| Three days later, Portia was sitting at her desk at the station, resting her cheek on her fist, wearing a morose expression. She had on jeans, a white tank top and black flip-flops. Her feet were momentarily out of the flip-flops, as she rubbed them briskly against one another. Presently, Chief Rollins came over; curious as to why Portia was just sitting there staring off into space.
�Portia?� �Huh?� �What are you doing?� �Nothing. I�m depressed.� �Why? �Cause you can�t find your boy?� �Yes,� said Portia, pouting. �I been on patrol and I ain�t found nothing. We ain�t even had no reports, and it�s been three days.� �Well, things take time, Portia.� �Yeah, yeah.� Rollins left Portia to her moping, as her foot-rubbing increased in its intensity. Five minutes later Rollins returned, tossing a sheet of paper onto Portia�s desk. �Portia, we got something on your guy.� �Really?� said Portia, straightening. �He was sighted at a housing project at this address.� Portia looked over the report, mumbling as she read, being one of those persons who was unable to read silently. �I gotta hit it!� she exclaimed, after she�d gotten the gist of the report. She sprung up from her desk and started to run out, but in her haste, tripped and fell to the floor, losing a sandal. �Easy Portia,� said Rollins. |
 |
| project girl |
| Portia arrived at the housing project and located the building that Devon was supposedly terrorizing. The report said that Devon had been spotted on the fourth floor, but Portia doubted that he was still there. In any case, Portia decided that the fourth floor was as good a place as any to start her search.
As soon as the fourth floor elevators opened, Portia heard faint laughter and saw a crowd gathered at the end of the hallway. The laughter grew in volume and became more frenzied as she approached the group. The mesmerized onlookers were surprisingly easily moved aside as Portia pushed her way to the center of the action, and there was Devon, with the bare heels of a tall, curly headed girl propped up against his torso. The girl was in absolute hysterics, writhing around on the floor as Devon tortured her bare soles with a feather. �Why aren�t you guys doing anything?� Portia asked, looking around at the glassy-eyed spectators. Then she noticed that she wasn�t doing anything, either. An overwhelming feeling of lethargy had descended upon her, and it was so much easier to watch the girl�s bare feet whip and wiggle around on Devon�s chest while being feathered, than it was to interfere. She looked down at the girl. Her face was red and she was losing her voice. At times she seemed to be trying to speak, but was never able to form any intelligible words. Portia wondered how long this had been going on. |
| Finally, Devon let the girl�s feet back to the floor. Not moving particularly quickly, he took out his can of yellow Krylon, shook it, then knelt down to coat the girl�s soles with paint. When he had finished, he stood and stuck the can into his back pocket.
�My work here is done, if you�ll excuse me.� The crown parted like the Red Sea to let him pass and walk down the hall. Portia just watched him. As much as she wanted to, Portia could not bring herself to chase Devon until two minutes after he�d disappeared. Portia dashed through the halls of the fourth floor twice, but Devon was nowhere to be seen. �Fuck!� said Portia. She raised the heels of her palms to her eyes to think. She hoped Devon was cocky enough to proceed with his tickling spree and decided to pick a floor and wait on him to show up. The tactic was admittedly a total stab in the dark, but Portia couldn�t think of anything else. |
| In a hallway of the sixth floor, Portia sat on the floor Indian-style, leaning against a wall to wait for Devon. She wasn�t exactly sure how long to wait, but figured she�d just trust her instincts. After about twenty minutes, Devon appeared at the end of the hallway. He and Portia made eye contact for about a second, before Devon darted away. Portia scrambled to her feet and made a mad dash towards the spot where Devon used to be. Rounding the corner at the end of the hall, Portia slipped on something wet and fell heels-over-head to the floor, her sandals flying away in the process. The substance she�d slipped on turned out to be a freshly sprayed coat of yellow paint, and when Portia looked up, Devon was standing over her with his feather in hand. Before Portia could react, Devon bent down and started stroking her soles. Portia screamed and fell backwards, laughing hysterically.
�STOOOOP! WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!! STOOOP! CHEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!� Devon�s feather slid across the balls of Portia�s feet and caressed her arches until her laugh was soundless. Portia could do nothing but beat the floor with her fists in agony as her toes curled and wriggled. Devon continued to tickle Portia�s feet until it looked as though Portia was going to pass out from exhaustion. At that point, Devon took out his paint and sprayed Portia�s soles as she fought to reclaim her breath. When he was done, Devon stood and slipped the can into his back pocket. �This is like, the third time, ain�t it?� he said. �I think you starting to like this.� With that, Devon turned and walked off, leaving Portia half-conscious and for the third time, with yellow feet. |