RATING: Adult for language and content
DISCLAIMER: The Bee has no rights or claim on any
of the characters or products named in this story and makes
no profit from them.
SUMMARY: This is the third story in the Rosebud/verse.
Tara has been abducted and the police rush to find her.
The other members of the Circle decide that they can do
a better job and begin their own investigation.
Who will find her first and will it be in time?
Huge thanks to Purpledodah for the amazing banner.
The officers sitting in the nondescript white van jerked their
head phones off and tossed them to the floor boards, their
ears still ringing with the reverberation from the sound of the
The older one scrambled for the driver's seat and the radio
to call for help. The younger one grabbed his ear piece and stuck
it back in, throwing his hand up to his partner.
Lindsey's voice was low and muffled but calm and steady.
"Not yet. Everything's o.k. The suspect just fired a gun but no one
was hit. There is some fucking cop in here. I don't know what game
he is playing but I don't think the other's have realized who or what he
is yet. Stand by. Transaction not complete. As soon as I take the
product and Rug gets the cash I'll give the signal."
The two backup officers looked at each other then out the window
toward the rowdy activity going on in the bar across the street.
"He said there's a wild card in there. Can't be a sanctioned bust.
Must be some knucklehead trying to make a name for himself."
The other cop sat back down and frowned.
"What if it is a bad player with an addiction, buying to feed a need?"
The first one shook his head.
"Well if it is, he's about to get more bang for his buck than he anticipated."
As soon as Rug had fired his 357 into the air, he had gotten up and
sauntered toward the nerd at the bar. Lindsey immediately took
advantage of the alone time to mumble quickly into his wire and
hopefully avert a catastrophe.
With most of the other bikers grudgingly returning to their previous
activities, the rattled bartender leaned over.
"Come on now Rug, you and the boys know it's illegal for me to stay
open past two. If you get the cops down here on some gun bull shit,
another violation will shut me down for good."
Rug reached across the bar and good naturedly slapped the man twice
on the cheek before leading his new customer towards the commerce
section of the ramshackle bar.
Angel was still staring unwaiveringly at the cowboy setting in the corner
waiting on him. He let Rug lead the way and Angel found himself
staring face to face with the hottest piece of cowboy ass he had seen
since Brokeback Mountain.
Angel screwed up the corners of his mouth into what he hoped resembled
a sincere, 'good buddy' type smile. He found himself being of two thoughts.
His big brain wanted to make this deal and bust these scumbags.
His little head wanted to saddle this cowpoke up, ride him hard and put
him up wet.
He wanted to dig his spurs into that farm boy tan and rope him tight
to the head board. He wanted to lasso and hog tie him with......
"What? Sorry, what?"
Lindsey took off his hat and ran his fingers through his long hair
tossing it back off his face.
"I said, Rug here says you in the market for a bit of the bad. What
exactly did you want?"
Angel frowned. He knew there was a word game involved in all this.
Things you could say and things you couldn't. A line you weren't allowed
to cross with out it being tossed out of court on grounds of entrapment
but he wasn't sure what that was.
"Um, what have you got?"
"A serious case of jock itch but the doc gave me some ointment. Thanks
for your concern. Now what the fuck you here to buy?"
Angel shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"Welllllll. I want weed. Yeah, that's it. Weed. I'm having a bitch of a
day and I need to puff on a fat doobie to mellow out."
Lindsey squinted his eyes. Sad thing was, if it were different circumstances
he would do his best to tap this moron. Course he would have to clean
him up. Maybe spike his hair some. Lindsey loved big guys with
Then he remembered. This particular moron was a cop. If this whole
thing was going to be saved he needed to get rid of him, finish the cash
transaction, bust the biker and end this case.
Then, if all went well, he might just look this joker up and fuck him into
the softest mattress he could find.
Slapping his hat back on his head, Lindsey slumped down in his chair
and stretched his legs out in front of him.
"This guys a jerk. I ain't selling him shit. You want him to have some,
you sell it to him."
Rug leaned forward and placed his hand on the gun that still lay in
the middle of the table. He was no longer laughing.
"I said, sell him some weed."
Lindsey turned his body to fully face the large skinheaded biker. Angel
waited near the table, dumbfounded. He wasn't sure what was happening
but he knew the first one to sell him anything was under arrest.
The stand off dragged on.
Finally, with a casual shrug of his shoulders, Lindsey thought he had a
possible way to salvage this whole catastrophe.
"Yeah, sure, but Rug and I got some business to tend to first. Why
don't you go have a drink and when we are all done I will get you all
the, um, doobie, that you want. That cool with you?"
Before he could answer, Rug interjected.
"Nah, not necessary. Me and Hoot got all the time in the world and
since you are in a hurry to go light up, I think you should jump line.
Go ahead Hoot. Whitebread here is itchin'"
Lindsey knew he was stuck.
It was time to bite the bullet and hope for the best. If he could
somehow give this sexy jerk a heads up maybe they could both
come out with their skins intact.
With a sigh that screamed greatly annoyed, Lindsey rolled his
lanky frame to his feet and he dug down into his denim pocket.
"Get out yer money, Whitebread. I got a quality baggy. No
seeds or stems. Gonna cost you $30 bucks. Take it or leave it."
The last was said with an exaggerated wink that he was sure
Rug couldn't see.
Angel winked back, flattered that someone as good looking as
Lindsey would flirt with him. Still, he had a job to do and by
Lindsey offering product and naming a price, Angel knew he had him.
Reaching down, as though getting money out of his shoe, Angel, instead,
jerked his ankle holster, pulling his small off duty weapon and shouting,
"FREEZE! You're under arrest!"
Rug reached for the gun on the table, but Angel got there first, tossing
it to the floor out of reach.
He then slammed Lindsey down across the table and began frisking him
for weapons, paying extra time and attention on anything he may have
hidden between his legs. When he felt up the cowboy's chest, his
"What the fuck? Hey, you're wearing a wire. You a cop too?"
The two men in the plain white van looked at each other with
bugeyed horror. After snatching up the radio mike and shouting
"Back up! Officers in distress! Send Help!!!" Both men grabbed
their guns and charged in, stunned by the melee that was already in
Fists flew. It was impossible to tell who was on what side.
The bartender and his trusty baseball bat had cracked at least three
skulls before getting flattened by a cue stick.
Angel ducked just in time to avoid being clobbered by a flying
beer mug and Lindsey was riding Rug's back expertly thanks
to all those evenings on a mechanical bull.
Pausing to watch the up and down motion of Lindsey's ass, cost
Angel a punch in the jaw. Spinning around he kicked the owner of
the fist in the beer belly sending him sprawling. After that he threw
himself, with gusto, into the mix.
Every available cop and cruiser in the city was dispatched with the
call of 'riot at Whitey's'.