomach with the other using a napkin wiping away sweat. He only turned around when he heard Giganti talking on the telephone. "We're screwed, you stunted little man," the president of the company managed to say. "You seen what's happening out there? Listen to what the announcer is saying on the speaker."
     Hanging up the phone, Giganti tuned out all other distractions and followed every word that Carl Bushmaster, voice of the 89ers, was telling to everyone on the radio. "The game is going good for our 89ers, 4 to 3 over the Omaha Royals. But at the rate the stands are emptying I hazard a guess that only one-fourth of tonight's crowd will be here to see the end of it. I heard it's the burgers causing the run for the rest rooms, though from the stench wafting up to my perch, not everyone has made it."
     "You said it, Carl." It was Larry Wingman, food writer for The Daily Oklahoman. His voice over the speaker grated Giganti's ears. "Top or bottom, those burgers will make their exit. I hope you're able to make it through to the end of the game, Carl. You and I had some of those Biggy Burgers, and I can tell you my column tomorrow for the paper will condemn this smack to our collective stomachs with utmost vinegar. That's assuming of course that I'm not too sick to write."
     Nash pointed with the passion of a scorned lover with her right hand while the left rested on the associated tit of sweat soaked tee. "You! You did this to me! You did this to every woman who had those burgers!"
     "Now, now, Ashleigha," Giganti soothed as best he could in a voice that was most un-Italian. "Don't go off your rocker so quickly."
     "You had us under your evil spell," said Kimberly Finch. Like her friend Ashleigha her 89ers shirt was clinging to her sweaty bust so much that both would've won wet tee contests in every honky-tonk bar in Oklahoma, to say the least. "Looking back, every man staring at our chests might as well have been hungry dogs eying a steak. They would've grabbed our melons if they thought they could've gotten away with it."
     Feeling more righteous, Ashleigha pushed out her chest with her fists on her hips. "Yeah, and what's with your voice? You got something you want to tell us?"
     Giganti sauntered up to girls, smiling like a boy caught with the cookie jar. "Girls, girls, be reasonable. We all had fun now, didn't we? Besides, perhaps you're all so hot and bothered is because you can't deny my manliness." For that remark he got slapped by the two women.
     "Make that man-lessness, you little bastard!" Kimberly condemned. "You ruined our careers, and we're going to see you ruined  too!"
     Under his breath Giganti muttered 'ah, fuck it' and, with the speed of a Shaolin monk had a thumb and forefinger on one nipple of each woman. He turned them like latches on a briefcase, his eyes and ears rewarded as Ashleigha and Kimberly let out with orgasmic moans and collapse to the floor. As for his nose, it was assaulted with sick smells for the tainted burgers were doing a number on their bowels. The rug in the skybox was going to need some serious cleaning.
     "What the hell did you do?" said Kelly Osgood. The others were too sick to spare harsher words on Giganti.
     "I used what I call the Vulcan Nipple Twist," said a now rascally charged Giganti. "I stole the secret from a monastery deep in the Himalayas." He turned to Marlene, his fingers flailing in the air like a piano player. "Marlene, I rather not tweak those nipples. You've enjoyed your ever-increasing size the most. Come with me, be at my side and indulge in riches that would shame a pharaoh."
     Ashleigha and Kimberly, big and proud they may be, were also-rans compared to Marlene's bust. She looked like she was hugging a pair of fleshy watermelons under white plastic to her chest as she backed away. "You used devil magic on me at the company picnic! Blowing up boobies like so many cupcakes with those demon burgers! All that sex wasted on a man like you when I could've bagged me a doctor or lawyer. Go somewhere that your boobie talents are wanted, you stunted Hugh Hefner poser!"
     Giganti kept smiling as he crept forward like a cat stalking a bird. "Hey, it's not too late, babydoll. I would go to Las Vegas where my 'talents' are in demand," his arching eyebrows only made Madlene feel more repulsed. "But I wore out my welcome there, no thanks to cousins of those goody-two-shoes cops. There is Los Angeles, Honolulu, and even Sydney! You're now one of the biggest 'natural' girls in the world, Marlene. Modeling is just for starters..."
     Still backing up, Marlene failed to notice how close she was to the open widow. With one misstep she lost her balance and fell backwards with a piercing scream. Giganti went to see what became of her, sighing in relief. "It's okay, Osgood. She fell on some fat guys boobs-first. Plus she's quite resilient, if you know what I mean."
     "And you're in quite a bit of trouble, Mr. Giganti." Standing at the door was Captain Mugsford, police shield in one hand and radio in the other. "You're charged with committing a conspiracy of selling a harmful product to the public."
     "Well, I thought I smelled bacon on the way back," the short man sneered in his harsh accent. "I commend you on your willpower in not eating burgers today. Did you load up with donuts beforehand?" He moved his head from one side to the other. "No backup? I guess they had the burgers too, unless you sat on them by mistake."
     "That's a sassy mouth for a near-midget, Giganti or whatever the hell your name is," Mugsford gave back. "I cultivate my vices, and one of them is fried chicken. Now, be the good little half-man that you are and put your hands on your head."
     The twinkle in the would-be burger breast king should've been taken as a warning instead of a sign of passive defiance. "Oh, I just can't abide that." Hand darting under the baseball cap he wore Giganti had a .22 leveled at Mugsford a full half second before the bigger man had his .357 out of his holster. He fired and hit three times, sending the heavy-set man down for the count. "Yee Haa! I shot the Sheriff," Giganti said as the left the room full of sick and stunned Mighty Meats bigwigs, stepping over the crumpled form of Mugsford like he was a sleeping dog. "Now I'll get to shoot the Deputies as well!"

"Okay, it's showtime!" Sugar said as she stepped out of the 'Cuda. "The Captain sent word for the State Troopers to move in on that ranch house by Lake Eufaula."
      "Anything happened at the stadium?" Cinnamon said as her hand patted her holstered .357, joining Sugar as they walked to the processing floor office.
      "Captain said a whole lot of people got sick like dogs after eating the burgers. I was following the game on the radio and Bushmaster said the same thing." Sugar glanced back at the 'Cuda. She left a window rolled down so that Rufus could get some air. "No disrespect, Rufus. Anyway, the Captain is going to arrest Giganti."
       Cinnamon's eyes went from windows to open doors to detect signs of movement within the rich, powerfully smelling processing plant. "Guess that was Dr. Jansen's doing. Man, that's going to be some heavy bad publicity for Mighty Meats. Giganti can't be too happy either."
       "Let's just hope the good doctor isn't being held as prisoner in there, Cin." Also approaching the building were detectives Brubaker and McGlannan along with four other officers. Before entering Sugar pulled the envelope containing the warrant from her cleavage, hand and a length of forearm going down the front of her black pull-over and getting a wolf whistle from Brubaker. She waved an admonishing finger at the man. "Ease down, big boy, or the next thing I'm gonna pull is your arm behind your back."
       All the lights were on, including the office of Dr. Jansen. Cinnamon ventured ahead, finding a pile of boxes and crates in the hall leading to the loading docks. Odd in of itself since finished product would've been loaded on the refrigerated trailers immediately. Plus the way they were stacked indicated it was done in haste. "Oklahoma City Police," the lightly browned woman yelled. "Where is the night supervisor. We're here to serve a warrant."
      "Howdy," came a reply from the service catwalk. Both Cinnamon and Sugar recognized the owner as Jesse, and looking up at the the smug face only made it official. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit sans sleeves and had a safety hat on his head. "What seems to be the problem, officers."
      "I have a warrant here, Mr. Durkel," said Sugar, holding the enveloped document over her head. "Operations at this plant is to cease immediately and all records turned over to me and my fellow detectives. All workers and employees are to be accounted for and interviewed. Failure to comply will result in arrests."
      Jesse made a wolf-whistle in reply. "Despite those ladybumps you're carrying I will not comply with your request. You're way above your paygrade, girl. Got back and write parking tickets and rescue kittens from trees."
      "That's some disrespectful talk from that mouth of yours." No longer caring what Jesse thought of her chest Sugar pushed it out like a rooster strutting on the farm. The twin orbs under the pullover would make one think of a chest-shaped universe. "I thought you had some deep thoughts, having that Ouroboros tattoo. However, it's clear to me now that it reflects your desire to deep throat yourself."
      "Ouroboros?! My 'tat is not that stupid thing!" Jesse slapped his prized ink. "It's a Minnesota Hoop Snake! And you know what they like to eat? Pigs! Shoot'em, boys!"
      From hiding places behind thick support pillars and side rooms came men dressed in jumpsuits that were just as orange and obnoxious to the eyes as the one Jesse wore. They were also armed with guns, firing them at the officers with great malice. From his perch Jesse was amazed on how Sugar and Cinnamon were able to duck and roll into firing stances while endowed with jugs only found on women in the most expensive titty joints in OKC and Dallas. He could only spare one more moment, watching as they dispatched two of the orange men with shots to the chests, before sprinting down the catwalk to the ladder on the far side. He had a job to do, and Giganti wasn't a man to trifle with.
      Sugar made marks against her mental checklist as she shot and scooted from one piece of cover to another. All the men seen so far were hired by Mighty Meats in the past few months, coinciding with Giganti's arrival. All had criminal backgrounds of one stripe or another, and all had convictions for use of a firearm while committing a felony. That alone would've been grounds for disqualification. Clearly Giganti worked in the background, getting the late Mr. Cutler to hire them, and having the endorsement of the personnel manager, a female and also made pneumatic of chest thanks to the short man. Jesse was the exception, having a military background to go along with his less-than-stellar record. Sugar knew that she had to follow him, believing that he had Giganti's confidence and was entrusted to do whatever he was told. Pausing to reload behind a pillar, the raven-haired woman turned her head to the side. "Brubaker! Get backup and take care of these clowns! Me and Cinnamon are going to get Jesse!"
      "That's a big 10-4!" said solid detective. He had one of the patrolmen go back to the cruisers to put in the call. Along with McGlannan the two male detectives reached the hallway entrance leading to the industrial-sized freezers, taking the path of most resistance. Sugar and Cinnamon worked their way to the loading docks, encountering a group of men working in great haste to fill up a trailer with all manner of equipment. Two of them were armed and weren't fast on the uptake, both shot in the leg before they could draw a bead on the women.
      "Alright! Hands up!" Cinnamon yelled. Then, more like a teacher yelling over the noise of classroom, she spoke again. "Where's the fire, gentlemen?"
      One of the orange-suited workers, clearly showing both fear for being caught and lust from viewing two healthy-chested women, decided to spill his guts in the hope to earn some brownie points. "We're going to Mexico, officers. Got word from the boss to get the designated supplies in this truck and go."
      "Boss?" Sugar questioned as she picked up the dropped guns and rendered them useless, her hand then going for a pair of handcuffs.
      "Yeah. That Giganti fella. He's the one that's been running the show anyway."
      The twitch of the nervous man's head didn't look right to Sugar. Her perception of her environment, honed from practice via critter hunting as a child, told her that something was amiss. She acted as she yelled her partner's name, turning just in time as a Mighty Meats employee, concealed behind a stack of crates, sprinted just like rabbit towards her. Instinctively knowing that her gun would've been a liability in this situation, she had raised her right arm above her shoulder. God couldn't have timed it better himself, for Sugar's considerable bust connected with the side of the man's head as she side-stepped with the precision of a machine. The orange-suited man fell to the floor like a meteor, Sugar holstering her gun. "Dahmit!" screamed the man in ample pain. "Myh jaw. Yot brok myh jaw!"
      Cinnamon had a sprinter of her own to deal with, originating from the receiving office. Instead of using her gun she employed her Kung Fu skills. She kicked, left foot connecting to the flunky's chest with the authority of a steel brick, followed by a vicious pistol-slap across the face, putting him down for the count. All of this was enough of a distraction for the remaining three men to make a break for it. If there was an expectation to be shot in the back then they didn't count on the duo's other talents. Sugar used her yo-yo, nailing one fleeing man between the shoulder blades and sending him down to the floor in a sprawl of contorted limbs and a gale of obscenities. Another flunky slipped just short of the door. When he placed a hand on the frame for support it was pierced by a knitting needle thrown by the lightly brown woman. He was stuck fast, unable to summon the resolve to pull out the needle, all the while talking hysterically. The third man went deeper into the plant, making for the packaging department. Two of the patrolmen arrived and bore witness to the scene of crumpled, broken flunkies courtesy of the duo.
      "Malloy, Reed, take care of this scene," Cinnamon said as she pulled her .357 back out and went after the third man, quickly followed by Sugar. They found the packing machines silent and rows of hamburger four-packs awaiting their cellophane wrapping. "Look at all this, Sugar. I wonder what would happen to a woman that ate a whole lot more burgers in a short amount of time. More than us and Jasmine even."
      Sugar felt an undeniable craving for hamburger at that moment with only her sense of duty and wellspring of righteousness keeping her hands away from the raw patties. "We'll end up with an epidemic of women with breasts that fill up their laps, Cin. This Giganti character can't be that demented to think that would happen. There has to be a point where the boobies can't grow anymore."
      "Too bad you won't know, pigs!" It was Jesse, popping from behind a tall rolling cart and firing at Sugar. The bullet nicked her right shoulder with the returning shot sending the big man back to cover.
      "You just don't know when to quit when you're ahead, Jesse!" She ducked under a conveyor belt, tentatively touching the wound. It felt like a hot iron had touched her, and it was only the strap of the shoulder holster the prevented the bullet from piercing the flesh. "You have to keep pushing our buttons!"
      A know-it-all laugh came from behind the cart. "Push your buttons? Hah! I'll push your boobs so hard that they'll come out your back!"
      Sugar waved to Cinnamon to work her way around to flank Jesse, then crouched and scurried to a point under the conveyor belt where she could get to the next open lane. Just as she cleared the gap the third man from the loading dock reappeared, gun in hand and pointing at the detective. "Okay, you bitch! Drop the piece and kick it to me!"
      A faint pattern of familiar footfalls filled Sugar's ears. Still in a crouching stance, she smiled as she leveled her gun at the man. "No, you drop your weapon! Or do you like being a chew toy?"
      "What kind of stupid question is that? Now..." the man stopped when he heard growling behind him. He didn't want to look behind him, rightfully fearful that he'll be shot, but his head ever so slightly turned to the right, eyes straining to get a glimpse.  Now he heard the angry panting of a dog, and it sounded like a big one.
      "Get'em, Rufus!" Sugar watched as the big German Shepard took down the orange-suited man like a tackling dummy, biting the wrist that held the gun. He had no choice but to release the weapon, the sensation of pain too great to be ignored. Sugar ran over and secured the dropped weapon, slapping a set of hand cuffs on the panicked man's free wrist and secured the other half to a support bar. "That's enough, Rufus. Let'em go."
      The obedient dog obeyed, releasing the man's wrist. It was a testament to Cinnamon's training that the dog only bruised the skin and didn't break it. "Good boy," Sugar said in an equally descriptive voice. "You'll get steak."
      Rufus woofed, for like all dogs everywhere he knew what the word 'steak' meant.

Cinnamon and Jesse continued to play a deadly form of hide and seek. They worked their way among the machinery devoted to the processing and packaging of cattle meat. They exchanged shots when they could, firing when they caught glimpses of each other. Revolver empty, Cin got behind cover and reached for the speed loader she had in a pouch tied to her belt. Just about to snap the cylinder back into place she was surprized by Jesse, cursing to herself for not hearing the big man's footfalls. He slapped the gun out of Cin's hand and then punched her in the gut and both breasts in rapid succession. A swipe of the leg staggered Jesse in turn, his knee smarting all get-out. "You move quietly for such a large pile of shit," the detective spat out.
      "In 'Nam, you have to move like midnight, or you're dead," taunted Jesse. Lecherous eyes that might as well have been from Giganti's head played over Cinnamon's stuffed pullover. "I bedded plenty of ass in Saigon. Too bad I can't add some squaw to my scorecard."
      Cin made a 'come closer' gesture with her left hand, having seen it used in a martial arts film. "Come and try it, Casanova. Is breast-punching what you consider foreplay?"
      Like a wolf on a rabbit Jesse launched himself towards Cin and engaged in a kung-fu battle straight from a Shaw Brothers film. Spinning high-kicks, forearms thrusting and chopping down like cleavers and acrobatic stunts using the machinery as props were all employed. Deep down Jesse enjoyed finding someone that was up to his skill, regretting that it had to come packaged in an Injun half-breed crazy woman with great zonking tits. To show his affection for nature's funbags, he kept hitting them at every opportunity.
      "What are you trying to do?!" said an exasperated Cin, taking a moment to express herself. "Pop them?"
      "No, you gussied up meter maid! Like I said, I'm gonna push them out your back!" As there was no sand, Jesse threw a wad of burger meat at Cinnamon, blinding her for that crucial moment. Fingers spread wide, he rushed to get a booby squeeze in before finishing her off. He did it, the sensation he felt past the pullover was that of two firm melons with just a hint of give to them. For not focusing on the goal he got kneed in the groin.
      Backing up, Jesse held down the pain and got angry. His hands, however, refused to form back up into fists. "My hands!" he yelled out. "There stuck! It's because of your boobies! They're too damn big!!"
      "Serves you right!" Cinnamon threw back, aching from the blows Jesse landed in the fight. "That's what you get for roughing up my treasures! My boyfriend's able to cup them just fine! What about you? Bet you're use to just waxing the shaft!"
      "I don't need my hands to kill you!" Jesse only got as far as that when a yo-yo connected his head between the eyes. It wasn't so much a solid 'thunk' but an explosion of blood, tears and sweat as the tall man fell to the floor like a side of beef. Cinnamon turned to find Sugar just behind her to the left, the yo-yo having passed by a mere fraction an inch. It wasn't a smile on Sugar's face but a grimace, her left hand on her right shoulder.
      "Damn it hurts!" Sugar said past gritted teeth, walking up to the crumpled, passed out form on the floor. "I saw you two fight. It was like monkeys having at it over a banana, so and decided to lend a hand. Just have to ask. All those sounds you two made while fighting. Is that some form of Kung Fu foreplay?"
      Cinnamon shook her head. "And this who watched all those Kung Fu films with me at the low-rent theaters. Though that was the most powerful and accurate hit you ever made."
      "I was aiming for this chin. Now his face looks like road pizza." Sugar put her yo-yo down under her pullover and into her cleavage. "Now let's get this loser off the floor and secure him." With Cinnamon's help the deed was down, Jesse placed on a cleared piece of conveyor belt and had both his wrists and ankles handcuffed. "He'll keep. Gotta find the good doctor."
      Cinnamon waved the air in front of her. "I thought he smelled. He must've had Mexican for dinner."
      Sugar sniffed the air. "That's ammonia. It's used for cleaning and..."
      "...refrigeration," Cin finished. "You think he stuffed Dr. Jansen in one of these industrial freezers?"
      "Then let's not waste time, Cinnamon." In the rush the way out Sugar hit a column on her right side, causing a new ushering of cursing thanks to her wounded shoulder. "Great," she said, "now I have something else to confess to in the confessional this Sunday."

15
All Sports Stadium was just a stone's throw and across the interstate from Mighty Meats, so the trip was quick. Giganti parked as close as he dared next to the plant, observing the police cars nearby, and opened the trunk to his black '73 GTO. He swapped out his 89ers tee for an all-black one, only then sneaking his way to the inside. He had to get something in there before leaving the city, trusting his skill and size to remain unseen. While he played ninja another drama was unfolding. Sugar and Cinnamon, with Rufus in tow, checked freezer after freezer, hoping to find Jansen before too long. When they encountered a freezer that had a strong smell of ammonia they knew they had the one. Inside they found the good doctor tied to a side of beef, gagged and blindfolded. Once freed he was taken back to his office, an arm around the shoulder of each of the women for support. "Can you tell us what happened?" asked Sugar, ignoring the pain from her right shoulder.
     Tired and cold, Jansen found it in himself to answer. "Mr. Durkel took a phone call in my office about 25 minutes ago. After that, he bum-rushed me to this freezer, said 'it's the cooler for you, Colonel Klink,' and tied me up. He was the one that broke the tubing for the ammonia. That would've killed me before too long."
     "You're in safe hands now, Doctor," Cinnamon said in a reassuring voice. "Law enforcement had the ranch house surrounded earlier today, and Captain Mugsford called them to go ahead with the rescue. Your daughter will be fine."
     Rounding a corner, the little group came face-to-face with one Mr. Giganti. Not believing his luck, he took that brief moment of hesitation and applied his hands with unnatural accuracy to the womens' breasts to dispense the Vulcan Nipple Twist. To his ultimate disappointment it didn't work, despite rapid, repeated attempts. "Ah, shit," he said more for himself in his real voice. "I should've know it wouldn't work on women with your heritage." He sweated when he spied Rufus coming up from the back, growling and barring teeth.
     "This isn't a British comedy skit, and those aren't radio dials you're fiddling around with," grated Sugar. "Consider yourself under arrest, half-pint."
     "Half-pint?" Giganti sniggered. "Why, my raven-haired beauty and her friend the Latin Rose, I'm a stout 5'4"."
     Now it was Cinnamon's turn to vent malice. "Cut the attempt at flattery, you miscreant." She lunged at Giganti, leaving the burden of carrying Jansen to Sugar and her sore shoulder. With left hand landing and grabbing the short man's hair Cin thought she had her man... for a full two seconds. What came next was a sound similar to a rubber cap being pulled off a bottle, and what was in Cin's hand now was definitely not the man's head. "What the fuck?!" she said aloud. "A Mission Impossible mask?"
     "He needed it, Cinnamon." Sugar came back in revulsion. "He's two steps above Dr. Phibes ugly!"
     "Yeah! You said it, Sugar! No amount of money will make a woman kiss that crabapple face!"
     The unmasked Giganti was fuming, his left hand made into a loose fist. "It's always the same with you Wilcox and Parlor women! Charisma isn't solely based on money and good-looks! Put your money where your boobs are, you righteous hussies! Just try to catch me with that vroom broom of a car!" With deliberateness the short man threw what was in his left hand, a smokey flash bomb, onto the floor and ran. The detectives coughed and squinted as they dragged Jansen to clear air further down the hall. Rufus was hacking from the smoke as well, and the smell was as foul as they come.
     "That bastard! How dare he insults my car! Cinnamon, we're gonna run down that little runt and haul his prune butt to jail!"
     "You got it! Doc, you think you can get to your office and wait for the ambulance?"
     The elderly man smiled. "I do believe I can, my dear. I just want my Janeen back."
     "Count on it, Doc!" Sugar said as she and Cinnamon ran down the hall for the exit.

Finding a lone officer blocking his way, Giganti took the expedient of a flying Kung Fu kick that was right on the money. He left the sprawling man behind, kicking up gravel and dust as he made a bee-line for his GTO. In the moment it took to fish the keys from his pocket the duo were already at the exit. Getting in, Giganti started the car and peeled out of the parking lot, kicking up a spray of gravel in the process. Ignoring the stony projectiles, Sugar pulled out her .357 and began blasting away at the retreating vehicle's tires.
     "With all that dust in the air I doubt you hit'em, Sugar," said Cinnamon, holstering her drawn weapon. "You'd had better luck with the yo-yo."
     "My aching shoulder threw off my aim," the raven-haired woman grated as she rushed to the 'Cuda. "I won't miss with a whole car!"
     Cinnamon went after her friend, putting the sports bra she wore to some serious shaking. "Don't go without me!" Both got in and slammed the doors, a heartbeat later had the green-and-black Barracuda roaring to life and left a spray of gravel behind it just as intense as made by the GTO. Cin worked the police radio, giving a description and heading of the Giganti's car. Despite the intense discomfort she felt shifting the gears Sugar poured on the coal, gaining ground on the short man's flight from justice.
     "What's he doing?" Sugar said aloud. "He had time to get more of a lead on us."
     "He's taunting us, Sugar. His GTO has more guts."
     "I'll show him guts!" Not so much as shifting but grinding gears Sugar demanded and got more speed. "He doesn't know what this girl's got!" She threw a switch that she installed on the dash earlier last week, turning on the compact police siren mounted just behind the left front grillwork.
     Cinnamon grabbed the red rolling light from the floor and placed it on the roof of the 'Cuda, a bump on the road nearly making her lose her grip. "He seems to know about our families. He said 'it's always the same with you Wilcox and Parlor women'. Plus that guy looked familiar."
     As if on cue the GTO pulled away in a roar of noise that could be construed as mechanically-produced laughter. Sugar's right hand clenched on the shifter. "Yeah! Now I remember! Rhonda and Stacey talked about some weird little man that did some breast expanding shenanigans up in North Dakota. I wonder if this is the same guy? What was that name?"
     "He looks the part, like a mummy that got rehydrated. Just get me close enough to fire some rounds at his tires."
     From the police radio came the sound of laughter followed by a bout of hacking and coughing. The voice belonged to the man they knew as Giganti, and it sounded just as grating as it did minutes ago at Mighty Meats. "Tee-hee, 10-4 girls! Maybe if you've taken the training wheels off your vroom broom then you wouldn't have to eat my dust!"
     Sugar grabbed the microphone and keyed the transmit button hard. "You'll be eating paving, old man! That's too much car for someone you're age!"
     "We'll see, occifers! You know the saying - old age and experience trumps youth and energy!"
     Instead of going back on the interstate Giganti lead the women on a merry chase through the side streets of OKC. He definitely knew where he was going, taking his pursuers past blind intersections and sharp turns that would make a lesser driver turn cautious. Sugar stayed on him, taking the dips and bumps even as her shoulder screamed pain in protest. Then, just as the circumstances were just right for Cinnamon to shoot the true intention of Giganti was revealed. There was a railroad crossing dead ahead with a one-mile long freight approaching. "No way he's gonna make it, even in a GTO!" Sugar barked. "Cin, get ready!"
     Just as the Wilcox woman made additions to her 'Cuda the crafty Giganti did the same to his GTO. He lifted a cover to a rocker switch he had on his dashboard, and upon pressing it a stream of nitrous oxide was fed into his engine. The acceleration pushed him back into his seat and it took all of his effort to keep the brute of a car straight and narrow. He busted through the wooden barrier arm and crossed the tracks, narrowly avoiding the train by the merest fraction of a second. It took all of Sugar's skill to bring the 'Cuda to a sideway's stop just two feet from the ongoing train.
     Cinnamon willed her heart to beat slower, her deep breaths making both bra and pullover work overtime. "Damn it! We've been outfoxed by rat!"
     "At least you tried, occifers!" Giganti's voice spilled from the radio's grill like a noxious vapor. "Now be good girls and write your reports. Don't forget to mention how I was 'sneaky' and 'crafty'!" What followed was robust laughter, no doubt due to leaking nitrous oxide, with equally powerful coughing and hacking.
     Sugar's grip on the steering wheel lessen, knuckles no longer white. "Let's get back to Mighty Meats. Giganti went there for a reason when he had the opportunity to split town after his little fiasco at All Sports Stadium."
     "Let's do some detecting while we're still detectives," Cinnamon said. "By this time next week we'll be placed on street patrol or," she hefted her covered breasts with both hands for emphasis, "we'll be working in the records and evidence offices if we're lucky, or doing prostitution stings for the rest of our short police careers."

Police cars, paddy wagons, and two ambulances had taken residence in the parking lot when Sugar and Cinnamon returned. Conferring with Brubaker and McGlannan, the detectives began their search. Winning the coin toss, the duo went to Osgood's office, delving into his records as well as Marlene's cabinets. Both waded into the work, keeping what they felt about Mugsford's shooting at the hand of Giganti deep down. When the time comes those feelings would be transformed into righteous indignation with one Mr. Gaspare Giganti as the recipient.
      The phone on Marlene's desk rang, prompting Sugar to pick up the receiver. Cinnamon continued to go through Osgood's folders, only stopping when her friend entered. "Got some bad news from the State Troopers. The ranch house at the lake was occupied alright, but Janeen wasn't present. Just the goons Giganti hired. No sign of Mr. Baker either, or Janeen's missing boyfriend Blake."
      "Well, that takes the cake. No telling where they're at now, Sugar."
      The Wilcox woman smiled. "As for good news, I found this wedged between two folders." She dangled a sheet of paper in front of her like it was a treat for an awaiting puppy. "Giganti was definitely coming back to secure this tidbit."
      "Oh? Gimmie!" Cinnamon took the paper and devoured the writing. "Ah, so the little snot has a two-week rental of a lake-side house at Eufaula. Dated two days ago, no less."
      "That's just the appetizer, Cin. I also found this behind a fake panel in Marlene's desk." Sugar pulled a folded piece of paper from her back pocket. "Giganti also made a car rental at Eufaula with arrangements to pick up the car after hours at the airport. Specifically, after midnight tonight. This has all the fingerprints of a private celebration at Eufaula following the successful debut of the Biggy Burger at All Sports Stadium."
      "Of course that went all in the crapper, Sugar. Giganti has to assume that we know all this, so there's no way he's going to Eufaula."
      "If this is the guy that Rhonda and Stacey described, then he has some surprises left. Don't forget about Janeen. I shudder to think what he's going to do her now after what her grandfather did to the burgers."
      Cinnamon nodded. "You're right, but what can we do other than wait and let the local Eufaula cops take care of it?"
      Putting her left hand on her friend's shoulder, Sugar made an affirmative squeeze. "Cin, honey, remember that my Dad is loaded. He has an oil company plane at his disposal, and the pilot is rated to fly at night. We'll call the Eufaula cops, tell them what's happening and to expect us."
      "So the oilman's little girl comes through," Cinnamon grinned. "I'll show Giganti that this 'Latin Rose' has thorns!"
      McGlannan entered the office, looking worried. "Sugar, you said you left Jesse Durkel handcuffed down in the processing line, right?"
      "Yeah. Don't tell me he's missing?"
      "Unless he's still on property hiding."
      Cinnamon stood up quick, making her bust wobble briefly. "We'll find him." She looked at the couch, upon which was one patient Rufus. "Let's go, boy. Time to sniff out a baddy." The dog woofed and got on the floor, tail wagging now that he was needed.
      Back on the processing line Sugar saw something amiss right away. "Odd. I don't recall seeing the conveyor belts working when we had the fight with Jesse."
      Cinnamon stroked her chin. "Well, you did hit that column on the way out. It has some controls on it."
      "So I see, Cin. Perhaps Jesse rolled off at some point and is under one of the conveyors." So it was that the three detectives and Rufus made a concerted effort to find the felonious Jesse. It wasn't even five minutes when the dog got Cinnamon's attention and lead her, Sugar and McGlannan to a spot at the end of the processing line. There, in a large tray awaiting hands to load them into boxes, were several plastic-wrapped meat patties. They didn't look right, some having a definite orange hue with others having large nodules of bone and spots of blood that...
      "Oh, God, could it be?" McGlannan picked up a package of patties. It was a four-pack, covered in plastic that had the Biggy Burger logo on it. One of the visible patties had a wristwatch in it, while the other had the almost intact tattoo of Jesse's Minnesota Hoop Snake. "I think I'm going to be sick."
      "Well," Sugar said, attempting to rationalize what they were all seeing. "Giganti did have new equipment installed months ago. I guess that included far more efficient... 'processing' units and automation."
      Cinnamon took a look at the tattoo patty for herself. "This is so unreal. If Soylent Green is made from people, then what is Soylent Orange made from?"
      Taking the package out of her friend's hand, Sugar gave the patty an incredulous look reserved for drug dealers trying to ooze their way out of an arrest. "Given the source, then SolyentOrange is made from shitty people."

16
It was another typical July night in eastern Oklahoma - cloaked in high humidity and temperatures still in the low 80s. Like the ranch house at the northwest portion of the lake the one at Eufaula proper had a dock for a small boat. On that dock was Mr. Baker, keeping a rightfully agitated Janeen and Blake company. "This will soon be over, young miss," said the older man, consulting his watch under the dock's sole light post.
     "Over for you," Janeen said scornfully, holding tight the shawl she wore over her bust. "I'll be saddled with this wonder muffins until I find a doctor that's professional enough to look at them without freaking out."
     From the darkness onshore came some laughter followed by a cough. "Oh, pshaw, girl! What doctor is going to ruin such immaculate wonders that you're now carrying? You're set for life, and only a few pointers from me will ensure you and your beau will have unimagined bliss forever."
     Both Janeen and Blake recoiled when the owner of the voice came into the light. "Oh god he's hideous," Blake barked out. "He'd be perfect as the host of Creature Feature!"
     "You... you're Mr. Giganti, aren't you?" Janeen was understandably hesitant, feminine intuition conflicting with the visage of the old man standing before her now. His voice was different, but the way he carried himself was all too familiar.
     The short man walked onto the dock and stood before Janeen's mountainous shawl-covered glories. "Call me whatever you like, girl, but for the next few weeks I'll be know as Wavy Gravy at a little hippie commune of mine at Blackjack Mountain. After some subtle brainwashing and conditioning you'll forget all about Mr. Giganti, Baker, and your stay at the ranch house."
     Blake stepped forward and looked down with a righteous glare at Giganti. "That's bullshit. The cops will know that it was your burgers that caused Janeen to get big upstairs. All you're trying to do is make us useless as witnesses in a court of law."
     With an aged forefinger the short man poked Blake in the chest. "Ah, about that, sonny boy. Have fun explaining the evidence my friend in the police department planted in your apartment. Evidence that will place you and Janeen at that hippie camp at Blackjack Mountain for a three week long 'freak fest' and all of that entails." He giggled and managed to suppress a cough. "Maybe they'll even buy the line that Janeen's boobies grew to a freak interaction of drugs and 'shrooms that had nothing to do with burgers at all! It's going to be all your fault, Blake boy,  thanks to your work in biochemistry and agriculture." With right forefinger still planted on Blake's chest Giganti played his left over Janeen's covered one. Still past the shawl and fabric he elicited an subconscious mewing from the girl.
     "You freaking old bastard!" Blake kicked the pompous man in the shin hard and heard something breaking in response. Giganti fell down, but before Blake could inflict further harm Baker produced a revolver in his right hand, pointing it at the righteous man.
     Laughing, Giganti sat up and rolled up his pants legs. What appeared to be planks of wood were strapped to his calves and he was working to undo them. "Well, it was time to ditch these anyway. They were chaffing me like a bear."
     "I thought you were short before," said Janeen as Giganti continued to work, "but this takes the cake. You've been wearing stilts the whole time?" In her mind it also explained why the man wore pants that were rather loose over the legs.
     Done with his task, the many talented man with the fake name now stood up with the leg extensions in hand and sock-covered feet on the planking. "Of course not, silly girl. I take them off when I'm in the shower and in bed, often," he cooed like a lover, making Janeen shiver, "with female companionship. I'm a stoutly four-eight in bare feet, and you'll love every inch of me while I'm tickling your boobs with them."
     From the darkness came a voice that Giganti had not hope to hear. "If I needed a visual ipecac, you'll be at the top of list." Coming towards the light one could make out three figures with two of those clearly female, the light reveling two sets of pneumatic breasts under dark pullovers. "Okay, you there with the gun. Drop it in the water now." Mr. Baker complied and actually tossed the weapon a fair distance into the water. "Thank you, Baker, or make that Albert, if you like." The female voice sounder louder and more distinct. "Whether you're on stilts or on the shoulders of giants you're still a small pile of shit... Mr. Big."
     "Oh, the lady speaks the name," the now reveled Mr. Big in dramatic sarcasm. "Good to see you, Freebie and the Bean. No, make that Apple for you, my Latin Rose." Even from this distance, and with his practice, Big knew the woman in question was angry from the insult. "How did you find out? Did you buy a clue or drew from the wildcard deck?"
     Closer in, the lighting gave just enough detail for those on the dock to see the serious faces that Karen and Lisa displayed. Both had their guns out as well as their Eufaula police officer escort. Karen made a harsh glare at Big. "Following a hunch, I made a call to my cousin Rhonda in North Dakota. She identified you, mainly on how you're a quart of supercriminal squeezed into a pint of jackass. Aside from all the laws you've broken, and what happened to me, Lisa, and Jasmine, you know what grinds my gears? Because of my expanded boobies last Saturday I missed my Star Trek and Emergency +4 cartoons."
     Lisa stepped forward deliberately, bust visually wobbling despite the custom sports bra and pullover she wore. "They'll keep you in a hamster cage instead of a full-sized cell, you miscreant. Like Karen, finding that I had a bigger chest last Saturday made me miss my Lassie's Rescue Rangers and Jeannie cartoons also."
     Big shook his head like the disapproving grandfather that he wasn't. "Girls, girls, girls. That's the fatal flaw of you Wilcox and Parlor women, your overdeveloped sense of righteousness to go along with your breasts." He gave Karen a smartass look fit for a man that knew more than he was letting on. "You oblivious flew here to Eufaula in your daddy's plane, and by contacting the police here en-route you expected to nab me, my partner, and rescue the fair couple from my clutches."
     "Yeah, that's about it," Karen said nonchalantly. "Just have to remember to put the popcorn bag in the trash on the way out of the theater."
     The little man smiled like he sucked on a sourball. "Who did you talk to on the radio? Was it Darla?"
     "Yes it was." Just then Karen wondered if there was something about being too righteous for one's own good.
     "Well, you're in for a treat. Harold, please relieve the ladies of their guns." The look of consternation on the officers' faces was sweet as Big's flunky Harold, gun in hand, took the .357s and tossed them to Big who in turn gave one of them to his taller partner and leveled the other at Karen. "Ah, yes. Darla is the chief dispatcher of the Eufaula Police Department and always works the evening shift. Her husband is the Police Chief. All it took was bribery, a subtle hint of threat, and giving Darla some help upstairs." Big giggled. "The Chief played you along like a fisherman coaxing a catfish to bite. So there's no cops in position, despite the radio calls you made in the patrol car after landing at the airport. So I say that in an hour's time 'Ravishing' Darla will have her L-cup breasts played over like dough by her hubby the Chief." He snapped his fingers. "Oh damn, almost forgot! Take a look at Janeen here, and see what you two should've been turned into had there been more time."
     Albert pulled off the shawl Janeen wore like it was a tarp that covered a car. The Rolling Stones t-shirt she wore underneath had to have been an effort of Hercules to get on in the first place. "Oh my God she's huge!!" Lisa proclaimed. "Just how many burgers did you make her eat?"
     "Make her?" Big quizzed. "Girl, it took all of Mr. Baker's, excuse me, Albert's, effort from stopping the girl from gorging herself to death on those patties!" He continued to enjoy the flabbergasted look on the officer's faces. Janeen was downright huge with breasts that stood out a full 16" from her chest and went down to her waist. She was the epitome of a mammary goddess on Earth with a perfect, firm, healthy bosom that was intimately explored and enjoyed by Blake and Janeen alike. "With the amount she ate," Big continued, "I'd say she'll grow a bit more, say like five or six more inches. She'll never drown! Oh, that reminds me. Harold, get the boat ready."
     The fake cop went to the end of the dock and into the speedboat. Big nodded to Albert, the tall man pulling a whistle from under his shirt and blew into it. Karen didn't hear anything but Lisa winced, actually putting a hand to her ear. "Oh, did your ears hurt, Apple?" Big cruelly teased with another insult. "You better get on your calloused knees and pray. You too, Karen. Made you miss your cartoons? Hah! Well, it will be worth it after you see this!"
     Some ten feet from the dock the water erupted, and out came several thin, dark forms and a mass that barely broached the surface. Harold, being much closer, freaked and fell to the floor of the boat. The only ones not surprised were Big and Albert, and the former was smiling like a better that won the long odds at a racetrack. "This is no cartoon, ladies! That there is Sigmund, the Oklahoma Octopus!"
     "Ah, Fucking Hell!" Karen blurted out. "I always thought that was myth like Bigfoot and the Texan Pterodactyl!"
     Lisa pinched herself and found that it was not her imagination. "Karen, for that you will go to confessional right after making out the report... if we survive this, of course!"
     Looking back, Big was doubly happy than just a moment before. "What were you expecting? Rover? Hah! Harold stole money from me, but his death is due to bedding the human resource lady at Mighty Meats before I did. This will teach him for poaching my pussy!" He turned back to the lake, watching the creature of Oklahoma folklore menacing the terrorized Harold all the more. "Sigmund! Eat him up! Munch, munch!"
     In a scene that hearken to movie depictions of squids and octopuses plucking sailors off of boats and dragging them under to their doom Sigmund did the same for Harold. Wrapped up in two tentacles, the screaming only stopped when the man was submerged, though the thrashing from his legs did kick up water for a moment longer. Janeen gasped in anguish and practically smothered Blake with her endowments in her attempt to hug him. With both Big and Albert momentarily distracted by Harold's death-throws and Janeen's reaction Lisa drew out the two steel knitting needles from her shoulder holster and threw them in quick succession, impaling a hand on each man and prompting them to drop their guns. "Janeen, Blake, run for it!" Lisa yelled, both she and Karen rushing the dock.
     Far from being phased, the two criminals pulled out the needles as if they were mere thorns and met the oncoming charge. Both displayed the same Kung-Fu skills that the detectives had, making a fight out of it instead of a one-sided contest. The one called Big was as fluid as a monkey, dodging kicks and landing slaps to Karen's face like his fighting style namesake and seemingly ignored the blows landed on him in turn. Except for the one that rendered his backside sore, for he took his eyes off of Karen for a moment to watch Janeen wobble-run towards the street. Again, due to his practiced senses, in this case his ears, he knew Janeen's t-shirt ripped in several places. A pity, for the tee was autographed by Mick Jagger himself.
     Albert, the taller one, dodged Lisa's attacks for the most part and made her waste her energy, and in concert with Big maneuvered the two women to the light pole on the dock. There was a lull in the fight, air drawn into the lungs and exhaled like bellows. "What's that matter, girlie?" Big crowed as he watched Karen massaged her right shoulder. "Are your bra straps digging into your poor little shoulders? Take a clue from those bra-burning feminists and let them swing free."
     Karen stared at the little man with the big mouth. "You're going to be swinging from this light pole by your ankles at this rate, you lech." She started to put her hand down the pullover to fetch her yo-yo. "I'll make for a good photo to go along with the other fishing pics in my collection.
     "No boobie weapons for you, detective. Sigmund, get'em!" Big cackled as two tentacles from the monstrous cephalopod exploded from underneath the water and wrapped around the two women. From there started a slow, inexorable advance down to the end of the dock and ultimately in the water, Sigmund dragging his quarry like a terrier with a huge rat. The struggling women could not help but listen to what Big had to say next. "Awww, how cute. He's playing with his food. I found Sigmund in this very lake years ago. A true rarity - a freshwater octopus. When the government turned down my idea of using such critters as trained attackers in the waterways of Vietnam I decided to do some experiments of my own. I feed Siggy here tons and tons of steroids, and used him to dispose of those that double-crossed me."
     "Did that include the real Mr. Cutler?" Lisa said, fighting to break free from Sigmund's tentacle clutches.
     "Yes it did, you Apple. Albert told me Sigmund only left the gristle behind. Joining him in a watery grave is the actor I hired to impersonate Cutler as well as the pilot of the plane I chartered. Dead men tell no tales, especially if they die in the Bermuda Triangle. Sorry you and your rich friend have to be deep-sixed. I haven't bedded the squaw offspring of an Injun and an Irishman in many moons."
     "Well," grated Lisa as she fought for breath as Sigmund's tentacle tightened up, "for being a bag of shit you're not slacking on the insults. Why don't you seduce someone more your age. Say, like, a mummy."
     "Goodness. You'll be saying Hail Marys until you're old and gray. I just regret I didn't have any of my Japanese friends here; they would've paid top dollar to see women wrapped up in tentacles. Silly people. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a chopper to catch."
     "You're making a mistake," Karen yelled at the retreating pair. "You should be watching us just to be sure Sigmund finishes us off!"
     Big spared some final words from the darkness beyond the dock. "If I had to watch the demise of all my enemies then I wouldn't have time to plan and commit crimes. Now be a good girl and die with dignity, Miss Wilcox."
     "No, I think I'll die hysterically and in shame! Ah, damn, he's gone," Karen spoke with exaggerated sarcasm. "Humor only works when there's an audience."
     Lisa's struggle succeeded in freeing her right arm from Sigmund's tentacle grasp. She tried to reach the left side of her belt but failed. "Great! I can't get to my knife, and punching this thing isn't dissuading it."
     "Got any of you needles left?"
     "Yeah! I took your advice!" It hurt, working her arm down under her pullover and into her cleavage. The touch of metal was followed by a harsh grasp of the knitting implement. Then, instead of resisting the pull she allowed herself to be turned around, just two feet from the dock's edge. In the water before her was the body of the steroid-pumped octopus. "Damn! He's ugly. Karen, where are the eyes on an octopus?"
     The tentacles tightened more, eliciting gasps of pain from both women. "I think he heard you, Lisa! The eyes are on the sides, above where the tentacles connect to the body!"
     "Got it! I hope I hit it 'cause I'm a lefty!" Lisa saw the eye for Sigmund had turned broadside to the dock, the light from the post reflecting off the visual orb of the beastie. Invoking Jesus to guide her hand the detective flung the steel tool with all the effort she could muster in the circumstance. Her aim was true as the six-inch knitting needle plunged right into the eye. The water became agitated as Sigmund, now in great pain, released the women and retreated into lake. Both Karen and Lisa panted a hand deep into their chests to feel their beating hearts.
     Karen slapped Lisa on the back. "Hot damn, that worked! There's no way they're going to believe this in the report!"
     "There remains as to how we got our pullovers ripped up." Lisa point to the patches and strips of fabric that were torn off their pullovers from where the suckers on Sigmund's tentacles had particularly tight grips.
     "We're going to need new bras from Auntie," Karen lamented. The left portion of her bra was completely gone, exposing the associated breast. For Lisa a great swath of bra and pullover was missing, exposing as much breast one would expect on a Vegas showgirl at a late-night review.
     Now that the blood wasn't pounding in their ears the duo was able to notice the sound of a helicopter rising into the air. It was Bell Jetranger, coming up from behind a group of trees, and it flew low enough to make the women crouch down on the dock lest the downwash force them into the water. The copter was equipped with a loudspeaker as the voice of Mr. Big announced that fact to them. "So Sigmund let you go. That's strange, for he does like the taste of fat!" Big's laughing, coughing, and hacking was like listening to a cold-ridden devil. "Despite what has transpired, you two look really good. Especially you, Wilcox, with that Amazon one-boob-exposed motif you have going on. Now goodbye, gumshoes, it's been..."
     Flinging her last knitting needle, Lisa's aim was true as the front passenger-side window of the copter was broken. The needle itself impacted length-wise on Big's face, making him swear up a storm that would make Satan cringe. That was all the distraction Karen needed. Ignoring the pain from her shoulder she flung her yo-yo at maximum strength, the red-and-white toy impacting the side of the copter with the force of a sledgehammer. Immediately Albert had his hands full controlling the flying machine, it dipped and yawed perilously close to the surface of the lake. About to dispatch another blow Karen held back as Sigmund erupted from the night-clad water and wrapped his tentacles on the copter's skids. All this did was make Albert's job even harder.
    "Bad, bad, bad Sigmund!" Big yelled over the speaker. "Bad, bad, bad! Bad, bad boy! Bad boy! Let go or there'll be no biscuit for you!"
     At the edge of the dock Lisa grinned. "Aww, the poor little feller wants to play with Big," she yelled to her partner above the sound of the rotor blades. "You think you can help them?"
     "Sure!" Karen wound up and delivered another incredible hit, this time on the tail boom. Albert's control over the Jetranger was non-existent as the tail rotor died, making the copter spin about in place with greater and greater osculations. Sigmund now had a tentacle through the broken window and was currently trying to squeeze the life out of Big even as the little supercriminal swatted away at the appendage with a rolled-up Playboy like a man disciplining a dog.
     "I'll make dumplings out of you, Sigmund!" Big yelled over the speaker. "This is not the way to treat your master!"
     Karen grabbed Lisa's arm. "That copter is gonna crash! Let's get to cover!"
     "Okay!" Both women ran for the shore, busts heaving with each footfall and the tears in their pullovers becoming greater and greater. The instant they heard the copter impacting the water they grabbed ground. The main rotors, still moving at speed, struck the lake surface and were sheared off, one portion burying itself no less than five feet away from the women. They waited a moment longer before turning to the lake. The corpse of the copter was submerging into the water, and their was no sign of Big and his assistant Albert or of Sigmund for that matter.
     The detectives went to the edge of the dock for a better look. Joining them were Blake and Janeen. Now essentially topless, the OKC detectives didn't even attempt to cover their breasts in the presence of Blake. After all, compared to Janeen, they were on the small side. The rips in the Rolling Stone tee the university girl wore had exposed her mountainous load to the world, and only reflexive modesty had her hands on her nipples. From one perspective, it was like she was carrying two huge bags of groceries close to her chest. "Is that bastard dead?" Janeen asked, her righteous indignation making her mighty fleshy orbs wobble.
     "No bodies, human or octopus, have floated to the surface," Lisa said. "Though we didn't see the actual crash itself."
     Karen massaged her right shoulder and winced. "We'll be lucky if we find any body parts, if Sigmund was the ravenous killer Big made him out to be. Speaking of tentacle critters, I wonder what provoked him to surface in the first place."
     From behind her ear Lisa produced the whistle Albert used to summon Sigmund just minutes earlier. "I snatched it off of Albert during our fight. Factoring in Sigmund's injury I figured that using it while the copter was there would provoke him to attack it."
     Karen smiled and patted her partner on the back. "And here I thought you used your Injun powers to coax nature to help out."
     "Actually, I called upon the 'Big Guy' himself through the good office of his son." Lisa pulled the crucifix she wore around her neck from the depths of her cleavage that earlier shared space with two, six-inch long steel knitting needles. "We came out of this alive and rescued the fair maiden and her beau in the process."
     "I'm all for that, Lisa, but it wouldn't have much of a bother for the Lord to at least spared us from having our bosoms exposed. When the good Eufaula cops come I want to have at least some pretense of dignity."

Epilogue
There was a search, of course, for Gaspare Giganti (aka Mr. Big) and Aldred Baker (Albert). Divers and dredging only brought up Harold's mutilated corpse, the helicopter, and clothing thought to have been worn by Big. The FBI ran the investigation and froze out the Eufaula police, the State Patrol, and Sugar and Cinnamon. As for the official cause of Harold's death it was listed as drowning with postmortem trauma caused by the crash of the malfunctioning helicopter. Not one word was mentioned about the octopus, despite the physical evidence of one severed tentacle, and all involved were sworn to keep such knowledge to themselves or face charges of leaking secret government information. The duo resented that last part, even though it did made the rest of their report far more acceptable to their superiors.
     Sugar's shoulder wound had healed, and both her and Cinnamon shared a memento from their encounter with the giant octopus. At the base of her neck Sugar sported a circular scar one inch in diameter while Cinnamon had one around her belly button, caused by the teeth embedded into the associated tentacle sucker. It wasn't the kind of battle scars that they could boast about with fellow officers, but the duo's boyfriends found them alluring enough to make them the focus of late night kisses and even raspberries.
     For the briefest of time Kelly Osgood held the brass ring only to have it snatched away from him. For his crimes, among which included conspiracy to knowingly sell a product harmful to the general public and not reporting the murder of Mr. Cutler, Kelly was sentenced to fifteen years to a minimum security facility. The consolation was that his family stayed loyal to him, and conjugal visits from the wife were the only bright spots in the whole ordeal. The Mighty Meats Board of Directors and all other senior and mid-level management were either sentenced to similar prison times or received hefty fines. Destroyed as a company, Mighty Meats was bought at a discount by a competitor and was converted into a pet food plant. Nash and Finch were fired from their respective jobs and avoided prison time only by provided the prosecution with details and evidence of Mighty Meats criminal activity. As for Jesse his 'pattification' was ruled accidental. Since there was no certain way to identify those specific burger patties that contained his body parts no less than 200 four-packs were incinerated with the resulting ashes buried at a community cemetery. He passed into urban legend, dubbed the Soylent Orange monster used to scare children around campfires and in cautionary tales where one gets their just deserts for being a bad person. Marlene was perhaps the only one to come out ahead of the Mighty Meats story. Suffering only very minor injuries after her fall from the skybox (the same can't be said of the fat men she landed on, though) Marlene instantly fell in love with the doctor that tended to her in hospital. That the doctor was young, tall, and handsome helped matters greatly, especially since he was quite the connoisseur when it came to women that had Marlene's 'attributes'. Six months of dating was followed by marriage, and in the course of time the doctor had to keep getting bigger and bigger houses to provide for his ever-increasing number of family members.
     Captain Mugsford fully recovered from the gunshots inflicted on him by Mr. Big. He attributed his survival to his fat-laden gut, saying 'if that pissant of a little man Giganti was serious, then he would've shot that pea-shooter of a .22 at my face where it would've made a difference.' Mugsford also gained a friend in the form of Rufus when Lisa brought him along during a visit to the hospital, saying that she wasn't about leave him in the car in the hot July sun even with the windows down. That Rufus took a shine to the man was taken as proof that he recognized the Alpha Male in the room, but Mugsford chalked it up to the fact that his sweat smelled like chicken grease after decades of daily consumption of his favorite food. Speaking of grease even Dixon Mantooth couldn't squirm his way out of punishment. There was enough court-level evidence on Dixon to sentence him to five years for tampering with an investigation among other charges. He served only three, but he lost his pension and only had his wife and a few thousand dollars to his name. Last word had him in Tulsa starting a new life as a security consultant and part-time private investigator specializing in gathering information on cheating spouses. He gave up wearing toupees after birds kept stealing them off his head to use as part of their nests. So one could rightfully say that he was a bald headed private dick.
     Dr. Jansen faced criminal charges that were later dropped upon the intervention of the US State Department. In exchange for telling all he knew about Mr. Big and his criminal enterprise Jansen had to swear not to be employed or give out information in relation to his past work regarding chemical additives. With his assistance a few more Nazi war criminals were apprehended in Argentina as well, mainly through the efforts of bounty hunters. He moved to Wyoming to finish out his years as a pig farmer. Joining him were the newly-wedded Janeen and Blake. As the neighbors were too polite to ask about Janeen's hyper-mammaries she lead them to believe it was a family trait that occurred to one woman in every other generation. The affection the young couple shared never waned, and together they did their part to increase Wyoming's population base. As for the stadium burgers that Jansen tainted the women that ate them at most only gained an additional cup size, and even then it was chalked up as a physical reaction to the burgers instead of any special ingredient.
     That left Sugar and Cinnamon. Despite the unorthodox methods they used, especially in regards to Mantooth and the trip to Eufaula, the copper tops of the OKC Police decided to make them full detectives, the youngest in the history of the department. They were given burglary cases and worked stake-outs since they had to garner enough 'ticket punches' over the next few years before going on to homicide. Unofficially the superiors were conscious of potential image problems on having two officers that were as pneumatic as Sugar and Cinnamon. They wanted to see how defense attorneys and juries would react when in the pretense of such endowed women and if it would be detrimental to the prosecutors. Only time would tell, but the duo did learn how the simple act of removing their jackets and suit coats while interviewing detainees often lead the same to blurt out compromising facts. Testimony earned this way went a long way to obtain convictions.

It was now October, and on the second Saturday of the month it was the homecoming dance for Sugar's younger brother Mike. Acting as chaperones, Sugar and her boyfriend Nathan kept a discrete watch over the dance floor. Sugar wore a simple, elegant dark red dress fashioned by Auntie that gave the illusion of normalcy at a distance but up close threaten to bust the eyes of any boy that stared too long at the cleavage she did show off. Cinnamon, in a dark blue dress, and Devlin were there as well, also keeping a watch for any potential shenanigans.
     Taking a break from watching teenage couples dance Nathan drank in Sugar's appearance like a parched man finding an oasis. "Man, if only it were you in that Police Woman show then you'll be making the dough."
     "That's lovely, Nathan," Sugar said happily. "Though it'll be tough for the directors to decide whether to focus on my face or my tits since a TV screen only has so much space."
     "Not to mention your boobs will have their own credits, since they'll be the true stars of the show." For that Nathan got light pinch on the chin.
     In another part of the decorated gymnasium Devlin also took a refreshing gaze of admiration of his woman. Sensing that gaze, Cinnamon turned deliberately so her bust ever so lightly collided with Devlin's chest. "I would say that you should take a picture 'cause it'll last longer," she said softly, "but you have plenty of those. Where you thinking impure thoughts about my body, weren't you?"
     "Well, kinda," Devlin said in a tomboyish manner. "I was wondering who would win in a fight involving you and that vampire woman from the Nightstalker episode last week."
     Cinnamon tugged the edge of Devlin's immaculately tended-for mustache. "What is it with you men and your love of catfights? Is there any doubt it would be me? I have my faith in God, a crucifix, and these righteous lungs that can crush a vampire just as surely as a stake to the heart."
     "As long as I get to watch." For that Devlin got a quick tug to the 'stache followed by a kiss on the cheek.
     The couples rendezvoused at the refreshment table, getting refills on punch. "Just what is that music they're playing over the PA?" Devlin asked. "Where's Aerosmith and Queen?"
     "Yeah," said Nathan as he handed Sugar her cup, "I was expecting Disco music or even some Chicago."
     Sugar teased a lock of her raven-black hair. "Oh, those are fine selections, but if you want to get the girl to really like you then nothing beats Barry Manilow." She pointed to her brother Mike and his date Laura out on the dance floor. "See? Now that's heartfelt intimacy."
     "Not to mention their hands are practically on each others butts," Cinnamon said conspiratorially. "You think that little bit of help we gave Laura also made her less 'inhibited' like us, Sugar?"
     "Well," grinned the raven-haired beauty, "if she had any inhibitions before they're gone now. But I wouldn't call it a 'little bit' of help." The authorities believed they had destroyed all the breast-expanding burger patties, but they were wrong. Sugar swiped the last pair of four-packs from Dixon's freezer before the Feds did, and waited until Labor Day before putting them to good use. Four of the Biggy Burgers were cooked by Nathan and consumed by a like number of deserving young women at the DMV barbecue. The two to three additional inches of frontage did wonders for their sex lives and two achieved their often stated goal of having their hubbies make them pregnant. Two patties were eaten by Laura at the Wilcox barbecue. As neighbors, she and Mike were close friends, and Sugar acted on Mike's wish and Laura's unspoken want of having some more health upstairs. Going from a B-cup to a G-cup overnight was a delight and a source of some concern for Laura, but with Sugar and Cinnamon's tutorship, and Auntie's tailoring finesse, the girl with the straw-colored hair could conceal or flaunt her chest with full confidence. Right now she was pressing her groovy G-cups into Mike's athletic chest like a pair of thick, pliable rubber balloons.
     As for the last two Biggy Burger patties in existence they were consumed at the Wilcox barbecue also. Facing an expiration date, the duo each took a burger, figuring that since they were already huge that two more inches on a 48-inch bust wouldn't hurt. They did indeed felt that God had designed them with extra carriage in mind as the added mass was hardly noticeable. For most people they couldn't tell the difference between 48 and 50 inches just by looking, but Nathan and Devlin not only saw but felt the change in size in the most intimate of settings. The evening of Labor Day, 1974, will always be remembered by those involved.
     "Hey, Cinnamon," Sugar said after reminiscing, observing her friend downing a slice of pizza. "You better lay off those for awhile. You already can't fit in your mother's wedding dress, and Auntie hates to do the same job twice."
     With Devlin smiling and Nathan whistling like he didn't heard anything Lisa got up to Sugar and pressed her dress-draped boobage against Sugar's. "Hey, that was my little secret. I was going to tell everyone on Monday at the station. What did you do to make Auntie talk?"
     Sugar grinned. "Simple. I saw Auntie earlier this week to get my wedding dress measurements made, and since we both share the same relative dimensions Auntie pulled out the pattern she made for you and... well, it kinda slipped past the gaps of the shirt."
   "You're getting married too, Sugar? And just when where you going to tell me? We're partners."
     "The same can be said for you. I bet we have the same date in mind and..." Sugar stopped when the Principle of the high school approached. The duo moved apart and allowed their braless breasts wobble under the dress fabric like balls under a close fitting cloth bag. "What is it, Principle Dithers?"
     The balding and spectacle-wearing man wiped his brow. "Oh, I'm so glad you're here, detectives. We have a problem in the parking lot. There's a hippie in a run-down van selling dope to minors."
     Cinnamon stroked her chin. "Does this hippie have long, unwashed hair, a big gut and smells of ramen noodles and brown mustard?"
     "Does the van have a scenic depiction of horses running across the plains on its side?" Sugar added.
     "Oh yes it does, and the stench is unbearable!"
     The duo dipped their hands into their respective cleavage and pulled out badges, each having extra-long string so they would reach the front of their breasts. Hands went back down in the fleshy valleys to collect another piece of equipment. As carrying guns to a homecoming dance would've been too much the duo had brought their back-ups. Sugar tested her yo-yo, its unique spinning sound all too familiar to those criminals having witnessed it in action. Cinnamon had a brace of six-inch steel knitting needles, fit for distant or close-in fighting. "We'll use our weapons as a last resort, but if Paul Pot decides to run before backup arrives... well, we'll try to keep property damage to minimum."
     "There they go," Nathan said to Devlin as they watched their women move with a purpose to the exit. It said a lot on how big they were if one could see their swaying breasts from behind as they move. "You brought a back-up jacket just in case?"
     "Sure did," Devlin said as he gave his mustache a tease. "They're going to explode from those tops if the action gets intense, and nipple tape isn't considered an acceptable covering in public."
     "Not until womens lib makes it so," Nathan observed. "We just need millions more women built like Sugar and Cinnamon to make it practical."

END