Reconciliation 17

Chicago, Illinois

June 21, 1957

Attempting to get out of the way,

Mahoney quickly backed out of the car,

but in a simultaneous move

—not wanting to do it all over the

dark-­blue leather of her Ford convertible—

the young woman leaned across the seat,

and…

From the moment she’d awoken

from her fear of facing a judge…

and her husband,

this day,

to say the least,

had been a nervous day for the young woman.

No! This day had been a downright,

unbelievably nervous day for the young woman,

so…

“Gaacchh!”

Not minding too much,

though,

if she puked all over the dark blue gabardine material

of the City of Chicago uniform of

police officer John Mahoney,

so…

“Gaacchh!”

The propulsion of vomit carried through the car door

plastering Mahoney’s not so clean

—especially now—

dark blue uniform,

and further splattered onto his

not ­so ­well polished

—especially now—

shoes, and…

Feeling hot vomit soak through his shirt,

pants, underwear and,

onto what up until three seconds ago

had been a raging boner;

in stunned shock,

“Holy f***in’ shit, lady!”

Officer John Mahoney said,

“Why the hell’d you have’ta go an’ do that?”

“Damn­it! Damn­it! Damn­it!”

Hearing the voice of his partner before seeing him,

“Hey, John!”

Getting out of the squad car,

going to him,

“ya sure finished quick!

That broad must’a…”

Stopping short.

“Wha’ the f***,” Stan said.

“Ya smell like puke!”

Ignoring him,

yanking the door open,

tossing the keys to the Ford onto the young man’s lap,

“Get the f*** out’a here!

An’ if I ever see the two’a ya around here again…”

The young man did not hear what the cop would do to them

if ever he did see them around there again, because…

©December 3, 2011 / Mark M. Lichterman

To be continued as “The Reconciliation 18”