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against him, I am kissing him and putting his hands where I
want them. He is practically driving off the frigging road.” She
smiles coyly. Then she gets quiet and all sexy and says, “I
think I made him sticky in the pants, too. Serves him right! I

hope you lock him up for years.”

They could not bring themselves to stop. The questioning went
on and on. They did not want it to end. Every few minutes she
would beg them to finish what Tommy had started. They had
to restrain her from stripping naked and attacking them.
Eventually, the commander insisted she put on other, less
revealing clothes, and the interview ceased. The men were
very disappointed. As Kara and Tommy passed one another in

the hallway, she tried to attack him again, her tongue sticking
out reaching for his further than any of the agents thought a
tongue could stretch. He recoiled like it was covered in cooties
and poison.

“Baby! Kiss me again. KISS ME AGAIN!” She wailed as the
agents walked her outside.

The Commander had seen cases of Post-Traumatic Stress
Syndrome before. He himself had witnessed two fellow officers
and friends gunned down by drug-lords in a bust gone wrong.
He was convinced that this is what Tommy was suffering from.
He thought about the scene unfolding in front of him and
shook his head. What he would have given to be in Tommy’s
shoes for the past several hours! Yet, this poor schmuck was

Allan R. Emery 123