(Previous scene is a hot and crazy sex scene, and one full of scandal in the making - and featuring the manipulations of a horny, leather clad, power hungry gold digger, and the world dictator, Richard William Wilcox. I chose to keep Blogspot relatively clean, so be patient and you'll be able to read this sex scene in one of the books, once released. The previous scene is slightly kinky. The scene below comes right after that streamy scene. It is right off the keyboard in raw draft form. Enjoy. Image and text copyrighted and enforced.)
The silent and smooth cruiser travelled the autobahn, and did so automatically. The two cops onboard ate their round, hole in the middle, pastries. Such odd pastries these were, and wasn’t it funny how these sugary snacks invaded Germany from far away America. Shit, there were now friggin’ donut shops on every corner in Germany. And there were even big giant fiberglass donuts, those being fifty feet high, dotting the Bavarian landscape, as if Bavaria was LAX or something. The whole borderless and free trade thing has gotten out of hand, indeed.
“Hey slow down, look at that car. It’s an old Lamborghini Diablo! Holy shit!”
“It sure is. But it looks brand new.”
“Slowly. Slowly. Hey stop, there’s a man in it, and he doesn’t look ok. Pull over right there.”
“Sure.”
The cops got out and carefully approached the Lambo, noting the local plates, and diplomatic markings. They glanced at each other, brows lifted. It was probably yet another drunken politician, royal or diplomat, as has been reported so often lately. The pressures the diplomats must be under these days…
The well dressed man inside the car had both arms on the steering wheel, and his head lowered into them. He was breathing. The cops flashed a light for a better view, sure that they were dealing with someone rather intoxicated. The man slowly lifted his head, guarding his eyes from the glaring light with his cuff linked arm. He squinted and lowered his arm, and then his window.
One cop asked, “You ok? Have you been drinking tonight?”
“Ah, pardon me for stopping here. I know I’m not supposed to, but the rain and visibility. I promise you, I’m not drunk.” Stephan felt embarrassed, and it showed.
“How much have you had to drink?”
“None. I’m on my way to a date. I got somewhat disoriented in a downpour and pulled over.”
“Well, you can’t stop here. This is very dangerous, even with your flashers on. You look kinda’ upset or tired. Are you sure you’re ok to drive on? Because you’ll have to move your car, which by the way, is a great car.”
“Thanks. It’s an antique. It’s my favorite car. I’m alright to drive. The rain has eased up, it seems. I must admit, yes, I was a bit upset. Romance troubles.”
“Just as long as you keep it slower and pay attention to the road, I’ll let you continue. You were really booking it back there a while ago. You shouldn’t drive this kind of car so fast in the rain, especially if you’re having girl troubles. I won’t ticket you, of course. You’ve got diplomatic status. But if you don’t mind, I’ll see your driver’s license and scan your Federation information for record’s sake.”
“No problem.” Stephan took out his eel skin billfold and produced his license, and then presented his forearm for the scan.
The cop looked at Stephan’s license and made a squint: Stephan Prinz von Coburg. He then lowered it, handed it back, and waved off Stephan’s forearm. Stephan withdrew his arm back into the car, out of the rain, and redid his cuff link. He was used to this kind of thing, and could predict what will happen next.
“Oh, excuse us for disturbing you, Your Royal Highness! We didn’t recognize you at first.”
Stephan managed a smile, “No problem, officers. It happens all the time, the way I drive.”
All three men chuckled, and one cop said, “Well, try to put a check on that driving of yours. We’ve heard all about it. Accidents and death does not recognize diplomatic status like we do.”
The other cop ventured then, smiling broadly, “Yeah, Your Highness, we want to keep you around. Don’t go crashing this Lambo on us, and killing yourself. The people of Europe need you. We should really call you Your Majesty. As an Oath Keeper, I support your monarchy. You won that general referendum. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the King of your country. I’m just a cop and not a lawyer, but know that you were within your constitution on that vote, and did gain full status as the sovereign. I support the national constitutions of foreign countries…”
The other cop interrupted, “Johannes, careful, will you! Federation monitors! We’re being recorded! Excuse me, Your Majesty.”
Stephan nodded, “Good call. Watch each other’s backs. You must take care of your partner. Enough said, please, about the monarchy. It’s my turn to ask that you stay out of trouble.”
But the monarchy thing did not stop there. Both cops knelt, looked up at Stephan, their rain soaked hats off and over their hearts.
“You are assured of our support, Your Majesty, and we can speak for most of the force.”
Stephan looked on from his Lamborghini, astounded, his jaw dropping. He stammered, “You do? The force too? And you’re calling me Majesty. I, eh, I don’t know what to say. Ah, just be careful. -”
“Sir, you can count on us to back you. You’re the People’s King. Now move your car, please, and slow down.”
The other cop, “Yes. Take it easy with that car of yours. Take care of yourself and live to take your throne in your country. Auf Wiedersehen, Your Majesty.”
“Ciao. Thanks, officers.” Stephan gave the two men a salute, rolled up his window and gave the cops another thing they will remember into ripe old age. The throaty roar of that real honest to God internal combustion engine as it came alive, sucking lots of estate grown ethanol as it did so. He deftly pulled out onto the highway and disappeared into the rain.
Stephan was alone in his Italian Cocoon once again.
“Your Majesty.” Stephan repeated solemnly. It scared him, hearing that, that night. It also encouraged him, knowing he had that kind of support.
“Wow.” Stephan said to himself. “The People’s King…”
That notion sobered him a lot. He turned the car around, and aimed for home, forgetting about Nadia and scandal making for the night. This was no longer a fanciful game at annoying Chairman Wilcox. This is the real shit. Those police officers had just risked their lives, speaking to him as a king.
On his way home, he felt a knot in his throat.
“The People’s King.” He said again.
He wiped a single tear from the corner of his eye.
“My God, I can’t let men like that down. I’ve got get my shit together.” He said in that lone cockpit on that lone highway.
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