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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Kevin's Big Moment - 4. At the Clubhouse by Camy

Dubya was inordinately stiff by the time the electric buggy arrived back at the clubhouse, and he wasn’t sure if he could lay the blame with the overly bouncy route his driver had taken, or the rather wordy briefing he’d received from the whitehouse liaison to Homeland security. He was further miffed to see both Ryan and Kevin sitting on a bench outside the pro-shop.

“GW!” Kevin and Ryan said together as they spotted Dubya, and leapt to their feet momentarily, before the handcuffs attaching them to the bench, and the laws of physics, forced them back again.

George frowned. ‘His boys’ seemed to be guarded by an overly large man in a ten gallon hat with a Sheriff’s star pinned to his waistcoat.

“Owww!” Ryan and Kevin sang in unison, rubbing their wrists. The Sheriff puffed up his chest and strode towards the buggy, and the startled President, ignoring Ryan’s warning. Three secret service agents jumped on him, knocking the hat flying to land in front of Ryan.

George sighed, but couldn’t stop himself chuckling as Ryan’s foot mashed the ten gallons down to a pint and a half.

“What the fuck?” the Sheriff managed, his head trapped between the dusty ground and the agent’s shoe.

“I tired to tell you: what you don’t do is walk towards the President without an invitation…,” Ryan said silkily “but no, sheriff knows best.” There was a pregnant pause, then Ryan erupted “Now get these fucking handcuffs off me before I have you guarding a chain gang for the rest of your life!”

“Or better still, on the chain gang.” Dubya heard Kevin mutter, and was amazed when Ryan retorted:

“Yep, good idea Kev, I think we could organise that.” The secret service agent took their handcuffs off, and Ryan, rubbing his wrists, nodded towards the crushed hat. Kevin, grinning happily and humming ‘Lord of the Dance’, leapt into the air, and after a completing a stunning double pirouette, landed squarely on the hat.

Dubya couldn’t help but laugh, and as always when he laughed he had to clap. It was something his aides had told him he should keep in check, especially if the press were around, but George really wasn’t too bothered. The press hadn’t followed him to this most secret meeting, and anyway he was over the moon at seeing his ‘two friends’ getting along so well. He licked his lips, thinking what joys the evening might bring.

Nearly half a mile away Brett Jenkins video camera was capturing the whole scene at thirty frames per second, his parabolic microphone hidden, along with Jenkins himself, fifty feet up an old oak tree.

“Toffney," Ryan said to the agent in charge, "get rid of this sheriff, before I have him seconded to the Alaskan tundra.” Ryan said, and watched the sheriff pale, as two of his burliest agents took him off to explain what was what. “GW, I’m so sorry that you had to witness this slight misunderstanding between Kevin and me.” He prodded Kevin, who nodded sagely, thinking of how Ryan would look covered in whipped cream, and chocolate sauce. Ryan frowned, and prodded Kevin again.

“Hmm … oh yes GW, whatever Ryan says, absolutely ... I think that’s a wonderful idea.” He placed his hand on George’s arm, and squeezed lightly, smiling as the President blushed. “Did you know you look sooo cute when you blush GW?” Kevin added.

“Um … shall we go in and have a bite to eat, boys?” Dubya said, and turned towards the clubhouse.

“Certainly GW, let’s do that.” Ryan linked his arm through Kevin’s as they followed Dubya through the patio doors, and into the plushly appointed dinning room. “Table for three!” He said to the waiter who had rushed over at the sight of the President.

“I zink he meanz vive … unt schnell, bitte!”

Dubya, Ryan and Kevin all turned around, as Arnie, complete with a young woman almost old enough to vote, and a cigar the size of a cucumber, got up from a leather chesterfield sofa and walked towards them.

“Georgey ve hav sum import zings tu talk zruu.”

Kevin, blanched in horror as he saw the large gun nestling in Arnie’s shoulder holster.

“I … erm … I must go and make a call, GW.” Kevin spluttered.

Copyright © 2011 NickolasJames8, Camy, Bondwriter; All Rights Reserved.
Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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