The Trash-bagged Bootlegger

Finish That Thought #51 (Judge's Comments)
Prompt: [Stupid] [gnomes], you'd think they'd know better.
Special Challenge: Trash bags


“Stupid broads, you'd think they'd know better,” Jimmy growled under his breath. He sat huddled under the basement stairs with a bottle of brandy tucked under his arm and a burlap sack draped across him. “Trash bag ain’t stopped no one before from going to jail.”

Heavy footsteps paced across the creaking floorboards above his head followed by the light clip-clop of several pairs of high heels. The basement door groaned open, letting the words of one of the clip-clops filter down.

“...no trouble at all, Sarge,” came the light twang of Marlene’s baby doll voice. “Here’s the basement if ya want to check it out.”

“Stupid, stupid broads,” Jimmy repeated. He shuffled his weight around to try to blend in better with the trunks and other paraphernalia hiding under the stairs with him. The heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs. Marlene’s clip-clops followed suit. The second pair of clip-clops ran in the opposite direction.

“You know what’ll happen to you if I find any alcohol here,” the booming voice of the policeman echoed in the cement cellar.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I ain’t worried, I ain’t got nothing here. You ain’t got nothing on me neither.”

The policeman said no more but clicked on his flashlight. Jimmy cursed.

“I’ve had reports that you’ve been smuggling liquor, Miss Hennigan. You also have a bootlegger sneaking in and out of here.”

“Bootlegger? What the heck is that?” came Marlene’s shrill reply. Jimmy winced. The beam of the flashlight drew dangerously close to his hiding spot. He stiffened.

“I think you know, Miss Hennigan.”

The beam came millimetres away from his nose.

“It’s true I got a man always coming and going all secret-like. But it’s...personal.”

The beam wavered.

“Do you like... personal, Sarge?”

Even Jimmy could smell Marlene’s cheap perfume from here. He hoped he didn’t sneeze. He could feel beads of perspiration forming on his forehead and starting to trickle down his nose.

“Miss Hennigan, I’m here on official business,” the officer reprimanded.

“Of course, Sarge, of course. But if you ever want to get a little... personal...”

The beam disappeared.

“Thank you, Miss Hennigan, I’ve seen enough.”

Heavy footsteps thumped back up the stairs. Clip-clops followed behind.

“Stupid broads,” Jimmy cursed in relief.