The Garbage Queens

"Amelia, you're not a servant here," Kelly tried to tell the girl. "Honey, go, you and Kerry find something to do until supper, huh?"

"But Miss Kelly," Amelia said.

While Kelly, Kerry and Amelia stood in the kitchen, talking, in the office of King Sanitation, Gordon King sat and listened to Kim Dan Gei, Paula Kim's mother. The four foot tall woman recited, in perfect English, her many attributes, her skills and why she would be a suitable replacement for Mrs. Greene.

"Mrs. Kim," Gordon said, smiling. "If it were up to me? The job would be yours, no sweat. But you won't be working for me; you'll be working for my wife."

Kim Dan Gei nodded solemnly as Gordon said he would have Kelly call her to schedule an interview. Politely, she thanked Gordon for his time and attention.

"Paula's your daughter?" Gordon asked.

"Yes; she is friends with your daughter, um, Kerry," Kim Dan Gei agreed, smiling. "They are in class together."

"They're a little more than friends," Gordon thought.

Gordon did not correct the woman's assumption that Kerry was his daughter. Quite often, he did think of Kerry as his daughter. His wife Kelly acted more like Kerry's mother than her big sister.

Gordon wished Mrs. Kim a good day. Then he fiddled around on his computer for a moment. Finally he got to his feet and left his office.

"Oh, I am so glad you got married," Sheila Jakes, his personal assistant smiled.

"Well, me too," Gordon said, a little puzzled.

"Uh huh, now I get to go home at a reasonable hour," Sheila said, locking her desk.

"Oh, whatever," Gordon laughed. "Ever think it might have been your husband begging me to keep you out of his hair?"

The moment he stepped into his home, Gordon found himself being dragged into his home office. Before Kelly could even ask, Amelia was volunteering herself to cook their dinner.

"Kerry has the money for college; Mrs. Greene left her money to Kerry," Kelly started.

"Well, that's good, but Sweetheart? We'll pay for that. She doesn't need to touch any of that money," Gordon said. "That's her money."

"That's what I told her. I told her she has a big sister that will pay for everything," Kelly said, wiggling onto her husband's lap.

"Oh! Paula's mother came to see me today; she thinks Kerry's my daughter," Gordon smiled, his hand immediately dropping to his wife's shapely rear.

"But not every girl has a big sister," Kelly said, thrusting her backside out to maximize hand to butt contact.

"Yeah," Gordon agreed.

"Not every girl has a Kelly King that would have sold every last stick of furniture in her house to pay for her baby sister's college," Kelly continued.

"True," Gordon agreed.

"But the girls in St. Elizabeth Parish? Some of them deserve to have a Nicole King. Sweetheart, some of them deserve a chance to have their big sister support them, help them," Kelly said.

Gordon stopped rubbing, squeezing his wife's beautiful butt. He thought about what Kelly was saying.

"The Nicole King Scholarship," Gordon said quietly.

"Exactly," Kelly said. "The Nicole King Scholarship. Nicole will finally be the loving big sister she was always meant to be."

While Kelly and Gordon King were christening the beginning of the Nicole King Scholarship with a kiss, in a Myndee, Arkansas police cruiser, Derek Bergeron was coming down, hard. His body convulsed and he clawed at his restraints.

"Fuck, kid! Simmer down before I Taser your ass, huh?" a police officer snapped.

Fortunately for Derek, a neighbor could no longer tune out the screams. The neighbor called the police to report the screams, the loud noises coming from the apartment above his own.

Two of the five officers that burst into the apartment threw up when they saw the carnage. Ronnie Valpo, already a fugitive from Louisiana tried to put up a fight. Barry and Rickie both blamed the other; Barry even pointed out that the chain saw had been in Rickie's hands when the police had entered the apartment.

Another convulsion rippled through Derek's body and he begged the police officer for some meth. He even offered to blow the police officer for some meth.

While Derek was whining, begging for relief in Myndee, Arkansas, in an examination room at St. Elizabeth Trauma Center, Arnold Petitjean smiled. The pretty nurse that was taking his blood pressure and temperature returned the young man's smile.

"And what you smiling at, Sugar?" the African-American woman teased.

"You," Arnold said truthfully.

"Ma'am? You okay?" the nurse asked Arnold's mother, noticing the tears in the woman's eyes.

Mrs. Petitjean nodded her head. How could she explain that, just a month ago, Arnold was very nearly a vegetable? A little over a month ago, she was having to change Arnold's diaper because he didn't have the mental faculties to tell when he was about to defecate.

"Hi! Man, you are looking good," Dr. Charles LaPointe said, bustling into the room. "And how are you feeling, young man?"

"Other day? He made himself a sandwich," Mrs. Petitjean managed to choke out.

"And how did it taste?" Charlie smiled.

"Pretty good," Arnold agreed.

While Arnold continued to progress, baby step by baby step, in Myndee, Arkansas, a week after their arrest, Barry and Rickie and Ronnie found that their charges had been escalated from Aggravated Assault to First Degree Homicide. Timothy 'Becky' Becker had died from his injuries. On the day the police had burst into the bloody apartment, Derek Bergeron had been remanded to St. Elizabeth Parish and agreed to go into the DeGarde Chemical Dependency Unit, rather than DeGarde Lock Up.

In the CDU, Derek went through intense physical withdrawals. The psychological trauma was hellish as well.

After completing twenty eight days of treatment, Derek was turned over to the DeGarde Police Department.

There was an in-house Alcoholics Anonymous meeting every Monday and Wednesday night and a Narcotics Anonymous meeting every Thursday night. Derek went to all three meetings, helped to arrange the chairs, set out the literature, and helped clean up the small meeting room after each meeting.

"Man, I seen me some mother fucking shit you wouldn't believe," Derek shared. "This? Getting three meals a day? Got a bed sleep in? This is a fucking picnic, hear? This is a fucking picnic."

THE END of 'The Garbage Queens pt. 1' Part 2 is nearly completed and will be posted as soon as humanly possible.

With a special thanks to my friend BeBop3.

*Author's Note: I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment.

That being said, much of the pleasure has waned. I do believe, once I finish this second chapter, my posting will decline, if not stop altogether for the foreseeable future.

But, I do thank you for reading my stories. I especially thank those that take the time to leave comments, whether they be good or bad. I also thank those that take the time to rate my words, those that take the time to 'Favorite' my stories.

I do not read emails. If you have anything to say to me, say here, where Literotica invites you to leave comments regarding this story, so that we can all enjoy your words.

Have a swell day. And some of you? Have a swollen day.