The Molestation of Feldon Cranston

 

By Robert Maleforte

 

What the hell Feldon.  That is your name isn’t it?  Who you with, the Russians, you were in Russia, weren’t you?

The officer was yelling about six inches from Feldon’s face.

Yes sir.  That is my name.  No sir, not working for the Russians.

 

Feldon had been rendered, renditioned, abducted and now molested.  It happened on his way to work one fateful day, a holiday no doubt to some people, somewhere.

 

He had no idea how far he had been taken, he had been drugged after the rendering, as it was in progress, before the molestation.

 

The room was dark, it was cold.

 

The son-of-a-bitch has intuition out the yang.   Colonel Hoffen said, after exiting the room and staring back in through a darkened, two-way mirror.   This, after looking at a summary given to him by a very sexy female officer and psychologist with graphs, in color.  Her right nipple was protruding through polyester below a cheap metal lapel of the US flag which they all seemed to wear now.  He put it next to the analysis of Feldon’s scientific work, the work being the shit that landed him here in the first place.

We need those son-of-a-bitch geeks from Virginia to look at this shit again.  We had him so doped up he didn’t know whether he was an American or fly-on-shit.  The Colonel adjusted his crotch.

 

 

It was hard to get any decent food in B_, as far as Hoffen was concerned.  Oddly, or maybe not so oddly, the Colonel had advanced degrees both in History and Physics.  So the crudity of his manner was now taken as the mean, and paradoxically symptomatic , not of failure , but of the impulses, tastes and desires that lands one said-side of interrogations, that allows one to move up through chains of command, that has no compunction about hiring groupies of young female workers with disproportionate predilections for tight polyester blouses, tight skirts and cheap plastic surgery performed not by surgeons but by generally unqualified dermatologists.

 

And no…Feldon was not ok.

 

 

 

 

Robert Maleforte works in computers, was born in Rochester, still has family in Rochester -when in Rochester visits the Rochester Public Library – and now lives in Pasadena, California.