Another excerpt from my gifted protegé Troy Cutcross's sci-fi/espionage/erotic masterpiece, "The Conundrum Enigma: a Colonel Charlie 'Doughnuts' Duncan Sexy Thriller by Troy Cutcross." This is the end of chapter nine and the entirety of chapter ten. At this juncture "Doughnuts" learns from his superior officer (and jealous girlfriend) Tammi, that he's going in undercover in Pendarvis Correctional Penitentiary––in a
very special disguise!
“This
prison—it’s in Russia?”
“No—here
in the US. But that works in our favor. You see––you’re going in undercover.”
“Doughnuts”
nodded. “I like it,” he proferred, imagining himself hitting prisoners on the
head with a nightstick, like when he was a rookie spy on the streets of Des
Moines, what seemed like a lifetime ago. “As a guard?” he asked, just to make sure
he hadn’t misunderstood.
“No,”
she smiled. “As an inmate!”
“I
get it,” Charlie snarled. “It’s jealousy. You’re mad because you think I have
more of a crush on Svetlana than on you, so you’re sending me into the general
population of a penitentiary. How long do you think I’ll last in there, with a
face like this?”
She
laughed, a laugh with a cruel sound in it that Duncan hadn’t heard before. It
made his butthole clench a little. “It’s true, you’ve been called one of the
handsomest men in the world. And guess what? Your back story is you’re halfway
through one of those Swedish-type of sex-change operations!”
“Wha-a-a?”
Charlie exclaimed, so shocked he couldn’t even finish the simplest of
one-syllable words.
“That’s
right. We want you to get the attention of the Cosmonaut right away, so you’ll
be going in there with a surgically altered face and cleavage, to make you look
like a pretty lady.”
“That’s
where I draw the line, lady! I won’t be part of your sick revenge scheme! In
fact, I may even have to break up with you and resign from the agency and go
back to Major League Baseball. You need to see a brain specialist and get to
the bottom of your sick need to get revenge on me for a perfectly innocent
space ride with a sexy spy whose advances I heroically resisted!”
“It’s
not my plan, ‘Doughnuts,’ it was Mad Dog’s.”
“Wha-a-a-a?”
Charlie said, again frustrated by his tendency to leave words unfinished when
he was stupefied, or really surprised.
“That’s
right. He was killed right before he was going to tell you ‘Phase Three’ of the
plan, which is if the Cosmonaut escapes you go into the prison undercover
dressed as a lady so you can get close to him and kill him after finding out
all about his operation.”
Charlie
thought about it. He was an extremely handsome fellow, and many people had told
him he would make a beautiful lady. If it was Mad Dog’s idea, and in the best
interests of the Agency and of the United States of America, who was he to say
no?
“Would
they….” His voice got a little higher because of the fright, but he continued
his query. “Would they cut off my little man?”
“Your
little man?”
“My
dinky.” Tammi still didn’t understand, because she had grown up in a house full
of ladies with no father or brothers using vulgar “slang” terms for their male
members such as “wiener” or “dinky.” “My penis,” he finally uttered, using the
latin or medical term for the organ.
“Of
course not. And the boobs will come right off as soon as you terminate the
mission. And your old face will be grafted back onto your skull using the same
technology as when that lady the chimp tore the face off of that one time got
her face back surgically.”
“All
right, then,” Charlie opined. “Let’s get this ‘show on the road.’”
CHAPTER TEN
“Prisoner
Number X-209907-J,” the warden bellowed. “You are hereby imprisoned in
Pendarvis Maximum Federal Penitentiary for the Crimes of Armed Robbery, Mass
Murder and Trafficking in Illegal Weapons such as Bombs and Ninja Swords. You
will be here for ninety-nine years to life. Do you understand your sentence?”
Colonel
Charlie “Doughnuts” Duncan shrugged, an entirely different experience, he
found, when lifting the shoulder also involved lifting a bra strap and a good
five pounds of voluptuous bosom, in an effort to seem thuggish. “Whatever,
screw,” he yawned, using prisoner slang for guard, even though technically the
Warden wasn’t one of the guards.
“I
know a perfect place for you,” the warden sneered sadistically, which, Charlie
thought, was probably the only way he ever shrugged. “In with the maximum
security goons!”
That
was perfect, he thought. The Warden had no idea Charlie was a federal spy on an
undercover mission, just in case he was “in cahoots” with Toborsky, which was
prison slang for working with him on the sly. “Coolio,” Charlie said, trying to
sound bored.
“But
maybe we can come to some sort of accommodation, or agreement.” The Warden came
around the desk and sat on the arm of “Doughnut”’s chair and put an arm around
his shoulder. “You’re very pretty, and I like your swell chest. If you’d like
to stay in the Warden’s quarters, that could be arranged, along with a soft job
in the prison library….”
Just
then he reached for one of Charlie’s brand-new bosoms, and with lightning
reflexes the intrepid spy had grabbed the warden’s index finger and snapped it
back until it broke with an unmistakeable sound of breaking!
The
Warden lay writhing, or wiggling, on the floor, and “Doughnuts” stood up.
“Sorry,
Warden Frenger, these boobs aren’t for playing with. I’ll be heading for Maximum
Security now to take my chances with the goons.”
He
felt bad using his considerable martial arts skills on a wimpy guy like the
Warden, but he knew that any sign of weakness on his part would be perceived as
an invitation to touch his breasts without permission, and he didn’t intend to
let that happen under any circumstances. These bosoms were for display only,
and for Charlie’s own and only his own personal enjoyment!
So
when he first appeared with his knapsack and bedroll at the door of the Maximum
Security wing, he looked around at all the chess-playing oafs in the rec room
and wondered which of them would make a crack about his rack first. It was a
good thing that it was a three-hundred pound guy with a broken nose and
cauliflower ears like an old boxer who made a vulgar suggestion and invited
“Doughnuts” to share his cell for what he clearly intended as “romantic”
purposes! He also had a tattoo on his forehead of the bully character from the
movie “Edward Scissorhands,” which just went to show what a big bully he was in
the “yard,” or prison grounds.
“Come
and get me,” Charlie cooed seductively, and when the big ape stood up from his
chess game Charlie kicked him in the face, cutting his nose with his spike
heel. Then, when the goon went down, Charlie lifted him up with one hand and
hurled him across the room so that everyone would know that even if Charlie was
a beautiful lady on the outside, he was still a lethal killing machine!
Everybody
else went back to their chess games and Charlie strutted his way to his cell,
which was about as comfortable as his barracks had been back in the army––which
means not at all! He tossed his duffle bag in a manly way onto the cot and
started filling the drawers of the armoire, or dresser. Top drawer was for wigs
(because there had been no time to grow enough hair for lady-hairstyles),
second for lingerie, third for makeup and perfume and bottom for shoes, which
he had five pairs of, all high heeled. The dresses he hung from a waterpipe
that ran the length of the cell and he wondered if he had overpacked, but then
who knew how long this most unusual mission would last?
A
skinny little fellow approached his cell, carrying a flower. “A-hem,” he said,
clearing his throat because you could tell he was nervous. “I see you’re new
here.”
“Yeah?”
“Doughnuts” growled, forgetting to make his voice high like a lady’s, because
unlike a real sex-change person he hadn’t had the hormone chemical treatments
that would have grown real bosoms and raised his voice up and made him stop
having to shave.
“Sorry.
It’s just that—well, I noticed you walking in and I thought, that must be
someone with a sex-change, because why else would a…” He swallowed a big gulp
of saliva because he was nervous. “A beautiful lady be assigned to a men’s prison?”
This
time Charlie remembered to raise his voice up high. “That’s correct, sir. I
don’t like it one bit but here I am, little old me in here with all these
brutish men, thinking of nothing but ways to fondle my breasts. I assume that’s
why you’re here.”
“Gosh,
no, ma’am, I have no desire to be the consort of such a lovely lady, because my
life would be in constant danger and I’d always be looking over my shoulder,
worried about some tough lug stabbing me with a ‘shiv,’ which is prison slang
for a homemade knife, in hopes of winning your love away. No, I just had a
question.”
“All
right. What’s your question?” Charlie asked.
The
little fellow was sweating something awful. “Did they cut your little man off?”
“This
prison—it’s in Russia?”
The first morgue shot is badly flaked, but the bullet hole in his chest is plain.
The typewritten notice on the back of the morgue photo, indicating that Wells was a Dillinger associate, doesn't match the rest of the caption. The only Harry Wells I've been able to associate with Dillinger (based on very, very cursory research) was an Indiana bank teller the gang robbed, not a member of the gang.
Apparently Harry was sitting on that short concrete wall when Officer Tom Cardwell shot him.
