I…Lawdog is…If you don’t rea…
Aw, heck. Just read, OK?
Do not have anything in your mouth when you do.
And there I was, taking a leisurely patrol through the Bad Section of Town, when I notice what appears to be a nekkid man laying flat on his back in the middle of the dirt road, with Opal (fully clothed, thank you, God) sitting square upon his stomach, facing towards his feet. This in and of itself was enough to warrant further investigation, but the prostrate man was beating upon Opal’s broad back with his fists and screaming at the top of his lungs.
Kissing the thoughts of a tranquil evening goodbye, I checked my pepperspray, stepped out of the cruiser, and eased up on the couple.
“Desmond,” I greeted the gentleman, “Opal. What’s on y’alls minds?”
“Go ‘way, Mister Dawg,”said Opal, without turning around, “This don’t concern the law none.”
“Oh, Sweet Jesus,” yelped Desmond, “Mister Dawg, you got to do something!”
“Opal,” I start to say as I ease around to where I can see her hands, “We need to talk…Holy Mary.” The anguish in Desmonds voice was quite understandable once I got far enough around the two to notice that Opal had Desmonds schnitzel in both ham-sized fists, and was apparently trying to rip the old boy out by the roots.