Flirtin' with Jesus

By Robert Paul Blumenstein

Flirtin with Jesus is the first book of The Ascension Trilogy. Conrad LaGrone, a middle aged divorc, is one step from homelessness. Plagued from a life of bad choices, he meets the dynamic and loving Bonnie Adair who holds out a ray of hope to him, that he might set his life on the right path. However, Detective Dietzel, a dirty cop, Barry Brantley, a sinister crime boss, and the Reverend Isaiah Bubba Brizelle, a dubious evangelical preacher, have designs to derail Conrad from obtaining his new lease on life.

The story is peppered with sex and violence, as well as sacred institutions fraught with corruption, which the reader may find unsettling, though equally amusing. The reader is riveted to the character of Conrad LaGrone, at times commiserating with his failings, and at other times, cheering him on to success.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 18, 2001
• ISBN: 9781477166376

Robert Paul Blumenstein

“Having been raised in rural Georgia, I was fortunate to have lived in many marvelous worlds: my private domain of the open countryside, hobnobbing with raw rural folk, and eventually, witnessing the advent of suburban sprawl, which gobbled up every farm in sight. Change and diversity set me on the path of exploration and a fascination with where I fit into this beautiful collage. My father, a research chemist, taught me how to ask questions-- how to examine the unknown, how to dig beneath the surface. The answers he sought were in the laboratory-- mine are in a world filled with people, people who are revealed as characters in a story, discovered between the pages.” Robert Paul Blumenstein lived in both the Carolinas before finding his way to Virginia where he completed his graduate studies in theatre, and now resides. “So far, Richmond has never let me down when it comes to diversity and change. There’s always an ample plenty of characters here.”

Book preview

FLIRTIN’ WITH JESUS

Robert Paul Blumenstein

Copyright © 2000 by Robert Paul Blumenstein.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-7-XLIBRIS

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Cover concept, Annie Ward.

Cover artwork, Doug Burnside, "the Doug."

Author’s photograph by Eric Dobbs.

Thanks Mother, for introducing me to the world of books. I hope

they’ll let you read this one in heaven.

And thanks to my wife, Lois Blumenstein, and that little guy on her

shoulder, for never giving up on me.

CHAPTER ONE

The Classified

Another steamy day made ready to stick as the heat grew anxious evidenced by beads of sweat hanging from Conrad LaGrone’s upper lip. In Richmond, early summer mornings offer a short supply of precious cool air before the whole place becomes engulfed in humidity. Little time was left for Conrad to enjoy reading his Sunday paper on the front porch of his near West End apartment. Soon, he would have to retreat indoors and not re-emerge until nightfall. Not yet ready to decamp, he sat still savoring a cup of coffee, a Pall Mall unfiltered cigarette, and his newspaper.

Conrad routinely flipped to the classified section. Here was the stuff of dreams. Offers for the dog his landlord wouldn’t let him have, furniture he wanted, the house he could never afford, and additional employment he so desperately needed. And of course, personal ad fantasies. This one was somewhat amusing, Dark Chocolate Seeks Vanilla. The familiar phrasing of another ad always graded on him: Deadbeats need not apply.

How ridiculous, he thought. Ugh, hello, ma’am. I’m, ugh, applying for this job of your mate. Mind telling me about what it pays? Say, are there any benefits with this job? he voiced in Goofy slobber tongue. What deadbeat goes around admitting he’s a dead-beat? Isn’t that the whole point of being a deadbeat? Deadbeat, and proud of it! Conrad chuckled at his little joke.

Here’s one that especially caught his attention:

Southern Belle in search of authentic gentleman who knows how to treat a woman like a lady. Hate playing eights, hate golf and men who don’t pay their taxes.

This was an absolute low blow. She had to have known that he would read this ad and be hurt by it. Only one person in the world could have placed this ad: Rebethica Paige LaGrone, Conrad’s ex-wife. Conrad LaGrone was a forties-something, graying, becoming a little thin on top, divorcé. Life was hard enough without his ex-wife sniping him for screwing up their marriage.

Before their breakup, Conrad had one hell of a year as a real estate agent. He often treated Rebethica to gourmet meals in Shockoe Slip, took their daughter, Elon, to Regency Mall buying her whatever she fancied; and of course, lots of golf. Custom made Pings, golf packages, golf attire, five-dollar nassaus (which Conrad lost on every hole). The money flowed like rain water in the gutter, but with a hitch. Conrad didn’t make the first payment from his bounty to the IRS. So, when the accountant came around the following spring and uncovered this colossal money mismanagement, it was worse than an eruption of Mauna Loa. The LaGrones owed the IRS twenty-seven thousand dollars due and payable within the week.

For Conrad, money evaporated like a volatile solvent. He couldn’t save a dime unable to resist the pleasures that money bought. Rebethica had enough. She threw him out of the house after discovering his inordinate blunder with the IRS. Conrad left with a thousand dollars in his pocket, his car, his clothes, his childhood effects, and memories of better days past.

Once the disaster with the taxman had run its course, he could no longer afford to remain employed in real estate. He returned his license to the Real Estate Board. He worked a telemarketing job sporadically scrounging together a few bucks. Conrad found this work undignified and the pay was piss-poor. His only other means of income was as adjunct faculty for the Commonwealth Institute for Business Professionals. This career school, masquerading as a junior college, trained their students to professionally file papers, operate the computer, and type documents for lawyers, doctors, and other business professionals. Conrad was their Oral Communication Specialist. That is, he taught public speaking, or as it was more commonly known, speech. Unfortunately, this, too, was a part-time job that barely paid the rent and put food in his belly.

Nevertheless, he was lucky to have found the speech teacher’s job so quickly. Earlier in his life, he had aspired to a life in the ministry. By some strange quirk, he enrolled in a graduate degree program and received his master’s in speech. He had gone from graduate school to a bunch of other stuff to real estate sales to poverty working his way back up to speech teacher.

Conrad’s attention turned to the more somber task at hand; the inexhaustible chore of reading every Help Wanted advertisement, a laborious ritual he performed each Sunday. He hadn’t played golf in months, nor was it likely that he could afford to give his only child, Elon, a going away present when she entered college in the fall. His only hope was that something might turn up in the classifieds this Sunday.

He found the usual clerk this, administrative assistant that, almost an entire page of drivers. Why not apply for a driving position? No, because it brings back unpleasant memories from the time Rebethica and I owned the floral shop. It was a real mom and pop operation. Every Valentine’s, Easter, Mother’s, Christmas, and so forth Day, Conrad drove his van filled with tons of flowers all over Richmond. Yuck! No, I’ll never drive a delivery truck again.

What was this?

Photographer—good knowledge of telephoto lenses, video cam recorders, other electronic equipment necessary. Flexible hours, part-time. Clean record and drug free. Richmond Police Department 555-7801.

Conrad was oddly attracted to this advertisement. He always wanted to be a photographer. That was pretty high on his dreams to fulfill list. Was this advertisement for surveillance work? How exciting, he thought. Yet, there was another side of the coin. Conrad found the very idea of the police distasteful. Even though he had a curious inkling to apply for this job, this cop thing blocked the road.

Conrad always believed that cops were sneaky and underhanded employing any measure to invade one’s privacy. And even worse, Conrad now reasoned, this classified ad undoubtedly sought someone to work undercover. What to do? He always dreamt of being a professional photographer, but at the price of being a spy, a sneak, a rat for the police? How could I live with myself? How could I ever look in the mirror again if I take a job like this? What about the protest marches from the sixties? What will my friends say? My students? It’s out of the question to work for the cops. This is worse than driving a delivery truck! It’s settled. I’ll callabout the job first thing in the morning.

* * *

Conrad lay on the sofa watching the Anheuser-Busch Golf Classic. He spent every Sunday afternoon watching golf on television. When he was selling real estate, his broker had asked him to play golf one Sunday afternoon. Conrad had declined the invitation in favor of watching a golf match. From that time on, his broker ribbed him about being one of those golfers who would rather watch golf than play golf. That joke certainly wasn’t very funny now as the real reason he’d rather watch golf than play was because he had no money for green fees. He returned to his thoughts about the cop job. I wonder if cops play golf. Maybe they hold an annual tournament. Now that would be fun! I wonder if they’ll ask me to join the Fraternal Order of Police. Hum, not so good. This whole matter tore Conrad apart. He took another swig of beer and pressed the mute button on the television.

Conrad moved from the sofa and crossed to the window air conditioner thrusting his face directly into the airflow. He turned the thermostat to its lowest setting to get an arctic blast, as he called it. After a few minutes, Conrad’s lips turned blue. Ah, that feels good! He turned the unit up and returned to his sofa. Something in the ashtray caught his eye: a roach.

How did that get there? Oh, yeah, Wiz was here last night, and we smoked pot. Oh, Jesus, the advertisement said, drug free. This means that I have marijuana in my blood stream. Knowing these cops, they’re sure to ask me to piss in a cup. He recalled that a certain herbal tea would purge the body of illicit drug residue. He strained to remember the name of the herb, golden … something. He crossed to the telephone table and removed the Yellow Pages from the drawer.

Conrad thumbed the pages to the section marked herbs. He figured he’d try one of those franchised mall stores. He dialed the number for the Good Nutrition Company.

GNC, help you? an insipid voice greeted.

I’m looking for an herb tea. I really don’t know the exact name. It’s something like golden root, goldenrod, I’m not sure, Conrad answered.

A long pause followed before the sales clerk responded, You one of those drug addicts?

I beg your pardon?

What? You got a drug test coming up?

I beg your pardon?

Yeah, you people call about that stuff all the time. You take it so you can pass drug tests.

I didn’t say anything of the kind! I simply asked—

Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard that one before. Look, we don’t sell anything like that. And furthermore, we don’t do business with drug addicts. So, why don’t you take your business somewhere else, druggie?

How—How—How dare you speak to me like this! I want your manager to come to the phone immediately!

She’s on vacation and I’m in charge. And I say we don’t sell to druggies! Now, good-bye!

Conrad heard a stinging click. What an outrage! I’ll never set foot inside a Good Nutrition Company store.

Conrad continued to search the list of herb stores in the Yellow Pages when he came upon the listing for the Little Shoppe of Herbs. Very theatrical, Conrad thought. He dialed the number.

The Little Shoppe of Herbs. May I help you, please?

Much better, Conrad thought. I’m looking for a particular herb tea. I’m not sure what the name of it is? Something like golden root?

Oh, you have to take a drug test, huh, man?

Not this again. What in the hell is going on? I didn’t say anything of the kind. I just want to know if—

Hey, it’s cool, dude. People come in here all the time for this very reason. It’s not a problem. Oh?

Yeah, man. We’re open until six o’clock. Do you know where we’re located?

Looks like you’re in Carytown. That’s only a few blocks from— Whoops, perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. Does the stuff cost much?

It’s about twenty bucks. I don’t know if that’s much to you, but that’s what it costs.

Great, I’ll see you in a little while.

Conrad hung up the telephone feeling encouraged. If he could pass the drug test, especially one administered by the cops, that would be satisfaction enough, even if he didn’t get the job. Back to the task at hand. He needed twenty bucks, in cash, not wanting to pay by check fearing that the sales clerk might turn his name into the cops.

When Conrad emerged from his apartment, it felt as though he had stepped into the mouth of Gehenna. In an effort to save gasoline (and money), he chose to walk to Carytown. He had ranged no more than two blocks before his shirt was soaked in perspiration. The trek to the money machine was at least ten blocks, yet the heat made it feel like a day’s journey.

At last, Conrad reached his final destination and entered the Little Shoppe of Herbs. A bespectacled man sitting behind the counter looked up and presented him with a friendly smile. This man looked to be the same age as Conrad. He had long, thin blond hair, with some gray streaks, tied in a ponytail. He wore a leather vest with a tee shirt underneath, blue jeans and sandals. Damn, Conrad thought, this guy looks like a hippie.

How’s it going, man?

Oh, just fine, other than Curtis won’t be winning this year at Kingsmill, Conrad smugly declared presuming his remark would puzzle the sales clerk.

Well, it’s been a long time since he’s won the championship at the Anheuser-Busch. He may have seen his day come and go.

Conrad was surprised that the shopkeeper did indeed understand his reference.

Well, what can I do for you today?

I called a little while ago about some golden root tea.

Yeah, I remember. You’re the guy who lives nearby, right?

Ugh, that’s me.

First of all, it’s called golden seal. And there’s more to getting your body purged of drug residue than drinking just the tea.

Now, I didn’t say—

Really, man, it’s cool. Come over here. Here’s the golden seal. You’ll have to drink a couple of gallons of this in the next two days. And this is aloe juice. You’ll need to drink three quarts of this. This stuff really cleans you out. When you take a shit, be prepared for some really stinky stuff. And last, take three of these tablets every three hours, six times a day. And don’t drink any alcohol when you take this. It’ll make you sick as a dog. Do you smoke, I mean, tobacco?

Yeah, I do.

Well, don’t. Not until after the drug test. Smoking tobacco somehow keeps this stuff from working like it’s supposed to. Plus, smoking will make you sick.

Aw, come on.

I’m serious, man. I’ve taken hundreds of people through this program. Even some cops.

Conrad uttered a stifled, Huh.

Hey, what’s wrong, dude? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost … I bet you’re a cop, aren’t you?

No! Conrad protested.

Hey, dude, it’s cool. Your buddies come in here all the time. I fix ‘em up good. Never had a complaint.

I’m not a cop, I tell you!

It’s cool, man. I’m not going to tell anybody. Don’t worry about it.

Conrad felt very uncomfortable. Luckily, another customer entered the shop, a very attractive woman, in her early thirties, platinum blond hair, tied in a bun, milky white skin, and azure colored eyes. She gave Conrad a quick glance regarding him with suspicion. He noticed her fidgeting with her engagement and wedding rings. Message received, I’m married! All right, already! He had certainly received that message enough times during his sojourn as a divorcé. Conrad turned away and browsed through the shopkeeper’s stock of vitamins, then moved to the front of the shop and stared out the window.

He turned back to the shopkeeper and the woman to observe them. Much to Conrad’s surprise, he saw the shopkeeper placing his order for the golden seal tea, aloe juice, and the herb tablets into a bag. Is he going to ring up my order now? Yee gads! The woman will see me paying for these herbs and discover my secret. The one thing he had hoped to avoid was detection by anyone other than the shopkeeper. The woman and shopkeeper passed Conrad an inquisitive look. He quickly turned away. Actually, he had been staring at them.

Conrad shuffled along the shelves stopping at the personal hygiene products feigning deep interest in these items. The shopkeeper finished billing the merchandise. Oh well, here goes, Conrad thought, guess I’ll blow my cover now.

At that moment, the woman passed money to the shopkeeper. He made change and politely thanked her. She gathered the package, started to leave, then turned back to him. In a low voice, she spoke to him glancing at Conrad from time to time. Oh no, what’s this all about, Conrad wondered? The beautiful woman scrutinized Conrad, then looked back to the shopkeeper. The woman and shopkeeper burst into laughter causing Conrad to blush. He moved back to the window. Something caught his eye. As Conrad focused his attention across the street, the woman walked down the sidewalk along the storefront looking right at him the entire time. This is getting a little too intense—

Hey, man, sorry to keep you waiting. Let me get another order put together for you.

The shopkeeper resumed gathering the items for Conrad’s order, yet Conrad ignored the shopkeeper concentrating upon a man in a blue Ford van parked across from the store. Another customer entered the store, so the shopkeeper decided to assist the newcomer.

It hit Conrad like a ton of bricks. He knew exactly who occupied the Ford van. It was none other than Frank Dillon, a short statured, weasel-like creature with a scraggly brown mustache, greasy wavy hair, and milky blue eyes. A man whom Conrad wanted to forget.

One afternoon, Conrad was on his way to inspect a house he wanted to list for sale. As he drove along Hull Street toward Chesterfield County, he spotted a young, pretty girl hitchhiking. When Conrad’s car came adjacent to the girl, he stopped in the street because a parked car blocked his lane. While waiting for the traffic to pass, he made eye contact with the girl. She assumed that Conrad had stopped to give her a lift. The girl attempted to operate the door handle, but it was locked. Now, whether it was reflex, or Conrad’s nature to help out a stranger in need, or just the idea of having a cute, little girl inside his car, he reached over and unlocked the door. The girl quickly hopped in the front seat. The left lane cleared. And Conrad was underway with his passenger.

Where’re you headed? Conrad asked her politely.

Down the road a piece.

I’m on my way to Chesterfield County. Let me know when we get to where you want to go.

The girl smiled sheepishly, and then asked, What is it you do for a living?

I sell real estate.

Really? I have a friend who does that.

Yeah, who is she? Maybe I know her.

I can’t remember his name.

Some friend, Conrad thought.

You’re not a cop, are you?

What a strange question, Conrad thought. I just told you that I sell real estate. I’m a real estate agent.

You’re not a cop?

No, I’m not a cop! Conrad became a trifle annoyed.

You married?

Yeah.

Do you ever, mess around? You know, party with other girls, other than your wife?

What a strange question. Exactly what is this young girl asking me? Well, no, but, I mean, I could, if I wanted. I haven’t so far, but I could if I wanted. Conrad wasn’t sure if he was trying to impress the girl with his independence, or he just didn’t want to come off looking like some old married man.

Yeah? You want to mess around with me?

Huh, I don’t know?

Conrad observed the girl more closely. He was relatively sure that she was at least eighteen appearing not much older than his daughter, Elon. She had a cute, girlish face, curly brown hair, and big spoony brown eyes. Conrad’s eyes moved up and down her body. She possessed an exquisite figure, which was covered in a midi-styled shirt exposing her perfectly flat tummy, and a pair of short shorts. Arousal stirred inside him before returning to reality.

Why would you want to mess around with me?

The girl sent him one incredulous stare answering, I’m a little short on cash, and I need a little hep.

Conrad remained silent and continued driving. It suddenly dawned on him that the girl was actually soliciting him. His first impulse was to react with indignation over such a proposition and inform this harlot of her moral turpitude, then offer her a chance to mend her ways. Yet, an exciting thing was happening, something which Conrad had never experienced. The whole idea of messing around with this gorgeous little girl tempted him more and more.

How much cash do you need?

I don’t know. Anywhere from twenty to forty dollars. I got to pay my electric bill.

How much do you owe them?

I’m not sure, the girl answered a little irked.

That shouldn’t be a problem. Conrad thought he better give the girl some assurance that he had the money she so desperately needed. The girl reacted with a grin. Conrad’s heart pounded so hard that he felt the thumping inside his head. Okay, so where are we going to go?

Turn right at the next street.

Conrad turned right as instructed. The girl told him to make a left turn onto a dirt road leading into the woods. After traveling several hundred feet or so, he pulled his car in front of an abandoned house. Trash was strewn everywhere.

Here? Conrad expressed his reluctance.

It’s cool. I’ve been here before.

Are you sure no one will come along?

Oh, no one knows about this place.

This really had gone too far. From all the trash, the many times over vandalized house, and a neighborhood nearby, told Conrad that everyone knew about this place!

I can’t. Not here. Not out in the open like this. It’s in the middle of the day. Too many people. Conrad backed the car around and started down the narrow dirt road. He slowly drove toward

Hull Street. Upon reaching the main road, he turned right and continued in the direction of Chesterfield County. He was obviously not very good at messing around.

Do you want me to take you back to where I picked you up?

We ain’t gonna party?

Do you know anywhere else a little more private?

We can go to a motel if you want.

I don’t know? I sure hate for anyone to see us going into a room together.

Well, you need to think of something. I’ve got some friends I’m supposed to meet in a little while.

Conrad was disappointed in himself. He wasn’t playing the game as it was customarily played. He looked at the young girl again. She parted a slight smile hoping he wouldn’t bail out.

Say, I know a great place where we can go. Do you mind if we go out to Chesterfield County?

Well, I don’t know?

It’ll be okay. I just happen to have a vacant house we can go to.

I don’t know? This in a neighborhood?

The young girl apparently was uncomfortable. Conrad decided to use his powers of persuasion to reassure her. It’ll be okay. We’ll set it up to look like I’m showing you the house. Right, everyone will be fooled!

It ain’t far, is it?

Nah, don’t worry. I’ll bring you back to wherever you want me to drop you off, Conrad promised her.

What kind of partying did you want to do?

This was an awkward question. Am I required to spell out each detail of what I want her to do? What do you mean by that?

You know, what do you want to do? You want to go all the way, do you just want some head, or half and half?

Now, there’s the ticket, Conrad thought. Half and half sounds good to me.

That’s gonna cost you forty dollars.

Conrad appraised the girl from top to bottom. She had curled her legs onto his seat and leaned against the door doing her best to paste a seductive smile upon her face.

They completed their journey to his vacant house. He went about the business of showing her the outside first, before moving inside. Once inside, the girl demanded her up front payment for her services. Conrad protested until the girl convinced him that things were done this way, and besides, she was in the middle of nowhere and completely at his mercy. So, he paid her forty dollars and they removed their clothes. Conrad’s heart pounded faster and faster, his throat constricted, as he wheezed for air. When he faced her, his erection surged higher and higher into the air before she closed her mouth around his member.

This was pure ecstasy. Rebethica had long ago stopped giving Conrad oral sex. She thought it was nasty. In their younger days, she had acquiesced only to please Conrad. Once Elon was born, however, the act became a thing of the past.

Now, sixteen years later, Conrad revisited one of the world’s greatest wonders: the blowjob. He lost control and emptied his manhood into the girl’s mouth. Much to his surprise, she kept pumping him until he was drained. After he had finished, she quickly exited to the bathroom where Conrad heard her spit him out into the sink. He was disappointed that the sex had come to such an abrupt end. He had hoped for more, but when he saw the girl emerge from the bathroom already dressed, he knew that this experience was over.

They drove in silence for a long time. Finally, the girl asked, Did I do okay for you, baby?

When Conrad assessed her, her saucer-like brown eyes reminded him of a puppy. Poor thing, she just wants approval, he thought. He quietly nodded in the affirmative, and then asked, Do you think we could do this again? Conrad didn’t have the first notion why he had asked such a ludicrous question. Isn’t this just a one-time affair that I’ll chalk up to a life adventure, overlook my moment of weakness, my infidelity, and get on with my life?

Sure, baby. I hang around the Pike all time. Just come on out. We can date again, if I’m around.

Is this what she calls a date? What a strange use of that word, Conrad mused. Do you have a phone number?

No, but I can call you.

I’m afraid that won’t work. So, how will I find you?

You’ll just have to come on out and … find me.

What’s your name?

Kayron. But my friends call me, K.K.

K.K.? That’s interesting. What’s it stand for?

Kinky Kayron.

That’s rich, Conrad thought driving his vehicle into C.B.’s Food Mart responding to K.K.’s request to be let out there. She bounded from the car without even so much as saying good-bye. Conrad resented that.

As he exited C.B.’s Food Mart, he noticed a man parked in a blue Ford van about a hundred feet away. What caught Conrad’s attention was that this man was photographing him. At first, Conrad thought nothing of the matter. On second consideration, he thought he should learn more about this. Conrad turned around and drove to where the van had been parked. It had vanished. He circled around the block, then around the surrounding blocks. The blue Ford van was nowhere in sight.

Three weeks had passed since Conrad’s encounter with K.K. He assumed this experience would be put from his mind. Yet, each passing day, the memory of this experience intensified. He had even asked Rebethica for oral sex before they were to have intercourse. The mere mention of this act grossed her out. Needless to say, no sex for Conrad that night. Matters worsened as he lay in bed vividly recalling K.K.’s sweet girlish lips wrapped around his member. Later that night, he had a wet dream. The ejaculation had awakened Rebethica. She lit into Conrad questioning him as to why he had suddenly, in just the past three weeks, become so sexually minded. Conrad went to the bathroom to clean up. He had enough. Tomorrow he would journey to the Pike to find K.K.

Early the next morning, Conrad perused the classified newspaper ads searching for what real estate agents refer to as a Fizbo, For Sale By Owner. He hoped to locate a do-it-yourself seller in the Jefferson Davis Turnpike zone using this as an excuse to visit the area. While there, he would search for K.K. and arrange another date.

After Conrad arrived on the Jefferson Davis Turnpike, he must have appeared as the biggest fool in the world to anyone who might have been watching him. For the next two and half hours, up and down, up and down, he drove. From one end of the highway to the other, Conrad incessantly drove his car up and down the street determined to find the little girl of his wet dreams.

Finally, standing beside the highway in front of a dilapidated motel, he spotted K.K. She waved at the passing motorists trying to hail a trick. Conrad swung his vehicle around and drove up to her. K.K. walked away ignoring him.

Hey, where you going, baby? he asked.

She walked about twenty feet beyond his car and held her thumb out to hitchhike. Conrad moved forward bringing his vehicle along side of her again.

What’s the matter, don’t you remember me?

The girl looked at Conrad suspiciously.

By now, Conrad had disrupted the flow of traffic forcing the other cars to maneuver around him. Several drivers tooted their horns and made lewd gestures expressing their disgruntlement toward this man acting like an idiot. He became acutely aware that he was the object of much public scrutiny. This was bad. As a successful real estate agent, he often published his picture in the local advertising media. Better do something quick!

Come on, K.K., get in!

K.K. started toward his car. Suddenly, she reversed direction. What’s the problem? In his rear view mirror, he saw a police car’s flashing lights. Then, another police car pulled behind that car. A third police car arrived blocking Conrad’s exit from the front. This seems like radical action, Conrad judged, but, after all, this is the police.

License and registration, the officer demanded coldly.

Conrad handed the officer the documents as instructed and queried, What’s the problem?

You tell me.

Beg your pardon? Conrad asked.

Get out the car.

Conrad was humiliated. He had to place his hands on the roof of his car while one of the cops searched him for weapons. This was too much.

Excuse me, Officer. I am a law-abiding citizen. Why are treating me like a common criminal?

Would you mind opening the trunk of your vehicle, sir?

As a matter of fact, I would.

Very well, sir. We’re now going to call for a tow truck to have your car towed and impounded.

Conrad considered protesting, but he had too much to lose. Besides, he’d need to explain this to Rebethica. It just made better sense to cooperate and get in line. Conrad moved to the rear of the vehicle and opened the trunk. The cops rifled through his belongings like a swarm of flies. He stood back shaking his head in disgust. Conrad observed another officer squinting at him noting his expression.

Anything else you’d like to see?

The policemen searched the interior of Conrad’s vehicle. An officer asked him what was in his briefcase. Conrad told him real estate papers. The officer asked to see the contents.

Help yourself, I have no objections.

No, sir, I want you to open it for me.

Why is that?

There might be something in there that might hurt me.

Like what?

I don’t know? But something that might harm me.

How ridiculous, Conrad thought. Then, he felt the superior hand return. What a pathetic creature now stands before me so overwhelmed by paranoia. How pitiful, he thought. Conrad opened the briefcase for the cop who merely glanced at the contents.

That’s really sad, Conrad said to the officer.

What’s that, sir?

That you live in the grip and throes of fear like you do.

The officer resumed squinting at Conrad.

No, really. I never realized what you guys go through on a day-to-day basis. I guess there really could be some nut out here that had his briefcase rigged with a bomb just so it would blow up in your face when you opened it. That’s really sad that you have to think like that.

The police officer couldn’t determine whether Conrad was making fun of him, or was speaking in earnest. Why were you stopped in the road, sir?

I was asking that young lady for directions.

The cops restrained themselves from bursting into laughter. Sir, I’m giving you a warning today. But if I ever see you parked in a traffic lane again, I’m charging you with impeding traffic, is that understood?

Conrad shook his head in the affirmative and muttered an uh-huh. The police officers left the scene as quickly as they had arrived. Conrad climbed into his car. As he started to drive away, he looked toward the motel and saw K.K. watching through a window. She had witnessed the entire incident. She offered Conrad a sympathetic look and waved bye-bye to him. He looked to the opposite side of the street. Conrad spotted Frank Dillon, once again, photographing his activity.

When Conrad returned to his West End home late that afternoon, he found a note from Rebethica. She and Elon planned to see a movie and wanted him to join them.

God often sends his angels to warn a man that he is putting himself in harm’s way. Anyone else might have reasoned that the gentle warning issued by the cops was such a divine message. But not Conrad. Maybe he was no longer in tune with his spiritual self, or the power of money had outwitted him? Here’s what he resolved to do, Never again will I go down there in broad daylight, but only under the cloak of darkness. So, he left Rebethica and Elon a note stating that he had a real estate appointment that night and was sorry to have missed them. Off Conrad drove returning to the Pike, sun low in the sky, not quite dark yet.

Conrad arrived on the Jefferson Davis Turnpike around dusk. He resumed his idiotic driving up and down, up and down, up and down the highway looking for the little whore, K.K. After an hour of this inane behavior, he went to the What-A-Burger for a bite to eat. As he sat outdoors at a picnic table eating his burger, he wondered why he felt a strange kindredship with this world he now visited. From his outer appearance, it was obvious he didn’t belong here. Fine clothes, a fancy real estate car, well-educated, just what am I doing here? Conrad regained his perspective and decided to return home. When he pivoted around on the picnic bench, K.K. stood next to him.

I seen them cops hassling you this afternoon.

Yep. Conrad felt like scolding K.K. for the whole incident. After all, had she gotten into the car when he told her, the cops wouldn’t have hassled him. Yet, as he gazed at her sweet girlish face, the stirrings of desire moved through him. Want me to buy you something to eat?

K.K. bobbed her head vigorously. He ordered her a big burger, some fries, and a coke. When he set the food before her, she wolfed it down. The two hardly