Bishop sits in a strip club, alone in a crowd and wondering what comes next. It's three fifteen a.m. on a rainy night in Bay City; he catches his reflection in the mirror over the bar and wonders how events conspired to find him warming a barstool in a place like this. A friend once said that his smile made it seem like he saw the whole world as a joke to which only he knew the punch line.

And it’s true. Until yesterday, Bishop’s life was everything he could hope for, and the smile was his way of acknowledging how things had always seemed to fall his way. But not tonight. The grin is gone, the joke has fallen flat, and our hero is waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because they always do.

by Randalynn

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Bishop sits in a strip club, alone in a crowd and wondering what comes next. It's three fifteen a.m. on a rainy night in Bay City; he catches his reflection in the mirror over the bar and wonders how events conspired to find him warming a barstool in a place like this.

Twenty nine years old, looking good enough to catch a woman when he wants one, but not handsome enough for one to want to catch him permanently. Tall with muscles like a swimmer, wearing black slacks, a black shirt, and a blacker attitude. Dark hair, bright blue eyes, and a troubled frown replacing the hint of a smile that usually touched his face. A friend once said that smile made it seem like he saw the whole world as a joke to which only he knew the punch line.

And it’s true. Until yesterday, Bishop’s life was everything he could hope for, and the smile was his way of acknowledging how things had always seemed to fall his way.

But not tonight. The grin is gone, the joke has fallen flat, and our hero is waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because they always do.

Bishop sips his overpriced drink and uses the mirror over the bar to watch the other patrons. He knows he doesn't belong here, surrounded by the husks of men so empty only the power of their lust seems to keep them . . . erect. His smile returns, banishing the frown just for an instant. But circumstances send the smile away, and he takes another sip of his drink.

Because someone summoned him here with a threat he could not ignore, and he hates being told what to do by anyone.

He doesn't want to be here, our intrepid hero, oh, no. Bishop knows places like this drain souls dry, turning something basic and primal and natural into nothing more than dollars and cents; leaving nothing behind but stale cigarette smoke and the vague feeling of something lost.

Bishop turns his attention to the woman on stage, still using the mirror above the bar. She is physically magnificent — surprisingly pretty, with deep green eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and full sensuous lips. Her skin is unblemished and golden — everywhere, it seems, as his eyes wander down her totally naked form. A natural blonde, with a toned, fit body, her breasts sit high and proud on her rib cage, obviously unenhanced but with not a hint of sag. Her waist is tight with a hint of muscle tone that speaks of exercise and care, and her hips are round and full but exactly right for her body. Her legs are long and shapely, and they carry her well on stage. For all of that, her dancing is a trifle mechanical. She is sure-footed and graceful, but the spark is gone.

’That’s it,’ he thinks, looking up at her face. ‘That’s what’s missing. She’s totally naked, completely exposed, but empty. She’s just going through the motions.’

And its true. Her pretty green eyes hold nothing, as if she turns herself off at the beginning of each performance, and stays disconnected until she leaves the stage. If that really is the case, Bishop isn’t surprised. In fact, he wonders if she’s a kindred spirit.

Because if he had to perform on command, he’d turn himself off, too.

'Maybe it's love that's gone missing,' he tells his reflection. 'Maybe the woman on stage gave up on believing she should save her body to share with someone who loved her. She sold it for a paycheck and a place in the spotlight, never realizing she'd miss what she lost until it was long gone, with no way to get it back.'

His eyes scanned the crowd, and the frown became a grimace. 'Maybe the men in the audience made a similar choice. They grew tired of chasing the "One True Love" and abandoned the concept of wife, help mate, lover after too many lonely nights. They chose to feed their lust in places like this, and sold their sense of woman as people in exchange for a few moments of fantasy. They found out way too late that lust without love is just a shadow, and shadows are a thin meal to feed a hunger like desire.'

'No wonder they're all empty,' he whispers in his head. 'Chasing shadows every night, and going home alone when the light chases the shadows away. '

“Are you there, Your Eminence?” A voice with a slight Belfast accent bellows inside his head. The receiver is surgically embedded in his mastoid bone, and there is no volume control, so Bishop winces slightly before responding.

“Yes, Finn,” he replies, speaking into his glass to hide his lip movements. “Lower the gain before you make me deaf.”

“Sorry, Your Grace.” There is a trace of sarcasm in the tone, but Finn complies. “Is that better?”

“Much. Still no contact yet, but you’d know that if you were listening.”

There’s a microphone embedded in the roof of his mouth, and a second in his throat, but enunciating without moving his lips has never been one of his strong points, and Bishop doesn’t use the throat mike much. He needs to carry a transmitter on him so the signal can reach his support team in the van, but it doesn’t have to look like much — a pen, a belt buckle, whatever is appropriate. The transmitter has a microphone too, for ambient noise, but it’s usually off unless needed.

“Well, who can hear anything worthwhile over that white noise?” Finn grumbles. Bishop stifles a grin, since he’s heard it all before.

“Anything new on the club?”

“It’s mobbed up, to be sure, but what else is new in Bay City? So many holding companies holding other companies, it’s like a corporate orgy. And the trail only goes so far, but far enough to know you’re sitting in the middle of enemy territory.” His voice holds a note of disgust. “And I can hear that damned high-tech caterwauling every time you open your mouth, thank you very much.”

The thief can’t help but smile. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

The music stops, and the naked blonde freezes in place, half wrapped around the pole to one side of the stage.

“Thank Christ,” Finn mutters through the link.

There is applause from the audience, but she doesn’t acknowledge it at all. In fact, she doesn’t even pick up the few scraps of clothing she wore onto the stage. Instead, she exits forward, down the steps leading to the floor in front of the stage, still totally bare except for the sheen of sweat from the exertion and the hot lights. She sweeps past the throng of empty men, right through the center of them all. They are way too stunned to react, let alone reach out to touch the goddess who was unreachable only seconds before.

“Something’s happening,” Bishop whispers into his drink. “Switch on the ambient mike.”

She stalks through the center of the club and stops directly behind Bishop’s barstool. He looks up at her reflection in the mirror.

“You are wanted,” she says, her voice at once both sensual and businesslike.

“Nice to know,” he replies. “By you?”

She shakes her head gently. “No, Mister Bishop. By the man waiting in my dressing room.”

“Pity.” Bishop rises and throws a few bills on the table, then spins on the barstool until he is facing her. “I’d much rather be wanted by you. But truth be told, I’d rather get this over now with than spend another minute watching you play at being seductive when all you truly are is bored.”

Her eyes widen in surprise. “Not many men notice.”

“Not many men care,” he replies. “Most here only want to see your body, and think about what they would do with it if they had the chance. I’m more interested in the woman inside.”

“Then you are a most unusual man.”

Bishop shrugs. “Flesh is flesh, even when it is as beautiful as yours. It has its pleasures, but I’ve always felt people are far more interesting than skin ... don’t you think?”

“Depends on the skin,” she says, tilting her head. “And the people.”

He looks back, unafraid. “If I survive this meeting, we should talk more.”

She eyes him critically for a few seconds, and Bishop waits for her to finish.

“If you survive this meeting, we should do more than talk.” A smile grows on her lips, but before Bishop can do more than notice, she spins and walks back the way she came, those perfect hips rolling as she stalks through the crowd like a jungle cat. He follows her, his eyes more on the clientele than on her bottom. He really does want this over, and interruptions from the empty patrons are not welcome. Not now.

As they step through the curtains into the back of the club, a new act slips by them both. It’s a small brunette with large breasts in a bikini too sizes too small to hold them, hurrying to fill the stage before the audience recovers from the blonde’s unexpected stunt. As the awful dance music begins again, Bishop hears Finn cursing over the link and smothers a grin.

They continue through the mirrored length of the common area, where the rest of the strippers make up or wait for their turn to bare all in the service of whoever owns this place. It is strangely empty, although Bishop suspects that the reason he’s here may have something to do with the lack of traffic. There are a few doors in the rear wall, next to a long corridor where Bishop is sure bathrooms and a rear exit are close at hand.

“Just so you know, the back door is unlocked and he’s waiting for you there.” Finn again. “Just in case you need him. I’m sending the ambient feed his way, so he might come in whether you want him or not.” The hacker pauses for an instant, then sighs. “Not my idea, Your Holiness. He insisted.”

Bishop uses the simple tone transmitter at the back of his jaw to send a single beep acknowledging Finn’s message. Sometimes, words aren’t necessary.

She reaches a dark green door. A handwritten placard on the outside reads “Moira” in a feminine scrawl, and Bishop is surprised when she actually knocks.

He raises an eyebrow. “It’s your dressing room, isn’t it?”

She shrugs. “What’s mine is his, when he wants it to be. Right now, the room is his. So I knock.”

Bishop touches her arm, and she turns.

“Are you his?” His voice is soft.

“Come.” A single word, spoken clearly from inside, but with an unfamiliar accent.

“For now,” she replies, looking into his eyes. “But not by choice.”

Then she smiles, and it warms his heart, just a little. “And nothing lasts forever.”

He smiles back. “So I’ve noticed.”

Moira turns the knob and the door swings open to reveal a surprisingly spacious dressing room. Still naked, she motions for Bishop to enter before her, which he does, albeit slowly.

In a director’s chair at the make-up mirror, turned to face the door, a large man sits. He wears a dark Armani suit that almost but not quite hides his size. His dark hair is carefully arranged above a nondescript face that could belong to any one of a thousand men sitting in front of cafés in a hundred Middle Eastern capitals.

“Mister Bishop!” He smiles and rises to his feet. ‘So nice of you to come.”

“Your invitation was so compelling, it was too hard to resist.” Bishop steps to one side to allow Moira to enter. She moves quickly across the room to stand beside the mirror against the wall, and pulls a silk robe from the hook there. She starts to put it on.

“Leave it off.” The dark man says, his attention not wavering an instant from Bishop’s face. Moira looks at the back of his head and continues putting the robe on before standing with her back to the wall. She looks at Bishop, her emotionless mask back in place.

“Magnificent, isn’t she?” The dark man peers into Bishop’s eyes as if searching for his soul. “Perfection personified. More ...willful than I like a woman to be, but still a living monument to feminine beauty. Don’t you agree?”

Bishop inclines his head. “She is beautiful, that’s true. But a woman is always more than she appears, and for me, that’s always been part of the fun ... finding the beauty within.”

The dark man frowns, then gives him a curious look. “A philosopher, I see. Well, perhaps you have a feminine side of your own, Mister Bishop. Or should I say ... Magdalene?”

Bishop shrugs. “Misdirection is part of a thief’s stock and trade, Mister ...?”

“Call me Khaleel.”

“Mister Khaleel.” Bishop shakes his head. “No hidden desires here. Magdalene is just a name, after all. I enjoyed the religious connotations, and the fact that according to scripture, she had her demons, as we all do. And I must admit to enjoying the confusion it might cause to those who might try to find the woman instead of the man. But in the end, it is just a name.”

“It is a name you have hidden behind for many years, Mark Allen Bishop.” Khaleel wags his finger at his guest. “Magdalene, the great master thief, who only takes the jobs he wishes to take and is as picky with his clients as he is with his targets. Your refusal to work for so many members of the criminal community has left many bitter and angry men, who have lost many opportunities when you refused to steal for them.”

“My skills, my choice,” the thief replies.

“Perhaps. Still, they would very much like to find you and teach you respect.” Khaleel grins. “Or kill you. Perhaps both, given enough time. But I think you know all this, which is why you come here now, to meet with me.”

Bishop looks around the room, then back at his blackmailer. He sighs.

“You know, this is a terrible place for this particular meeting.” The thief’s voice is almost conversational. “I mean, metaphorically speaking, a strip club is a disaster. After all, I can hardly ‘bare all’ for you, now that you know my secrets.”

“Hardly all of them, sir.” The other man smiles. “I’m sure you still have many. But I’ll have those soon enough as well. Or rest assured, others will have you.”

“A brothel might have made more sense.” Bishop ignored the interruption. “Given what you do know, I’m sure you plan to turn me into your whore and sell my talents for your own profit.”

Khaleel raises both hands, palms forward, and shakes his head. “Nothing so crude as that. I was thinking more of a partnership.”

“The thing about a partnership is that partners are usually equal, and threats are seldom part of the mix.” Bishop shakes his head. “No, given how you have chosen to approach me, I’m thinking I’m not going to be given too much of a choice. Like Moira there, I’m sure I’m to be expected to do what I’m told.”

Khaleel smiles widely, his teeth bright white in the darkened room.

“Someone must always lead, Mister Bishop,” he purrs, putting his hands in his pockets. “You failed to hide who you were well enough, and I have discovered your true name. In many legends, that alone gives me the power to command you. But here and now, it is my ability to turn you over to those who would skin you alive that gives me the upper hand. I am the winner of our little game, so I have earned the right to lead.”

“I’m afraid I disagree,” the thief replies. “The game is not over yet, and I have no intention of giving up my freedom, to you or anyone else.”

The other man purses his lips and sighs. “You will die, then, at the hands of one of those who would make you suffer. In fact, I will see to it personally, if you refuse to cooperate. Isn’t that what blackmailers usually do?”

“I wouldn't know,” Bishop replies with a smile. “In any case, they, and you, will have to catch me first. And I am very good at what I do. As you well know.”

“But in the end, they will still catch you. There are too many of them, and as good as you are, you will die.” The dark man looks at him, and sighs heavily. “I am sorry, Mister Bishop, but I cannot let you run. Your skills are too valuable. I need you.”

He pulls his hand from his pockets, and in the palm of his right is a pale green gem that glows with its own internal light.

“I had not wished to do this,” he says softly, fingering the jewel. “I had hoped you would see reason. But I cannot afford to lose you to your own pride. I must catch you in such a way that you cannot run without losing yourself.”

“What is that?” Bishop says, both to Finn and Khaleel.

“My insurance,” Khaleel replies. “One way or another, I will have you.”

He spins with a grace that belies his bulk, and presses the glowing gem against Moira’s forehead. Her eyes widen as the jewel glows brightly, covering all of her in an unearthly shine. She gasps once, and then her entire body seems to dissolve and collapse into a pile of dust at the dark man’s feet. There is the sound of a distant chime, and Khaleel snatches the gem from the air before it can fall.

Shocked, Bishop takes a step back, his eyes dropping to the floor where Moira had been standing.

“What did you do to her?”

Khaleel smiles. “That is not what you should be asking, thief. What you should be asking is, what will I do to you?”

Bishop takes another step backward, but finds himself pressed against the door. Khaleel lunges forward and plants the gem firmly on the thief’s forehead.

For a timeless instant, Bishop feels his whole body shimmer and shift, then realign in a radically different configuration. Khaleel snatches the jewel away and steps back, and the thief looks down to find the most perfect breasts he’s ever seen filling out the black shirt that had covered his own chest moments ago.

He looks up, into the mirror behind the dark man, and sees Moira looking back at him, wearing his oversized clothing and a shocked and confused look on her oh-so-perfect face.

“What have you done?” She whispers, her hand wandering up to touch her face. Her eyes narrow, and her sweet voice becomes a snarl. “What did you do?”

“I have taken your body, your life, and your sex hostage,” Khaleel crows, tossing the jewel up in the air over and over again. “If you ever want to be a man again, you will do as I say, steal what I tell you to steal, and be a dutiful, respectful, and obediant woman until I decide whether or not to give you your manhood back.”

Bishop lunges forward, but she trips over her own shoes and stumbles past the dark man to brace herself on the dressing table. Laughing, Khaleel slaps her bottom hard as she passes, then turns to stand by the door, holding the jewel above his head.

“Careful, thief!” He grins. “All that you were is inside this jewel now.”

“If that were true,” Bishop growls, Moira’s musical voice now bitter and hard, “you could just find yourself another man and make him ‘all that I was.’ You need my skills, and they still reside here.”

She puts her hand on her chest and feels the softness there shift, just a little, at her touch. It makes her pause, and Khaleel sees her hesitation and smiles.

“Ah, but you see, your physical form is locked in here.” He holds out the gem, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “If I should lose it, or drop it, or crush it under my heel, your hopes for ever becoming the man you were again will disappear.”

“And her?” Bishop asks, her voice suddenly soft and unsure. “What did you do with Moira?”

“She is gone.” Khaleel grins. “The Janus jewel was empty before I used it on her. When I stole her shape, I started the chain, freed her from her body, and thrust you into it. Now your form is stored here, until I return it. Or destroy it. And what I choose to do is totally up to you.”

Bishop feels cold inside, thinking of the rare glimpses of the true Moira she had been given, and how easily the dark man threw her away. The cold gives way to an anger that will not be so easily dismissed, but the thief holds it at bay.

This is too dangerous a game to let emotions have their sway. Yet.

“Your Holiness?” The Finn’s voice echoes in her head. Still connected, after all.

“Yeah, Finn, I’m here.” She lets a bit of tiredness creep into her voice. “So to speak.”

“Shit! It’s for real?”

Khaleel cocks his head at Bishop. “Who are you talking to?”

“One of those secrets of mine you said you’d find out about,” the thief replies, baring her teeth in a savage grin. “The other one should be along right about ... now.”

The door slams open, catching Khaleel from behind and catapulting him forward. Bishop lunges for the jewel, but the dark man lurches backward —

-- directly into the arms of a scowling giant. With a squawk, the dark man finds himself picked up by the back of his neck and hoisted into the air.

After a few seconds, the huge man filling the doorway gives the thief a once-over, then gives the extortionist a shake.

“So it’s true. I heard it, but dared not believe it.” The disgust drips from his voice with a casual distain that only a Frenchman can deliver, and he shakes his head. “I am sorry, my friend. God is truly a cruel joker, to bring such magic into the world and then let it fall into the hands of scum like this.”

“Khaleel, meet Bateau. Bateau, meet Khaleel.” Bishop grins, but there is no joy in it. “That’s the man who made a new woman of me.”

“Let me go!” Khaleel shouts, waving his legs in the air.

“Not likely,” Bateau responds, and shakes him again. “Unless you would care to restore my friend?”

“If you do not put me down, you will regret it,” the dark man says, his voice shaking with anger.

“If I put you down, I will regret it more,” The giant hisses into the extortionist’s ear with a grin. “No, no, my juicy worm. I like you just where you are. Dangling on my hook, alone and powerless.”

“I am not quite as powerless as your man-mountain might think, thief.” Khaleel looks at his watch, then back down at Bishop. “I was prepared for your ... resourcefulness, and I made certain arrangements. If I don’t call my associates in two minutes, they will release your secret on the Internet, and all the hounds of hell will start chasing you. You will never be able to return to the man you were.”

He looks down at the transformed man. “So you should tell your oaf to let me go, now. Or there will be nothing awaiting you but pain and death, should I ever choose to restore what you once were.”

Bishop walks up to the pair and eyes Khaleel thoughtfully. Seconds pass, and finally the thief speaks.

“That is, of course, assuming you ever planned to restore me in the first place,” she says slowly.

The dark man squirms and looks away, and she nods. “That’s what I thought. You were planning to keep me like this all along, weren’t you?”

Bateau looks at Bishop. “He wanted you like that? From the start?”

She nods, her eyes never leaving Khaleel’s face.

“But why?”

“Because this way, he gets the best of both worlds.” She turned her attention back to Khaleel. “At first, you acted reluctant to use the jewel’s power, but that’s all it was — an act. That’s really why you chose this club, isn’t it? That’s why Moira was here at all, just so you could steal her form and trap me in it. Once you had me where you wanted me, I would become the perfect ... companion ... for you. You would have the world’s most talented thief when you wanted something taken ... and the perfect woman whenever you wanted to take me.”

The thief sighs. “In your mind, there would be no possibility of my escape or release. And how could I ever refuse you anything? After all, you would have two holds over me — your threat to expose my real identity, and my real form held hostage.”

“I might have changed you back.” The dark man seems almost defensive. Bishop gives him the same skeptical look.

“Don’t be stupid. Once you had me, you would never have let me go. And why should you? Having the great Magdalene steal for you and be your bitch, trapped the body of a goddess?” He shakes his head. “I have seen your type before. I know you would enjoy having me in your power too much to ever set me free.”

A small redheaded man peeks in the open door behind Bateau, and his jaw drops. It is, of course, Finn, and he is shocked by what he sees.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God” he says in a thickening brogue.

Bishop shakes his head. “Nope. Just me.”

The hacker slips around the giant and gawks at Bishop’s new form. “Your Grace ... is that really you?”

The woman nods. “In the flesh, Finn. Even if it did used to belong to somebody else.”

Khaleel looks at his watch and grins.

“Your time is up, thief, in more ways than one. You have lost who you were, and Mark Allen Bishop is now a wanted man.”

The thief shrugs. “I expected no less. Your phone call was just an empty bluff anyway. After all, you wanted me to stay like this. What better incentive than to make it impossible for me to ever be me again?”

Bateau growls and raises Khaleel higher, banging his head into the ceiling. The dark man winces, and looks down at the thief.

“As I said, your time is up.” The dark man shrugs. “Of course, my time is up, too, but I knew the risks when I started the game. I understand that every race has its ending ... although it seems yours is about to begin.”

He laughs out loud, and suddenly tosses the gem at Bishop, who snatches it out of the air with a delicate hand. She looks at it curiously, then back up at him.

“You see? I can be unpredictable, too.” Khaleel laughs again, although this time it takes on a ragged edge. “Now you are the victor, thief. The game is yours. So take the gem! Take back your body, and run for your life, what little there is left of it.”

His face contorts with a snarl. “Now that I am in your power, I can’t imagine you will set me free either, oh no. I know your trained ape will snap my neck at your command, and I will die. But as my soul leaves my body, I will have the satisfaction of knowing you will die too, and soon. You will be brought down by the very hounds I set upon you tonight, even if I won’t be there to watch.”

“So go ahead! Restore yourself, thief, and let the hunt begin! I welcome it! Kill me first, and I will save you a seat in Hell.”

Bishop looks at the dark man dangling in the air above her and sighs.

“If you knew anything about me ... about us ... you’d know we don’t kill people. That’s one of the reasons I was so picky about who I stole for. And why everyone you gave my name to seems to be the sort who like to make people die.”

She holds up the jewel and peers at him through it. It pulses green, just once — almost as if it approved of what the thief is thinking. Bishop wonders if she approves of what she’s thinking, too.

‘Still,” she mutters, “a good thief recognizes an opportunity when he — she sees one.”

Bishop looks over at the giant. “Put him down, Bateau. Gently.”

As the Frenchman began to lower Khaleel, the thief adds, “Then knock him out, if you please.”

Bateau grins. “Oh, I please.”

The instant the dark man’s feet hit the floor, the rest of him follows.

Khaleel opens his eyes slowly, but remains quite still, unable to believe his good fortune. He stares up at the ceiling, surprised to find he is still alive. It is hard to fathom why the thief would have spared him, but his continuing to breathe pleases him in some absurd way, since his immense ego makes it difficult for him to imagine the world without him in it.

There is a sense of time having passed, but Khaleel is unworried. Bishop probably wanted a head start before the hounds could catch his scent, not realizing how futile it was for him to even think about escaping. Unfortunately for the thief, Bishop’s Bay City location was part of the information put out on the Net along with his real name, long before that desperate ruse he tried when the oaf dangled him in the air. The dark man knew that every exit from the city was already being watched, one way or another. He almost feels sorry for Bishop.

Almost.

Turning his head, the dark man sees what’s left of the Janus crystal crushed into green dust only inches from his face.

‘It was a useful tool, and part of a masterful plan,’ he thinks, ‘but ultimately futile when faced with a man of Bishop’s determination. No wonder he chose to regain his manhood and try to outsmart those who would kill him. After all, what else would a real man do?’

Although he is not quite sure why, Khaleel is content that somehow, the fates had conspired to save him, presumably for better things. This contentment lasts for all of the ten seconds it takes for him to rise to a seated position on the hardwood floor and look at the floor-length mirror on the back of the door.

Bishop’s face stares back.

The dark man’s blood runs cold. As he rises quickly to his feet, he realizes that he is wearing the other man’s clothes along with his body. For the first time in years, he has energy to spare, along with all of Bishop’s physical conditioning, and his youthful vigor.

And Khaleel will keep them and use them well ... until the very first of the hounds finds him, bares its teeth, and lunges for his throat.

His throat ... it feels strange. Constricted somehow. He reaches up and massages it gently, then tries to speak. Nothing. Moving over to the mirror on the door, he looks closer, and sees two small needle marks on either side of his larynx. Numbed, possibly permanently.

Now he can’t even try to talk his way out of this. As if the hounds would listen.

The dark man begins to feel the first stirrings of panic, and his hands start to shake. He turns away from the door, looking for a way out, or a weapon ... anything to stop the nightmare before it begins.

And sees the message written in lipstick on the make-up mirror.

“THIS IS FOR MOIRA, YOU SON OF A BITCH.
YOU WANTED A HUNT? ENJOY IT WHILE IT LASTS.”

No one else in his organization knew of the Janus gem, or his plans for Moira and Bishop. As far as they know, Khaleel is Bishop. And without the jewel or another like it for evidence, he has no way to prove he’s not.

The dark man with Bishop’s face barely has time to realize he’s screwed before he hears the sound of his own men running through the strip club . . . and wonders how far he will get before the first bullet takes him down.

He won’t have to wonder for long.

###

The beautiful blonde leans over towards the driver’s side of the van, her low-cut black mini-dress artfully exposing the soft round upper curves of her well-shaped breasts while the cool night air makes her erect nipples show clearly through the fabric. She places a delicate hand on the driver’s arm to steady herself, and flashes a brilliant, perfect smile at the state trooper at the roadblock.

“Is there a problem, officer?” she asks sweetly.

“Not at all, miss,” he replies with a smile of his own. “We’re just looking for an escaped fugitive and wondering if you might have seen him.”

The trooper holds up a picture of Mark Allen Bishop, a candid photo taken from a distance with a telephoto lens. Both the driver, a dark-haired giant of a man, and his stunning companion study it intently.

“I’m afraid I’ve never seen him,” the woman says wistfully, her voice almost a sigh. “I am sorry, too. He’s quite ... handsome, wouldn’t you say, Henri?”

The driver shakes his head. “Listen to you, petit. Asking me to judge if another man is handsome. I should be all the man you need.”

She blushes and turns away, and the man turns back to the trooper with a grin that seems to imply he will be proving to her later just how little she needs another man, no matter how handsome he might be.

Turning back to the two of them, the woman hesitates, then speaks.

“What has he done, this man?” Her voice trembles, just a bit. “Is he ... dangerous?”

“Oh, no, miss.” The trooper smiles again. “He’s just a thief, that’s all. We’ll catch him, don’t you worry. You hang onto that picture, and if you see him, call the number on the back and we’ll be right there to help.”

She returns his smile and winks. “I feel safer already, knowing you’re just a phone call away.”

“Thank you, miss.” She could almost see his chest expand from her flattery. “Please move along now, and thank you for your cooperation.”

The driver grins at the trooper, shifts into gear, and pulls away from the checkpoint.

“And if he’s a state policeman, then I am Johnny Cash,” Bateau mutters, his eye on the rearview mirror. “Every crime syndicate on the planet must have this city surrounded. And to make these flyers in the time they’ve had? Khaleel obviously let the information slip long before you met. You made a good call, mon ami. As yourself, you would never have left the city alive.”

Bishop holds herself up for a few seconds more before collapsing in her seat, knees slightly apart. She pulls at the front of her dress, tugging down the hem and then pulling up the top. trying to cover herself more and failing miserably.

“Please ... could you find us a hotel sometime soon? If I have to spend another minute dressed like this ...” Words fail her, and she falls silent.

“I will try, but it might be more than a few minutes, I am afraid,” Bateau shoots a glance at his friend. “We need more distance between Bay City and us, oui? Do not let your ... northern exposure ... blind you to how close we are to the hunters, even if they do not see you as their prey anymore.”

Bishop nods wearily, realizing she might still be call upon to play the seductress. She sits up straight once more, throws her shoulder back and brings her knees together.

“When we can, my friend,” she whispers, looking out the window. “When it’s safe.”

“Here!” Finn lurches forward from the back of the van, steadying himself with one hand on the driver’s seat. He hands Bishop his old black leather jacket. “Cover yourself before you catch your death.”

“Thanks, ‘mother.’” She throws him a smile, realizing that it’s his way of showing her he cares, even though he’s uncomfortable with the way things have changed. Bishop slips her arms into the jacket, only to find it’s now two sizes too big for her. She sighs and wraps it tight around her unfamiliar form — both for warmth, and to hide what she has become.

As if she could hide it from herself.

“How the hell did you get so good at ... at ... at what you just did back there?”

The thief sighs. “Misdirection is part of a thief’s stock and trade, Finn. Moira’s body is enough to make any man lose his ability to think in a straight line. All I had to do was smile, be sweet to the man, and let his libido do the rest.”

Finn gives her a small smile. “Well, you did good. He’s gonna have himself a fine time telling the other fake troopers about the blonde beauty in the white van, and thinking of you is going to keep him awake tonight.”

Her eyes close, and as she leans back in her chair once more. “Terrific. Now I’m a schoolboy fantasy for a hired thug and all his friends, and something for him to wank off to in the days to come.”

Her voice betrays how tired she is ... and more. Bateau and Finn exchange glances, confused and unsure of what to say. The silence makes her open her eyes, and she turns her head to find Finn staring at her, and Bateau trying to watch her and the road at the same time. She sighs.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Both of you. I’m being bitchy, I know. But since I’m a woman now, maybe that’s ... appropriate somehow.”

Bishop sits up in her seat and turns to face the pair. In spite of the danger, Bateau slows down and pulls over to the side of the road. He cuts the engine, and the three listen to it ticking as it cools for a moment before Bateau turns and gives Bishop his total attention.

Whatever is coming next, it’s too important, to all of them, for him to drive and listen at the same time.

The thief sighs.

“I know you think it was the right call, Bateau, my staying like this. I did, too, at the time. I could have used the jewel to give Moira’s body to Khaleel, but I just couldn’t stomach the thought. It wouldn’t be right to her, somehow, to give him the beauty he killed her for, just so he could force me to be his whore. And strategically, my staying this way got us all out of Dodge without any of us having to die, and I still think that’s a good thing.”

She leans forward, and her voice catches in her throat. She has to start again.

“But now that we’re free, I’m just starting to realize that ... well, I’m not. Free, I mean. Not really. The life I saved isn’t a life I particularly want to live. What I did to that fake trooper just now made it painfully clear that things have changed for me, in ways I didn’t have a chance to think about until now.”

“Being a woman ... being this woman ... it scares me. It defines me, looking like this. Being this. I’ve been trying hard not to think about it, but look at me. As a man, I wasn’t anything special to look at. I could hide in plain sight if I had to. That’s not an option anymore. Hell, looking like this, all I want to do is hide. I know I won’t be able to walk down a street anywhere in the world without propositions and catcalls chasing me into the shadows.”

“And trying to just live? Like this?” She laughs, and it is bitter and empty. “Every man who sees me will spend less time talking to me as a person, and more time asking himself how big my tits really are, and whether they’re real or fake, whether I like them sucked or bitten when I fuck, and what I sound like when I cum ... and worst of all, how the hell can he get me into bed right now so he can find out all the answers for himself.”

Her voice trails off, and she sighs again. “In the meantime, here I am, and all I keep thinking is, ‘this is my life now? In the wrong body, with the wrong plumbing, and with everyone and his brother wanting to take me for a ride? Because let me tell you, boys, I am soooo not interested in being ridden. Not ever.”

She stops, and there is a long silence in the van. For some reason, Bishop is fighting to hold back tears, when the man she used to be hadn’t cried since his father had died when he was in high school. A few escape anyway, slipping down her cheeks. She hangs her head, using her hair to hide her hand as she brushes them away.

Then Bateau rises, but only long enough to go down on one knee before her. Of course, being a giant, his head still rises almost to the level of her own, and she finds herself looking into his eyes. There is such tenderness there ... such care ... that it takes her totally by surprise. He surprises her again by taking her hand in his, so gently, as if it were a frightened bird.

Then he speaks.

“Bishop,” he says softly. “You are a fool.”

Her eyes widen, and Bateau smiles. “Do not mistake me. You are not a fool because of how you feel, my friend. If I were in your pretty shoes, the wailing and gnashing of teeth would not be mine alone. Every women I have ever known from here to Marseilles would be wearing black, and I would be joining them in mourning the man I was, and would never be again.”

“But I am not you, and you are a fool, nonetheless, because you have forgotten who you are. Even now, in that magnificent body, as a woman men would gladly die for if you only said their names in a whisper ... even now, you are still the man you were. Still the man I fell in love with, all those years ago when we first met.”

She gasps softly, and the giant shrugs.

“This should come as no surprise to you, mon ami. As you know, I am a man who has always loved women. But since the very beginning of our partnership, I have loved you as only a Frenchman can love another man, with the deepest respect and admiration. The Bishop I fell in love with ... he lived each moment as he wished and chose how each moment was lived. He defined himself not by how others saw him, but by how he lived, and by the choices he made.”

“When I first saw you, when we first met for dinner in that restaurant in Monaco, you walked in as if you owned the place. I was impressed. But when you made the maitre de and the entire staff believe it, too? Well, I thought to myself, this is a man who makes the world what he wishes it to be. This is a man with more to teach me than how to pick a lock or steal a painting. This is a man from whom I can learn how to live.”

The tears Bishop tried so hard to stop finally begin to fall, one after the next, and she lets them. Bateau reaches up and touches one as it slides down the thief’s cheek, wiping it aside gently with his thumb.

“But now, you are confused. Ripped from your own body and from the life you knew, you have forgotten ... yourself. You have forgotten how you have lived.” He lifts her chin and looks into her eyes.

“So let me remind you, yes? Let the student become the teacher, just this once?”

Bishop nods, her eyes not leaving his. Bateau nods back.

“You are a woman now? So be it. Do not live in the past. Do as you did in that restaurant so long ago! Embrace it and make it your own. You are beautiful and desired? Use it to get what you desire, as you did tonight when your beauty and his lust won us our freedom. You do not wish to be defined by those who lust for you? Then define yourself as you always have, and let them live in their childish fantasies. What others think does not matter, and never has. What you think does.”

“And if you do not wish to be ridden?” Bateau grins. “Then no one will ride you, not ever. Because you will not allow it. Those men who would burn for you with such overwhelming passion? Let them die frustrated and alone, with your name lingering on their lips, because you said no.”

The giant leans forward and kisses the tears away, first from one cheek, then another. Bishop closes her eyes and lets him. He feels the Frenchman lean forward, and whisper in his ear.

“And you will not have to spend your life alone, my friend. There is a world full of women who would happily share their beds and their lives with you, just as you are. Again, your choice and theirs, as it has always been.”

Bateau pulls away and looks into her eyes once more. “And if somehow, the man I know you are finds it truly impossible to be the woman you have become? Well, you are living proof that there is magic in the world. There may be other jewels out there, or genies, or talismans, or a thousand other flavors of sorcery that will make you the man you were, or someone totally new — if you choose to find them.”

“You felt like your world was ending?” The Frenchman shakes his head. “This world is yours, mon ami, as it has always been. And Finn and I will be where we always will be, right beside you and behind you, watching you take your life wherever you want it to go. Because we love you, and there is nowhere else we would want to be but by your side.”

He smiles then, wide and welcoming, and opens his arms. Suddenly Bishop finds herself lurching forward with a wordless cry. She is surrounded by his warmth, pressed against this bear of a man and not sure how she got there, but not giving a damn, because there is nothing about this closeness that is the slightest bit sexual.

It’s just friendship, and caring. And love.

She looks over Bateau’s shoulder into her tech wizard’s bright red face and grins.

“How about it, Finn,” she whispers through the smile and the tears. “Do you love me, too?”

He fidgets for an instant, then sighs.

“Must’ve,” he mutters, looking away, “to put up with you all these years.”

She reaches out and touches his arm, and Finn throws her a slightly embarrassed sideways glance before slipping through the curtains into the back of the van.

“Whenever you two are finished,” his voice floats back with a touch of sarcasm, “I was thinkin’ we might want to be getting’ on with that narrow escape we were in the middle of a while ago?” There is a long pause, and a heavy sigh. “Just a thought, mind you. Lots of nasty chatter on the radio. Miles to go and all that.”

Bishop pulls back to look into the giant’s eyes.

“Thank you,” she says. Bateau nods once, still smiling, and opens his arms slowly.

She takes her time moving away. He watches her with a tiny smile as she makes it back to her seat and struggles a little with tucking the short skirt under her before she lowers herself gracefully and buckles in.

As she fiddles with the shoulder strap, trying to make it fall properly across her chest, the Frenchman imagines he sees a bit of the man he knew rising to the surface of the woman she has become. His small smile becomes a grin, and he looks away to hide it from her.

‘Soon,’ he thinks as he starts the van again. ‘She will see that life as a woman can be whatever she makes it. And I will have the Bishop I knew back again. Well, almost.’

He steals a glance at her as she crosses her beautiful legs at the knee, and gives his head a shake.

‘And maybe someday, she might want to see what it is like to be ... ridden ... after all, by someone who truly loves her.’ He shrugs. ‘Or not. As always, the choice is hers.’

Bateau pulls out on the highway. ‘No matter what she decides, I will protect her as I have always done, and keep her safe. Because that is who I am. And what I do.’

Bishop looks out the window, thinking about what Bateau said. She glances down at her old face on the front of the flyer, and catches a glimpse of Moira in the right side mirror. The woman there raises an eyebrow, and her bemused smile reflects the one in Bishop’s heart.

“I’m still in here,” she whispers, so that only she can hear. “Still me where it counts. And still alive. And where there’s life ...”

‘There’s hope,’ Moira’s voice echoes in her mind.

‘There is,’ Bishop thinks, ‘And maybe sometimes, hope is enough.’

She thinks for a minute, then opens her window. Extending her hand, she holds the flyer out by her fingertips, hanging on for a few seconds before letting the wind snatch it away. The thief watches in the mirror as it flutters and falls by the side of the road, until it is swallowed by distance and the vanishing darkness.

It’s getting light.

Damned if they aren’t driving east, and the sun is just starting to color the sky ahead.

“Almost dawn,” she says to Bateau. “A new day.”

“Oh, Christ on a crutch, Your Eminence,” Finn bellows from the back. “If you use the sunrise as a fucking metaphor, I swear by all that’s holy I’ll come up there and kill you myself.”

The thief laughs aloud, surprised at how musical it sounds, and even that she’s laughing at all. Bateau smiles to himself and keeps driving.

“His Eminence is dead, you crazy Mick,” she yells back, the smile still on her lips. She stops to think a minute, then grins. “Call me Maggie! And find us a hotel up ahead soon so I can change, or I swear by all that's holy I’ll make you wear this dress.”

Finn pokes his head through the curtains and gives her a look.

“I’d like to see you try, you dizzy bitch!” He growls. But there’s a smile on his face when he says it, and he ducks back behind the curtain to do as she says.

Maggie smiles to herself and looks at her reflection once more. This time, instead of Moira, the one looking back is her. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing, after all.

‘Yes,’ she thought. ‘Maybe sometimes, hope is all you need.’

###

© 2010. Posted by the author.