Dollar Down was a Naples car salesman, long ago repossessed by the Man Upstairs. Or, most likely, the Man Downstairs. He loved beautiful, fast, sporty cars. And beautiful, fast, sporty, women. Especially if they were parked in someone else's garage, the danger making the adventure more exciting. Or so he said. One night, he got all the excitement he could handle.
The current object of his lechery was a pretty married woman we'll call Mustang Sally. She was a bad choice since she, too, had a more-the-merrier attitude and her Hubby kept close watch on her. At the time, Hubby suspected Sally was dallying and decided to set her up and see. Told her he had to go out-of-town on business. Wouldn't be back until late the next evening. He reasoned when the cat's away, the mice will get drunk and party naked.
That very evening, Hubby returned, unannounced, and caught Dollar in the front seat of his Mustang, engine revved and locked in high gear. Hubby ratcheted the shotgun he was carrying, and Sally and Dollar both instantly slammed it in Park. And before Dollar could say I've done stepped on my carrot he was outside in the bushes, trying to figure how he was going to make the two miles to his home with no money, clothes, and bare azz naked. You see Hubby had expelled him from his house as he had found him, keeping his wallet, car keys, and sporty car salesman clothes.
That night we received several calls from folks in the area who were sure they'd seen some naked prevert vault their rear fence. Or run from bush to bush across the neighbor's front lawn.
Later that night Hubby called us reporting he'd found clothing, a wallet, and keys outside their bedroom window. He suspected a peeping Tom who'd been frightened off. One of those real sickos who strip down naked while peeping. We took the clothing, found a car matching the keys parked nearby and showed up at Dollar's front door.
He'd just made it home and was a sorry sight. Bedraggled and barely coherent, he was trying to explain to his wife why he'd come home at 4 AM in a towel--he'd stolen off a clothes line--with scrapes and scratches from galloping through the woods, no money and no car. We got him aside and he confessed what had really happen. A later interview with Hubby confirmed his part. Mustang Sally had nothing to say.
Sometimes justice works itself out better than the courts can. Mustang Sally stayed with Hubby, changed her ways and became a happy homemaker. Or, at least she pretended she was. We couldn't find anything Hubby had done wrong. Matter of fact, we admired his MO. And Dollar Down had been punished enough during his midnight ramble and future hell-to-pay with his wife.
We know that because The Midnight Streaker was never seen again.
The current object of his lechery was a pretty married woman we'll call Mustang Sally. She was a bad choice since she, too, had a more-the-merrier attitude and her Hubby kept close watch on her. At the time, Hubby suspected Sally was dallying and decided to set her up and see. Told her he had to go out-of-town on business. Wouldn't be back until late the next evening. He reasoned when the cat's away, the mice will get drunk and party naked.
That very evening, Hubby returned, unannounced, and caught Dollar in the front seat of his Mustang, engine revved and locked in high gear. Hubby ratcheted the shotgun he was carrying, and Sally and Dollar both instantly slammed it in Park. And before Dollar could say I've done stepped on my carrot he was outside in the bushes, trying to figure how he was going to make the two miles to his home with no money, clothes, and bare azz naked. You see Hubby had expelled him from his house as he had found him, keeping his wallet, car keys, and sporty car salesman clothes.
That night we received several calls from folks in the area who were sure they'd seen some naked prevert vault their rear fence. Or run from bush to bush across the neighbor's front lawn.
Later that night Hubby called us reporting he'd found clothing, a wallet, and keys outside their bedroom window. He suspected a peeping Tom who'd been frightened off. One of those real sickos who strip down naked while peeping. We took the clothing, found a car matching the keys parked nearby and showed up at Dollar's front door.
He'd just made it home and was a sorry sight. Bedraggled and barely coherent, he was trying to explain to his wife why he'd come home at 4 AM in a towel--he'd stolen off a clothes line--with scrapes and scratches from galloping through the woods, no money and no car. We got him aside and he confessed what had really happen. A later interview with Hubby confirmed his part. Mustang Sally had nothing to say.
Sometimes justice works itself out better than the courts can. Mustang Sally stayed with Hubby, changed her ways and became a happy homemaker. Or, at least she pretended she was. We couldn't find anything Hubby had done wrong. Matter of fact, we admired his MO. And Dollar Down had been punished enough during his midnight ramble and future hell-to-pay with his wife.
We know that because The Midnight Streaker was never seen again.
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