An undercover agent's worst fear occurs and Patricia must change the rules of the game to survive. Themes and Elements listed apply to entire story, Rating to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly and Robyn Hoode for editorial assistance.

SEVERANCE PAY

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

We’re both sitting at the kitchen table. The police had just left. Mom says I had been screaming bloody murder.

I can believe it.

It took a little while to convince the cops. They insisted on checking out the house, to make sure we weren’t being held hostage. The woman cop also wanted to check me for signs of abuse, after seeing my skinned knees and bruises. I told her it was from basketball but she wasn’t buying it until I got a ball and made a couple of dribble moves to prove I knew what I was doing. She was impressed.

Now it’s just the two of us, Mom with coffee and me with hot chocolate, the Remote on the table between us, its back off and it’s batteries out.

“I’m so sorry, honey. I had no idea this had happened. It was an accident, I swear!”

I’m still kinda shaky from that dream, but the chocolate has helped. It always does.

“I know. I don’t blame you. I’ve been jerky the last few days. Stuff happens.”

She sips her coffee. She hasn’t said much since I told her about the nightmare. Nightmare. The word hardly seems adequate. What’s a nightmare times ten? Times a hundred? It’s clear she wants to ask something but is afraid to, not knowing how I’ll react.

“Go on, Mom. Ask me. We gotta figure out what happened.”

She puts her coffee down. “Should we call Thomas? We never discussed this possibility. Obviously, if the Remote runs on batteries, they’ll need to be replaced, sooner or later. He had to consider this possibility. Surely, if doing so would cause this … problem, he’d have warned us.”

“If he knew about it. Remember, I’m a prototype. There’s still a lot of unknowns. Yeah, we need to call him … but we don’t tell him about the dream.”

“Why not? You’ve never had a nightmare that bad before, it might mean something.”

“Oh, it means something alright. It means a lot.”

“So, we tell him.”

“We can’t, it proves he’s screwed up.”

“How does it do that?”

“All my prior nightmares have been taken from my memories … no exceptions. I never got the sexy dreams that Lipscomb reported. Sometimes the dreams were kinda weird, sometimes they got a little strange, but they were always based on something that actually happened to me and I was always Peter Harris … no exceptions.”

I take a sip of my hot chocolate.

“This time, I’m a girl, not just a girl but the same girl I am today, just younger. I’m in a place Peter Harris never was, doing something Peter Harris never did. The only physical change was that the Remote was turned off. It was the same kind of nightmare I’ve had since the transfer, just as vivid, just as real.”

“What are you saying, Patricia?”

“I’m saying that I relived something that happened to the original owner of this body. Jennie Jo was raped by her father.”

“You don’t know that, you can’t know that.”

I tap the side of my head. “Up here, I know it. Some of her memories are still here, in my head. Huh, yeah MY head, Patricia’s head, Jennie Jo’s head, whoever.”

Mom reaches out, taking my hands in hers. “Honey, you’re still upset, you don’t know what you’re saying. Thomas said all the original memories were erased.”

“He was wrong. Now, I’ve got to try and find out what happened to her.”

“Patricia … we’ve got a job to do, a different, more important job. You just can’t abandon the team now to go on some kind of goose chase. The police looked for information when … she … first died and they found nothing. What makes you think you can do better? And not mess up the job we’re working on now?”

“You weren’t there Mom, you didn’t feel her pain, her panic, her fear. I can’t forget about it, about her. You can help me or not but I’m doing it.”

She sighs, hanging her head. “This just complicates an already difficult job, Patricia. It’s not our problem, besides, she’s already dead.”

“She’s not dead, not as long as I can remember. Are you with me or not?”

She grimaces, then chews her lip a moment. “Are you certain about this? Really certain?”

“Yes, Mom. I am.”

She shakes her head in resignation. “I suppose that deep meditation might help resurrect buried memories.”

“And we don’t tell Matthews … right?”

“We’ll have to say something. We need to know if you can safely reload the Remote. We need to know what happens if the Remote goes dead. Is there a safety setting? A default setting? We need those answers.”

I pull my hands from hers, grab the Remote, slip the batteries in place, slap the back on, and set it on Blue Forty.

“PATRICIA! What are you doing?!”

I freeze in place, waiting for something to happen … but nothing does.

“I’m answering the first question. Nothing bad happens. Let’s talk to him about the rest right now”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I don’t know how long the phone‘s been ringing. I have an answering machine on the office line but not my personal line. However long, it’s ringing when I wake up. 4:38 in the morning.

“Hello?”

“Thomas, is that you?”

“Of course it is. Who are you?”

“Jessica Conner. We’ve had a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“The batteries accidentally fell out of the Remote. We’re not certain what to do. We never discussed that situation before.”

“We never discussed it because I’ve been changing batteries at every check up. Just put them back in.”

“Well … they have been out for some time.”

“How long?”

“At least six hours.”

“It took you that long to call me?”

“We just discovered they were out, it was an accident, remember.”

“Six hours, six minutes, it shouldn’t make any difference.”

“Thomas, what happens to the Balancer when the Remote loses power?”

“If it’s in range of the Remote, it turns off.”

“My God! That’s terrible.”

“Hardly terrible, Jessica. It simply stops actively managing the separate parts of the brain. The structure remains present, the connections are still there, the information is still being transmitted. Everything continues to work, just at a lower level. It’s as if you had turned off the amplifier in a stereo system. The sound still gets to the speakers, just at a much reduced volume. Patricia’s brain still functions, just not at the same level.”

“And the balance?”

“It defaults to zero, no preference for either Blue or Pink.”

She doesn’t say anything but I can hear a muffled conversation taking place on her end of the call.

“Thomas, what if there was … additional information being transmitted?”

“From where?”

“Inside her brain.”

“That’s impossible. There are only two sources present, beyond the lizard brain and the midbrain. The higher brain just has Peter and Patricia, nothing else. They are both routed through the Balancer. It’s a closed system.”

“And nothing else could … force its way in?”

“There’s nothing else to do that. The lizard brain is too simple and the midbrain was wiped clean.”

“But if it wasn’t wiped clean?”

“It was, Jessica.”

“Humor a worried mother, Thomas. What would happen?”

“Likely nothing. The higher and midbrains are connected, all three sections are. There is a certain amount of overlap at those connection points, no definitive line where one part stops and another starts. Random information could reside in the gray transition zones but they aren’t connected to the Balancer.”

“Aren’t the nanites supposed to be making new connections all the time?”

“Only in response to new information, new memories.”

There’s another pause and more conversation at Jessica’s end of the call.

“What about repairs, Thomas? Aren’t the nanites supposed to repair damaged areas of the brain?”

“Certainly, but all those repairs have already been made … unless Patricia has suffered some new brain damage. Has that happened?”

“No … no, of course not. Everything’s fine with her. We were just concerned about the batteries, that’s all. I feel foolish about the whole thing now. Sorry to have bothered you, Thomas.”

I yawn. “Perfectly alright, Jessica. I understand. Can’t be too cautious. Let me know if she has any problems of any kind.”

“We will, Thomas. Good night.”

“Good night.” I hang up the phone and rub my eyes. I need to make a note about that. Test the Balancer in passive mode. The results could be interesting.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Did you hear all that? You didn’t ruin anything.”

I didn’t ruin anything? Thanks, Mom. Who’s the one who threw the darn Remote?

“Yes, thank heaven for that … Mom. At least we have a couple of possible explanations for what happened.”

“Are you certain it wasn’t just a dream? Thomas seemed quite sure.”

“And I’m quite sure, Mother. Either those memories have been there all along but overwhelmed by the Balancer or they were in areas of my brain that were not connected due to old damage which were repaired after my header into the bleachers.”

“Patricia, you didn’t say anything about hitting your head.

“I didn’t hit it that hard, no concussion or a knock out or anything.”

“You should tell me everything if you get hurt.”

Am I going to bring the trust thing up now? No.

“Sorry, Mom. It just wasn’t that big a deal. Hopefully it won’t happen again. I still want to find out all I can about Jennie Jo.”

“It’ll just complicate things, Patricia. We won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“Maybe not right now and maybe not officially but we won’t know until I try. Will you help me?”

She looks at me with tired eyes, then sighs. “I’ll help, as long as it doesn’t, in any way, delay us from getting Hobbes. You have to promise that you will do everything you can, as quickly as you can, to get into his computer system. If you promise, then I’ll help however I can. I can’t promise any results.”

“Neither can I, but I promise I’ll try.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

My intercom buzzes.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Lipscomb is here, Mr. Tyson.”

“Thank you. Send him in.”

It takes almost a minute for Lipscomb to open the door, probably hitting on Larson.

He nods his head as he closes the door behind him. “Walter”

“Have a seat, Dan.”

Lipscomb settles in the worn, padded chair opposite my desk, crossing his legs, hands in his lap.

“What is it you wanted to see me about, Walter?”

“You’re probably aware of the increasingly frequent requests from Washington for some kind of progress on the war on drugs.”

“I’ve seen the emails.”

“There’s been video conferences too. And memo’s. And text messages. And just about every other form of communication other than tweets … so far. The long and the short of it is they want action, any kind of action, now.”

“What they really want are positive news stories and some snappy video to use to get reelected.”

“You should know, Dan, they’re the administration that appointed you. The most recent demands for action include the threat of budget cuts.”

He frowns at that, Lipscomb knows were this is headed.

“Walter, you can’t mean …”

“Afraid so. I’ve kept my part of our deal, Dan. Haven’t bothered you once, haven’t asked for a single report, an update, anything. I’ve given you everything you asked for, but Washington isn’t willing to wait.”

“I appreciate it Walter, I really do, but this is exactly what my operation is designed to avoid. I give you information, you send it to Washington, God knows who sees it and my people end up dead.”

“Is there even any information to give me?”

“You know I can’t answer that.”

“If you can’t, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to pull the plug.”

He jumps up out of his seat, planting both hands on my desk, leaning forward. “WALTER! You can’t do that! I’m so close!”

“How close, Dan? If I knew that this operation of yours was going to lead to something, then I could defend it to Washington, or at least put them off awhile, but I’ve got to have something to work with. Your promises aren’t good enough.”

He drops back down in the chair, head in his hands.

“I’m closer than anybody else ever came, Walter. You CAN’T stop me know.”

“Again, how close, Dan? I need something.”

He looks up at me, clearly debating what he should say next. Finally, he makes a decision.

“You understand, whatever I tell you, can’t leave this room. Not a peep. Lives are at risk, my life is at risk.”

“I may need to tell Washington …”

“NO! I trust you but no one else! Hobbes is everywhere! If you aren’t willing to fight for this operation, then shut it down, now. I won’t put lives at risk.”

I’m surprised at his reaction. Maybe he’s actually got something of value.

“Alright, Dan, only between you and me.”

“No one else. I need your word on that, Walter.”

“Fine, you’ve got it.”

He pulls his chair closer to my desk, leaning as far forward as he can. He waves for me to come closer. I do.

“I have a man inside Hobbes household” he whispers. “He’s been there for about a month.”

“MY GOD!” He gestures for me to keep quiet. “What is he doing?”

“I can’t say, Walter. Don’t push me on this, I truly can not tell you.”

“You don’t know yourself?”

“I know, it’s just … unconventional, that’s as far as I can go. The main thing is, he’s there.”

“Has he gotten anything useful?”

Again, the internal debate. The fact that he has to think about it means the answer is “yes”. Now, I just need to wheedle it out of him.

“Yes and No. He’s discovered something big but we can’t use it. However, there’s the chance for him to get the mother lode.”

“Why can’t we use it?”

“You’d need to involve way too many people, there’s no chance to keep operational security. Once Hobbes finds out, and he will, we’re screwed … and likely dead.”

“What the hell does your man have, Lipscomb?”

“I’d rather not …”

“Dan … I’m going to need this. I assure you, it won’t leave this office. No offense, but you can’t just say you’ve got a man inside. I need some proof of some kind. I can’t simply take your word for it because you’ve got a reason to be … unreasonably optimistic about the situation.”

“Walter, are you accusing me of lying?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m simply pointing out that, unfortunately, in this case, you’re word isn’t good enough. Normally, it’d be fine … but not now. I need something concrete for me to hang my hat on. Without it, I won’t really have a choice, not with what Washington is asking from me. It’s out of my hands.”

I’ve actually got more latitude than that, but he doesn’t need to know it. Back to that internal debate. This time, it takes more than a minute. I don’t interrupt him.

“Walter … I can not stress the importance of this information being kept ultra, ultra secret. If Hobbes is tipped off … my people will have no chance. None. Zip. Nada.”

“I understand. I’ll be ultra, ultra careful.” He frowns at me. I deserve that.

He sighs, giving up. “I have the location of every one of Hobbes drug stashes and the inventory of each location.”

I don’t react, I can’t react. It’s as if he told me he had conclusive proof of the existence of Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and Big Foot. It’s something you never, in your wildest dreams, expect to hear.

“Come again?”

“You heard me, Walter. I’ve got it all, every warehouse, safe house and hole in the ground where Hobbes has hidden his drugs in the US and the amounts, down to the kilo. I calculate it’s over a billion dollars, give or take a few million. Well, that was as a few weeks ago.”

“You SAT on this for weeks?!”

“Quiet down, Walter.”

“Don’t tell me to ‘quiet down’! How could you not tell me about this immediately?!”

“Two reasons. The first is that there is a bigger target. My man believes that he can gain access to Hobbes computer system. If he does, we get absolutely everything. His resources in other countries, the location of his money, his production facilities, his sales force, the names of all the people he’s bribed, his transportation routes … every single thing we wanted.”

Is that even possible? “Go on, Dan.”

“The second reason is that you couldn’t do anything with the data. To put together raids on all these locations would require numerous warrants, over three hundred officers from several agencies, both federal and local. There is no way in hell that Hobbes wouldn’t find out about it long before you could pull the trigger. We end up with nothing and Hobbes goes on the warpath searching for the leak, putting me and my people at risk.”

DAMN! He’s right! Lipscomb’s smarter than I thought he was.

“I’ll be damned! It’s too big to move on.”

“That’s what my man said.”

“Your man is smart. If he gets out of this alive, he’s got a best selling book on his hands.”

Dan smiles for the first time. “You have no idea, Walter.”

Huh. Wonder what that means?

“You got all this information in writing?”

“My man took notes. It is all legitimate Walter, I swear.”

Now it’s my turn to debate. Do I trust him and push back against Washington, hoping to make the biggest score of any prosecutor’s career or pull the plug now? Lipscomb wouldn’t be fighting this hard unless he saw a real pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. He’s more than selfish and immoral enough to toss his people aside if it would benefit him, yet he’s still here.

“Dan, you get me a copy of the notes and I’ll review them. If I agree that they’re legit, I’ll take on Washington for you. I won’t tell them anything that’ll hurt you or your people; I’ll put my reputation behind you. I can’t guarantee it’ll be enough, but I’ll try my best. That’s all I can do.” I hold out my right hand. “Good enough?”

He pauses a second or two, then shakes my hand. “I hope this works, Walter. We’re looking at the total destruction of the Hobbes organization and rooting corruption from the criminal justice system. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“It is that.”

Slowly, like the rising sun at dawn, another option begins to grow in my mind. No need to bother Lipscomb about it yet … or maybe ever.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

“Ms. Larson, get me Nicole Moser on the phone.”

“Yes, Mr. Tyson.”

Moser’s in charge of the multi region Emergency Preparedness Task Force. There’s a national test scheduled in three weeks. Both Federal and local agencies will be working together on staged emergency scenarios. The people at the top will know what’s planned but the locals will be given the information at the last minute. Some areas get tornadoes, some railroad accidents, some flooding, others get toxic spills.

The idea is to see how well the federal and state agencies cooperate in dealing with the usual range of emergencies that regularly crop up in a year. Thousands of firefighters, rescue crews and police officers will be on the road, going where they’re directed, without any advance notice. Some of them will be in groups with FBI agents leading them.

I’ve seen Lipscomb’s mans notes. The guy’s got to have an extraordinary memory. I don’t remember ever hearing of a veteran undercover cop with that kind of memory, so Lipscomb may have gone outside the usual suspects to find him. Probably best not to speculate about what exactly is going on, but it’s hard not to.

Eleven locations spread out over six states, all within Moser’s jurisdiction. I figure that a minimum of two FBI and ten local police could initially raid each location and secure it until a larger force could arrive. Each one of the warehouses are legitimate operations, they just act as covers for the illegal drugs. In fact, their security is so good, all the police need do is lock the place down until reinforcements arrive. It’s unlikely they would face armed opposition; Hobbes knows the occasional seizure is the cost of doing business. None of the prior seizures we suspected were associated with him became violent.

If the two FBI agents were clued in as to what was happening, they could take any ten locals with them. As long as they couldn’t communicate with the outside by cell phone once they found out where they were going and what they were doing, even if they were on the take, it would be too late for them to tell Hobbes what was up, they’d have to follow through with the raid or risk exposing themselves. It’s more likely they’d chose to explain to Hobbes why they couldn’t inform than give up their careers and cushy pensions.

As for the warrants, I know a Federal District Judge in North Dakota, far away from Hobbes’ area of influence. We play golf together when he comes to Florida on vacation during the winter. He’s an old fraternity brother. The chance of his Court being infiltrated by Hobbes is remote. While it’s not Standard Operating Procedure, a Federal Warrant is a Federal Warrant, good anywhere in the entire country.

If I had a minimum of twenty two trustworthy, untainted FBI agents, we could safely raid all eleven of Hobbes warehouses, if Moser will let me piggy back with her regional program. Her brother was a DEA agent killed in the line of duty in Texas during an undercover operation. If there is anyone more opposed to illegal drugs than Nicole Moser, I haven’t met them.

The intercom buzzes again.

“Nicole Moser on line two, Mr. Tyson.”

“Thank you, Ms. Lawson.” I push button two. “Hello Nicole. Walter Tyson. I’m calling concerning your Regional Emergency Preparedness Drill.”

“You’re not going to complain about a waste of resources and time, are you Walter? After the Katrina fiasco, I would think that’s a lesson we all learned and would not want to repeat.”

“Not at all Nicole. You have my support, one hundred percent.”

“Huh. Glad to hear it. I’ve been fielding complaints all month from police departments coast to coast how this is all unnecessary, it stretches limited resources, they have better things to do, overtime costs, yada, yada, yada.”

“That’s unfortunate, Nicole. I am willing to commit the resources of my office to the exercise, limited as they may be.”

“I see. What might these resources be?”

She senses that I’m up to something, better make this offer in person. “I’d like to meet, show you something that more clearly explains how we may be able to help each other. You have any time Tuesday next week?”

“Can’t you just fax me something, Walter? Video conference?”

“Afraid not, Nicole. This is kind of your eyes only. I think you’ll really appreciate the possibilities when you see it.”

“I’m intrigued. Okay, how about … 3:15 p.m., Tuesday?”

“That works for me. You won’t regret it.”

“We’ll see about that. You have a reputation, Walter.”

“Moi?”

“Oui. Good bye, Walter.”

She hangs up. Now to call Judge Hastings and run a hypothetical by him.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Aaaarggghhhh!” I toss my pencil down, bouncing it off the top of the kitchen table, hitting the cabinets over the sink.

“Patricia! Calm down! What’s the problem?”

“There’s no way in! Tippett’s got that computer system locked down tight. I’ve pinged and probed for three days, nothing. He’s probably left a back door somewhere but I can’t find the password. He’s too smart to make it easy to guess. If we had a couple of hundred machines, I could try to muscle my way in but that’s not how we need to do it. I need to be able to slip in and out, leaving nothing behind.”

“Is you’re computer up to the job?”

“Yeah. I’m using my school computer. I disabled all programs that limited what it can do. It’s not really a question about how advanced the computer is, it’s programmer versus programmer, and right now, he’s kicking my behind.”

“Maybe you need to do more research.”

“I don’t think it’s going to do any good. He’s likely read the same things I have, he probably wrote some of it. The guy’s good, more than good, he’s one of the top guy’s in the world. Hobbes hires the best.”

“Take a break. Come at the problem with a fresh set of eyes. We can try meditation again, see if you can connect with any buried memories.”

“That’s been another big, fat nothing. All I get is a headache. I keep searching but get squat. I’m beginning to wonder if you were right all along.”

“I’m beginning to think I was wrong.”

“What?”

“There’ve been a number of things I couldn’t explain, things you did that were too natural, too much like a …”

“A real girl?”

“Don’t say that, Patricia. You’re as much a girl as any girl. It’s just that you … sometimes were so pitch perfect and I knew it wasn’t anything I had done or Thomas had done. And, let’s face it; it likely didn’t come from Peter Harris’ experience. If there were some original residual memories, that could explain it.”

“So why can’t I find them? We yank the batteries from the Remote, the Balancer shuts down but, no matter how hard I try, I can’t make contact.”

“That’s your problem, you’re trying too hard. Part of meditation is the calm, making yourself open to experiences. It can’t be forced one way or another. You must be passive, inviting, willing to accept what comes your way.”

“That seems like it could take a long time for something to happen. Just sitting around, keeping your mind blank, waiting. How do you make sure that … my God. That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“The answer! I don’t attack Hobbes’ system, I let it come to me … or more particularly, Tippett comes to me.”

“How do you do that?”

“Easy. You won’t like it, but it’s easy.”

* * * *** * * * **** * * *

“This can’t be real, Walter.”

“I believe it is, Nicole. This wasn’t just slipped under my door at midnight. One of my men has an ongoing operation.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it. If it’s real … if you could bust each location … good lord.”

“Exactly.”

“Would you be able to make it stand up in Court?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t really care.”

“You don’t care? That’s an uncommon attitude for a prosecutor.”

“No. I’ve done some preliminary checking of the public records. There’s no obvious connection to any known Hobbes business. We could always find something in confiscated records but Hobbes has historically been very careful to leave no fingerprints on any of his drug supplies. We may get someone to flip on him, but again, historically, that doesn’t happen. So we’ll get a lot of drugs, some small fry convictions and that’ll be the end of it.”

“That seems to be very pessimistic, Walter.”

“You can’t plan on miracles. Getting this information is a miracle. I don’t expect another. Maybe we find more information in the raids but don’t bet on it. Realistically, if we get this amount of drugs off the street, it will cause Hobbes a great deal of difficulty and create a major shake up in the markets. I’m willing to take that … and so is Washington.”

“I’ll certainly do whatever I can to help you. Do you really believe you can keep this quiet?”

“Yes, I do. Keep the initial teams small and uninformed until the last minute, led by a few, out of town, absolutely trust worthy agents. It should work.”

“What about the undercover agent?”

“I’ll give them two days notice to get out. There’s the promise of even greater information but Washington’s interested in the bird in the hand, not the two in the bush.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

That son of a bitch Raul gives me nothing but grief!

All I wanted was a bowl of ice cream … a fucking simple bowl of ice cream with fudge sauce. How hard is it to make god damn fudge sauce? You’d thought I asked him to fry a turkey or something.

I’m under a lot of stress here, keeping Hobbes computer system safe and secure. He doesn’t attract a bunch of hackers but you can’t tell the difference between the random asshole screwing around and someone determined to succeed, at least not at first. I can’t take anything for granted; Hobbes has made it quite clear what happens if I fail … well, actually, Cardoza did, but he speaks for Hobbes, everyone knows that.

If I don’t get something to eat every couple of hours, I get the shakes real bad. It’s not my problem that he’s in the middle of fixing dinner. I got needs!

By the time I get back and open the door at my office, one of my monitor programs has launched. Settling into the padded swivel chair with a groan, I pull up the full screen.

Damn! It’s that Conner bitch. She’s not been doing much all week and now she decides to go online. School musta just got out.

That’s another job from Cardoza, monitor the Conner bitch. “Tippett” he said “I want to know everything she does, no matter how small. That is your responsibility. Don’t fail me.”

What is she gonna do? All week, just boring shit. Thank God she doesn’t have a bunch of friends, sending tweets, texts and emails back and forth, full of the kinda crap teen age girls fixate on. Who’s dating who, clothes, music, beauty shit, all that girly … wait a second! Who’s this? What did she … I’ll be damned! The fucking bitch is sexting some kid! I knew she was a hot little twat. She even attached a photo. Let me just … yeah, niiiiccceee. She’s still wearing her blouse and skirt but the top three buttons are undone. That’s a fucking nice pair of tits!

She says she’ll send him a new picture, a better picture every day. Hot Damn! I’ll just scan this for viruses then save it for closer examination later on tonight … when I’ve got time to appreciate it.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Patricia, this photo is completely inappropriate! I can see your panties!”

“Good, haven’t done any of those yet, maybe Tippett’s got a little fetish going on.”

“Patricia!”

“I know Mom, I’m not happy about it, but it’s working. Tippett’s downloading each picture, along with the imbedded extra coding. It’s unrecognizable as a virus because it’s just bits and pieces but, by the time he’s downloaded each picture, in the right sequence, the entire worm will be hidden in his system, undetected, ready for activation. Three down, five to go.”

“I understand, but the entire thing is so … tawdry! What if he shows the pictures to someone else?”

“Then he does. It’s not like I haven’t posed for worse.”

“Honey … are you certain about that? Maybe it’s just your imagination.”

“No, the memory’s quite clear. She came to Miami to get away from her father. She started doing tricks and got involved with local porn producers.”

“And you remember all of that?”

“Just brief flashes, a few seconds here and there. She started in Minneapolis, I think, met some guy who brought her here. It’s all a jumble in my head but it does explain a few things.”

“What things?”

“Like how some of those photos posted on my fake Facebook page by McBride were real. Jenny Jo actually did pose for those shots.”

“I saw those pictures you found. The girl in them looks a lot like you but you and she aren’t identical.”

“That’s because she was already into drugs by then. She’s a little worse for wear. Thinner, her health is going downhill.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, Patricia. Just don’t get too caught up in this girls’ plight until we have solid proof. I know you really want to know what happened but a few brief flashes of memory are not a lot to go on.”

“I know, but I’ve just started to have some success with the meditation. We’ll see what else I can find.”

“As long as you keep your eye on the big prize.”

“I am Mom. Three down, five to go. If this works, we’ll just need to wait for the right time to spring the trap.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Father seems to be in a good mood this morning and Enrique is out of town again. He’s actually concentrating on what he’s eating for breakfast and not some written report. Now’s as good a time as any.

“Father?”

“Yes, Gretchen.”

“Next Saturday is Patty’s birthday.”

“My God! You’re right! I’d forgotten that. November 12th. We must do something special. I’ll have Raul make something she’ll really like. Do you know what her favorite food is?”

“Fried chicken. I was thinking that maybe I could take her somewhere, like somewhere that isn’t here? Just the two of us?”

“What about her mother? We can’t monopolize Patricia’s time. They may already have plans.”

Damn it! I hadn’t thought about that. Patty seems to really like her mother, always says nice things about her, except lately, but I think they’re past that. She probably wants to spend time with family on her birthday.

“I hadn’t thought about that, you’re probably right, Father.”

“She’s coming over this weekend, correct?”

“Yes.”

“We will ask her then. Give her a choice. How does that sound?”

“And if she wants to do something with me, somewhere else?”

“I will consider it.”

“No, Father, not that. You never …”

“I will really consider it. Fair enough?”

“Yes, sir.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Thank you Judge. This could be big, world record big.”

“I agree Walter, just as long as I don’t end up with egg on my face.”

“Well, that’s the advantage of a lifetime appointment, your Honor.”

“Might as well be worth something, certainly doesn’t help my golf game.”

We both laugh and hang up.

That’s the last piece of the puzzle. I’ll get my warrants when I need them, faxed at the very last minute. Judge Hastings assured me he would do the paperwork himself, no staff at all. Moser is on board and has already issued the orders to the necessary police departments. The FBI agents are lined up. I reviewed their records myself. They will know generally what’s up but not the specific targets until about an hour before the raid. Their orders are simple; move in, lock down, call for reinforcements. I’ve got the layout of each warehouse from the public records, the building permits. Ultimately, I requested copies of records for over seventy warehouses in the same general areas, just in case Hobbes has someone at the local level keeping track of interest in his stashes. They went through Moser’s office to add another layer of bureaucracy to hide behind.

The last step is to call Lipscomb, give him the news and have him pull his man out. When the time comes, I want to make sure that Lipscomb gets all the credit he deserves, his man too, if possible. The guy may remain undercover so he can’t get public recognition. Either way, he’ll have an entry in his jacket that would make any cop proud.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I hadn’t said anything to Patty all week, I wanted my birthday plans to be a surprise. I hope Father wasn’t lying when he said he would consider letting us go somewhere by ourselves. A movie and supper out, no guards, no one to watch us … just like regular people. Patty may want to do something else, like shopping, or dancing, or a concert. I don’t care what it is, as long as we can get some time alone, away from school, away from home, just the two of us.

I could hardly wait to spring it on her at supper. She and Father had been talking about different famous businessmen who started out in illegal activities and moved on to more legal businesses. I didn’t know that the Kennedy family made its first money as bootleggers. Guess that’s not the type of thing you’re likely to hear in the history class at a Catholic girls school.

According to Patty, there are a lot of other examples of famous families that made money in less than legal ways in the beginning. Some of the names surprised me. Father was surprised at the number too. Maybe a drug dealer doesn’t need to be a drug dealer all his life.

The maids were clearing the table before serving dessert when I decided to reveal the surprise.

“Patty, I want to take you wherever you want for your birthday next week.”

“My birthday?”

“If you aren’t already doing something with your family. If you are, we can do it some other day. Whenever it is, I want to do whatever you want to do.”

She turns to Father. “Is this okay with you, Mr. Hobbes?”

“Gretchen may be getting ahead of herself. I told her I would consider the possibility, depending on what your plans are. Certainly a trip to France or Spain would be out of the question.”

“I don’t have a passport anyway” said Patty. “I don’t want anything big, assuming Mom lets me. If we do it at all, Mom’s gotta approve it first. If Mom says no, I can’t go, Gretchen.”

Why would she say no? Doesn’t she like me? “I understand, but what do you want to do? A movie? A concert? What do you want to do?”

She looks down, thinking, for several seconds, then her eyebrows creep up as she slowly raises her head, a wicked smile on her face. I’ve seen that look before, she’s thought of something weird.

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

Paintball World, a twenty acre paintball field on the outskirts of Miami. The entire place is fenced in. It has a large, mostly wooded area for hunting and stalking matches plus a smaller, cleared area for speedball games. The cleared area has a 30’ by 20’ two story barn in the middle surrounded by all sorts of structures to hide behind, barrels, boxes, crates, oddly shaped inflatables. There’s also a clubhouse which sells supplies at outrageous prices and has a glass walled viewing room where people can safely sit and watch the action.

It’s the perfect opportunity. Get most everybody out of the compound, including Hobbes and Gretchen. Give Gretchen another chance to impress her father.

And bring my mother into the picture.

That last one was tough, but necessary … at least for what I have in mind. Right now, she’s sitting in the observation room, as far away as she can from everybody else. Most everybody else are in the clubhouse acting like kids in a candy store. I walk over and sit down next to her. She definitely looks tense.

“Keep calm, everything will be alright” I whisper.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Patricia.”

“I told you up front that there may come a time when you’d have to meet Hobbes.”

“And I told you that I may not be able to do it … ever.”

“He doesn’t expect you to be his bosom buddy. I’ve already told him you’re very upset about the house being bugged.”

“Really? A bugged house? That’s all?”

“Look, you’re the one who wanted in on this. It’s all part of the deal. Either you’re a professional and get through it or you’re not and you can leave right now.” I reach out with my right hand, laying it on hers. “I know you can do this. It’s important. It’s only natural that you’d attend a birthday party for your daughter, that you’d want to meet the father of her best friend, the person with whom she’s been spending so much time. In fact, it’d be unnatural if you didn’t, that’s why it’s important.”

She looks away. “I know, Patricia … you’re right, but … this man … I want him dead.”

I can’t have that happen, not if I’m going to pull this off. “Mom, you wouldn’t …”

“No, honey. Not here, not now. I’ve thought about it but … no. I don’t think I’ve got it in me.”

“I don’t know about that. I’m kinda glad you didn’t have a gun those first few weeks.”

She looks back at me, smiling. “Who says I didn’t?”

“Ahhhhhh, you kidder!” I look over towards the pro shop and see Hobbes heading our way, a paintball marker with a barrel plug in his hands, barrel resting on his shoulder, pointing towards the ceiling, a large smile on his face. I squeeze Mom’s hand. “He’s coming” I whisper.

She closes her eyes, swallows hard, nods slightly several times, takes a deep breath, exhales slowly and opens her eyes. Looking at me, she smiles tightly, teeth clenched.

Hope this works. Hobbes is on us in seconds.

“Patricia, what a brilliant idea! I’d never have thought of this myself! The men can hardly wait. This is a great training opportunity.”

I stand up. “Mr. Hobbes, this is my mother, Jessica Conner.

He lays the marker on the table and quickly steps next to her chair, offering her his right hand. After just the briefest hesitation, she takes it. He adds his left hand to his right.

“Mrs. Conner, I can not say how happy I am to finally meet you! Your daughter is one of the most impressive girls I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

She lets him continue to hold her hand a few seconds before she replies. “Thank you Mr. Hobbes. I’ve been interested in meeting you too. As for Patricia, while a mother may be biased, I’ve found her to be one of the most impressive persons I have ever known, male or female, young or old.”

Hobbes is taken aback but quickly recovers. “Yes … yes, indeed, you are correct, I apologize. No offense. I can see where Patricia gets her directness.”

“I think it more likely that she’s influenced me, Mr. Hobbes.”

She’s consciously giving him a hard time while he’s being polite. He’s clearly confused as to why this isn’t going better. I should stop this before it gets out of hand.

“I appreciate all the kind words but we probably need to get started. Don’t want to waste time; we’ve only got an hour.”

Hobbes releases Mom’s hand and picks up his marker. “Don’t concern yourself, Patricia. It’s your birthday! I’ve rented the entire place for the day.”

“Mr. Hobbes, that’s too much! I was just wanting the usual hour! You really shouldn’t have …”

He waved me off. “Nonsense. It’s nothing. I prefer it this way. Security is better, no other patrons to deal with, and we have as much time as we need. Gretchen suggested that I order pizza to be delivered here after we are finished. Raul was not particularly happy about that but I let him make a cake and some other dessert items to eat at home after the pizza … assuming your mother agrees, of course.”

We both look at Mom, Hobbes in anticipation and me with apprehension.

“Because it’s a special occasion, I’ll agree.”

Thank you. Now to get Hobbes away from her before something bad happens.

“What did you pick as a marker, Mr. Hobbes?”

“Marker?”

“The paintball marker in your hands.”

“Ohhh yes, the gun.”

“Technically, they’re called markers.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“Probably for political correctness. Sounds better than people running around shooting each other with paintball guns.”

“You are likely right, Patricia, though it really doesn’t make any difference. They are what they are. The manager said that this is the best … marker in the store.”

“You bought it?”

“Certainly.”

“Why not just rent one for the day?”

“I prefer the best when it’s available. Where is yours?”

“I left it in the pro shop.”

I lead Hobbes back to the shop and away from Mom, happy to put some distance between them. The manager is waiting for us as we enter.

“Is this the birthday girl?” he asks.

“Yes” answers Hobbes. “This is Patricia Conner.”

“Well Patricia, I’m happy to have you and your group here.” He scans the crowded shop. “It’s been a good day, so far.”

I bet. It seems darn near every one of the guards have decided to buy instead of rent. Most of them are holding bright, shinny new equipment. I don’t know if it’s Hobbes treat or if it’s coming out of their own pockets, but the manager’s probably sold about three thousand dollars worth of gear, not counting CO2 fills and paintballs.

“Now, Patricia, what can I get you?” the manager asks, anticipating another big sale.

“Nothing. I got mine right here.” I pick up a black plastic case from the table next to me. The manager’s clearly disappointed.

“Can I see it?”

“Sure.”

I lay the case back on the table, flip the latches up and open it. I pull out the marker’s body, slip on the barrel, insert the quick release pins to lock it in place, take the 18 oz. CO2 tank, screw it onto the back of the receiver, push a butt plate onto the bottom of the tank and insert a barrel plug, then hand it to the manager.

“Why does Patricia’s look so different from the rest of ours?” asks Hobbes.

“Because this one’s older than she is” answers the manager. “Where’d you get this?”

“Mostly Ebay. The basic Stingray plus the 15” vented sniper barrel, Starfire bolt and plastic detent ball, plus the modified trigger set all were bought there. I made a couple of silicon cushion pads to quiet it down a bit and polished all the metal to smooth out the action. The rest is just normal nuts and bolts from the local hardware store.”

He brings the marker up to his shoulder, sighting through the dove tail and down the barrel. “I see. May I?”

“Go ahead.”

He pulls back the bolt, pushes the safety off and pulls the trigger. There’s a resounding bang and clang as the marker fires. Everybody in the room jumps then glare at him.

“Sorry, sorry, just testing the girls’ equipment. Sorry.”

“Really, Patricia. Allow me to buy you a new gun, it is your birthday. There’s no reason you shouldn’t have competitive equipment.”

“No thanks, Mr. Hobbes. The use of the range is more than enough. I really can’t accept anything more. My Mom wouldn’t approve.”

“This is a perfectly decent beginners’ marker, Mr. Hobbes” said the manager. “I just need to check a couple of settings on it, to make sure it’s safe, and she should be fine. Could you come to the back room with me, Miss?”

“Okay.”

He walks behind the counter and opens a door to the right. I follow him and walk through the door as he holds it open for me. He enters behind me, closing the door. He lays my marker on a table, swinging a magnifying glass on an articulated arm near the trigger. He bends down to give it an inspection.

“This is an old Brass Eagle Stingray II, isn’t it?” he asks as he continues to inspect it.

“Yeah, it is.”

“The basic Stingray is generally considered to be a piece of crap.”

“That’s true.”

He keeps checking it out. “You’ve wrapped the pressure screw with Teflon tape. This thing doesn’t leak, does it?”

“Not a drop.”

He removes the tank, opens the bolt and shines a light down the barrel. “This is polished like a mirror. The rest of the metal’s the same?”

“You bet.”

He lays the marker back down on the table. “As I said, the basic Stingray was a semiautomatic piece of crap. What made it interesting was that, with a longer aftermarket barrel, an improved bolt, assorted other minor parts and some detail work, you could turn that piece of crap into a long range, high power, reliable, dead accurate, semiautomatic nail driver … if you knew what you were doing.” He cocks his head to the side, looking at me intently. “You know what you’re doing, don’t ya’?”

“Yup.”

“And all those guys out there buying automatic, paint and gas burning machine guns, they don’t know what they’re doing, do they?”

“Most of them don’t.”

“I see … this is gonna be a slaughter, isn’t it?”

“Hope so.”

“It’s still a god awful loud son of a bitch.”

“Doesn’t matter in speed ball, they know I’m out there. In fact, it gives me a bit of a psychological advantage, the sound of impending doom.”

“Mind if I watch?”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

What in God’s name was Patty thinking?

I was this close to talking Father into letting me take her to a movie, or a concert, or SOMEWHERE, just the two of us and she goes and chooses this! Why would she choose THIS?!

At first, Father was surprised, then he jumped all over it, even had Enrique come back from where ever he was to join in. Right now, while everybody else is goofing around in the shop, Enrique’s outside, surveying the field, planning something, no doubt.

Father insisted on buying me a complete set of everything, padded vest and pants, helmet, gloves and this shiny blue gun. It’s the most clothes he’s bought me in the last six month’s, not counting school uniforms.

I wander out of the shop and see an older lady sitting by herself in front of a big window over looking the playing field. She’s probably Patty’s mother, though I don’t see much of a family resemblance. She’s taller than Patty, but who isn’t, ya’ know. She’s got normal size breasts, more like mine than Patty’s … above average. She looks like she was very pretty when she was younger. Slowly, she turns her head, seeing me.

“Hello. You must be Gretchen.”

“Uhh, yeah … I mean yes, I am … I’m Gretchen … Hobbes. That’s my father in there.” I point back towards the shop.

She frowns then stands up. “We’ve met.” She walks over to me, stopping to give me the once over. I’m used to that, people often look closely at me, because I’m so tall, though she’s almost as tall as I am. Patty’s Dad must have been short.

She looks at me a little wistfully and smiles.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I’d seen pictures of her but never in person. She looks much like Alisha would at this age, tall and slim, though probably not as beautiful as Gretchen. Patricia didn’t do her justice.

“I’m happy to finally meet you Gretchen. Patricia has told me so much about you, I feel I know you. She said you were a beautiful girl, I just didn’t realize how lovely you are.”

She blushes and turns slightly away. “Patty said I was beautiful?”

“More than once, quite often actually.”

“Well, I think she’s beautiful too.”

“That’s nice of you. I agree … but then I’m her mother and not exactly unbiased.”

“Oh she is, beautiful I mean. She’s the prettiest girl I know. And smart too. God! She’s sooo smart. And fearless. Nothing scares her! There was this time at the softball field … well, you probably know all about that.”

“Patricia did mention it to me.”

“Of course she did. Patty said she tells you everything.”

I wish. “Patricia says you do quite well in school yourself, Gretchen.”

She shrugs. “I’m doing a lot better know, since Patty started helping me. She’s really great.”

Do I detect a hint of a crush? Could just be my imagination.

“Mrs. Conner … can I ask you a question?”

“Certainly, Gretchen. What is it?”

“Patty … you talk with her, spend time with her, you think you know how she thinks … and then she does something crazy … not crazy, not really, just … it’s surprising, that’s all. Has she always been that way?”

I smile. “She’s been that way as long as I’ve known her, Gretchen. I gave up trying to predict what she’ll do some time ago. But, I must admit, things usually work out the way she expects them to.”

Gretchen sighs and rolls her eyes. “I know! It does! I just wish she’d let me know what’s going on before it happens. Like this!” she raises her hands, which are holding a mask with a large, clear plastic face plate and a bright blue metal paintball gun. “What’s with this? She never once said anything to me about paintball. I thought she might want to go out and we could see a movie or a concert or something, just me and her for once. And then this happens. Sometimes, I just don’t know what’s going on in her head.”

I pat her on the arm. “Don’t worry about it, dear. I suggest you do your best to just trust her. That’s what I do … and she hasn’t let me down yet.” Not exactly.

She smiles at me. It’s a youthful, radiant smile, without guile or traces of pain or regret. “Thanks Mrs. Conner, I’ll try.”

Everybody starts to leave the building, walking out onto the playing field. Gretchen waves and joins the crowd. As they all leave, a man wearing a company baseball cap enters the room and begins flipping switches on a console near the large picture window. Several flat screen monitors mounted on the wall on either side of the window brighten, displaying various areas of the playing field. I stand closer to the window and look around the field, searching for the cameras. Counting Patricia and Gretchen, there appears to be twenty or so people getting prepared to begin, slipping masks over their heads and aiming their … markers. The man comes up behind me.

“Ma’am?” I turn to face him. “Hi. I’m Bob Highsmith, I manage this place. If you want a good view, just have a seat back here. You can see most of the field through the window and the rest is visible on the monitors.”

“That’s very convenient, Mr. Highsmith. Thank you.”

“We like to record everything when we get a big group in. We burn it to a DVD and they can buy it as a memento or relive the day by watching it here. They usually get a kick out of it.”

“I can imagine.”

“Who you with today?”

“My daughter, the birthday girl.”

“Aahhhh, that one. She should make this interesting.”

“In what way?”

He keeps working with his electronics. “From her marker, I suspect she’s got some experience with paintball. Am I right?”

I don’t know where Patricia got that thing, she just showed up with it yesterday. “Yes, you’re right, Mr. Highsmith.”

“Thought so. The rest of those guys don’t. They all wanted markers that shoot as many balls as fast as possible. Guys like that come out blasting, spraying paint all over the place, wasting ammo and gas. It’s a macho thing. Her marker can’t shoot nearly as fast but it’s a lot more accurate and can shoot farther. If she’s smart about it, she can get them before they can get her.”

“If Patricia is anything, it’s smart.”

“I’ve seen a small group of experienced young kids, ten, eleven years old, absolutely swarm a larger group of inexperienced adults. A school of sharks. The adults never knew what hit em’. Why aren’t you out there?”

“It’s not exactly my idea of fun.”

“You’d be surprised. I get a lot of women and girls out here. After they get over their initial reluctance, some of them are totally vicious, real killers. Paintball’s not about strength, it’s about strategy.”

CHAPTER FORTY

Mr. Highsmith picks up a microphone mounted next to the window, winks at me, then flips the switch on the microphone.

“Good morning, everybody. I’d like to quickly review the rules before you start. If you get hit by a paintball and it breaks, leaving paint on you, you’re out. If the ball fails to break, you live to keep fighting. If the paintball strikes a barrier, breaks and splatters you with paint, you’re still alive, unless it’s a paint hand grenade. If you get splattered by a hand grenade, you’re out. If you run out of ammo or C02 gas, there’s no refills until the next match, unless you can get it from a teammate.”

“As for the type of matches, that’s up to you. We have flags if you want to play ‘Capture the Flag’, you can form teams and the last team with active players wins, or you can play it every man … or woman for themselves, last one standing wins. If there’s any dispute as to whether or not a player is out, I make the ruling and my ruling is final, no whining. We’re all mature adults here, let’s behave like it. Everybody got that?”

Several of the men raise their guns and wave them.

“All right then, ready when you folks are. I’m recording all this so you can all relive the greatest hits when done.”

There’s a lot of laughing and pointing among the men. Patricia is standing slightly off to the side, surveying the playing field. Gretchen is standing next to her, looking lost.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Hobbes steps forward, clapping his hands.

“Gentlemen! As this is Patricia’s birthday, she gets to chose first for her team.”

All eyes turn towards me.

“For the first one, Gretchen and I’ll guard the barn and the rest of you can try to take it.”

They all look at us for several seconds before the laughter starts. It continues until Hobbes waves them silent.

“That’s hardly fair to you, Patricia. Pick some more men for your side.”

“Naw, we’re good.”

“Come now, this will hardly be a contest.”

“Then it shouldn’t take you very long to beat us and move on to the next match, will it?”

Hobbes shakes his head and smirks. “As you wish. Let’s go men.” Hobbes walks away from the barn, towards the farthest end of the field. The others follow him, weaving in and out of the assorted structures littered around the field. As they walk away, Gretchen grabs my arm.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Sure. As soon as we start, I’ll attack and pick off the leaders then drive the rest of them into the open where you can get them.”

“What happens if they charge me?”

“Shoot em’ … but they should be too busy dodging me to get organized. If I can get them on the run, you should be able to stay right here and clean up. Just keep low, wait until I flush them out and don’t waste paintballs.”

“I don’t know about …”

“Don’t worry about it, no pressure. If it works, it works. Just have fun. You may get a chance to shoot your father.”

“Really?!”

“If I don’t get him first.”

“You get Enrique, I’ll get Father.”

“I’ll try. When I’m ready, I’ll raise my hand and point where I’ll chase them to. Keep watch because I won’t leave it up for long, just a second or two. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Put your mask on, pull your barrel plug and get ready to rock and roll!”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

All the men walk to the far end of the field, leaving Patricia and Gretchen alone near the barn.

“What are they doing?” I ask.

“Looks like they’ve chosen teams. It’s the boys versus the girls” Hightower answered.

“What?! That’s completely unfair! It’s two versus … twenty!”

“I’ll admit that’s a lot more uneven than I’ve seen before but I think that’s what your daughter wanted.”

I sigh. “She would. What now?”

He picks up the microphone again. “I say Go.” He brings it to his mouth and pushes the button. “Is everybody ready?”

Patricia slips her mask down over her face and gives a thumbs up. Somebody at the far end waves their hand. At this distance and with a mask on, it’s impossible to say who it is, probably Hobbes. Suddenly, the possibility of being out there, shooting at Hobbes, doesn’t seem so far fetched. I may be missing an opportunity.

Hightower reaches next to the window and flips a switch. Several lights start blinking on his console, he must have started recording. He looks back at me with a grin on his face, then shouts into the microphone.

“GO!”

I immediately lean forward in my seat, trying to get a better look. I can see Gretchen, squatting down behind a large wooden crate almost completely covered by paint splashes of various colors. Patricia is … gone.

“Where’s my daughter?”

“She’s right … damn, where is she? She was … wait, I think she’s … no, she’s over … man, she’s fast! There, there she is, about seventy five feet away from them. They’re just getting organized, they don’t know she’s out there. Wakey wakey guys.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Alright gentlemen, let’s go.”

Enrique touches my arm and moves around in front of me.

“Raymond, perhaps we should let the men do it themselves this time. If this is to be a training exercise, you wouldn’t be leading them, they would be protecting you.”

Even now, he is trying to keep me safe. Enrique can be too much of a mother hen sometimes.

“I think we can worry about that later, Enrique.”

“Then let them take the lead and we can follow behind.” He leans in closer to me. “You yourself said that the Conner girl is very clever and she insisted on this. Best to not be the first man through the door.”

He may have a good point there.

“Henry, you can lead the men this time. Enrique and I will wait back here, in reserve.”

He already has his mask over his face. “Yes sir, Mr. Hobbes.”

“Make sure that my daughter isn’t hurt.”

“Yes sir.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

All the guys are milling about, firing their markers at different nearby structures, testing them out. There’s a lot of laughing. Sometimes, one of them lobs a few paintballs towards the barn but it’s way out of range.

Three of them are standing off to the side, talking. With their masks on, it would be hard to know who they are. Luckily, I memorized what each of them was wearing before we started. They’re Henry, Lou and Sidney, the three most senior guards. All within range of my Stingray.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“We split everyone into three groups. I take one group up the middle. You take a second group down the right side, Lou, and Sidney takes the final group down the left.”

“Why bother, Henry? Just send a couple of guys down there to take care of the girls then we can get down to some serious blasting.”

“Because Hobbes wants to use this as a training drill, Sidney. We have to take this seriously. The other reason is that Conner set this up. She’s got something up her sleeve.”

“You got that right, Henry.”

“Lou, you’re still pissed that she cost you four bills.”

“Doesn’t mean Henry’s not right, Sid. She’s sneaky … and smart, fucking smart.”

“Fine, let’s get this over with. The pot’s already over a thousand for the last man standing.”

Sidney’s got a short memory. He’s forgetting what Conner did to us the first time we met her. I sure as hell won’t.

“Just make sure you take this seriously, Sidney. We don’t want to be embarrassed by a couple of little …”

What the fuck! Who the hell shot me in the face mask?! I can’t see shit! I whip off my mask. The face plate is covered in bright orange paint. So are Lou’s and Sidney’s.

OH SHIT!

“Take cover! Take cover!”

“Who did this …”

“It’s Conner, you idiots! She’s sitting out there somewhere, picking us off!”

“Where, Henry?”

“Doesn’t matter, Lou. We’re out. Those guys are on their own now.”

Guys are getting hit left and right. Some of the ones still alive start firing back but they’re shooting blind. The more noise they make, the harder it is to pick up where Conner is. The smarter ones take cover. The guys who just stand there, firing back don’t last long. Same place, smack in their face plates.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

It is pandemonium. Enrique dives for cover at the sound of the first shots, pulling me down with him. We both peek over the top of a pile of sand bags.

“She’s over there, X-ray.” Enrique points to a small stack of crates about forty yards away. At first, I don’t see what he does, but then the tip of her barrel appears and there are several puffs of gas.

God, that is loud! Three more men are hit, two in their clear plastic masks, one in the mouth. That one quickly removes his mask and spits out a stream of orange paint. It’s Gomez. His moustache is stained almost entirely orange.

Looking around, it appears that more than half my men have been hit, almost all in the head. The remaining men are hiding behind whatever cover they can find.

Enrique stands up.

“What are you fools doing?! She’s just a tiny girl! Go get her!” he screams.

“Where is she?” asks Escaban.

“That stack of crates to your left!”

“Got it!”

Three men pop up over their respective cover and begin firing at the crates. It takes a few seconds for them to actually hit them. Once they do, the remaining men swarm out and take up new positions closer to the crates. They start firing and the other three join them.

This is more like it. The men methodically move closer to the crates, each providing cover fire for the other as they close in. Enrique and I follow them. Finally, one of the men runs the final few feet, jumping behind the crates, firing as he does.

He steps back around the crates, raising his hands and shaking his head “No”.

He gets hit square in the face.

Paintballs strike all around the men, forcing them to run forward and to their left. Somehow, Patricia had gotten behind us.

The men take up new positions while Enrique and I rush back to our prior protection, though Patricia isn’t shooting at us, for some reason. The men begin shooting in the general direction of where Patricia last fired from. Suddenly, they are attacked from behind … by Gretchen. Patricia and my daughter have them in a cross fire. Patricia begins to fire again.

Enrique grabs my arm, pulling me away from the area. We crouch low and work our way back towards our original position, moving from one structure to the other.

“Stay here and do nothing” he says once we reach our destination.

“Did you see what Gretchen did?! My daughter actually shot my men! I’d never thought such a thing possible! I’ve never been prouder!”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Yes, I saw, X-ray. Very impressive. I’m happy for you.”

Connor drove the incompetent fools to an ambush. Given what she did to the other men, she likely could have finished them off herself but she gave Gretchen the honor of the kill. She likely could have also finished us off, but she didn’t. Which means she has something else in mind.

“You stay here, keep an eye out for Conner. I’ll circle back and search for her. If either of us sees her, shout out. Remember, she has a superior weapon.”

“How is that possible? Ours are the latest, most modern available. The manager said hers was older than she was.”

“I don’t know how it happened, but it did. How else can you explain what just occurred?”

“Well … she is resourceful.”

“Resourceful enough to quickly defeat twenty trained guards?”

“Gretchen helped.”

Yes, Gretchen was the mastermind behind this slaughter. “Sorry, X-ray, I forgot.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Whooaaa … sweet mother of God. That was faster than I thought. She’s really good with that Stingray. The video on that will definitely be on my greatest hits DVD.”

A number of the men have been straggling into the room as Patricia shot them, most of them in a pretty foul mood as they enter. However, as they start comparing experiences and making fun of each other, the general mood of the room improves. Apparently, there was a bet of some kind as to which of them would be the last one to remain after all the others had been shot, though they hadn’t planned on this kind of competition.

Hobbes and one other man are still out there, along with Gretchen and Patricia.

“What happens now, Mr. Highsmith?”

“We wait for the boys or the girls to win. It looks like your daughter’s back.”

I look out the window. Patricia’s back near the barn, talking with Gretchen … and two men are slowly, carefully getting closer to them.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“How the heck did you do that?”

I pat my marker. “This baby is pretty good, freaky good actually. You were pretty good yourself, Gretch.”

“I just did what you told me. They weren’t even looking at me when I started.”

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Anybody left out there?”

“Just your father and Cardoza.”

“Crap! Why didn’t you get them too?”

“I told you I’d save your father for you.”

“I was kidding! Where are they now?”

I look over the top of stack of barrels we’re hiding behind. “About forty five feet away.”

“Do something!”

“I don’t have a lot of ammo left.”

“You can have mine!”

“What’ll you use?”

“I don’t care, just do something. You’re the girl who always has a plan. What’s the plan?”

Wouldn’t you like to know. “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something. Get ready, they’re almost here. Remember, keep your head down.”

“WHAT?!”

Suddenly, paintballs start flying by us, some of them hitting the barrels.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Hey, Henry, Hobbes has them pinned down!”

“No fucking way!”

There’s a rush to the window, everyone piling into the chairs around me. Hobbes and the other man are firing a lot of paintballs but they haven’t hit anyone yet. Many of their shots seem to be curving.

“Mr. Highsmith, why do some of those paintballs curve instead of going straight?” I ask.

“Yeah man, that same shit was happening to me. What’s the deal?”

There was a general chorus of complaints about the same problem.

Mr. Highsmith was working his console. “It’s the nature of a paintball. It’s round, like a baseball. The barrels aren’t rifled like a regular gun barrel, so a paintball comes out of the barrel without a lot of spin normally, like a knuckle ball. Sometimes, a ball drags a bit coming down the barrel, giving it a lot more spin, more like a curve ball.”

“Then why did the little …” the one called Henry coughed and nodded his head towards me. The one asking the question looked back and forth between us. “… girl’s gun not do the same?”

“It did, just not as often. She made a lot of aftermarket modifications and polished all the parts. It’s an old marker but well maintained. Plus, she’s a darn good shot.”

That’s my girl.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“You get ready to move to the barn, Gretch. I’ll keep them busy.”

“You just want me to run over there?”

“Yeah, while I keep their heads down. Just take off, don’t stop. When you get there, you shoot at them to give me cover and I’ll run to the barn. Ready?”

“Yeah, ready.”

“Alright … GO!”

I pop up and start firing, swinging back and forth between Hobbes and Cardoza. Hobbes is behind a big piece of plywood attached to fence poles and Cardoza’s behind an inflatable bouy, almost six feet tall and ten feet wide. They both duck. I have to keep firing to make sure they stay that way. Gretchen takes off but suddenly stops about fifteen feet away from the barn door and begins to shot at her father.

“NO! GRETCHEN! JUST RUN!!” I shout. Cardoza sticks his barrel out from behind the bouy, flush against the ground, firing several bursts. The last burst hits her in the knee. She winces in pain, grabbing it, but doesn’t cry out. Instead, she just raises her gun above her head and walks toward the clubhouse. I flip open the cover on my ball hopper. There’s less than a dozen left. Hobbes and Cardoza are probably low too but they didn’t do much shooting early on. I pick up an empty Coke can, half fill it with gravel, and throw it at a different group of metal barrels, drawing their fire. I break for the barn, shooting as I run. The last three times I pull the trigger, before I get through the barn door, there’s the familiar “sklang” but I get nothing but gas, I’m empty.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“We’ve got her trapped, Enrique!”

“Trapped animals fight that much harder.”

“Enrique! She’s not an animal, she’s a little girl and this is just a game. A particularly exciting game, I’ll admit that, but just a game.”

“Even games have consequences. You lose games, you lose respect.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Everyone knows we’re just having fun here.”

“If you want to keep control, you must have respect, of your friends and your enemies. Personal failures, of any kind, reduce that respect, forcing you to do something to regain it. It is better to never lose it in the first place.”

“You take an extreme view of life, my friend. I’ll go in first and move left, you follow and move right. Ready?”

Enrique shoulders his gun. “Ready.”

I do the same.

“GO!”

Running to the door, there’s no firing from the barn, which surprises me. When I reach the door, I pause just long enough to get a good grip on the handle and solid footing, then I throw it open, firing into the dark, crouch low and scurry through, immediately moving to my left behind a large plastic barrel. Enrique was right behind me, moving to the right. He’s now behind an inflatable X. It takes a moment or two for our eyes to adjust to the darker space. Again, there was no immediate attack. I certainly would have.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Shit! Now we can’t see anything!”

“Not necessarily, sir” said Highsmith. “We have two cameras on both floors. You can watch on the two sets of monitors on that wall over there.” He points to the wall to his left.

I can see Hobbes and Cardoza near the door but can’t see Conner anywhere. She’s so damn small, she could be hiding inside one of those barrels, waiting for them to get close and put one in their ears. Lou slides into the chair next to me.

“I got fifty on Cardoza, you want in, Henry?”

“Why is it always about betting with you, Lou?”

“Dunno, just makes life interesting I guess.”

“This isn’t interesting enough for ya’? Two men stalking the girl who just made mincemeat out of twenty trained guards.”

“Admit it Henry, we haven’t had that much training, not as a combat unit at least.”

“No shit! That changes tomorrow.”

“Sounds fun. You want in?”

“Yeah … fifty on Conner. Where the hell is she?”

“I don’t think she’s on the second floor. There’s more light up there and … wait! I saw something move!”

“Where?”

“Over by the stairs, to the right, behind that pile of sandbags.”

“Naw, that’s just … no, you’re right, she’s there. Looks like she’s getting ready to make a run for the stairs.”

“Why don’t they see her?”

“Cause the camera’s up high and they’re not.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Once my vision improves, I can see that there is a stairway in the back going to the second floor. The first floor is littered with assorted large objects or groups of objects to hide behind but there appears to be a central aisle. I signal with my hands for Enrique to take his side and I’ll take mine and we work our way to the other end of the building. He nods his head.

I ease my way into the aisle, ready at any moment to dive back for cover. Enrique joins me and we slowly move toward the stairs, hunched over, guns at the ready. We’ve moved about ten feet from the door when there is a blur of motion.

I throw myself to floor, skidding to a halt against a hay bale. I lay there, breathing heavily, but nothing else happens. There’s a tapping on the back of my shoulder. When I roll over, I see Enrique, smiling wide enough to be able to see it through his mask.

“She has no more ammunition.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“She’s dry!” Lou hollers.

“How do you know that?”

“She had Cardoza dead on, pulled the trigger twice. Nothing! Oh it made that God awful sound but nothing came out of that barrel.”

“How do you know she didn’t miss?”

“Not her, not from there. She’s empty and they know it. Pay up, Henry.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely. I was staring straight into her gun barrel. She caught me by surprise.”

“Maybe it’s a trick.”

“No, she is out of ammunition. Let’s put an end to this foolishness right now.”

Enrique marches to the stairs and begins to climb rapidly to the second floor. I follow behind, less certain than he that Patricia is helpless. Once we get to the second floor, I can see much better. There is a large door open at the back blocked by a four foot high railing, flooding the area with light. There is the same assortment of objects randomly scattered about, though the ceiling is arched, about twelve feet in height.

I flinch out of reflex but neither of us is hit. Enrique must be right.

“Patricia!” I shout. “We know you are out of paintballs! Surrender! There’s no need to get hurt!”

There’s that flinch again. The sound echos around the room. I’m more nervous than I’d like to admit.

“Over here.”

Both Enrique and I turn our heads. Patricia is standing in the open doorway, her gun up against her chest, pointing up. I step towards her.

“Be reasonable Patricia, surrender. You put up a good fight but we have won.

She ducks her head and flips her mask off. When her head comes back up, she is smiling evilly.

“Sorry. I don’t surrender.”

Enrique steps past me, pushing me aside as he raises his gun.

“Good” he says as he fires.

Patricia does a back flip over the railing, out the second floor door and disappears, falling straight down.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“HOLY SHIT!”

“OH MY GOD!”

“WHAT THE FUCK???”

“PATRICIA!” I scream and immediately run for the exit. Several of the men are there before me but they are quickly out the door and running towards the back of the barn. They are faster than me and others pass me before I can reach it.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

She threw something into the air as she flipped. I stand, transfixed, as I watch it gently arc above us, then strike the ceiling, raining yellow paint over both Enrique and I. That must have been one of those hand grenades the manager spoke of. We look at each other, paint dripping off our hands and arms. I can’t help laughing.

“HA! HA! HA! She did it! HA! HA! I can’t believe that she did it. Amazing!”

Enrique just screams in anger and rushes to the door, with me right behind him. When we get to the edge, I look down to see Patricia, sprawled on top of one of those large inflatable buoy’s, pointing up at me with her right hand and also laughing. Several of the men are there and more are coming.

Enrique takes aim and fires his gun at her.

“Enrique! Stop! Stop! She won! Stop firing!” he continues, so I knock the muzzle of his gun up with my left arm, turn and grab it with both hands. “ENRIQUE! STOP!” He does, but is clearly still angry. “She beat us, Enrique, fair and square, accept it. Be a grown man about this.”

He fixes me with a hate filled stare, releases his gun leaving it in my hands and stalks away. I return to the doorway.

Patricia is being lifted off the buoy and dropped in front of her mother, who smothers her with an enveloping hug while the men applaud. When her mother finally releases her, Gretchen is next, hugging her just as hard. Patricia looks up at me and waves a free hand. I wave back.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

They continue playing for several hours after that, until darkness forced a halt, everyone but that Enrique gentleman, who left after the first round for some reason. They mixed up teams, did different types of games … I lost count. Gretchen and Patricia were always together and they always won … except the time that Gretchen accidentally shot Patricia in the back from only five feet away. Patricia was rather upset about that one. She never tried one of those heart stopping back flips again.

She loaned her marker to several other people and they did better with it but not as well as she did. When they were finally done, Hobbes ordered way too many pizzas and Mr. Highsmith had one of his people get two cases of cold beer.

After the money Hobbes and his men spent today, he could afford it.

They all sat around the room and watched replays from the various video cameras, laughing, eating, drinking, insulting each other and generally enjoying themselves.

You could have cut the testosterone in the room with a knife.

The stars of the show where Patricia and, to a lesser extent, Gretchen. Patricia was now known as “The Assassin” and Gretchen was “Killer”. They must have replayed that back flip a hundred times and each time, my heart stopped for a brief moment. Mr. Highsmith said that the back flip would not be on his greatest hits DVD simply because he never wanted to see anyone else try it ever again, though it would be number one on his private greatest hits DVD.

As the evening was wrapping up, Hobbes came and sat down next to me. I don’t know if it was the general congenial mood of the room or the two beers I had drunk but his presence was not as objectionable as it had been at the start of the day.

“Mrs. Conner, I know that we have gotten off on the wrong foot and that it was all my fault, for which I humbly apologize. I can’t possibly thank you enough for letting Patricia come visit with Gretchen. She is a changed girl … no, a changed young woman since meeting Patricia. Both of them are just a joy to be around, I have never known any one like Patricia. Always a surprise but never demanding. So smart, so mature, so responsible … just amazing!”

I think Hobbes may have had a beer or two himself but I know what he means. “Thank you, Mr. Hobbes. Patricia really enjoys her time with Gretchen. We hope to have her over to our house soon.”

“Ahhh yes, I did promise that, didn’t I? I’ll have to see about it, very soon.” He stands up. “Are you certain you wouldn’t like to come back to my home for some dessert? Raul would never forgive me if I didn’t insist.”

He is quite charming when he wants to be. Thank heavens I know the real man or I might be tempted.

“No thank you, I have a busy day tomorrow, as does Patricia.”

“Some other time then?”

“Perhaps. Please see that Patricia is home by 10:30.”

“How about 11:00? It’s already almost 8:00 and Raul is planning something special.”

“What is that?”

“I have no idea, but when Raul says it’s special, you can count on it.”

“Alright, 11:00 but not one minute later.”

“Guaranteed … even if I have to get a police escort.”

He probably could. I stand too. “Good night, Mr. Hobbes. I’ll just see Patricia and leave. Thank you for the interesting day.”

“It has been, hasn’t it?”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Cardoza called me away from the party about an hour after we got back. Luckily, I’d been one of the first in line for the cake and ice cream. Black Forrest Chocolate cake and Key Lime ice cream. Real Key Limes, none of those fake things.

Cardoza was sitting at his desk, calmer than the last time we saw him. He really lost it at the field. I can understand, I was pissed when Conner shot me that first time but we all got better over time. By the end of the day, if we’d gone a second round, it’d been a lot more competitive … though she’d probably won again.

“Tony, how are things going at the house?”

“Just fine, Mr.Cardoza, fine. You want me to bring you some food?”

“No thank you. Do you remember that we previously discussed the possibility that we might need to dispose of Miss Conner?”

“Uhhh yeah, what about it?”

“Find your men … as soon as possible.”
CHAPTER FORTY ONE

Patricia was home by 10:54. She seemed very pleased with herself. I let her sit down in the kitchen before the questions started.

“How did things go at Hobbes’ house?”

“Great! You really shoulda’ came with us. Raul made this cake and ice cream that weren’t like anything I’d ever had before. The ice cream was like a frozen Key Lime pie but way way better. The cake was out of this world! Moist, smooth, the icing had to be half butter, half chocolate.”

“I meant with you and Hobbes.”

“Great too. Just like at the range. I’m the belle of the paintball.”

“Ha ha. Where did you get that gun?”

“The Stingray? I went home and got it.”

“Home? I’d never seen it before this week.”

“Not our home, my home, Peter Harris’ home.”

“Why was it there?”

“Wife number one had some nephews who loved paintball. I bought it and fixed it up. Hadn’t used it for years. Went back to the old place to get it. Lipscomb’s rented it out, which isn’t a bad idea. They’re taking good care of the house, though I had to talk my way into the garage to get the marker. Told them I was my own granddaughter.”

“Interesting. So what did all this accomplish?”

She looks over at me, considering something, then sits down.

“Have a seat, Jessica.”

Jessica?! What’s she up to? I sit down opposite her. She keeps looking at me for another few seconds

“Jessica, what are your long term objectives here?”

“You know that, to make Hobbes pay for the death of my family.”

“Those are short term objectives. What are your long term objectives?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Alright, assume we succeed in arresting Hobbes, convicting him and a couple dozen other people of drug and conspiracy offenses, throw in a little money laundering for spice. Heck, I’ll even give you two murder convictions. What happens next?”

“We go home.”

“Sure, but that opens another can of worms. I’m talking big picture, what happens to the world in general . I’ll make it easier, what happens to the United States drug trade after Hobbes and his organization are wiped off the face of the earth?”

“I haven’t given it any thought.”

“I’ll tell you what happens. Short term … a rise in street prices for assorted drugs of about two hundred twenty percent, maybe three hundred. Long term … absolutely nothing.”

“What do you mean? Hobbes is the biggest dealer in this region. You know how much he has stored across seven states. How could taking him off the street have no effect?”

“Because, while nature abhors a vacuum, drug dealers absolutely love one. The other cartels will come swooping in, quickly divide the vacant territories between themselves, likely with a lot of violence and innocent dead bodies, and then things return to normal. Within six months, Raymond Hobbes is a distant memory on the streets and there’s a new king … or a bunch of princes wanting to be king, which is even more dangerous to the average man or woman on the street.”

“That’s horrible! How do we stop it?”

“We don’t, we can’t. The drug problem in America isn’t a supply problem, it’s a demand problem. People don’t buy drugs because they’re available. They’re available because people want to buy them. Supply just affects the price. If people in the US didn’t demand drugs, there’d be no one trying to bring them in to sell them, no coca farms in Columbia, no heroin poppies in Afghanistan, no marijuana plants in California. Until the demand ends, fighting the suppliers is sorta futile. There will always be more suppliers.”

“Reducing supplies has to have SOME effect.”

“A little. Prices go up so usage declines a bit, maybe the consumer switches to a less expensive alternative for awhile but they’ll usually return to their drug of choice when the price drops back down or they adjust to the new higher price. Remember, gas used to be 29 cents a gallon. We adjusted.”

“So, Miss Smarty Pants, what are your long term objectives here?”

“Same as my short term objectives, not betray basically decent people.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ve spent my entire adult life betraying people, one way or another, getting them to trust me and then letting them down. Sometimes it was for a good cause, sometimes because I was a selfish bastard. No matter why, there was always collateral damage to innocent men women and children. I’m tired of it. I’m going to do my darndest not to do it any more.”

“So, you’re just going to walk away?”

“No, but there may be other ways to take care of Hobbes than the usual arrest and prosecution, ways that hurt the least amount of people.”

“Such as?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m working on some ideas; I’ll just have to see if they pan out.”

“Don’t expect me to help you if it means Hobbes doesn’t pay for what he did to my husband and child!”

“I understand.” She gets up out of her chair walks over to me and kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning, Mom.”

What does she mean by that?

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Walter asked me to come to his office after regular hours today. I’m guessing he wants to limit the number of people who know about the meeting. Fine by me. He’s probably going to push me for more information about my operation. Good luck with that.

It’s almost 6:30 p.m. when I stop by his office. His secretary’s gone already. I knock on his office door.

“Anybody home?”

“Come in Dan.”

I push the half open door aside and step in.

“You better close that door behind you. Have a seat.”

I thought so. Not today Walter old boy, you’ll get nothing more from me. I sit down and cross my legs, leaning back in the chair.

“What can I do for you, Walter?”

He shuffles some papers on his desk, playing a delaying game. He sets the papers aside.

“I tried Dan, I really did. I made all the arguments but they didn’t buy it.”

This isn’t good. “What are you not telling me, Walter?”

“I’m not telling you that we are raiding Hobbes’ warehouses three days from today.”

“What?”

“You heard me … or didn’t hear me as the case may be. Everything is going down Friday. You’ve got until then to pull your man out.”

“How? Why?”

“The why is Washington needs a victory in the war on drugs, the bigger the better. They don’t come any bigger than this.”

“But it could be so much bigger, Walter!”

“Could be is an unknown. They’ll take what they’ve got.”

“They can’t do anything with it, you know they can’t.”

He shrugs. “They don’t care. The publicity for the seizure’s good enough. There’ll be a few low level convictions. As for the how … that’s beyond your pay grade. When the time comes, you’ll get the credit you deserve, so will your man. Your career will get the boost you wanted, don’t worry.”

All my plans, ruined.

“Go to hell, Walter.”

I don’t wait for his answer, just get up and walk back to my office, regretting that I had caved and given him the copy of Harris’ drawing. I drop into my chair, elbows on my desk, head in my hands.

All the research, finding the perfect people, dealing with the bureaucracy, all the work … down the drain. I’ll never get another chance like this, never. There must be some way to save something from this disaster.

What could Peter do with two days notice? He still hasn’t figured out how to break into the computer system, at least he hasn’t told me he has. Would he tell me if he had? I don’t really know for certain. Our relationship has gradually gotten worse ever since the transfer. I am trying as hard as I can but he seems to go out of his way to antagonize me. Besides, when I tell him that the raids are in two days, he won’t hang around trying to squeeze the last bit of information from Hobbes.

What if I don’t tell him? He could be found out and killed, but not before telling Hobbes all about me. He said he would and I don’t doubt it.

What else might happen? He could avoid detection. His cover is solid, he’s a bright, experienced guy. There’d be no reason to suspect he was the source. If he can ride this out, I haven’t lost everything.

So, do I tell Peter, take what credit Walter Tyson is willing to give me and muddle on with my life or do I not tell him and risk my life to get the mother lode?

When I look at all the options, my choice is clear. I knew this was going to be dangerous before I began it.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

It’s a brisk day after school on Friday. I’m going straight to Gretchen’s instead of stopping at home first this week. She wanted to practice her jump shot before we lose the daylight. Hobbes has lights for the court but the lights attract bugs and we get some very big bugs in Florida. We can get a good two hours in before supper if I hurry.

I pull up to the gates on my bike and push the intercom button. The cameras pivot to check me out as it hisses.

“Hello, Patricia Conner.” I wave at the nearest camera. Lately, I’ve been buzzed in almost as soon as I press the intercom button, but this time, there’s a delay. I’m just about to push the button again when the gates unlock and slowly open. I drive through and putter up to the house. I don’t see any of the guards, which is odd; at least a couple are usually on patrol. When I get to the house, Gretchen is waiting on the steps for me, as usual. She runs down to meet me as I get off my bike.

She looks worried and is acting nervous. I pull my helmet off.

“What’s up Gretch?”

“Uhhh, Patty … this may not be the best time.”

“Why’s that?”

“I think something’s wrong … with Father’s … you know, business.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, but there’s been a lot of yelling, a whole lot. Everybody’s on edge.”

“How bad could it be?”

“I really don’t know, but it’s never been this bad before, not even close. You might want to go home.”

You never want to be the first rat off a sinking ship when the ship doesn’t actually sink. If Gretchen knew anything, she’d tell me. Might as well stay and see if I can find out what happened. The information may prove useful.

“Don’t worry about it, Gretch. I’ll stay. You may need someone to talk to or something.”

She looks relieved. “Thanks, I really didn’t want to be here all by myself. I know how you didn’t want to be involved in Father’s business and there may be no way to avoid it this weekend. I know I’ll feel safer with you here.”

Safer? What the heck is happening? We go inside but no one is manning the scanner. Henry has always been here, waiting for me.

“Gretchen, where’s Henry? Didn’t he drive you home from school today?”

“Yeah, but there was some big meeting right after we got home, I haven’t seen him since.”

“They know I’m out here, they buzzed me in. I can’t come in without a scan.”

Just then, Stark came running in. He stopped by the scanner, leaning on it to catch his breath.

“Sorry … Conner … I’ll be … right with you.”

He picks up my bag and tosses it on the conveyer belt. Careful you idiot, my computer‘s in there. He gives me a quick, half assed pass with the wand and runs off, not even bothering to check the scanner’s image. I don’t like this at all.

“Gretchen, let’s go see Raul. He’ll know what’s happened.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Raul knows nothing.”

He keeps his head down, hands in a large metal mixing bowl.

“Don’t give me that, you always know what’s going on around here.”

He looks up from kneading his bread and glances over at Gretchen then back at me, subtly shaking his head. He doesn’t want to talk in front of Gretchen.

“Gretchen … how about waiting for me out by the piano?”

“What? Why? I should know anything …”

I reach out and gently grab her elbow while moving in closer too her. “Whatever I know, you’ll know” I say, quietly.

She looks down at me for a moment. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

“Okay.”

She slowly walks back across the kitchen and out the dining room door. Once it closes, I turn back to Raul and plant myself in front of him, hands on hips.

“Alright, what’s going on?”

He looks around, making sure we’re alone. “Raul not certain but thinks Mr. Hobbes has lost a lot of his drugs.”

“Lost?”

“You know, the police come and take.”

Oh God! “You mean, like a raid?”

Raul smiles. “Yes! That it, a raid!”

Lipscomb … you son of a … BITCH! They raided a warehouse and didn’t warn me!

“Where was this raid, Raul?”

“Everywhere, I think.”

Lord NO! “When you say everywhere, do you mean … ALL the places where Mr. Hobbes had drugs?”

He smiles again. “Yes! You understand Raul.” The smile disappears. “This not good for Mr. Hobbes.”

It’s not exactly great for me either. I just walked into a hornet’s nest and I can’t leave without looking like suspect number one. I have to grab the counter to steady myself.

“You okay?” asks Raul. “You no look good.”

Pull yourself together and THINK, Conner. “Yeah, I’m fine … it’s just shocking news, that’s all.”

“Raul knows. Maybe you should go home?”

If only I could. I can see myself trying to explain it to Cardoza, the man I just embarrassed at paintball. Good timing, Conner. If I get out of this alive, I’m gonna kill Lipscomb. After I feed him his balls.

“No. I’ll stay. I promised Gretchen I would.”

Raul returns to his bread dough, pounding on it with his enormous hands. “You good friend, good girl.”

“Thanks.”

He points at me with a flour coated finger. “You be careful out there. Mr. Hobbes plenty upset. Raul hiding in kitchen.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

I walk out the dining room door, letting it swing shut behind me, pausing in the short hallway, leaning against the wall. This is an undercover agent’s nightmare. They sprung the trap but left me in the net. I should never have trusted Lipscomb; my gut said no but my head said give him a chance. Now he’s killed me … and Mom! Cardoza won’t stop with me; they’ll know Jessica was part of the team. We’ll be lucky if they just kill us. I remember Jennie Jo’s rape … my rape and shudder. I don’t know if I could go through that again. I gotta find some place to hide and think of a way to make lemonade out of this mess. First, I need to talk to Gretchen.

When I reach her, she’s sitting on the piano bench, randomly tapping at the keys. She looks up as I approach.

“Did he tell you what’s happening?”

“Yeah … yeah, he did. I’d rather not talk about it here … let’s go up to your room.”

“Sure.”

As we climb the stairs and walk down the hallway, I’m conscious of the surveillance cameras we pass along the way. If anybody is bothering to monitor them, they know right where I am. As soon as her door shuts, Gretchen pulls me over to her bed.

“Okay, spill.”

“Raul said that the police raided the places where your dad was storing his … inventory.”

“You mean drugs, right?”

“Yeah … I just didn’t want to …”

“Forget it, I’m not a baby. What happens next?”

She’s handling the end of her life as she knows it pretty well. “I don’t know; guess it depends on how the police found the places, what they found there, who talks.”

“Could he go to jail?”

“Maybe. We don’t know a whole lot yet.”

“If he does, can I come stay with you?”

“Uuhhhh sure. I’d have to ask Mom but she’d probably say it’s okay.” Assuming we’re still alive.

“I don’t want him to go to jail, you know that, right? I just want to live like regular people do.”

“Oh yeah. Absolutely.” I crawl across the bed and grab the remote for the television off the nightstand. “If something big happened, it might be on the news.” I turn it on and switch to CNN. We settle back on the bed, backs against the headboard, pressed against each other. While we watch a sports segment, it gives me time to think.

Clearly, I can’t just sit here, waiting for Hobbes to come find me. I need to take the offensive. There’s no evidence that I ratted him out, not that’ll make any difference. He’s probably so upset he can’t see straight. They’ll want to find the snitch like yesterday. Maybe I can give them something else to do. If Hobbes’ organization falls apart, all hell will break lose, just like I told Mom. My plans for a soft landing are out the window. I need to think of a way to preserve the status quo until I’m ready. The sports story is ending. One of the regular anchors comes on.

“We have more information on the breaking story of the record setting drug seizure that occurred this morning across several states. We have Deputy Attorney General Walter Tyson of the Florida division of the Department of Justice with us. Good afternoon Mr. Tyson.”

An older, balding guy appears on screen, wearing a DOJ windbreaker and ball cap. He’s standing outside one of the warehouses listed on Hobbes spread sheet; I recognize it from the company’s web site.

“Hello Wolf, it’s a pleasure to speak with you.”

“From all reports we have received, you seem to have had a very successful day.”

“We have, Wolf. It’s important that the credit be shared with all the agencies involved in today’s record setting seizures. This was a joint operation involving the Department of Justice, the FBI and local police agencies across seven states. The raids were unprecedented in their scope and the amount of contraband seized.”

“Exactly what is the street value of the drugs intercepted today?”

“We don’t have a final number at this time, Wolf. We don’t even have an inventory yet. I believe that I can safely say that we are talking about values in the hundreds of millions of dollars, several hundreds of millions, at a minimum.”

“That’s an extraordinary number Mr. Tyson.”

“It is, but, unfortunately, it’s a small percent of the drugs smuggled into this country every year.”

“Small but significant, correct?”

“Yes Wolf, that’s correct. The most important point is that we have disrupted the routes and organization used to smuggle these drugs. At least three of the warehouses we raided today had sophisticated tunnels over three miles long running under the US Mexican border connected to other warehouses on the Mexican side. They used electric trains to move drugs at will.”

“It boggles the imagination!”

“It certainly does, Wolf.”

“What effect will today’s raids have on the drug markets across the country, Mr. Tyson?”

“It’s a little early to make accurate predictions but they should be disrupted for many months to come. The cost of getting high just jumped quite a bit, Wolf.”

For a brief second, Wolf looked a little uncomfortable.

“How did you get the information to find these locations, Mr. Tyson?”

Please, oh PLEASE, don’t be an idiot, Tyson.

“I can’t really comment on that, Wolf. It has been a long running investigation and we hope to be able to reveal greater details in the future. In particular, I want to make sure that we honor the men who did the dangerous, dirty work that made today possible.”

Bless you, Walter Tyson! There’s a big fat kiss waiting for you if we ever meet.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“‘Men’, Enrique! He said ‘men’! Now you can stop accusing Patricia and turn your attention to finding the leak who has destroyed everything I have built! Why were we not warned of this?! I’ve bribed hundreds of cops, lawyers, judges, and clerks over the years, yet not one of them warned us!”

“Just because he said ‘men’ doesn’t clear her. She is the only outsider to come into this house in the last six months. It is only logical to suspect her.”

“She has never once shown the slightest interest in the details of my business. She has been under constant surveillance every minute she has been inside these walls. She’s never been alone anywhere she could acquire the necessary information. She’s a teen age girl who is right now sitting in Gretchen’s bedroom. If you were an undercover cop, would you walk right into this house after what happened today? You would have to be insane!”

“Or very smart, X-ray.”

“Then PROVE it! Prove who did this to me! And kill one of those worthless bastards who have been taking my money for years and did nothing to help us!”

“That may not be wise, X-ray. We did get some warnings from a few of our people but they were too late. The people who organized this were very, very clever. I don’t have all the details yet but we may not have been able to detect this.”

“And whose fault is that?! You are my security chief! It was your job to prevent this from happening!”

“We can’t cover every possibility, X-ray, It’s impossible.”

“Well, Patricia called that one.”

“What do you mean?”

“She predicted this would happen … not this disaster, but that the police would eventually succeed.”

“When did she do this?”

“Weeks ago. She said that eventually, they would get us. For us to win, we had to be perfect all the time and that no one is perfect. She must have been talking about you.”

“And you don’t think that is suspicious?”

“Of course not! We were speaking philosophically. Completely harmless! I want you to find the real informant and bring him to me!”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“So, Patty, what do you think?”

I didn’t hear her at first. There’s an idea forming in my head. A borderline crazy idea. I need a few minutes to think about it, roll it around in my mind, looking for holes.

“Patty? Hellooo?”

“I think it may all be okay, Gretch. Give me just a little time to work it out.”

“Sure.”

I close my eyes so I can concentrate. The more I think about it, the crazier it seems … but it works. The big question is, can I sell it? It’s one thing to take the bull by the horns but this is like then swinging up onto his back and riding him into the sunset. At least, no one will be expecting it.

“Gretchen, I need to talk with your dad.”

“No way! I’ve never seen him this mad! You can’t believe how happy I was when you wanted to come up here to my room.”

“I know but I may be able to fix this … or at least keep it from getting worse, but they’ll have to move fast.”

“What do you know about dealing drugs?”

“Not much … but this has nothing to do with drugs.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“What about the sites they didn’t get?”

“We’re moving everything as fast as we can, back across the border where possible and to temporary storage elsewhere.”

“How do we know they won’t raid them yet today?”

“We don’t but it is unlikely. The other raids were all within twenty minutes of each other. Why not hit all the sites? They probably didn’t know about them, X-ray.”

“Excuse me if I don’t find that comforting, Enrique. What do we have left?”

“Approximately fifteen percent.”

“Fifteen percent! What can I do with that? How could you let this happen?!”

There’s a knock at my office door. Who dares interrupt me now? Checking the monitor, it’s Patricia. Enrique sees the monitor too.

“Let her in! This is my chance to question her.”

“No! I told you that it’s impossible. We can’t waste time …”

“How will we know if I you won’t let me do my job …”

“If you had done your job, we wouldn’t be in this …”

She knocks again, longer and harder.

“Mr. Hobbes? I need to speak with you. It’s important.”

“Patricia, this isn’t a good time.”

“I know but it’s worse than you think it is.”

I look at Enrique. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”

He looks confused. “No.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

The lock on the door thumps open. Here goes nothing. It slowly swings open as I step forward. It’s an extra thick door but I could hear them shouting at each other any way. Cardoza’s staring at me, mad as heck. Hobbes is as unkempt and flustered as I’ve ever seen him. Guess he’s entitled, having just lost over a billion dollars, give or take.

“Patricia, I don’t really have time to talk.”

“I know, I’ve heard all about it.”

Cardoza takes several steps towards me, Hobbes moves to block him. “What do you KNOW?!!” Cardoza shouts.

“The police raided Mr. Hobbes’ … places … and took a lot of … inventory. A whole lot.”

“And how do YOU know this?!”

“Gretchen gave me the heads up that something had happened when I drove up. I talked to Raul, then Gretchen and I watched the report on CNN.”

Hobbes pushes Cardoza back away from me.

“See, Enrique. Perfectly logical, perfectly innocent.”

“She always has an answer, X-ray” Cardoza growls.

“That’s because she tells the truth. Yes Patricia, we have had a bad day. I have much to do …”

“You don’t understand, this is much worse than losing a bunch of … widgets.”

“Widgets?” asks Cardoza.

“An economic term, Enrique. Generic for products of any kind” answered Hobbes. Good, he’ll understand me.

“Exactly! You’ve lost a whole lot of widgets. You’re a very smart man, so I’m guessing the police won’t be able to trace the widgets back to you. Right, Mr. Hobbes?”

“Tell her nothing!”

Hobbes is looking at me with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. Curiosity wins.

“No, probably not.”

“So, the question is, how does this loss of widgets affect your business?”

“Agreed. What is your opinion, Patricia?”

“It destroys it.”

“Things aren’t that bad. I can always get more … widgets.”

“That won’t be good enough. It’s pure economics. Your competitors still have all their widgets. And widgets are generic, there’s no brand loyalty. The customer doesn’t care if they buy your widget or Mr. X’s widget; they just want widgets … and bad. Supply has just dropped a lot, so the price of widgets just went through the roof. Your competitor’s inventories just … let’s say tripled in value.”

“More like quadrupled, at least.”

“Wow! Okay, quadrupled. They’ll move into your markets, offer to supply your distributors with widgets, not as much as before but enough to keep selling, at a much higher price. You won’t be able to match their offer, so your suppliers will go where the money is and the customers go where the widgets are. Everybody makes at least what they did before all this happened because the demand is practically inelastic, people want their widgets at almost any cost. There may be a small percentage who stop buying widgets because they’re so expensive but not enough to change the demand much. By the time you get more widgets, your competitors will have wiped out your market.”

“We can get it back” Cardoza said.

“How, with a price war? Reduce your prices to nearly zero? Flood the market with widgets to force the price down? Your competition will be sitting on all the profits they made from this sudden price increase, they can play the same game. Will you have enough money in reserve to keep it up for long?”

The way Hobbes and Cardoza look at each other, the answer is no. Cardoza turns back to me, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed.

“There are other ways to take back markets, ways that don’t involve prices and supply and demand.”

“You mean, by force? It would be a blood bath. You may get away with that in Mexico, but not in the United States. The people would scream loud and long, the politicians would go on a rampage and the police would respond with overwhelming force. So would the competition. Do you have the resources to fight a war against the United States and your competition at the same time? Even if you win, what do you win? The market would be in shambles, it would take multiple decades to make back what you’d have spent.” I walk over to where Hobbes is standing. “I’m sorry Mr. Hobbes, economics doesn’t lie.”

He looks down at me for a moment. “What if … I still had some widgets?”

“Shut up, Hobbes!”

“Silence Enrique! This is a hypothetical, no details. What do you say Patricia?”

“Hypothetically speaking, how many widgets?”

“Don’t answer that…” but Hobbes raises his hand, silencing Cardoza.

“Fifteen percent of my original inventory … hypothetically.”

“I’m not an expert or anything. A real economist might be able to give you a detailed answer, but my gut says it’s not enough. It just takes a little longer for you to lose everything. You can’t win under these circumstances.”

I think they believe me, at least they look worried enough for them to think I could be right. Now’s the time to strike.

“I do have a suggestion though.”

“What is that? If I can’t win under these circumstances, what else is there to do?”

“Simple … change the circumstances.”

“And how do I do that?”

“Do to your competitors what has been done to you; tell the police where they keep their widgets.”

Both sets of eyes grow wide in surprise. Hobbes speaks first.

“Of Course! Reduce everybody’s supply! Prices skyrocket but we remain competitive. Spread the pain! It is so simple! Enrique, can we do it?”

Cardoza is silent, thinking, head down. He looks up.

“Yes, I believe we can. If we can’t now, we should be able to do it shortly. We may not be able to do it as completely though.”

“I don’t care! Anything will help, right?”

Hobbes is asking me as if I’m the expert.

“It should, Mr. Hobbes. There is also another possibility. If you reduce their supply of widgets, it becomes a race to see who can re-supply the quickest. Whoever does, gains an advantage over the others. If you win that race, you could come out of this even stronger than before.”

“MY GOD! You are absolutely right! If you had told me two hours ago that this was a business opportunity, I’d have shot you between the eyes. Amazing!” He comes over grabbing me around the shoulders, hugging me to his side, messing my hair with his free hand. “Enrique, what do you think of our little Machiavellian genius now?! He would be proud of you! Very proud!”

“I have another suggestion, Mr. Hobbes.”

“Another? You’re a veritable fountain of ideas today. What is it?”

“If possible, I’d use the department that raided your places to do the same to your competition.”

“Why is that?” asked Cardoza.

“It will look like one person or group is getting all of the … widget sellers, throwing suspicion away from you. Plus, it looks like they know what they’re doing and you want the competition hit as hard as possible, making your job easier.”

“Ironic, but true” said Hobbes. “Patricia … I don’t know what to say. Fifteen minutes ago, I was looking at an abyss but now I’m … energized! And it’s all because of you.”

“Speaking of which, I imagine that you’ll be very busy over the next few days.”

“Oh yes, very, very busy.”

“And it would be best for both of us that I not be around.”

“That is unfortunately also true, no offense.”

“I’m happy to not be here. I don’t want to know any of the details. It’s kinda fun thinking about the big picture and how it all works and what is the best thing to do. If I knew details, then somebody might accuse me of being a snitch.”

Hobbes fixes Cardoza with an icy stare. “I’m sure no one would ever do that, Patricia.”

Riiighhht.

“I was thinking that it would also be a good idea for Gretchen to not be around for the next few days. You wouldn’t have to worry about hiding things from her. She could stay with me. That was our original deal, after all.”

“Yes … yes it was … alright, yes, both of you can spend the weekend at your house, but no wild parties. Gretchen is not to get into any trouble of any kind, understand?”

“Yes, sir, I do.” He ruffles my hair again then lets me go. “We’ll be back by 7:00 p.m. on Sunday.”

“No bother, Henry can take her and her bags and pick her up.”

“That’s fine.” Mom will be happier not to have to come here anyway. I head for the door “Good luck with … everything.”

I almost get out of the office. “Patricia.”

“Yes, Mr. Hobbes?”

“I cannot thank you enough.”

“You’re welcome. No problem.” I quickly shut the door and run off, as fast as I can, back upstairs.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“And you were going to accuse her of being the leak. That tiny, little girl has saved us, Enrique. She has literally saved us!”

“There is much left to be done, X-ray. This plan may not work smoothly.”

“At least we have a plan. I haven’t forgotten that we must find our rat; we will need to be very careful with information until we do. AMAZING! That girl has just turned seventeen and, already, she has a better head for business than any ten men I can name. She could run this business TODAY if she had too.”

“She could never sell drugs, she can’t even bring herself to say the word. Widgets.”

“That’s today. Both people and businesses can change. She’s only seventeen, there’s plenty of time.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Patty comes charging in, jumping on the bed, joining me.

“How’d it go?”

“You tell me. Pack your bag; we’re spending the weekend at my house!”

I’d say things went pretty damn well.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO

“There’s some room in the closet over there for your bags, or you can leave them in the corner if you want.”

Patty’s room is smaller than mine, almost smaller than my bathroom. It’s clean and not too messy, with a queen sized bed. I think that’s what it’s called.

“The main bathroom is down the hall. It’s the only one with a shower or a bath. The bathroom down stairs is a half bath.”

She’s already shown me around the house. It didn’t take too long. I’d seen pictures of houses like this, but never actually been in one. There’s hardly any rooms and they’re small.

“So, what do you think of the place?”

“It’s … nice, really nice.”

“Yeah, I know. Compared to your place, it’s a roach motel, but I’m not gonna apologize for it. It’s clean, fairly neat and in good shape. This is what the rest of the country lives in … if they’re lucky. There’s worse options, trust me.”

“I said it was nice.”

“But you were just being polite, I could see it on your face, though we appreciate it. Let’s get down to the kitchen; I have to get supper ready.”

“By yourself?”

“I won’t turn down any help, but normally, yes, by myself. You better get used to it if you plan on moving out in a year. Same for living in a place like this, though you’d probably have to start out in a two bedroom apartment with three roommates. Come on.”

We go down stairs to the kitchen and Patty starts taking things out of the refrigerator and off shelves.

“I hadn’t done any planning for supper, since we were going to be at your house, but mom had a pot roast that she was fixing after she got home. We can get a start on that. Can you peel potatoes?”

“No.”

“How about chop onions? Any experience with a chef’s knife?”

“No.”

“Huh, guess slicing carrots is also out. You can shred lettuce for a salad. That’s just tearing up a head of lettuce with your hands. Here.”

She takes a green leafy ball from the refrigerator and a big bowl from a shelf, setting both of them by the sink.

“You just take the head, peel off leaves, rinse them in the sink and then tear the leaf apart into smaller pieces, putting them in the bowl. Easy.”

“How small a piece?”

“The same size you find in your salads at home. We’ve got some red leaf lettuce to add once you’re done with that head. You can also set the table.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Everything else. Braise the meat, peel the potatoes, chop the vegetables.” She takes a large pot, puts it on the stove and turns a handle. Small flames appear all around the bottom of the pot as I begin working with the lettuce.

It’s not hard to do. In fact, it’s kinda fun, me working at the sink and Patty running around the kitchen from one job to the next. I’d finished with the green lettuce and had started on the red, which was also green, so I don’t know why they call it red, when I heard a car pull up next to the house. Patty looks up at a clock on the wall by the door.

“Mom’s late, she didn’t know we’d be here.”

I heard keys turning in the door knob and then the door opens.

“Patricia? I saw your motorcycle parked outside. I thought you were at … Hello, I didn’t know we had company tonight.”

“Mom, this is Gretchen.”

“We met at your birthday celebration. Nice to see you again, Gretchen.”

“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Conner.”

“To what do we owe this pleasure, Patricia?”

“It was a sudden change of plans so I didn’t have time to let you know.”

“Does it have anything to do with the news I saw on CNN?”

“Something, we can talk later. Right now, can you show Gretchen how to chop vegetables?”

“Certainly.”

Mrs. Conner dropped her purse on the kitchen counter, picked up the carrots that Patty had set out and took a wooden board off the counter, placing it on the kitchen table.

“Have you ever done this before, Gretchen?”

“No, ma’am.”

She pulled a drawer open, removing a large wide knife, about ten inches long. It looked really sharp.

“It’s easier than it looks, dear. Just hold the knife straight up and rock it back and forth on the cutting board. It cuts on the down stroke. Just push the carrot forward after each cut, like this.”

She quickly chopped the carrot, making quick clean cuts.

I reflexively close my hands, tucking my fingers into my palms. “That looks like a sharp knife.”

She smiles at me. “Patricia does like a sharp knife. She spends a lot of time with the sharpening stones.”

“You may not believe it” Patty says “but sharper is safer.”

“If you say so.”

“Come around here, Gretchen. Let me show you.”

Mrs. Conner had me stand in front of the wooden board, handed me the knife, positioning my fingers around the handle, then reached around me, putting her hand over mine. The knife was heavier than I expected.

“Now, just move the knife, rocking it up and down … that’s the way … nice and easy. Keep it up while I bring a carrot to the blade … don’t force it, let the knife do the work … very nice … that’s fine, you don’t have to do it too quickly, that comes with practice. Now I’m going to let go.”

Her hand slowly slipped away from mine. I just keep doing the same motion. She’s right, it looks harder than it is.

“Okay, way to go, Gretch!” Patty said. “You’ll be replacing Raul if you keep this up.”

Patty starts peeling potatoes as Mrs. Conner has me slice celery. When all the vegetables are ready, Patty adds them to the pot with the meat.

“This’ll need to cook for awhile. Why don’t we go out and work on your jump shot. You can come out too, Mom. Gretchen needs some one to guard her.”

“I don’t know, Honey. I haven’t played in years.”

“That’s okay, isn’t it Gretch. You’ll take it easy on the senior citizen, won’t you?”

I don’t know what to say. Patty’s trying to get me in trouble with her mother.

“Senior citizen, is it? I’ll let you know, young lady, that I’m as fast today as I was when I played.”

“That slow, eh? Maybe I can get Mrs. Whatley to help out. She’s only seventy five.”

I think they’re just goofing around with each other … I don’t have much experience with that sort of thing. My father’s not the goofing around type.

“Funny kid. You are one funny kid, Patricia. Let’s see how funny you are after I block your shot into the next neighborhood.”

“You’re on old lady. Get changed. Gretchen and I’ll see you at the cul-de-sac in ten minutes.”

“Challenged accepted, my vertically impaired offspring.”

Ooohhh Patty won’t like that. Girls at school learned pretty early not to make fun of her for being short. Becky Franklin compared her to a Munchkin and ended up eating one in Dodge ball … six straight games. The last one gave her a concussion. Everybody pretty much shut up after that, at least to her face.

Patty practically drug me back to her room. I wondered why she had me bring my workout gear.

“Hurry up and change, we don’t want to lose the light. There’s a street lamp near the basket but it doesn’t help much.”

“Where did you say this was?”

“Just down the street. One of the neighbors has a basket on a cul-de-sac and he doesn’t care who uses it, as long as they don’t tear it up. It’s not bad actually, as long as you keep an eye out for the curb when you’re driving or jumping.”

Patty had already stripped off her dress and bra. I just can’t get over how some one her size can have breasts like that, the way they move when she bends over, how they sit on her chest when she stands up. They make me feel so … inadequate. Yet, I can’t stop looking at them.

“Get a move on, Gretchen! Stay sharp! Mom will have you for lunch if you let her.”

I start to unbutton my blouse, turning away so Patty can’t see my small boobs. “What do you mean?”

“She played ball in high school, was pretty good too, got some offers from Division Two schools.”

“I can’t see what the big deal is; I’ve been playing for weeks against guys.”

She laughs. “You’ve been playing against guys who work for your dad. No offense, but they haven’t been going all out against you.”

“They’ve been taking it easy on me?”

“Not exactly, they just haven’t been pushing you around like they do against each other. Haven’t you noticed?”

“I think I get pushed around a lot!”

“Wait until my Mom’s done with you. She doesn’t work for your dad and she was the enforcer on her team.”

“She’s not that big.”

“Some girls do it with size, some with technique. Mom’s more a technique kinda player. You foul out less often. I told her to keep her elbows to herself, so it shouldn’t be so bad. If you pay attention, you could learn a few tricks yourself. Ready?”

I’m just now pulling on my socks. “I’m hurrying, gotta get my shoes on.”

“Lace em’ tight. You can really turn an ankle on that curb if you’re not careful.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I don’t know why I let Patricia talk me into this. I knew that she was trying to get the Hobbes girl to come alone to our house but why she wanted me to get involved, she wouldn’t say. The fact that she was here today was a surprise but, if things worked out as Patricia planned, and they usually do, she was going to be here eventually.

And why basketball? I haven’t played in years, not since I was a senior in high school, though I was pretty good. At least this will be half court, so no running. I’m going to hurt in the morning though.

As I walk towards them, the girls are shooting free throws. Patricia has perfect form which is repeated exactly every time she shoots. She’s like a machine … actually, she is a machine to a degree. The Hobbes girl is a lot more haphazard. Patricia tries to show her what to do.

Watching her chase after missed shots, it’s surprising how much she moves like Alisha. They have similar builds, tall, thin but physically fit, not anorexic. You would expect there to be some similarity but it’s more than that. It’s like they have the same … spirit … or had. Patricia looks back towards me and smiles.

“Looking good Mom! We got ourselves a sexy senior citizen!”

“Put a cap in it, Junior. Big talk from someone so short.”

“And whose fault is that? I’m a product of my genes, half of which are yours.”

“I told you not to smoke when you were eight, stunted your growth.”

She laughs loudly, passing the ball to the other girl. “Good one. That’s new. Let’s get started. Since we’ve got someone to guard you, Gretch, we can do some post up moves.” Patricia dribbled over to the left side of the basket. “Set up on this side, you guard her, Mom. I’ll pass the ball in.”

The girl takes up a position ten feet from the basket, near the baseline. I take mine on her left hip. When Patty bounces the ball into her, I reach out, knocking it away.

“Hey!”

“You want the ball, Gretchen, go get it. Or you better block me off.”

The next pass was the same as the first but Gretchen gave me a hip check as I tried to go for the ball. Not bad. She got a lay up.

We took our places and started again. This time, I got my knees below hers and rooted her out of her spot, pushing her away from the basket.

“That’s a foul!”

“Maybe, depends on the ref. I’m not using my hands, just my legs. I usually got away with it. Life’s tough in the paint.”

The next time, Gretchen fought back, moving back and forth, leaning back into me, making me shift with her. She’s tougher than she looks.

We kept this up for half an hour, changing spots on the court. I won most of the battles but she got better as we went along. She’s a fighter.

“Great! Great! Your doing much better, Gretch!” shouted Patricia. “We don’t have a lot of light left, so let’s do some jump shots coming off picks. You drive by me, I’ll set a pick, Mom guards you.”

Like hell! I know what Patricia is capable of. “I’m not letting you get anywhere near me.”

“Mom, I promise, no funny business. Just plain vanilla, nothing special picks. I’d let you do it but Gretchen needs to face someone closer to her height. I just want to work on timing, that’s all. Okay?”

She looks and sounds sincere. “Alright … but you try anything funny and we’re done, understand?”

She takes up a position fifteen feet from the basket, arms at her side. “See, Mom, completely harmless.”

“Riiight. Make sure it stays that way.”

“What are you worried about?” asks Gretchen.

“My daughter has many talents. Many, many talents. You’ve probably seen a few of them. I don’t want you to see any more, not right now.”

“I don’t understand, Mrs. Conner.”

“That’s alright, dear. You don’t have to, just as long as Patricia does.”

Patricia claps her hands. “Let’s go! Losing light!” She passes the ball to Gretchen. “Just dribble past me and then shoot.”

“Okay.”

She starts towards Patricia. She can’t handle the ball very well; I could easily knock it away. When she goes by Patricia, there’s way too much room between them.

“Stop! Stop!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Gretchen, honey, if someone is setting a pick for you, you’ve got to drive by them as close as possible. The idea is to make them run into the other person, freeing you up.”

“I know that, I set picks for Patty all the time.”

“And I bet she goes by you so close, she scrapes your skin.”

She rubs here forearm. “Sometimes.”

“There’s a reason for that. Here, let me show you.”

I take the ball from her, give Patricia a warning glance, then drive past the thankfully normal pick, stopping and shooting just as I clear. The ball bounces of the backboard, cleanly through the net.

“Neat! How’d you learn to do that?”

“Lots of practice, Gretchen, lots of practice.”

“We don’t get much time at school, like only twenty minutes after lunch a few days a week. Patty and Terri do what they can.”

“Do you like it?”

“Oh yeah! I’ve never been any good at sports until now. I’m not actually very good yet.”

“You have a lot of potential, I can tell.”

“That’s what Patty tells me.”

“Patricia is often right … as she is so happy to point out to me.”

“Well, one thing I was right about is that we’re out of light for today” said Patricia. “Probably a good thing, supper’s likely ready by now. We’ll have more time over the weekend.”

“Can you play too, Mrs. Conner? It would really help. There aren’t many girls as tall as me.”

She has such a hopeful look on her face, so familiar. “I’ve got chores that have to be done.”

“We’ll help! We can do that, can’t we Patty?”

“Sure … if you want to get up early.”

Gretchen winces at that. “Fine! Just one weekend, I’d like to sleep in! I never had to get up until after ten before I met you.”

Patty passes the ball to Gretchen. “Yeah, but I’m worth it, aren’t I?”

“Sometimes.” She throws the ball back.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

We’re sitting on my bed, dressed in our night clothes, Gretchen on the edge, her feet on the floor, me behind her, on my knees, slowly brushing her hair.

“Supper was good tonight.”

“Thanks. I know it’s not what you’re used to.”

“No! It was very good! Just as good as Raul.”

I keep brushing as we talk. “He uses pearl onions. We can’t afford those.”

“It’s fine! It was all delicious!”

“You helped.”

“Not much. What are the chores we have to do tomorrow?”

“Normal stuff, laundry, vacuuming, cleaning bathrooms … the usual.”

“I’ve never done any of that before.”

“Don’t worry. Your upper class education at St. Ann’s hasn’t ruined you for manual labor.”

“I didn’t mean it that way! And you go to school there too, you know!”

“But I’ve had the benefit of public schools before that.”

“Why do you keep rubbing your blue collar roots in my face?”

“Don’t know. Inferiority complex, maybe?”

“YOU?! Inferiority complex? Yeah, right.”

“Fine. Overcompensation then.”

“For what?”

I stop brushing. Gretchen turns and looks back at me.

“For what? Helloooo. Five feet tall.”

“You’re not five feet tall.”

“Close enough. Besides, you like having a friend from the wrong side of the tracks … it gives you street cred.”

“ME?! STREET CRED?”

“Sure. If you’re gonna be one of my peeps, ya gotta have street cred.”

“You’re nuts, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told. You’re done, my turn.”

We switch places; though Gretchen sits behind me, reaching down to brush my hair. She’s very gentle, almost sensual. This must be one of the benefits of having long hair. And being a girl. Guys never brush each other’s hair, no matter how long.

“Gretch, you sure you want to share this bed?”

“You don’t want too?”

“No … it’s just it’s so much smaller than you’re used to. I could sleep on the floor.”

“That’s silly. No one’s sleeping on the floor. We always end up piled in the middle any way.”

“Yeah, but this bed is pretty much all middle to start with.”

“Then it saves us time.”

She keeps up her, slow, steady brushing. I close my eyes, surrendering to the sensations.

“I don’t know how to do any of that stuff.”

“Hmmmmmmmm … what stuff?”

“Laundry and vacuuming and … bathrooms.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll show you. If we get done in time, we can go shopping.”

“SHOPPING?! REALLY?! I’ve never done that! You mean like in a store and everything? … Wait, I didn’t bring any money with me.”

“I said we’d go shopping, not buying. There’s a difference.”

“Can your mother come?”

“Really? You want her to come with us?”

“Sure, she’s nice. I never got a chance to shop with my mother … I just want to see what it’s like … you know, seeing how you guys do it and all. That’s what I meant. Will she?”

“When you ask so nicely, how can she say no?